“Did that stop him from choking you?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Was your husband on the floor?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Unconscious?”
“I ... I don’t think so. He moved, he started to get up. I saw his pistol, and I picked it up and walked into his arms and shot him.”
The room was mesmerized, both by Clare’s quiet expressionless voice and by her story itself. When she admitted shooting her husband, a collective intake of breath was heard.
“Was that the shot in the chest, Lady Rainsborough?”
“I suppose so. I wasn’t aiming or thinking about it. I just wanted to stop him.”
“And he was now on the floor?”
“Yes.”
“Unmoving?”
“No, no.” Clare was becoming a little agitated as she relived the moment. “I saw him move. I was sure he was going to come after me again. So I took the other pistol and shot him again.”
“Through the temple.”
“Yes, I think so, my lord.”
“And so you admit to murdering your husband, Lady Rainsborough.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The collective intake of breath this time was a gasp.
* * * *
“I have no further questions for Lady Rainsborough, Mr. More. She is your witness,” said the coroner.
“I know this is very painful for you, Lady Rainsborough, but I wish you to reenter your state of mind that night.”
Clare nodded.
“When your husband was choking you, what were you feeling?”
“The first time?”
“Both times,” Andrew answered gently, after a slight pause to let it sink into the jury’s and the coroner’s minds that the woman before them had been so used to her husband’s brutality that she needed to enumerate the occasions.
“Both times I was afraid ... terrified he would kill me. But especially the second time, after I had told him what he wanted to hear.”
“And so you reached behind you?”
“It wasn’t so much that I reached behind me, Mr. More, as that he was pushing me back and I was trying to keep my balance ... my hand brushed the candlestick by chance.”
“And so without thinking, you grasped it and brought it down on Lord Rainsborough’s head.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you summon help, Lady Rainsborough? Your husband was, after all, almost unconscious.”
Clare had a puzzled look on her face. “There was no one to help me, Mr. More. The servants were all aware of the beatings, but they would have lost their positions had they tried to help. I know that from experience,” she said sadly.
“What happened then?”
“As I told his lordship, Justin started to get up. I was so scared, and then I saw the pistol on the floor where he had dropped it. I picked it up and I shot him and he fell.”
“Did you think that you had killed him?”
“No,” Clare said, her eyes clouded, her voice trembling, as though she were back in the library.
“Why not?”
“His arm moved. I was sure he was going to get up and come after me again.”
“Surely the amount of blood would have indicated a mortal wound, Lady Rainsborough?”
Clare sat very still and then looked down at her dress. By now, she was soaking with perspiration, and the dress clung to her. She pulled at it, as though to lift it off her skin, and then looked at her hands.
“There is so much blood ... my dress ...” She pulled again at the black silk. “His arm ... oh God, he is getting up, he is going to kill me and then go after Giles ...”
The spectators were again mesmerized into silence. It was clear that Lady Rainsborough’s mind had slipped gears, as it were, and she was speaking of that night as though it were the present.
“You take the other pistol ...” Andrew was speaking very softly.
“I have to stop him, but there are no bullets left,” moaned Clare. “And there, he moves again.”
“And so you get the poker from the fireplace.”
“It is all I have to keep him away from me.”
“So you didn’t think you had killed your husband, Lady Rainsborough. In fact, you hadn’t intended to kill him, just to prevent him from killing you and going after Lord Whitton.”
“What else could I have done,” whispered Clare, coming back to the present. “There was no one to help me. There was never anyone to help me. Except for Martha,” she added in a whisper.
“And who is Martha, Lady Rainsborough?”
“Martha Barton. She was my abigail when I was first married.”
“And you dismissed her?”
“No. Justin dismissed her.”
“Do you know why?”
“Yes.”
“Could you tell the coroner and the jury?”
Clare took a deep, shuddering breath. “She had seen the results of one of his attacks on me. She stood in front of me and defended me the next morning.”
“You said ‘one of his attacks’? So this behavior had been going on during your marriage?”
