NARRATOR: In this great city of Glasgow,
there's a square...
...Blythswood Square.
There's nothing very remarkable
about its appearance,
and very little except for the solid,
well-built Victorian Houses
to suggest its earlier prosperity.
But there is one house in this square
which is exceptional
for it has an interest
which time can never change.
Number seven, which still remains,
was the home of Madeleine Smith.
Her strange, romantic story has survived
the elegance of the house she lived in,
and perhaps her spirit still remains
to listen for the ghostly footsteps
of Emile L'Angelier across the area,
or to listen for the tap of his stick on
the railing outside her bedroom window.
The story of this house is the story of two
human beings and what became of them.
WOMAN: Madeleine?
- Yes, Mama?
Come, we're going in.
- It has a good lock?
- Oh, yes, sir, the best.
The ladies should be careful, sir.
I fear there is much dust.
You hear that, Janet? Keep close to Mama.
- This is the hall.
- So I had divined.
Well, it has solidity.
How many bedrooms are there?
There are three principal bedrooms, sir.
Two on this floor and one
very commodious room in the basement.
MOTHER: Here is the drawing room.
MAN: Open the door. The handle looks dusty.
There, my dear.
Ah.
Yes, you were right, my dear
It is dignified.
Dirty, but dignified.
MAN: I grasp essentials quickly, my dear.
- Isn't it exciting?
- (Laughs)
Well, Madeleine, what do you think of it?
I like it. I like this room very much.
Oh, Mama, look at the bars on the window.
Come along. Come and look at the kitchen.
I think we should take this house, Mama.
What was that?
Nothing at all. Go to sleep, Janet.
I'm going to open the window
and leave you now.
You haven't finished telling me
what happened to the prince.
He went far away across the sea...
and never came back again.
JANET: Oh, poor prince.
Get into bed!
- You haven't kissed me good night.
- Now, this is the last time.
(Doorbell rings)
- There's Mr. Minnoch.
- Who is Mr. Minnoch?
- You know who Mr. Minnoch is.
- He gave you a top last year.
- Has he come to dinner?
Papa has asked him.
He's been away for a time.
Will he have brought me another present
this time?
Don't be greedy.
- Good evening, Christina.
- Good evening, sir.
- I'm not late, I hope.
- Oh, no, sir.
Good.
And how do you like your new home?
CHRISTINA: We all like it, sir. Very much.
Miss Madeleine.
- Good evening, Mr. Minnoch.
- What a pleasure to see you.
- It seems a long time.
- It is.
Your stay in the south was
agreeable, I hope.
I missed my friends.
- I've brought these as an offering.
- How exceedingly kind of you.
Mama will love them.
Papa, here is Mr. Minnoch.
(Woman singing inside the house)
# Dis-moi que je n'ai rien perdu
# De ta tendresse
# Quand je suis assez jaloux
# Et sans flchir, sans courroux
# La fiert
# Renait dans mon ame
# Je ne suis
# Qu'une faible femme
# Mais dis-moi
# Qu'a tout jamais
# Dis-moi tu m'aimes
# Toujours, toujours
- Bravo.
- Delightful.
In spite of my clumsiness with the pages.
I was clumsy.
I sang many wrong notes, I'm sure.
Madeleine,
I've never heard you sing in French before.
Have you not, Mama?
Sing the one about the spinning wheel
and the little dog.
Pray, excuse me, Mama,
I'm so out of practice it must be tedious.
Oh, that it is not, Miss Madeleine,
but we must not tire you.
Indeed, I must take my leave.
(Church bell rings)
Good night, ma'am. My warmest thanks.
I feel now that I am truly home.
You were most welcome, Mr. Minnoch.
And we shall look forward
to your coming again soon.
Oh, and we must thank you again
for your gift, must we not, girls?
- Yes.
- Indeed.
- Good night, Miss Bessie.
- Good night.
Good night, Miss Madeleine.
Your music will be in my ears all night.
- It will spoil your rest.
- Disturb it perhaps, but never spoil it.
- I'll see you to the door.
- Most kind, sir.
MOTHER:
Madeleine, bring me Mr. Minnoch's card.
Thank you.
"To the ladies of Blythswood Square."
(Laughs) That should read "To the lady, "
I fancy, Madeleine.
They were for you, Mama.
Mamas do not receive yellow roses from
young men, certainly not in such profusion.
Bessie, you must improve your singing.
I do not like French songs.
Besides, nobody understands them
except Madeleine.
- And Papa.
- Papa does not speak French.
Nevertheless, he is clever enough
to understand, Bessie.
Well, to bed, everyone. It's late.
Yes, my love.
Night, Papa.
He stayed a long time.
- But not too long.
- No, indeed. He's very welcome.
A fine man, Madeleine. And a handsome one.
Yes, Papa.
- Good night, Mama.
- Good night.
I will turn out the lights.
- Oh, if Janet coughs, give her the syrup.
- Yes, Mama.
- Good night, Papa.
- Good night, my daughter.
You sang charmingly.
(Footsteps in the street)
(Rattles cane on railings)
We must be quiet.
- (French accent) I thought the maid...
- She knows.
- Will you be cold?
- No.
Madeleine, tu es tres belle.
You're wearing perfume.
Yes. I put it on. I...
(Footsteps approach)
Gone.
We're like children hiding.
I heard you singing tonight.
It was for you.
But you had a visitor this evening.
He's a friend of Papa's.
I could be jealous of him, even for that.
You need not be.
Soon Papa will know you and accept you,
as I do.
I wish I could believe that.
- He came to the warehouse today.
- I know.
And in my shirtsleeves
I carried parcels to his carriage.
He gave me a coin.
Dearest, you won't always be
in that position.
Besides... I love you.
I shall tell him that.
(Thunder rumbles)
You're cold.
- I must go.
- When shall I see you again?
I don't know.
Papa has talked about going to the country.
I might come there too.
No, that might be difficult.
I will write... tomorrow.
I will write.
For these and all thy other gifts bestowed,
we render thee humble thanks.
Amen.
- Madeleine?
- Yes, Papa?
Wait.
Come, children. Come get your coats on.
I wish to speak to you.
My boots.
Last night something
of great seriousness occurred.
You can guess to what I refer.
- No, Papa.
- I'm surprised.
Last night after dinner, Mr. Minnoch asked me
formally if he might pay his attentions to you.
What did you say to him, Papa?
I said I would speak to you.
I presume your answer is yes?
Is it?
No, Papa.
And, pray, why not?
I just do not wish it, Papa.
Do you dislike Mr. Minnoch?
I like him well enough,
but it is so soon, Papa.
If it is, it shows the warmth of the
feelings that he entertains towards you.
Madeleine, for some time now, your mother
and I have had a growing anxiety about you.
There seems to be something
about your character
that prevents you from acting naturally.
