John Brown's Body by A. L. Barker Page A

that what she calls herself?” Somewhere at the end of the newspapers, not on the front pages, would be a mention of Mrs Emmeline Brown, alias Shilling, the murderer’s wife.
    “Her name’s Openshaw, Emmeline Openshaw.”
    “But she’s married to you?”
    “Bertha’s married to me, not Emmeline. Bertha’s name’s the same as mine, but Emmeline is my wife’s sister and her name is Openshaw.”
    “Do make up your mind!” Marise picked up Barbra-Bear. “Emmeline Bertha, Bertha Emmeline – I don’t like either.” She was bouncing the toy on her knee and his eyes followed it as if mesmerised. “Marise Tomelty is my married name. I’m not really used to it. When people say ‘Good morning, Mrs Tomelty,’ I look to see who is behind me.”
    He gathered up the cubes of rubber that were falling out of Barbra-Bear and gave them to her. Marise shut her hand and suddenly opening it let them jump out and spill to his feet.
    “Jack threw her out of the window and she burst open. He’s so jealous, he hates me having anything of my own.” How about John Brown’s wife? she was thinking, how stupid the woman must be to be married to him. “I suppose she’s pretty –” she did suppose that because he had the pick ofwomen and would choose the best looking one to keep – “Bertha’s pretty, isn’t she?”
    “No, she’s not pretty.”
    “Why did you marry her then?”
    “I needed her.”
    “I can see you’d need someone, but why her especially?”
    “It’s a long story.”
    “We have plenty of time.” She stuffed Barbra-Bear behind the cushions. Then she knelt up in the chair, smoothing her dress under her thighs. “Tell me.”
    He stood up violently, like a man coming up for air rather than leaving a tea-table. “I’ll go next door and ask to look in their cellar. The cat may have gone in after rats and not be able to get out.”
    “It’s gone courting,” said Marise. “It’s waiting for the she-cat, it will wait for weeks.”
    “Weeks?”
    “It will sit in one place waiting and waiting. The grass will grow up into its fur.” She laughed and he had to smile, but then she said, “You’d think they’d get past it, a man couldn’t wait so long, could he?” and he looked away.
    Marise never considered that she might have gone too far, she simply grew tired of going in the same direction. She plumped herself deep into the chair. “You were going to tell me a long story. About Bertha, Bertha-who-isn’t-pretty.”
    “She’s kind,” he said hurriedly, “the kindest person I know.”
    “Not now, I’m the kindest person you know now. Do you think I’m pretty?”
    “Yes!”
    The ferocity of his answer amused her, as did the way he avoided looking at her while she was looking at him. He wouldn’t meet her eye because of what she knew. She hoped he wasn’t ashamed, an ashamed murderer.
    “Very well, I am pretty and kind. Now tell me about Bertha.”
    “What do you want to know?”
    “If she’s big and fat or small and thin. Where you met her, when you married her.” Whenever she took her eyes off him he looked at her. She gazed down into her lap to give him time to get a good look. “What was it like before –” she started to say “before anything happened,” but it struck her that things had happened to this man all his life and she wanted to know about all of them – “before you were married?”
    “Like? It wasn’t much different. I tended to do certain things over and over again. Now I do other things over and over again.”
    “So do I,” said Marise, “shut up here and virtually a prisoner.”
    He had a changeable face, she was able to change it with whatever she said. When he smiled, as he did now, Jack wouldn’t have recognised John Brown.
    “Bertha’s short and plump, Emmeline’s big but not fat. You couldn’t call her fat.”
    “I couldn’t call her anything, could I, I haven’t seen her. You’re not married to her too, are you?”
    “Sometimes I think