The Painted Cage (37 page)

He was already in bed, feeling worse than ever; the result, thought Amy, of the dissipations of the night before with Cooper-Hewitt at Number Nine, not to think of Jessie Flack. She controlled her anger and ministered to him. Once, as she passed the bed, Reggie caught her hand in subdued appeal, his colour bad, his breathing heavy.

‘Did Annie come again? Did you hear or see anything of her?’ Amy shook her head. She had forgotten Annie Luke within the emotions that had held her all day.

‘I wrote to her care of the post office.’ He looked up from the pillow, his face a bloated parody of the man she had first met. ‘If she’s expecting a letter from me, that’s where she’ll go. Perhaps tomorrow she’ll turn up.’ Amy nodded and patted his hand.

Looking down at Reggie’s suffering face, Amy felt an unexpected pity. He was a victim of his own debris. Even his dreams, once arrogant and bold, were now reduced to prurience. It was too late; he could find no escape from himself. She saw then she had grown beyond him and was free at last in a strange, inner way. This knowledge, realized so suddenly beside the bed, filled her with shock and a sadness. Annie Luke seemed then a silly plan. Reggie suffered enough in his own dissolute way. Perhaps with Annie so long ago he had found the only dream that lasted, the only one he should not have betrayed. Otherwise why should the woman, after all these years, arouse him to such anxiety? He might even have been a different man had he married Annie Luke. Reggie groaned on the bed and reached up for Amy’s hand. She felt suddenly responsible for him even if, for her own survival, she must eventually leave him. She bent suddenly then to kiss his cheek, as tenderly as a child’s. Her eyes smarted with tears.

‘Poor Reggie. Tomorrow I’ll call Dr Charles to see you again. I don’t care what you say,’ she told him gently.

He got himself up in the morning. The pain was worse and he was feverish and bilious, unsteady on his feet. He did not listen when Amy insisted he stay at home.

‘Then I’ll send a chit to Dr Charles to see you at the club. He’ll talk some sense into you,’ she scolded,
exasperated
with him. She had hardly slept, as disturbed as he by his tossing through the night.

Dr Charles came by mid-morning, ordering Reggie home to bed and a diet of slops and Vichy water. Reggie sent a chit to Amy to tell her of the visit. He felt too ill to do any more than what the doctor ordered. He left the club leaning back in the bumping
rikisha,
his brow wet with sweat, he felt cold. Where could Annie be? He could not understand the mystery, why she kept her distance while entreating him to find her. She must certainly be in trouble. He was prepared to help her in any way he could. He was sure to have to ask Amy for money. He mopped his brow with a handkerchief.

The
Japan
Weekly
Mail
summary of news:

Jack Easely pressed forward to prove his case for Reggie’s arsenic-taking. Robert Russell sat back, unconcerned,
fortified by confidence. To Amy the chair beneath her had acquired the quality of a friend. The days were confused, without a sense of movement in time or in conclusion. She seemed pinioned upon a moment, stopped for
evermore.
Her face was glazed. People openly wondered if she took in the proceedings. They ceased to observe her, a sleepwalker in their midst. There was nothing left to know. Her soul was sealed in newspaper words, bought for a few pence throughout the civilized world. Mr Easely called back the doctors. Their voices argued on, dragging over details already long established. People yawned in court.

‘Do the symptoms of acute lead poisoning at all resemble those of arsenic poisoning?’

‘Indeed in many cases.’

‘Supposing there were no evidence with reference to the Fowler’s Solution Mrs Redmore was seen to buy, and the only evidence was with regard to the eight white specks of solid white arsenic found in the tissues?’

‘I should never think of Fowler’s Solution. The finding of white arsenic alone would be sufficient cause for death even if taken some days before.’

The hours passed. After tiffin all was repeated with Dr Baeltz of Tokyo, who drew the same conclusions. Dr Moore-Graham had come from Kobe to give evidence.

‘In 1887 you were serving as surgeon on a steamship bound for England on which the late Mr Redmore was a passenger?’ Jack Easely inquired.

‘Yes.’

‘What was the state of his health?’

‘He was very ill. He had been invalided home.’