Clare nodded.
“From the beginning?”
“Almost. We were very, very happy at first. But when Justin drank, he became jealous.”
“Did he have any cause, Lady Rainsborough,” Andrew asked coolly.
“If by cause, you mean, was I ever interested in anyone else? Was I ever unfaithful? No, Mr. More. Something as simple as a smile or obvious enjoyment of another man’s conversation or expertise on the dance floor was enough to set him off when he was drinking.”
“Why didn’t you leave, then? Go back to your parents?”
“I married Justin for better or worse, Mr. More. In sickness and in health. His drinking seemed like a sickness to me. And when the illness passed, he was the same tender and loving Justin I had originally married.”
“So you would say you loved your husband, Lady Rainsborough?”
“Oh, yes. Very much. And at first all he did was hit me once or twice. Cause a black eye or a swollen lip, And there would be weeks of the good Justin which would wipe out the memory of the bad. He would always cry and swear he would never hurt me again.”
“And you believed him?” said Andrew, with an air of disbelief.
“It is so hard to explain, Mr. More. It was like living with two different people. Whenever I would begin to think that the drunken Justin was my true husband, that all was hopeless, the loving Justin would reappear. I thought at times I was going mad.”
“Did Martha ever witness any of these early attacks?”
“No, although she saw the results of them. I always tried, had some sort of story ready, to explain my black eyes and swollen face. But I am sure she guessed.”
“Then what made her finally risk her position?”
“Things were beginning to get worse. The time in between Justin’s outbursts became shorter. He had started pushing me and kicking ...” Clare’s voice trailed off.
“And then?”
“I became ... We realized we were going to become parents. I was so happy. Justin promised ... I was sure he meant it this time ... that he would never drink again. He was so protective of me. Almost overprotective,” she added, with a laugh that was more like a sob.
“And so your marriage turned around?”
“I thought so. But then when we attended a neighbor’s dinner dance, Justin had one drink. And then another. The next day he shut himself in the library with a bottle of brandy. When he came out, he was more out of control than I had ever seen him. He accused me of terrible things ...” Clare’s voice trailed off again.
“Go on,” Andrew said encouragingly.
“He called me ...” Clare stopped.
“He called you what?”
“He called me a whore and an unfaithful slut. He denied the baby was his and accused me of having an affair with one of our neighbors.”
“Where were you when this was going on?”
“He had come into my bedroom.”
“Did he strike you?”
“Yes. He held me up and hit me again and again. Then he threw me against the dressing table, and when I slipped and fell to the floor, he started kicking me.”
“Where did he kick you, Lady Rainsborough?” Andrew’s voice was gentle and sympathetic.
“In the belly. He swore he would kill my baby before he would acknowledge it for his own. And he did.” Clare dropped her head in her hands and cried quietly.
“And that was what Martha saw?”
“She came in at the end of it. She was with me when I lost the baby.”
“You were quite ill afterward?”
“Yes.”
“And Lord Rainsborough?”
“He was distraught. He abased himself and told me he wouldn’t come near me until I summoned him. He begged my forgiveness and solemnly promised on the Bible that he would never drink again.”
“And so you forgave him again.”
“Not right away. But eventually. It is very hard to explain, but Justin was so sincere in his repentance and his desire to change that I wouldn’t turn him away.”
“And yet he never changed. In fact, the man who threatened your unborn child’s life, then took that life, eventually threatened yours. You had every reason to believe he would carry out his threat, didn’t you, Lady Rainsborough?”
“Yes,” responded Clare, her tearstained face set and strained.
“I know this has been very difficult for you, Lady Rainsborough. Thank you for telling us your story.”
“I have one question for Lady Rainsborough,” said the coroner.
“Of course, my lord.”
“Lady Rainsborough, you have given us a vivid picture of your marriage. We have only your word for much of it, but that consideration aside, did you ever attempt to defend yourself in any way, verbally, or otherwise. Did you ever try to stop Lord Rainsborough, protest his treatment, dispute his accusations? In other words, might you not have prevented much of this, especially the awful denouement, by standing up for yourself earlier?”
