The Caverel Claim

by Peter Rawlinson

  * * *

  Oliver Goodbody was woken by the telephone just after 5 a.m. It was dawn. Half an hour later he was at Albany in Piccadilly and the night porter led him along the centre path under the glass canopy. Ledbury, in a flowered dressing-gown over striped pyjamas and one stick in his hand, opened the door. They went to the dining-room and Ledbury disappeared, returning with a coffee pot and three cups. They sat in silence, waiting.

  A little before six thirty, Ledbury answered the door again. Mr Rogers followed him into the dining-room.

  ‘I leave for court at ten,’ Ledbury said, sitting down. Mr Rogers sat opposite and took from his case a sheaf of documents.

  ‘I had most of it typed before the flight. There are some notes in my handwriting which I wrote on the aeroplane.’

  Ledbury took the papers from him, spread them out on the table and began to read.

  ‘We have three hours,’ he growled.

  ‘And a half,’ added Mr Rogers pouring himself some coffee.

  29

  As was his habit, Percy entered the Law Courts from the back entrance in Carey Street and so he did not encounter the crowd at the main entrance in the Strand. It was even greater than yesterday, swollen by the publicity the case had received in the press and on television, and the prediction that today the Claimant herself would be giving evidence.

  In the Vice Chancellor’s court, Percy sorted the papers on his stand; on the top he placed the proof of the witness from the registry in Somerset House; beneath it those of the witnesses from Charleston.

  Stevens and Fleur took their seats. Fleur smiled shyly. Today she looked prettier than ever.

  ‘It won’t be long now, Miss Caverel,’ Percy said, smiling in return, ‘and the sooner you start your evidence, the sooner it’ll be over. First, we have some formal evidence. After that, you’ll be in the box. I expect you’re feeling nervous,’ he went on, ‘but it’ll pass as soon as you begin. I’ll lead you through your statement and we’ll take it slowly.’

  ‘The grandmother will not be coming to court,’ said Stevens over his shoulder as he laid out his papers. ‘She’s indisposed.’

  The Senora had come into Mrs Campion’s room in the middle of the night very drunk. It had taken two hours to quieten her and get her back into bed.

  ‘Gastric trouble,’ Stevens went on. ‘Nothing serious. She’ll be well enough by the time we need her.’

  Percy was relieved. The witness was ill. Now he could genuinely avoid Ledbury’s challenge.

  Andrea and Nicholas came to their places. She looked very drawn and tired. Percy bowed slightly but they ignored him. Can’t blame them, he thought. They have too much at stake. Ledbury, he supposed, would make another late entrance with as much fuss as possible. But whom was he trying to impress? There was no jury. A trial before the Vice Chancellor was very different from trial by jury. If Ledbury kept the judge waiting, the war would be resumed before the truce had ever begun.

  Judge Blaker and his team of three, all in a uniform of seersucker jackets and bright ties, made their entrance, shuffling noisily into the seats reserved for them, smiling to each other, looking around the old-fashioned court-room with the panelling and the high ceiling and the barristers in their eighteenth-century wigs. ‘Like the movies, Jed,’ one said loudly to Blaker who smiled and pulled at his white moustache.

  Percy dabbed at his face with his red silk handkerchief. The air-conditioning had not been on for long enough and he was already warm in his robes. He heard the clatter of Ledbury’s progress into court, the thumping of his walking-sticks and the orders to stand aside, but he did not look up. One snub was enough. When Percy did glance to his right, he saw that Oliver Goodbody was absent.

  He leaned forward and tapped Stevens on the shoulder. ‘Are the witnesses ready?’

  Stevens did not turn. ‘Of course,’ he snapped.

  ‘Then make sure that the first,’ Percy looked at his note, ‘Mr Steadman, is by the steps to the box.’

  ‘My clerk has seen to it. The witness is already there.’

  It was almost rude. No ‘sir’, no ‘Sir Percy’, very different from his former respectful manner. Why, Percy wondered. Then he noticed Stevens’ hand as he opened his files. It was shaking. But what had Stevens to be nervous about? All he had to do was to sit and listen. Stevens’ work was done.

