While she had been ‘sick’ in January before the Adelaide trial, Civic Hire Services had served her with a writ for money owed for hire cars for her wedding—£114 6s (over $7000). She thought she’d managed to get out of the fee by being ‘friendly’ with the owner, but clearly his angry wife had thought otherwise, she was taking Ethel to court on behalf of their company.
In early March, she went to Mr Lander’s office, only to also be presented with a bill for their legal work—£1910 18s 5d (over $120,000). She’d already paid them over £1000, in cash!
Ethel stormed out of Mr Lander’s chambers at 79 Elizabeth Street, went next door to number 81 and hired another lawyer, Harold Munro.
Mr Munro happily greeted his infamous client and listened to her woes. She was running out of money she claimed—she had funds coming to her from England, from the sale of some property, but she had little until it arrived. She had spent a fortune on the wedding that had never happened, and someone had suggested she go after her former fiancé, Rex Beech, for breach of promise. She asked Mr Munro to start the process.
When it became known she was taking Mr Beech to court, the newspapers once again had a field day, reliving the wedding that never was, the story of the guilty heiress, and now a £10,000 (just over $600,000) lawsuit. The public gobbled it up, especially when it was reported that Mr Beech only earned about £7 a week working at the Treasury.
Ethel’s court cases provided juicy pickings for the newspapers.
First up came the car-hire case, in the District Court. Ethel lost the case and was ordered to pay the bill for £114 6s, plus £12 12s in court costs.
Next was a case for her large outstanding account for the supply of alcohol. At the beginning of April, Ivan St Clair, owner of the Double Bay company Household Supply took her to court for the £149 8s 7d ($9000) she owed. His company had provided alcohol to Mrs Livesey before the wedding and for the reception, and it still hadn’t been paid for. At this second case, it was reported that Ethel was suddenly too ill to attend court; her solicitor, Mr Munro, apologised to the judge for her absence, then said he thought it a matter for settlement rather than litigation, and that the account would be paid when his client was feeling better.
A few days later, a small article reported that Mrs Gardiner had paid the outstanding surety of £50 from the 1933 case in Adelaide when she’d absconded from her trial; the fact she’d finally paid the South Australian Government £300 for child welfare also made the papers. She was trying to clean up her past.
Then came the breach of promise case, in the Supreme Court of New South Wales, on Friday, 17 May, 1946.
Mr Munro had organised two legal colleagues—barrister and doctor of letters Dr Frank Louat, and barrister Mr Alan Bagot—to attend court with himself and Mrs Livesey.
Ethel’s former friend Mac—or Mr G.R.W. McDonald, as he was introduced to the court—was acting for Rex Beech, and seated beside them was their barrister, Mr John Leaver.
Mac and Mr Beech glared at her when she entered the courtroom with her legal team. She attempted a smile at them both, but in unison they turned away.
She sat herself down and looked across at them, hoping to catch Rex’s eye, but he steadfastly ignored her.
Dr Louat rose to state Ethel’s case. ‘Mrs Livesey and Mr Beech agreed to marry on the 8th of December, 1945,’ he began, his rich, mellow voice booming around the courtroom. ‘Mrs Livesey had always been ready and willing, and although a reasonable amount of time has elapsed, Mr Beech has refused to marry her, injuring her feelings,’ he said, turning towards his client and then back to the court, ‘as well as causing her to sustain considerable financial loss.’
‘I see,’ replied Mr Justice Owen. ‘And how do you come to this figure of £10,000?’
‘We will argue that Mrs Livesey lent Mr Beech considerable amounts of money, which we wish to have returned, as well as payment of money received by Mr Beech on her behalf, and reimbursement of funds spent, gifts totalling £895, and an additional £127 spent in preparation for the marriage—together with damages for the loss of Mrs Livesey’s reputation and emotional hardship.’
‘Very well,’ the judge murmured. ‘Mr McDonald?’ he said, looking over towards Mac and Mr Beech.
‘Your Honour,’ replied Mac, rising to his feet. ‘Mr Beech would like to plead a general denial to allegations of breach of promise, and the indebtedness, and as a third plea that he made the promise of marriage believing she was a chaste and modest woman, where she had not always been and was not.’
