by Meira Chand
7
Yokohama, 9 January 1897
The Japan Weekly Mail summary of news:
Their Imperial Majesties the Emperor and Empress are still indisposed through cold. The Emperor is said to be more convalescent than the Empress.
Mr Nobel, the inventor of dynamite, has left nearly the whole of his vast fortune to establish an international fund for the encouragement of scientific research.
It is reported in Spain that the Cuban insurgents have made overtures for peace with Spain.
The plague is increasing in Bombay and trade is paralysed.
The condition of the health of the Empress Dowager continues to cause grave anxiety.
FIFTH DAY OF TRIAL
On the court resuming at two o’clock, Richard Jonathan Huckle was called and sworn. The court room as usual was packed, condensation steamed the windows; outside, sleet fell from a darkened sky. There was no way of telling without a watch if it was dusk or mid-morning. It no longer seemed to matter; time was interminable to Amy. From her seat Amy noticed the walrus moustache of the Baron d’Anethan, shielding an expression of distaste. Already she felt the sympathy in the room supporting Dicky Huckle.
‘You are a British subject?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were you a friend of Mrs Redmore?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that your letter?’ Mr Russell asked. Dicky Huckle was handed a small sheet of paper, a torn jigsaw stitched laboriously together with white thread. If only she had burned his letters as he had insisted, Amy thought. Instead she had ripped them up and thrown them into the waste-paper basket. Dicky examined the letter, head bowed as if he would never again free it from the page. His hands trembled. Mr Russell looked up at Judge Bowman.
‘As to reading these letters, my lord, the clerk of the court, Mr Moss, has expressed difficulty in doing so. I think the witness will understand his own writing best.’
‘Then I think the witness had better read them,’ Judge Bowman complied. Dicky gasped, his expression unable to survive its small store of resolution.
There was nothing illegible about Dicky’s writing Amy thought. It was another piece of strategy on the part of the prosecution. Robert Russell appeared more and more the omnipotent stage manager of an evil play. The unmistakable element of theatre grew stronger every day. A murmur of anticipation rippled round the court. Reporters from the Mail and Gazette and a dozen other publications poised pencils above notebooks. A deep flush spread across Dicky’s face. He began to read, his voice nakedly uneven. He stopped and began again, invoking some composure. The room was silent with salacious encouragement. Mr Cooper-Hewitt leaned forward in the jury box with new appetite. Mr Figdor, plump and sweating in his seat, smiled to no one in particular. The tremble continued in Dicky’s voice.
You ask me, dearest, to take time over answering your letter and in the same breath to give it to you by tiffin. What do you want me to say? It is impossible to go back to the old footing. He has altered all that, and if you were a free woman I would ask you to come to me. Long ago when I first knew you, a passion for you would now and then come over me and envy of the man who had you. And now, when you are thoroughly estranged and have come to me for help, what I had easily checked before has risen again with a strength that is multiplied a thousandfold.
Dearest, the scene of yesterday shall not take place again. We cannot help now, I think, loving. I know it is wrong but you are not to blame as much as I, but for others’ sake than ours the grosser sin shall be avoided. I went into all this in the beginning with the honest intention of aiding you and cheering you up, and you enjoyed my coming. When I found your life so dreary and empty of happiness my heart bled for you and I knew I would excuse anything you might do. It was a pity, then, darling akin to love, and now I love you. I know that if you were free I would take you and keep you while I lasted.
Robert Russell got to his feet. ‘Can you state what is referred to in the words, “Dearest, the scene of yesterday shall not take place again.”’
‘An affectionate passage between Mrs Redmore and myself,’ Dicky answered, his voice barely audible. He was asked to repeat his answer louder.
Amy looked down, not wishing to meet the voyeurism in the court, their thoughts disgorging collectively in the same unspoken vein. She wanted to laugh at the nonsense of it all. In substituting Dicky for Matthew Armitage as the illicit centre of her life, the court left her love for Matthew untouched, whole still within herself. She would not, she realized, want it any other way. Let them construe what they wished about Dicky.
