At breakfast that morning, Mr Wheatley had already read about the bankruptcy motion and threatened committal against the notorious lady sitting opposite. He looked carefully at his potential new client.
‘Why did you come to Western Australia, Mrs Livesey?’ he enquired. ‘You must excuse me, but was it to avoid the Bankruptcy Court?’
‘Certainly not!’ she declared, then in a calmer tone continued, ‘I came some weeks ago, seeking some respite from the strain to which I have been subjected through the continuous publicity given to my affairs. Particularly after the South Australian court case, I felt like I was on the verge of a breakdown, and was continually worried.’
She explained that the court cases had left her with very little money, and that she had been in search of work. ‘I managed to gain a domestic position in Melbourne,’ she told him, ‘but as soon as they found out who I was, they threw me out! I came to this state in an endeavour to live and work quietly.’
Pausing, she added: ‘I have been in ill health for some time, Mr Wheatley. On the journey over by train I stayed nearly the entire time in bed, and I am still unwell. I am greatly concerned that I would not survive the journey back, but if I must appear before a court in the eastern states, I will endeavour to do so.’
The lawyer nodded in understanding. ‘We can obtain a medical certificate for you, Mrs Livesey; I will arrange a consultation with a friend of mine after our meeting. But in the meantime, we will need to go through the requirements for the Bankruptcy Court. Now tell me,’ he said, picking up a pen and taking notes on the legal pad in front of him, ‘do you remember receiving documentation from the Official Receiver?’
‘Why yes, my lawyer in Adelaide, Mr Ward, sent me a series of forms, which I dutifully filled out and returned by post,’ she replied.
‘There should have been a statement of affairs in which you state your known assets and liabilities. Do you remember filling that out, by chance?’ he asked.
‘I think so,’ Ethel replied a little uncertainly. ‘They have confiscated my accounts; I cannot withdraw any funds. I have little more than a few pounds in cash, Mr Wheatley—enough to pay your fee,’ she added reassuringly, ‘but they claim I withdrew large sums of money from the Isle of Man prior to coming to this country, and I have no clue as to where this fable came from.’
‘You deny this?’ he asked, looking across at her.
‘Emphatically!’ she replied.
‘I see,’ he said quietly. ‘I will write to them today and ask what the nature of the proceedings are at present before the court, and we will see what we can do.’
‘Please make it abundantly clear to them, Mr Wheatley, that I will give them all the information that they require, but I do fear I will not make the journey back. And I cannot go to prison.’
34
WHERE DID ALL THE MONEY GO?
On Monday, 19 August, the Honourable Mr Justice Clyne was seated in the Victorian Court of Bankruptcy in Melbourne, expecting to interview Mrs Livesey.
Mr Richardson, the Official Receiver, held some informative documents for him instead.
The first was a letter from Wheatley & Son, solicitors in Perth, dated 5 August 1946, together with a medical certificate stating that Mrs Livesey was unable to travel.
The second was a letter from a Mr D.A. Alexander, Deputy Director of the Criminal Investigation Branch in Melbourne, outlining some interesting information from the Criminal Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard: enquiries made to certain banks—including the Isle of Man Bank, where Mrs Livesey had an account—suggested she withdrew large amounts prior to her departure to Australia. Bank records then traced to Australia showed deposits amounting to £23,656 (just under $1.5 million) between 27 August 1945 and January 1946.
This last revelation caused quite a stir in the packed press gallery: how could someone having received that much money, in less than six months, be in a bankruptcy court?
The third document was an application for a search warrant, also sent by Mr Alexander of Melbourne CIB, for a rural property at Weering, in Victoria. Police had been notified that Mrs Livesey had worked as a housekeeper for two elderly brothers and their sister for some weeks before the publicity caught up with her; Mrs Livesey had then left for Perth, leaving undisclosed belongings in a locked room on the property.
Justice Clyne approved the search warrant application, and the matter was adjourned.
The press gallery exited quickly, eager once again to fill their columns with the latest on Mrs Livesey, and the tantalising possibility of a treasure trove in a locked room in rural Victoria.