It is time that you were married.
You have met many young men
and yet nothing has ever come of it.
Now here is Mr. Minnoch, admirable in
every way, and yet you reject him.
What are your reasons?
I cannot give more reasons, Papa.
But I beg you not to say yes to Mr. Minnoch.
I have already done so.
He will be joining us at Rhu.
And you will oblige me by being sensible and
conducting yourself agreeably towards him.
If you do not,
you will incur my gravest displeasure.
Is that understood?
- Yes, Papa.
- Very well.
(Seagulls cry)
Well, this is my last day, Miss Madeleine.
Yes, but I am sure Papa has every intention
of asking you to stay with us again.
Then have you forgotten that today you were
going to give me your answer?
Oh, forgive me for being so persistent.
But the last few days have convinced me
more than ever
that we should be very happy together.
Mr. Minnoch, I'm very grateful.
But it's a big step you're
asking me to take.
Please, give me time to grow to it.
There's no-one else?
Mr. Minnoch, may I take you
into my confidence?
Of course.
What I am going to tell you
concerns my father.
I'm... I'm very worried.
If he should know of this hesitation
on my part... he will be very angry.
Then, surely,
it would be better that he did not know.
- It would.
- Then it shall be our secret.
Thank you. You're very kind.
It's not very difficult, Miss Madeleine.
Shall we ride home?
- Mrs. Jenkins?
MRS JENKINS: Is that you, Mr. L'Angelier?
- Is there a letter for me?
- Uh-huh.
- Where?
- Mr. Thuau took it upstairs.
MAN: Come in.
- Ou est ma lettre?
- Ah-ha! Bonsoir.
- Mon ami, ou est ma lettre?
- Dans votre chambre.
- Merci. Bonsoir.
- Bonsoir.
Hm.
- Ah.
- Look.
Mm, she's very attractive.
(Knock on door)
- Come in.
Did Mr. L'Angelier get it?
Oh, I see he did.
I've got your chitterlings, Mr. Thuau.
Ah, delicious. Emile? Chitterlings.
- Mr. L'Angelier?
- Yes?
You haven't forgotten
that it's the end of the week again?
Oh... no.
- You know, that'll make three weeks
altogether. - Yes.
- I don't like mentioning these things.
- I will pay you tomorrow.
Thank you.
(Door closes)
- Do you mean it?
Why shouldn't I mean it?
I seem to remember a little item
of a new suit to be paid for.
There is such a thing
as keeping up appearances.
There is such a thing as paying
the rent too.
Rent.
Is all well at Blythswood Square?
The family have moved
to their house in the country.
That, if I may say so,
is the best thing that could happen.
Why?
Why? Because if the enchantress is out of town,
you might conceivably come to your senses.
Mrs. Jenkins might even get the rent.
If you think it makes a difference
whether Madeleine is here or in the country,
you're mistaken.
We love each other.
We are going to be married.
Hm. Does Mr. Smith know that?
No, but he will be acquainted with the fact
as soon as I can be formally introduced.
And when will that be?
Very soon.
In fact, I'm taking the steamer
for Rhu this evening.
"This, then, was the melancholy state
in which Sir Marcus found himself:
alone, bereft both of the kindly sights
and sounds of nature
and of the cheering company
of a fellow human being,
he was near to abandoning himself
to complete despair... "
(Ship's horn in distance)
JANET: Well, it's only the steamer. Go on.
MOTHER:
I hope Mr. Minnoch reached his home safely.
He went by rail, my dear, not steamer.
How stupid of me.
Continue, Madeleine.
I'm sorry I interrupted.
Hey, what time is the last boat from here
back to the city tonight?
17 minutes after ten, sir.
- The last one?
- Aye.
- And the first in the morning?
- Half-past five, sir.
Thank you.
"So saying, he gazed long and earnestly
into the old man's eyes
and then turned and strode away.
He crossed the bridge
without a backward glance
and vanished in the conifers
of the forest."
- That is the end of the chapter, Papa.
- Thank you, Madeleine.
- You read well.
- Thank you, Papa.
Well, to bed now.
Bessie, ring the bell for prayers.
(Whispers) Emile.
I'm here.
The gate was open.
Yes. I unlocked it.
- Mimi.
- Why do you call me Mimi?
I do not know. You dislike it?
No. No.
(Dog barks)
Come.
(Bagpipes play in distance)
They must be dancing in the village.
They are, yes. I passed them.
Who put that seat here? Your family?
No, the people before us.
She was fat and got out of breath.
She would have been jealous of you.
Yes... she would.
I can hear what they're playing. Listen.
# Lively jig
Dance with me, Emile.
- What?
- I'm dancing.
Dance with me.
Here?
We are quite alone.
I do not know how.
Danse avec moi.
Look.
Now the arm.
Now the other.
- Like so?
- Yes.
It should go faster.
You can't dance with that in your hand.
Heyah!
(Door opens)
Do not come outside. You will risk a chill.
My best thanks.
- You're to come here a week today.
- Believe me, I won't forget.
- Good night, my boy.
- Good night, sir.
Come, Bessie. You look tired.
- Good night, my dear.
- Good night, Mama.
We're just off to bed, James.
- Good night, Papa.
- You bolted your food tonight.
Do not. Every mouthful should be chewed.
Yes, Papa.
- Madeleine?
- Yes, Papa?
Is all well between you and Mr. Minnoch?
I think so, Papa. Has he said anything?
No, I wish he would.
Indeed, I had hoped that one of you
would have said something to me by now.
I can hardly propose to him myself, Papa.
But I cannot help feeling that some sign,
some indication from you would er...
Bring him to the boil, Papa?
That is both vulgar and flippant!
I'm sorry, Papa.
These things can be done
with perfect modesty and propriety.
I shall expect news soon, Madeleine.
- Yes, Papa.
- Good night.
Good night, Papa.
- Is your room tidy?
- Yes, miss.
You were laughing too loud with your friend
this evening.
He's full of pranks, miss.
Well, speak to him, or he won't
be able to come.
Yes, miss.
- You're undone now.
- Thank you. Open the door.
(Door opens)
I thought the guests would never go.
I notice that Christina has taken
to having a visitor.
Yes, I had to reprove her tonight
for making too much noise.
But, Madeleine, has it occurred to you
how embarrassing it is for me?
How, Emile?
You are the mistress of the house.
And yet I appear to be on the same footing
as the servant's young man.
I have to come and go by the same back door.
I find it humiliating, that is all.
I'm sorry, dearest.
But Christina takes advantage
of being in my confidence.
I will tell her that her friend
is not to come here any more, hm?
Is that the only solution?
I love you.
Is it?
No.
Madeleine,
when am I going to meet your father?
- You hesitate.
- I do not hesitate.
But you always hesitate. Why?
Well, it's difficult, that is all.