  Indeed it was, and because his work had been done, Stevens was thinking about the Americans. Would they stand up to cross-examination? He could not be calm until this evidence was over and the Americans safely away. Whichever way it went, triumph or disaster, their evidence, he believed, would be crucial.

  Percy looked round again to catch a glimpse of Eleanor. She was in the fourth row back and he caught her eye. She smiled and mouthed ‘Good luck’. He smiled back. Today she was not next to the smart, grey-haired woman she’d sat beside yesterday but to the sun-tanned man with white hair who kept getting to his feet and smiling. Willoughby Blake.

  ‘All rise,’ the usher called out and the Vice Chancellor took his seat. The Associate announced, ‘Caverel versus Baron Caverel of Ravenscourt, part heard.’

  Percy rose. Murray nodded to him but before Percy could begin Ledbury called out as he struggled to his feet.

  ‘My Lord.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Ledbury?’ Murray said with what served him for a smile. ‘You wish to address me? Please take your time.’

  That’s better, thought Mordecai.

  ‘I want to bring to your attention’, he said when he had got to his feet, ‘the presence of a mob which has gathered outside the forecourt of the Strand entrance to the courts. They are shouting at everyone who enters and waving placards and threatening anyone they think has anything to do with the respondents.’

  ‘I am very sorry to hear it,’ the judge replied. ‘Are there no police controlling them?’

  ‘An inadequate number.’

  ‘If they remain on the pavement and outside the forecourt, there is little I can do.’

  ‘It is a blatant attempt to intimidate the witnesses for the family,’ Ledbury went on. ‘I ask your lordship to use your authority to bring their behaviour to the attention of the Police Commissioner.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Murray. ‘I shall do what I can.’

  There was silence as he scribbled. When he had finished he motioned to his clerk in the chair beside him and handed him the note. As the clerk disappeared through the door behind the judge’s chair, Murray said, ‘I have written to the City Police Commissioner asking him to do what he can. I will not permit witnesses, or indeed any person, to be intimidated.’

  Mordecai bowed and subsided on to his seat with a crash. Every minute that served to postpone Fleur’s appearance in the witness box counted. But if Braythwaite had fallen for his bait of yesterday and called the grandmother as his first witness, his worries were over. There was much he could ask her, and his cross-examination could properly take them well into the afternoon.

  ‘Now, Sir Percy,’ said the judge, ‘you may begin.’

  ‘The witness Mr Ledbury referred to yesterday, the Senora Martinez,’ Percy said, ‘who is the grandmother of the Claimant and Walter Caverel’s first wife and the mother of Julian Caverel and whom I had considered calling as my first witness is, I am sorry to say, indisposed. My first witness therefore is Mr William Steadman from the Registry at Somerset House.’

  * * *

  Oliver and his senior clerk, Freeman, were in the interview room across the corridor outside the court. Oliver looked grey, older, the skin on his cheeks taut. He took the watch on its chain from his bottom waistcoat pocket. ‘They’ll have begun. You go in, Freeman. I’ll wait here.’

  Oliver glanced again at the documents Mr Rogers had brought to Albany. After a few minutes, there was a knock on the door and Mr Rogers entered.

  ‘Well?’ Oliver enquired.

  ‘Two hours at the earliest. More likely, the afternoon. We’re doing our best.’

  Oliver nodded. ‘Ledbury will h
ave to do what he can. It won’t make him popular.’ He examined Mr Rogers, who had taken a chair. ‘You look exhausted.’

  You don’t look too good yourself, Mr Rogers thought. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘How long before they get to her?’

  ‘If they don’t call the grandmother, she could be in the box this morning. Ledbury will do what he can to delay it for as long as possible.’

  ‘I’d better stay here and wait.’ Mr Rogers placed his bowler hat on the table in front of him. ‘I should like to be in court, however, when she takes the oath.’

  ‘You shall. One of my clerks is to be stationed at the Carey Street entrance to keep a look-out. Before he does he’ll bring you a thermos of coffee and the sandwiches for Ledbury’s lunch.’ Oliver walked to the small window which overlooked a grimy internal court-yard. ‘The next twenty-four hours will settle it. Tonight at least you’ll sleep in your own bed.’

