Next morning, Saturday, after breakfast, a very subdued1 Jimmy and Mollie broke the news of their formal engagement. To both of them the events of overnight, remembered in the prosaic2 day, seemed curiously3 out of perspective. They had, they decided4, "gone off the deep end"; and, being rather casual young people, left it at that, content to enjoy the happiness which their emotional plunge5 had brought them.
Jimmy, of course, changed his original plan of returning to town by the evening train. The usual notice for the "Daily Telegraph" was drafted, Clyst Fullerford and the baronet communicated with in two conventional letters, and the inevitable6 bottle of champagne7 broached8 for luncheon9.
Though Julia did not share that bottle, the engagement was like a draft of wine to her mentality10. She felt that the alliance of the Wilberforces with the Fullerfords could only benefit her secret schemes; and, strong in that feeling, put all cerebral11 turmoils12 away. On Saturday afternoon, quite undisturbed by the swish and pat from the tennis-court, she worked two hours, and on Sunday morning, three.
Aliette, delighted though she was at her sister's obvious happiness (for some time past she had guessed that only her own peculiar13 position could be hindering Mollie's chance of matrimony), found it hard to restrain a vague jealousy14, a trace of petty resentment15. Soon Mollie would be a married woman. Whereas she----
And in Aliette's lover the resentment was tenfold stronger. The utter legality and social correctness of the whole procedure infuriated him. It took all his self-control to make semblance16 of congratulating the "lucky couple." His overnight absorption in a "vulgar murder-case" seemed absurd. Every time he looked at Aliette, graceful17 on the tennis-court or dignified18 across the dinner-table, he said to himself: "If only we could be 'engaged,' if only we could be legally married."
But Monday morning--the two men traveled to London together, leaving Julia at her anvil19 and the sisters surreptitiously planning trousseaux--brought back the nervous excitement of Friday night with a rush. No sooner had Ronnie arrived at Pump Court than Benjamin Bunce--a little soured by the setback20 suffered in the civil courts, yet tolerably optimistic about the new criminal work--informed him that Mr. John Cartwright had been on the telephone twice before ten o'clock and would be glad of a conference as soon as possible.
"It's about this shooting case at Brixton. Perhaps you've read about it, sir," confided21 Benjamin; and Ronnie's heart leaped at the confidence.
At twelve o'clock precisely22 the clerk announced the solicitor23, who came in clutching an armful of the Sunday papers, which he flung down on the barrister's table with a curt24 "Here you are. Here's your murder at last."
For John Cartwright, John Cartwright was phenomenally moved. A man of five-and-fifty, domed25 of forehead, bald of pate26, his black pupils--which possessed27 the inclination28 to squint--prominent under rimless29 eye-glasses of peculiar magnification, he had those thin, unemotional lips, those bony, unemotional hands, which are so often found in the legal profession. But to-day the unemotional lips twitched30, and the bony hands were almost feverish31 in their excitement as they drew a battered32 pocket-book from the tail of a battered black coat, fumbled33 for an envelope, and handed it over.
"Read what's in that," said John Cartwright, "and see if it isn't a plum."
"That" turned out to be a letter from the millionaire editor of the "Democratic News," a new Sunday illustrated34 paper devoted35 almost exclusively to those readers whom unkind journalists describe, when they foregather with one another, as "the father-of-the-family public."
Bertram Standon--he had so far refused two titles and owned one Derby winner--was apparently36 much exercised over "this unfortunate woman, Mrs. Towers." "I feel convinced," he wrote to his friend, Sir Peter Wilberforce, Bart., who had turned the letter over to his partner, "that she is more sinned against than sinning; and in the cause of honest justice, no less than in the cause of honest journalism37, I have decided that--should the coroner's court bring in a verdict of wilful38 murder against her or the ex-sailor, Fielding--I will put all my personal resources, and all the resources of my paper, at their disposal. Will you therefore have the case watched on my behalf, and, should the verdict go as I am afraid it will, take any steps you consider necessary."
"A stunt39, I should imagine," decided Cartwright, "and not a very new stunt at that. Bottomley, you may remember, once did the same thing. Still, it may not be a stunt. Standon's a curious fellow. Sometimes his heart gets away with his brain. It certainly has in this case."
"You think Lucy Towers and Fielding guilty then?"
"Not a doubt, I should say. Still, that's not our affair. Our job is to give Standon as good a run as we can for his money. The inquest, I see, has been adjourned40 for a week. When it comes on again you'll have to go down."
"Can't I see the prisoners beforehand?"
"Better not, as I take our instructions."
"But we might get them off at the inquest."
"Where would Bertram Standon's stunt come in if we did?" said John Cartwright satirically, and so closed the interview.