If you knew Papa, you would understand.
Madeleine, we're engaged to be married.
You have even said
that you were already my wife.
Is it unreasonable that I should ask
to be introduced to your father?
- No, Emile.
- Then, what is the difficulty?
Madeleine... is it that you're
ashamed of me?
How could it be? I love you.
Well, then prove it...
and speak to your father.
- I will soon.
- No, this won't do.
It has been soon before.
Promise.
I promise.
What will you say?
Please, not now, Emile, it's so late.
What will you say?
I will say... "Papa... "
Yes?
"... for some time now I've been acquainted
with a French... gentleman. "
And?
"And er... we've...
we've fallen in love with each other...
and... and er... "
"We wish to be married. "
"... we... wish to be married, Papa. "
What's the matter?
I've been having headaches all day.
It's the snow, I think. It oppresses me.
Poor Mimi.
I think I should try and sleep.
Do you want me to leave?
It would be best, Emile.
The pain makes me stupid.
Good night, Emile.
You will write and let me know
when you have spoken to your father?
Yes.
Good.
(Children laugh and shout)
Has the post been yet?
- Yes.
- Good.
- Mr. L'Angelier!
- In a moment.
Mr. L'Angelier!
Mimi.
What has brought you here?
Put your arms around me.
Emile... we're going to be married.
So you have told your father.
No, but I've come here to ask you
to take me away.
I do not understand.
Last night I made you a promise
I cannot keep.
I cannot tell Papa.
Why not?
Emile, we've kept our love a secret all this time
for fear of even a whisper reaching him.
If he should hear of our engagement now,
he would separate us forever.
Take me away, Emile.
Take me away before it is too late.
Where?
Well... you had work offered you in London.
We could be happy there.
Happy.
Do you think we can be happy on what I earn?
If you love me, yes.
No, this is not what I desire.
If we marry, we marry into your life,
not mine.
You will keep your word
and speak to your father.
Emile, I cannot.
Why?
Because of what I am?
- Of this?
- Please, Emile.
You have broken your word.
For months now, I have waited on street
pavements like any common servant,
suffered the indignity of being admitted
by the back door night after night.
And all this time you've been deceiving me.
I was born a gentleman.
If your friend Mr. Minnoch can be accepted
by your family, so can I.
Will you marry me, Emile?
In such circumstances, no.
What are you doing?
Emile, I wonder if you know
what you've done to me.
I... I thought we loved each other.
I wanted to leave my family
and go away with you.
But until now I've never really known you.
But nothing has changed.
But it has, Emile.
I must ask you to return my letters to me
and not to try and see me again.
Wait. You shall not go like this.
I'm going home.
# Waltz
She's in very good looks this evening,
my dear.
- Oh, you think so?
- Indeed.
Many eyes are upon her.
One pair in particular.
- That would make us very happy.
- I'm sure.
But isn't that a foregone conclusion?
Oh, we hope so.
My dear, we are being too discreet.
How vigorous, you are, dear James.
You dance as well as anybody in the room.
I still have the use of my legs, my love.
Ah, the pipes!
# Lively jig
Ladies and gentlemen, pray take
your partners for a Caledonian reel.
- Ah.
- This was to be ours, Miss Madeleine.
- Unless you're fatigued.
- She is not. She has been dancing with me.
Come, ladies.
We'll find a better point of vantage.
Come, Bessie.
I hear we shall be congratulating
you both soon.
Or am I being premature?
You are, ma'am.
I'm sorry.
That was an embarrassing question.
Mrs. Grant is famous for them.
Nevertheless,
I wish I'd been able to answer differently.
- Would it have given you happiness?
- More than anything in the world.
Come along, William.
- Mr. Minnoch?
- Yes, Miss Madeleine?
Before we start,
I wish to say something to you.
I'm all attention.
If Mrs. Grant or anyone else
should ask you that question again...
you may answer differently.
(Bagpipes strike up)
(Pipers play a Caledonian reel)
MAN: Heyah!
And you will keep Saturday?
- Yes, indeed.
- We will ask a few people.
- Good night, ma'am.
- Good night, my boy.
Good night, sir.
I have not seen you alone all evening.
And now I'm going.
Is that what being engaged entails?
My family were so excited.
Come round tomorrow.
I will see they leave us alone.
Madeleine, my dear Madeleine.
I trust you will never regret this.
I do not regret things.
Even what you do impetuously?
I accepted you tonight in an impulse,
it is true.
But I felt I was guided to do so.
By providence?
- Mm-hm.
- And Mrs. Grant's wig.
What is it?
We shall laugh together, you and I?
Of course.
Madeleine... will you wear this?
Till we choose you one.
It will be clumsy on your hand.
But I should like to think of it there.
I will wear it. I like it.
It is solid.
Is... Is this your crest?
A crossbow.
Ah.
I thought it was an anchor.
Thank you, William.
- Good night, Madeleine.
- Good night, William.
I will call in the morning.
Sleep very well.
And don't fret.
We shall be happy.
(Door opens)
MOTHER: Madeleine.
Oh, Madeleine. Oh.
We are so pleased for you.
I'm glad, Mama. I feel quite light-headed.
And there is so much to discuss.
- Bessie will be bridesmaid.
- Oh, Mama.
And Janet too. And where will it be?
Oh, Madeleine, you have a ring.
Yes, it is his. He gave it to me.
It isn't very pretty, is it?
Look, Papa.
Emile.
I wish to speak to you.
Come outside.
Emile, have you brought my letters?
I wish to speak to you!
It is impossible. Please go.
(Rattles railings with cane)
- You'll wake everyone up.
- That is precisely my intention.
What have you to say?
Come to the door.
I cannot, Emile.
(Janet stirs in her sleep)
Please say what you have to say.
- Open the door.
- No.
Open it!
- (Rattles door)
- Wait.
Thank you.
In here.
How dare you!
What is it you wish to say?
You were dancing very
light-heartedly tonight, Mimi.
Where are my letters, Emile?
What is Mr. Minnoch to you?
He's a friend of Papa's. I told you before.
Mimi, if Mr. Minnoch entertained
deeper feelings for you...
he wouldn't like to know
that you are betrothed to another.
You and I are not betrothed!
You say that we were more than that.
You've written it many times.
That is done with.
I wonder if your father would agree
with you.
He must never know.
But he must, Mimi.
If not from you, then from your letters.
No.
It is my duty.
No, Emile, not my letters.
You made yourself my wife, Madeleine.
I cannot tell Papa.
I cannot.
- Then I will.
- No, Emile. I implore you.
- He must know the truth.
- He will destroy me. He will put me away.
Please, Emile, do not go to Papa.
I will do anything.
Anything you say.
I will tell him, but not my letters,
I beg you, Emile.
I beg you.
