The Merciless Ladies

by Winston Graham

  ‘Perhaps. There are various such circles.’

  ‘And you belong to one of them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you, in fact, one of its acknowledged leaders?’

  ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘You suppose you are. You mix with the modern sophisticates who pride themselves on their advanced ideas?’

  Diana’s big dark eyes showed a spark of anger.

  ‘There’s no virtue in being old-fashioned these days.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Marnsett. I could not have summed up the position half so well myself. There is no virtue in being old-fashioned these days. Might it even be true to say that in your opinion, taking a broad, abstract view of the matter, there is no virtue in virtue these days?’

  ‘No, certainly not.’

  Diana had moved back a little from the edge of the box. She knew she had been induced to make a false move, and seemed to be seeking a better defensive position.

  ‘My Lord’, said Sir Philip Bagshawe, rising, ‘ may I inquire if my learned friend is attempting to justify without having put in a plea of justification?’

  Mr Hart looked at his opponent. ‘My Lord’, he said, as if the port had been served slightly corked, ‘ I have been careful, and shall continue to be careful, not to question the witness about her own moral character, which, as Sir Philip is aware, the defence is not attempting to assail. But I submit that it is vitally important to obtain a full view of the witness’s mental attitude and the attitude of those with whom she associates.’

  His Lordship gazed over their heads for a moment.

  ‘I think, in so far as that is your aim, Mr Hart’, it may be considered a legitimate one where a question of damages is likely to arise. You will, however, appreciate that in putting such questions dealing with the moral outlook of the plaintiff you are treading on the borderline of justification.’

  ‘I fully appreciate that, my Lord, and I shall be happy at any time to accept your Lordship’s correction – should you deem that necessary. I would, however, remind Sir Philip that I cannot be responsible for the admissibility of the witness’s own answers.’

  ‘That’s a nasty one’, Kidstone muttered.

  ‘Perhaps it would be better if you stated your question again, Mr Hart.’

  ‘With your Lordship’s permission I will frame it somewhat differently. Mrs Marnsett, are you a close friend of Gabriel Stentworth?’

  ‘I know him quite well.’

  ‘Would you call him a member of your circle?’

  I saw Diana’s eyes flicker momentarily in the direction of the public gallery, as if to ascertain which of her friends were sitting there.

  ‘Yes, probably.’

  ‘Are you a close friend of Noel Coward?’

  ‘I would like to think so.’

  ‘Is it also true that before Michael Arlen published The Green Hat and became famous – one might say scandalously famous – you helped him with money and hospitality and encouragement?’

  ‘Yes, that is so.’

  ‘And Ashley Prieff, whose views on the unnecessary shackles of marriage frequently appear in the popular Press?’

  ‘I don’t subscribe to all the views of all the people I associate with.’

  ‘But you admit some of them are extreme?’

  ‘Extreme by some standards. The leaders of modern thought are often ahead of their time.’

  ‘You consider these gentlemen the leaders of modern thought?’

  ‘Opinion, then.’

  ‘In your view, Mrs Marnsett, would you say that the general trend of the fashionable set with whom you mix is to treat fidelity to one’s husband as rather a bore, a subject for humorous comment, to consider virtue and moral standards as fusty and out-of-date conventions to be set aside with the crinoline and the straw boater?’

  ‘I’ve told you I don’t agree with all the views of all the people I mix with.’

  ‘But aren’t you asking the court to believe that it is these people who are so concerned for the moral character of a friend?’

  Diana passed the tip of her tongue along her upper lip but did not reply.

  ‘Tell us plainly, Mrs Marnsett, do you ask us to believe that the people who move in your circle would really be upset or concerned or disturbed, or be anything but amused at the very vague imputation contained in the hanging of this portrait?’

  ‘All my friends are not of that sort.’

  ‘So we are being asked to consider some other friends now. It is some small minority, outside the circle of which you are an acknowledged leader, whose opinion matters now?’