The week following, Justice Clyne perused the documentation in front of him. Unfortunately for the creditors, the only item of immediate monetary value recovered from the search of Mrs Livesey’s goods on the Weering property was one solid gold bangle. He let out a sigh.
He did have some good news, however: the CIB in Melbourne had Mrs Livesey’s passport and had asked the Customs Department not to furnish her with another, giving them descriptions and photographs of the wanted woman. She couldn’t leave the country.
At the next court sitting, Justice Clyne was presented with an affidavit from Mr Wheatley, Ethel’s Perth lawyer, together with the all-important statement of affairs.
In the assets column was the Liverpool real estate, valued at £1250, and cash in hand of £20. She listed ten unsecured creditors she owed money to, totalling £1307, and two additional ‘secured’ creditors: Mr B. Johnson of the Australia Hotel, to whom she had given a silver-and-gold toilet set as security for a £100 loan; and Mr Donohue, who had helped her find a flat in Sydney’s eastern suburbs, giving him a cigarette case and her aquamarine diamond engagement ring as security for his £200 loan.
She also stated she had drawn no more than £4000 from her overseas accounts—and yet according to the same statement, had managed to pay out more than £7000 since arriving in Australia: £1650 in solicitor fees to Mr Lander, £350 to Child Welfare, £240 in rent, £350 on the wedding that didn’t happen, £200 for presents to Mr Beech, £150 sent to her father as well as a gift of £2000, £200 for her fare to Australia, £125 to Mr Livesey as a gift, £200 in rent for the Isle of Man property, £185 in debts paid on the Isle of Man, and only £60 on living expenses and entertainment since she had arrived. According to her statement, she’d spent £7437 in twelve months, not £23,656.
Justice Clyne looked at the list and immediately two questions came to mind. How could she spend almost double what she stated she withdrew from her accounts? And, what about the rest of the £23,656—did she have it hidden away?
He placed the statement of affairs to one side and looked at the woman’s affidavit. She was living in Victory Flats, 90 Bulwer Street, East Perth. She claimed she had lost her job in Melbourne and travelled to Perth in a bad nervous condition, only aware of the committal proceedings from a notice in the West Australian newspaper on 5 August, having left everything in the hands of her Sydney solicitor, Mr Harry Munro. Her only prospect of continuing in employment to support herself was to stay in Western Australia where there was less publicity, she stated, and that she was still unable to travel due to her health.
Justice Clyne contemplated both documents.
After some deliberation, he decided to withdraw the committal order on Mrs Livesey, as the imminent sale of her properties in England would almost cover the creditors on her list.
It was up to those creditors not on her list to prove their debt to the court, meaning more delays.
For the meantime, he ruled, she was free to stay in Perth.
On Tuesday, 8 October, Rex Beech waited in court for the rescheduled breach of promise case with Mac and their legal team in Sydney.
They waited in vain. The court had ordered Mrs Livesey to set the matter down for trial, but she had failed to do so.
Her name was read out three times inside and outside the court, and she did not appear.
The judgment was signed in Mr Beech’s favour, wi
th Mrs Livesey to pay costs.
35
GOING AFTER THE LAWYERS
In October, a creditors’ meeting was also held in Sydney. Mr Richardson, the Official Receiver, looked at the assembled creditors, from business people to a frail elderly lady, and wondered how he was going to break this to them. Straight out, he decided.
‘The two properties Mrs Livesey owns are worth much less than was claimed,’ he started.
Immediately everyone wanted to talk at once. How come? What happened? Were the properties dilapidated?
He looked at them steadily and continued. ‘Not because the properties are inferior,’ he assured them, ‘but because both have long-term leases in place, for 75 years each.’
Of all the properties Ethel had acquired from the late Mr Coradine, Mr Livesey and her father, these were the two she had been unable to sell off quickly, and this had been the reason why.
‘The lease on the Chatham Street property is due to expire in November 1952,’ he continued.
‘But that is over six years away!’ Mr St Clair stated.
Mr Richardson nodded and continued reading from the paper in front of him. ‘And the Hope Street property lease won’t be completed until September 1976.’
The creditors seemed momentarily stunned—that was three decades away!