(Gasps)
(Madeleine sobs)
Mimi.
(Continues sobbing)
Mimi...
(Shop bell rings)
- Hello, sonny.
- It's on the paper.
Hm, just a minute.
What is this required for, my lad?
- I don't know, sir.
- Where do you come from?
Miss Madeleine Smith, Blythswood Square.
Will you go back and inform the lady
that I cannot supply prussic acid,
without knowing why it is required?
- You mean, you won't give it to me?
- That is what I mean. Here.
Yes, sir.
- I won't keep you.
- All right. Thanks.
Voila.
- a va?
- Ah, magnifique.
- Combien?
- Cher. Come in!
Mais je la trouve de tres bon gout.
Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins.
Are you not feeling well again?
I'm feeling very well.
This is just my pick-me-up.
A drop of whisky will be better for you.
It is inclined to linger on the breath,
Mrs. Jenkins.
It's trustworthy. You'll benefit by your
holiday, Mr. L'Angelier.
Yes. Mrs. Jenkins, may I have
the key, please? I might be late.
- I'll fetch it.
- I'm coming down.
(Door closes)
To love.
# When they heard of the death of poor...
Oh, be quiet, please, Janet.
Christina, where is the bottle
William brought from the chemist?
They wouldn't let him have it, miss.
Come on, Janet, out you get.
Is there any of the old stuff left?
I don't know, miss.
Give it to me, please.
(Doorbell rings)
- Who's that?
- A visitor.
Is it Mr. Minnoch?
- Aren't you dry yet?
- Not quite.
- Answer the bell, Christina.
- Yes, miss.
My skin is quite unpresentable.
JANET: # Then the birds and the bees went
a- sighing and a-sobbing
# Heard of the death of poor cock robin
# Heard of the death of poor cock...
Janet, I asked you to stop singing!
I'm sorry, Madeleine.
You must be good tonight.
Go to sleep quickly.
Good evening.
Miss Madeleine is expecting me.
The drawing room.
This way.
- He's in the drawing room, miss.
- Yes, I know.
Yes, miss.
Make the cocoa, please,
and take it straight up.
Yes, miss.
Use the silver jug.
(Door closes)
(Door opens)
Good evening, Emile.
Good evening, Madeleine.
I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.
I've been admiring this room.
It's most tastefully done.
Pray, sit down.
Do not be alarmed. I shall be gone by the
time your family returns from their party.
I had great difficulty in excusing myself
from going.
What reason did you give?
That I was tired.
Your looks contradict you.
Thank you, Emile.
My dear Mimi, I fear that...
(Door opens)
Place it here, Christina.
- You will take cocoa?
- Thank you.
It's a raw night.
I think we shall have more frost.
It feels cooler.
Christina!
Take this to Mr. L'Angelier.
Yes, miss.
Still, perhaps better now than later,
when the blossom comes.
(Sniggers)
(Door closes)
- You're looking very debonair, Emile.
- You think so?
I like your tie.
I chose it with care.
My dear Mimi,
I fear that you may have been thinking I'm
a hard man and insensible to your position.
No, Emile.
You see, I have inherited the feelings
and delicacy of a person well-bred.
I realise that you must choose the moment
to speak to your father.
Consequently,
I intend not to visit you for a week.
That is considerate of you, Emile.
But at the end of that time, I shall expect to
have received an invitation to come here openly
and be introduced to your family.
You will not fail me.
No, Emile.
Excellent.
Is that the instrument you play?
Yes.
Play for me.
And sing.
Very well. If you wish.
I have true passion for the pianoforte.
(Plays dramatic romantic piece)
It's seven o'clock, M...
Oh.
Mr. L'Angelier!
What's the matter with you?
I don't know. I've been ill all night.
Dreadfully ill.
You should have called me.
Come back to bed, now, quick.
I'm a little better now.
I took some laudanum.
Come away, now.
Shall I get Mr. Thuau to fetch you a doctor?
No. Is that tea?
I'm so thirsty, I drank all the water.
You'll not get away for your holiday
this afternoon, that's certain.
Oh, yes. I've made arrangements.
I shall try and sleep a little.
Don't worry, Mrs. Jenkins.
I should be better in an hour or two.
Cousin Charlotte!
- Cousin Charlotte.
SHOP OWNER: Morning, ladies.
Good morning, Mr. Murdoch. I wish for a
bottle of your cough linctus, if you please.
Certainly.
Bessie, I will make you a present.
I will give you a flask of rose-water.
Madeleine!
Why?
I feel like it. If you please, Mr. Murdoch.
Oh, and I want sixpenny worth of arsenic.
What do you want that for?
Cook saw a rat in the cellar
again yesterday.
We do not like selling arsenic for
that purpose. It's so dangerous.
Do not be alarmed, Mr. Murdoch.
We will take every precaution.
Very well, ma'am. I shall have to ask you
to sign the poison register.
Certainly.
Are there rats?
Do not be a goose. It is for my skin.
Maddy, you are vain.
Not a word to Mama.
If you would just sign your name here,
please.
I will take them all with me, Mr. Murdoch.
I'll be obliged if you'll place them
to my father's account.
Certainly, Miss Smith.
Except the rose-water.
- How much?
- That will be sixpence ha'penny.
- Good evening, Mrs. Jenkins.
- Good evening, Mr. Thuau.
Here's a letter for Mr. L'Angelier.
- Should it be sent on to him?
- It should. I will do it, I have the address.
(Doorbell rings)
(Footsteps outside)
Christina.
- Is he here, miss?
- No. Are you sure you posted the letter?
Yes, miss.
Well, then, lock up and go to bed.
- You'll not wait any longer, then, miss?
- No.
- Good night.
- Good night, miss.
(Church bells ring)
- Mr. L'Angelier!
- Good evening, Mrs. Jenkins.
I wasn't expecting you back till next week.
Are you better?
- Much better.
- Did you get your letters?
- Yes, but too late.
- I told Mr. Thuau they were important.
They were. I had appointments for Thursday
and Friday and I missed both.
Will you be wanting anything?
I'm just setting out for the kirk.
I will take your latchkey,
if I may. I may be late.
Well, you know where it is. If you're
wise, you'll not go out again tonight.
It's blowing up for a storm.
Perhaps you're right.
(Wind howls)
(Knocking)
(Wind whistles)
(Door rattles)
(Clock chimes)
(Groans in pain)
Mrs. Jenkins!
Mrs. Jenkins!
Ohh!
Who's there?
It is I, Mrs. Jenkins.
Open the door, if you please.
Oh, I'm just coming.
- I'll go and fetch a doctor.
- No, I don't want him.
Oh!
You'd better go and fetch him.
I see. And how is he now?
He's asleep. Mr. Thuau's with him.
- Did you give him the medicine?
- He's taken it.
- You say he's been sick again?
- Yes.