This remark brought about a murmuring in the press gallery—more dirt for their columns.
Justice Owen looked over to them sharply, then turned back to Mr McDonald.
‘Our fourth plea is that Mr Beech was induced to make the promise by misrepresentation and wilful suppression by Mrs Livesey of the real circumstances of her family and previous life, which he discovered after making the promise,’ Mac stated.
He took a moment and cleared his throat. ‘Your Honour, the fifth plea is that Mr Beech made the promise in faith of the statement by Mrs Livesey that she was a widow of a wealthy and reputable man, Mr James Livesey, who had been killed in a bomb raid in London, whereas the fact was that the plaintiff had for some years—until her recent departure from England—been living with the said man James Livesey, then a married man, which the defendant first discovered after making the alleged promise.’
Those in the press gallery were scribbling frantically—this would certainly sell a few papers!
Mr Munro stood up and addressed the court.
‘Your Honour, we ask that Mr Beech detail particulars of his allegations of acts of unchastity or immodesty, and of the alleged wilful misrepresentations and suppressions,’ he stated. ‘And we ask for a withdrawal of the first plea—the general denial of breach of promise—and the fifth—the allegation of adultery—on the ground that they are embarrassing to my client, and of a kind that would defeat or delay the proper trial of the action.’
Mac looked over at Ethel with disdain as he rose to answer Munro. ‘As to the fourth plea—particulars of the alleged misrepresentations,’ he said to court, ‘they are many.’
And he proceeded to list them: ‘That she was an heiress related to the Coats family controlling large cotton interests; that she was the owner of a controlling interest in Courtaulds, the British rayon firm; that she owned a magnificent château in Monte Carlo; that she owned large and elaborate homes in the Isle of Man, Wales and Torquay; and that she employed large staffs of servants.
‘That she held rent-producing properties in London, Liverpool and Manchester; that she was the owner of an elaborate yacht on which she entertained the Duke of Windsor and his friends; and that she is the possessor of freehold and share interests in England and America, which produced income that—even after paying exorbitant amounts of tax—left her with enough for lavish living and large charitable gifts … ’
Mac paused for effect. ‘All of these are misrepresentations,’ he concluded.
Dr Louat rose. ‘In regard to this fourth plea—the alleged misrepresentations—there is no legal authority for the raising by a man of such matters as a defence to a breach of promise suit,’ he said, looking at the judge. ‘All they amount to is that Mr Beech was disappointed because he discovered he was not marrying into the wealth he thought he was, but there was no reason for him breaking his promise of marriage.’
‘I should have thought it was,’ Justice Owen replied. ‘Do you mean to say that if a man represented to a woman that he was wealthy and so on, and then she found out that he wasn’t, she would be entitled to refuse to marry him?’ he asked.
‘That would be so in the case of a woman,’ Dr Louat replied, ‘because though a man is responsible for maintaining the wife, a wife is not responsible for maintaining her husband. I submit the positions are not reversible.’
Mr Beech’s barrister, Mr Leaver, then rose and addressed the court. ‘We wish to make amendments to the first, fourth
and fifth pleas if it pleases Your Honour,’ he said.
‘I will strike them out,’ Justice Owen remarked, making a note on the papers in front of him, ‘and give you seven days to amend them. Mr Beech is to pay costs.’
As they went to leave the courthouse, the reporter from the Sydney Morning Herald saw Mr Leaver turn to Mac and state loudly enough for most to hear, ‘This may prove to be the most frivolous action ever conceived in these courts!’
The press had what they wanted. Even though Mrs Livesey had failed to get money out of Mr Beech this time, they had even more juicy personal details about the supposed cotton heiress, perfect for the evening news.
Mac was kept busy. As well as defending Mr Beech, he was also acting for Mr St Clair, who had provided the alcohol for Ethel’s planned wedding. The case was being put before the Federal Bankruptcy Court due to the continued lack of payment.
Ethel left Mr Munro to face Justice Thomas Clyne alone.
