The Other Virgin's Baby | Hunnish Scenes | 2

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge entire seasons of British Scandal early and ad-free. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. This episode contains discussion of sexual consent and might not be appropriate for all listeners. Matt, what's up? It's Mummy again. She's annoyed with me.

Okay, number one, don't say mummy. Number two, what about? She says I can't go to forest matches anymore because I learn rude words and then I'm saying them around the house. Right, okay. Well, I mean, that's no biggie, is it? Yeah, she...

Also wants me to stop eating ham sandwiches because she says they're uncouth and that a gentleman should only eat food that's been prepared over a hot stove. I mean, I have seen you eat them and it is fairly uncouth the way you eat it, a bit like a pig in a trough. But I mean, you are a grown man, so surely you just get to call the shots in your life.

Uh, she wants me to stop doing this podcast as well. What? Why? She says the adult themes are bad for my young mind and, um, she doesn't really like you. Me? She said you came across as a woman with low morals, that you're a bit of an oik, and that you're dirty. Dirty? Yeah, she just said a lot of it was quite mucky. Mucky stuff. Oh my God. And what did you say? I said, please let me go to Forest on Thursday.

Lady Amphill anxiously leans forward as her chauffeur races down Park Lane. You must go faster! A flower truck swerves directly in front of their dame. The car jolts to a stop. Lady Anthil slumps back, hits the seat in frustration. She unfolds the letter she found earlier in John's room, grimaces as she rereads Christabel's note. You must meet your son, John. He's simply divine. Lady Amphil's lip curls as she eyes the attached photograph of a plump one-month-old baby swaddled in white linen.

She crumples it in her gloved fist. She spent months keeping John away from that pussy and she has to make him see reason before it's too late. What exactly is a hussy? I know, as you said that, I was like, what is the definition? In, you know, politer society, would you just say slag? I mean, I guess there are two types of slag. There are more, but go on.

There's the pejorative hate-filled version towards a woman, and then there's the... Your preference. That's how I always use it. When I'm discussing my mother. And then there's the other type, which is the Danny Dyer, all right, you slag. Which is as a 10th endearment. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about my dad. The car pulls up on Curzon Street.

Lady Anthil strides out from the passenger seat, hammers on the door of a smart dress shop. She's greeted by Christabel's mother. Lady Anthil! Lady Anthil barges past her. Where is she? Now look here, you can't just... But Lady Anthil is already climbing the stairs to the flat. Hearing the unmistakable sound of John's soft voice, she follows it to the nursery.

at the end of the landing. Lady Anthil freezes as she takes in John standing by the window, wearing a besotted expression as he gazes at the infant in his arms. She watches him flinch at the sight of her. and darkens as Christabel swiftly positions herself like a shield between them. Lady Anthil, I didn't expect... Lady Anthil pointedly ignores her, keeps her focus on her son.

Step away from that whore and her bastard child this instant. Mother, it's hussy to you. She stays on John, who returns her gaze with pleading eyes. Oh, Mother, if you would just meet him. He really is. She is taking you for an imbecile, John. That brat isn't yours. Lady Anthil eyeballs him. To her frustration, it's Christabel who speaks.

This is John's child, your grandchild. If you cannot accept that, I must insist you leave. I'm going nowhere without my son. She grips her walking stick tighter. waiting for John to obey. She watches, horrified, as he edges closer to his wife, protectively pulling the baby up to his chest. Neither am I. You should go now, mother.

Lady Amthil feels a wave of panic. John is the next in line for the Amthil title. If she can't convince him of Christabel's lies, then they're family's bloodline, not to mention their esteemed place in society. would be irreparably damaged. She juts her chin up and folds her arms, eyeballs Christabel coldly. She is not going anywhere until she's wrenched her son from this calculating Jezebel's grip.

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From Wondery, I'm Matt Ford and I'm Alice Levine and this is British Scandal. So Alice, give me your thoughts so far on Christabel. Well, what a woman. What a modern woman. She's got a job. She designs dresses. Bit of a party animal. She likes to go out dancing. And she's tearing up the aristocratic marriage book.

One page at a time. She's going to go head to head with the ultimate mother-in-law nightmare. She's charming, though. You know, she's got this way about her that's electric and she's confident in a way that feels... anachronistic you know she's outspoken she knows herself and also there's this other side to her where she's sort of romantically and sexually ambiguous she's not into men or at least not into john and it's not quite clear

where she sits on that spectrum. So she's fascinating to me. So how has that approach worked for her in the marriage? Funny this. But a modern woman in 1921 dealing with the aristocracy, it's not going great for her. So she's married to John, who initially was all for this arrangement. No sex, separate bedrooms, a kind of friendship.

