Brothers In Law

by Henry Cecil

  The man did not answer for a moment.

  The judge’s brow started to cloud ever so slightly.

  ‘You are prepared to take her back?’ he repeated.

  ‘My heart’s–’ began the man.

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. Very proper. But you are prepared to take her back?’

  ‘Full,’ said the man.

  ‘Mr Grant,’ said the judge in less kindly tones. ‘Would you be good enough to answer my question?’

  ‘Very difficult, my Lord,’ said the man. ‘My heart’s full.’

  ‘Look here,’ said the judge, his patience rapidly becoming exhausted, ‘are you prepared to take her back or not?’

  ‘If you say so, my Lord,’ said the man.

  ‘It’s not for me to say one way or the other. She’s your wife and it’s for you to make up your mind. If you don’t take her back I shall probably send her to prison.’

  ‘How long for?’ said the man.

  ‘Don’t ask me questions,’ said the judge.

  The man remained silent.

  ‘Well, which is it to be?’ said the judge. ‘We can’t wait all night for you.’

  Still no answer.

  ‘Well?’ the judge almost shouted.

  Roger reflected that the case had now progressed some way from the ‘jewel of a husband’ stage.

  ‘I don’t think six months would do her any harm,’ said the man, ‘and it would give me time to think.’

  ‘Now look,’ said the judge, ‘when you married this woman you took her for better or worse.’

  ‘It seems to have been worse,’ said the man.

  ‘Will you be quiet while I’m speaking,’ said the judge angrily. ‘Have you never heard of charity?’

  ‘Charity,’ said the man, ‘begins at home. She left home.’

  ‘I’m not going to argue with you,’ said the judge. ‘If you lack all decent feeling, I can’t give it to you, but, if you don’t forgive her, it may be on your conscience for the rest of your life.’

  ‘What about her conscience?’ said the man. ‘How would you like your wife to go running off with the lodger?’

  ‘Take that man away,’ said the judge, and the husband left the witness box.

  ‘Now, Margaret Grant, I’m not going to send you to prison. Dry your eyes and listen. You’ve behaved very stupidly – yes – and wickedly, but the exact circumstances of your married life are known only to you, and the man who was just standing in the witness box.’

  The woman opened her mouth as though to speak.

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ asked the judge. ‘You want to say something?’

  ‘Only this, my Lord,’ faltered the woman.

  ‘Yes?’ said the judge in a kind, encouraging tone.

  ‘He’s a jewel of a husband, my Lord.’

  I’m glad I stayed, thought Roger.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Offer of a Brief

  Roger left the Old Bailey feeling happier than at any time since he was called to the Bar. He had defended his first prisoner and he had got him off. The judge had praised him and congratulated him on his cross-examination. It was almost unbelievable. Mr Green no doubt had friends and perhaps he would send them to him. He could almost hear people saying already: ‘He must have a chance, Thursby’s defending him.’

  He went back to chambers very elated, and at once went to Henry.

  ‘Well, how did you get on?’

  ‘I got him off.’

  ‘Well done you. Jolly good. Tell me all about it.’

  Roger told him everything.

  ‘One thing perhaps,’ said Henry, ‘I ought to warn you about.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Compliments from the Bench. You’ll get them, you know, and you’ll feel hugely pleased and think you’ve made your name and all that. For example, if you go to the Old Bailey again you will hear the old boy say: “Members of the jury, you have just heard what in my opinion is a model of a speech from counsel for the prisoner. Since I have had the honour to preside at this Court–” and so on and so forth. I’m sorry to have to tell you, old boy,’ went on Henry, ‘that it don’t mean a thing. Indeed, when that stops happening from that particular quarter it means that you really have made a little headway.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Roger, a little disappointed. ‘Then wasn’t my cross-examination any good then?’

