The Gilded Hour (56 page)

Before the conversation could be taken any further, Hawthorn interrupted.

“In that case,” he said. “I would like to hear Dr. Savard Verhoeven’s diagnosis of Mrs. Campbell’s condition.”

The room was very silent while Sophie considered, her gaze on her own folded hands.

Finally she looked directly at Hawthorn and spoke to him alone. “She gave birth to a healthy boy when I attended her on Easter Monday. Her labor was long but not particularly difficult. It was her fourth full-term delivery and she coped quite well. The word
diagnosis
is used when there is some kind of disease or injury. A woman who is pregnant and gives birth without trouble is not ill or injured in any way. What I can say is that I noted symptoms of extreme melancholy and even depression in Mrs. Campbell after the birth of her son.”

“And that is unusual?”

“Not in and of itself,” Sophie said. “Women react in different ways to giving birth. But Mrs. Campbell was very forthright about her feelings.”

“She told you she was unhappy.”

“Yes.”

“In what way?”

Sophie paused. “She talked about her husband’s insistence that they have six boys. The idea frightened her, because she believed he would not—” She cleared her throat. “He would not desist in his attentions until he had reached that goal. She said it was a competition he had going with his brothers.”

“Which brothers?” asked Comstock, as if to catch her up in a lie.

“She didn’t say,” Sophie answered him. “She only said ‘his brothers.’”

“Did she tell you she was frightened?” asked another juror, the one with the beard the color of tobacco juice.

“She said that it would kill her to have another baby too soon, that she couldn’t bear the thought.”

“She was asking you for contraceptives,” Comstock announced to the room.

“Yes,” Sophie said. “She was.”

“And you gave her—?”

“Nothing,” Sophie said, quietly. “Because of the laws that forbid me to provide her with the help she needed, I gave her nothing, and now she is dead.”

“She is dead because she violated the laws of God and man,” Comstock shot back at her. “She reaped the terrible harvest of her sins. And
somebody helped her, at least as far as providing the information she needed. Was it you?”

Conrad stood to speak, his voice projecting easily through the room. “My client has rights under the law, and I am here to see that they are protected.”

Hawthorn said, “Mr. Belmont, I assure you, we see eye to eye on this matter. Now, Mr. Comstock. Dr. Savard Verhoeven has not been accused of any crime, nor is there any evidence to indicate that such an accusation is forthcoming. Mind your manners, sir.”

“I will mind the word of the Lord my God,” thundered Comstock. “I will mind the laws of this great country. You, sir, are in no way equal to either of those authorities.”

“But I have been appointed coroner and this is my inquest,” said Hawthorn mildly. “If you will not desist, I will remove you from my jury. And that I swear to God.”

Comstock’s whole body was shaking in anger. For a moment Jack wondered if he would lose his infamous temper and be thrown out, but then he took his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

Sophie said, “I am happy to answer the question. I did not give Mrs. Campbell contraceptives of any kind, nor did I give her information on how to end a pregnancy. I did remind her that the law would not allow it.”

Abraham Jacobi said, “And when she came to your office a month ago?”

“Yes. At that visit she was convinced that she had already fallen pregnant. She may have been right, but it was far too early for any clinical signs.”

The man from Bellevue leaned toward her. “You did a thorough manual examination? What were your findings, exactly?”

“I observed no changes to the cervix or the uterus. Changes to the breasts would be difficult to determine, as she was still nursing. But there was ample evidence of recent sexual activity, in line with the history she gave me.”

Hawthorn wanted clarification, which made all the doctors in the jury shift uneasily. Sophie didn’t seem to notice.

“Mrs. Campbell told me that her husband resumed sexual activity almost immediately after she gave birth. She used the phrase ‘morning and night’ to describe his attentions.”

“Coroner Hawthorn!” A man in the gallery struggled to his feet with the help of a cane.

“There’s a question in the gallery,” said the clerk. “Your name, sir?”

“I am a retired physician. Cameron. James McGrath Cameron, and I do have something to say. I cannot believe that a woman is allowed to speak of such private matters in a public court of law. What a man does with his wife in the privacy of his home is no one else’s concern or business, and certainly not a matter for discussion here, by a—a—woman, no less. Shame on you, sir, for allowing it.” With a triple thump of his cane, he sat down again.