- What do you think it could be, Doctor?
- It could be several things.
He's sleeping.
Seems a shame to wake him.
Did he say anything before he went to sleep?
No, Doctor.
You'd better pull the blinds.
- I should have thought of that.
- The man's dead.
Oh, no.
Was he married?
- No.
- Family?
Not in Glasgow.
Who will look after things, then?
I will.
Poor gentleman.
Poor gentleman.
Mrs. Jenkins, would you please help us
by making a cup of tea?
I'll send a woman along.
She'll do everything that's necessary here.
There has to be a certificate,
has there not?
Yes.
Will you make it out?
No, not yet.
You're not happy about this either, Doctor?
Doctor, I'm the assistant
to the French Consul here.
I feel that perhaps a further examination
should be made.
I have no objection.
Tell the good woman downstairs
not to dispose of anything.
I will.
DOCTOR: Good day to you.
THUAU: Good day, Doctor.
WOMAN: Still!
- Madeleine.
WOMAN: Stand up straight if you please.
I'm sorry, Madame Borani.
Oh, it'II look beautiful, will it not,
Christina?
Oh, yes, ma'am.
(Door bell rings) - See who it is,
Christina. Bessie, dear, come.
Hurry, girl.
You will give me room to breathe,
Madame Borani?
- Mustn't sacrifice elegance, must we,
ma'am? - Indeed, no.
Good evening.
Is Mr. Smith at home? My name is Thuau.
- Come in, sir.
MR SMITH: What is it, Christina?
To see you, sir.
Hm.
Come in, sir.
Oh, I do hope Papa will like it.
I'm sure he will.
He has an excellent taste in these things.
- Shall I call him in?
- Hold still, Miss Smith!
Not yet, dear.
Wait till it is nearer completion.
Who was it, Christina?
A visitor for the master, ma'am.
- Who?
- I didn't quite catch the name, ma'am.
Oh, you must try to hear names, Christina.
- Look, Mama.
- Lovely, my dear. Lovely!
Continue, Mr. Thuau.
It seems apparent, Mr. Smith,
that he committed suicide.
Poor fellow.
It is very prevalent among that class.
- Would you er...?
- No, thank you.
But how does this concern me?
It concerns Miss Madeleine Smith, sir.
And so you.
My daughter?
He...
He hoped he was going to marry her.
Then he was a mad man.
My daughter is to marry a gentleman
by the name of Minnoch.
- To marry?
- Certainly.
Quite soon.
Mr. Smith, I think you should know
that among Mr. L'Angelier's effects
are many letters from your daughter,
which show that his hopes, if mad,
had some little support.
I do not believe you, sir.
I'm a representative of my country.
I do not lie.
Madeleine.
Yes, Papa?
MR SMITH: I wish to speak to you.
- She's fitting her dress.
MR SMITH: I shall not detain her! At once!
(Door slams)
I'm sorry, madam.
- Put this round you, dear.
- No, thank you, Mama.
MOTHER: Who can it be?
- It sounded a foreign name, ma'am.
I hope, sir, you'll excuse my dress.
Yes, Papa?
Madeleine, have you ever heard
of a Frenchman called...
Pierre Emile L'Angelier.
No, Papa.
Have you ever written letters to him,
or anyone else, without my knowledge?
No, Papa.
Perhaps you will go, now, sir.
Miss Smith... Emile is dead.
Well?
Say something.
How?
He committed suicide.
Where are my letters?
You knew him?
Did you?
- Answer me.
- Yes, Papa, for a time.
- You were intimately acquainted
with him, too. - Were you?
I met him, but he's not been here
for some time, Papa.
He came to this house?
Why did I not see him?
- Tell me.
- It was downstairs.
- Among the servants?
- No, Papa.
Alone.
When?
I should be grateful, sir,
if you would tell me when.
- At night.
- Did he tell the butcher boy too?
He expected to marry you, mademoiselle.
I... I had broken with him, Papa.
But, Miss Smith, the day before he died,
he returned unexpectedly from the country
as a result of a letter from you,
asking him to come here.
- That was only a week ago.
- He did not come.
Why did you write?
To ask him to return my letters.
I have seen what you wrote, Miss Smith.
The language does not convey such a purpose.
MR SMITH: My daughter.
Papa, he did not come.
Miss Smith, I should have mentioned that
death was the result of arsenical poisoning.
Enquiries will be exhaustive.
MR SMITH: There will be enquiries?
THUAU: Inevitably.
Good night, sir.
I swear to you, I have not seen him.
I am not the police, Miss Smith.
Papa.
We are naked.
He did not come, Papa.
Has there been another train
for Rhu this morning?
- This'll be the first of the day.
- Thank you.
I am going away.
Christina told me at the house.
You were there early.
I wanted to see you.
The police were with me last night.
About what?
The death of a man.
(Train whistle blows)
Do not go away, my dear.
- I must.
- Scotland is not very big, you know.
William, I bought arsenic for my skin.
Tell them that.
I'm frightened.
I'm frightened, William.
Be frightened here where you have friends.
Fear by yourself - that's a crushing thing.
You do not know.
- I know you will stay.
- Why?
Because to do otherwise is not Madeleine.
(Guard's whistle)
- Stay.
- I'm human.
How could you be brave if you were not?
Stay.
(Guard's whistle)
- Oh, porter, will you find me a cab,
please? - Yes, ma'am.
I will take you.
No. I shall go alone.
I could help.
I do not wish it, thank you.
Dear William.
Take this.
- But... that is yours.
- Keep it for me.
It may get lost.
Goodbye, William.
Good morning, ma'am.
- Where are they?
- They're in the drawing room, miss.
- Good morning.
- Good morning, ma'am.
Miss Smith?
Yes?
I am the representative
of the Procurator Fiscal of Glasgow.
I have a warrant for your arrest on a charge
of murdering Pierre Emile L'Angelier.
MAN: The wicked shall be destroyed!
This daughter of a rich man in her devilry
defied the most sacred laws of God and man.
She dresses in purple and fine linen.
But her heart is black!
Black with sin!
"Vengeance is mine," said the Lord,
and retribution will be just upon
this murderess, this daughter of Satan!
Just and...
(Clamouring)
Here she comes.
(Jeering and booing)
MAN: She shall perish!
Yes, she shall perish!
Evil!
OFFICER: Get away there! Get down!
Get away! Get down!
(Jeering)
You'll hang!
WOMAN: Hang from a rope till you're dead!
MAN: Take her out and hang her!
(Jeering)
(Booing)
(Wagon's wheels clatter)
We're on Princes Street.
(Horses' hooves clip clop)
I have your lavender water
and clean handkerchiefs.
Thank you, Miss Aiken.
(Jeering and booing)
(Jeering and booing outside)
I trust this won't take long. It's come
at a most inconvenient time for me.