A marriage based on love, but not in a romantic sense. And then due to pressure from his frankly very scary mother, he really, really is demanding this air from Chris. And not in a way that is like coercive, persuasive. Toxic in modern parlance. He's being monstrous. Yes, but somehow in this sexless marriage, there is a baby on the way. I'm no doctor, but that feels impossible. Okay, you need to stop treating me then.

Because that's been going on for years. I could have done with knowing that a while back. I think the results speak for themselves. Let's see how the Amphils deal with the Immaculate Conception. This is Episode 2, Hunnish Scenes.

Five months earlier, June 1921, Hyde Park, London. Christabel kneels on a chequered picnic blanket. She pats down the edge as a breeze catches a napkin. She looks up as the tall, lanky silhouette of her husband comes into view. She stands and greets him stiffly. John, thank you for coming. Oh, darling, I was so happy to hear from you.

She takes in his hopeful expression. She feels a familiar stab of heartburn pinch her throat as he sits and reaches for a pork pie. Reminded of the cause of her discomfort, she bites her lip. She still hasn't got her head around this pregnancy emotionally, let alone physically. But the one thing it has brought into sharp focus is that her and John are over.

And to be clear, they're over for good reason. They had an arrangement. It was a platonic marriage. They were friends. And then he held a gun to her head and said that she had to have sex with him. So it feels pretty cut and dry to me. Apart from that, they were good. John, I'm pregnant. Quite far along, it seems. Dr McKenzie confirmed it two days ago. Christabel watches John's eyes widen in shock, then disbelief.

But that's impossible, she swallows. I know, I've been over and over it, but there's no question. She rests her hand on the small bump, pressing against the light fabric of her sundress. I can only think that it was that night at Oakley. That maybe, somehow... She watches John blush, then stare into his lap. I can't believe it! Sorry, the night that we heard about last episode, which was A, traumatic, and B, very brief, very shallow, dare I say. We all know what you mean.

I don't know why I'm finding it so awkward, but yeah, as John put it himself, it was just the tip. And you can't get pregnant doing that, right? Well. Christabel quickly goes on. I expect nothing from you, John. We can still go our separate ways.

She forces herself to hold his gaze. She can't let him see how scared she is. She's seen first-hand how society treats single mothers. One girl she knew at the munitions factory during the war is now in a workhouse. But John cuts in. No, don't you see? This solves everything. Mother will have her precious heir. No more lectures about succession. No more demands that we perform.

Christabel's momentarily stunned. She was expecting shock, not excitement. It's as if John has forgotten everything that drove them apart. John, the last few months we were together, you were a different man. You became so insistent, so forceful. She sees a flush of embarrassment on John's face. That wasn't me. That was Mother.

Right. So which bit was your mother exactly? The bit where I woke up and your hand was up my nightie. Was that your mother? And there was a gun in the other hand. Mother again? Christabel blinked slowly. As she tries to muster an answer, he goes on. Now we can just be together as friends, like we always planned. A modern marriage. I just don't... I don't think...

And mother will insist on a nanny. You'll be able to keep your shop, keep working. She sees him hesitate, then smile. Keep dancing. Christabel's head spins. How much easier would it be to have this baby with John's support and his family's resources? She wouldn't be alone. Thinking of the alternative. The struggle she'll endure. The judgement of others.

And John appears to be so much more together now. We should dwell on that for a second because it's hard to imagine how much that taboo and that prejudice would affect your life. Because we talk a lot about... where women are in society and various series of British scandal. But we haven't spent a lot of time talking about single mothers. And you were a pariah. I mean, even in my lifetime, my mum's a single mother. I remember the judgment of neighbours.

Of relatives? And that was 80s and 90s, let alone 1920s. Chris, this miracle, I think it's happened for a reason. It could be the making of us. Christabel feels something shift within her, and before she knows it, she's nodding. A new start with John may not be what she planned, but this baby wasn't either. Now she must embrace both.

and give marriage and motherhood her all. One week later, Oakley House, Bedfordshire. Lady Anthil forces a rictus grin as she hands Christabel a teacup, then picks up her sugar tongs. One lamp or two, Christabel? None. I find the taste quite repulsive these days. Lady Anthil nods with feigned empathy. I became averse to potted meats when I was expecting my third. Is that different to a pate?

Yes. You get it from your local butcher in a pot. It's got like a thick film of... Fat? White fat on top. You pierce through that with a fork and then it's a... I would say it's a thicker, more fibrous... material than pate. I've never dribbled from being repulsed before, but that's actually what's happening. It's making me salivate, a bit like you do before you vomit.