2
During the week which preceded the adjourned inquest on William Towers, Bertram Standon held his journalistic hand; and--Fleet Street being momentarily occupied with the controversy41 of "Submarines v. Battleships"--no further details of the tragedy became available.
Reperusing the week-end papers of an evening, it seemed to Ronnie that the case against the woman--whose likeness42 to Aliette waned43 and waned the more one scrutinized44 her photograph--looked black enough. Apparently she had shot her husband during an altercation45 in another man's room. The other man, a sailor who had lost both his arms in the war, was her cousin, and--the reports suggested--her lover.
All the same, the "vulgar murder-case" continued to excite both his personalities46: the magisterial47 Cavendish because of a curious inward conviction--the conviction he had voiced to Wilberforce--that "the woman was no murderess": and the imaginative Wixton because if the coroner's jury found her guilty he might at last get his chance--slim though that chance appeared--of a big forensic48 victory.
Night after night, therefore, Caroline Staley, who, in the absence of her mistress, had relapsed into the perfect bachelor housekeeper49, completely idle from ten to four, and completely assiduous for the rest of the time, left her master at work in the little sitting-room50 of the "ridiculous flat," studying--with his mother's own concentration--first in his red "Gibson and Weldon," and thereafter at length, the reports of Rex v. Lesbini, of Rex v. Simpson, of Rex v. Greening (in which it is definitely held that, though the sight of adultery committed with his wife gives sufficient provocation51 for a husband to plead manslaughter, the major accusation52 must hold good if the woman be only mistress of the accused), and of any other case that might, by the vaguest possibility, have some bearing on the problematic defense53 of Lucy Towers.
3
On the Saturday, Ronnie, as usual, went down to Daffadillies. Mollie had returned to Clyst Fullerford. Julia and Aliette, informed of the new work, were enthusiastic.
"It'll be a public prosecution54, I suppose?" asked Julia.
"Of course. All murder cases are conducted by the director of public prosecutions55. But I haven't got the brief yet."
"Not even a watching brief?" put in Aliette.
Ronnie laughed. "Where did you pick up that phrase?"
"In the newspapers, I suppose." Aliette, remembering from whose lips she had last heard the expression, blushed faintly. And next morning, Sunday, the front page of the "Democratic News" again reminded her of Hector.
Standon, nervous lest some of his titled brethren in Fleet Street should appropriate the stunt, devoted his Napoleonic leader-page to "The Quality of Mercy."
Standon dared not, of course, comment on a case which was still "sub judice," but Standon could and did dare to comment at great length on "one-sided justice," on the delays demanded by the police at inquests, on the hardships suffered by those who could not afford "our overpaid silks," and on the crying need of a "public defender56."
"Our 'hanging prosecutor,'" howled Standon, "is paid by the state. Who pays for the defense of his victims? Why, even as I write, there lie in Brixton Prison a man and a woman who--for all we know--may be as innocent of the charge brought against them as I am. Next week they will be haled before the coroner. The police will have sifted57 every vestige58 of evidence against them. But who will have sifted the evidence in their defense? No one! I ask the great-hearted British people, whose generosity59 to the weak and unhappy never fails, whether this is justice or a travesty60 of justice; whether, in any properly constituted community, the very finest legal brains obtainable would not have been placed immediately and without any fee whatsoever61 entirely62 at the service of these two unfortunates, who now lie in a felon's cell, hoping against hope, if they are innocent, as I believe them to be innocent, that some public-spirited person will come forward and give them, out of mere63 charity, money. Money! The shame of it!! The shame of it!!!"
The "silly season," when newsprint gasps64 for "copy" as a drowning man for air, was already on Fleet Street; and Standon's article, duly garnished65 with photographs of Lucy Towers, of Bob Fielding, the ex-sailor, and of "Big Bill" Towers, started a controversy which relegated66 both submarines and battleships to the editorial scrap-heap.
"Mark my words," said John Cartwright, calling for Ronnie on the Tuesday morning, "the Cairns case will be nothing to this one. If by any chance you were to get Lucy Towers off, you'd be a made man."
"But surely,"--for a moment the wild idea that by some amazing piece of fortune Hector Brunton might be briefed for the prosecution crossed Ronnie's mind--"surely, if Standon's out for publicity67, he'll never let you brief me for the actual trial? He'll have one of the big guns, Marshall Hall or somebody like that."
"A discovery?"
"Yes, a young man. 'A new light in the legal firmament--a David to slay69 Goliath.' That'd look well in the Democratic News.' Besides," Cartwright chuckled again, "Marshall Hall would cost them a week's advertising70 revenue, and you're Julia Cavendish's son."
"I've no wish to trade on my mother's reputation," said Ronnie stiffly. But, as Cartwright's car came nearer and nearer to the coroner's court, he realized that if by any possible miracle Hector Brunton were briefed for the prosecution, he, Ronald Cavendish, would trade on any one's reputation rather than not be entrusted71 with the defense.
