Page 84 of The Extraordinary Florence Stoker

Did it assuage my guilt for all but abandoning Oscar when he needed friends the most? Nothing would do that. But I was first and foremost Bram’s wife and Noel’s mother. I had to protect them.

Bram sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Tell me exactly what happened, Florrie. Details. I must know.’

I shut my eyes briefly and was transported back to the Old Bailey. The jostling and pushing, the scritch and scratch of pens on paper, the whispers, the gasps, the mocking laughter, the sniggers. Grey light streamed through the tall windows, revealing twists of pipe smoke. A man in front of me had ink-stained fingers and a filthy neck he kept rubbing. A moustachioed man kept pushing against me, breathing heavily. I was overwhelmed by the odour of onions and cigarettes. A mother and son were at the end of our row, the child wide-eyed, she with a kerchief pressed to her mouth and watery eyes.

Bram swallowed. ‘How … How was he? His disposition, I mean.’

‘As if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. I think he realised too late how serious this was. He’d been floating on the success of his plays, believing he was untouchable.’

Oscar had enjoyed a marvellous run with not one but three plays: Lady Windermere’s Fan, An Ideal Husband and The Importance of Being Earnest. Not even the adulation their author had received could save Oscar from himself.

‘If only he’d listened when he was advised to return to Paris …’

‘If only he hadn’t sued the marquess,’ I reminded Bram.

Bram pushed away from the desk. ‘Enough. I must go to him. Offer my support.’ He went to the coat stand and lifted his from the hook.

‘Bram, wait.’ I rose and laid a hand on his chest. ‘You can’t visit him in gaol.’

Bram pushed his arm into a sleeve.

‘Bram, please,’ I urged. ‘I know you want to prove your loyalty, your friendship. As you’ve often said, it’s easy to be a friend in good times. Real friendships are forged in hot fires. Now is not the time to prove your thesis; not when you too will burn.’

‘But, Florrie —’

‘Listen to me. Please. You must wait. This is why I attended court, remember? We agreed. I did it for both of us.’

He met my eyes. A silent battle raged between us. We’d been over this so many times.

Bram’s shoulders slumped. I felt the determination leave his body and resignation take its place. He slowly extracted his arm and returned his coat to the peg.

‘Did … Oscar see you?’

I resumed my seat. ‘Yes. Even wearing a veil. I carried a bunch of violets.’

‘For loyalty.’ Bram fumbled for his kerchief and blew his nose.

For a long time, Oscar had avoided looking at the gallery. But when he spied first Bosie, then Robert Ross, his back straightened. Then he saw me and his eyes widened slightly, his chin lifted, his lips trembling as he tried to smile. My heart had swelled. I was close enough to his lawyer’s assistant to tap him on the shoulder. He’d turned, annoyed at the interruption. I simply pushed the man with the filthy neck to one side and thrust the violets into the assistant’s hands.

‘For Mr Wilde,’ I said.

Oscar saw the flowers and managed to complete his smile. Then, he kissed the tips of his fingers and bowed his head. I returned the gesture.

As I was about to continue, there was a sharp knock and Ellen burst through the door, a newspaper clutched in her hand.

‘Oh my, have you heard … Lemon! I didn’t know you were coming tonight.’ She frowned when she saw my face. ‘You know.’

I nodded grimly towards the newspaper. ‘I can’t imagine what they’re saying about him.’

Ellen shook it. ‘No-one has to imagine anything. Not when it’s in print.’ She threw the paper on the desk and sank into a chair. ‘What are we to do? This is an outrage.’

Bram and I shared a glance.

‘There’s nothing we can do … for now,’ I said.

‘I’d pray,’ said Ellen, ‘only according to the press, God doesn’t acknowledge men like Oscar Wilde.’

I swallowed. Bram plucked the edges of the newspaper.