  ‘Everybody’s opinion matters.’

  ‘Name some of these people, Mrs Marnsett, people outside the smart set whose opinion really matters to you … Take your time; don’t let me hurry you.’

  ‘There’s my husband.’

  ‘And is he the only one you can think of?’

  ‘There are his friends.’

  ‘Does he not belong to this smart set?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Does he approve of your mixing with these advanced sophisticates?’

  The judge put down his pen. ‘I don’t think, Mr Hart, that we can necessarily assume a wife knows all that a husband thinks. Even though many of them believe they do.’

  There was a ripple of amusement across the court.

  Mr Hart bowed. ‘As you say, my Lord. In this case I should have been particularly careful to avoid such an assumption … Mrs Marnsett, has your husband ever given you reason to believe that he approves of your mixing with these advanced sophisticates?’

  ‘I don’t agree with that description of them.’

  ‘Answer my question, please.’

  ‘He certainly does not disapprove.’

  ‘He has given you no reason to believe that he disapproves. Would you say that he tacitly approves?’

  ‘Yes, certainly.’

  ‘Would you not agree, then, that a husband, by approving his wife’s mixing with a certain set of people, tacitly condones their sense of values?’

  The judge moved again.

  ‘Mr Hart, as I said before, we can’t expect Mrs Marnsett to give us her husband’s views on the matter. If necessary you may call Colonel Marnsett as your witness.’

  ‘No, my Lord, I was putting a general case. If, for instance, I had a daughter or a wife who, with my approval, mixed with a certain set of people, I should expect my approval to be taken as some condonation of their sense of values.’

  ‘So what exactly are you suggesting?’

  ‘I am suggesting that Mrs Marnsett moves in a section of society which would consider the imputation so vague and so trivial by modern standards as to be worth no more than a passing joke.’

  His Lordship looked at the tall woman in the box. ‘You have heard what counsel says. What is your answer to that?’

  ‘It isn’t true, my Lord.’

  ‘She says it isn’t true. Now where does her husband come into the question?’

  ‘I am suggesting, my Lord, that this small section of her friends, whose opinions Mrs Marnsett says is of so much more importance to her, doesn’t in fact exist outside her imagination, and that her husband, who is the only one she can mention by name, has no such different standard of values from herself and those she mixes with.’

  ‘What is your answer to that, Mrs Marnsett, so far as the question concerns yourself?’

  ‘It isn’t true, my Lord.’

  Mr Justice Freyte stared reflectively at Sir Philip Bagshawe.

  ‘Is it your intention to call Colonel Marnsett, Sir Philip?’

  ‘—er – no, my Lord.’

  ‘Very well. Go on, Mr Hart.’

  Mr Hart resumed.

  ‘Let me put a simple question to you, Mrs Marnsett. In your experience, which would you consider of the greater importance in society today: a beautiful face or a beautiful character?’

  I could see that Diana was really angry now.

  ‘It depends’, sh
e said, ‘what you mean by a beautiful character.’

  ‘Oh, precisely. I mean a moral character with old-fashioned views on respectability.’

  There was no response. Diana looked at the judge.

  ‘Must I answer that, my Lord?’

  ‘Not if you don’t wish to.’

  ‘I shall be happy to be more explicit’, said Mr Hart. ‘Moving in society as you do, madam, would you consider it a greater insult for, say, a painter to portray one of your women friends as unprepossessing and ugly, or for him, say, to boast of having made her his mistress?’

  ‘It depends on the painter’, said Diana from between tight lips. The last word was almost inaudible.

  The judge turned his head.

  ‘What did you say?’

  Anger had forced out the response before Diana could stop it. She put up a hand to her head as if fatigued.

  ‘I beg your pardon. What I meant was, it would depend on the people concerned whether – which would be considered the greater insult. How can I answer for other people?’

