by Henry Cecil
‘I’m so proud of you, Roger,’ whispered Joy.
That morning Mr Sharpe sent for Sally.
‘Sally,’ he said, ‘I wonder if you’d do me a small favour?’
‘Of course,’ said Sally.
‘There’s a young man I know – or know of, I should say,’ he began.
‘No, thank you,’ said Sally. ‘It’s very kind of you all the same.’
‘Now, how on earth d’you know what I’m going to say? I know a lot of young men – a very large number. I go to a boys’ club among other things.’
‘I hope none of them are where you’re about to suggest I should go.’
Sally had told Mr Sharpe some days previously about Roger’s case.
‘Well, sorry,’ said Mr Sharpe, ‘if it can’t be volens, it’ll have to be nolens volens. As your study of the law of contract will have told you, an employee is bound to obey all reasonable orders of his or her employer.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said Sally.
‘You will proceed,’ said Mr Sharpe, ‘to the Old Bailey with all convenient haste. You will there make enquiry as to where a gentleman called Arthur Green is being tried and you will go to that Court, mentioning my name if necessary, in order to get you in – and bring me a complete report of the case. Go along now. You know you’re dying to.’
‘But it won’t be fair,’ said Sally. ‘I’ve stopped him taking Joy.’
‘Good thing too,’ said Mr Sharpe. ‘I never did like the sound of that girl. You know the motto. Anyway, you can’t help yourself, you’re under orders. Get the sack if you don’t. Then who’ll give you your articles?’
‘What was that?’ said Sally.
‘I said it,’ said Mr Sharpe.
‘Oh, oh–’ said Sally about as excited as Roger had been when she told him he was going to be a great man. ‘Oh – oh – I could kiss you.’
‘I’m afraid,’ said Mr Sharpe, ‘that my wife would not approve of that even from a brunette. Pity. I should have liked the experience.’
‘You are good. Why are you so nice to me?’ said Sally.
‘I’m not particularly nice to you. I like people as a whole. As for you – I think you’ve got more brains for a girl of twenty-one than I’ve ever heard of. You’ll end up President of the Law Society – unless you go and get married or something. And even then – which reminds me – I believe I’ve just given you a job of work. Off with you. And a full report, mind you – not only the mistakes.’
Before he went to Court Roger had a final word with Henry while Joy stayed in the car.
‘It’s quite definite, isn’t it, that I only get one speech,’ Roger said, ‘and that’s after I’ve called the prisoner?’
‘Quite definite,’ said Henry, ‘and make it a good one.’
Roger rejoined Joy and they drove to the Old Bailey, almost in silence, Roger becoming more and more nervous, like a runner before a race. They arrived at the Court and he took Joy through the main entrance. He decided to show her into Court before he robed. Ordinary spectators are supposed to go to the public gallery, but members of the legal profession can usually obtain admission for their friends to the body of the Court, unless the event is a very popular one. But the attendant at the entrance to the Court checks and sometimes stops the people who enter or try to do so.
‘What do you want?’ he asked politely but suspiciously of Roger.
‘I’m Counsel,’ said Roger with as much assurance as he could manage.
‘Oh,’ said the man, plainly taken aback. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t–’ He didn’t finish the sentence.
Roger showed Joy in and then went up to the robing-room. When he came back to the Court it was twenty past ten. His case was first in the list. Nearly zero hour. As he came into the Court a police officer came up to him.
‘Are you Mr Thursby by any chance?’ he asked.
Roger said he was.
‘Your client wants to see you at once, sir,’ he said.
He went hurriedly into the dock and down the stairs, wondering what it could be. Had he been more experienced he would not have been in the least surprised. Later he found out that old offenders, particularly those charged with fraud, often ask to see their counsel before and during the case and send them voluminous notes throughout the hearing. They are usually irrelevant and nearly always repetitive.
‘Good morning,’ said Mr Green. ‘I hope you slept well.’
