An Inconvenient Wife Part 35

New York, Tuesday, October 13, 1885 EXCLUSIVE Interview Society Murderess Begs for Understanding Carelton Marriage Made in h.e.l.l All of New York society was shocked by the murder last Tuesday evening of prominent New York stockbroker William Carelton, who was shot by his Knickerbocker wife as guests danced the night away in the elegantly appointed ballroom of the Careltons' new Fifth Avenue mansion. Mrs. William Carelton (nee Lucille Van Berckel) was promptly arrested for her husband's murder.

This reporter was given an exclusive interview with Mrs. Carelton in her home, where she stays confined to her room, haunting the murder site like some weeping specter. She was enervated and pensive, a Rossetti painting come to life. She was dressed somberly in a gown of gray wool, with her dark hair severely pinned back, a study in quiet rect.i.tude.

A Terrible Nightmare "Every morning I am horrified to find I have done this terrible thing," she said, tears falling copiously from her large brown eyes. "And every night I go to sleep praying that I will wake from this nightmare."

It is indeed a nightmare of which Mrs. Carelton speaks: a nightmare encompa.s.sing four years of marriage to a man who drove her to illness with his incessant demands. "William was a stockbroker," she tells us, "and he was quite ambitious. I'll never know what drove him, but he could be unmerciful. He was determined to belong; he insisted that I play the part of a society wife even when my const.i.tution required that I rest."

Her friends confirm that Mrs. Carelton was often ill and that the strain of her marriage kept her nearly bedridden.

"I'll never know what made her marry him," says one anonymous friend. "She was so quiet and frail, and he was so completely overpowering. There was something not right about him. And, of course, he was not one of us."

A Prayer for Clemency "He wanted me out of the way," Mrs. Carelton tearfully explained as she told how her husband had committed her to Beechwood Grove, a private lunatic asylum. "It was much easier to control my money when I was not there to question him."

The night Mrs. Carelton returned home from Beechwood Grove, her husband threatened to send her back if she did not behave.

"I was so afraid. It was as if a black cloud came over me. I hardly remember what I was doing or what I thought."

Mrs. Carelton shed tears throughout. "I have no hope of G.o.d's forgiveness for the terrible thing I did. All I can hope is that I am not judged too harshly. I know only that I had to escape that h.e.l.l."

The accused was unable to control her sorrow and regret, and it is clear that to judge her solely as a society wife is to do her a grave disservice. Mrs. Carelton's humanity s.h.i.+nes from a face wet with remorseful tears. Her devotion to her husband, despite his cruelty, is amply doc.u.mented. To hear her cry for clemency is to answer the call of all people in their fight against oppression. We can only hope the judge and jury in this case treat her with compa.s.sion and mercy despite-or because of-her unremarkable life.

Chapter 30.

The rush to William's funeral was unseemly, held as it was only three days after his death. Papa said William's body was deteriorating badly, though I knew the truth was that he was afraid I would insist upon attending if I were free, which Howe a.s.sured me I would be after my bail hearing, scheduled for the next day. So I was absent from seeing my husband laid to rest-appropriate, I suppose, as I was the one who had sent him there.

From my room I could hear the ringing of the church bells as he was eulogized, but it was left for Papa to tell me about. The service had been short and attended by many of William's colleagues, stockbrokers and Long Room traders and message boys. But those whom he would have wanted at his funeral-our friends, the people he made money for-had, for the most part, stayed away.

It was hardly surprising. My friends had never truly accepted him, even when his genius in the stock market made them money. The parvenu stink had never left him. Between the two of us-me, with my Knickerbocker heritage, and William, whose origins were unknown but always thought to be inferior-I was the one to whom they would lend their support, even with the taint of an asylum hanging above my head. The article in the World was only one in which William was portrayed as greedy and controlling. The irony was that had our friends known of my commitment to Beechwood Grove before William's death, I would have been the pariah. For now, confined as I was, with the judgment of a trial still awaiting, I could be their horribly persecuted daughter.

I was more than ready when the day came for my bail hearing. Papa had made arrangements to take me there himself, and he and the carriage were at the house early that morning. I went downstairs quickly, smiling weakly at the police officer guarding the door, wanting only to be free of this house, of William's presence, of the cursed dining room. The day was damply chill, with pregnant gray clouds overhead. I breathed deeply of the manure-scented air and longed to be free.

In no time we were there, and my father took me inside the District Court, where officers were waiting to escort me into a small open room lined with benches upon which sat all manner of men. At the front of the room was a desk, slightly raised, behind a barred railing.

