Beyond the Veil of Tears (40 page)

When Jack stepped back, Oswald was grey with pain, and for a moment he couldn’t speak as he held his injured arm. Then he muttered, ‘Damn it, he’s broken my arm.’

‘Strained it, I think you will find,’ said Mr Havelock, sincerely hoping Golding wasn’t right.

‘I’ll have the law on him.’

At this point the secretary said quietly, ‘This gentleman was most obnoxious, Mr Havelock, and Mr Connor was forced to restrain him. Both Jinny and I were witness to this.’

‘You the Havelock who wrote this letter?’ Oswald continued to massage his arm after he’d thrust the letter at Jim Havelock. ‘My wife has been dead seven years, and then I
get this. How do you expect me to react?’

‘Come into my office, Mr Golding, but there is little I can say, beyond what is written in the letter. I would advise you to give instructions to your own solicitor, so that matters can
proceed. Mrs Golding is my client, you understand?’

‘Matters can proceed?’ Oswald glared at the solicitor. ‘Oh, believe me, matters will proceed all right. My wife – if in fact this woman
is
my wife, which is yet
to be proved – is deranged. If it is her, she needs locking away, and quickly. She escaped from a lunatic asylum, seven years ago. Did she tell you that? All this time I’ve thought she
was dead, killed in the fire that night; a fire she probably started herself, thinking about it. I have doctors who will confirm that she’s mentally unfit.’

‘If you haven’t seen her for seven years, how do you know she is mentally unfit?’ Jack couldn’t stop himself, earning a cautionary narrowing of the eyes from Jim
Havelock.

‘Come into my office, Mr Golding,’ the solicitor said again. ‘Can I get you a coffee before you go?’

‘Damn your coffee!’ Oswald swung round to Jack. ‘And you – you haven’t heard the last of this.’ Looking at the solicitor again, he snarled, ‘You ought
to be careful who you employ. Someone like him could get you into a lot of trouble.’

‘I am more than happy with my clerk’s services, Mr Golding,’ Jim Havelock returned calmly. ‘And if there is nothing more we can do for you . . . ’

‘You take this on, you’ll regret it.’ Oswald’s voice quivered with fury. ‘I’ll see to it that you’re ruined, I promise you that. Representing a madwoman
– you’ll be a laughing stock. You hear me?’

The solicitor, his countenance still imperturbable, stared back at the man whom his client had described as evil. And he could see why. Oh yes, indeed. ‘Good day to you, sir.’ He
glanced at Jack. ‘If you could show Mr Golding out, please.’

With a harsh oath, Oswald turned and wrenched the door open, banging it violently behind him as he left. For a moment the four of them remained still, and then Jim Havelock let out a long
breath, just as his son, who had been in court with a client that morning, came in, saying, ‘Who the dickens was that, who just left here? Nearly knocked me off my feet. In a devil of a
temper, wasn’t he?’

Devil was right. Jack was too wound up to speak, his neck muscles taut and his body rigid at the self-control he was exercising. For the second time in his life he had wanted to do murder, but
unlike the time when he had attempted to face May’s abuser, this time the man had been right in front of him and he had let him go.

As though he knew what Jack was thinking, Jim Havelock said quietly, ‘We’ll fight him in court, Jack, where it counts.’ And to his son, ‘He’s Golding – the
man I told you about – and he’s everything Mrs Golding said, and worse.’

Yes, they’d fight Golding in court, but would they win? For the first time since Angeline had told him of the life she’d led with her husband, Jack acknowledged that doubt had crept
in. Not about what she had declared – never that, he told himself, as though someone had suggested it; but now he could see for himself the sort of adversary Golding was, and he was
formidable. He wished he had dealt with him here today. He wished he had put his hands round Golding’s throat and squeezed and squeezed until the breath left his body. He would have been
doing the world a favour, because it would be a better place without Golding in it. And he would have relished doing it. Before God, he would.

‘Jack?’ Jim put his hand on his clerk’s arm, bringing him back from a dark place. ‘Violence begets violence. You know that; that’s why you’ve sacrificed much
the last years, to challenge men like that in the courts.’

