The Palliser Novels

by Anthony Trollope

  “Is that a reason why our friend should be the first instance?” said the Duchess.

  “He must be tried according to the laws of his country,” said the younger Duke.

  “Plantagenet, you always speak as if everything were perfect, whereas you know very well that everything is imperfect. If that man is — is hung, I — “

  “Glencora,” said her husband, “do not connect yourself with the fate of a stranger from any misdirected enthusiasm.”

  “I do connect myself. If that man be hung — I shall go into mourning for him. You had better look to it.”

  Mr. Low obeyed the summons, and called on the Duchess. But, in truth, the invitation had been planned by Madame Goesler, who was present when the lawyer, about five o’clock in the afternoon, was shown into the presence of the Duchess. Tea was immediately ordered, and Mr. Low was almost embraced. He was introduced to Madame Goesler, of whom he did not before remember that he had heard the name, and was at once given to understand that the fate of Phineas was now in question. “We know so well,” said the Duchess, “how true you are to him.”

  “He is an old friend of mine,” said the lawyer, “and I cannot believe him to have been guilty of a murder.”

  “Guilty! — he is no more guilty than I am. We are as sure of that as we are of the sun. We know that he is innocent; — do we not, Madame Goesler? And we, too, are very dear friends of his; — that is, I am.”

  “And so am I,” said Madame Goesler, in a voice very low and sweet, but yet so energetic as to make Mr. Low almost rivet his attention upon her.

  “You must understand, Mr. Low, that Mr. Finn is a man horribly hated by certain enemies. That wretched Mr. Bonteen hated his very name. But there are other people who think very differently of him. He must be saved.”

  “Indeed I hope he may,” said Mr. Low.

  “We wanted to see you for ever so many reasons. Of course you understand that — that any sum of money can be spent that the case may want.”

  “Nothing will be spared on that account certainly,” said the lawyer.

  “But money will do a great many things. We would send all round the world if we could get evidence against that other man, — Lady Eustace’s husband, you know.”

  “Can any good be done by sending all round the world?”

  “He went back to his own home not long ago, — in Poland, I think,” said Madame Goesler. “Perhaps he got the instrument there, and brought it with him.” Mr. Low shook his head. “Of course we are very ignorant; — but it would be a pity that everything should not be tried.”

  “He might have got in and out of the window, you know,” said the Duchess. Still Mr. Low shook his head. “I believe things can always be found out, if only you take trouble enough. And trouble means money; — does it not? We wouldn’t mind how many thousand pounds it cost; would we, Marie?”

  “I fear that the spending of thousands can do no good,” said Mr. Low.

  “But something must be done. You don’t mean to say that Mr. Finn is to be hung because Lord Fawn says that he saw a man running along the street in a grey coat.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “There is nothing else against him; — nobody else saw him.”

  “If there be nothing else against him he will be acquitted.”

  “You think then,” said Madame Goesler, “that there will be no use in tracing what the man Mealyus did when he was out of England. He might have bought a grey coat then, and have hidden it till this night, and then have thrown it away.” Mr. Low listened to her with close attention, but again shook his head. “If it could be shown that the man had a grey coat at that time it would certainly weaken the effect of Mr. Finn’s grey coat.”

  “And if he bought a bludgeon there, it would weaken the effect of Mr. Finn’s bludgeon. And if he bought rope to make a ladder it would show that he had got out. It was a dark night, you know, and nobody would have seen it. We have been talking it all over, Mr. Low, and we really think you ought to send somebody.”

  “I will mention what you say to the gentlemen who are employed on Mr. Finn’s defence.”

  “But will not you be employed?” Then Mr. Low explained that the gentlemen to whom he referred were the attorneys who would get up the case on their friend’s behalf, and that as he himself practised in the Courts of Equity only, he could not defend Mr. Finn on his trial.

  “He must have the very best men,” said the Duchess.

  “He must have good men, certainly.”

