by David Field
‘Like the fact that this key had to be taken from the signal box in order to work the junction?’ Esther added unassumingly, then caught the expression on Percy’s face. ‘Well, presumably it could be duplicated?’
Percy’s mouth dropped open.
‘Block your ears — he’s going to swear again.’ Jack grinned.
‘Double what I just said — Esther, you’re God’s gift to an overworked detective!’
‘Well, this one anyway,’ Jack replied territorially as he left his seat in order to put his arm round Esther and give her a kiss.
‘So if we assume that the key used to work the points was a duplicate,’ Esther persevered with an embarrassed blush, ‘then the only evidence you need is from the signalman who was presumably persuaded, in all innocence, to signal for the train to stop.’
‘And hopefully I’ll get that when I go back up there tomorrow,’ Percy confirmed. ‘Now then Esther, since you seem to be the top of this evening’s bill, have you and Lucy got anything for me?’
‘I almost hesitate to mention it,’ Esther whispered modestly, ‘but we’re pretty sure we know who “Bunbury” was — you know, the man who took over Stranmillis’s identity on the train and the boat from Holyhead?’
‘Yes?’ Percy prompted her.
‘His name is Giles Holloway, and he was the male understudy in Wilde’s latest play. He took off a month ago with a set of gentleman’s morning clothes, telling his fiancée Emily Baxter, who’s also in the cast, that he was undertaking an important part in another production somewhere out west. The really interesting point in all this is that the man who hired him for the part was no other than Patrick Ryan, who just happens to be Emily’s uncle. It’s all tying together nicely, isn’t it?’
‘Particularly when you throw in a fact that came out in the trial,’ Jack added, ‘namely that Wilde had a visit from a man called Allen, who’s a career blackmailer. Wilde was uncommonly guarded about what they talked about — preferring to let us all think that it had something to do with an indiscreet letter that Wilde had written to his boyfriend, Queensberry’s son. But my nose tells me that it was to do with something else, and it also seems, from what Esther found out from Emily Baxter, that Wilde was indebted to Ryan and Stranmillis — Stranmillis in particular — for the finance for his latest production. No doubt that’s already been handsomely repaid with interest, but it might be interesting to see if there’s any link between the three of them and this blackmailer.’
‘I think Emily Baxter trusts me,’ Esther added, ‘and she mentioned well-attended Summer holiday house parties at Ryan’s country estate, at which Wilde was present. I’ll see if I can get hold of a guest list. But let’s not forget that another of our assumptions all along has been that Stranmillis chose to disappear. Because there’s been no body discovered, we’ve been assuming, probably quite rightly, that the Fenians had nothing to do with it. But there might have been others who wanted Stranmillis dead. Perhaps his body’s in that railway carriage.’
‘We’ll soon know, when we pull it out,’ Percy reminded them. ‘Now I really must go. My grateful thanks for that delicious supper, and as usual for the produce of that fine brain of yours, Esther. And of course you, Jack, for your courage above and beyond in attending what according to the newspapers is a most tedious trial.’
‘I’ve been to more entertaining events, certainly,’ Jack confirmed. ‘Including a few hangings. But I’ve persevered thus far, and now it’s my natural stubbornness that’s keeping me going. Carson hinted that it might all be over by tomorrow evening, anyway.’
Chapter Eighteen
Jack was on the front row of the public gallery well before the appointed hour of ten o’clock when the knock came on the communicating door between the Bench and the corridor to announce the entry of the judge and the commencement of the third day of the proceedings. Wilde’s counsel Sir Edward Clarke rose for long enough to confirm that he had closed the case for Wilde, and Mr Justice Collins invited Edward Carson to ‘open’ for Queensberry.
Carson rose to his full height, adjusted his wig in a gesture that was more theatre than necessity, cleared his throat and began, his rich Irish brogue worthy of an ancient bard. ‘May it please you, my Lord, gentlemen of the jury. In appearing in this case for Lord Queensberry I cannot but feel that a very grave responsibility rests upon me. So far as Lord Queensberry is concerned, in any act he has done, in any letter he has written, or in the matter of the card which has put him in the present position, he withdraws nothing.
