Consequences

by Nancy Carson

  ‘And did his disregard and betrayal prompt you to seek solace and comfort with another man?’

  ‘I would have been prepared to tolerate his affair, and the unhappiness it brought, for the sake of my son, but when I met Mr Stokes I saw in him a kindred spirit. It transpired we were in similar situations. I fell in love with him and I wanted him to fall in love with me, which I believe he did. I relished the warmth and intimacy we shared. It was such a welcome change from the offhand, cold and callous treatment I was getting at home.’

  ‘You say you relished the warmth and intimacy you shared with Mr Stokes,’ Boyne mused. ‘Do you now regret the affair with Mr Stokes?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said emphatically. ‘It was perhaps the loveliest thing that ever happened to me. I have his child, a beautiful daughter, whom I adore. She occupies and delights me night and day. Why would I regret it? What more could I want?’

  ‘So despite your husband’s infidelity, you are content to admit to your own infidelity and perhaps be perceived as a fallen woman?’

  ‘If I am to be perceived as a fallen woman, then so be it…’ She shrugged as if it were of no concern, and successfully hid from the court what was of great personal concern; whatever was to become of her and her children now depended on the decision of the judge.

  ‘All I want is to have my two children around me. I live for them. I would die for them. I am a fit mother. Whatever implications my husband has made, I look after my children diligently. To lose either one would break my heart.’

  ‘So you would be loath to entrust the welfare of your son to the tender mercies of your husband’s future wife?’

  ‘She is not the mother of my son, is she? It follows that she could not give him the same maternal love and care that I do. No doubt she would be kind to him – I believe she would – but she is not the boy’s mother.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Sampson.’ He nodded his acknowledgement of her frank and creditable performance. ‘That is all.’

  Philip Abercrombie sprang to his feet, glancing at notes he had made while Boyne was questioning Aurelia. ‘Mrs Sampson, the information your husband obtained from the servant, advising him of your infidelity, suggests that when he was away from home on business you used to spend nights away with the co-respondent Mr Stokes. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes, it’s true, but only on a couple of occasions. But how she would know it defeats me, because on those same occasions she would be accompanying him, having been allowed time off to do just that.’ There was laughter in the court and the usher requested order. ‘And in any case,’ Aurelia continued, ‘don’t you think she was considering her own vested interest in my husband, by telling him such things?’

  ‘Your opinion, Mrs Sampson, is not being sought,’ Abercrombie said scornfully.

  ‘I was not offering my opinion, sir, I was asking for yours.’

  Once more there was manifest enjoyment in the public gallery at her riposte, and Philip Abercrombie bridled at her audacity.

  ‘So if it is true that the nanny was not present either on these occasions,’ he carried on, ‘who was left to look after your son?’

  At once Aurelia realised she had dug a hole for herself, which the clever Mr Abercrombie would be sure to exploit. ‘We had a maid. The maid looked after him.’

  ‘The maid looked after your son,’ Abercrombie announced looking around the court with raised eyebrows to emphasise his disdain. ‘I see…And one might presume that it was up to the maid to rouse the child next morning and give him breakfast, and perhaps have to explain why his mother was not there to do it?’

  ‘I only ever stayed out all night a couple of times. The rest of the time I returned home the same night. In any case, the maid was perfectly capable and willing,’ Aurelia answered quietly, defensively.

  There was a self-satisfied smirk on the face of Philip Abercrombie. ‘I put it to you, Mrs Sampson, that this was a serious dereliction of your duties as a mother, to leave your child and your marital home in order that you could spend nights in adulterous fornication with the co-respondent. Would you not agree?’

  ‘It might appear that way to you, sir, and I think you overstate the case. I can assure you, my son was well-cared-for and in capable hands.’ As far as Aurelia was concerned, Abercrombie had twisted her night-time excursions into shameful negligence of her child, and was about to exploit it to the limit, for she guessed he was not finished with her yet.

  ‘Your trysts with the co-respondent were evidently quite close to your home, Mrs Sampson. Is that not so?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would they have taken place at the home of Mr Stokes?’