Lady Amphil is certain Christabel is finding this new civility as tedious as she is. But eyeing her daughter-in-law's rounded abdomen, she has no choice but to put past differences aside. So she grits her teeth. We'll need to secure a nanny. I have a few candidates in mind. Lady Amphil stays on Christabel. She's determined to choose the help herself to ensure her grandchild is raised with proper values.

She sees Christabel hesitate, then catch John's eye. I intend to return to the shop as soon as I'm able to, so that sounds... perfectly sensible. Lady Amphil beams. She relaxes as Christabel excuses herself to visit the lavatory. I'm so happy, Mother, and Chris is more giddy about this than she herself could have imagined. I think that's why the stars are lined to bring us this child. Lady Anthil rolls her eyes. Honestly, John, have you heard yourself? Babies do not come courtesy of the stars.

Lady Anthil can't stand the latest astrological fad that has taken London by storm. But that's just it, Mother! This one did! Lady Anthil fixes him with a stare. Whatever do you mean? As she eyeballs John sternly, his face flushes as if he's been caught out. What aren't you telling me, John Hugo? She places her cup down and folds her arms, waiting. The thing is...

Chris and I never quite managed. I mean, we never had actual... Stop talking to your mum about your sex life. Stop it. Mother, have you ever heard the phrase, just the tip? Time seems to slow. As Lady Anthil stays on him, grips the edge of the table. You mean you never had full... relations? Lady Anthil stares at John in horror. Fuck!

For goodness sake, John, you're 24 years old. Must I explain the birds and the bees to you? This baby can't be yours. Lady Anthil trembles with anger as the colour drains from his face. But how else could... She slaps her hands on the table, utterly exasperated. She's been with another man, you cuckolded fool! And she's trying to pass off her bastard child as the Amphil heir!

She jumps to her feet, paces as she thinks. You must have nothing to do with her or her illegitimate spawn. But before Lady Amphil can continue, Christabel re-enters the room. Lady Anthil stares in disbelief as her idiotic son rushes to her side like a lapdog. Lady Anthil narrows her eyes. She will not sit idly by while this harlot takes her son for a ride. From now on...

She will make sure she is party to every interaction, every communication. And the minute Christabel slips up and provides the smallest proof of her deception, Lady Anthil will be ready and waiting to pounce.

One week later, Harley Street, London. John eyes the door of the examination room, trying to banish his mother's cruel words from his mind. Today... he's determined to focus only on the condition of his unborn child. John jumps to his feet as the gynaecologist ushers him in. His heart flips when Christabel throws him a nervous smile.

She has an undeniable glow that makes her even more beautiful. And these last few weeks, she's been so fragile, so vulnerable. You'll both be delighted to hear that everything appears quite healthy. I estimate the baby is due around. Mid-September. John feels his smile freeze. September? I thought it would be sooner. His mind races backward through the calendar. A September birth would mean the child was conceived in...

January? But he and Chris were separated then. These things aren't an exact science. But in this case, an earlier due date is unlikely. Your wife would be showing far more if she were further along. Okay, so this is very much science of the day. Obviously, people are huge, people are small. Some people are so small, in fact, they don't know they're pregnant, a little bit like Christabel. So if that's our only metric, I'd say this is...

Fairly vague. Look at her belly, mate. It's the only answer you need. John's grip on Christabel's hand loosens as the gynaecologist's voice is replaced by his mother's. She's been with another man, you cook-olded fool. John? Are you all right? John blinks, shakes off the memory and smiles politely, shaking the physician's hand, following his wife from the room. He takes a gulp of air as he steps outside onto the street.

Whatever is the matter? Chris, if this baby's due in September, I don't see... He studies her face. September is nine months from January, when we weren't even together. I suppose... He's sure he sees her eye twitch. A hesitation. He wills her to say something that will allay his fears. Make everything fine again. I don't know what to say, John. It's a miracle. Fine, I mean, that's enough for me. John shakes his head, starts backing away. John? I can't do it, Chris. I'm sorry.

I can't raise another man's child. What? You wouldn't be... I'm sorry. Before John can change his mind, he turns and walks away. Even when he hears Chris call after him, he doesn't look back. He can't risk it. He must return to Oakley and do what his mother suggested. He's been a fool and it's time to end this marriage for good.

One month later, July 1921, Oakley House, Bedfordshire. Christabel stands in the reception hall, trying to ignore the ache in her back and growing pressure on her bladder. as she glares at the butler blocking her path. I have every right to see my husband. Please stand aside. Mr Russell is not receiving visitors, I'm afraid.

Is there anything more cowardly than getting your butler to turn your estranged wife away? Yeah, I would never ask my butler to do that. We have clear red lines about what is in the brief and not. Just prep the meals, obviously bathe me. What an image. He's so old, though. It must really take it out of him. It does. And I only ask him to turn away people who aren't blood relatives. I thought you were going to say turn away when you stand up to get out of the bath.