4
By the peculiar processes of the English legal machine, a man or woman on trial for murder may be required to undergo no less than three ordeals72: at the coroner's court, before the magistrate74, and finally at the assizes.
Even before Cartwright's car came to a standstill outside the modest building of the coroner's court at Brixton, Ronald Cavendish could see tangible75 effects of Bertram Standon's publicity. The two bemedaled constables77 at the door were surrounded by a knot of people, well-dressed for the most part, all equally anxious for admittance to the first ordeal73 of Lucy Towers, and all equally ready to pay modest baksheesh for the privilege. Various alert youngsters, whose living depended on the news-pictures which their wits and their hand-cameras could snap, hovered--eager for the face of a celebrity--on the pavement. A touch of the theatrical78 was added to this scene by two sandwich-men, parading boards with the latest slogan of the "Democratic News": "Why not a Public Defender?"
Ronald and Cartwright pushed their way to the door; and--Cartwright having shown his card--were conducted down a long passage into the exiguous79 court-room. The jury, all males, had already taken their chairs. The coroner, a meek80, tubby mid-Victorian fellow with a rosy81 bald head and a hint of port wine in his rosy cheeks--was just about to sit down.
One of Cartwright's henchmen, sent on in advance, came up, whispering that he had kept them seats at the back of the room. These, unobtrusively, they took.
So far, apparently, the state--to use Standon's phraseology--had not thought it worth while to brief counsel. At the table reserved for the prosecution Ronnie saw only a black-mustached uninterested solicitor and his clerk. The solicitor for the defense, a weak-kneed, unimposing little man, sat at the table opposite, looking even more bored. Only the reporters, bent82 over their note-books, and the few members of the public who had by now bribed83 themselves into the room, seemed in any way alive to the enacting84 of a human tragedy.
Then the coroner whispered something to his clerk, and the prisoners were brought in.
In that moment--despite the photographs--Ronnie thought himself the victim of hallucinations. "It's a dream," he thought; "a crazy nightmare." For the accused woman, accompanied on the one side by a hatchet-faced constable76, and on the other by a tall prison-wardress in the blue cloak and cap of her order, might--had it not been for the work-reddened hands, the over-feathered hat and the rusty85 black coat and skirt--have been Aliette's self. Complexion86, figure, carriage, personality, the very voice that answered to her name, showed Lucy Towers the living, breathing double of Hector Brunton's wife. She had the same auburn hair, the same vivid eyes, the identical nose, the identical mouth. There was about her, even, that same shy dignity which, in Ronnie's eyes, distinguished87 the woman he loved from all other women in the world.
"Not a bad-looking wench," whispered Cartwright.
But the barrister could not answer. Sheer amazement88 held him speechless. He had no eyes for the other guarded figure, for the pale unshaven young man whose two coat-sleeves hung empty from his broad shoulders. As it was to be throughout the case, so now at the very first glimpse of his client, every instinct urged him to her defense. He forgot Standon, Cartwright, his own career, everything. Seeing, not a woman of the lower orders, presumably the mistress of a common sailor, but his own woman, his Aliette, Aliette on trial for her life, lone89 save for his aid against a hostile world, he no longer wanted even the coroner's jury to convict her. He wanted her to be free. Free!
And suddenly, he hated the law. The law--policemen, wardress, coroner, jury, the little black-haired Treasury90 solicitor--wanted to hang this woman, to put a greasy91 rope round her throat, to let her body drop with one jerk into eternity92. Against her, even as against Aliette, the law was hostile. And "They sha'n't hang her," swore Ronnie. "By God, they sha'n't."
With a great effort he pulled his legal wits together and began to follow the evidence. Deadly, damning evidence it was, too. The woman, according to the police, had already confessed.
"Bob didn't do it. I did it," began the confession93 which a sergeant94, thumbing over his note-book, read out in a toneless voice. "Bob is my cousin. He lived in the same house as me and my husband, Bill. Every afternoon I used to go and clean Bob's room for him, because he couldn't do it himself, having no arms. Bill, my husband, didn't like me going to Bob's room. He was jealous of Bob. He didn't like me giving Bob money. This morning Bill told me that if I went to Bob's room again, he would do us both in. I told him I must go and help Bob, because he couldn't feed himself proper. I went to Bob's room about half-past four. I told Bob what my husband had said, and Bob laughed about it. He told me there was an old pistol in the cupboard and that if my husband came, I could pretend to shoot him. Of course Bob was joking. I got him a cup of tea. I was helping95 him drink the tea when my husband came in. Bill was very angry. He said he was going to thrash Bob, and then thrash me. I got very frightened, and thought of the pistol. Bill had his stick in his hand. I thought he was going to hit Bob with the stick, so I ran to the cupboard. I found the pistol and pointed96 it at Bill. I told him not to touch Bob. He said, 'That pistol's not loaded. You can't frighten me.' Bob said, 'Don't be a fool, Bill; it is loaded.' I thought Bill was going to strike Bob, so I pulled the trigger. I'm not sorry I killed Bill because I thought he was going to do Bob in. I love Bob very much."