‘What is it?’ said Roger. ‘There’s only a few minutes before the case starts.’
‘Now, don’t get fidgety,’ said Mr Green. ‘When you’ve done this as often as I have you’ll be quite calm and steady. Look at me. My teeth aren’t chattering, are they?’
‘No.’
‘I’m not shaking like a leaf, am I?’
‘No,’ said Roger, irritable with nervousness.
‘Now would you not say that I was in very good shape?’ asked Mr Green.
‘What has this got to do with it?’ said Roger. ‘I thought you wanted to see me about the case.’
‘Look,’ said Mr Green, ‘you’re my counsel aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I can ask my counsel questions, can’t I?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I’m asking one. Would you consider that I was in very good shape? It’s important, you know. If you thought I wasn’t, you might want an adjournment. It’s I who’ve got to go in the witness box and lie like a trooper, not you.’
‘But you’re not going to commit perjury?’ said Roger, anxiously.
‘Just a manner of speaking,’ said Mr Green. ‘I shall tell them much more truth than I gave them toffee. Now, how am I? Is my tie straight?’
‘Really!’ said Roger, and then said very seriously: ‘You will tell the truth, won’t you?’
‘What d’you take me for?’ said Mr Green. ‘Anyone would think I was a crook. You’ll hurt my feelings if you’re not careful. And then where shall we be? Now, what about the tie? Does it cover the stud all right?’
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Roger.
‘Come, come, sir,’ said Mr Green. ‘I’m playing the leading part in this show. You may think you are till it comes to going to jail. Then you’ll cheerfully yield pride of place to me. True, isn’t it? You wouldn’t go to jail instead of me, would you?’
‘No,’ said Roger.
‘Right, then, I’m the leading actor, and you don’t send him on to the stage looking anyhow. He has a dresser, doesn’t he? Couldn’t afford one as well as you. So I thought you wouldn’t mind giving me the once-over. Hair all right?’
‘Quite,’ said Roger. That was easy. There was none.
‘Trouser creases all right?’
‘Very good.’
‘Pity I haven’t got that gold tooth. I flogged it during my last stretch. Got some jam for it. D’you like jam?’
‘I’m going back into Court,’ said Roger, ‘or I shan’t be there when the judge comes in.’
‘Don’t be cross,’ said Mr Green. ‘You’ll never do any good if you’re cross. Give me a nice smile. Come on. That’s better. Now take it easy. It’s going to be perfectly all right. Next time I see you it won’t be here. Won’t be at Ascot, I’m afraid. Can’t get into the Royal Enclosure any more. Even Mr St Clair Smith couldn’t get me in.’
At that moment a warder came into the room.
‘The judge is just going to sit, sir,’ he said.
‘Good luck,’ said Mr Green. ‘Chin up, head high, no heel taps, all’s fair in love and war, dark the dawn when day is nigh, faint heart never won – oh – he’s gone.’ He turned to the warder: ‘I almost threw that one back,’ he said, ‘but you should have seen the one that got away.’
Roger only just had time to get into the Court before the knocks heralding the arrival of the judge. The judge took his seat, and Roger, having bowed low, sat down and looked across at the jury who were to try Mr Green. As he did so two ladies came into Court and were shown to the seats behind counse
l. But for the sight which met his eyes Roger might have noticed them. They were Sally and her mother. They had met outside the Court.
‘What on earth are you doing, Mother?’ Sally had said.
‘Well, I thought, as you weren’t going, I would. Now I see that I might have done some more practising. Well, as I’m here I might as well stay. Which way do we go in? I promise not to sing.’
The sight which had so shaken Roger was that of his mother sitting in the front row of the jury. At the last moment she had remembered what it was she had had to do. She sat cheerfully in the jury box looking interestedly at everything in the Court. Her eye travelled from the judge to the seats for counsel.