  ‘No. Mr Stokes lived with his mother.’

  Abercrombie smiled openly to the court. ‘At a bawdy house then, perhaps?’

  ‘Is this really relevant?’ Aurelia asked, looking round at Boyne, seeking his help.

  Boyne rose to his feet. ‘My Lord, I do object to this line of questioning by my learned friend. It appears superfluous to the case.’

  The judge, however, instructed Abercrombie to proceed.

  ‘I ask you, Mrs Sampson, where did your trysts with the co-respondent take place?’

  ‘At an hotel,’ she replied.

  ‘At an hotel?’ He raised his eyebrows theatrically again in mock horror. ‘Presumably, therefore, you presented yourselves as man and wife.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘So, as man and wife you hired a room, and in that room intercourse took place?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Assuming it was always the same hotel, please tell the court how frequently these trysts occurred.’

  ‘I don’t know…whenever my husband went away on his business trips.’

  ‘Was that once a week, twice a week?’

  ‘Oh, sometimes more – sometimes not at all.’

  ‘A clear case of when the cat’s away the mice will play, would you not agree?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘One might presume, therefore, Mrs Sampson, that you would be the instigator of these nocturnal visits to this nameless hotel, in view of the fact that only you would know when your husband’s business trips would take him away?’

  ‘Yes. I looked forward to it enormously,’ she answered without shame.

  Somebody in the court sniggered, but Aurelia could not discern whether it was mocking laughter or laughter condoning her own irreverence. She determined, however, that Abercrombie was attempting to show her up as the predator, and not as a woman chased by a man until she stumbled and was caught and yielded. He was claiming that she was the instigator, who had tempted, who had rolled and squirmed wantonly around in that bed in the nameless hotel, in unashamed betrayal of the husband who kept her. Moreover, she, standing in the witness box, demure in her prim blue frock and neat hairstyle, looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

  ‘The time you left your husband, Mrs Sampson…The two weeks you were away…The two weeks you refused to consider as a trial separation…I put it to you that it was your intention to elope with the co-respondent.’

  ‘The reason I left my husband was because he had made me so miserably unhappy that I simply had to get away,’ she explained astutely. ‘As a matter of fact, I took my son to lodge with my Aunt, my late mother’s sister.’

  ‘But two weeks later you returned to the marital home.’

  ‘Because, as you have already established, I realised I was pregnant.’

  ‘But you must have known that the child you were carrying was that of your lover Mr Stokes, and not your husband. Is that not so, Mrs Sampson?’

  Aurelia nodded.

  ‘Please answer yes or no.’

  ‘Yes, of course I knew,’ she admitted.

  ‘Yet you returned to your husband?’

  ‘As I have already admitted.’

  ‘With the clear intention of passing the child off as his. Is that not so, Mrs Sampson?’ His voice was raised, emphatically disdainful.

  ‘Yes.’<
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  There was an audible gasp from the public gallery, both at his relentless questioning and her audaciousness.

  ‘Clearly then, Mr Stokes was in no position to offer any solution?’

  ‘Mr Stokes did not know that I was carrying his child, because I never told him. If he had known—’

  ‘If he had known, he would have helped you out. Is that what you were about to tell the court, Mrs Sampson?’

  ‘Yes, I believe he would have. I know he would have.’

  ‘So why did you not tell him?’

  ‘Because I had decided to end the affair. I did not want him to know about the child. At the time, there was no need for him to know.’

  ‘Because you intended to pass off the child as your husband’s…Mrs Sampson,’ he boomed, his voice raised in dramatic condemnation, in this repeated declaration of her despicable treachery.

  Aurelia quaked for the first time at this onslaught. But she had her reason for doing what she had done, and was determined that the court should hear it.

  ‘I hoped that with the prospect of another child, my husband would end his affair with our former servant,’ she explained, ‘and allow us to resume a normal marriage. That was why I dismissed her. If he promised to give her up, as I had given up the man I loved, I would have been quite prepared to forgive and forget. But evidently he was in her thrall, and it was not to be.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Sampson…’

  Abercrombie then addressed the judge. ‘My Lord, you have heard the respondent’s testimony in her plea for custody of her son.’