Oh, he has to bathe me blindfolded. Right. So he's just guessing as his hands fumble. Yeah, but we've been doing it for years. I mean, he knows. He knows every inch of me. Cold out as it's... Let's do that, mate. Christabel's hand tightens around the letter she received from John's solicitor, stating he's suing for divorce on the grounds of her adultery. She's certain Lady Amphil is behind this. She shouts up the stairs.

John, this is ridiculous. Come down here and face me. Christabel watches as instead, Lady Amphil appears at the top of the marble staircase, her bony hands clutching her black voluminous skirt. as she descends with glacial calm. John has no desire to see you, and I can't say I blame him. We want nothing more to do with you and your illegitimate child. Please leave.

You have no evidence of my committing adultery, because I haven't. I never would. Cristobal steps closer, straightens up to her full height. And you'd do well to remember what dragging this accusation through court would mean for your family's precious reputation. Christabel feels a swell of satisfaction as she sees Lady Amphill flinch. To her dismay...

Her mother-in-law quickly regains her composure. It would hurt you far more, my dear. Circumstances have changed. John is the innocent, wronged war hero, betrayed by his promiscuous wife. But you... Cristobal's heart hammers as Lady Amphil smiles. You have a business to consider, a baby to support. How long do you think your society clientele will patronise a shop run by a known harlot? You will be a social outcast in the pudding club, I believe the lower classes call it.

I am potentially in the lower classes, but what is The Pudding Club? I don't know. I'm in them too, and I like pudding. Pregnant, of course. It sounds nice. It does sound nice, and also you can imagine... Ye oldie cockneys from one of our series gone by going, she's in the pudding club. She's only gone and joined the pudding club. He's got daughter in pudding club.

Christabel's throat tightens as she watches her mother-in-law's expression shift into something more calculating. Perhaps it would be best for both sides if we came to an... arrangement. Arrangement? This divorce is happening, make no mistake. But if you don't contest the adultery charge, we can keep the matter private. No messy court case. No embarrassing newspaper reports.

Christabel feels her stomach drop. Admit to adultery? No, I will not admit to something I haven't done. And in return, I will ensure you and the child receive a monthly allowance. Enough to live comfortably and maintain your little shop. If you think you can just buy your way, Christabel stops abruptly as she feels the baby kicking inside her. She places a hand on her swollen belly.

takes in the stale old paintings and faded grandeur around her and wishes she'd never gone anywhere near these frightful people. She closes her eyes and realises that all that matters now is the life growing within. She'll give them their blasted divorce and never set foot in this house again. From now on, it's just her and her baby. John and his wretched mother can go to hell.

I've never felt like this before. It's like you just get me. I feel like my true self with you. Does that sound crazy? And it doesn't hurt that you're gorgeous. Okay, that's it. I'm taking you home with me. I mean, you can't find shoes this good just anywhere. Find a shoe for every you from brands you love like Birkenstock, Nike, Adidas and more at your DSW store or DSW.com. The wait is over. Dive into Audible's most anticipated collection, the best of 2025.

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Queen Charlotte's Hospital, Marleybone. Christabel grips her mother's hand, digging her nails into her palm as another contraction takes hold. She sucks in her breath. Her mother dabs her forehead with a cool cloth. You're doing wonderfully, darling. Christabel exhales as the pain eases. Nearly there now. Another surge of pain rips through her body.

Christabel hears herself cry out. The next few minutes pass in an agonising blur. Then, Christabel feels a wave of relief as the midwife places a warm, writhing, shawl-wrapped bundle into her arms. Congratulations, Mrs Russell. He's a very healthy, very big boy. Christabel stares down in awe at the scrunched-up face screaming back at her. She touches his hand, quietly gasps as his tiny fingers curl around hers.

In that instant, she feels a wave of love so powerful that everything that brought her to this moment, the embarrassment, the anger, the pain, feels utterly insignificant. He's perfect. She watches her mother lean in closer. He is. He has your eyes, darling. And if he has your brains, he'll go very, very far. Christabel hears the midwife chuckle. Of course he'll have brains, dear. He's a rustle.

You ought to get his name down for the best preschools now then. You'd be surprised how much competition there is. Though I imagine for a Russell, his place is a given. Wait till my dear Marias, I've delivered a Russell. Really, that should be patient midwife confidentiality. But yeah, go on. Go brag about it. Also, can you just tidy me up first? Like finish your job and then we can chat.

Christabel feels her jaw tighten. She glances at her mother and sees a cloud of concern cross her face. I am doing the right thing, aren't I? Christabel watches her mother smile supportively. But she knows she has doubts. And now Christabel is starting to have them too. The minute those divorce papers are signed, she will lose the Russell name and forever be scarred as an adulteress. Her beautiful baby boy as a bastard.