  “And a great many. Couldn’t we get Sir Gregory Grogram?” Mr. Low shook his head. “I know very well that if you get men who are really, — really swells, for that is what it is, Mr. Low, — and pay them well enough, and so make it really an important thing, they can browbeat any judge and hoodwink any jury. I daresay it is very dreadful to say so, Mr. Low; but, nevertheless, I believe it, and as this man is certainly innocent it ought to be done. I daresay it’s very shocking, but I do think that twenty thousand pounds spent among the lawyers would get him off.”

  “I hope we can get him off without expending twenty thousand pounds, Duchess.”

  “But you can have the money and welcome; — cannot he, Madame Goesler?”

  “He could have double that, if double were necessary.”

  “I would fill the court with lawyers for him,” continued the Duchess. “I would cross-examine the witnesses off their legs. I would rake up every wicked thing that horrid Jew has done since he was born. I would make witnesses speak. I would give a carriage and pair of horses to every one of the jurors’ wives, if that would do any good. You may shake your head, Mr. Low; but I would. And I’d carry Lord Fawn off to the Antipodes, too; — and I shouldn’t care if you left him there. I know that this man is innocent, and I’d do anything to save him. A woman, I know, can’t do much; — but she has this privilege, that she can speak out what men only think. I’d give them two carriages and two pairs of horses a-piece if I could do it that way.”

  Mr. Low did his best to explain to the Duchess that the desired object could hardly be effected after the fashion she proposed, and he endeavoured to persuade her that justice was sure to be done in an English court of law. “Then why are people so very anxious to get this lawyer or that to bamboozle the witnesses?” said the Duchess. Mr. Low declared it to be his opinion that the poorest man in England was not more likely to be hung for a murder he had not committed than the richest. “Then why would you, if you were accused, have ever so many lawyers to defend you?” Mr. Low went on to explain. “The more money you spend,” said the Duchess, “the more fuss you make. And the longer a trial is about and the greater the interest, the more chance a man has to escape. If a man is tried for three days you always think he’ll get off, but if it lasts ten minutes he is sure to be convicted and hung. I’d have Mr. Finn’s trial made so long that they never could convict him. I’d tire out all the judges and juries in London. If you get lawyers enough they may speak for ever.” Mr. Low endeavoured to explain that this might prejudice the prisoner. “And I’d examine every member of the House of Commons, and all the Cabinet, and all their wives. I’d ask them all what Mr. Bonteen had been saying. I’d do it in such a way as a trial was never done before; — and I’d take care that they should know what was coming.”

  “And if he were convicted afterwards?”

  “I’d buy up the Home Secretary. It’s very horrid to say so, of course, Mr. Low; and I dare say there is nothing wrong ever done in Chancery. But I know what Cabinet Ministers are. If they could get a majority by granting a pardon they’d do it quick enough.”

  “You are speaking of a liberal Government, of course, Duchess.”

  “There isn’t twopence to choose between them in that respect. Just at this moment I believe Mr. Finn is the most popular member of the House of Commons; and I’d bring all that to bear. You can’t but know that if everything of that kind is done it will have an effect. I believe you could make him so popular that the people would pull down the p
rison rather than have him hung; — so that a jury would not dare to say he was guilty.”

  “Would that be justice, ladies?” asked the just man.

  “It would be success, Mr. Low, — which is a great deal the better thing of the two.”

  “If Mr. Finn were found guilty, I could not in my heart believe that that would be justice,” said Madame Goesler.

  Mr. Low did his best to make them understand that the plan of pulling down Newgate by the instrumentality of Phineas Finn’s popularity, or of buying up the Home Secretary by threats of Parliamentary defection, would hardly answer their purpose. He would, he assured them, suggest to the attorneys employed the idea of searching for evidence against the man Mealyus in his own country, and would certainly take care that nothing was omitted from want of means. “You had better let us put a cheque in your hands,” said the Duchess. But to this he would not assent. He did admit that it would be well to leave no stone unturned, and that the turning of such stones must cost money; — but the money, he said, would be forthcoming. “He’s not a rich man himself,” said the Duchess. Mr. Low assured her that if money were really wanting he would ask for it. “And now,” said the Duchess, “there is one other thing that we want. Can we see him?”

  “You, yourself?”