  Mr Rogers looked at Oliver. ‘And sleep the sleep of the just?’

  There was a note of interrogation in his voice. For a moment neither spoke. Then Oliver said, ‘You have done what was asked of you. But you gave us a fright when you didn’t call in. As you yourself pointed out, these people are not over-scrupulous.’

  ‘All was only settled at the last moment and I couldn’t telephone during the flight. There were no seats in first-class or club. I was next to a mother with an infant which yelled all night so I had very little rest. But it gave me the opportunity to write up my notes.’

  ‘What matters is that you are here.’ Oliver was leafing through the papers.

  ‘I have insisted on affidavits. Your office are seeing to it.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘It was an interesting task you set me. I only hope it achieves the result you want.’

  ‘That depends on Murray.’

  They exchanged looks.

  ‘I’ll go into court now,’ Oliver said. He left Mr Rogers sitting in his chair, his eyes shut, smiling.

  * * *

  When Oliver took his place beside Andrea, Percy had just completed his examination-in-chief of Mr Steadman. Mordecai heaved himself up even more slowly than usual, with the cumbersome twisting which eventually got him on to his feet. He was still cursing at the absence of the Senora whose evidence would have given him the time they needed so badly. Now he’d have to do what he could with the formal witnesses – and there was precious little he could. Murray would soon twig and get irritated. Mordecai braced himself for trouble.

  He looked up at Steadman balefully from beneath his black eyebrows. ‘Mr Steadman,’ he began at last. It sounded like an accusation and as he spoke his mouth seemed to slip to one side, the lips almost to the edge of his jaw. Steadman, though conscious that nothing in his evidence was in the least controversial, felt a twinge of apprehension.

  ‘You may not be able to help me and if you can’t please say so.’ Mordecai paused. ‘If you can’t, I’ll have to wait for the evidence of the lady who was a party to this marriage and divorce but who, we have been told, is at present indisposed.’ He looked at Percy, who ignored him. ‘So, Mr Steadman, I shall have to content myself with asking you some questions. From your records, did the marriage between Walter, Lord Caverel, and Lucy, Lady Caverel, née Bull of Clapham, take place at Chelsea Register Office on 26th June 1946?’

  ‘It did.’

  ‘He has already told us that,’ Murray said pleasantly. Mordecai bowed. ‘Do they also show that the marriage was terminated in October 1950 when the wife was granted a decree of divorce on the grounds of her husband’s adultery?’

  And he’s already told us that too, Murray was tempted to say but stopped himself.

  ‘They do.’

  ‘Lady Caverel, whose maiden name was Bull, didn’t originate the divorce proceedings, did she?’

  ‘No, they were originated by Lord Caverel, her husband. He filed a petition. However the wife eventually obtained a decree on her cross-petition.’

  ‘Thus the proceedings were commenced by the husband filing a petition for a decree in which he sought a divorce on the grounds of his wife’s adultery with a co-respondent, a man called Alfredo Leiter. Did Lord Caverel at the same time seek the exercise of the court’s discretion?’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘That means, does it not, that he admitted his adultery during the course of the marriage?’

  This time Murray could not keep silent. ‘Whereas a jury would not understand the meaning of the prayer for the exercise of the court’s discretion, Mr Ledbury, I do,’ he said with his wintry smile.

  Mordecai inclined his head. ‘Of course, your lordship, of course.’ He turned back to the witness. Now he had to move on to more dangerous ground.

  ‘In Lord Caverel’s original petition, did he allege that during the course of the marriage the wife had given birth to a son, Julian?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘And did the husband, Lord Caverel, claim that his son was not a child of the marriage?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘In the wife’s answer and cross-petition, did she in reply swear that Julian, born on 11th January 1949, was a son of the marriage?’

  ‘She did.’

  ‘And she sought, and was eventually granted, a decree of divorce on the grounds of the husband’s adultery?’

  Murray again intervened, still marginally affable but with a note of impatience. ‘That was because the husband abandoned his petition which was dismissed. He did not defend the cross-petition and the wife was granted a decree. Is that not correct?’