  ‘I didn’t hear it, but from what you tell me I should say it was very good. All I’m warning you about is not to be too elated when a judge plasters you with good things. There are compliments from the Bench which are greatly to be valued. But they are rare – and at your present stage you don’t know which is which. You don’t mind my telling you all this?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I’m only doing it because no one told me. And it was the most frightful disappointment to me after His Honour Judge Smoothe had lauded me to the skies – and incidentally decided against me – to find that clients weren’t queuing up to brief me. Later on, if you look around any Court presided over by a judge who indulges in fulsome praise of counsel, you’ll see looks being exchanged between experienced counsel and solicitors. The best judges and those whose praise is worth having don’t do it. But cheer up. You got him off and that’s the chief thing. Now I suppose you’re going to celebrate with Sally. Or could I hope that it’s Joy?’

  ‘Quite frankly, I hadn’t thought,’ said Roger. ‘Oh – hell,’ he added. ‘I’m in for a spot of trouble there. But I won’t worry you with it.’

  ‘Look,’ said Henry, ‘perhaps I shouldn’t ask this, but would you very much mind if I did ask Sally to come out some time? I’ll understand perfectly if you object.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Roger. ‘I think it jolly decent of you to want to.’

  ‘I’m not sure that that’s what I’d call it,’ said Henry, ‘but I’ll try to behave.’

  When Roger got home that evening he at once telephoned Sally. What had she thought of him? He was dying to know.

  ‘Hello, Sally,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Roger,’ she said somewhat coldly.

  He couldn’t help that. He must know what she thought.

  ‘Sally, what did you think? I’m longing to know. Was I any better?’

  ‘As a liar, d’you mean?’ said Sally. ‘Yes, I think you’ve made quite remarkable progress in a very short time.’

  ‘Oh, Sally – you must let me explain. You mean about Joy being there?’

  ‘And you’re so quick too.’

  ‘Sally – you must let me explain. I’d no idea when I spoke to you that Joy was coming. Really I hadn’t.’

  ‘She just happened to come, I suppose? What with your mother being on the jury, the day was pretty full of coincidences for you.’

  ‘Oh, Sally, please listen. I had to take her.’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t a coincidence? You just changed your mind about taking her, was that it? Well, I suppose everyone’s entitled to change his mind.’

  ‘Which reminds me,’ said Roger. ‘What were you doing there? It was you who advised me not to have anyone there. And you not only come but you bring your mother too. The whole blooming outfit.’

  ‘Don’t you call my mother an outfit,’ said Sally.

  ‘Look,’ said Roger, ‘can’t we meet and get things straight?’

  So they met and everything was explained as far as it could be.

  ‘It looks as though Joy’s uncle is going to be pretty useful to you,’ said Sally.

  ‘It does, doesn’t it?’ said Roger brightly.

  ‘And what other Herculean tasks d’you imagine he’ll impose on you in return. Marrying Joy, d’you think?’

  ‘Oh, don’t, Sally. It isn’t fair. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t want to get on.’

  ‘There are ways and ways of getting on. If you’re in love with Joy, all right, splendid. Another excellent coincidence. Go ahead, marry her and let her uncle keep you.’

  ‘You’re being beastly.’

  ‘Plain, if
you like,’ said Sally. ‘If, on the other hand, you’re not in love with Joy – well – what was the word you used – beastly, wasn’t it? Oh, Roger dear, can’t you get on without making up to Joy in order to get work out of her uncle?’

  ‘It sounds awful putting it that way.’

  ‘Well, how would you put it – if you’re not in love with her? And if you go on doing it long enough you’ll find you have to marry the girl.’

  ‘I’m much too young to marry, anyway,’ said Roger, ‘and I haven’t any money.’

  ‘That’s what I mean. If Joy’s uncle provides the income – you can’t very decently marry someone else on it – when you do marry.’

  ‘I can’t very well refuse the briefs.’

  ‘If you stop taking Joy out, they’ll stop too.’

  Roger thought for a moment.

  ‘You are right, Sally,’ he said. ‘At least I suppose so. You’d say it was rather like those men who – well, you know what I mean.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ said Sally. ‘But it does seem a bit mean.’

  ‘All right,’ said Roger, ‘I’ll stop. I’ll tell Joy straight out that I’ll never marry her. Then if her uncle still keeps on sending me briefs, that’s his affair, isn’t it? After all, the time may come when he briefs me for my own sake.’

  ‘We’ll drink to that,’ said Sally.

  And they did.