You must resign yourself to
a very lengthy wait, I fear.
- Maybe several days.
- No talking, gentlemen, if you please.
(Fanfare)
I shall be beside you.
My glove is unstitched.
- It'll not show.
- I hope not.
(Bell rings)
MAN: Come up, please.
You must go up.
MAN: Come up, Miss Smith.
Are you sure you're not faint?
Madeleine Hamilton Smith, now or lately
prisoner in the prison of Glasgow,
you are indicted and accused of wickedly and
feloniously administering a quantity of arsenic
to Pierre Emile L'Angelier, now deceased,
with intent to murder him
on 22nd February 1857,
in consequence whereof
he suffered severe illness;
while further indicted and accused of feloniously
administering a quantity of arsenic
to the said Pierre Emile L'Angelier with
intent to murder him, on 22nd March 1857,
in consequence thereof
he suffered severe illness and did die,
and was thus murdered by you.
Prisoner at the bar,
you have heard the indictment read.
Do you plead guilty or not guilty?
Not guilty.
I wonder if Madeleine
is wearing her new dress.
- Sshh.
- Did you see, Mr. Minnoch?
(Door opens)
- Dr. Penny.
- Oh...
Dr. Penny, you were requested
by the Procurator Fiscal
to analyse the contents
of the body of the deceased.
I was.
Having carefully considered the results of
your examination, what was your conclusion?
I am clearly of the opinion that the matters
analysed by me contained a quantity of arsenic.
And now, Dr. Penny, can you tell me if arsenic
could be administered by means of... cocoa?
Aye, it could.
PROSECUTION:
Thank you. Your witness.
Dr. Penny, one other question.
Can you tell me whether,
in cases of your experience,
where a very large quantity of arsenic
has been found in the body...
can you tell me whether they have turned out
to be cases of murder?
Such cases as I have knowledge of,
where such large quantities were found,
were, in fact, suicides.
Then it would be a very difficult thing,
Dr. Penny,
for one person to administer such
a very large dose of arsenic to another,
without that other person's knowledge.
Difficult, yes. I would not say impossible.
But in all your wide experience,
you have never heard of it?
No.
Thank you.
- Thank you. The next witness on the Crown list,
m'lud, is No. 2. - Christina Haggart.
Take your glove off.
No. 2, m'lud - Christina Haggart.
Raise your right hand.
Repeat after me.
I swear by almighty God...
I swear by almighty God...
CLERK:... as I shall answer to God
at the Day of Judgment...
CHRISTINA:... as I shall answer to God
at the Day of Judgment...
CLERK:... that I will tell the truth,
the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
CHRISTINA:... that I will tell the truth,
the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
PROSECUTION:
You are Christina Haggart.
Yes.
You were a servant in the family
of Mr. Smith of Glasgow.
- Y es.
- Will you please look at label 170?
And do you recognise this likeness?
It's a likeness of the French gentleman
known to Miss Smith.
Did you ever see him come to the house
in Blythswood Square?
CHRISTINA: Yes.
Did he come into the house?
He did.
More than once?
Yes.
At what hour did he come?
At night.
PROSECUTION:
And where were you?
CHRISTINA: In the kitchen.
And while you stayed in the kitchen,
did you know where Miss Smith was?
No.
Did you not know
that she was in your bedroom?
I did not know it.
I must remind you, Christina Haggart,
you are under oath.
Did you or did you not know
that she was in your bedroom?
Well, I thought she was there,
but I didn't know it of my own knowledge.
Take this down to the office right away.
You're too late for the last edition.
They'll bring out another one
and be glad to, unless I'm much mistaken.
(Knock on door)
Come in.
- What is it, Jean?
- The paper, ma'am. It has just arrived.
Burn it!
- Sir?
- I said burn it!
Thank you, Jean.
William Minnoch.
CLERK: No. 27, My Lord, William Minnoch.
Repeat after me.
I swear by almighty God as I shall answer
to God at the great Day of Judgment...
I swear by almighty God, as I shall answer
to God at the great Day of Judgment...
...that I will tell the truth,
the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
...that I will tell the truth,
the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
Your name is William Minnoch.
Yes.
You were acquainted with the Smith family,
were you not?
Yes.
Mr. Minnoch, did you go
to Glasgow railway station
on the day that the prisoner was arrested?
Yes.
With what purpose?
I wanted to persuade Miss Smith
to return to her home.
DEFENCE:
Were you successful in your attempt?
Yes.
Am I right in saying that she
returned quite freely and willingly?
Yes.
DEFENCE: Thank you. Your witness.
PROSECUTION: Mr. Minnoch...
How far did your acquaintance
with the prisoner reach?
I proposed marriage to her.
PROSECUTION: Did she accept you?
MINNOCH: Yes.
Was it a formal betrothal?
MINNOCH: I gave her a ring.
Where you aware that at that time
she was already engaged to someone else?
- No.
- You were not?
I was aware of no attachment
between her and another man.
Thank you.
DEFENCE: M'lud, that concludes
the case for the defence.
JUDGE: Lord Advocate,
are you now ready to address the jury?
PROSECUTION:
Yes. May it please your Lordship?
Gentlemen of the jury,
after an investigation,
which for its length and for its exposure
of sin, and disgrace and degradation
has proved unparalleled
in the criminal annals of this country,
I have now to discharge perhaps the
most painful duty that ever fell to my lot.
The inquiry starts
with this ascertained and certain fact:
that Emile L'Angelier died in consequence
of the administration of arsenic.
The question therefore which first arises
is, by whom was the poison administered?
And here I must enquire into the evidence,
which connects the prisoner at the bar
with the death of L'Angelier.
An attachment was formed between her
and the deceased,
in which she committed herself so completely
that she belonged to him and could,
with honour, belong to no-one else.
But another suitor appeared
and her affection began to cool.
She endeavoured to break her connection
with L'Angelier
and asked him to return her letters.
He refused and threatened to put them
into the hands of her father.
It was then that she saw
the situation she was in.
Some extrication or other was inevitable.
And with a strength of will
which I think you will have seen
she has exhibited more
than once in this case,
she resolved to escape from the labyrinth
of difficulties in which she found herself.
Now, gentlemen, how did she set about it?
You will remember the evidence William
Murray, boot boy in the Smith household,
gave here four days ago.
I was to get the prussic acid
at the druggist's.
PROSECUTION: Did you know
what the prussic acid was needed for?
- Miss Smith said it was for her hands.
PROSECUTION: Did you get it?
No, sir, the druggist wouldn't
give it to me.
Whether you believe the story that she
wanted it for her hands is for you to decide.
But you must admit, gentlemen,
that an attempt was made to purchase poison.
Poison was in her mind.
And what happened next?
L'Angelier was entertained in the
drawing room at Blythswood Square.