  “Yes; — I myself, and Madame Goesler. You look as if it would be very wicked.” Mr. Low thought that it would be wicked; — that the Duke would not like it; and that such a visit would occasion ill-natured remarks. “People do visit him, I suppose. He’s not locked up like a criminal.”

  “I visit him,” said Mr. Low, “and one or two other friends have done so. Lord Chiltern has been with him, and Mr. Erle.”

  “Has no lady seen him?” asked the Duchess.

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Then it’s time some lady should do so. I suppose we could be admitted. If we were his sisters they’d let us in.”

  “You must excuse me, Duchess, but — “

  “Of course I will excuse you. But what?”

  “You are not his sisters.”

  “If I were engaged to him, to be his wife? — ” said Madame Goesler, standing up. “I am not so. There is nothing of that kind. You must not misunderstand me. But if I were?”

  “On that plea I presume you could be admitted.”

  “Why not as a friend? Lord Chiltern is admitted as his friend.”

  “Because of the prudery of a prison,” said the Duchess. “All things are wrong to the lookers after wickedness, my dear. If it would comfort him to see us, why should he not have that comfort?”

  “Would you have gone to him in his own lodgings?” asked Mr. Low.

  “I would, — if he’d been ill,” said Madame Goesler.

  “Madam,” said Mr. Low, speaking with a gravity which for a moment had its effect even upon the Duchess of Omnium, “I think, at any rate, that if you visit Mr. Finn in prison, you should do so through the instrumentality of his Grace, your husband.”

  “Of course you suspect me of all manner of evil.”

  “I suspect nothing; — but I am sure that it should be so.”

  “It shall be so,” said the Duchess. “Thank you, sir. We are much obliged to you for your wise counsel.”

  “I am obliged to you,” said Madame Goesler, “because I know that you have his safety at heart.”

  “And so am I,” said the Duchess, relenting, and giving him her hand. “We are really ever so much obliged to you. You don’t quite understand about the Duke; and how should you? I never do anything without telling him, but he hasn’t time to attend to things.”

  “I hope I have not offended you.”

  “Oh dear, no. You can’t offend me unless you mean it. Good-bye, — and remember to have a great many lawyers, and all with new wigs; and let them all get in a great rage that anybody should suppose it possible that Mr. Finn is a murderer. I’m sure I am. Good-bye, Mr. Low.”

  “You’ll never be able to get to him,” said the Duchess, as soon as they were alone.

  “I suppose not.”

  “And what good could you do? Of course I’d go with you if we could get in; — but what would be the use?”

  “To let him know that people do not think him guilty.”

  “Mr. Low will tell him that. I suppose, too, we can write to him. Would you mind writing?”

  “I would rather go.”

  “You might as well tell the truth when you are about it. You are breaking your heart for him.”

  “If he were to be condemned, and — executed, I should break my heart. I could never appear bright before the world again.”

  “That is just what I told Plantagenet. I said I would go into mourning.”

  “And I should really mourn. And yet were he free to-morrow he would be no more to me than any other friend.”

  “Do you mean you would not marry him?”

  “No; — I would not. Nor would he ask me. I will tell you what will be his lot in life, — if he escapes from the present danger.”

  “Of course he will escape. They don’t really hang innocent men.”

  “Then he will become the husband of Lady Laura Kennedy.”

  “Poor fellow! If I believed that, I should think it cruel to help him escape from Newgate.”

