Chapter Fifteen 1902 #5
‘Miss Breton, who died. I think . . . I think she died because of my husband!’
‘You what?’
It poured out. Missy’s skull; the way she’d died so suddenly; the way Ralph had bought the right to dissect her.
Miss Breton, and how very similarly she had met her end.
Ralph’s ambition, and all the times he’d slipped up and said something careless about his failures, and about not having enough patients with head injuries to work upon.
‘And if I’m right . . . If I am right, then Kit Meriwether didn’t kill Missy at all! Do you see? He was never responsible, though he was hanged. And I . . . I don’t know how I shall ever prove it. I don’t know what to do!’
Audrey sat silent when Theo finished. Her eyes were glassy with shock, but behind them Theo saw her turning it over and over.
‘You cannot bring him back, miss,’ she said eventually. ‘The lad that hanged . . . he’s gone.’
‘I know. But his family are still alive. They could have his good name restored, and bring home what remains of him, at last. Home from the prison.’
Audrey nodded. ‘Yes. I see.’
Theo grabbed one of her hands, staring into her face. ‘If I am right . . .’ she said. ‘If I am right about my husband, and what he has done . . . then how could I ever love such a man? A man who would do such things?’
‘How could anybody, miss?’ Audrey was grave.
‘All this time I have thought the fault was mine, but . . . perhaps I have been right to keep my heart from him?’
‘I’ve never thought the fault was yours, miss. Not once.’
And, as so often happened, Audrey came up with a solution.
Two weeks later, Ralph came home with a copy of The Western Chronicle in his fist, and his face twitching with anger.
Theo recoiled when she saw him; they hadn’t expected him back until the evening.
The weather was humid; the sky clotted with clouds.
She was in the garden with Arthur, playing with his building blocks, and before they could even say hello Ralph had grabbed Theo’s wrist and hauled her to her feet.
‘Leave that and come with me. I want a word.’
He hurried her indoors, leaving Arthur standing uncertainly with one blue wooden block in his hand.
‘Ralph, please – you’re hurting me,’ Theo said pointlessly.
Inside, he spun around and held the newspaper so close to her face she could smell the ink.
‘Was this you, Theo? Was it?’
‘Was what me? I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh, really?’
He glared at her, a vein writhing at his temple.
She shook her head desperately, but she did know.
She’d written to the newspaper editor anonymously, as Audrey had suggested.
A letter of support for Mr Breton, deploring the way his concerns had been ignored by the medical establishment; suggesting that, if the house surgeon had been reckless, there may well be other such cases in the hospital’s recent history.
Suggesting that Mr Breton – and the newspaper – put out an appeal for any similarly troubled relatives to come forward.
Her heart raced with the anticipation of violence. There was no way he could have found out; but then, she’d thought that about her day out with Timothy Crudge. Ralph screwed the newspaper in his hands, then cuffed her around the head with it, speaking through gritted teeth.
‘You never could lie very well, Theo. I know all about your concerns regarding one such operation I performed. All your insinuations . . . Was this you? I will have the truth!’
She shrank from him. ‘Ralph, stop!’
‘Tell me the truth!’
‘I know nothing about it!’
Ralph hit her with the paper again, which was more humiliating than painful; then shoved her so hard that she stumbled back and crashed against a table, where a vase fell on to its side and broke cleanly in half with a loud slop of water, scattering the flower stems. The corner of the table drove into Theo’s stomach and she gagged, sinking to her knees, as Ralph aimed a kick that caught her hip and flung her back against the table.
She heard the wood splinter. All she could do was curl up, hands over her head, and try to protect herself until it ran its course.
She fought for air; pain radiated from her hip, and the leg on that side was numb and useless.
‘Get up,’ Ralph said.
She felt him wrestling for one of her arms, endeavouring to drag her up.
Then Ralph grunted, and something clattered to the floor beside Theo. She opened her eyes and saw a small blue block, and looked up, horrified. There was Arthur, standing by the door, eyes huge and fixed on his father. He’d thrown it, she realised. Thrown it to try to stop Ralph.
‘Run and play, Arty,’ she gasped. ‘Off you go! Run and play!’
But Ralph had him before he could.
‘Am I to be attacked by my own son, now? How dare you? It is your mother who has asked for this treatment! Come here, boy!’
He dragged Arthur to a chair, sat down and threw him over his knees.