  The judge continued to look at her for some moments. ‘What counsel is suggesting, you know, is that you yourself would feel more resentment at some insult to your beauty than at some slur laid upon your moral character.’

  ‘It isn’t true.’

  His Lordship nodded to Mr Hart.

  ‘Furthermore’, said Mr Hart, ‘I suggest that you have in fact brought this action, not because of some fancied smirch attaching to your picture being hung among those of famous courtesans but out of outraged vanity and pique because the painting itself offends your amour propre.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘That in fact, if the painting had been exhibited at the Royal Academy as originally intended, your feelings in this matter would be precisely, entirely and exactly the same.’

  ‘That isn’t so.’

  The frou-frou of the old gown and the creak of the bench informed me that Mr Hart had sat down.

  IV

  There was a murmur and a stirring about the court. Paul’s face was expressionless.

  Diana had moved as if about to leave the box, but paused as her counsel rose.

  ‘I take it, Mrs Marnsett’, he said, ‘ that you have a very wide circle of friends?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Spread, generally speaking, over a considerable section of society?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You have relatives as well as a husband?’

  ‘Yes, quite a lot.’

  ‘Is it likely that you number among your acquaintances not only those who, say, take a broad view of moral obligations, but also those who in both precept and practice adhere without question to the ordinary standards of moral behaviour?’

  ‘Of course. A great many do.’

  ‘Is it their opinion and that of your husband which you value most highly?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Now is it true, Mrs Marnsett, that your relationship with your husband is one of mutual esteem?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I take it he does not himself mix in any society to the extent you do, but that he raises no objection to your friendship with modern, artistic and intelligent people?’

  ‘None whatever.’

  ‘Have you ever given him cause to feel that mixing with the advanced intelligences you do has tended to result in the adoption by you of a lax moral attitude?’

  Diana’s eyelids flickered.

  ‘Never’, she said.

  ‘Thank you. That is all.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Over lunch Kidstone explained that before the case opened the jury had been shown photographs of the wall at the Ludwig Galleries with the pictures as they had been hung, and also an arrangement as far as was possible in an ante-room of the court of the actual pictures that had been exhibited. Unfortunately, Kidstone added, there had been a notice outside the galleries which said: ‘Exhibition of the paintings of Paul Stafford. Modern portraits and watercolour sketches. Also, Room 1, the complete series of his ‘‘ Portraits of Famous Courtesans’’.’ The picture of Mrs Marnsett had not of course been mentioned in the catalogue.

  Paul said: ‘I suppose Hart’s opening this afternoon. When am I likely to be called?’

  ‘Late today or first thing tomorrow. It’s not a bad idea, in fact, to span two days if one can – makes it less tiring.’

  ‘The sooner the better from my point of view. The quicker it’s over the quicker we can pay up and move on.’

  ‘Supreme faith in one’s legal advisers’, I said. ‘Incidentally, do we know where Brian Marnsett is?’

  Kidstone said: ‘He’s believed to be at their place in the country. Hart did well with that. There are various rumours and I don’t think Bagshawe will risk calling him.’

  ‘Diana’s righteousness made me pretty sick’, I said.

  ‘I’m afraid one gets used to the hypocrisies of the witness box.’

  Paul said: ‘I should like to know what his Lordship privately thinks of it all.’

  ‘We shall hear in due course’, said Kidstone grimly. ‘And juries on the whole are more ready to take judicial direction in a civil suit than in a criminal trial.’

  As we walked back to the Courts and reporters began to converge, Paul said: ‘Are you free for Sunday?’

  ‘I doubt it’, I said. ‘ Why?’

  ‘Because I’ve accepted an invitation for you.’

  ‘Well, there’ll be a lot of work accumulated! Where do you want me to go?’

  ‘Down to the Lynns.’

  ‘Are you going?’

  ‘Yes. Holly will be there. I promised to bring you the first Sunday you were back.’

  ‘Oh’, I said. ‘Well, I suppose I can manage it by working all Saturday. Do you still find them interesting?’

