Madeleine (1950)

[bunniefuu]

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 railings outside her bedroom window.

The story of this house is the story of two

human beings and what became of them.

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.

Here is the drawing room.

Open the door. The handle looks dusty.

There, my dear.

Ah.

Yes, you were right, my dear.

It is dignified.

Dirty, but dignified.

I grasp essentials quickly, my dear.

Isn't it exciting?

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.

Oh, poor prince.

Get into bed!

You haven't kissed me good night.

- Now, this is the last time.

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?

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.

# Dis-moi que je n'ai rien perdu

# De ta tendresse

# Quand je suis assez jaloux

# Et sans fléchir, sans courroux

# La fierté

# 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.

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.

Madeleine, bring me Mr Minnoch's card.

Thank you.

"To the ladies of Blythswood Square."

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.

We must be quiet.

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...

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.

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.

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?

Is that you, Mr L'Angelier?

Is there a letter for me?

- Uh-huh.

Where?

- Mr Thuau took it upstairs.

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.

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.

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..."

Well, it's only the steamer. Go on.

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.

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.

Come.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

You'll wake everyone up.

- That is precisely my intention.

What have you to say?

Come to the door.

I cannot, Emile.

Please say what you have to say.

Open the door.

- No.

Open it!

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.

Mimi.

Mimi...

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.

- اa 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.

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.

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.

# Then the birds and the bees went

a-sighing and a-sobbing

# Heard of the death of poor c*ck robin

# Heard of the death of poor c*ck...

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Good day to you.

Good day, Doctor.

Still!

Madeleine.

Stand up straight if you please.

I'm sorry, Madame Borani.

Oh, it'll look beautiful,

will it not, Christina?

Oh, yes, ma'am.

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.

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?

I wish to speak to you.

- She's fitting her dress.

I shall not detain her! At once!

I'm sorry, madam.

Put this round you, dear.

- No, thank you, Mama.

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.

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.

There will be enquiries?

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'II 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.

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.

Stay.

- I'm human.

How could you be brave if you were not?

Stay.

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.

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...

Here she comes.

She shall perish!

Yes, she shall perish!

Evil!

Get away there! Get down!

Get away! Get down!

You'll hang!

Hang from a rope till you're dead!

Take her out and hang her!

We're on Princes Street.

I have your lavender water

and clean handkerchiefs.

Thank you, Miss Aiken.

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.

I shall be beside you.

My glove is unstitched.

It'll not show.

- I hope not.

Come up, please.

You must go up.

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 m*rder 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 m*rder him, on 22nd March 1857,

in consequence thereof

he suffered severe illness and did die,

and was thus m*rder*d 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?

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.

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 m*rder?

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'Iud, is No. 2- Christina Haggart.

Take your glove off.

No. 2, m'Iud - Christina Haggart.

Raise your right hand.

Repeat after me.

I swear by almighty God...

As I shall answer to God

at the Day of Judgment...

As I shall answer to God

at the 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.

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?

Yes.

Did he come into the house?

He did.

More than once?

Yes.

At what hour did he come?

At night.

And where were you?

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.

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.

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.

Were you successful in your attempt?

Yes.

Am I right in saying that she

returned quite freely and willingly?

Yes.

Thank you. Your witness.

Mr Minnoch...

How far did your acquaintance

with the prisoner reach?

I proposed marriage to her.

Did she accept you?

Yes.

Was it a formal betrothal?

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.

M'lud, that concludes

the case for the defence.

Lord Advocate,

are you now ready to address the jury?

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.

Did you know

what the prussic acid was needed for?

Miss Smith said it was for her hands.

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."

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 lying 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.

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 m*rder,

and the punishment of m*rder 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.

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 m*rder proved?

Was the poison administered

by the hands of the prisoner?

What motive had she to commit this m*rder?

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.

Clear the court!

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.

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.

Yes, sir.

Court!

Who speaks for you?

I do.

What is your verdict?

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.

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.

Madeleine Smith, ye have

heard the indictment.

Were ye guilty or not guilty?