‘He has done all those things with a premeditation and a determination, at all risks, and at all hazards to try to save his son. Whether Lord Queensberry was right or whether he was wrong, you have probably to some extent information on which you can found a judgment. I must say for Lord Queensberry, notwithstanding the many elements of prejudice which my learned friend, Sir Edward Clarke, thought fit to introduce into the case in his opening speech, that Lord Queensberry’s conduct in this respect has been absolutely consistent all through, and if the facts which he stated in his letters as to Mr. Wilde’s reputation and acts are correct, then not only was he justified in doing what he could to cut short what would probably prove a most disastrous acquaintance for his son, but in taking every step which suggested itself to him to bring about an inquiry into the acts and doings of Mr. Wilde.
‘Gentlemen, from beginning to end Lord Queensberry, in dealing with Mr. Oscar Wilde, has been influenced by one hope alone — that of saving his son. What is Mr. Wilde’s own case? The prosecutor has said that up to a certain date he was on terms of friendship with Lord Queensberry, and therefore there were no circumstances rendering his Lordship liable to the accusation that what he had done in the present case was done from malice arising out of disagreement. Lord Queensberry came to know of Mr. Wilde’s character, of the scandals in connexion with the Savoy Hotel, that the prosecutor had been going about with young men who were not co-equal with him in position or in age, and that he had been associating with men who, it will be proved beyond doubt, are some of the most immoral characters in London.
‘I refer above all to the man Taylor, a most notorious character — as the police will tell the Court — who occupied rooms which were nothing more or less than a shameful den. Whether Taylor was or was not a procurer in this sense, the fact remains that on Tuesday last — 2nd April — he was in company with Mr. Wilde at the latter’s house in Tite Street and that he has not been produced by the prosecution. Taylor has fact been the right-hand man of Mr. Wilde in all the orgies in which artists and valets have taken part; and, if opportunity had only been given of cross-examining him, it might have been possible to get from him at least something as to what was going on at Fitzroy Square on the night of the raid there last year.
‘Taylor is really the pivot of the case for the simple reason that when the various witnesses for the defence are called and examined — as unfortunately will be necessary — as to the practices of Mr. Oscar Wilde, it will be found that it was Taylor who introduced the young men to the prosecutor. Mr. Oscar Wilde has undertaken to prove enough to send Lord Queensberry to gaol and to brand him as a criminal, but it is remarkable that the only witness who could have supported Mr. Wilde’s assertion of innocence has not been called. Yet Taylor is still a friend of Mr. Wilde, and nothing, said the prosecutor, has happened to interrupt their friendship.’
Jack was surprised to hear this when he recalled the conversation he’d had with the much impoverished Mr Taylor, who had been offered money — or so he said — to testify at the Wilde trial. Then again, he hadn’t specified who had been intending to call him as a witness, and in view of what had emerged during the evidence so far it might well be the case that Wilde’s counsel was not now prepared to risk putting Taylor in the witness box, where Carson could tear him to shreds.
Carson now had Jack’s full attention as he continued: ‘It will be painful to be compelled to ask the various witnesses that will be called to describe the mann
er in which Mr. Wilde has acted towards them; but, before the case is ended, you will be obliged to hear a good deal more of the extraordinary den which Taylor kept in Little College Street. Therefore, it is above all things necessary, when we have so much proved by his own admissions, that Mr. Wilde should bring any witness he can to bear out his own explanations. We have heard a great deal of the gentleman whose name was written down. On each occasion when it was convenient to introduce somebody, this was the name which Mr. Wilde gave because he was out of the country. But Taylor is still in the country. Why has he not been called?
