Chapter Text
Joan Durbeyfield was not a woman to be trifled with-especially not now.
Not when she was going to go and talk some sense into her daughter.
She was not upset that her daughter had killed that bastard; death had been too kind of a fate for him. No, she was only upset that her daughter had been caught and had so easily resigned herself to defeat. For such a headstrong girl, she had thoroughly disappointed her mother in this act of defeat.
If it had been Joan, she would have at least taken eight of the officers with her.
But, of course, it had not been Joan who had stuck the fatal blow nor Joan who had been arrested-no, it had been her eldest daughter.
The daughter that she was determined to get out of here.
She walked down the long halls of the prison, dressed in her Sunday best, ignoring the shrieking and unintelligible mumbling of the prisoners as they clanged against the bars of their cells and extended their hands out-after all, she had lived with a man who held similar speech patterns for years.
Her husband.
She paid even less mind to the arrogant, pale haired warden that led her down the hallway. All he had done was spew vile, horrid lies about her daughter. She had heard enough from the villagers. Enough trite come from their lips. Enough lies from people ignorant of the horrors her darling girl had gone through.
“Are y’awake?” The warden cried out as he stopped in front of a cell, clanging against the bars with his baton.
Joan jumped slightly at the sharp, loud echo and looked into the cell.
There she was. Tess, her darling girl, with her thick dark hair loose about her shoulders and her dark eyes distant-was that a black, swollen eye that Joan spotted? Had that bastard warden done that to her poor girl? Her white dress, something the prison must have provided, was stained and torn and she sat on her cot, still and unwavering.
But Joan's gaze returned to her daughter's eyes. They had always been filled with a constant fire-with a brightness that had not been stamped out even after she had lost everything-but now the fire was gone and all that remained was a hollow, vacant look.
Without second thought, Joan grabbed the warden by the shoulder and turned him to face her.
“Let me in,” she began, her voice tight and low.
“Sure thing,” the warden began, offering her a smarmy smile as he shrugged away from her grip. “You must be a very good mother to come and visit this little harlot. Another mother would have let her rot. God bless ya’, Mrs. Durbeyfield. Truly.”
Without much thought, Joan raised her hand and slapped the warden across the cheek. No one was going to insult her girl.
No one except her, of course.
“Are we done with the name callin’?” Joan asked, tilting her head and staring up at the man with her own dark piercing gaze-the fire had certainly not been put out in her eyes. Another woman would have feared the repercussions of hitting a warden, but Joan had no fears. A little man such as himself could do nothing to Joan.
“....Yes’m,” the warden replied, rubbing his cheek and opening the door to the cell.
“....Tess,” Joan whispered, slowly walking in and approaching her daughter. The woman who sat before her was so changed from the little girl she had raised-she had slain a man with her own hand but Joan saw no murderess. She never could. That was her baby. Her first little girl who had taken her strife with such a quiet strength that it had surprised even her.
Tess shifted slightly in her cot and her eyes widened slightly as she met her mother’s gaze.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Tess whispered, tears beginning to well in her eyes. “I…I had made peace with my fate but seeing you here…oh, it makes it far harder to accept the gallows-promise me you’ll care for my baby’s grave?”
“Hush girl, you’re not going to get hanged,” Joan replied, biting her lip to avoid rolling her eyes at Tess’ ramblings. Of course, even Joan had some doubts to the plan she had devised, but she would not tell Tess that. The poor girl was already enough of a bundle of nerves as she was. She didn't need her mother making her feel even worse.
“Oh, but I will be! The judge is set to deliver my sentence in two days time!”
“Look at you, dear. You’re not well. You weren’t even in your right mind when you killed him-it was a crime of passion.”
Tess tilted her head slightly, her lips parting slightly in confusion.
“Has prison made you daft?!” Joan cried out.
“N…No-why are you yelling at me?!” Tess replied, her dark eyes glowing ablaze.
Joan could not help but smile. There was that spark of passion-of anger and of hurt-that Joan knew so well.