Hawthorn cleared his throat. “Dr. Cameron. The witness is a fully trained and qualified physician, and she was answering a question put to her by another physician. That is why we are here, to look at the evidence—all the evidence. That is why the general public has not been allowed admission. If you find it disturbs your sense of propriety, I suggest you leave this courtroom now.”

Cameron jumped up again and began to make his way up the aisle toward the exit, stabbing down with his cane with each step. “I will do just that,” he said, his voice rising. “But I want it on the record that I protest. Such things are not discussed in public. I am going home to my supper.”

“I wish you a good evening.”

The door closed behind Dr. Cameron before the sentence was out of Hawthorn’s mouth. He let out a deep sigh. “Dr. Savard Verhoeven,” he said. “I assume you are familiar with the concept of puerperal insanity?”

Sophie agreed that she was.

“Have you ever seen a case in your own practice?”

“I have seen women lose touch with themselves and the world after a difficult birth. Sometimes a woman will exhibit behaviors that would generally be regarded as insanity. While in training I observed a patient who was so disoriented after the birth of her third child that she was confined to an asylum, primarily because she imagined that God was speaking to her so loudly and insistently that she couldn’t sleep.”

“And what became of that patient?” asked Hawthorn.

“She is still in the private asylum, to the best of my knowledge.”

“And tell us now, did you see any such symptoms in Mrs. Campbell? Please take your time in answering if necessary.”

“I don’t need time to consider,” Sophie said. “I can tell you that Mrs. Campbell was greatly distressed, desperately unhappy, and that she was consumed with anger. But she was in her right mind.”

“Consumed with anger?” asked Stanton, a queer half smile on his face. “Consumed with anger at whom? Her husband? The father of her children?”

“Yes,” Sophie said simply. “Mrs. Campbell was very angry at her husband. I saw no evidence that she was a danger to herself or her sons, but I would not have been surprised to learn that she hurt her husband. In her mind, he was the source of all her troubles. And to be truthful, Dr. Stanton, I see a good deal of logic in her view of things.”

“What a remarkably opinionated young woman you are,” said Stanton. “Truly remarkable, for someone of your sex and station and—origins.”

“I concur,” said Comstock. “You should be glad that this jury does not sit in judgment of you, Mrs. Verhoeven. All right, all right, Hawthorn. Dr. Verhoeven. Now I’ve got one last question.”

•   •   •

O
SCAR
WAS
MUTTERING
under his breath. “I’ll knock his little rat teeth down his throat if he insults her again.”

“You’d have to beat me to it,” Jack said. “Look, he’s got that damn pamphlet out. He’s like a dog with a bone.”

Sophie looked up from the pamphlet the clerk had handed to her. She said, “No, I am not familiar with this pamphlet.”

“But you are familiar with other pamphlets of this kind?”

Sophie looked at Comstock for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. “Certainly,” she said finally. “I can show you an example, if you like. This pamphlet—” She drew some folded pages out of her reticule. “This pamphlet was written specifically about methods to inhibit conception.”

Comstock’s mouth fell open in surprise, and so Sophie turned to Hawthorn. “Shall I go on?”

“Um,” said Hawthorn. “Well.”

“Please do,” said Jacobi. “I’d like to hear.”

Sophie smiled broadly, and while Jack could not see Anna’s face, the way she held her head made him think she must be smiling too. As a number of the women in the gallery were smiling.

“It’s a very professionally produced piece, as you can see. Twelve pages, with illustrations. The very kind of pamphlet that Mr. Comstock works so
hard to keep out of the hands of the innocent. Right here it opens with the proclamation that ‘prevention is better than cure,’ and it goes on: ‘Vaseline charged with four to five grains of salicylic acid will destroy spermatozoa, without injury to the uterus or vagina.’”