  ‘I still find them interesting’, said Paul.

  II

  We were back in our seats in time to hear Mr Raymond Hart open for the defence. He wished to make it quite clear at the outset, he said, that, since the plaintiff’s counsel had seen fit to introduce the issue of malice, it would be his first concern to produce witnesses to refute this. He would, he said, call witnesses to counter the suggestion of malice in the painting itself – then he would call witnesses to dispute malice in the hanging; and finally he would bring witnesses to refute the suggestion that its hanging had in fact the effect the plaintiff claimed, which was, he would remind the jury, the real question at issue.

  He seemed to be going over much the same ground covered in his cross-examination of Mrs Marnsett, and several of the jury looked as if they were feeling the effects of a not-yet-fully-digested meal. But at length the speech was done and the first witness called.

  Mr Vincent de Lisle, RBA, was himself a portrait painter of some eminence. In his opinion, the painting ‘ Diana Marnsett’ conformed with the best canons of the art, and the suggestion that its peculiar technique should have been used out of spite or ill-will for the sitter would be a ridiculous suggestion to anyone who understood portraiture.

  Cross fire developed between him and Bagshawe. Sir Philip established that the witness and Paul were well acquainted, ‘ were in fact friends’, and then, finding himself worsted on the technical front, asked de Lisle did he not agree that ill-will must have been shown when the portrait was deliberately hung in a gallery of notorious women.

  Mr de Lisle said sharply: ‘It’s surely a question of honi soit qui mal y pense. People who go to a gallery do so to view the pictures from an artistic standpoint, not to gossip about some fancied insult in the hanging, like salacious scullery maids.

  ‘I wish you would not obscure the issue’, said Sir Philip.

  ‘I’m not obscuring it. Because in my view there is none.’

  ‘Perhaps you would explain to the court what you mean.’

  ‘Certainly.’ De Lisle screwed in his eyeglass. ‘I don’t consider that Mrs Marnsett was seriously maligned by the company she was placed in.’

  Sir Philip glanced at
the jury. ‘Go on, Mr de Lisle.’

  ‘Well, these women, these courtesans, were generally speaking women of refinement and taste. The fact that they were mistresses of a ruling king doesn’t stamp them as common whores: it only marks them as the ancestors of a large proportion of our present aristocracy.’

  There was a gust of laughter through the court.

  ‘If I may cap your quotation with another’, said Sir Philip, acidly aware that he had not got the answer he hoped for, ‘I think the court will agree that it is a question of autres temps, autres moeurs. It might in the old days have been considered a mark of distinction to be pointed out as a king’s mistress: it is not so today. Therefore with your permission the issue remains.’

  But he didn’t detain the artist much longer.

  J.J. Paynard, another artist, was next in the box, and then Henry Ludwig of the Ludwig Galleries. He was there a long time under cross-examination but did not give away that he had phoned Paul asking him to move the picture. As the afternoon went on it became clear that Paul wouldn’t be called that day, so I eventually muttered an excuse to him and slipped out of the court. I had a moral obligation to report to my paper sometime within twelve hours of my return; and if I got in now and picked up some of the loose odds and ends I should have a better conscience about spending another day in the Courts tomorrow.

  I paused at the entrance to the central hall, carefully avoiding the eye of a reporter who was looking at me hopefully. Late October sunshine lit the Strand with a hazy light. The sky was colourless, the street fume-filled and noisy. This time yesterday we had been coming into the Sound. So little time ago, and already the city and its concerns had closed in.

  A voice said: ‘Can I give you a lift, Bill?’

  Little Olive. I had not met her since the evening before all the trouble with Diana started. And then we had separated in that peculiar way.

  She was as usual well dressed. I don’t think she ever spent a fortune on clothes, but she knew exactly what to buy and what suited her and what would look just as smart in two years’ time. Paul said she was a terror in the dress shops.