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  All eyes were on Aurelia as she left the court. She had donned her warm black topcoat over her blue dress, and a veil, and looked for all the world as if she were in mourning. Algie was at her side as they exited through the vast and imposing portal of the Royal Courts of Justice.

  ‘Let’s get you out of here,’ he said kindly, and led her out onto the street.

  They stood still, looking about them, not sure in which direction to walk. She turned to face him, and through her veil he discerned her blue eyes, misty with tears. He thought she looked inordinately sad, but as exquisitely beautiful as ever.

  ‘You were brilliant in there,’ he encouraged softly. ‘I honestly don’t know how you did it. Everybody was rooting for you, you could sense it.’

  ‘For all the good it’s done me,’ she replied. ‘I’m still going to lose my son.’

  ‘But not yet awhile, eh? Not for another six months yet. Not before the decree absolute has been granted. Anything might happen in that time. Benjamin might change his mind.’

  ‘Yes, I might even kill him,’ she joked. ‘No, Algie, he won’t change his mind. He’s too set on revenge to change his mind.’

  Her hopes of a successful plea had never been high, but Benjamin’s clever counsel had succeeded in showing her in the poorest possible light; wanton as a wife, reckless as a mother. She realised beforehand that she had little hope of winning, because in the vast majority of divorce cases the husband won custody. Yet she had to try; she could not accede to the norm without a spirited fight.

  ‘I’m relieved I wasn’t called to give evidence,’ Algie said. ‘Neither side thought it necessary, obviously.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it was all straightforward enough without it, but for my plea for custody.’

  ‘I suppose so…Look, are you hungry? D’you fancy something to drink? It is nearly dinner time.’

  ‘It hadn’t crossed my mind,’ she conceded, trying to keep the turmoil within her from spilling over into her voice. ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘I could eat a horse. Let’s find somewhere.’

  ‘To tell you the truth, I rather think a good stiff drink will do me the world of good after that ordeal in there. Where shall we go?’

  He shrugged. He was unfamiliar with London. ‘There’s no shortage of eating houses. The hotel’s that way…’ He nodded in the direction of Anderton’s Hotel. ‘Let’s try that way.’

  She assented, he offered his arm and they commenced their quest for food and drink.

  ‘I know it’s not gone the way you wanted,’ he said, ‘but in a way, I expect you’re glad it’s all over. I am at any rate.’

  ‘It’s been hanging over us for so long,’ she answered. ‘Yes, I am glad it’s all over. At least I know for certain where I stand now.’

  They remained unspeaking for a while, each mentally reliving the progression of questions and answers, revealing secrets that would soon be made available to the public. They found themselves in Fleet Street, and carried on strolling, past Chancery Lane and Fetter Lane, when Algie noticed a sign that announced Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese.

  ‘Here’s an inn,’ he said. ‘They’re bound to serve food.’

  He held the door open for her and she entered before him.

  ‘It’s rather gloomy in here,’ she remarked in a whisper, turning her head towards him.

  ‘So much the better.’ He smiled encouragingly.

  There were several rooms, all filled with people drinking, chattering; smoke hung from the nicotine-stained ceiling like a drifting fog. Algie found an alcove with a vacant table and a couple of stools. The room was warmed by a coal fire burning brightly in a grate set in an open hearth against one wall, its dancing flames casting a glow that created a dull, shifting aura around those closest to it.

  ‘I’ll see what there is to eat. What would you like to drink?’

  She pondered for a second or two while lifting her veil and settling it over the brim of her hat. ‘A glass of hock will do…Thank you.’

  He nodded, stepped up to the bar and ordered a tankard of beer for himself and glass of hock for Aurelia. When he enquired about food he took it upon himself to order, without referring the choice to Aurelia, and returned to the table in the quiet alcove.

  ‘I’ve ordered you Welsh rarebit,’ he proclaimed as he set her glass of wine before her.

