Jezebel Read Online Free PDF

their power to paint a good picture of Gladys Eysenach. Then came the doctors, some spoke of the accused woman’s mental state, ‘nervous, excitable, but sound of mind and responsible for her actions’; others described the body of the victim.
    The crowd was tired and there was a constant subdued hum of noise: certain words, certain gestures that the witnesses made, a word, a twitch, an inflexion of the voice, caused the courtroom to resound with low, anxious laughter.
    ‘Bring in the next witness.’
    He was an elderly man with pale, almost transparent skin and white hair; at the corners of his long, delicate mouth were the fine lines of weariness that betray physical decline. When she saw him, the accused woman let out a sad little sigh; then she leaned forward to look at him more closely.
    She was crying now; she looked old and tired, thoroughly ashamed, defeated …
    ‘State your full name.’
    ‘Claude-Patrice Beauchamp.’
    ‘Your age?’
    ‘Seventy-one.’
    ‘Address?’
    ‘28 boulevard du Mail, Vevey, Switzerland.’
    ‘Profession?’
    ‘No profession.’
    ‘You must speak louder so that the gentlemen of the jury can hear you. Are you able to do that?’
    The witness nodded, then said softly, forcing himself to speak as clearly as possible, ‘Yes, Your Honour. Please forgive me. I am old and not well.’
    ‘Would you like to sit down?’
    He refused.
    ‘You are a close relative of the defendant, her only living relative, in fact, are you not?’
    ‘Gladys Eysenach’s maiden name was Burnera. I was married to Teresa Burnera. My wife’s father and Gladys Eysenach’s father were brothers, wealthy shipowners from Montevideo. Salvador Burnera, my cousin’s father, was an exceedingly intelligent and sophisticated man. Unfortunately, he and his wife were separated and my cousin was raised by her mother who was, in my opinion, a person with a rather difficult, unstable character. She had broken off all contact with her close relatives. My wife met her cousin for the first time during a visit to Aixles-Bains; Gladys Eysenach was still almost a child at the time … My wife invited her to come and spend the summer with us in London, where we lived then.’
    ‘How long ago was that?’
    The witness did not reply. He looked at the accused woman with pity; her face seemed haggard and drained beneath the bright lights. She sadly lowered her eyes.
    ‘It was a long time ago,’ he said, sighing. ‘I can’t remember …’
    ‘Can you tell the gentlemen of the jury about the accused woman’s character at that time?’
    ‘She was sweet and happy then. Eager for compliments. She liked being courted more than anything.’
    ‘Did you continue to see her?’
    ‘Occasionally. She had married Richard Eysenach. She travelled constantly. Whenever she was in Paris, I always made a point of going to see her to pay my respects. But I was rarely in Paris. My wife’s health was delicate and we lived in Switzerland for several months of the year. But my son, Olivier, was often a guest at the Eysenachs’ house. In 1914, a few months before the death of poor little Marie-Thérèse (my cousin’s daughter), I was passing through Antibes. We saw each other there. Then I went back to Vevey. My son was killed in the war. I settled in Vevey for good because the climate suited me. I didn’t see my cousin again.’
    ‘You are seeing her today for the first time in twenty years?’
    ‘Yes, Your Honour.’
    ‘You have been called as a witness in this painful case because a letter addressed to you was found in the defendant’s home. We have that letter here. It will be read to the gentlemen of the jury.’
    The accused woman lowered her head and heard her letter read out:
    Please come and help me … Don’t be surprised that I am appealing to you … I imagine you’ve forgotten all about me?… But I have no one else in the world. Everyone else is dead. I am so alone. Sometimes I feel as if I have been buried alive,