Beyond the Veil of Tears (26 page)

Myrtle gazed at Alice, her brain working furiously. They had met at various times over the last two years during the house parties in the autumn and winter, but it could hardly be said that they
were bosom pals. Alice was a personal maid in every sense of the word and had made it clear she considered Myrtle far beneath her. A well-educated young woman in her own right, her qualifications
and range of skills were excellent, as were her manners and deportment. It was well known that she was devoted to her mistress, and also that Mirabelle thought very highly of Alice and conferred
privileges on her that made her like one of the family. All the other personal maids had been envious of her, and more than a little in awe of this paragon of virtue. Alice would know if Mr Golding
had upset her mistress in some way and, if he had, Alice would be furious.

Throwing caution to the wind, Myrtle said urgently, ‘Alice, I have to see Mr Jefferson about something Mr Golding’s done. He’s a devil, Mr Golding, and I think if Mr Jefferson
knows—’

She stopped as Alice held up her hand, then said to the butler, ‘I’ll deal with this.’

He said not a word as Alice beckoned for Myrtle to follow her, and Myrtle reflected that all the stories about Alice’s power within the household seemed to be true.

For her part, Alice was agog behind her calm, neat facade. She had put two and two together at the time of the attack on her mistress and knew full well Oswald was behind it, although nothing
had been said between mistress and maid about that terrible incident from that day to this. The fact that her mistress’s long-standing affair with Mr Golding had finished at that time, and
the hate and loathing with which she had spoken of him since, were proof enough. And Alice knew that her mistress was aware that she knew; it was one of the many unspoken confidences they
shared.

Alice led Myrtle into the morning room and shut the door behind them. It was a beautiful room and spoke volumes about the Jeffersons’ wealth and power, but all Myrtle was conscious of was
the strong scent of hothouse lilies from the huge bowl of the flowers on an occasional table nearby. Thereafter she could never smell lilies without her stomach churning.

Without preamble Alice said, ‘Well? What’s happened?’

Myrtle didn’t think about not telling Alice. There was only one way she would get to speak to Mr Jefferson and that was through this plain, reserved woman in front of her, who had always
seemed more aristocratic than some of the high-born ladies. Again she repeated, ‘Mr Golding, he’s a devil, Alice. There’s another side to him that’s plain wicked. He hit
Miss Angeline and caused her to fall and lose the baby before Christmas, and now he’s got her locked up in one of them lunatic asylums and won’t let anyone see her. Her uncle tried and
he’s dead – no one knows if it was an accident or what – and because I said what Mr Golding had done, he dismissed me.’

Alice was looking at her in amazement. Weakly, she said, ‘You . . . you need a job?’

‘No, no, it’s not that. I’m married, see,’ she held out her left hand, ‘and we’re nicely settled with our own farm, thanks in part to Miss Angeline – I
mean, Mrs Golding. No, it’s that he’ll keep her in there, Alice. I know it. He won’t let them release her, not ever. And she’s as sane as you and me, so can you imagine what
it must be like? Miss Angeline, of all people.’ Her voice broke and her lip trembled, and she bit down hard on it with her top teeth, telling herself she mustn’t cry. Not now. She
mustn’t appear hysterical or neurotic, or they wouldn’t believe her.

Alice was still staring at her and it was clear she was completely taken aback. After a moment she said, ‘We heard Mrs Golding had lost the baby, of course, and that she was dreadfully
ill, but as far as I’m aware, everyone thinks she is being kept quietly at home until she regains her strength.’

‘Aye, and I know why they think that,’ Myrtle said bitterly. ‘I suppose he put it about she don’t want no visitors, either? The next thing’ll be she’s had a
relapse or a breakdown, and then after that it’ll be she’s in a nursing home or abroad, or something; and by the time someone might find out where she really is, years will have gone
by. She’s got no one to speak up for her, Alice. No one to challenge Mr Golding. And he’s got the doctors in his pocket.’ Lowering her voice she said, ‘She wasn’t
going to stay with him, you know, once the bairn was born. She hinted at it more than once.’

‘A separation, you mean?’

Myrtle shrugged. ‘Perhaps, or she might have just escaped somewhere, I don’t know. Maybe he found out, or maybe he just wanted her locked away so he could carry on with his life
regardless. He never loved her, but then you’d know that.’

Alice ignored the reference to her mistress’s affair with Oswald, but the expression on her face warned Myrtle not to say any more on that matter.

‘I thought Mr Jefferson might speak up for Miss Angeline, Alice. I know there’s no love lost between him and Mr Golding since they had a falling-out.’