‘That one looks a bit young,’ she said to herself as she looked along the line. ‘Quite like Roger really. Yes, very. I must tell him. Quite a striking likeness. Good gracious, it is Roger. Well, really, he might have told me. I wonder if he’ll speak. Should I smile at him or won’t he like it? Why shouldn’t I? After all, I’m his mother.’
She beamed at her son, and waved her hand slightly.
Roger went red in the face. He adored his mother and hated to hurt her feelings, but it was very difficult to smile. And, of course, he couldn’t wave. He turned round to see if people had noticed his mother waving to him. On his right was Joy where he had put her. On his left were Sally and her mother. He only had a moment to consider whose double dealing – as it must have appeared – was the worse, his or Sally’s. But bringing her mother was really too bad. But now what was he to do about his own mother? The jury were about to be sworn. When was he to tell the judge? And in what language? How awful to have to get up and say, ‘The lady’s my mother,’ like Strephon in Iolanthe. ‘I suppose I’d better do it at once,’ he said to himself, and very unhappily rose and looked at the judge, who simply shook his head at him and waved him to sit down. He did not feel he could speak to his next-door neighbour. It sounded too absurd. Being called by his Christian name at school was nothing. Oh, dear, this is a nice way to start. Will I ever recover? he thought. Now they were swearing the jury. He must do something. He got up again. The judge looked at him angrily. Even a layman should know that the swearing of the jury must not be interrupted. Applications could be made after they had been sworn. Here, was a member of the Bar not only getting up when he ought to have waited, but getting up again after he’d been told to sit down. He really must be taught a lesson.
‘Yes, what is it?’ he snapped to Roger. ‘If you don’t know the rules ask someone who does. I’ve told you to wait once.’
Roger remained standing, waiting to speak.
‘Will you please sit down,’ said the judge.
‘My Lord, I want to mention–’ began Roger.
‘I’ve told you to wait,’ said the judge. All right, if the young man wanted it he should have it. He turned his body slightly towards counsel’s seats.
‘In this Court,’ he said, ‘where I have had the honour to preside for a good many years I have never yet seen counsel behave in this shocking manner. Justice could not be administered at all unless directions from the Bench were observed by the Bar. Until this moment, I have never known–’
Roger had had as much as he could stand and subsided, his face scarlet.
‘Thank you,’ said the judge. ‘Thank you very much. I am very much obliged. Now perhaps the swearing of the jury can be continued.’
Although the jury could in this particular case have all been sworn at once, it is the practice at the Old Bailey to swear them separately. In due course it became Mrs Thursby’s turn. It must be right to object. His client had been told that he must object when the jurors came to the Book to be sworn. Now was the time. He had a good mind to leave his mother on the jury. But then he supposed he’d be disbarred. Fearless integrity, the Treasurer of his Inn had said. That was all very well for him. He’d never had his mother on the jury. Well, he must do it, but there’s nothing fearless about it, he said to himself. I’m terrified. He got up again. The judge could not have believed it possible. He was a choleric man, equally capable of bestowing immense and undeserved praise in fantastically flattering terms and of – figuratively – spitting like two cats. This time the cats had it.
‘I do not know your name,’ he began, thinking hard for the most offensive words he could find, ‘but that,’ he went on, ‘in view of your extraordinary behaviour I do not find altogether surprising. Will you now do me the personal favour of resuming your seat. Otherwise I shall be under the painful duty of reporting you to your Benchers before whom it cannot have been very long ago that you appeared to be called to the Bar.’
As Roger still remained on his feet, waiting to speak, but not liking to interrupt the judge, from whom words poured steadily at him in a vitriolic stream, the judge said: ‘I order you to sit down.’
Roger did as he was told and, from where he sat, said loudly and clearly – as though it were the last cry of a man about to be executed: ‘I object to the next juror. She’s my mother.’
There was an immediate and thrilling silence. It was broken by Mr Green.
‘I don’t, my Lord. In fact I like the look of the lady.’