‘Later on you say her life was dreary and empty and your heart bled for her. What was that in consequence of?’ Robert Russell inquired, leaning forward expectantly upon his toes.
‘Mr Redmore’s horrible ill-treatment of her. Mrs Redmore told me she was exceedingly unhappy with her husband and that he ill-treated her in a great many ways. I know it now to be all untrue,’ Dicky said in a rush, turning suddenly to look accusingly at Amy, his face petulant as a child’s. He resembled a plump and frightened rabbit who had found a hole to scurry into. He had told the world she had led him astray. As if it was possible to lead astray someone who had no wish to go. She should know about that.
‘Would you now look at Exhibit Epsilon,’ said Mr Russell. Dicky took the letter, stitched neatly as the others. His cheeks were hot and flushed, he coughed nervously.
My poor darling, I knew you would suffer for yesterday, but it revealed to me more than ever, dearest, how much I loved you and how much you have become to me. I think he must think you care for me and, although he probably does not know the extent you have gone, he cannot but feel he has lost you and that you would, if you could, come to me. This must account a good deal for his horrible dislike of me. But I would not give you up for the hatred of the whole family of Redmores. I love you utterly, my dear one, and the remembrance of yesterday will be ever with me.
‘“I knew you would suffer for yesterday.” What do you refer to?’ Robert Russell asked, jumping up.
‘The fact that we had had a ride, gone out riding together. She told me her husband would be angry.’
‘And when you say, “the remembrance of yesterday is ever with me”?’
‘It referred to our ride, nothing else,’ Dicky said quickly. Robert Russell observed him silently for a moment. He handed him another letter.
‘Will you now read Exhibit Kappa?’ he directed.
‘“I see the usual signal. I could look in after tiffin perhaps.”’ Dicky’s voice trembled again.
‘What do you mean by “the usual signal”?’
‘Mrs Redmore used to hang a handkerchief out of the window, and I could see it either from the house nearby where I lodged or from the road. It was to let me know whether I could go and see her.’
‘Do you mean you could go in and see her?’ Robert Russell was incredulous.
‘Yes,’ Dicky replied. There was a stir in the court; old women muttered, Robert Russell smiled sarcastically. These were the details they waited to hear, those moments too tangible for disguise.
‘What has become of Mrs Redmore’s letters to you?’
‘All her letters were destroyed. I never kept any of them.’
‘Will you read Exhibit Eta.’
Dicky read with control until the last few lines, when his voice stumbled and stopped and started again.
It is quite clear to me now. At all risks, at all hazards, divorce. Your personal safety is of more importance than scandals, and then you have the children. If you succeed in proving the necessity of divorce you will have no trouble convincing the court of the unfitness of your husband to have care of the children. Now and always I will help you in all things. Keep your heart, my dear one, and do not give up under his cruelty and coarseness. Send for me whenever you need me. Burn all this when you have read it.
The blood rose again in Dicky’s cheeks. His voice stopped in a sob of desperation. She had taken little notice of his letters.
He had never attracted her. She had found him amusing but more often tiresome. He had been useful, nothing more.
‘You left for Kobe on Sunday, 18 October to play an inter-port cricket match, and returned on Friday the 23rd, did you not? You were away at the time of Mr Redmore’s death?’
‘I was,’ Dicky answered with alacrity. The court room echoed its relief.
Jack Easely rose and cleared his throat. ‘Was the advice of divorce given to Mrs Redmore with the ultimate view of a marriage between yourselves?’
‘No, it was in view of the cruelty I was led to believe her husband inflicted.’
‘In your position in the bank were you free to marry?’
‘No, nobody under the rank of accountant can marry without permission. Permission is only granted in the event of having sufficient means.’
‘Did Mrs Redmore know this?’
‘I think so.’
‘When you saw Mrs Redmore on your return to Kobe, did her husband’s death appear to have shocked her?’
‘She appeared quite dazed when I saw her.’
‘Was there a gentleman who used to be called “The Ferret” by Mr and Mrs Redmore?’