‘We would like an adjournment for fourteen days,’ Mr Munro told the court at the opening of the hearing on Friday, 31 May. ‘My client is again in Adelaide, ill, and I cannot get instructions.’ He then read an affidavit stating that before she left for Adelaide, she had told him she intended to undergo a serious operation.
He went on to say she had questioned a single item on the account for £75 (nearly $4500) listed as ‘money expended for goods delivered’. According to Mac, her previous lawyer Mr Lander had received advice from Mr St Clair that it was for French liqueurs supplied at the special request of Mrs Livesey for the wedding.
‘We never handled those liqueurs,’ Mr Munro stated. ‘They were supposed to be delivered to my client’s flat, but were taken away by a man named Beech and she doesn’t know what was delivered, and she does not know what she has to pay for. This woman did purchase certain liqueurs in contemplation of an impending marriage to Beech. The wedding fell through, and this man Beech and his associates drank these liqueurs, while she was away weeping somewhere else, and she has never seen them,’ he ended dramatically.
‘What have you to say about this, Mr McDonald?’ Justice Clyne asked.
Mac rose carefully from his seat. ‘My friend is slightly amiss, I think, in regard to the facts—particularly in relation to the last item, because I am in a position to know that Mr Beech did not consume or remove them,’ he stated.
‘I submit that the application for this adjournment is not bona fide at all; it is simply intended to delay sequestration of the judgment. On the 21st December I understand the debtor was arrested on a charge of false pretences and granted bail to appear in Adelaide. She left New South Wales, leaving the debt unpaid.
‘In regard to the illness,’ Mac continued confidently, ‘there is no evidence or information in support of the fact that she suffers from this malady—and it is noticeable from the press reports that this malady she suffers from seems to occur when she is required in one of our courts.
‘I say that this application is filed now for no other purpose than to delay the petitioner. It is a fact known to me—which I could put in an affidavit—that my client is not the only victim.’
‘I do not think you should say that,’ Mr Munro replied directly to Mac.
‘I am speaking very advisedly,’ Mac replied steadily. ‘But perhaps I should not have said that.’
Justice Clyne looked at the two lawyers for a moment. ‘I will not grant the adjournment, Mr Munro,’ he decided. He turned to Mac and asked the particulars of the bankruptcy notice, before making an order of sequestration, where the Official Receiver—a Mr Richardson—could seek and seize any assets to pay the creditor.
The press reporters now had even more dirt on the absent Mrs Livesey, and publicised her apparent financial downfall with glee: Mrs Florence Elizabeth Ethel Livesey—one of the most lavish entertainers ever to startle Sydney society into a stampede for places in the free champagne queue—was bankrupt.
33
MRS LIVESEY AGAIN MISSING
On Wednesday, 3 July 1946, a total of nine creditors attended a meeting with the Official Receiver, Mr Richardson.
Mr Richardson had to advise them that Mrs Livesey had not been served with the order of sequestration of her estate, because she could not be found, and as a result had not filed the required statement of financial affairs, and as a result the court did not know how much money she was worth.
However, his enquiries had found Mrs Livesey did still own two investment properties in England—59 Hope Street and 146 Chatham Street in Liverpool—together said to be worth £1250 (over $78,000). The creditors unanimously agreed that these properties be sold at auction without reserve, which would at least cover some of the money owed.
The meeting adjourned with Richardson advising the creditors to seek their own legal counsel while the Bankruptcy Court undertook to find the elusive Mrs Livesey.
Sergeant McGrath and Officer Eyles from the Adelaide CIB visited Basil’s home to ask if he knew of his mother’s whereabouts. Basil was at work, so they spoke with his wife Sylvia instead.
‘So where is Mrs Livesey?’ Officer Eyles asked her. It had been his job during the war to interview German nationals prior to internment, and he was used to getting answers.
‘I don’t know. Truly, I don’t,’ she sighed. ‘She left six or seven weeks ago.’
‘Where was she headed?’ he demanded.
‘I don’t know,’ Sylvia replied. ‘I think she was going to Victoria, but I don’t know where.’
‘Come now Mrs Anderson, you put up her £300 bond five months ago, and you really don’t know where she has gone?’