I always assumed he would have the best chances, but what if I've tainted him forever? She feels her mother take her hand. But he'll have love. Christabel stares into the sweet, innocent face of her baby. and feels a surge of injustice. Her son deserves all the privilege and social advantages his father has. It's not enough. Cristobal cradles her newborn against her chest. She is going to make John meet this baby.

Because she knows that when he does, he will have no choice but to drop this adultery nonsense, accept that the boy is John's, and give him everything that is rightfully his. Also, the baby will open its mouth, sound just like John, and he'll have to. Yeah, at what point do you either accept or give up on the fact that it either does or doesn't look or sound like him? You'll wait till he's 30. That's when it'll really start to come through.

One month later, Curzon Street, Mayfair. John stands in front of the door, fingers tight on the handle. His shoulders are stiff, every inch of him is determined. He takes a slow breath. He steps inside, his eyes adjusting in the darkened room. Chris's voice is barely audible. John, thank you for coming. John feels his breath catch at the sight of Chris. She looks different somehow, softer. He forces a firm, emotionless tone. Of course. He glances behind him.

If his mother knew he were here, she'd throw a fit. But when he received Chris's letter, he knew he had to come. If only to prove to himself once and for all that this child isn't his. Geoffrey's just woken from his nap. Geoffrey? John feels a pang. Geoffrey was the name of his favourite uncle. He follows her into the nursery.

and stiffens with nerves as she lifts a small bundle from the bassinet by the window. Would you like to hold him? He watches Christabel smile. He won't bite. His shoulders loosen as he feels himself laugh. Sorry. Yes. John tentatively takes the baby from Christabel's outstretched arms. John, meet your son. John can't stop a grin spreading across his face. as the boy looks into his eyes and gurgles, then waves a tiny fist in the air. He's, uh, he's incredible. He was ten pounds at birth.

The doctor thinks it's because I carried him for a month longer than average. 44 weeks. That baby is cooked, but that does mean that John could be the dad. Yeah, it was a big old pudding. John looks at her in astonishment. The doctor said that? Chris gives him the warmest smile he's ever seen. He turns his attention back to the child in his arms. Starts to think he does perhaps see his nose.

His forehead, when... Step away from that whore and her bastard child this instant! John instinctively loosens his grip around the tiny bundle as his mother bursts in. But when Geoffrey lets out a little gurgle, he feels a surge of defiance. No, mother, I won't. His mouth goes dry as she steps closer, her furious eyes burning into his.

If you do not come back with me this instant and press ahead with this divorce, you will be disinherited. John stares at his mother, disbelieving. Disinherited? He feels Christabel squeeze his arm. John, please. All that matters is our son. But the baby feels heavier in John's arms with every passing second. I mean it, John. No more money. No help. You will be dead to us.

All because you chose to believe a fairy story of a common sense. She's not what you might call in the biz nice, is she? No, but is she just being a good mum in a very rude way? Because... She's trying to protect her son. And from her point of view, obviously, Christabel's version of events is quite hard to believe. I just wish I knew more of the science behind just the tip. That's all I'll say. John's hands shake.

as he gently passes Geoffrey back to Christabel. He fixes his eyes on the floor. He can't bear to look at Chris, but as he nears his mother, he hears a note of steel in Chris's voice. Then we shall go to court. Because I'll be damned if you'll deny Geoffrey his birthright. John's face burns with shame. But under his mother's glare, he doubles down. Well, then I'll see you in court.

John forces himself to turn away from Chris and the boy. He's sickened by the idea of airing his dirty laundry in open court. But there's no going back now. He must fight Christabel with everything he has. And win. John is so weak. He has no moral conviction. He just does whatever his mum tells him to.

He reminds me a little bit of the husband in the April Ashley series, which you should definitely go back and listen to. The parallels are like men with mummy issues, the upper classes, but also men who have... sort of double lives they have desires and ideas of how they want to live their lives but they're so repressed that they can't realize that and they drag these women in and sort of drag them down with them yeah

My mum always says I shouldn't hang around with women like that. Seven months later, June 1922, The Strand, London. Christabel pushes past the crowds on The Strand. as she makes her way towards the Royal Courts of Justice. She lowers her cloche hat as she spots a gaggle of journalists camped out at the steps of the law courts. Mrs Russell, is this child the result of your late night dancing at Murphy's?

Christabel ignores the men's jibes and strides confidently into the grey Gothic building. Her solicitor is waiting in the reception. Mrs Russell, good morning. Before we go into court, could we... He gestures towards a small office. Christabel dutifully follows him in. There have been some rather worrying developments.