‘I believe there was. I know there was.’
‘He was on very intimate terms with the accused, was he not?’
‘I think so.’ Dicky spoke up, seeing his way. He looked across at Amy. The court room was silent, waiting. Although no names were mentioned, it was widely known that after Reggie’s death Guy le Ferrier had been quickly transferred to Munich from Tokyo by the French Legation. Diplomatic immunity would save him from all that distance could not deter.
‘There was another gentleman called “The Organ Grinder”, was there not, so nicknamed by Mr Redmore, and also on very intimate terms with the accused?’ Jack Easely established. Amy held her breath but he pushed on quickly. There was nothing to prove about Matthew, or even Guy le Ferrier. Their existence and their gender was all that mattered in the case.
‘I believe so,’ Dicky nodded. Judge Bowman leaned forward to hear better, his face incredulous.
‘And your nickname was “The Youth”, was it not?’ Jack Easely asked. From the back of the court someone snorted in relish. Dicky looked startled.
‘Mr Redmore used to call me “Youth” occasionally, but not latterly,’ he answered stiffly.
‘The deceased allowed his wife the greatest latitude in the selection of her male friends?’
‘Certainly, I think so.’ Dicky was on his guard now.
‘He was fond of sailing and she of riding, and she generally rode with her male friends?’
‘Yes, that is true.’
Old Mr Porter stood suddenly at the back of the court, breathing hard. His chair scraped the floor, his voice rattled across the room. ‘She is doubtful, detected, detestable and must be destroyed. Clear them out like rats and all women like her.’ His monocle fell from his eye as he spoke, his mulberry nose glowed deeper. There was a ripple through the court. Jack Easely took no notice, but turned quickly to Dicky Huckle.
‘On a former occasion you testified that on the day of Mr Redmore’s funeral you saw a strange woman standing near the club gates. Will you describe her?’
‘She was tall and I think fair. I could not recognize her again. I did not take much notice, but my interest was aroused by her apparent distress and tears.’ Dicky spoke reluctantly, as if wishing he had never seen the mysterious woman everyone waited to hear was the notorious Annie Luke.
‘Do you remember having a conversation some time ago with Mr Redmore about his taking arsenic?’
‘Yes, many years ago he told me he had nearly died once in the Straits from the effects of an accidental overdose of arsenic.’
On a desk before Mr Russell lay a pile of ragged papers, prescriptions and chits. Amy stared at the hasty scribbles, dashed off without thought, each detail – nothing in its moment – gathered now against her. Dicky’s letters made their own small pile, tiny sheets of paper, quilted and frail with stitching. There was a crest with a swan Dicky used, in sepia with the motto below Aut Mors Aut Victoria. His writing, though legible, was cramped as an insect’s, different from her own quick dash across the page. It was not death or even murder that drew such an audience to this court. It was the titillation of exposure that struck the common chord. People could scan themselves without recognition, while remaining safe and dry.
Baron d’Anethan sat erect in an alpaca coat with a Persian lamb collar. He gave no sign of emotion. Amy remembered him on the ascent to Owakidani, as the Baroness took her photographs. It seemed now like a dream. Lettice Dunn sat primly, her hands clasped tight. Enid was there without Ada. All were disassociated by expression from any past friendship. Mr Cooper-Hewitt turned with a scornful smile to say something to Mr Figdor. Mrs Ewart and Mrs Cooper-Hewitt adjusted their bonnets, faces gripped by piety. Henry Corodale lounged upon his chair, waiting for novel perversions to whet his appetite, bored with mundane sin. The familiarity that breeds contempt was fed them as daily fare. Her soul was everybody’s property, thought Amy. She was a mystery only to herself.
8
Yokohama, 1894–95
In her time away in Somerset Amy had fully expected Reggie to use his bachelor year in just the way he had, but he seemed glad to see her back. He was warm and companionable and full of excitement at reunion with the children. He produced armfuls of presents and made them laugh until they were sick, bouncing them high in the air. He was full of interest about Amy’s year at home, the people met, the changes seen, the commodities brought back for use in Yokohama. And of his time alone he spoke with the frankness they had agreed upon. She had expected no less than he told her.