"I love Bob very much." As those last words fell, heavy for all their tonelessness, on the hot hush97 of the crowded room, Ronald Cavendish knew--with the instinct of the born criminal lawyer--that coroner, jury, and public had already decided on their verdict. He could read condemnation98, abhorrence99, fear, in every eye that stared and stared at the pale forlorn creature seated motionless between her jailors. "The sailor was her lover," said those condemning100 eyes. "That was why she killed her rightly jealous husband." But for the armless man whose lips, as he listened, writhed101 in pain, those eyes held only pity.
Cartwright's voice whispered to his clerk, "You'll get a copy of that, of course," and the inquiry102 went on.
The police produced Bob Fielding's revolver, the blood-stained bullet, the empty cartridge-case, a plan of the room where the crime had been committed, Bob Fielding's navy record. The black-mustached solicitor called witnesses who had heard the shot, witnesses who had seen the body, one witness, even, who was prepared to swear the crime premeditated.
"More than once I've heard her say," swore Maggie Peterson, a frowzy103, blowzy creature whose hands showed like collops of raw meat against her blowzy skirt, "that she wished Bill was dead. And there's others as heard her besides me."
In the case of Lucy Towers, the weak-kneed unimposing solicitor for the defense reserved his cross-examination, but for Fielding, to Ronnie's surprise, he put up a most spirited fight; and despite the prosecution's every effort to implicate104 the sailor as accessory to the shooting, the jury refused to give a verdict against him. "As if," decided the unimaginative jury, "armless men could fire pistols."
But Lucy Towers they found guilty of murder. "And quite rightly," said John Cartwright, as the woman--with a faint smile in the direction of her released cousin--was led from the room.
5
"All the same, mater, I'll swear that--in intention--Lucy Towers is innocent."
It was Sunday afternoon at Daffadillies, and ever since his arrival Ronnie had been harping105 on the same topic. But Ronnie found his womenfolk hard to convince. In their eyes, as in the eyes of the public, Fleet Street's report of the inquest, and more particularly Maggie Peterson's evidence, branded Lucy Towers irrevocably murderess.
"Rubbish!" said Julia--it was one of her "good" days--"Rubbish! She's guilty, and she'll either hang or go to jail for life."
"That would be an outrage," answered Ronnie gravely.
"Why?" The novelist laughed. "Lucy Towers shot her husband. She'll never get over that point. Not in England, anyway. In France it's just possible that a sentimental106 jury would give her their verdict. We, thank heaven, do not indulge in that sort of perverted107 justice."
Aliette reluctantly sided with Julia.
"But, of course, man," said Aliette, "of course, I'm sorry for the poor creature. Still, whatever her husband did, she had no right to shoot him."
"Not even in self-defense?"
"No, not even in self-defense."
"In defense of an armless man, then?" countered Ronnie; and, so countering, saw in one vivid flash of insight his one and only chance of victory should Cartwright give him the brief.
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1
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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7
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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8
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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10
mentality
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| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
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cerebral
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| adj.脑的，大脑的；有智力的，理智型的 | |
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turmoils
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| n.混乱( turmoil的名词复数 )；焦虑 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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anvil
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| n.铁钻 | |
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setback
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| n.退步，挫折，挫败 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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domed
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| adj. 圆屋顶的, 半球形的, 拱曲的 动词dome的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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rimless
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| adj.无边的 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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44
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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magisterial
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| adj.威风的，有权威的；adv.威严地 | |
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48
forensic
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| adj.法庭的，雄辩的 | |
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49
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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50
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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51
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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52
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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prosecutions
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| 起诉( prosecution的名词复数 )； 原告； 实施； 从事 | |
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defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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57
sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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58
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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59
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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travesty
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| n.歪曲，嘲弄，滑稽化 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ordeals
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| n.严峻的考验，苦难的经历( ordeal的名词复数 ) | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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constables
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| n.警察( constable的名词复数 ) | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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exiguous
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| adj.不足的，太少的 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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84
enacting
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的现在分词 ) | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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97
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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98
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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99
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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100
condemning
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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101
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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103
frowzy
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| adj.不整洁的；污秽的 | |
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104
implicate
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| vt.使牵连其中，涉嫌 | |
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105
harping
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| n.反复述说 | |
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106
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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107
perverted
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| adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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