Firstly, the judge assigned is a close friend of Lady Anthil. Are you joking? How can that be allowed? This isn't justice, is it? This is the Royal Courts of Injustice, more like. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Christabel rolls her eyes. What a surprise. And the only female juror asked to step down owing to the press attention and salacious nature of the case. You will be facing an all-male jury. Christabel feels a prickle of unease.

but she waves her hand dismissively. I don't see how that matters. Once I go through what happened that night at Oakley... To Christabel's alarm, her solicitor cuts her off. Mrs Russell? That won't prove you were faithful. The adultery charge is what your husband's counsel will be focused on. Christabel feels a surge of frustration. She glares at him. I am paying you every penny I have to defend me.

And only last week, you said? We had a decent chance, I know. But the odds now seem very much stacked against us. Lady Amthel has been... busy. Christabel pulls out a chair and slumps into it. And when you throw in the fact that Mr Russell is an ex-serviceman from one of England's finest families... So that's it. I've already lost.

She watches him place his hands on the table. I hate to be so defeatist, but unless you can somehow discredit your husband, prove him to be dishonest, I'm afraid our chances of winning are very slim. Oh, wait a minute. Something's just occurred to me. Likewise. Is she going to go there? Would she? She should. Do it, Christabel. Christabel bites her lip. She desperately wants to fight this case fairly.

But she knows with Lady Anthil pulling the strings, John's side won't extend her the same courtesy. She rests her eyes on a small statue of Lady Justice. If she's going to have any hope of securing Geoffrey's title... She'll need to use everything in her armory. Well, there is something I hadn't mentioned. She pauses, but it's too late to play nice. Something that will show. that the only liar in our marriage is John Russell. One hour later, law courts, The Strand.

John takes a sip of water in the witness box, fixes his eyes on his barrister as he moves on to his next question. So each night when Mrs Russell returned from dancing... Did you have the chance to be intimate, as every man and wife should? No. Most nights she wouldn't come home until the very early hours. I don't know the exact time. She insisted we had separate rooms.

John's eyes dart towards Christabel, whose cheeks flush. His heart sinks. It wasn't his intention to embarrass her, but feeling his mother's eyes bore into him, he's reminded of his duty. to protect the Amphill title and secure this divorce at any cost. John tries to concentrate as the barrister raises his eyebrows dramatically at the jury. Separate rooms.

Even as newlyweds? Yes, Christabel refused to share a bed. So you can be certain that sexual intercourse never took place between the two of you? John swallows hard. pushing any residual loyalty to his wife aside. Absolutely certain. John watches his KC sit down. Christabel's barrister stands up and approaches. Mr Russell!

You give the impression of a loyal, devoted husband who was saddened to find Mrs. Russell was more independent than you. A more accurate description than independent would be willful and rather spoiled. John feels a frisson of triumph as he notes a few jurors nodding. But wouldn't it be fair to say the complications you brought to the marriage were far more unsavoury? I don't understand.

Do you enjoy costumes, Mr Russell? And role-play? John glances anxiously across at his mother. Do you, for example, enjoy wearing women's... Clothing. Couldn't John just say, look, women's clothing is more comfy? I don't wear it for kicks. It just feels nicer against the skin. Your chiffons. Your silks. Also, don't you then, if you're in the witness spots, go...

Doesn't it, Your Honour? And you hope that one of the other senior legal people goes, that's a fair point. Actually, there is precedent. Proceed. John feels his stomach drop. His eyes return to his mother, who stares at him open-mouthed. He feels himself start to sweat as he turns back to the barrister. I don't see. Did you or did you not? Regularly dress up as a woman. He squirms, stares at his feet. For a fancy dress ball. And at other times, Mr. Russell.

John's eyes stay fixed on the floor. On occasion. But it was perfectly innocent. John feels nauseous as he looks from the stunned jury to the press gallery, where the reporters are practically salivating. And did you keep this a secret from everyone in your life? Your parents? Your naval colleagues? Everyone, in fact, except Mrs. Russell? John's heart hammers.

As a hush descends. Yes. You publicly presented yourself as one thing, when behind closed doors you were quite another. John's legs seemed to weaken. So perhaps Mrs. Russell was not the cold, scheming woman you describe. Perhaps she was a long-suffering wife who tried her best to provide an heir, despite her husband's deviant behaviour.

Order! Order! Order in court! John almost collapses with relief when the court is dismissed. He follows his solicitor into the corridor where Lady Anthil is waiting, her expression thunderous. Mother, I... She holds up a hand to silence him. Not another word. This will dominate the papers for days, you stupid, pathetic boy. Just when John thinks it can't get any worse.