  ‘Roger,’ said his mother that evening.

  ‘Yes, darling?’

  ‘How long d’you think it’ll be before you’re earning real money? I mean, flowers are all very nice, but they don’t pay the bills.’

  ‘Oh, Mother – I’m afraid it may be an awful long time. I hope not, but it is a slow job, I’m afraid, unless one’s awfully lucky.’

  ‘What d’you mean by slow?’ said Mrs Thursby. ‘You wouldn’t be likely to have two hundred pounds to spare next Thursday?’

  ‘Mother – what do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, well – never mind,’ said Mrs Thursby. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Why, Mother darling, what is it?’

  ‘I did rather a stupid thing, I’m afraid. I lent Elsie some money – to pay her bootmakers I thought she said. It seemed an awful lot for shoes, but still she’s always so well turned out I thought she couldn’t have paid them for some years. But it was her Scots accent. It was really her bookmakers. And now she’s lost some more and can’t pay me back when she promised. Oh, well – it only means the gas and telephone may be a bit cut off.’

  ‘The telephone!’ said Roger in horror.

  ‘Well, we didn’t always have them.’

  ‘But I might have something frightfully urgent. Alec might want to get hold of me.’

  ‘Oh, well, never mind. P’raps they’ll forget to cut ours off. They must have a lot of others to deal with. Then if they do, we can always get an electric cooker. I’ve sometimes wondered whether I wouldn’t prefer one.’

  ‘But the telephone, Mother. We must find the money for that. How much do you owe altogether?’

  ‘I never had much head for figures, but if Elsie had sent that two hundred pounds back it would be quite all right.’

  ‘You didn’t lend her two hundred pounds, Mother?’

  ‘Well, she seemed to want it so badly. And I’d just had my quarterly cheque. It was to come back in a month. And d’you know she said she’d add another fifty pounds. That was very nice of her, I thought. I’m sure she meant to. I’d trust her anywhere, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Backing horses is just lunacy,’ said Roger.

  ‘Not according to Elsie. She said it was only a temporary setback. She said she made a large profit every year.’

  ‘So does everyone,’ said Roger. ‘That’s why bookmakers smoke fat cigars. Oh, well – I suppose we’ll manage somehow or other. But it is a bit of a blow.’

  The telephone rang.

  ‘Hullo, oh, hullo, Joy – yes – what – can’t you say it on the telephone? It can’t be as secret as all that. Oh, all right. I’ll be along.’ He turned to his mother.

  ‘Joy’s got something she must tell me. I suppose I shall have to go. Shan’t be long.’

  Roger decided to take advantage of the occasion and break the news to Joy as he’d agreed with Sally. Just as well to get it over. He went straight to her rooms. She was waiting on the doorstep.

  ‘Oh, Roger, I thought you were never coming. Oh, Roger darling, I thought you were wonderful, getting that funny little man off and the judge apologizing to you and everything.’

  ‘It wasn’t too bad,’ said Roger modestly. ‘But one mustn’t let things like that go to one’s head. Henry said it didn’t really mean a thing.’

  ‘Well,’ said Joy, ‘see if this means a thing.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s so terrific you won’t believe it. Oh, I am a lucky girl. You know the big sausage people – Baggallys?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Well, apparently somebody’s been copying their sausages or something and they’re bringing a huge action. I believe it’s called a patent action.’ She pronounced it like patent in patent shoes.

  ‘Patent,’ corrected Roger. He wouldn’t have known it had a short ‘a’ if Henry hadn’t told him.

  ‘Well?’ said Roger puzzled.

  ‘Well, Uncle Alfred is their solicitor, and he’s going to send a brief in it to you.’

  ‘Me?’ said Roger. ‘But it’s ridiculous. I don’t know anything about patents. Even if I did I couldn’t do a case of that size.’

  ‘You won’t be all by yourself,’ said Joy. ‘There are three other counsel in it besides you. There’s, let me see, Sir George Pratt – Uncle Alfred says he’s the chief man on the subject – and then there are two others and then there’s you. So you’ll get some help, you see. Oh, and Uncle Alfred’s coming round to explain it to you himself. That’s why you had to come at once. He’ll be here in a moment.’