And yet, now she was free to take command of her life, to step out in an equal way, she found she had lost interest in all that had once excited. She reviewed the prospective men about her, all eligible for affairs, and felt neither interest nor desire. The simple bedding she had sought with Guy le Ferrier seemed long ago and inadequate now. She did not even know what it was she wanted. When she left Japan on the Empress of China she had even doubted she would return. But contrary to reverie, it had surprised her to find Somerset a dull and earthbound place, lacking in all she suddenly remembered it lacking so many years before. Its inadequacies had caused her to leave it then, for adventure and romance.
Entrenched once more in her old room in the red-brick angularity of Cranage, it seemed her life had not evolved. Because nothing had changed at Cranage, so it seemed nothing could change in herself. The old house laid its grip upon her, sterner than before, as if already it spied the deviations of her spirit. Her parents in their joy at her return petted and fussed her, indulging their grandchildren in a way they had never indulged their daughter.
‘The children should have a nursery governess.’ said Mrs Sidley, ‘a good solid English girl who can instil the right manners and appreciations, instead of one of those native amahs, kind and diligent though they may be. A relative of the blacksmith has recently come to live in the village. I hear his eldest daughter is an excellent girl – she’s in service already in Barnstaple. Flack – Jessie Flack – I think is her name. I shall talk to the family when next she is home.’
Amy saw her parents now not as she had in childhood, but as two people, flawed and scarred. They rubbed upon each other like rusty flints that could not flame. The old house absorbed their resentments into its dark, still corners. But in spite of these insights, her return to the role of daughter threw her immediately back into the position of childhood from which she knew, whatever her age, she could never escape in the house. The same tensions contracted about her, the same impatience flowered within. In the house and the routine of its occupants, the same circumspection filled each day. And Sarah was no more across the hill. She had failed to make the brilliant match her parents had expected. Instead she had married a vicar and now managed a draughty vicarage, her time punctuated by the needs of a brood of delicate children. Amy went to stay but le
ft within a few days. Sarah was constantly distracted by domestic matters in the midst of conversation. Their children fought, and infected each other with animosity and disease. And between the women something had changed. Amy found she had grown wilfully far from the small world that had nurtured her.
Yokohama claimed her mind now as once Somerset had done. The tenuous life of the Bluff echoed across the world, demanding her return. She became bored and restless and seemed no longer to fit. The exotic diet of foreign life had changed her perspective forever. Before long she began to count the days until she could return. And yet, when she did, it distressed her to find Yokohama oppressive. Here too she seemed to have lost the knack of living. She became depressed. Mabel’s flippancy annoyed her, as did the ceaseless smiles on endless faces rushing about the meaningless pleasures of the day.
She had not seen much of Mabel since returning to Yokohama. Mabel was busy with numerous projects for expanding her home and expanding the scope of committees for charity, welfare and pleasure. She had turned, she said, from a social butterfly into a social benefactress. Amy could see little difference, except a diminution in her life of the unending presence of Mabel. Their meetings were fewer – amiable as before, but Amy was quieter, Mabel spoke more. It seemed useless to explain to Mabel the emptiness within her and the impatience she suddenly felt with Yokohama’s chronic aimlessness, or with the committees Mabel now delighted in, winding their malicious, opinionated roots about the base of Yokohama, distorting values, flaying lives, puffing themselves up like inflatable things upon which the town must ride. She felt sick at heart without reason. There was nothing she wanted to do, no one she wanted to meet. It had been in this mood that she met again Matthew Armitage.
She passed him in a rikisha as he walked towards the Club Hotel, where he stayed when in Yokohama. She was tiffining there with Mrs Easely. Matthew lived in Tokyo where he had a post at the university, but two days a week he also taught at an institution in Yokohama. Amy had not expected to see him; she thought he might have left Japan, his term of work expired. He greeted her without surprise, as if he had seen her yesterday.