  ‘It is,’ repeated Mr Steadman, smiling nervously.

  ‘Thus the husband’s assertion that the son Julian was not his son was rejected by the court,’ Murray continued, ‘and the wife’s claim that Julian was a son of the marriage was upheld.’

  Mordecai had begun to stump up and down the bench. Oliver half turned and whispered over his shoulder, ‘Patience, Mordecai, patience.’

  Murray was going on. ‘Remind me of what the order drawn up by the divorce court says with regard to the financial settlement for the wife and the custody and the maintenance of the son, Julian.’

  ‘The order, my lord, recites that by agreement a sum of one hundred thousand pounds was to be settled on the wife by the husband; she was granted custody of Julian with maintenance at two thousand pounds per annum until he was twenty-one on 11th January 1970. On attaining his majority Julian was to receive a life annuity of two thousand pounds. The husband was also ordered to pay the costs.’

  ‘And this order was drawn up in 1950?’ the judge added.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Considerable sums for those days.’

  Mordecai could restrain himself no longer. ‘Has your lordship finished? If you have, may I now resume?’

  Oliver lowered his head and rested his chin on his hands. Why does he have to be so aggressive?

  Murray bridled. There was an ominous pause before he laid down his pencil and said shortly, ‘You may.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Mordecai turned to the witness. ‘Have you any note in the papers which can tell us the date of the death of Julian Caverel?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘None at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, as doubtless we shall hear from another source, Julian died on 28th September 1978 in San Francisco, of, I believe, what is now known as Aids and –’

  Percy was on his feet. ‘That is a most improper observation. My friend has no right to say that –’

  ‘I withdraw the question,’ Mordecai said quickly.

  ‘It was not a question. It was a statement.’

  Before the judge could intervene Mordecai went on rapidly, ‘At any rate, as we shall hear, shall we not, at the date of the death of Mr Julian Caverel in the United States, Walter, the 15th Lord Caverel was still alive?’

  The witness remained silent.

  ‘You can’t help us over that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, at least you have been able to
say from the records you produce that at one time Walter Caverel was claiming that Julian was not his son and – ’

  Robert Murray’s earlier resolution to be polite had deserted him. He was now thoroughly irritated. ‘That is yet another statement and not a question. The matter as to the legitimacy of the son, Julian, speaks for itself.’

  Mordecai bowed his head. He appeared to be about to speak but apparently thought better of it and sank back into his seat. He took up some of his papers and shuffled them noisily. Oliver again half turned and whispered over his shoulder, ‘Don’t tangle with him, Mordecai. Remember, we need time.’

  ‘Tangling with judges’, Mordecai whispered back, ‘takes up time.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ whispered Oliver.

  ‘No,’ Ledbury replied. ‘But no harm either.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Oliver whispered.

  Percy had risen. Murray said, ‘If you thought of reverting to the legitimacy of Mr Julian Caverel which Mr Ledbury has for some reason known only to himself been exploring, there is no need, Sir Percy. The position in law is quite clear. The divorce court found that Julian Caverel was the child of the marriage. He was the elder son of the 15th Lord Caverel by the first wife. Robin Caverel was the younger son of Walter Caverel by his second wife. As I understand it, Julian having pre-deceased his father, the younger son, in ignorance of any alleged heir, assumed the inheritance on his father’s death. I should have thought that even a practitioner in the Common Law courts would have been well aware of the effect of those simple conclusions of law.’

  Percy bowed. The judge went on. ‘That is all there is to it. The point in question is whether the late Mr Julian Caverel had any legitimate issue. Please proceed.’

  A hum rose in the court. Murray tapped angrily with his pencil. ‘Silence,’ called out the usher. Willoughby nodded his head happily and looked at Jameson who ignored him. Stevens turned to Fleur, a half-smile on his face.

  ‘My next witnesses’, Percy said, ‘are from Charleston, South Carolina, and they will be producing formal records about the marriage of Julian in the United States and the birth of Miss Caverel. Mr Jeremiah Blaine, please.’