‘What was he suffering from?’

‘Congestion of the liver, jaundice and malaria. I was not asked to prescribe for him. Instead, he gave me a prescription that I made up at different times for him. The principal ingredient was arsenic.’

‘Do you remember a conversation with him in regard to his taking arsenic?’

‘I asked him why he did not take quinine, and he said he had been ordered arsenic in Sarawak. He said it was
his remedy for everything. He placed implicit confidence in the drug.’

The next day there were no doctors. Mr Robinson was called. Jack Easely steered him quickly to arsenic.

‘Did he speak to you of his health and the remedies he was taking?’

‘He swore himself cured and rescued from many things by the use of arsenic. He said he took enormous doses.’

‘When you asked him about his stricture what was his reply?’

‘I said, “What does old Charles say about it?” He replied, “Oh, I have not consulted Dr Charles, I especially don’t want him to know about it, nor my
arsenic-taking
.”’

‘He preferred to doctor himself?’

‘I knew he was doctoring himself.’

‘Do you remember one tiffin with Mr and Mrs Redmore, and an incident in connection with some sherry and bitters?’

‘Yes. I walked to the sideboard in their dining room and saw a small bottle there. I put my hand forward and one of them said, “Don’t take that, it’s poison, it’s arsenic.” And I think Mrs Redmore said, “Those are Reggie’s drops!”’

Jon de Becker was called.

‘I was having tiffin with Mr Redmore at the club and we spoke of tonics. I said I took strychnine tonic. He then said, “Oh, that is nothing. I have taken enough arsenic to kill six men.” He was proud of the fact.’

Mrs Fennimore was called.

‘He told me he dosed himself with all sorts of things and arsenic into the bargain. Those were as nearly as possible his words,’ Mrs Fennimore anxiously replied, fingering a cameo brooch at her neck.

Next Mr Easely recalled Frederick William Thomas to make some experiments with sugar of lead. The first experiment was with soda water. The sugar of lead seemed to effervesce and changed the colour to a milky appearance. The jury looked at the mixture but did not taste it.

‘I was hoping the jury would test these experiments,’ Mr Easely encouraged.

‘If the mixture were prepared and sweetened as for an invalid, it might prove something,’ said Mr
Cooper-Hewitt
from the jury stand. ‘In this way nothing is proved.’

Judge Bowman inclined his head. ‘Is it unpleasant to taste? I mean the jury probably think if it were flavoured it could be mistaken for something else.’

‘Yes,’ Mr Cooper-Hewitt agreed at once. ‘It might be flavoured, say, with cinnamon.’ Beside him Mr Ewart giggled.

Jack Easely turned back to Frederick Thomas. ‘Would flavouring take the taste away?’

‘I do not think anyone could take it without knowing he were taking something different from ordinary food,’ Mr Thomas replied.

‘Not even if he had a dirty mouth and a furred tongue due to illness?’ Mr Cooper-Hewitt smirked.

‘The metallic taste could not be got away, I think,’ answered Frederick Thomas.

An experiment was then made with barley water, and on this occasion the jury tasted it. Mr Cooper-Hewitt took a sip, the rest of the jury followed nervously.

‘There is no recognizable taste in that due to sugar of lead,’ Mr Cooper-Hewitt announced pushing out his lower lip.

‘I’m afraid tastes differ. I recognize it distinctly,’ Jack Easely said.

‘I took a good sip of it,’ Mr Cooper-Hewitt argued.

‘Tastes differ,’ Mr Easely insisted.

‘There
is
a definite taste,’ Mr Read said quietly from the back of the jury box. Mr Cooper-Hewitt turned to glare at this defiance. The experiment was then tried with
cornflour.
One or two of the jury tasted it, shaking their heads dubiously.

‘How much is being given us?’ Mr Cooper-Hewitt suddenly inquired. The jury put down their spoons and refused to sample more. No further experiments were made.

The last witnesses were her own servants. Amy watched their faces, once so familiar, pass before her now like strangers. Rachel Greer was called for first by that name and then by her Japanese name, Hanayue Chiako, but she was not to be found.

