An older, soberly dressed gentleman came towards them, his red sagging cheeks lifting as he smiled. ‘Mr Franks, what a pleasure to see you again, sir. Permit me to show you the way.’
‘Thank you, Robbins. It’s good to see you too. This is Mrs Hibbert, whom I’m representing.’
Mr Robbins led them back the way he had come, rounding a corner and opening a door. ‘You’re early, sir. Do you wish to go in now?’
Nell suppressed a shudder. ‘I don’t want to sit in there waiting.’
‘If you wait elsewhere,’ said Jim, ‘you may find yourself walking in under the public gaze. If you go in now, you can sit with your back to the public seating, and when people are admitted, no one need see your face.’
She walked in. Well, this room was nothing to worry about: there was hardly any space for onlookers. Then she realised it was an anteroom and Mr Robbins was showing them to the door on the other side, which opened onto a disappointingly spacious room. A splendid desk at one end faced the room and everything else faced the desk. To the side at the top end of the room were smaller desks in front of a bookcase containing leather-bound volumes. In front of the desk were two tables, each with two chairs, and behind these were three rows of wooden seats. Nell hoped no one would be ghoulish enough to occupy any of those.
Jim indicated the table further away and pulled out a chair for her. He said, ‘I shan’t be long,’ and left.
She half-rose, then sank back, heart thumping. She was perfectly capable of sitting at a table on her own. The sound of the door opening made her look round. A lady and gentleman walked in. Nell pulled her handbag onto her knee and took a great interest in its contents. By the time Jim took the seat beside her, there were several murmured conversations going on behind her and she was frozen with shame.
He spoke quietly. ‘Your husband’s solicitor is Bernard Norton and the magistrate is Mr Aitcheson.’
‘What is he like?’
‘He’s a bit of a stuffed shirt, but that’s only to be expected in a magistrate of his age.’
‘A stuffed shirt will be horrified by Stan’s bigamy.’ Stan was going to be sorry for dragging her here. Before the morning was out, she would have ground him beneath her heel.
‘I don’t mean to knock your confidence,’ Jim murmured, ‘but don’t forget that we still don’t know the nature of Mr Hibbert’s complaint.’
‘It can’t be anything bad because I’ve never done anything bad. A trumped-up matter: that’s all it can be. He was stupid to demand my savings and now he’s added to his stupidity by doing this.’
‘Whatever it is, Bernard Norton doesn’t think it’s stupid. Here they are.’
Nell looked across to where Stan and a balding gentleman were taking their places at the other table. Stan wore his campaign medals on his jacket. Whose idea was that? A fat lot of good it would do him once Mr Aitcheson got wind of his bigamy.
He winked at her and her mouth dropped open in astonishment.
‘Mrs Hibbert,’ said Jim and she turned to find him on his feet, ‘may I present Mr Fairbrother?’
‘How do you do?’ Mr Fairbrother was a distinguished gentleman with important-looking whiskers. He had a rumbly voice, which made him sound kindly – until you noticed his eyes. They weren’t cold or unkind, but they were sharp and would miss nothing.
Nell murmured a greeting. He gave her a courtly bow.
‘Mr Fairbrother is a former senior colleague of mine,’ said Jim. ‘I have informed him of your situation and he is here as an observer in case I need to consult him.’
Fairbrother! But she could hardly ask.
‘All rise.’
A door behind the handsome desk opened and two men took up their positions at the desks at the side of the room. A dumpy man with a hooked nose marched in and permitted a minion to pull out his chair. The minion also placed some papers on the desk.
‘You may sit.’
A discreet rustle whispered around the room as everyone obeyed. How many watchers were there in the public seats?
Mr Aitcheson spread out the papers. ‘The Hibbert matter: unfortunate business.’ He looked up without raising his head, as if he were peering over the tops of non-existent spectacles. ‘Are there ladies present? Kindly remove them.’
Jim was on his feet in an instant. ‘Mr Aitcheson, I must protest—’
‘Duly noted.’ He glanced towards the rear of the room. ‘Show the ladies out, will you? Not fit for their ears.’