“...You couldn’t control your emotions-y’poor thing…all you wanted was to be with your rightful husband…and that bastard prevented you from doing so. You were pushed into something you’d never do if you weren’t so…upset.”
“...H..He…he said Angel was a cuckold.”
‘ He was right, ’ Joan thought to herself but only smiled at Tess, nodding in encouragement.
“And when I begged him to let me go,” Tess continued, her eyes growing watery once. “Oh, I flung myself at his feet, begging him to let me go. He only laughed and he struck me! He struck me across the face and pulled me by the hair, forcing me to get up and-and I don’t….I….”
“You’re in distress just recalling it,” Joan replied, grabbing her daughter’s hand and squeezing it gently. The same hand that had ended Alec D’Urberville’s life. “You went mad and you panicked.”
“....No, not mad! I…I hated him so terribly! Oh, the things he made me do! I can never rid myself of those things! It doesn't matter how much I wash myself, his touch is imprinted on me.”
“Oh, darling, the madness was no fault of your own! He made you mad! Remember all that he inflicted upon you.”
Tess was silent and face had gone expressionless-but the tears that rolled down her cheeks betrayed all the pain she was desperately attempting to keep hidden deep within her heart.
“You couldn’t help your madness, dear,” Joan continued. “Your actions were no fault of your own…perhaps the judge will see that you are of good intentions.”
“Mother, do not give me hope!” Tess sobbed out, her expressionless mask shattered and was replaced by the most primitive expression of sorrow. “Mother, you know that I will die! And I was ready-I was at peace-and now you come to me and all I can think about is you and my siblings and…my baby.” She wiped her own tears away. “Perhaps, if God is gracious, I can be with him once more.”
“What foolish nonsense have these bastards fed you?! Your son is well enough in Heaven but you’ve a life to live, Tess-do not accept defeat so easily.”
“...I feel guilty, Mother.”
“For murdering him?”
“No…no…I do not regret that. I feel guilty because I…I have not even thought of Angel once…has he asked about me?”
“No,” Joan admitted, almost shrugging. She thought Tess’ husband was a weak man. What shame that man had inflicted upon her daughter!
“Good,” Tess replied. “...Will he marry Liza?”
“He will do no such thing, you foolish girl. I won’t allow him to.”
“Oh, but you and my little siblings will be destitute!”
“I do not need a coward’s charity.”
Tess said nothing and, for a moment, Joan wished she could pick at the girl’s brain. She could only pray to the Lord God that Tess was considering what she had told her.
Tess' dark head tilted to the side and she gripped onto her cot slightly.
"What will I do?" Tess whispered. "I cannot leave you and the little ones alone."
"You simply went mad," Joan repeated, nodding forcefully, praying to God that her daughter would understand.
“I did go mad,” Tess began after a moment, a wry smile forming on her lips. “I wasn’t in control of myself. How could I be?-After all, like Alec said, I’m only a woman.”
Ephraim Hargrove was a handsome man-standing at 6'3 with jet black hair and bright blue eyes, he could catch the attention of anyone just by walking into any room. Of course, a prison wasn’t exactly like any room. Many of the prisoners more than just caught his eye-the amount of women who yelled their obscene wants and desires at him as he walked down the hallway was…astronomical, to put it lightly.
He hated prisons. It was not the prisoners that he hated.Most of these women had been victims of circumstance, punished cruelly and unjustly in a world that catered towards the rich. Their only crimes were their station in life. There would never be enough money to save them.
No, he hated the officers, the wardens, the judges who smiled cruelly at the women as he sentenced them inappropriate punishments for their crimes. All these prisoners needed was a kind word and a gentle hand.
He had not intended on coming today-he had received a letter from the court requesting his presence and he had immediately thrown it out but it was a second letter that caught his attention. The grammar was rudimentary but it stirred such emotion in him that he knew he had to come.
It had been from a mother pleading for her daughter to be examined by a psychiatrist. The woman's daughter had killed a man but, from what the mother had detailed, the man had been the true perpetrator. He had violated the girl, left her with a sickly infant who died far too soon, and had pursued the girl until she had no choice but to submit herself to him. And the girl’s husband was a coward who fled from the girl when she had relayed her sad tale. The mother had made no secret of her daughter’s beauty-and, though Ephraim did not want to admit it, he did hate the idea of seeing a beautiful woman hanging from the gallows.