Sylvia looked at him in alarm. ‘Will I have to pay the bond?’ she asked urgently. ‘She hasn’t done anything wrong, has she? I mean, I really don’t know where she has gone, or when she’s coming back, or anything! We can’t afford to lose that much money—any money.’
‘Perhaps you should have thought about that when you put the bond up,’ he replied.
Syliva looked like she was about to burst into tears.
‘Do you know if she has any money here?’ he asked.
Sylvia again shook her head. ‘I think she’s broke,’ she replied. ‘In fact the way she carried on in this house, I’m sure she is broke, but she is a woman that will tell you nothing about her finances, so actually I don’t know.’
Justice Clyne was getting frustrated. Despite certified letters being sent all over the country to known addresses used by Mrs Livesey, they weren’t getting what they were after—her necessary statement of affairs. The court had, however, received an affidavit from her returning most of the documentation, everything except the statement of affairs. They had no idea how much money she had, and she wasn’t telling them.
‘I think we had better fix a date for the Committal Hearing,’ he said to Mr Richardson. ‘Perhaps the threat of prison will bring her forward.’
The Official Receiver gave a nod. ‘I fear that this bankrupt may have money at her disposal which she may be using,’ he replied. ‘A letter arrived from her late last Friday, but I didn’t see it until Monday,’ he said handing it to Justice Clyde.
The judge looked it over and turned the envelope over in his hand. ‘This letter seems to suggest that she is in Melbourne; it is fairly clear that she is no longer in Adelaide. What is this postmark on the envelope? “A.L.B.” or “A.L.D.”?’
‘I think that it is probably Algate, which is about 25 miles from Adelaide, and I have formed the opinion that the letter was posted on the Melbourne train,’ Richardson replied.
‘That is a rather curious thing, why was it not posted from Melbourne if that is where the letter states she is?’ Clyde asked.
‘She may desire to get a postmark shown at some place other than Melbourne or Adelaide,’ Richardson replied.
Justice Clyne, tapping the envelope in his hand, pondered for a long moment. ‘What is it you suggest doing?’ he asked.
‘Advertise the committal in the major evening papers in each state,�
�� Mr Richardson replied.
‘If it was put on the front page among the cables, she would probably see it then,’ Justice Clyne agreed, making a note. ‘Can you suggest anything else?’ He watched as the tired receiver went through his papers, and finding what he was after, held it before him.
‘Mr Munro was her solicitor, but he has told me he is now no longer acting for her; he sent me a list of fifteen creditors seeking Mrs Livesey, but he did not know her present address,’ Mr Richardson explained. ‘I do not think it effective to send a notice to Mr Munro, but it may be useful to have papers sent to Mrs Sylvia Anderson in Adelaide; she probably feels that she has been worried too much by her husband’s mother’s affairs. And may I also suggest a notice be served to the manager of the Bank of New South Wales head office in Melbourne, where we know she last withdrew money.’
‘Very well,’ Justice Clyne declared. ‘On this day, the 2nd of August 1946, I order the bankrupt Florence Elizabeth Ethel Livesey to appear before the Bankruptcy Court in Melbourne on Monday, 19 August 1946 at 10.30 a.m., or an order for the committal of the said bankrupt to prison on the grounds of her failure to observe the obligations imposed under the Bankruptcy Act will be issued.’
‘Mrs Livesey!’
Mr Herbert Wheatley addressed Ethel in the reception area of his legal firm, where a clerk and secretary had been trying not to look at her too obviously as she waited.
‘Won’t you come into my office? This way,’ he smiled, indicating his room.
He closed the door behind them, showing her to a chair opposite his desk.
‘What can I do for you today?’ he asked.
‘Well Mr Wheatley, I am not sure if you are aware, but I have had a dreadful time lately,’ Ethel began.
‘I have been following the papers a little, Mrs Livesey.’
‘Well then, you know of some of my troubles. But it was only this morning that I read this in the paper, and I am unsure what to do,’ she said quietly, holding the front page of the West Australian towards him, and pointing to the notice of committal against her. ‘I seek your expertise.’
The Amazing Mrs Livesey Page 17