‘Aye, and where’s it got me? I’m still a clerk,’ Jack said bitterly. ‘They’ve got the money and influence to make black into white, if they want. The
system’s flawed, from top to bottom, and weighted in their favour every time.’

‘You won’t always be a clerk – your chance will come – but if you’d done something stupid today, Golding would have won. How many times have you said to me that the
traditional attitudes of fatalism on the part of the working class, along with political scepticism, have to be changed from the inside out? Bright young men, like you, have to do that, Jack. No
one else will. And every time someone like you resorts to violence to prove a point, it puts change back many years.’

‘It wouldn’t have been to prove a point,’ Jack smiled mirthlessly. ‘It would have been simply because he doesn’t deserve to draw breath.’

‘So men have argued through the centuries. But it’s for the judicial system – be it a magistrate or twelve good men and true – to make such decisions, not the individual.
Once we lose sight of that, whether we’re an aristocrat or a common working man, we’re no better than animals.’

‘But the aristocrats rarely have to answer for taking the law into their own hands – you know that as well as I do.’

‘All the more reason to bring about legal reformation, something that will be for the good of the whole and will affect the rich man in his castle
and
the pauper in his hovel.
It’s the only levelling process that has any chance of bringing about real change.’

Jack had preached the same many times, and he believed it, he really did; but, faced with Oswald Golding, a primal desire to avenge the grievous wrong done to one who had been without blame had
risen up from somewhere dark and primitive inside him. He took a deep breath and nodded. ‘I want him shamed and ruined. I want to see him eat his words and choke on them.’

‘I think we can agree on that.’

‘But can we do it?’

That was the thing. Jim Havelock gazed at the young man in front of him. He’d never lied to him and he wasn’t about to start now. ‘Come into my office,’ he said quietly
and, after telling Jinny to make everyone a cup of coffee, he followed Jack in and shut the door. ‘The maid Mrs Golding spoke of – Myrtle – I think we need to go and have a chat
with her and acquaint ourselves with the full facts regarding every aspect of Mrs Golding’s former life. I’m interested in contacting the lady of whom the maid spoke, who was willing to
speak to the authorities on Mrs Golding’s behalf when she was in the asylum. At the very least we need to ascertain whether this lady would be prepared to act as a witness for Mrs Golding,
because you do realize, Jack, that this is not going to be an easy case? However, Mrs Golding has made it plain she does not want this particular lady approached, so it would be better if this was
done . . . discreetly.’

Jack nodded. Angeline was wrong not to arm herself with every means at her disposal, and if contacting this lady had to be done on the quiet, so be it. He was sure the maid would see it this
way, after he had talked to her.

‘I promise I’ll do my best to expose Golding in court for what he is, Jack. Is that good enough?’

Not really, for Jack wanted a promise of sure-fire certainty, but he knew Mr Havelock could make no guarantees. He inclined his head. ‘Yes, sir.’ There was nothing else he could say,
but he knew the months leading up to the court case were going to test his resolve to abide by the law. Every minute of every day.

Within two weeks Jack was deeply regretting he hadn’t exerted a little more pressure and broken Oswald’s arm – if not his neck – that day in the office.
Mr Havelock received a letter from a leading London barrister whom Oswald had engaged to represent him, stating that his client, Mr Oswald Golding, was seeking a divorce from his wife on the
grounds of her insanity. They were asking for a Decree of Nullity in which a marriage might be declared null and void if there was insanity at the time of the marriage. If this was granted, it
would be as though the marriage had never taken place.

‘Your husband,’ Mr Havelock explained to a distraught Angeline, ‘will be completely free to marry again. By implication of the court deciding in his favour, you would be
detained in an asylum. The family doctor is willing to testify for Mr Golding, along with a London doctor who attended you at the time.’

‘There was no London doctor.’ Angeline could hardly believe her ears. ‘I promise you, Mr Havelock. As for Dr Owen, he will say exactly what Oswald wants him to say.’

‘This is serious, Mrs Golding. Your husband is alleging that you were mentally disturbed from the beginning, although he was initially able to control your “outbursts” within
the home. After the miscarriage, he claims things escalated and you became physically violent – a danger to yourself and others – attacking him several times. They’re also
suggesting the fire at Earlswood, which caused the deaths of many people, could have been caused by you.’