The warden stopped in front of a cell and unlocked it, ushering Ephraim in. He glanced around the room, noticing how filthy and cramped it was before locking eyes with the woman. He had expected to see an Ophelia like figure with hair undone and gown unbuttoned and eyes red from crying but he was surprised to see that the woman before him had cleaned up a little. Her dark hair was done up in a simple bun and her gown, though dirty, was buttoned-the only sign of her place in prison was a particularly nasty bruised eye.
She was very beautiful-her lips were a rosy color and her eyes were dark-not quite black and not quite brown but somewhere between the two. But there was a melancholy expression in her face that betrayed such loveliness. It made her seem worn and tired.
“....You must be Tess Clare?” Ephraim began, taking a seat across her.
“Oh, it’s just Tess….Tess Durbeyfield,” she replied, smiling sadly.
“Ah, of course, my apologies, Ms. Durbeyfield…do you know who I am?”
“...The Doctor.”
“Yes, Dr. Hargrove. A pleasure to meet you, Tess.”
“...Did my mother send you?”
“She wrote a very convincing letter…is all of what she wrote true?”
“Yes.”
Ephraim felt his jaw tighten-there had been no lie, no air of affectation, no grand theatre of mourning in that reply. It had been a simple yes and that had been that.
“He deserved to die,” Ephraim finally began after a moment.
“I’m not sorry I did it,” Tess replied, shrugging.
“Tess, you went mad, didn’t you?”
“...I suppose I did.”
“Now, tell me what happened before the murder.”
“He came back for me-my husband. Did Mother tell you what had happened between my husband and I?”
“Vaguely.”
“...Well, it’s of no consequence now. He left for a while and….and in desperation, I wrote to him. I took the blame for it all and…Alec found me….” Here, she took a pause. “He promised to care for my family if I…I agreed to be his mistress. I-the little ones were starving and we had no home and I....”
“You had no choice.”
“No...I never did.”
Ephraim knew what that meant-the weight such a simple statement could carry and, before he could stop himself, he reached for her hand.
They sat there for a little while, her little rough hand in his large one, and said nothing. Their eyes remained glued to the other party's hand.
“Do you wish to tell me more?” Ephraim asked softly after a moment.
“I…I killed him for insulting my husband-he called him a cuckold and mocked me when I begged him to let me go back to my husband. I….I remember he slapped me and grabbed me and I thought he was going to throw me against the glass table so….I stabbed him.”
“Had he struck you before?”
“So many times, Dr. Hargrove…I do not have an exact number, forgive me.”
“Why do you ask for forgiveness?”
“...I….” The words faltered on her lips and she averted her large, dark gaze.
“You have told me enough,” Ephraim whispered, squeezing her hand gently.
She was not a mad woman, he knew that. The way she spoke and the way she carried herself indicated a woman who was somewhat in her senses. Perhaps she was not completely present, but she was far from mad.
But if her sanity were proven, she would surely be sent to the gallows. And he knew he could not let such a thing happen-not when the poor girl's mother had practically begged the man to save her. Not when he knew all the suffering she had already gone through. Ephraim, like any good Christian man, believed that to lie was a sin.
But for Tess, he would sin.
He would lie to the court. What this girl had done was justice. She had ended a life that had only caused strife and hurt. How many girls had she spared by administering the punishment with her own little hand? Countless, perhaps.
“My verdict comes tomorrow,” Tess began after a long pause. “...And now I want to live-I have to live. I thought I would be alright-I had resolved that I wouldn't cry any longer but then my mother came to see me and I thought of all my little siblings and I...oh, I must live."
“And live you shall.”
She sat on the uncomfortable wooden chair, her back straightened and her eyes focused on the judge’s bench rather than the man himself. She knew that if she met his cold gaze, she would be unable to keep her strength. But she would meet whatever the verdict was with courage. She was not afraid. She could not be afraid.