‘Oh, Ralph, please don’t!’ Theo cried. ‘Please – he’s so little! He doesn’t understand—’
Ralph fixed her with a furious look. ‘Do you imagine that I enjoy this? You have turned him against me! But he must learn that I am to be obeyed.’
‘Mama!’ Arthur wailed.
Ralph took off his shoe and brought it down hard on Arthur’s behind, three, four times. It made a terrible sound.
Only their breathing broke the silence afterwards. Then Arthur started to cry. Theo crawled towards him and he wriggled backwards off his father’s lap, bolting into her arms. She looked up to check that Ralph had finished, and in that moment, she hated him.
‘Are we raising a boy, or a snivelling little girl?’ Ralph said. But perhaps something in her expression hit home, because he seemed less sure of himself. ‘Theo . . .’ he said quietly.
She ignored him, rocking her son, as Ralph put his shoe back on and left them there.
‘There, now,’ she said, setting Arthur back and finding a smile. ‘Soon it won’t hurt at all.’
She got to her feet, wincing. Her left leg was still dead from the kick, and the hip itself was throbbing, but the fire below her ribs was now only embers. ‘There – see?’ she said. ‘I’m quite all right, too. Let’s go upstairs, shall we?’
An hour later Arthur had recovered, and was looking at one of his picture books. But Theo knew, in her bones, that this was only the start of it for him. And she knew she couldn’t stand it. She asked Audrey to send for a cab, and set about packing a bag.
Ralph stopped them by the front door.
‘What’s this? Where are you off to?’ he asked conversationally, as though nothing had happened. Theo tightened her grip on Arthur’s hand.
‘Away,’ she said.
‘Away? Where? And why?’
‘You know why.’ Theo’s voice shook. ‘Audrey, please take Arthur to the carriage. I’ll be along in just a moment.’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘You will address your mistress as madam,’ Ralph snapped. Audrey ignored him.
Theo turned to face her husband. ‘I will not let you beat him, Ralph.’
‘I am the boy’s father,’ he said, his voice lacking conviction. ‘Theo—’
‘He is four years old, and he was trying to protect me. I will not let you beat him.’
‘Where are you going?’
Theo’s gaze slid away. ‘Somewhere safe.’
Ralph stepped closer. ‘I see. But if you intend to go to that man, Theo – to your uncle – then know that I will bring the full weight of the law down upon him. Mark my words. I shall have him hauled before a court to answer for his unnatural ways, and all the world will know his debauchery.’
Theo caught her breath. Of course she’d planned to go to Crudge – it was the only place she could run to. Triumph and anger turned Ralph’s handsome face ugly.
‘I plan . . . to see my mother,’ she whispered. ‘You must do nothing to harm Mr Crudge. He is perfectly innocent.’
‘Is he hell.’ Ralph spoke with quiet intensity.
‘But I’ll have no need to spare him a thought, so long as you keep away from him.
’ He leaned towards her before she could pull away, kissed her cheek and whispered: ‘To Hallewell with you, then. A little holiday, during which time I suggest you think upon your duties as my wife.’
Diana was pleased, if bemused, to see her daughter and grandson. She pressed her cheek to Theo’s without actually kissing her, and patted Arthur on the head.
‘Had we a plan for you to visit?’
‘No, I just . . . I wanted to come away for a while,’ Theo said. ‘And to see you.’
Diana clasped her hands. ‘How lovely. We’ve a full house, so I’m afraid it’s rather busy.’ They turned to go inside, and Diana frowned. ‘Theo, why are you walking in that peculiar fashion?’
‘I’ve hurt my leg,’ Theo said. ‘I . . . tripped. On the stairs.’
‘Well, you ought to be more careful. You’ll want to go and unpack – I’m glad you’ve brought Audrey, because poor Kitty has quite enough to do. Now, I must get back to Mr and Mrs Collard, who wish to tour the castle. Unless – I don’t suppose you might like to take them . . . ?’
‘My leg is rather sore, Mama.’
She settled Arthur for a nap on the cot bed that had been set up next to hers.
Audrey stayed with him – her nose in a book – and Theo, careful not to be seen by her mother, went out into the buttery light of the afternoon.
She walked slowly to West End, thinking of David Meriwether, who made that walk every day with his far more severely lamed leg.
The way seemed longer, the hills steeper.
At St Mary’s she paid her respects to her father, who lay in the Hallewell tomb, before going to stand beside Missy’s grave.