As I entered, there was a gasp. Some of the men on the back benches swiveled, and I saw that many of them were scribbling away-reporters. I did not wonder what they saw: a woman dressed somberly in gray, no doubt exhausted-looking. I thought grimly of how they would portray me in the papers, how New York City would choke down my description with their breakfast and coffee. My stomach fell; my nerves rattled. A man in the front turned, and I saw with relief that it was William Howe. He smiled rea.s.suringly and nodded slowly, and my nervousness faded.

"Is this Mrs. William Carelton?" asked the judge.

The officer on my right nodded. "Yes sir."

"Bring her down."

They led me down the aisle. The judge stared at me as if evaluating my every step, my every expression. As we reached the front, Howe stood.

"Your Honor," he said, "I'm serving as Mrs. Carelton's attorney."

The judge looked surprised and irritated. He shot a glance at me. "Is Mr. Howe your attorney, Mrs. Carelton?"

"Yes," I said.

"Dear G.o.d." The judge heaved a great sigh. "Very well, then. I see there is probable cause to hold Mrs. Carelton pending a charge in the murder of William Stephen Carelton, lately of New York, originally of Newport, Rhode Island."

Newport, Rhode Island. I hadn't known that. He had told me- What had he told me?

"Mr. Scott is the district attorney in this matter, I see. Mr. Scott, we're here to address the issue of bail. Have you-"

"Your Honor," Howe interrupted. "We are asking that bail be set for Mrs. Carelton. She is an esteemed member of New York society. Her movements are carefully watched at all times." Howe reached into his pocket and pulled out a sc.r.a.p of paper. "If I could just read what the new society page, Town Topics, has to say of her . . ."

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Howe."

"I believe it shows how strong Mrs. Carelton's ties are to the city."

"I'm sure it does." The judge looked at the district attorney. "What are your feelings on the matter, Mr. Scott?"

Mr. Scott stood. He was tall and thin, with dark blond hair that fell boyishly into his face. His voice wasn't boyish at all. It was deep and resonant and completely serious. "We're requesting that Mrs. Carelton be held without bail, Your Honor," he said. "Regardless of Mr. Howe's statements, we have some evidence indicating a fragile mental state, and she has ample means to flee should she desire to do so."

Howe protested, "Your Honor, Mrs. Carelton has responsibilities. She employs several servants who rely on her, and she has many friends. Her father resides here. Mrs. Carelton's lineage stretches back to the Knickerbockers, sir; her ancestor was a Dutch amba.s.sador. Mrs. Carelton has lived her entire life in New York City-"

"She's committed murder," Mr. Scott interrupted. "We believe she's a danger to society."

Howe harrumphed so loudly that Scott flushed. "She's accused of killing her husband, Your Honor. She hardly poses a threat to society. And as you can see, her father is here, ready to put up his considerable estate."

"Yes, yes, I see," the judge said. He glanced behind me to Papa. "h.e.l.lo, DeLancey."

"How are you, George?"

"Do you think you can keep a leash on your daughter until her trial?"

Papa's voice was strong. "I guarantee she will be here."

"Your Honor," Mr. Scott protested, "this is highly irregular."

"This whole thing is irregular," the judge said. "I find that I agree with Mr. Howe. Bail is set at one hundred thousand dollars. Mrs. Carelton, you are free to go once the bond is posted. You cannot leave the city, and you must return for your arraignment after formal charges are filed. Mr. Howe, you will acquaint Mrs. Carelton with her obligations?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"See the bailiff. Mrs. Carelton, I a.s.sume you will stay out of trouble. Your father has guaranteed it."

"Yes sir," I said.

I heard the rapid scratch of pencils on paper, a murmur that seemed to hover at the back of the room.

"Next, please."

It was over.

As the carriage started off, Papa closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Well, thank G.o.d. I've made arrangements to take you back to the Row, Lucy. I thought you'd be more comfortable there, given the circ.u.mstances. I've removed Harris from . . . the other house and told the other servants they were dismissed as of this morning. And I've moved my things from the club, so I can be with you."

"You needn't have," I said.

"It's quite obvious you need someone to watch over you," he said. "And I gave my word, as well as my money." He grunted and glanced out the window. "What an incredible circ.u.mstance. I never could have imagined it. Not even when . . ."

He left the words for my imagination to fill in, which it did, neatly: . . . your mother was alive. I supposed my father would always thank G.o.d that my mother had the grace to kill herself before she could embarra.s.s him as fatally as I had.

It was drizzling now, gray and foggy. I was cold inside the carriage, even huddled as I was against my father's bulk, with the traveling blanket over my lap. I wondered if I would ever be warm again.