‘You be quiet,’ said the judge, and thought for several seconds. During the time he had had the honour to preside in that Court he had seldom had to think for so long before making a decision. Eventually he tapped his desk with a pencil and asked the clerk for Roger’s name. Then he spoke: ‘Mr Thursby,’ he began.
Roger did not know whether to get up or not. He’d been ordered to sit down. It would be contempt of Court to get up. Yet somehow when the judge was addressing him it seemed all wrong to remain seated. He did not know what to do until his next-door neighbour whispered.
‘Get up. The old fool’s going to apologize.’
Roger took the advice and was relieved to find that he was not immediately ordered to sit down – indeed if the judge had told two warders to throw him to the ground he would not have been altogether surprised.
‘Mr Thursby,’ repeated the judge in dulcet tones after Roger had risen, ‘I owe you a very humble apology, and I hope you will see fit to accept it. I am extremely sorry. By my haste I have placed you in a position which would have been horribly embarrassing for any member of the Bar and which for one of – if I may say so without offence – your limited experience must have been almost beyond bearing. You dealt with the situation with a courage and a patience which I shall long remember.’
A lump came into Roger’s throat, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from breaking down. He tried to say: ‘Thank you, my Lord,’ but very little was heard of it and he sat down and looked at his knees. The judge then turned to Mrs Thursby.
‘You had better leave the jury box, madam. I owe you an apology too, and I should like to say that you have every reason for being proud of your son.’
To someone like Peter this would have been simply splendid. But it made Roger feel distinctly sick. And then he thought of all the people listening to him. Sally, Joy, Sally’s mother and his own. Not to mention all the rest of those in Court. He felt as he had felt after boxing at school and being roundly trounced by a bigger boy, when the headmaster came up to him and said in a loud voice: ‘Plucky boy.’
It sent shivers down his back. He wondered if this sort of thing happened to everyone. They couldn’t often have barrister’s mothers on the jury at all, let alone in cases where their sons were engaged. Another juryman was sworn. The judge scribbled a note which the usher brought to Roger. It said:
So very sorry. I shall be so pleased if you will bring your mother to see me during the adjournment. S K.
Roger did not know whether to answer it in writing or by bowing. He asked his neighbour.
‘What do I do with this?’
‘Just bow and grin.’
He did as he was told. The judge smiled back at him. The jury had now been sworn and were informed of the charge against the prisoner. They were told he had pleaded Not Guilty and that it was for
them to say whether he was Guilty or not.
Counsel for the prosecution opened the case quite shortly and called as his first witness the man who had bought the toffee. His name was Blake. He was duly asked about his purchase from Mr Green and about the false reference.
‘Would you have sent the money if you had not believed this document to be a genuine reference?’
‘No.’
The moment arrived for Roger to cross-examine.
‘You remember seeing the reference, I suppose?’ he asked.
‘Certainly.’
‘Did you have any other letters about the same time?’
‘Letters? Yes, of course.’
‘From the defendant, I mean?’
‘From the defendant? Only the one offering me the toffee.’
‘How long was that before you received the reference?’
‘Two or three weeks.’
‘Quite sure?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
That’s what Henry meant, thought Roger. I shouldn’t have asked that last question.
‘Two to three weeks?’ repeated Roger.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Blake.
This time Roger left it alone.
‘Now, Mr Blake, you say you received the reference before you sent the money. Are you quite sure of that?’
‘Certainly. Look at the date. The 20th. I sent the money on the 23rd. I must have received the reference on the 21st.’
‘Got the envelope by any chance?’
‘I don’t keep envelopes.’
‘So you’re relying on your memory entirely?’
‘Certainly not entirely. On the date on the reference as well.’
‘So that if it hadn’t had that date on it you wouldn’t have known whether you sent the money before or after you received the reference?’
‘I certainly would have. I sent it after I had the reference – what’s the point of being offered a reference if you don’t wait for it?’
‘Does this in any way shake your recollection?’ asked Roger holding up the receipt for posting to be handed to the witness. Mr Blake looked at it.
