Nicola Cornick: The Woman In The Golden Dress

‘You have no need for a further dose of mercury?’

I repressed a shudder. ‘No, I do not.’ Regrettably, that had been the other occasion on which Dr Baird had had to treat me: when Eustace gave me a dose of the pox passed on from some whore he had bedded.

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Dr Baird snapped his case shut. It was his custom to leave at that point, and briskly, his task accomplished. This time, though, he lingered.

‘Please consider my advice,’ he said. His tone had changed. He sounded almost diffident. ‘For the sake of your health – for your safety, Lady Gerard, I do counsel you to leave.’

I looked up, startled. This was too close to plain-speaking. If he continued in this vein we could no longer pretend.

‘Dr Baird—’

He swept my words aside, reaching for my hand. ‘I have watched for too long in silence. Now I must speak. If you need assistance, Lady Gerard, if I can help you in any way, you need only ask. It would be an honour. I appreciate that you might not have financial means of your own and so may need money or some other support—’

I heard Constance gasp. So did Dr Baird; he looked over at her quickly, nervously, as though he had forgotten she was in the room. It was too late for concealment now. His words, his touch, had given him away. In my preoccupation I had been very slow to realise how he felt about me. Dr Baird liked to save people. I suppose it was laudable in a man of his profession. Unfortunately he wanted to save me from my husband and that was impossible.

‘You are very kind.’ I moved to extricate him from his mistake, releasing myself gently from his grasp and releasing him from his unspoken pledge. ‘I am grateful to you for your advice and I will consider it.’ Then, as he opened his mouth to speak again: ‘Good day to you, Dr Baird. Pray, send your bill to my husband as usual.’

I saw the withdrawal come into his eyes. He bowed stiffly. ‘Lady Gerard.’ The door closed behind him with a reproachful click. Constance turned towards me.

‘Oh, ma’am!’ she said. ‘That poor man. He is smitten by you.’

‘You have too soft a heart,’ I said. ‘What would you have me do? Accept his attentions?’ I could just imagine my great-grandmother, the Duchess, ‘ A physician? My dear, if you must dally, at the very least you should choose a gentleman. ’

‘He only wanted to help you.’ Her chin had set obstinately. Constance, so well named, saw the world in very simple terms.

‘There is always a price.’ I picked up my cup. The tea was cold.

‘I’ll call for more.’ With a practical task to perform, Constance was restored to good spirits. I watched her busy about my chambers. I could not have moved if I had tried. My body felt weighted with lead.

She rang the bell, then started folding and tidying away my clothes. Over the back of a chair I saw the golden gown that Eustace had given me the previous night. It was exceedingly pretty, with silver thread woven through the silk, and a soft, shimmering appearance. I had seen it as a peace offering, which had been foolish of me. It was not peace Eustace wanted, except perhaps from the torment of both hating and desiring me.

He had presented the gown to me with a great flourish, just as Constance had been dressing me for dinner. It had been an odd business, for Eustace never normally gave me clothes, having a very masculine inability to judge my size. I could see at once, simply looking at it, that the gown was too large for me. Not only that, but the silk weave was of too thick and heavy a style for the summer.

‘How beautiful it is, my dear,’ I said. ‘But tonight is so very hot, don’t you think? I would rather save such an elegant gown for the winter balls—’

I got no further, for Eustace swept every item from the surface of my dressing table. Powder clouded the air, brushes and combs flew, my pearls clattered to the floor. Constance hurried forward to try to pick them up and he turned on her.

‘Get out, girl!’

She ran.

But not I. Eustace never let me run. He smiled at me, that madman’s smile, and then he struck me. I had learned not to try to defend myself. It only made him more determined. I stood and waited. I absented myself from my body.

‘Ungrateful jade,’ my husband said. My petticoats were flimsy and they ripped all too easily beneath his grasp. One careless swipe of his hand and I fell like a broken marionette.

I watched with detachment as he raped me. It was over very quickly. Small mercies.

Eustace heaved himself up and stood panting over me. I thought he might kick me as I lay there. I wanted to close my eyes against the threat but I did not, and after a moment he walked away, weaving across the room like a drunkard, leaving the door swinging wide so the entire household might see the fate of an unappreciative wife.

‘My lady?’

Constance was watching me. She had seen me staring at the gown, reliving the memory.

‘I’ll take it away, milady.’ She seemed eager. ‘You won’t be wanting to look at it again, I daresay, after what happened.’

I disliked her imagining that she knew how I felt, but for all that, she was right; I did not want to look on it and be reminded of Eustace’s cruelty.

‘By all means,’ I said. Then, reminding her that it was my decision alone: ‘Wrap it up and put it away. I may want to have it altered someday.’

Constance looked taken aback. ‘You wouldn’t wear it, surely? Not now!’

I wondered if she had thought I would give it to her. I had given her small items before: gloves, shawls, articles for which I had no further use, even an old cloak once, and a worn out spencer. It was the prerogative of a lady’s maid, after all, to take her mistress’s cast-offs. A gown was a different matter, however, especially one as costly as this. I had seen the look in her eyes as she had watched me unwrap it. There had been envy there and wistfulness. Well, she would not gain by my injuries.

‘Who knows?’ I said. ‘Perhaps I may, one day.’

‘Very well, milady.’ Her lips pursed and she looked censorious. It amused me, little Constance Lawrence disapproving of me. She waited for me to give her direction on whether I would get dressed, take breakfast in my room or call for paper and ink to write to my brother as Dr Baird had suggested. I could not decide. The shades were down in my mind, shuttering me in, trapping me. I was too tired to move, too tired to think.

‘Cover the mirrors,’ I said abruptly. I did not want to see my reflection and the devastation that Eustace had wrought on me.

She opened a drawer and took out the drapes, moving from one gilt mirror to the next, arranging them over the glass as though the house had suffered a bereavement. I stood up, moving stiffly, and crossed to the chair where the golden gown lay. Like me it looked crumpled and disjointed.

I took it up in my hands. The silk felt very soft. I wanted to hold it close to me.

The strangest thing happened then. It felt as though a spark had been lit deep inside me and started to burn. I clutched the gown tightly and it fostered the light, feeding it, stoking it to a blaze. It gave me strength and cleared my mind. I knew then that there was nothing to be gained from writing to George or seeking reconciliation with Eustace, nothing but further grief and pain.

‘Eustace must die…’

The words rippled through my mind like a gentle wave over sand. My fingers tightened on the golden cloth and the idea took root immovably in my mind. It happened so quickly, so easily. One moment I was standing there broken, at a loss, and the next I was fired with determination.

A widow had by far a better deal than a wife. Therefore Eustace must die. It was as simple as that. I might wait for providence to assist me, I supposed, but that was an uncertain business. It might take years. Eustace might drink himself to death or be trampled by one of his racehorses, but I could not wait. I needed to take action.