‘What do you know about that?’

Alice’s voice had been sharp, but Myrtle warned herself not to reply in like vein. Quietly she said, ‘Not much, except that it seems to have been the cause of Mr Golding’s
attack on Miss Angeline. He blamed her for it, by all accounts.’

They had been standing and now Alice waved to one of the chairs that the room held. ‘Sit down and wait, and I’ll see what I can do. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll
see.’

Myrtle wanted to throw herself on the other girl’s neck and cry with relief. Instead she said softly, ‘Thank you, Alice. Thank you very much.’

Myrtle sat in the morning room, which was tastefully and exquisitely furnished, for more than ten minutes, but when Alice returned, Myrtle couldn’t for the life of her have described one
item in it. Her whole being was willing Alice’s mission to be successful. If Mr Jefferson refused to see her, she didn’t know what else to do. And as Albert had put it, gentry turning
against gentry and backing the likes of her was highly unlikely. But it wasn’t
her
, she told herself, as though in the telling she could convince Mr Jefferson. It was Miss
Angeline’s well-being that was at stake here. If she could just see Mirabelle’s husband and tell him that – explain how things were – he’d surely see that he had to do
something? But then the upper classes were a different breed. Who knew how he would react?

She jumped to her feet when Alice came into the room.

‘Come along.’ Alice’s voice was neutral.

‘He’ll see me?’

‘Follow me and be quiet.’

Myrtle did as she was told. She had little option to do anything else.

Alice led the way across the hall and paused outside a door halfway down its vast expanse. After knocking once, she opened it and ushered Myrtle in, following her and then shutting it
quietly.

Mirabelle Jefferson was sitting on a sofa going through the menu for a dinner party she was holding the next day, with her cook at her side. She glanced at Myrtle, then said to the cook,
‘That’s settled then, Cook. A selection of desserts including orange soufflé, compote of pears, sweet omelettes, and sweet and savoury jellies; and don’t forget the ices
with praline and sugared violets. Lady March is enamoured of your ices. Oh, and a selection of nougat and chocolate creams – strawberry, mint and coffee, I think. Is everything clear? Good.
That’s all for now. Just remember to cook Mr Riches’s quail to a cinder, the way he likes it. Revolting, I know, but the man’s a philistine when it comes to food.’

The cook bustled out, already looking harassed. Myrtle could imagine that by the time the meal was over the kitchen maids would be in tears and the cook would be tearing her hair out.

She had no time to reflect on the misfortune of those below stairs, however, not when faced with her own. It had been bad enough when she thought she was going to be confronted by Mr Jefferson,
but Mr Golding’s ex-mistress was ten times worse.

‘So?’ Mirabelle had been more than a little intrigued with the story Alice had discreetly whispered in her ear. ‘Why did you lie to my butler, girl? Mr Jefferson has been in
France for the last week and is not expected home until tomorrow afternoon. Even if that were not the case, I doubt my husband would have agreed to see you. Why should I believe the rest of what
you related to Alice is true, if you lied about that?’

‘
I had to lie about the appointment!
’ The words came out too loud, and then Myrtle jerked her chin upwards as if in denial of the tone of her voice, before adding quickly,
‘I’m sorry, ma’am. What I mean to say is that, if I hadn’t said I had an appointment with Mr Jefferson, I wouldn’t have got inside the door. I know that, ma’am.
And I would have said or done anything to be able to speak to Mr Jefferson about what’s happened to Miss Angeline – I mean, Mrs Golding. And it’s true, it’s all true, as God
Himself is my witness.’

Aware that for all her bravado the girl in front of her was near to tears, Mirabelle’s manner softened. ‘Sit down.’ She pointed to a chair set at an angle to the sofa on which
she was sitting. ‘And, Alice, would you tell Routledge we are not to be interrupted and then return here, please.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Mirabelle said not a word until Alice had reappeared and shut the door behind her. After motioning for her maid to come and join her on the sofa, Mirabelle fixed Myrtle with her vivid green
eyes. ‘Tell me from the beginning. Leave nothing out, but exaggerate nothing either, do you understand?’

Myrtle nodded. The beginning. Where did the beginning start? Long before Miss Angeline had married that fiend; probably that evening in Mr Hector’s house when Mr Golding had assaulted her
with his eyes. But she couldn’t mention that here. Probably best to begin with how Miss Angeline had come back a changed girl after her week in London when she’d wed Mr Golding. She
drew in a deep breath. ‘On her wedding day Miss Angeline was the happiest bride in all creation. She fair worshipped Mr Golding, and he made sure he did and said all the right
things.’