The elderly woman in the front row started to sob. Even though Mrs Sarah Stanbury was the smallest creditor, Mr Richardson’s heart went out to her. Mrs Stanbury had apparently written to Mrs Livesey back in December, offering her support, and the woman had landed on their doorstep less than a month later. She and her husband had lent her the £10 they had saved for their funeral costs, without security. But as Mrs Stanbury hadn’t been on Mrs Livesey’s statement of affairs, the chances of getting their money back was slim. To top it off, all the stress had sent her husband to bed, ill, and Mrs Stanbury was worried, as now she had no savings. If her husband passed away, she would be unable to pay for his funeral.
Another of the creditors, Miss Nicholson, herself out of pocket £70, was trying to console the old lady.
‘So, the properties are worthless!’ Mr St Clair fumed.
‘No, Mr St Clair, they are still generating a small amount of rent, which is going to the bankrupt estate—but, I’m afraid, not many people will be interested in purchasing them at this stage,’ Mr Richardson replied. ‘So they may have to be sold for considerably less.’
‘How much less?’ Mr St Clair demanded.
‘According to the agent in the UK, we could hope to net approximately £200 in total, if a buyer can be found.’
‘That is outrageous!’
Mr Richardson looked at the agitated man standing before him and decided to lay it on the line.
‘All secured creditors, those like yourself Mr St Clair, who have proof of debt, will have first priority of payment from the estate as a percentage of how much the estate is worth in total—which at this stage, if what Mrs Livesey has told us is correct, looks like being not worth much more than £400, including what we seized from her bank accounts and will generate from the sale of her jewellery on hand.’
‘And, what about those of us with unsecured loans?’ Miss Nicholson asked.
‘I’m afraid the chances of securing funds are limited, unless Mrs Livesey has seen fit to place you on her statement of affairs as a debtor, which I understand she has with you Miss Nicholson.’
‘But, not me?’ Mrs Stanbury said quietly.
‘No,’ Mr Richardson replied, his heart sinking as the old lady’s face fell into her hands and she sobbed quietly.
Mr Richardson paused, unsure how the creditors would receive his next piece of news.
‘I have here a letter from Mr Livesey, saying he will pay £100 for the Chatham Street property, and £50 for the Hope Street property, from the bankrupt estate.’
‘Mr Livesey?’ Mr St Clair asked. ‘The husband, or partner, or whatever he is?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can we claim off him?’
‘No,’ Mr Richardson said, suppressing a sigh. ‘He is not the bankrupt in this case, and they were not legally man and wife.’
The creditors were momentarily quiet, before Mr St Clair broke the silence. ‘Well then, what about all that money paid to those solicitors of hers? Half of the people here lent her money to pay them—it was a ridiculous amount! Could we get that money back some way?’
‘Possibly,’ Mr Richardson replied cautiously. ‘You could ask the courts to vet the lawyers’ bill of costs, and if they are not satisfied with the fees charged, there may be some refunded.’ This caused a stir among the creditors.
‘Can we,’ Mr Richardson entreated, trying to get their attention again, ‘can we deal with Mr Livesey’s offer first?’
‘A hundred and fifty pounds!’ Mr St Clair spluttered. ‘For two properties supposed to be worth nearly ten times that amount—I don’t think so!’
‘They are only worth what someone is willing to pay,’ Mr Richardson pointed out patiently.
‘I say we go after the lawyers!’ urged Mr St Clair. ‘Who’s with me?’ There was a general murmuring among the creditors that was growing louder. ‘Show of hands then!’ he shouted. Each of the creditors raised a hand.
‘So what is it that you agree upon?’ Mr Richardson asked in exasperation. ‘To not accept Mr Livesey’s offer?’
‘Not accept Livesey’s offer!’ reiterated Mr St Clair. ‘And go after the lawyers.’
Mr Lander, Ethel’s former Sydney lawyer, refused consent to having his account reviewed—until an order was issued by the Supreme Court on 20 November 1946.
Appearing before Mr Justice Maxwell on 22 November, Mr Lander stated at the start of the hearing: ‘I do not oppose the application, Your Honour. I submit that this is the proper stage for the court to decide whether Mrs Livesey had been adequately advised.’