She turns to their solicitor. When that harlot takes the stand tomorrow, I want you to make it clear she drove John to these perversions, both outside the bedroom and in. I want every... pitiful detail aired john feels the blood drain from his cheeks chris's description of their bedroom antics will only humiliate him further but his wife has gone low so he will have to go lower if he is to win and leave both their reputations in tatters.

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The following day, law courts, The Strand. Christabel steps into the witness box, trying not to linger on the public gallery. She winces at the sight of a girl giggling with her neighbour. at the Daily Mirror's front page. A fully dragged up John, taken at the party they attended when they first dated. She feels a pang of regret. But as her barrister stands, she reminds herself she was forced into this.

Now she must finish what John started, with as much dignity as possible. Mrs Russell, when do you believe your son was conceived? 29th December 1920. At Oakley House. I realise it's delicate, but can you describe what occurred? Christabel takes a breath. My husband attempted... relations, he employed what he called the tip method. This is causing laughter in the gallery, but I mean, this was assault.

This is the problem with the mob, is that details like this that are, in reality, heartbreaking when aired in public become other people's entertainment. Can you talk me through what you mean by the tip method? Christabel feels her cheeks burn. He... he tried to penetrate me a little. But I... I didn't like it and... It got rather fraught. They were quite hunnish scenes. Hunnish? Depraved. I pushed him off. But he must have done enough.

Because you had never, and still have never, been intimate with any other man. That's right. I loved my husband deeply. Christabel steals herself. as her barrister sits and John's counsel rises to his feet. Mrs Russell, are you seeing that your husband assaulted you? Christabel's throne? John, no. That would be quite ridiculous. Yet you talk of Hunnish scenes. That would imply violence. It was violent.

It's a word I often use to describe things I find nightmarish. Nightmarish? Even though he barely penetrated you? Did he even ejaculate? Christabel grips the witness box, feeling faint. I don't know. I couldn't bear to... Hardly hunnish, then. In fact, is it not true that your ongoing refusal to consummate your marriage had driven Mr Russell to contemplate suicide?

No, not seriously. Holding a loaded shotgun to his head and threatening to blow his brains out was not something you considered serious. Christabel bites her lip, mortified. It's so heartbreaking and depressing. She's so conditioned and socialised by the patriarchy and by the era that she can't even see how much she's been abused, oppressed.

And so when she's being pressed in this way, which in and of itself is just so intimidating and scary, she actually can't come back with the examples, even though this should be cut and dry. Is it not true that throughout your marriage to Mr Russell, you have focused only on your own pleasure? You displayed no aversion to the male touch when dancing with other men. Christabel's throat seems to tighten.

It's different. And John? You sought solace in the arms of other men. Tears prick Christabel's eyes. Geoffrey is John's child. But how can he be, when he could only have been conceived amidst scenes you yourself described as so hunnish that you refuse to let your husband complete intercourse to the point of a mission?

Christabel stands in the witness box, speechless. She came here to fight for what's right, for what her son deserves. But instead of securing his future, she fears she's lost every last piece of credibility. and condemned her son to being labelled a bastard forever. Cristobal knows she's got one last car to play, and all she can do is hope that it works.

The next day, law courts, the Strand. Lady Amphill scans the Times on her way into the courtroom, taking in the headline, Mr Russell denied full married rights. She smiles. Looking forward to the damage today's witness will add to Christabel's reputation. Married rights is such a disgusting phrase and concept. Yeah, and rape in marriage was only outlawed in the United Kingdom in the 1990s.

Which is completely insane. Like, I just can't compute that. Lady Amphill looks up to see John's solicitor running towards her. Lady Amphill, I've been informed that King George has serious concerns about the... intimate details of this trial being aired so publicly. Lady Amphil feels her stomach churn. The king! The thought of upsetting the palace appalls her. But seeing Christabel enter, she simply can't help herself. No, her humiliation must be complete. On decree of the king...

She's been asked to cease to pursue this and she's like, no, I want this kind of ritual sacrifice to continue, thanks. She feels on edge as the family's gynaecologist is sworn in. Dr Dodd. What did your examination in June 1921 reveal? Lady Amphill watches the doctor's eyes flick down to his notes. That Mrs Russell was approximately six months pregnant, placing the conception in late January 1921. Rather later than Mrs Russell's own testimony that they had...

partial relations only in late December 1920. In fact, Geoffrey Russell was born on 15th of October 1921. Over ten months after the deed, Mrs Russell gave. Lady Amphill relaxes. There it is. Incontrovertible truth. She nods gratefully to John's barrister as he sits. barely registering Cristobal's counsel as he takes over. Dr Dodd, Geoffrey Russell weighed over ten pounds at birth. That's quite substantial, wouldn't you say? Yes.