Clare smiled and shook her head. “At first I tried to convince Justin he was wrong, my lord. I attempted a quarrel. I even once tried to defend myself against him by pushing him back. It only made things worse. I know I must appear a very weak person to you, my lord, but I learned very soon that if I just took the beating without protest, it ended sooner. The better part of valor, in this case, seemed discretion in every sense of the word. It did not leave me much self-respect, but it helped me survive,” she added, with a show of spirit.
"Thank you, Lady Rainsborough. You may step down. I know of no other witnesses. Mr. More?”
“I would like to call two other people to the stand, my lord. The first is Martha Barton.”
Sabrina and Giles had sat very still as Clare haltingly told the story of her marriage. It was as though they, along with the other spectators, were holding their collective breath, not wanting a sound or movement to distract from any word of her testimony. By the end of it, however, tears were streaming down Sabrina’s face, and Giles, handing her his handkerchief, wished he could find similar release from his strong feeling.
At first, as Clare recalled the beginning of her marriage, he had felt the old pain and jealousy. Then fury at Rainsborough. And, he was ashamed to say, at Clare. How could she have married such a man? No, not a man, a chameleon. And even if he could bring himself to understand how she had fallen in love with his looks and his charm, how could she have stayed with him, especially after it became clear that he would never change? She could have gone home to her parents. Or, if she hadn’t wanted a scandal, she could have lived with him the way many a ton wife did: maintaining her independence and a separate bedroom. Instead, Clare obviously let him back into her bed again and again.
But Giles’s anger at Clare and rage at her husband disappeared, leaving a curious numbness when she continued her account of Justin’s attacks. How could a man treat any woman that way, especially a loving wife? Of course Giles knew of men who beat their wives. But surely it occurred mainly in the lower classes and usually involved only a black eye or a split lip. He had always ignored these signs on the shopkeeper’s or farmer’s wife, believing that it was a private matter. So, too, was violence between a man and his mistress. Everyone knew that Lord Carlton mistreated his bits of muslin, but that was the risk all women took when they sold their bodies.
But Justin Rainsborough, to all appearances, had been a besotted husband. Always hovering over Clare. Protecting her. Arriving late, leaving early. Why, in the first months of their marriage, men had wagered over their degrees of lateness. How could someone be so different in private? And how could any man have raised his hand to someone so small and helpless as Clare? Hold her down and punch her repeatedly? Kick her hard enough to lose a child? It was so horrible a picture, so far beyond his comprehension, that Giles couldn’t respond to it at all, not with sorrow or rage.
But he reached out to take Sabrina’s hand and comfort her.
“Giles, how could we not have
seen
what was happening? How could we have let her down so?”
“Hush, Sabrina,” he whispered, as Martha took the stand and the court stirred around them. “How
could
we have known? She never told anyone anything. And in public at least, they appeared the most devoted of couples.”
* * * *
Andrew led Martha quickly through her early years as Clare’s abigail.
“And so, when Lady Clare Dysart became Lady Rainsborough, she took you with her?”
“Yes, sir. We was very close by then.”
“You were fond of Lady Rainsborough?”
“Very, sir. She was always kind and generous to me. I would have done anything for her.”
“Including defending her from her husband?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When did you become aware of Lord Rainsborough’s behavior, Miss Barton?”
“Oh, from the very beginning. Me own ma were treated rough by me stepfather. I knew it wasn’t no door my lady had run into. And I know all too well how brandy chases the charm away.”
“Did you talk to Lord Rainsborough about it?”
“No, sir. It weren’t my place.”
“Did you talk to anyone else about it? Another servant?”
“Aye. To Mrs. Clarke, the housekeeper.”
“And what was her response?”
“That it was none of our business.”
“But you finally made it your business, Miss Barton?”
“I had to. He were kicking her and kicking her. It was not even her third month.”