  No doubt Roger ought to have acted at once on what might be called the Sally plan. But he could hardly be blamed for just waiting to see what Uncle Alfred said first. Anyway, there wasn’t enough time to say to Joy what he had intended to say. He’d have to wrap it up a bit. And that takes time. And then Uncle Alfred arrived.

  ‘My dear Roger, you must forgive this informality – but I hope that, now that I might say you’re almost one of the family you will forgive me. Now, my dear boy,’ he went on without giving Roger a chance to interrupt, ‘I want your help, your personal help. And I want to have a word with you before taking official action. I don’t know whether Joy has told you that we’ve quite an important action for Baggallys. Now – I don’t want you to think I’m not satisfied with the counsel we’ve so far briefed in the case. I am indeed. But I can’t help feeling that in a case of this kind an outside view from one of the younger generation would be a help. We’ve all eaten sausages for so long that we may have got into a rut with our ideas. So, to cut a long story short, I want you – as a personal favour to me – to accept a junior brief in the matter. I must apologize for not mentioning it to you at an earlier stage, but, to be quite candid, it was Mr Smith’s idea and he only had it quite recently.’

  ‘Well, it’s most awfully kind of you, Mr Merivale.’

  ‘And there is one other matter. And I hope you’ll forgive my mentioning that to you personally too. I know that counsel and solicitors don’t discuss fees together. As far as you and I are concerned it’s done for nothing. It’s the clerk, who deals with the fees. But this is rather an embarrassing situation and that’s why I’d be grateful for your help. You see, my firm’s an old-fashioned one. We haven’t moved forward like some of the others. Now, of course you’re aware, my dear boy, of the two-thirds rule. Well, my firm have always stuck to that, even when the Bar Council agreed with the Law Society that we needn’t. So that, for example, Sir George has got three thousand guineas on his brief, Wincaster two thousand and Soames one thousand three hundred and thirty-three. Now qu
ite frankly, my dear boy, we can’t run to more than, say, four hundred for your brief. Not that you wouldn’t be worth more, but we couldn’t run to it. Now when Mr Smith approaches your clerk on the matter, your clerk who’s used to our old-fashioned ways will expect two-thirds of one thousand three hundred and thirty-three, and it would be most embarrassing for Mr Smith. So what I want to know, my dear boy, is whether you will very kindly have a word with your clerk in advance and ask him to accept four hundred on the brief – that’s, of course, if you’re willing yourself – and only if you’re willing – I realize that it’s rather a lot to ask, but I thought as a personal favour to me you might possibly be prepared to consider it. Of course, there’ll be refreshers – about a hundred a day I should think – and I suppose the case ought to last about six weeks. So your total fees in the matter ought to be between three and four thousand pounds. That’s, of course, in the Court below. It’s bound to go to the Court of Appeal and probably to the House of Lords. Now, my boy, will you do it? I’m not pressing you at all – but it would be a kindness.’

  Roger looked out of the window.

  ‘It’s terribly good of you,’ he said. ‘May I think it over?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Mr Merivale. ‘My hearing isn’t quite as good as it was. I didn’t quite catch what you said.’

  ‘May I think it over?’ repeated Roger.

  Mr Merivale put his hand through his hair several times. ‘I only do this, young man,’ he said, ‘when I am surprised to the point of being astounded.’

  ‘I want to ask advice,’ said Roger.

  ‘Advice?’ said Mr Merivale. ‘Advice is it? Well, my advice to you, young man, is that you should consult the nearest brain specialist. And another piece of advice is this: if you don’t seize all the opportunities you’re given at the Bar you won’t get very far. I don’t believe that there is any young man at the Bar who would have said what you did. Admittedly you have a very fine practice. But there must be days when you don’t receive a brief marked four hundred guineas. Of course, the one thousand guinea briefs help to make up for it, but if what I’m told is true, there aren’t as many of those as there used to be. And dock briefs – or should I say one dock brief at the Old Bailey – hardly seems to take their place. But no doubt you know best. May I take it then that you’re too busy to accept the instructions? Or is it that you would consider it undignified to accept less than two-thirds of Mr Soames’ fee?’