He was served with cocoa.
And the next morning he was found to be ill.
Now, recollect, please, the answers which Mr.
Thuau gave to my questions to him on this point.
I cannot remember his exact words.
Something like:
"I cannot think why I was so unwell
after getting that cocoa from her. "
PROSECUTION:
Had he spoken in that vein before?
- Well...
- I must remind you that you are under oath.
He did at one time say to me, "It is a perfect
fascination, my attachment for that girl."
"If she were to poison me," he said,
"I would forgive her. "
L'Angelier recovered from this illness.
And then she bought arsenic.
Arsenic, gentlemen.
Again the defence will try to persuade you
that she bought it for cosmetic purposes.
But what was the evidence of
an expert on this?
I should say arsenic, as a cosmetic,
would be very dangerous.
It would produce no effect whatsoever
on the skin itself
and might well penetrate the bloodstream.
But, gentlemen, arsenic has other uses...
far more dangerous.
In the early hours of the morning, Emile
L'Angelier was found Iying on his own doorstep,
in the throes of the illness
that was his last.
For a few hours later, he died.
And he died of arsenic.
The prisoner was in possession of poison.
He died of the same poison.
Did she have an opportunity
of administering it?
She denies entirely that she saw L'Angelier
the night before his death.
But you will consider, gentlemen, if that is
consistent with any reasonable probability.
Why did he come back from his holiday?
He said he had received two letters which I had
forwarded to him. The second brought him back.
Did he tell you the contents
of that second letter?
It asked him to visit Miss Smith
on the Friday evening.
In what terms was it written?
Very pressing.
Did he say - now, be careful,
if you please -
did he say that he was going to visit Miss
Smith the night he did, in fact, return?
I gathered that such was his intention.
Now, owing to his absence in the country,
he had missed meeting her on the
Thursday night and on the Friday night.
But she, nevertheless,
waited for him on both these occasions.
Listen to these lines from a letter
that she wrote to him
after he had failed
to keep the appointment on the first night.
"Why, my beloved, did you not come to me?
I waited and waited for you,
but you came not.
I shall wait again tomorrow night,
same hour and arrangement.
Come, my beloved, and clasp me
to your heart. "
Gentlemen, can you imagine
that the person who wrote this letter,
having already waited eagerly
and expectantly
for L'Angelier to visit her
on the Thursday and on the Friday...
can you believe that she didn't wait for him
on the Saturday and on the Sunday?
L'Angelier returned to Glasgow
on the Sunday.
But is it possible that he and she
did not meet that night?
He was seen in the neighbourhood.
You've had a witness here to say so.
And, gentlemen, you must come to the
inevitable conclusion that they did meet.
And if they met,
the evidence of her guilt is overwhelming.
The defence will probably stress the
possibility of suicide, but consider this.
L'Angelier was in the highest spirits
when he left his lodgings.
If he took his own life,
it could only be in consequence
of something that she had said to him.
But how could she say anything to him,
if they didn't meet?
During his illness,
during the whole of his relationship,
there seems to have been
not the slightest aversion to life,
not the slightest desire for death.
On the contrary, the last words
that he said before he died were:
"If only I could get a little sleep,
I think I would be well. "
The sleep he got was the sleep of death.
I leave the case entirely in your hands.
I see no outlet for the unhappy prisoner.
And if you come to the same conclusion I have
done, there is but one course open to you.
That is to return a verdict of guilty.
(Door is unbolted)
- Your solicitor is here. He would like
to see you. - Come in, Mr. Forbes.
- Good evening.
- Good evening, Miss Smith.
I hope you're managing to keep your health
in this ordeal.
Oh, thank you. I am very well.
Your bearing in court throughout the week
was remarkable. Most remarkable.
I've heard it discussed in many quarters.
I'm only allowed to sit and listen.
It is not difficult.
No.
Miss Smith, I beg you not to pay undue
attention to the prosecution's case.
It's their duty to paint things black.
Thank you, Mr. Forbes.
My father used to say, "Never make a decision
until you've heard both sides of the case."
And I have the greatest counsel in Scotland.
Gentlemen,
the charge against the prisoner is murder,
and the punishment of murder is death.
That simple statement is sufficient
to suggest to us
the awful solemnity of the occasion
which brings you and me face to face.
The public watch our proceedings with such
an anxiety and eagerness of expectation,
that I feel almost bowed down
and overwhelmed
by the magnitude of the task
that is imposed on me.
You are invited and encouraged
by the prosecutor
to snap the thread of this young life
and to consign to an ignominious death on the
scaffold one who, within a few short months,
was known only as a gentle and confiding
and affectionate girl.
Even my learned friend the Lord Advocate
could not resist the expression
of his own deep feeling of commiseration
for the position in which the prisoner is placed.
I salute him for it.
But I do not want commiseration.
I am going to ask you for something
which I will not condescend to beg,
but which I will loudly
and importunately demand,
something to which every
prisoner is entitled.
I ask you for justice.
And if you will kindly lend me your
attention, I shall tear to tatters
that web of sophistry in which the prosecution
has striven to involve this poor girl
and her sad, strange story.
Gentlemen, the prosecutor charges the
prisoner with administering poison.
He asks you to affirm on your oath
the fact that on two separate occasions
she, with her own hands,
did administer arsenic.
Now, in dealing with the
circumstantial proof of this fact,
the first thing that is absolutely necessary
is surely the possession of poison.
The means must be in the prisoner's hands
for committing the crime.
Now, you will remember the question
I put to Christina Haggart.
To your knowledge,
was there any poison in the house?
Yes. There was some left in a bottle.
What happened to that?
Miss Madeleine used the last of it
when she was washing her hands.
You have had it proved very distinctly,
I think, to an absolute certainty,
that on the occasion of the first illness
the prisoner was not in possession of arsenic
or any other poison.
I say "proved to a certainty"
for this reason.
The prosecutor sent his emissaries throughout
every druggist's shop in Glasgow.
Prior to L'Angelier's first illness,
there was no record whatsoever
of the prisoner buying arsenic.
You must now see the consequences
of the position which I have established.
Was L'Angelier's first illness
due to the effects of arsenic?
You have heard the evidence
of his landlady Mrs. Jenkins.
Will you tell the court whether you think
the symptoms of the first illness
were similar to those of the second illness?
Y es. There was the same sickness
and the same pain.
I remember saying to the poor gentleman,
"It's like what you had last time. "
Gentlemen, the conclusion is inevitable.
L'Angelier was ill on the first occasion
from the effects of arsenic,
and he was ill and died on the second
occasion also from the effects of arsenic.
But it has been proved to you that the
prisoner was not in possession of arsenic
on the occasion of the first illness.
And if the symptoms of the first and second
illness were the same,
then the arsenic was administered to him
by other hands than the prisoner's.