  CHAPTER LV

  Phineas in Prison

  Phineas Finn himself, during the fortnight in which he was carried backwards and forwards between his prison and the Bow Street Police-office, was able to maintain some outward show of manly dignity, — as though he felt that the terrible accusation and great material inconvenience to which he was subjected were only, and could only be, temporary in their nature, and that the truth would soon prevail. During this period he had friends constantly with him, — either Mr. Low, or Lord Chiltern, or Barrington Erle, or his landlord, Mr. Bunce, who, in these days, was very true to him. And he was very frequently visited by the attorney, Mr. Wickerby, who had been expressly recommended to him for this occasion. If anybody could be counted upon to see him through his difficulty it was Wickerby. But the company of Mr. Wickerby was not pleasant to him, because, as far as he could judge, Mr. Wickerby did not believe in his innocence. Mr. Wickerby was willing to do his best for him; was, so to speak, moving heaven and earth on his behalf; was fully conscious that this case was a great affair, and in no respect similar to those which were constantly placed in his hands; but there never fell from him a sympathetic expression of assurance of his client’s absolute freedom from all taint of guilt in the matter. From day to day, and ten times a day, Phineas would express his indignant surprise that any one should think it possible that he had done this deed, but to all these expressions Mr. Wickerby would make no answer whatever. At last Phineas asked him the direct question. “I never suspect anybody of anything,” said Mr. Wickerby. “Do you believe in my innocence?” demanded Phineas. “Everybody is entitled to be believed innocent till he has been proved to be guilty,” said Mr. Wickerby. Then Phineas appealed to his friend Mr. Low, asking whether he might not be allowed to employ some lawyer whose feelings would be more in unison with his own. But Mr. Low adjured him to make no change. Mr. Wickerby understood the work and was a most zealous man. His client was entitled to his services, but to nothing more than his services. And so Mr. Wickerby carried on the work, fully believing that Phineas Finn had in truth murdered Mr. Bonteen.

  But the prisoner was not without sympathy and confidence. Mr. Low, Lord Chiltern, and Lady Chiltern, who, on one occasion, came to visit him with her husband, entertained no doubts prejudicial to his honour. They told him perhaps almost more than was quite true of the feelings of the world in his favour. He heard of the friendship and faith of the Duchess of Omnium, of Madame Goesler, and of Lady Laura Kennedy, — hearing also that Lady Laura was now a widow. And then at length his two sisters came over to him from Ireland, and wept and sobbed, and fell into hysterics in his presence. They were sure that he was innocent, as was every one, they said, throughout the length and breadth of Ireland
. And Mrs. Bunce, who came to see Phineas in his prison, swore that she would tear the judge from his bench if he did not at once pronounce a verdict in favour of her darling without waiting for any nonsense of a jury. And Bunce, her husband, having convinced himself that his lodger had not committed the murder, was zealous in another way, taking delight in the case, and proving that no jury could find a verdict of guilty.

  During that week Phineas, buoyed up by the sympathy of his friends, and in some measure supported by the excitement of the occasion, carried himself well, and bore bravely the terrible misfortune to which he had been subjected by untoward circumstances. But when the magistrate fully committed him, giving the first public decision on the matter from the bench, declaring to the world at large that on the evidence as given, prima facie, he; Phineas Finn, must be regarded as the murderer of Mr. Bonteen, our hero’s courage almost gave way. If such was now the judicial opinion of the magistrate, how could he expect a different verdict from a jury in two months’ time, when he would be tried before a final court? As far as he could understand, nothing more could be learned on the matter. All the facts were known that could be known, — as far as he, or rather his friends on his behalf, were able to search for facts. It seemed to him that there was no tittle whatever of evidence against him. He had walked straight home from his club with the life-preserver in his pocket, and had never turned to the right or to the left. Till he found himself committed, he would not believe that any serious and prolonged impediment could be thrown in the way of his liberty. He would not believe that a man altogether innocent could be in danger of the gallows on a false accusation. It had seemed to him that the police had kept their hold on him with a rabid ferocity, straining every point with the view of showing that it was possible that he should have been the murderer. Every policeman who had been near him, carrying him backward and forward from his prison, or giving evidence as to the circumstances of the locality and of his walk home on that fatal night, had seemed to him to be an enemy. But he had looked for impartiality from the magistrate, — and now the magistrate had failed him. He had seen in court the faces of men well known to him, — men known in the world, — with whom he had been on pleasant terms in Parliament, who had sat upon the bench while he was standing as a culprit between two constables; and they who had been his familiar friends had appeared at once to have been removed from him by some unmeasurable distance. But all that he had, as it were, discounted, believing that a few hours, — at the very longest a few days, — would remove the distance; but now he was sent back to his prison, there to await his trial for the murder.