Giles thought his heart would break when he saw Clare get up and walk slowly over to her place. She looked so small and frail that he wanted to rush down and shriek into the faces of the vulgar, curious audience, that she should be released immediately. She couldn’t survive this ordeal. Wasn’t it obvious? And wasn’t it also obvious that such a small, weak woman could never have killed her husband. Except, of course, she had.
She had to give her oath twice for the coroner was unable to hear her the first time.
“Lady Rainsborough, I realize that this will be difficult for you, but I wish to lead you through the events of the day and evening of the sixteenth. Can you tell us exactly what transpired between you and your husband.”
Clare spoke very slowly and carefully, and in a tone barely above a whisper, so that everyone in the room had to pay careful attention.
“My husband, Lord Rainsborough, went out to his club that afternoon, as he usually did. I was at home to visitors.”
“Did you receive any?”
“No, my lord. Lord Whitton called on me.” Clare hesitated. “But I told Peters to tell him I couldn’t receive him.”
“And why was that?”
“My husband is ... was a jealous man, my lord, especially when it came to Lord Whitton.”
“And did he have any reason to be?”
“Before I met Justin, my husband, there was an understanding between Lord Whitton and myself. An informal understanding. I think that Justin was never able to forget that.”
“Did you see Lord Whitton often during your marriage, Lady Rainsborough?”
“No, my lord. Despite the old friendship between us, I have seen Lord Whitton and his sister Lady Sabrina very little these past two years. Only when our paths cross socially, for the most part.”
“And yet Lord Whitton called on you when your husband was away.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Do you know why?”
“I found out later that evening.”
“I see. We will get to that later. Please continue.”
“I sent Giles ... Lord Whitton away. My husband returned just as he was leaving and was ... upset.”
“How do you mean, upset?”
“He began to accuse me of an intimacy that did not exist. When he found out that I had sent Lord Whitton away without seeing him, he calmed down and apologized for his suspicions.”
“And so you were in harmony that evening.”
“Yes, my lord. Absolutely.”
“What happened when you got to the Petershams’? It was the Petersham ball you attended?”
“Yes. Justin and I danced. I danced with several friends and acquaintances.”
“Including Lord Whitton?”
“Yes. Then my husband went into the card room, and Lord Whitton asked if he could speak with me privately. At first, I said no. I knew if my husband saw us together, he would be angry. And I would suffer for it later.”
“How do you mean, Lady Rainsborough?”
“He would beat me,” Clare answered in a voice so low that all strained forward to hear her.
“What did Lord Whitton have to say to you?”
“He told me that my father was concerned about my health and had asked Giles to speak with me.”
“And what did you reply?”
“That all was well. That I needed to get back to the ballroom. But when we got back, there was Justin, looking for me. We left soon after.”
“Did anything happen on the way home?”
“Just the usual accusations.”
“Which were?”
Clare swallowed before whispering, “That I was an unfaithful wife.”
“And were you, Lady Rainsborough?”
“Never, my lord,” Clare responded, her voice quivering with the intensity of her emotion.
“And when you reached home?”
“He sent all the servants to bed and took me into the library. He kept at me, wanting me to admit to something I’d never done.”
“Did he strike you, Lady Rainsborough?”
“He started out as usual,” she answered in a matter-of-fact tone that went straight to Giles’s heart. “He struck my face, my mouth. He threw me down and ...”
“And?”
“And kicked me.”
“And what did you do?”
“If I curl up,” said Clare expressionlessly, “then he can’t get at my belly so easily. I let him kick me until he tires of it. It ends more quickly that way. Usually, the kicking is the end of it, but lately he is pulling me up and choking me. I was hoping it wasn’t one of those times.”
“But it was?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Is that all that he did?”
“My God, isn’t that enough for him,” said Giles in a furious whisper.
“No, then he hit my head against the back of the mantel. Then he opened the gun case and took out one of his pistols. He drew it down my cheek. He put it to my temple and threatened to shoot me if I didn’t admit the truth. He said he would kill me and then call Lord Whitton out if I didn’t admit we were lovers.”
“Did you really believe he meant to shoot you, Lady Rainsborough?” the coroner asked. His tone had subtly changed from cold and businesslike to involved arid curious.
“Yes, my lord. And if he had called out Lord Whitton, he would have killed him, too, for my husband was the better shot. I ... I didn’t really care what he did to me anymore, but I couldn’t let him kill Giles. Giles was innocent of everything except being my good friend.”
“What happened then, Lady Rainsborough?”
“He promised that it would all end if I only admitted that Giles and I were lovers. I didn’t know what else to do. The more I protested our innocence, the worse he got. So I admitted the ‘truth’, ” said Clare with gentle irony, “and promised I would never see Giles again. Then he started to choke me again. He was going to kill me anyway and then go after Giles, despite his promise.” Clare’s eyes were wide, and it seemed as though she was looking at a scene far away, trying to make it out as she slowly described it. “I was bent over his desk. I reached behind me and felt the brass candlestick and brought it down on his head.”
“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.”