We arrived home to a smiling welcome from Harris and another new lady's maid, one Papa had hired for my return. Her name was Gillian, and she was a quiet, biddable girl who had dark hair and apple cheeks. Her wide blue eyes regarded me with wariness.

"It was hard enough to find someone," Papa said gruffly. "Once they heard who they were serving. I hope she's efficient enough, but I doubt it. Had to pay her an exorbitant wage just so she wouldn't run off in fear the moment she saw you."

"If you don't mind, Papa, I'm quite tired."

He nodded, and I hurried to my room, to quiet safety. But when I walked through the door and lit the gas, everything was different. This room was no longer quiet or safe, no longer mine. I had been gone too long; I had tried to make too many other places my own. I realized suddenly, with a strangeness that I could hardly reconcile, that although William had understood nothing else about me, he had perceived this: that the room kept me the girl I'd always been. I was no longer comfortable here but coc.o.o.ned. I remembered standing before the mirror, feeling like a stranger to myself. I wanted to laugh at how fine and ephemeral those feelings seemed to me now, how weak they'd been compared to this strangeness. How much older I felt, how unreconciled to these things of mine, to that bed, that chair. I did not belong here any longer.

But where I did belong-I dared not think of that now. Not now. There would be time enough later.

On Thursday morning I prepared myself for the calls that Papa had been certain would come. They won't dare snub you, he'd said before he left that morning, but I was not so certain. I sat in nervous antic.i.p.ation, wondering what I would say, wis.h.i.+ng I could avoid it all. When there was a knock on the door shortly after one o'clock, I rose from my chair and smoothed my skirt, taking a deep breath for strength. I was relieved when I saw it was only Millicent.

She entered the parlor fluttering, nervously smiling, patting at the pink-throated thrush on her hat. She carried a beribboned box, which she set before me as I embraced her and urged her to sit.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Nothing, really," she told me. "Some of those pastries you like so much. I thought . . . Well, I didn't know you couldn't go out before, or that you wouldn't."

"How lovely," I said. "How thoughtful of you."

She smiled weakly. "You've decided to come back here, then?"

"For the time being," I said. "Until the trial is over."

She winced at the word trial, and I realized what this visit was to be like when she said, "Did you hear that Consuelo Martin's daughter is engaged to some duke?"

I poured tea and watched her drink it. I watched her fumble with the cakes Papa's new cook had created-delicious little cream-filled things that neither of us had the appet.i.te for. We talked pleasantly, as if nothing had happened, as if she had not watched me pull a gun from a beaded purse and shoot my husband. After fifteen minutes had pa.s.sed-the allotted time for an afternoon call-she said, "Mr. Howe has asked me to serve as a witness on your account, Lucy. I'm not to have any contact with you until then. I haven't told anyone I was coming here today, but I felt I should come first and let you know."

I stared at her in surprise-we had been talking of a dinner party I'd missed, and I had thought the conversation would continue in that vein. "Oh."

She loosened her bag from where it had tangled at her feet. "I-I would do whatever I could for you, Lucy, you must know that."

"How good of you," I said sincerely.

She looked at me, and I had the sense that she was trying to see through me, to my soul, perhaps, to find the answers she wanted. "I'm your friend," she said simply, and perhaps that was all it was. The words were so quiet and sure that I felt tears come to my eyes.

"Yes," I said, "I believe you are."

She made a quick, definitive nod as if she had discharged a duty and now meant to go purposefully on. "I'll take my leave, then," she said. "You must take care of yourself, Lucy. Promise me you will?"

"Yes, of course," I said.

She paused, and then she said, "You mustn't be too hard on them, you know." I needed no explanation to understand of whom she spoke. Our friends, who I realized would not be coming to say h.e.l.lo or show their support. "They don't know what to think. No one does."

"I understand," I whispered.

"I hope you do," she said, and she rose and smiled and said her good-byes, and I was alone again, in a parlor filled to overflowing with bronze statues and marble sculptures, silent and unmoving. The clock ticked on.

She was the only visitor I had that day. Or any other.

I did receive a few invitations. I was surprised until I saw who they were from-the faster crowd, Alma Fister and the like. With an unpleasant start, I saw that I was notorious, a fine entertainment, as Victor had been this summer, or as a European actress might be-with all the rumor and innuendo attached to an immoral life.

"You should go, my dear," Papa told me. "Show your face. Show them you're a Van Berckel. I'll accompany you if you like."

