A Loveless Marriage

Chapter 37: Fred

The worst thing about prison was the boredom or maybe the food. Either way, it was incredibly tedious being locked up in a cell with only books for company. My wife often read through choice, when she wasn't sewing or making lace, but for me reading was the last refuge of the bored. I wished I could watch Mary read though, the lamplight glowing through her hair as she was absorbed in another world. I had always loved watching her reading, right from the early days of our marriage. Perhaps it was because when she was engaged in reading, she was not looking at me with disappointment.

That first glance of Mary in the court had shook me, just seeing her made me want to hold her again. I had not wanted her to come, knowing how hideous the case would be. I did not want her to look at me with disappointment, I did not want her to worry. She was surrounded by friends, including the ever-faithful spaniel, William Chorley. Maybe if she surrounded herself with tiny dogs like her dear friend the Marchioness, she would have no need for Chorley any more.

It had taken all my self-restraint not to laugh through the prosecution's opening statement, a soliloquy so fantastical that it was absurd. The idea that I was a moustache-twirling villain who lured an innocent man to his house then murdered him was laughable. I would have beaten him to death, I would have used my money to ensure he was ruined but I would never have murdered him in Mary's room and left her to find the body. Not only would that be a very stupid move that would lead the police to the door, but it would be cruel to my wife. I'd never been cruel to her on purpose.

On the first day of my trial. Mary wore a white dress, with a black hat and black sash, the simple clothing set off her natural beauty. A picture of both innocence and grief. I wondered if the black was mourning for me or mourning for Daniel Mordaunt. Although I believed her when she told me he'd raped her, I also believed her when she'd told me she'd loved him once. It wasn't jealousy I felt, but a nagging fear that Mary was grieving the loss of Daniel Mordaunt more than my absence, that she had once loved him more than she could ever love me. He had been the man she choose to love, I was the man she loved despite herself. Had Daniel Mordaunt not hurt her, would she be pining for him still? The idea was too terrible to bear. No, that was the worst thing about prison, it gave you too much time to think. Perhaps instead she mourned for me, locked up in Pentonville. In my bleakest moments, I felt like I was half in the grave already.

After Harriet's testimony about the fight, they brought in the gardener's boy who confirmed that I had been the one to throw the first punch against Daniel and that he had fetched my wife for fear I would kill him. Nobody knew the reason for the fight and they would never know. That was Mary's secret to keep. Besides, the truth would do me no favours; if the jury knew that Daniel had raped Mary, they would see clearly I had the motive.

The thing that troubled me most was the forged note. The note that lured Daniel Mordaunt to our house in the middle of the night, when Mary was alone. My suspicion was that Daniel Mordaunt had written it himself as an excuse to visit, to justify why he was there if he was challenged. Mary had been frightened since his visit, her nightmares had returned. I'd held her night after night.  As I slept alone in my prison cell, I wondered who would calm her through her nightmares. Perhaps, her lady's maid and faithful shadow. My mind wandered to Colette, with her fierce black eyes, her golden-olive skin and her deep distrust of me. She knew her mistress better than anyone bar me. Firing her English maid and replacing her with an exotic Algerian was the first time Mary had been outwardly unconventional and unbothered by the reaction. In Colette, Mary had found a servant, a confident and an ally, someone who would know what Mary wanted before she even asked. Those keen, black eyes would watch everything like a hawk, a sleepless night or two would not go unnoticed. I wondered what haunted Mary's nightmares, was it Daniel or was it the cold, black water where her mother tried to drown her? Whatever she was dreaming, I missed holding her in my arms. I wondered  if I would ever get the chance to hold her again.