Justice Maxwell then ordered that Mr Lander’s three bills of costs be referred to the taxing master to deal with.
All day they nitpicked through the bills, questioning numerous seemingly large charges for phone calls to Randwick Racecourse to leave urgent messages for Mr Isaacs, large fees for dealing with the press, for not getting home before 11 p.m., and non-professional charges such as having to purchase airline tickets and send telegrams. The area that drew the most argument was the huge sums paid to Messrs Isaacs and Lander for the two trips to Adelaide.
‘Mrs Livesey agreed to pay £500 both to myself and Mr Isaacs in respect of the Adelaide proceedings,’ Mr Lander answered, ‘and in addition, to pay all travelling expenses and other disbursements incurred on her behalf.’
‘But you were unable to practise law in that state,’ observed Mr Hunt, for the Official Receiver.
‘That is correct,’ Mr Lander replied, clearing his throat. ‘Two sums of money were paid by Mrs Livesey prior to her leaving by plane for Adelaide on January 9. Mrs Livesey then paid a further £300 on account of travelling expenses and fees for the Adelaide counsel while in the state, as well as £300 to the Child Welfare Department.’
‘And how did Mrs Livesey pay for this? From her bank account?’ Mr Hunt asked.
‘Returning from Adelaide, Mrs Livesey borrowed funds—£500 from Mrs Ruby Johnson, wife of the catering manager of the Australia Hotel, pending receipt of money from England,’ Mr Lander replied.
‘And is it correct that you organised the mortgage for this to happen?’ asked Mr Hunt.
‘It is.’
‘Did you offer your client counsel regarding these accounts?’ Mr Hunt persisted.
Mr Lander said these monies were paid only after Mrs Livesey had been expressly warned and advised against incurring such expenses. ‘Prior to her second Adelaide visit,’ he stated, ‘I again warned Mrs Livesey that the visit of a solicitor and counsel was unnecessary. But she insisted.’
Mr Lander then produced a letter he had expressly given to Mrs Livesey and read part of it out to the court. ‘You also stated that you especially desire us b
oth to be present with you in Adelaide when you anticipate being questioned in accordance with information supplied to you and myself by Detective Miller of Sydney CIB, by the Adelaide police, regarding an English matter relating to £27,000.’
Despite the fact that Ethel had not been questioned about this matter in Adelaide, the fear that she could have been, was enough for her to sign and endorse Mr Lander’s letter. Messrs Lander and Isaacs’s attendance in Adelaide had been justified by their client.
In the Bankruptcy Court, Justice Clyne had had enough. The list of Mrs Livesey’s creditors had blown out even further: there were now several additional creditors in England and the Isle of Man; ten people in Australia who had personally lent Mrs Livesey money; and eleven Australian businesses.
British creditors included the upmarket Liverpool department store G.H. Lee & Co (£100 11s 7d), the exclusive jewellers Finnigans (£190 6s 5d), and Mrs Livesey’s Blackpool landlady Margaretta Williams (over £1359). Mrs Williams had in 1942 lent Ethel (who was then Mrs Coradine) a total of £1759 (over $120,000) in cash, mortgaging her own property to do so, on the promise that when Mr Coradine passed away and their house sold, the money would be repaid. When it wasn’t, Mrs Williams took her to court and judgment was obtained against Ethel, while she was on the Isle of Man. It was this money that she had used to give Mr Livesey the opinion that she had her own income, so when she had been ordered to repay the funds, she asked her father Frank to help just before she left the Isle of Man. He had managed to pay £400 to Mrs Williams, but £1359 was still outstanding.
The businesses in Australia owed monies ranged from exclusive department store The Myer Emporium to outstanding solicitor accounts with Mac McDonald and Harry Munro, down to accounts not paid to the local pharmacist and newsagents in Edgecliff. And Ethel had managed to repeatedly gain funds from people who had offered help after her failed wedding to Mr Beech, ranging from £700 from Mrs Ruby Johnson, down to poor Mrs Stanbury’s savings of £10.
The Amazing Mrs Livesey Page 18