Now, if the suspicion is in your minds
that she procured poison in some unknown,
underhanded way,
and that L'Angelier's first illness was the result of
his visit to Blythswood Square the night before,
recollect the evidence of Christina Haggart.
Now, you prepared the cocoa and took it up.
- I did.
- It was usual for them to have cocoa?
Yes.
Were you there when it was poured out?
- Yes.
- Did Miss Smith drink her cocoa?
Yes. There was none left
when I took the tray down later.
So much, gentlemen, for the first charge.
Now, we all know that on the occasion
of the second illness,
the prisoner did possess arsenic.
But one person may be in possession of poison
and another may die of the effects of poison.
And yet that proves nothing.
You must have motive,
and I shall come to motive by and by.
And you must also have another element:
opportunity.
The opportunity of the parties
coming into personal contact
so that poison can be administered.
Now, there is a letter,
an all important letter.
"Why, my beloved, did you not come to me?
I waited and waited for you, but you came not."
When was it that she waited and waited?
It was upon the Thursday evening,
that was the twist.
But L'Angelier never kept that appointment.
"I shall wait again tomorrow,
same hour and arrangements. "
That was on the Friday evening.
And believing he was still in Glasgow,
she no doubt waited for him again.
Waited as she had on the previous evening.
But he came not.
In fact, L'Angelier did not keep his appointment
on either the Thursday or the Friday evening,
neither did he appear on the Saturday.
Why then should she expect
that he would come on the Sunday?
Let us see what happened in the Smith
household on this all important Sunday.
Madeleine and I were in bed
the same time that night.
Are you sure, Janet?
I want you to answer very carefully.
Do not be frightened. Just tell the truth.
I am sure. There was a storm. Madeleine was
in bed with me before I was asleep.
Did that always happen?
No, sometimes she gets undressed
but sits in a chair with a book.
But this night she went to bed?
Yes, I have told you.
Gentlemen, neither within the house,
nor without the house,
is the slightest ground for suspicion that the
appointment made in that letter was ever kept.
(Gallery murmurs)
I do not attempt to disprove the medical
evidence that L'Angelier died by arsenic.
On the other hand, I intend to prove,
and I think conclusively,
that the arsenic from which he died was not
the arsenic purchased by the prisoner -
indeed, could not have been.
Dr. Penny, in your examination of the body,
did you find any colouring matter?
Colouring matter?
I did not particularly attend to that.
- Why not?
- I was not asked to.
But surely your attention was directed
to the whole matter for analysis.
Aye... it was.
And in point of fact,
you did not find any colouring matter.
- I did not search for it.
- You did not find it.
No.
Now, the druggist who sold the arsenic
to the prisoner made a statement about it.
All the arsenic I sell is coloured
with soot.
Ordinary coal soot, Mr. Murdoch?
Aye. It is a safeguard against careless use.
It may be very well for Dr. Penny to say now
that his attention was not directed
to colouring matter.
But fortunately an experiment was made.
I gave a dog arsenic
which I bought in Murdoch's the druggists.
Did it contain colouring matter?
It contained a small proportion of soot.
Did you have any difficulty in detecting
the soot in the dog after death?
No, I did not.
Gentlemen, probably no man can ever tell
how L'Angelier met his death,
and His Lordship will tell you that, in the
prisoner's defence, I am not obliged to try.
But aspects of his character
have emerged during this enquiry,
which certainly suggest an answer.
He was at times subject to very low spirits.
Did he actually at one time tell you
of his intention to commit suicide?
Yes. He went to the Dean Bridge
to throw himself over.
Why did he do that?
I believe because a lady jilted him.
But whether he met his death
by accident or by suicide,
the question for you is: is this
murder proved?
Was the poison administered
by the hands of the prisoner?
What motive had she to commit this murder?
It may be that it would have been an advantage
to her that this man should cease to live.
But what possible advantage could she expect
so long as her letters remained?
Her object, her greatest desire was
to avoid the exposure of her shame.
L'Angelier's death only defeated
that object.
He died with the letters still in
his possession.
"Why, then," ask the prosecution,
"did she buy arsenic? "
The prisoner says she used it as a cosmetic.
This might be startling at first sight
to many of us here.
And we have had the medical gentlemen
shaking their heads and looking wise,
and saying that such a use of arsenic would
be a dangerous practice, but, gentlemen...
It is a practice of which
I am certainly aware.
- From your personal experience?
- Aye.
It is not rare for ladies to come
into my shop
and ask me to sell them arsenic
as a toilet preparation.
They've read it somewhere
or a friend has told them.
Gentlemen, I have laid before you,
as clearly as I could,
what I conceive to be
all the important facts of this enquiry.
And I now ask you to bring your judgment
to the performance of your most solemn duty.
The time may come, it certainly will come -
perhaps not before the great day on which
the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed,
and yet it may be in this world -
when the secret of this extraordinary story
of Madeleine Smith may be brought to light.
Dare any one of you here,
dare any man here or elsewhere
say that he has formed a clear opinion
against the prisoner?
For if on anything short of clear opinion
you convict the prisoner,
reflect, I beseech you,
reflect what the consequences may be.
May the spirit of all truth guide you
to an honest, a just and a true verdict.
But no verdict will be either honest
or just or true,
unless it leaves undisturbed and unvexed
the tenderest conscience among you.
(Applause)
CLERK: Clear the court!
(Footsteps pace the corridor)
There. Now you can see for yourself
how becoming it is.
Madame Borani certainly took
a great deal of trouble with it.
I'm almost sorry the court has been cleared.
It would have been a good advertisement
for her.
The judge was very wise.
I never saw such unruliness.
You are very kind, Miss Aiken.
I think you purposely suggested that
I change my dress to keep me occupied.
Nothing of the kind.
Miss Aiken, will the jury be much longer?
Try not to think about it. Now, hurry
and finish as I must take that back.
It's against regulations.
I'll be back presently.
(Hubbub)
(Bell rings)
(Door opens)
CLERK: James Christie,
James Pearson, James Walker,
Charles Thompson-Coombe,
William Sharpe, Archibald Weir,
Alexander Morrison, Andrew Hugh Wilson,
Hugh Hunter, Robert Andrew, George Gibb,
William Moffatt, Alexander Thompson.
MAN: Yes, sir.
Court!
Who speaks for you?
I do.
CLERK: What is your verdict?
FOREMAN: In respect of the first
count in the indictment,
the jury by majority find the prisoner
not guilty.
In respect of the second count,
the jury by majority
find the charge against the prisoner
not proven.
NARRATOR: Not proven.
Such a verdict could only be given
in Scotland.
Madeleine Smith left the court,
neither guilty, nor not guilty.
The charge could not be proved.
(Cheering)
Madeleine Smith, ye have heard
the indictment.
Were ye guilty or not guilty?