Drops of Gold(55)

“It’s nothing like that, Layton.” Philip shook his head. “It’s a condition of the brain, a form of madness, it seems.”

“Madness?” The thought hadn’t occurred to Layton during the time he’d watched Bridget deteriorate, nor over the years that had passed since. “Bedlam, then?”

Philip shook his head again. “It isn’t a violent madness. He’s hardly a danger to others.”

“Only himself,” Layton muttered, but Philip apparently heard him.

“That, of course, is the problem.” Philip leaned back in his chair. “Everything possible is being done to ensure the man is watched and cared for, but there is no guarantee he won’t do himself a harm. He has apparently hinted at such.”

Layton nodded numbly, knowing all too well what this anonymous friend of Philip’s was enduring.

“And should this gentleman follow through on his apparent intentions, his wife would be left in an unenviable state, to say the least.”

Indeed, thought Layton.

“Aside from the emotional ramifications, which I am not in a position to address, I am seeking out her legal options,” Philip said. “Which, as you know, is Jason’s forte.”

Layton looked at Jason, hoping his curiosity didn’t strike either man as overabundant.

“Felo de se,” Jason said in what Layton and Philip had always labeled his “barrister’s voice”: remarkably authoritative, considering he’d first affected it at the ripe old age of seven. “Suicide is a felony. And as such, any person guilty of said crime is punished, post mortem, with the forfeiture of all properties to the crown. This lady, being young and female, both of which are a liability, legally speaking, would be left penniless, without even her widow’s jointure, on top of the burden of losing her husband.”

“She could lie about his death,” Layton suggested in what he hoped was a casual tone of voice.

“Depending on the circumstances of his death,” Jason interjected. “Which I feel we must state is purely theoretical.”

“This isn’t a deposition, Jason.” Philip rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stuffy.”

Jason’s lips pursed, the look he assumed with alarming frequency when around Philip. Layton had never really understood the animosity. “As to lying,” Jason went on as if there’d been no interruption, “that wouldn’t be at all necessary.”

“But you just said—”

“There are extenuating circumstances.” Jason spoke with that tone of indulgence he used whenever someone showed what he considered to be a significant lack of understanding.

“Such as?” Philip looked over at Layton for a fraction of a moment, just long enough to roll his eyes, and Layton found himself smiling despite the topic. They had enjoyed baiting their younger brothers as boys.

“Suicide is only a crime if committed by someone capable of understanding their actions,” Jason said, still using his barrister’s voice. “Thus, a suicide committed by a child or by one who is mentally incompetent would not be considered a crime. There are no ramifications, legally speaking.”

“And this ‘chronic melancholia’ is considered a form of madness?” Layton asked, his head spinning.

Jason nodded. “There is apparently sufficient evidence to establish that the man is, indeed, mad and, therefore, mentally incompetent. The difficulty will be in balancing the need to declare him such should an unfortunate event take place with the necessity of keeping that diagnosis secret for the interim. She could lose control of all of her affairs should her husband be declared mad during life, her being—”

“—young and female,” Philip finished for him. “Therein lies the issue.”

Layton nodded absently. Mentally incompetent. No legal ramifications. The words swirled and collided in his mind. He’d never considered that Bridget might be excused, at least on a legal level, for what she’d done. She really hadn’t been herself those last few months, especially at the very end. “Mentally incompetent” seemed the perfect phrase.

Chronic melancholia.

Madness.

Hundreds of tiny memories, seemingly insignificant moments, flashed through Layton’s mind. The time Bridget had asked him if he was home from Cambridge for a visit and seemed genuinely confused when he explained that he’d been out of Cambridge for several years. Or when he’d come into her sitting room to find her having tea with someone who wasn’t there at all, deep in conversation. She’d become absolutely infuriated when he’d asked to whom she was speaking.