‘But it’s not true.’

‘I never for one moment thought it was.’ They were sitting in Mr Havelock’s office. Jack was holding Angeline’s hand and his face, like hers, was as white as a sheet.
‘But now we have the measure of what we’re up against, Mrs Golding. You must do nothing, say nothing, and make no approach to Mr Golding. You understand? Mr Golding’s barrister is
pushing to get the case heard early because of the circumstances – his proposed marriage, and so on. Mr Golding’s fiancée is apparently standing by him, so no doubt they hope
this will impress the judge. But don’t despair, my dear. Truth is on our side after all.’

Don’t despair.
Mr Havelock’s words came back to Angeline many times over the ensuing weeks. Fortunately, for she had enough to cope with, one of the
blessings of her new life was that she was sufficiently removed from upper-class society for the avid tittle-tattle that ensued in high places not to reach her.

Gossip and scandal, the twin sisters of disgrace, were adept at ingratiating themselves into the fine houses and great estates where the idle rich had too little to occupy themselves with. Long
before the court case in the middle of May, it had become common knowledge that the late Mrs Angeline Golding wasn’t deceased at all; nor had her supposed death been caused by a rapid decline
after the tragic miscarriage of her child. No, it was whispered behind pale soft hands in splendid drawing rooms, her husband had had her committed to a lunatic asylum. Could you believe it? How
deliciously shocking! Not only that, but he had believed her dead for all this time, only for her to appear just as he was set to marry Lady Wilhelmina Argyle! What a rumpus that had caused. Lord
Argyle was rumoured to have wanted Lady Wilhelmina to break off the engagement, but she had insisted that she would stand by Golding, whom, she maintained, was the injured party and guilty of no
wrongdoing.

An attempt on the life of the Prince of Wales by a sixteen-year-old anarchist at the beginning of April was talked about briefly, but as the Prince had escaped uninjured, it really could not
compare with the ongoing drama of the Golding affair. Even Lillie Langtry’s portrayal of a dissolute courtesan in
The Degenerates
in London, which caused a sensation – several
ladies of the aristocracy fainting clean away – was merely a play after all, a theatrical piece, whereas this was real life, with enough histrionics to keep the most bored socialites
interested.

Angeline, oblivious to most of this and safe in the anonymity that Grace Cunningham afforded her, at least until the court case, carried on her normal life. She was fully aware this state of
affairs would come to an end, however, and was mentally preparing herself for what would ensue.

On Mr Havelock’s advice, she travelled down to London and consulted one of the top physicians in mental health in his rooms in Harley Street. After a lengthy consultation during which she
explained the facts to him, keeping nothing back, he put her through a rigorous series of tests and examinations, at the end of which he declared her sound of mind and agreed to appear in her
defence, if asked to do so.

Mr Havelock’s investigations unearthed the fact that, after the fire at Earlswood, the asylum had been closed for more than a year. After this time it had been rebuilt and opened as a
private nursing home. Superintendent Craggs and his wife had taken up an appointment in another part of the country, again in charge of an asylum, and when Mr Havelock had written to them, they had
made it clear they wanted nothing to do with the present proceedings. He certainly could not comment on individual patients, the superintendent had written back. To do so would be highly improper.
Nor would he venture an opinion on the family of such patients. Besides which, most of the records of the patients and their treatment had been lost in the fire, and one could not be expected to
remember details relating to seven years ago. Which was all very well, Mr Havelock said privately to Jack, as long as the man didn’t pop up like an unwelcome jack-in-the-box and speak up for
Golding.

Spring came and it was a warm one. Almost overnight, flowers were blooming and the skylarks were singing their sweet, liquid melody in blue May skies. The day before the court
case, a Sunday, Angeline and Jack spent together. They had been careful not to be seen in public together, at Mr Havelock’s insistence, but this day was their own. Jack arrived at her little
house at eight o’clock on a beautiful sunny morning, and when she opened the door he was standing next to a bicycle with two sets of pedals and two saddles, arranged one behind the other.
‘It’s a tandem,’ he said, grinning at the expression on her face. ‘A bicycle made for two.’ He pointed to the basket at the front. ‘A picnic, also for
two.’