Free The Medea Complex by Rachel Florence Roberts Page A

be taken for a trial and incarcerated at the gaol
for the next twenty years. And what happens to you then? Lord Damsbridge and I
are friends, and I don't imagine for one second he'll let you live the rest of
your days at the Manor. Taking in mistresses under his roof whilst his daughter
rots away in some cell? Ha! You have no rights to be in that house. None. Zip.
Nada.”
    “But-”
    “You have no money, yes. Mr Stanbury, a bit of hindsight
wouldn't go amiss here. I suggest you commence divorce proceedings against your
wife; there's many a loophole for this sort of thing and would be easy for you
to do. In fact, if you say she was insane at the time of your marriage, or
shortly thereafter, you are entitled to a straight out annulment. Would you
like me to do that for you?”
    “No, absolutely not, I might hate what she's done but I love
my-”
    “Has her Doctor advised you to divorce her?”
    “No, he has not! He-”
    He interrupts me.
    “Most unusual. Common advice is to do so.” He sighs. “Right,
ok. Mr Stanbury, are you aware that she probably was mad when you met her, and
you just didn't notice? It's perfectly alright for you to decide-”
    “No. I do not want a divorce. What I want is my wife back,
at home with me, and until then, perhaps access to a little money.”
    He remains silent for a moment, tapping his nose with long,
dirty fingernail.
    “Have you ever been unfaithful to your wife, Mr Stanbury?”
    Hold on a second, what?
    “What?”
    “Tinkled the maid, coddled the cook, fluttered with the
ladies down in the city-”
    “No!” I'm offended.
    “Ever slept with a relative? Your mother, for example?”
    He's mad.
    “Mr Tumsbridge, I'm sorry for having wasted your time, I see
that now.” I start to rise from my seat when he moves surprisingly fast,
darting out a hand to grab me.
    “Sit down, Mr Stanbury. I'm aware that gentlemen such as yourself
don't like to be asked these questions. I was merely demonstrating what your
wife would have to prove if she wanted to divorce you.”
    “What, that I had relations with my own mother?”
    “Or brother. It doesn't matter, though if it were the latter
she could sue you for buggery too.” His eyes gleam, and I feel all of a sudden,
incredibly uneasy. “Plus intolerable cruelty; if you've ever knocked her around
a few times, given her a blue eye, that sort of thing.”
    Well, I never.
    “I don't like your tone, Mr Tumsbridge. I've never hit a
woman in my life, I've never had intercourse with anyone or anything other than
a woman, and-”
    He interrupts me, shaking his head.
    “I thought as much.” He glances at my hand. “Nice ring you
have there. Where did you get it?”
    “Oh, erm-” I move it away, out of sight. How stupid of me to
have worn it here. What if he recognizes it...
    “Never mind, just trying to lighten the mood. Look, I was
merely demonstrating the fact that she cannot divorce you. She can't let you
go, even if she wanted to. But you can let her go. Your child is dead, that
can't possibly be conductive to any sort of future relationship, can it? Learn
from your mistakes, Mr Stanbury, and move on. But next time, meet a woman who
owns her own property and issue a child with her. Divorce her, accuse her of
adultery. Then the child will go to you: as the father you have the right to
keep the child. The woman will most likely trade you the property for the baby,
women are like that. They'll do mostly anything for their own flesh and blood,
sentimental fools.”
    “But that's-”
    “Horrible? Awful? Treacherous?” The old lawyer leans forward
and blows the candle out. The darkness makes his words ominous, fearful. “Do
your morals really go against such a thing, Mr Stanbury? I think not. Please
don't try to fool an old hand. The law shall do as it pleases. It's there to
protect, but it can also destroy. Remember that, my friend, and also remember I
advised you to divorce her. Now, pass me my cane, will you? It’s over there by
that