‘She has a young baby and there is no accommodation here. She gets into a nervous and hysterical state and goes away, when it is difficult to get hold of her again,’ Mr Easely explained.

When the court adjourned for tiffin Jack Easely stood anxiously before Amy. She toyed without interest with a bowl of soup. ‘Eat it up, it will do you good,’ he ordered. She continued to stir the liquid without lifting the spoon. He wondered what thoughts passed through her mind. Probably little, he decided. He had seen the buffer of numbness possess some of his clients before. She was cut off within herself, nothing seemed to touch her. If someone were stabbed before her eyes she would register no feelings on the matter. He was by no means convinced of her innocence; however, he defended her. She was a pretty woman who had been carried away by all the usual temptations of Yokohama. It was a pity. In his work he saw a lot to pity, but little to be sorry for. He had done his best for Amy Redmore; probably there would be an acquittal – things were inconclusive. But they were up against a self-righteousness that had suddenly overtaken Yokohama, anxious to obliterate rumours of its sensual ways. The case was really Amy Redmore against
Yokohama.
Jack Easely pursed his lips. The town had turned in upon her. He could do nothing there to help her, she was in the hands of God. He was exhausted himself, the case was of a weight no man should take singly upon himself. That he had not been able to turn to anyone for professional help was indicative of much. He sighed. God help you, he nearly said as he left, biting back the words.

‘Keep your chin up, lass,’ he said instead. But she did not look up.

Finally Rachel appeared. There was some confusion as to which of her names should be used. Mr Easely stood up. ‘May I state that the witness is not very strong, my
lord. Can she be accommodated with a chair?’ A chair was brought forward and Rachel sat down, looking anxiously towards her baby strapped on the back of a relative at the rear of the court. Amy observed her dully. She listened to Jack Easely’s questions weaving skilfully in and out like a bright needle in old cloth, but no interest quickened in her.

‘And have you ever seen Miss Flack practising writing?’

‘I have seen her putting the lady of the house’s writing before her and copying it.’

‘Did you ever see her piecing bits of paper together to form a whole?’

‘Yes, she was in the habit of getting Japanese paper from the privy and sewing the pieces upon it. She said they were letters from Mr Huckle.’

‘What was her demeanour when able to read it to you?

‘She held the letter in her hand and danced up and down for joy.’

‘Did you think it strange?’

‘I thought she was doing something very wrong. I wanted to tell my mistress, but I did not do so. I was frightened of Miss Flack. She was bad.’

‘Now do you remember 18 October last?’

‘Yes, I remember Mrs Redmore had gone out and taken the children with her. Miss Flack was also out.’

‘Did you receive an order from Mr Redmore to purchase anything while Mrs Redmore was out?’

‘He did not tell me to go for it. He told me to send a
rikisha
man for it.’

‘To send for what?’

‘To Maruya’s for what was written on the paper.’

‘And what was brought back?’

‘Bottles of medicine. I took them to my master’s room and gave them into his hands.’

‘Did he ring or call for anything more during Mrs
Redmore’s
absence?’

‘Yes, there was some soda water in the room. He asked me to give it into his hands. I poured it into the tumbler he had beside his bed, as he asked me to do.’

‘Was there something already in the tumbler?’

‘Yes, a little, about this much,’ Rachel indicated with her fingers.

‘What colour was it? Was it darker than that?’ Jack Easely pointed to a bottle of Fowler’s Solution of Arsenic.

Rachel nodded. ‘Yes, I think it was darker than that. But I do not remember, it may have been lighter.’ Rachel bit her lip.

Jack Easely sighed and passed the back of his hand across his brow.

Amy watched the play before her. Why was she forced to sit and observe? It would reach its conclusion without her. She turned her head and looked out of the window at the snow-filled sky. Beyond the tops of buildings its sheer illimitable magnitude, unbounded and
unmeasured,
was a comfort in itself. The hours went on oblivious to her presence. Soon a warder shook her arm and said the day was over.

She returned her gaze to the court room. People filed out. Jack Easely shuffled his notes in order. Robert Russell nodded to a friend. The day was ended, the last witnesses had spoken for her, tomorrow began the summing up. And still it seemed there was no movement in the tiny room. Everything had stopped.