  She laughed. He was surprised that she laughed, amid all the depression of the court hearing and the interior gloom of the inn, but he was delighted that she laughed. Nonetheless, he could not help asking, ‘What’s so funny about that?’

  ‘You,’ she said adoringly. ‘You tell me you’ve ordered Welsh rarebit for me, without even giving me a choice. That’s just like you.’

  ‘It’s a speciality of the house, the barman told me. If you don’t fancy it I’ll get it changed.’

  ‘No, it’s all right.’ She touched his arm. ‘I adore Welsh rarebit. I haven’t had Welsh rarebit for years.’

  He sat down, took a swig of beer and she sipped her wine.

  ‘So, here we are again, just the two of us,’ she said leaning towards him so he could hear her over the rest of the chatter. She regarded him intently. ‘It reminds me of when we first went to the Eagle Hotel. Remember? We sat and you ate, and I didn’t because I was too…’

  ‘I’ll never forget it,’ he replied. ‘How could I?’

  She was right. Here they were alone together, as they had been on that first visit to Powell’s Eagle Hotel in Dudley. They were just as unknown to others then as they were now, in a strange place, in the freezing cold of midwinter. Nor were the consequences of those heady nights over yet.

  With Marigold’s blessing, Aurelia and Algie travelled to London together for the purpose of attending the court. It made sense to stay in the same hotel – in separate rooms of course – for the duration of the hearing. Algie was not merely the co-respondent in Aurelia’s divorce, but on this trip he was to serve as her gallant escort, a task he had performed conscientiously. He had insisted that Marigold accompany them, but she just as insistently declined. She couldn’t possibly, much as she wanted to; her growing belly and the need to stay home and look after Rose were the valid reasons. She had put all her faith in their joint integrity. If anything were to happen to challenge that faith, she privately did not wish to know about it.

  ‘So Benjamin intends to marry his Maude,’ Algi
e commented and looked into those blue-tinted windows to Aurelia’s soul that were her eyes, tearless now. She appeared decidedly more accepting of her situation.

  ‘He had to say as much to ensure getting custody,’ she replied with scorn. ‘He’ll no more marry Maude than he’ll sprout wings and fly. He’d be better off trying to charm the daughter of some rich man instead. That’d be more up his street, especially the way the firm’s going. But he won’t, because that thing between his legs rules his head.’

  ‘Well, one outcome should be to your benefit, Aurelia…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ll be free to marry again.’

  She laughed hollowly. ‘Marigold said the same, but who d’you think is going to wed me, even if I wanted to wed again? I’m a fallen woman, remember. I’ve no money either to tempt anybody.’

  ‘You’d be a prize catch,’ he said, and smiled tenderly into her eyes.

  ‘I’m not so sure…’ She took a sip from her glass and looked earnestly into Algie’s eyes. ‘I can’t imagine it. I can’t see it ever happening – but would it bother you if I did remarry?’

  He too took a drink while he formulated his answer. ‘Would I have a say in the matter?’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question,’ she persisted.

  ‘’Struth, you sound like one of those QCs in court. “Please answer yes or no”.’

  His parodying brought a smile to her lips; it sounded so like Philip Abercrombie. ‘But I’d like to know, Algie. Tell me.’

  ‘Yes, it would bother me,’ he admitted.

  ‘You still feel something for me then?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  She reached across the table for his hand, and he let it lie in his with a gentle squeeze. ‘Oh, I know all about feelings,’ she replied with reciprocal pressure from her fingers. ‘If only we could turn them on and off. Life would be so much easier.’

  He looked at her hand as it lay in his – the hand of a lady of leisure – slender fingers, so small, so soft and so smooth. It seemed, too, as if it were somebody else’s hand she had clutched, that it did not belong to him. Yet it did belong to him, and he felt he should withdraw it. This warm physical contact between them, though trifling, was so deliciously appealing and it set the blood coursing through his veins. They were alone together, and it was a poignant moment. So what if they expressed a little tenderness still for each other? It meant those feelings had never been capricious in the first place.