‘You don’t think Mr Golding’s feelings were genuine?’

‘He played her like a violin, ma’am.’ Myrtle waited a moment, but when Mirabelle made no comment, she went on, ‘When she came back from their week in London something had
happened – something bad. She didn’t talk of it, but I know her eyes had been opened to what he was really like.
Is
like.’ Myrtle hesitated. This woman had been Mr
Golding’s mistress for years. What if she still carried a torch for him, despite their falling-out? She must have loved him, and love was a funny thing. What if she went to see him and told
him all this? She’d be in deep trouble.

Myrtle caught herself. She had come too far – in distance as well as resolve – to mince words now.

Gathering her thoughts, she went on, ‘Miss Angeline was terribly unhappy. I don’t know what went on behind closed doors, but it’s my belief he treated her harshly.’

Mirabelle leaned forward. ‘Do you mean physically?’

‘In every way, ma’am. He’s . . . he’s a bully. Like I told Alice, I think she was planning to leave him. She never said that in so many words, but she gave me the
impression that was so. And then she found out she was expecting the bairn, the baby. He . . . he left her alone for a time after that. And then one day he comes home in a fury and he attacks her
and she loses the baby. Bashed her in the face, he did, and she broke her nose—’

‘You were there, in the room?’

That again. Myrtle tried to stay calm. ‘No, ma’am, I came when she screamed, but it was too late then. He – Mr Golding – said she slipped and fell, but where I grew up
there were plenty of women who looked like Miss Angeline did after their men had got paid on a Friday night and been to the pub. He hit her all right. Miss Angeline herself told me he was angry
because, begging your pardon, ma’am, your husband had turned against him because you and Mr Golding had had a falling-out and he – Mr Golding, that is – blamed Miss Angeline for
it. She didn’t know what he was on about, ma’am.’

‘You’re saying Mr Golding assaulted his wife, which resulted in her losing the child, because of me?’

‘No, ma’am; no, I’m not saying it’s your fault, ma’am.’ Myrtle was beside herself. Mrs Jefferson was her only hope in helping Miss Angeline, and she’d
offended her. ‘Please, ma’am, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry . . . ’

Mirabelle waved her hand. ‘I’m not angry, girl. I’m trying to get to the bottom of this.’

‘It was something to do with Mr Jefferson and Mr Golding gambling – the reason Mr Golding was so angry, ma’am. He,’ Myrtle gulped, ‘he thought Mr Jefferson was
seeing to it that he lost. He . . . he said he was being cheated.’

Mirabelle turned and looked at Alice and the two women exchanged a long glance for a moment.

‘Please believe me, ma’am. I swear it’s the truth and—’

Again Mirabelle held up her hand. ‘I have no reason to doubt you . . . what is your name?’

‘Myrtle, ma’am.’

‘I have no reason to doubt you, Myrtle. And let me say it would not surprise me at all that Mr Golding ill-treated his wife. But to assault her when she was carrying his child is
unforgivable.’

‘It was a little girl, ma’am, the bairn. Perfect she was, but too small. Fitted in me two hands, she did. Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am.’

Mirabelle had made an anguished sound deep in her throat, and Alice glared at Myrtle, sounding quite unlike herself as she hissed, ‘Shut up. Just shut up!’

‘It’s all right, Alice.’ Mirabelle’s first pregnancy had resulted in a miscarriage at six months, the longest she’d subsequently carried a baby, and the child had
been a girl. She gave Myrtle no explanation, saying, ‘Go on with your story.’

With a quick glance at the glowering Alice, Myrtle said hesitantly, ‘Miss Angeline nearly died afterwards with the bleeding, but Mr Golding had me thrown out the next morning. I went back
later, but I couldn’t see her. And then the nurse who’d been looking after her came to Miss Angeline’s uncle’s house’ – Myrtle had decided to leave out the
matter of the letter to her, thinking it carried more weight if they believed the nurse had come to speak to Angeline’s uncle – ‘where my husband worked then, and told Mr Hector
that Mr Golding had had her committed to the asylum. She, the nurse, said that although Miss Angeline was still poorly, there was nothing wrong with her mind. That . . . that was five months ago,
ma’am, and Mr Golding won’t let anyone visit or anything. I’ve tried, ma’am, but it’s no good. It . . . it needs someone with authority, like Mr Jefferson, to speak
for her. She’s not mad, ma’am, I know she’s not, but being in that place . . . ’