‘Let us contrast the position which Mr. Wilde took up in cross-examination as to his books, which are for the select and not for the ordinary individual, with the position he assumed as to the young men to whom he was introduced and those he picked up for himself. His books were written by an artist for artists; his words were not for Philistines or illiterates. Contrast that with the way in which Mr. Wilde chose his companions! He took up with Charles Parker, a gentleman’s servant, whose brother was also a gentleman’s servant; with young Alphonse Conway, who sold papers on the pier at Worthing; and with Scarfe, also a gentleman’s servant. Then his excuse was no longer that he was dwelling in regions of art but that he had such a noble, such a democratic, soul that he drew no social distinctions, and that it was quite as much pleasure to have the sweeping boy from the streets to lunch or dine with him as the greatest litterateur or artist.
‘In my judgment, if the case had rested on Mr. Wilde’s literature alone, Lord Queensberry would have been absolutely justified in the course he has taken. Lord Queensberry has undertaken to prove that Mr. Wilde has been “posing” as guilty of certain vices. Mr. Wilde knows no distinction between a moral and an immoral book. Nor does he care whether the article is in its very terms blasphemous.
‘Passing now to The Picture of Dorian Gray, it is the tale of a beautiful young man who, by the conversation of one who has great literary power and ability to speak in epigrams — just as Mr. Wilde has — and who has his eyes opened to what they are pleased to call the “delights of the world.” If Dorian Gray is a book which it can be conclusively proved advocates the vice imputed to Mr. Wilde, what answer, then, is there to Lord Queensberry’s plea of justification?
‘The turning of one of Wilde’s letters to Lord Alfred Douglas into a sonnet was a very thinly veiled attempt to get rid of the character of that letter. A more thinly veiled attempt to cover its real nature has never been made in a Court of Justice. I have some difficulty in understanding why my learned friend, Sir Edward Clarke, has referred to that letter at all. Perhaps he thought the defence had the letter, and that it would be better to give an explanation of it; but if that is so, it is futile because, for the letter which the defence did produce, my learned friend has no explanation.
‘My learned friend has referred to “a man named Wood” as being supposed to have taken out of the pocket of Lord Alfred Douglas correspondence which had passed between him and Wilde. But who is Wood? Why, he too is “Fred,” one of Wilde’s bosom companions, a friend of Taylor, one of the Little College Street lot! What, then, was the cause of the strained relations between Wilde and Wood? Why did Wilde give Wood £16? When I state that, previous to the possession of those letters, Wood had been carrying on certain practices with Wilde, you will have the key to the whole situation.
‘That is one reason why Wilde would be anxious to get the letters at any cost, and when Wood came to levy blackmail, then Mr. Wilde became very anxious that the man should leave the country. So he paid his passage and, after a farewell luncheon, he shipped him off to New York and, I suppose, hoped that he would never see him again. But, gentlemen, as a matter of fact, Wood is here and will be examined before you.’
Above the excited hum of expectation that reverberated around the courtroom, Carson raised his voice for more dramatic effect, and continued, ‘I am not here to say anything has ever happened between Lord Alfred Douglas and Mr. Oscar Wilde. God forbid! But everything shows that the young man was in a dangerous position in that he acquiesced in the domination of Mr. Wilde, a man of great ability and attainments. Against that letter written by Mr. Wilde to Lord Queensberry’s son, Lord Queensberry protested; and I wish to know, gentlemen, are you, for that protest, going to send Lord Queensberry to gaol? Lord Queensberry was determined to bring the matter to an issue, and what other way was open to him than that which he had chosen?
‘Before you condemn Lord Queensberry I ask you to read Wilde’s letter and to say whether the gorge of any father ought not to rise. I ask you to bear in mind that Lord Queensberry’s son was so dominated by Wilde that he threatened to shoot his own father. Gentlemen, Lord Queensberry did what he has done most deliberately, and he is not afraid to abide by the issue which he has raised in this Court. When you have heard Wood’s evidence, the whole story of the payment of those sums of money by Wilde, and the mystery of those letters, will be explained; and the suggestion that they were valuable manuscripts, which Wilde desired to obtain, will be dissipated. As a matter of fact, Wilde knew that we had all the evidence, and he preferred to discount it as far as possible in advance.