Not fit? There was a kettledrum inside Nell’s chest, delivering deep, echoing thumps that reverberated through her body and packed her ears. She turned to Jim, but he silenced her with a glance. From behind her came the muted sounds of departure, and something else too, an alertness in the air, as if the men were sitting up straighter.
Mr Aitcheson eyed Nell. Her skin prickled.
‘Mr Franks,’ the magistrate began.
Jim stood up again. ‘Sir, if you’re about to suggest that Mrs Hibbert should be required to leave, I’d like to state for the record that this would be highly inappropriate. As one of the people concerned in this matter, and as the person against whom this case has been brought, she is entitled to be present. Indeed, her presence is essential.’
‘Is it?’ replied Mr Aitcheson. ‘She has you to represent her interests.’ His gaze slid between Nell and Jim to someone behind them – Mr Fairbrother? – and then he glanced over to the clerks at the desks in front of the bookcase. ‘Very well. She may remain, but you’ll be accountable for her good conduct. I don’t want any hysteria or suchlike.’
‘Mrs Hibbert’s conduct will be impeccable, sir,’ said Jim. He resumed his seat.
Nell’s muscles quivered with rage. She moved a fraction, slanting her body away from Jim. It wasn’t his fault, but she couldn’t help it.
Mr Aitcheson poised his pen over a sheet of paper, as though about to take down every word in Pitman’s shorthand. ‘This seems to me a straightforward matter. I hope it can quickly be brought to a conclusion, so I can have my luncheon.’ He looked over his non-existent spectacles at Nell as if it would be her fault if his lamb chops got cold, then waved his hand in Mr Norton’s direction. ‘Proceed.’
Mr Norton rose. ‘Thank you, sir. My client, Mr Stanley Hibbert of Annerby, Lancashire, is here to make amends with his estranged wife, Eleanor Margaret Hibbert, late of Annerby, now residing in Chorlton-cum-Hardy. I’m sure Mr Hibbert joins you in wishing for a speedy resolution, not least because his presence here means he is absent from his long-time employment and hence he is not receiving his salary. I hope the court will take this into account as a sign of how serious this matter is to him.’
‘Duly noted.’ Mr Aitcheson wafted his pen over the paper, but didn’t write anything. ‘Proceed.’
Mr Norton favoured Nell with a smile – signifying what? – before addressing the magistrate. ‘My client and his wife have been estranged for over two years. I say estranged and yet I hesitate to use the word, as it might be taken to suggest mutual agreement, which is not the case. The fact is, Mr Aitcheson – and may I at this point offer my gratitude for your delicacy in having the ladies removed from the proceedings – that Mrs Hibbert left her husband.’
A frisson ran round the room and darted up Nell’s spine, shaking droplets of disapproval inside her.
Jim was on his feet. ‘Sir, the circumstances—’
‘—are about to be explained by Mr Norton.’ The pen wafted two or three inches above the paper. ‘Proceed.’
‘The circumstances are indeed distressing,’ said Mr Norton. ‘Mrs Hibbert not only left her husband, but flat out ran away. There was no discussion, no argument, no gradual disintegration of the marriage. This gentleman,’ and he stepped aside as though to allow Stan ample space to soak up everyone’s sympathy, ‘arrived home one evening at the end of an honest day’s labour to find his home cold and empty. This man, this former soldier, who served his country in the Great War, found himself abandoned.’
Mr Aitch
eson’s gaze flicked in Nell’s direction. ‘Is this true?’
‘Well … yes, but—’
‘Proceed.’
‘Furthermore, Mrs Hibbert took with her Mr Hibbert’s son and heir.’
Murmurs and movements from behind her made Nell squirm. Why didn’t Jim stand up for her?
‘Mr Hibbert has not laid eyes on his son from that day to this,’ Mr Norton added.
‘He didn’t need to,’ Nell muttered. ‘He’s got at least one other son to keep him occupied.’
Mr Aitcheson addressed Jim. ‘Do you dispute this, Mr Franks, or may we accept all this as fact?’
Jim rose. ‘What Mr Norton says is true, but these are not all the facts. Mrs Hibbert—’
‘—will have her turn in due course,’ said Mr Aitcheson, wafting his pen.