She only hoped to God that her mother’s efforts had not been in vain.
She had been allowed to wear another dress-this one was black but just as tattered and stained as her other dress and the warden had roughly pulled her hair up (and done a poor job at it). She could already feel her hair falling out of the bun.
She hadn’t the faintest clue as to what was being said. There was the doctor, approaching the bench, and speaking to the judge, frantically moving his hands, but her mind was a million miles away, thinking of the endless green pastures of home. Wondering if she would ever be able to return there. How cruelly they had all been driven away! They had lost everything-it was all so terribly unfair and she could feel tears beginning to roll down her cheeks as she replayed those memories. They had not even let her visit her little one's grave once more.
She felt the tears begin to roll onto her neck and down the starched collar of her dress.
But they were not tears of sadness. They were tears of anger. The same red hot anger that had possessed her to commit murder. The same red hot anger that she had felt the night she told Angel everything. When he had rejected her even after she had begged him to reconsider. It was the same red hot anger that she had felt through every humiliation she had been put through.
Including this one.
She could feel the judge’s eyes glued to her figure-studying her tears and the way her chest heaved shallowly as she felt her throat tighten.
‘ I will not cry, I will not cry,” she silently repeated to herself but her body betrayed her and a whimper escaped her lips as she felt the tears continue to flow.
“A fine act you’re putting on, Mrs. Clare!” The judge yelled, standing up and pointing at her with one of his horrid talons. “But it is not enough to fool me! You believe your beauty and crocodile tears can save you from the gallows?! I've sent girls far younger than you to them!”
“It is no act!” Dr. Hargrove cried out. Why was he defending her so fervently? He was nothing to her. She did not want his pity! She wanted nothing of him yet it seemed that this stranger would go to the ends of the earth to save her.
And she knew she didn't deserve it.
She deserved none of this.
“Oh, is it not? This woman had stood three times previously before me with a face of stone. It is obvious she feels no remorse for her actions! It is only now that she understands the finality of death that she wants her freedom!”
“He drove her mad! This poor woman was but a child when she gave birth to D’Urberville’s child-a child that she had never asked for!”
“And where is the child?”
“Dead!” Tess cried out and the tears continued to flow. She could no longer keep her tongue held. “He died! He was innocent! I prayed that he would live-he was my only happiness! And he was taken from me!” She could no longer speak-her throat had tightened completely and the only noise that she made was a pained groan.
“You’ve trained her well!” The judge cried out, clapping, mocking her pain. "She could have been an actress! She certainly looks like one!"
“Trained me?!” Tess shrieked, standing from her seat-the stone mask had been broken and had revealed the same woman who had stabbed D’Urberville. “Trained me? No, not trained me! I have been forced to sit here and listen to my entire life being torn apart by people who have never lived it! I am already a guilty woman! Nothing I ever do will ever convince you otherwise!” A shriek escaped her and she felt someone grab her, trying to force her to sit down. “Let me go! Let me go! ”
“This woman is unfit!” The judge cried out. “Perhaps our good doctor is right! And, good doctor, instead of hanging this miserable creature, what do you propose we do?”
“Psychiatric treatment.”
“Ah, so send her to the madhouse then?”
“She will remain under my care if you so grant it.”
“Very well. As long as you wish to take charge of her, you may. I’ve grown tired of this girl. Take her away and prepare her to leave with the good doctor.”
Tess' screaming and writhing stopped for a moment.
Had she heard the judge correctly?
Was she to live?
Yes, yes she was.
She was not being sent to the gallows.
She was being shown mercy.
Her mother’s efforts had not been in vain and she was going to see another day. And perhaps, she would even get to see her old home one day.
Get to visit her infant’s grave and lay wildflowers upon it.
Her tears ceased for a moment and her eyes gazed at the ceiling in a moment of absolute calmness-calmness she had not felt since before that dreadful day when she had gone to visit D’Urberville. All those years ago.
And then, in that glorious moment of serenity, she collapsed on the courtroom floor.