She looked at Comstock, her expression utterly grim. “This pamphlet has been in circulation for a few years, I believe. Has your office been successful in bringing the company—” She looked at the cover of the pamphlet, as if she were searching for something elusive. “Yes, here. Colgate is the company that makes Vaseline and printed this pamphlet on contraception. Have you brought Samuel Colgate to court and charged him with violation of your Comstock laws? But wait, isn’t Samuel Colgate the president of your New York Society for the Suppression of Vice? That must put you in a difficult position, Mr. Comstock.”

The reporters were scribbling as fast as they could while the murmur of voices in the gallery grew louder. In the jury box the physicians were waiting, brows raised, for Comstock’s reply. But there was none forthcoming; for once Anthony Comstock had been struck dumb. He sat utterly still except for the tic that appeared at the corner of his mouth, fluttering and jerking.

“Mr. Comstock?” Hawthorn asked. And then, after a long moment. “If this line of questioning is finished, I have an announcement. The officer of the court has brought a note that says Mr. Campbell is returned to the city and will be available to testify here tomorrow afternoon. I hope that his testimony will be enough to allow the jury to reach a conclusion in this matter. And now we will adjourn. It’s already six.”

Jack lost sight of Comstock as people began to leave the courtroom.

Oscar said, “I can’t believe she had the courage to ask him that question. I’d like to buy her a drink. She sat up there with a straight face and asked Comstock whether he had arrested one of the richest men in the city. Samuel Colgate marched into court by Comstock, can you see it? She’s got guts,” he said again, and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes.

“She has guts,” Jack agreed. “But at this point she also has nothing to lose.”

•   •   •

A
NNA
TOOK
S
OPHIE
by the elbow and pulled her in for a hug. It was very unlike Anna, and Sophie was both surprised and pleased.

“I thought you’d decided not to do it,” she said. “But you timed it perfectly.”

“It was harder than I imagined it would be,” Sophie said. “Once he was looking at me. But it needed to be done. Maybe it will have some positive effects, if the newspapers dare print it.” She looked up to see Oscar Maroney beaming at her, with Jack just behind.

“Well done,” said Detective Sergeant Maroney. “I thought Comstock would have a stroke right there in front of God and man. Well done.”

Jack was smiling too, but with less obvious enthusiasm. Anna poked him.

“You don’t approve?”

“Oh, I approve,” he said, catching her poking finger and folding his hand around hers. “I just hope he lets it go and doesn’t cook up some scheme to pay you back.”

“That’s why I wouldn’t let Anna do it,” Sophie said. “There’s not much he can do to me now, is there?”

Anna was looking around herself. “For once I would happily talk to a reporter, and they are all gone.”

“Off to file a story about Samuel Colgate, the contraceptives peddler,” said Oscar. “By God, I can’t wait to see that.”

•   •   •

S
OPHIE
HAD
THE
Verhoeven carriage waiting; Jack wanted to hail a cab, but Anna wanted to walk. She sent Sophie home and considered Jack’s unhappy expression.

“Are you so tired?” she teased him. “That you can’t manage a half hour’s walk?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “And if I weren’t here? You’d walk home on your own?”

Anna studied the street for a moment. There was a dead horse in the gutter at the corner of Franklin, the carcass at least a week old. A crowd of boys were busy wrenching out ribs to be used as swords. One of them already had his and used this advantage to poke a playmate in the belly. They fell into the gutter beside the horse, fists flying. Anna would guess them no more than eight.

She said, “I could lie to you.”

One brow went up, which was disagreement enough.

“In the early evening when it’s still light, Broadway is safe enough. I might have walked home alone.”

He took her bag from her and offered his free arm. “You’re lucky you still have your skin,” Jack said.

They walked along quietly for a moment. Anna kept one eye on the brawl, which was attracting little boys from every hidey-hole, all of them battering wildly at one another, crashing into the carcass of the horse and climbing out again.

“Do you want to volunteer to clean up their battle wounds?”

“No,” Anna said. “That would be a mistake. I learned that lesson soon after I qualified. Stay out of arguments.”

He wanted to know more, and Anna didn’t mind telling stories that showed her to disadvantage. At least, not with family and friends. And Jack, she reminded herself, was both.

“A girl of about seventeen, I think. She came into the New Amsterdam with some cracked ribs and a broken nose and two black eyes. I guessed it might have been her father or husband, and I was trying to think how to ask—”