‘Rather than continue with his heavily biased view of events, sir,’ said Jim, ‘perhaps Mr Norton would be good enough to explain why my client has been summoned here today.’
About time too! Those disapproving men behind her would change their minds about Stan when they heard the truth.
Mr Norton inclined his head. ‘Mr Hibbert has lodged a complaint against Mrs Hibbert that she abandoned him and deprived him and their son of a normal family life.’ He spoke directly to Mr Aitcheson. ‘It is Mr Hibbert’s wish, sir, that his family should be returned to him.’
How was she to make amends with Hilda? The lively, laughing girl who had brought such pride and happiness to her and Hedley’s lives might have grown into a disappointing droopy-drawers, but she was still Leonie’s beloved only child and she couldn’t bear to have bad blood between them. Knowing it was her own fault made it harder. How could she have been so carried away by her admiration for Nell as to say something that was bound to hurt Hilda?
Mind you, trust Hilda to take it the wrong way. Leonie pressed a hand to her breast. Where had that treacherous thought sprung from?
Well, she was going to put things right. Talking to Hilda hadn’t helped. In fact, it had made it worse. So that left one possibility: Edmund.
Reluctance, tinged with resentment, uncoiled inside her. Edmund was the last person she wanted to turn to, but no one else could make a difference. Besides, wasn’t she the one who had urged Nell to make amends with her brother-in-law? She had no business pressing Nell to do the decent thing if she wasn’t prepared to do the equivalent, and that meant approaching Edmund.
No time like the present. She would take Cassie round to Annie’s, and that would free her to tackle Edmund.
Nell sucked in her breath so sharply, it felt like sandpaper scraping her throat. Did Stan really imagine she would go back to him? And why did he want her? What about Mrs Vicarage Lane?
‘Silence!’ called a voice.
Jim was on his feet. ‘Mr Aitcheson.’
‘If I might trouble you to restrain yourself,’ said Mr Norton, ‘I haven’t quite finished.’ He looked at the magistrate.
Mr Aitcheson nodded. ‘Proceed.’
‘In making this request, Mr Hibbert extends it to include his wife’s young daughter, even though there is a question as to the child’s paternity—’
Nell’s chair crashed over backwards as she sprang up. Her palms slapped the tabletop as she glared at Stan. She felt like upending the table.
‘How dare you! I left you in the February and Cassie were born in September and I’ve got the birth certificate to prove it.’
‘So you left your husband, knowing you were carrying his child,’ said Mr Norton, ‘a child of whom he knew nothing until he read about her in the newspaper.’
‘Mr Franks,’ said Mr Aitcheson, ‘kindly control your client. You assured me there would be no hysterics.’
Jim had hold of her arm, but she wouldn’t sit down. He said quietly, ‘You aren’t helping yourself.’
‘At least I’m trying, which is more than you are.’
His expression didn’t change. ‘If you don’t calm yourself, he’ll make you leave.’
She yanked her arm free and resumed her seat.
‘I apologise for my client,’ said Jim, ‘but I’m sure every respectable, right-minded gentleman present can appreciate her indignation and distress at hearing herself maligned in that way.’
‘Perhaps,’ suggested Mr Norton, ‘the gentlemen present would be more inclined to be sympathetic had Mrs Hibbert not deserted her husband in the first place.’
‘Yes, let’s discuss that, shall we?’ said Jim. ‘It’s time Mrs Hibbert’s side of the story is heard.’
Mr Aitcheson coughed. ‘If you don’t mind, Mr Franks, we’ll proceed at my pace, not yours. Mr Norton, have you anything to add on behalf of Mr Hibbert?’
‘Not at this time, sir.’
Mr Aitcheson looked at Jim over the rims of his invisible glasses. ‘Proceed.’
‘It is true that Mrs Hibbert left her husband; it is true that she did so as a matter of suddenness.’
‘On a whim, you mean?’
‘No, sir. She did it in response to the discovery that Mr Hibbert is a bigamist.’
More murmurs and rustling from behind. Nell started to feel vindicated, but it didn’t last. The atmosphere wasn’t one of sympathy so much as fascination. The audience was lapping up the show.