‘I have dealt as fully as I intend to deal with the question of Mr. Wilde’s connexion with the literature and the two letters which have been produced in this case, and I almost hope that I have sufficiently demonstrated to you upon that matter that so far as Lord Queensberry was concerned, he was absolutely justified in bringing to a climax in the way he did this question of the connexion between Mr. Oscar Wilde and his son.
‘I have unfortunately a more painful part of the case now to approach. It will be my duty to bring before you young men, one after another, who have been in the hands of Mr. Wilde, to tell their unhappy tales. It is, even for an advocate, a very distasteful task. But let those who are inclined to condemn these young men for being dominated, misled and corrupted by Mr. Wilde remember the relative position of the two parties. Let them say whether those young men were not more sinned against than sinning. I am not going in any great detail now to criticize the evidence of Mr. Oscar Wilde in relation to the several transactions on which he was cross-examined. But there are some general observations applicable to all the cases that have been raised against Mr. Wilde. There is in point of fact a startling similarity between each of them on his own admission which must lead you, gentlemen, to draw the most painful conclusions.
‘There is the fact that in no one of these cases were these parties on an equality in any way with Mr. Wilde; they are none of them educated parties with whom he would naturally associate, and they are not his equal in years. But on the other hand, gentlemen, you will have observed a curious similarity in the ages of each of them.
‘Mr. Wilde has said that there is something beautiful, something charming about youth which led him to adopt the course he did. But was Mr. Wilde unable to find more suitable companions, at the same time young and charming, in the ranks of his own class? Why, the thing is absurd. His excuse in the witness-box is only a travesty of the facts. Who are all these young men — these lads? There is Wood. Of his history Mr. Wilde has told us that he knows nothing. So far as Mr. Wilde knew, Wood was a clerk out of employment. Who is Parker? Mr. Wilde professed the same ignorance as to that youth. Who is Scarfe? Exactly in the same way Mr. Wilde knew nothing of him. He only knew that he was out of employment. Alphonse Conway he picked up by chance on the beach at Worthing.
‘All the young men introduced to Mr. Wilde were of something like eighteen or twenty years of age. The manner of their introduction, and the way in which they were subsequently treated with money and presents, all lead up to the conclusion that there was something unnatural in the relations between Mr. Wilde and these young men.
‘Take the case of Parker. How did Mr. Wilde get to know that young man? Parker was a gentleman’s servant out of employment; and what idea could Taylor have had of Mr. Wilde’s tastes when, on being invited by Wilde to ask his friends to a birthday dinner, he intro
duced as his guests a groom and a valet? If it were true, as undoubtedly it was, that Taylor first met the two young men in a restaurant in Piccadilly, why did he — if he knew that Mr. Wilde was an artistic and literary man, and, what was more, an upright man — bring the couple to dine with Mr. Wilde? There can be no explanation of the facts but this: that Taylor was a procurer for Wilde, as he undoubtedly was.
‘Parker will be called to tell his unfortunate story — his story that he was poor, out of place, and that he fell a victim to Mr. Wilde. Upon the first occasion that Mr. Wilde met Parker, the valet, he addressed him as “Charlie,” and Charlie addressed Mr. Wilde, the distinguished dramatist, whose name at the time, was being mentioned in the highest circles in London for his plays and his literary work, as “Oscar.”
‘I do not wish to say anything about Mr. Wilde’s theories as to putting an end to social distinctions. A man of noble and generous instincts might be able to break down all social barriers; but there is one thing plain in this case, and that is that Mr. Wilde’s conduct to the young men introduced to him was not instigated by any generous instincts. If Mr. Wilde wanted to assist Parker, if he were interested in him, if he wanted to find him employment, was it doing the lad a good turn to take him to a restaurant and prime him with champagne and a good dinner? Was that the work of charity and sympathy one would expect a man in Mr. Wilde’s position to extend to another man like Parker? All the ridiculous explanations of Mr. Wilde will not bear one moment’s explanation as to what he was doing in his suite of rooms at the Savoy. The Savoy is a large place, with plenty of room to move about in, and there is no doubt that, without leading people to suspect anything, Mr. Wilde could have brought young men into his rooms.