Rather large. Is it not possible that Mrs. Russell carried the child for longer than is typical? As long as ten months? In extremely rare cases, but... So she could have conceived in late December, as she testified, and simply had a longer than average pregnancy. It's practically unheard of. It's practically unheard of for a pregnant woman to show physical signs of virginity.

But you found this to be the case, did you not? Lady Anthil feels her body stiffen as Dr Dodd's face drains of colour. I beg your pardon? Yes, here it is. As your own notes say, and I quote, Russell baby gestation approximately six months. Note, mother's hymen fully intact, most unusual. Dr. Dodd struggles to get his words out. If that's what I wrote. Lady Amphill grips the bar in front of her as he goes on. Dr. Dodd.

In your opinion, would it be highly unlikely for a woman to maintain such physical characteristics if she had been, as my learned colleague suggested, conducting affairs with multiple men? Lady Amphil stares at Dr. Dodd. Her heart sinks as his shoulders slump. Yes. Yes, it would be highly unlikely. Two hours later, Lady Amphill holds her breath as the judge addresses the jury. Have you reached a unanimous decision as to whether the respondent committed adultery? No.

We have been unable to agree. Lady Amphil stares at the jury, her heart pounding. Then the petition for divorce must be denied. Mr Russell remains married to Mrs Russell. And the child Geoffrey is recognised as the legitimate heir. Lady Amphil clutches her pearls. Her hands tremble with rage. And then, to her abject horror...

She sees Christabel heading towards her. Lady Amphil, I have taken no pleasure in any of this. I would so like John to be part of his son's life, even if we're married in name only. Lady Amphil practically spits her reply. I will never welcome you and your bastard back into my family. Never. She watches aghast as Christabel's expression turns from hope to...

Pity. She looks across the courtroom. Here's snippets of the gossip. Tomorrow, every paper will be talking about her loss. The king will be enraged further. And for what? Unable to stand it any longer, she sweeps from the room. But soon, her humiliation is replaced by a determination. Christabel may have won this battle, but she will not win the war.

Lady Anthur will bide her time before making her next move. But she will eject that Jezebel from her family. And see to it, she and her mewling infant are left with exactly what they deserve. Nothing. From Wondery and Samistat Audio, this is the second episode in our series, The Other Virgin Baby. A quick note about our dialogue. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but all of our dramatisations are based on historical research.

If you'd like to know more about this story, you can read Christabel, The Russell Case and After by Eileen Hunter, The Virgin's Baby, The Battle of the Amphill Succession by Bevis Hillier, and Modern Women on Trial by Lucy Bland. And we love hearing from you with comments and suggestions. Please keep them coming. BritishScandal at Wondery.com British Scandal is hosted by me, Matt Ford. And me, Alice Levine. Written by Wendy Grandeter.

Additional writing by Alice Levine and Matt Ford. Our story editor is James Maniak. Sound design and engineered by Rich Evans. For Sam Isdat, our producer is Chica Ayres. Our assistant producer is Louise Mason. Our senior producers are Joe Sykes and Dasha Lissick-Sina. Executive producers for Wondery are Theodora Leloudis, Estelle Doyle and Marshall Lilly.

In just a few years, Ozempic has gone from a diabetes drug to a global phenomenon. But behind the miracle claims, another battle is raging. Demand is exploding, supply can't keep up, and as drugmaker Novo Nordisk scrambles to produce more. Its rival, Eli Lilly, is racing to take the crown. Meanwhile, a darker market is emerging. Shady online sellers are offering cheap, unregulated knockoffs. Now millions are injecting mystery vials with no FDA oversight.

I'm David Brown, host of Business Wars. In our latest season, we're diving into the race to Ozempic and the billion-dollar showdown between Big Pharma's biggest players. Can they close the supply gap before one bad vial destroys everything? Make sure to follow Business Wars on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can binge all episodes of Business Wars early and ad-free right now on Wondery Plus.

In 1993, three eight-year-old boys were brutally murdered in West Memphis, Arkansas. As the small-town local police struggled to solve the crime, rumors soon spread that the killings were the work of a satanic cult. Suspicion landed on three local teenagers, but there was no real evidence linking them to the murders. Still, that would not protect them. Hi, I'm Lindsey Graham, the host of Wondery Show American Scandal.

We bring to life some of the biggest controversies in U.S. history. Presidential lies, environmental disasters, corporate fraud. In our latest series, three teenage boys are falsely accused of a vicious triple homicide. But their story doesn't end with their trials or convictions. Instead, their plight will capture the imagination of the entire country and spark a campaign for justice that will last for almost two decades. Follow American Scandal on The Wondria or wherever you get your podcasts.

You can binge all episodes of American Scandal The West Memphis Three early and ad-free right now on Wondery+.