Mr Aitcheson lifted his head properly. ‘A bigamist? Are you certain?’
‘Allow Mrs Hibbert to tell you herself.’
‘Not if she’s going to fall into another fit of the vapours.’
‘I assure you, sir, my client has full control of her senses.’ Jim sat down.
Nell stood. ‘Stan’s other wife had a baby and the district nurse came to my house by mistake. I went to the nurses’ station and found the other wife’s address and when I went round there, she said she was Mrs Stanley Hibbert.’
‘Are you the wife of Mr Hibbert’s first or second marriage ceremony?’ asked Mr Aitcheson.
‘The first.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I saw it with my own eyes. My Alf – my son is older than her son.’
‘So you are the legal wife.’
Nell lifted her chin. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Which makes it all the more unreasonable that you left your husband and broke up his family.’
‘He had another family to console him,’ she snapped. Jim softly cleared his throat: a warning. ‘Real wife or not, sir, I were shocked and furious at the bigamy. I wanted to rescue my son from any danger of seeing his father’s other family.’
‘Does your son know of the bigamy?’
‘No, sir. He believes his father was a good, hard-working man, who loved us and served his country.’ Please let that be sufficient.
‘Where does your son think his father is now?’
Oh, lord, now she was for it. ‘He thinks—I told him his father is dead, sir.’
There were exclamations from behind, low-voiced but full of consternation. One of the clerks called ‘Silence!’ and the room subsided.
‘That’s disgraceful,’ declared Mr Aitcheson.
‘She had to tell him something, I suppose.’ Mr Norton was on his feet. His voice was reasonable, but his eyes were sly. ‘Who else has been told this lie, Mrs Hibbert?’
She froze. What could she say that wouldn’t damn her?
‘Perhaps I might spare the lady’s blushes,’ said Mr Norton. ‘Should we assume everyone you know in Manchester believes you to be a widow?’
‘And what if they do?’ Jim came to his feet. ‘How else was Mrs Hibbert to cope? You may frown upon her decision to leave her bigamous husband, but you cannot deny the steadiness of character and the honest maternal love that prompted her to extricate her child from a situation that would in time result in scandal and lasting shame. Mrs Hibbert values her respectability and everything about her life in Manchester attests to that.’
‘I’m sure it does,’ said Mr Norton, ‘if you overlook the fact that her husband is alive and well.’
‘One moment,’ said Mr Aitcheson.
One of the clerks had come forward to offer him a piece of paper. He read it, then had a whispered conversation with the clerk before lapsing into thought. Nell was ready to leap up and strangle him by the time he looked over his non-existent glasses and addressed his listeners.
‘It has been brought to my attention that higher courts than this have shown leniency to bigamists in recent years in cases where the bigamy was committed by a man who served his country in the Great War and made the so-called marriage after returning from active service. This isn’t to say bigamy is ever acceptable, but no one benefits if two families are left without a breadwinner.’
It beggared belief. Was Stan going to get off scot-free?
Mr Norton stood up. He looked pleased with himself. Too pleased.
‘Mr Aitcheson, I understand, indeed I share, the court’s distaste for the leniency you have described. It is, however, by the by in this instance.’ He paused, extending the moment. ‘Mrs Hibbert may have felt at the time that she had ample reason to believe in her husband’s bigamy, but she was mistaken. Mr Stanley Hibbert never went through a second marriage ceremony with the other woman.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Leonie felt tense and trapped, but more than anything she felt determined. The hooter sounded and she walked through the gates and across the yard. Inside, the building smelt of ink and wooden floors laced with the tang of oiled machinery.
A young fellow in a brown overall stopped to speak to her. ‘You look lost. Can I help you?’
‘No need,’ came a familiar voice. ‘I’ll take care of our visitor.’ And there was Edmund in his shirtsleeves, with elbow-garters up his forearms to prevent his sleeves from sliding down. ‘What brings you here?’ His voice was rich and deep, pleasing to listen to. No one overhearing him would imagine that he had as good as slung her out of her home of forty years.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner hour, but I have to speak to you.’
‘About Hilda?’
‘I’ll take five minutes of your time.’
A Respectable Woman Page 28