Two nights later, my father and I arrived at Alma Fister's door and were shown to a parlor already filled with guests where an effusive and beaming Leonard Ames held court.

"Why, DeLancey, why, Lucy, how good to see you. Lucy, how fine you look; if I didn't know the truth, I would have thought you'd been to the continent."

Papa flinched; I attempted to keep my smile. In the corner was the notorious Italian opera singer Alma had ostensibly held the party to celebrate. He was superbly dressed and handsome in a darkly Mediterranean way. He was rumored to have several mistresses, and I had no doubt that was true. Alma was talking urgently to him. She caught my gaze and whispered something in his ear. An appraising look came into his dark eyes-eyes that reminded me of someone else's.

I reached for the nearest gla.s.s of champagne. I had not been out since my return home. Millie had been the only person I'd seen, except for Papa and the servants. I had known it would be this way; I had known there would be whispers. Naively, I had not known they would be so uncomfortable.

Alma came over in a rustling of deep violet silk shot with silver. "My dear Lucy," she said, purring. "How good of you to come. And to bring your father too. Dear DeLancey, you haven't been about for the longest time."

"No, of course not," he said sharply.

Alma nodded commiseratingly before she turned to me. "Lucy, how wonderful you look. Especially after such a terrible ordeal." She shuddered dramatically. "Well, you will tell us all about it, won't you? Sergio is quite curious. When I told him who you were-he's read the papers, you know, though I was surprised to find he could read English. Apparently he's quite educated."

If I'd had any doubt that I'd been brought to serve as the evening's amus.e.m.e.nt, it fled with her words. When she brought the opera singer to us, my father squeezed my arm as if to give me strength, though the truth was I didn't need it. I understood my role now.

The crowd was faster even than I'd expected. Leonard, of course, and Alma, but there were others too, men from the Belmont clique who never missed an opportunity for notoriety, women I barely recognized who stared at me with unsuppressed glee.

"We should leave, my dear," Papa whispered into my ear. His hand on my arm was shyly insistent. "It won't do to be seen here after all."

He was right. This crowd was too scandalous. But I shook my head and took another gla.s.s of champagne and wondered why this didn't distress me. I'd been abandoned by my own crowd, though they pretended to favor me for the newspapers. Here I was not quite accepted, but curiosity would not be gainsaid. It became clear as the night went on that they expected some show from me, some little trick of insanity, something to amuse them. We sat in Alma's darkly wallpapered dining room and ate from Minton china embellished with deep blue borders and exotic birds. The room was small; we were so close together we b.u.mped elbows, and still I was watched. I was, if possible, better behaved than I had been in years, but they were not quite sure what to do with me-how could they be? How does one look at a murderess over roast fowl in claret sauce? They didn't need a trial to tell them what I was. They had all heard every detail. Some had even been there. But I saw doubt in their eyes. Their memories were already growing faint. Had I really done what they thought I had? Here I was, well behaved, with my well-connected father beside me, and no outward sign of hysteria or insanity-could it really be true? And there were the newspaper reports as well, the article from that Adler woman. Poor persecuted Lucy. And William-they had never liked William, never really trusted him. . . .

They wondered, and I let them wonder. I drank champagne and ate and listened to Sergio's lovely baritone as he sang for our pleasure, and I only smiled when they asked their questions, because I knew that they had invited me not just to be an entertainment but because I had come down in the world, because I was not so untouchable, and that reinforced their own sense of superiority, their need to make their lives secure. I will never be like her, they told themselves, and I did not disabuse them of the notion. I didn't tell them what I knew: that it was easy to be like me. All it took was a slip, a step from the path we'd all been trained to tread. We were none of us different from the others; that was the lesson I had learned. We were all capable of anything.

They charged me with first-degree murder on a Tuesday and set my trial for early December. That afternoon William Howe lounged in my father's parlor, drinking brandy from fine leaded crystal. He looked out of place there, decorated as he was with jewels, too flashy for the pale blue walls that had entertained the best of Knickerbocker society for decades. But I was out of place here too-not because of what I wore, which was black, as befitted my status as a recent widow, but because the black was so heavy with irony it was hard to walk within.

Howe exhaled deeply and held his gla.s.s up to the light from the open window, swirling the brandy. "Well," he said, looking around him, "I must admit this is unusual for me. Most of my clients aren't so high-toned."

I had to restrain myself from going to the window. "It's all happening so fast," I said. "I'd thought the trial wouldn't be until spring, at least."

"They're torn between wanting to show the world that the rich aren't different and wanting to have it all behind them. Those newspaper articles have won you support. It's worked to our advantage. There's no need to stretch things out."