The Advocate's Wife

by Norman Russell

  He must listen to what old Mr Forwood was telling him.

  ‘Gambling, of course, was rife in those days. I think it was worse then than now. They all gambled – it was the thing to do, apparently. Raikes and Porteous both frequented gaming-clubs. They went to a place in Paulet Street run by a man called Carex. He was a well-known corrupter of youth, and you’ll have him on record at Scotland Yard, I expect. He took his own life in the end, so they say. Foolish boys! That’s what ruined Gideon Raikes, He accepted a bribe from a witness to pay his gambling debts.’

  The old gentleman’s reminiscences continued. Box’s attention wandered again. He remembered something that Raikes had said to him during his visit to Grosvenor Square. ‘It is quite simple, Mr Box. You are probably aware of the follies of my early years. I accepted a bribe from a witness. There were two of us in quite desperate situations over gambling debts….’

  Two of us … So the other one had been Porteous. Had Colbourne found him out as well? Raikes had turned to corruption as a solution: how had Porteous coped with his particular dilemma? Mr Forwood was speaking again.

  ‘Oh, Mr Raikes was very assiduous, and all that. He was a clever young man, and would have made an admirable lawyer. But Mr Porteous was dedicated! You could see that, young as he was. He felt that the criminal bar was a vocation – a mission, if you like. He said to me once: “We’re an army, an untiring protection of the people of this country against the felon and the destroyers in society. Our fight is unending, a crusade. I can think of no more noble calling”. He meant it, too! I’ve never forgotten those words, and you can see what a great advocate he has become. They tell me that he will recover from this dastardly attempt upon his life. I don’t know whether that’s true?’

  ‘It’s true enough, sir. Sir William Porteous is very much on the mend, as they say. But I’d like to take your mind back to the past again, sir, if I may.’

  It was time, Box realized, to direct the old gentleman’s memory into another channel by the use of a statement rather than a question.

  ‘Mr Henry Colbourne was murdered on the first of November, 1867, on the pavement near the church of St James’s, Garlickhythe. He was garrotted – strangled from behind with a scarf.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, Inspector. Poor Colbourne! He was only twenty-seven. Or twenty-six. That evening, he stayed late with me here in the office, writing letters. We had a great deal to do that month, I recall. That was his stool, over there, by the cabinet-clock. He used to suck the end of the quill, you know, and then stab the point in the inkwell. Dear me! How clearly I see it all! I often used to think of that night, you see, because it was the very night that he was killed. I’ve never really forgotten it, though time is a great healer.’

  ‘So you and he sat here that evening, writing letters?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector. Letters to do with our clients, you know. I was sitting where you see me sitting now. Colbourne and I had both finished writing by ten o’clock. We gathered all the sealed and stamped letters together, and walked up to the General Post Office in St Martin’s-le-Grand.’

  The old lawyer ruefully massaged his thigh.

  ‘I can’t walk now. Not without help, at any rate. But I was a good walker in those days. So Colbourne and I made our way through St Paul’s Churchyard with the letters, talking about our clients, and what we were going to do the next day. And that very night, Mr Box, he was murdered!’

  ‘How did Mr Porteous react? To the murder, I mean?’

  ‘He was very shocked and upset. He was physically sick when the constables called to tell us the news. It was the very next day that he made those remarks about the practice of law being a moral crusade. He worked so very hard from that time on. He very soon outgrew us, Mr Box. We are still immensely proud of having bred him in these chambers!’

  The door creaked open and a young clerk ventured into the shady room. ‘Sir,’ he whispered, ‘Mr Egerton-Warburton has arrived from Cheshire.’ The old gentleman stirred in his chair and pulled some papers across the table.

  ‘Can I dismiss you now, Mr Box? It’s wills and deeds now for the rest of the morning.’

  ‘My dear Lardner,’ said Sir William Porteous, ‘one day, no doubt, I’ll be able to thank you properly for all that you’ve done during this crisis – done for Lady Porteous, I mean. She’s been telling me how much she has come to rely upon you.’

  Lardner had at last been permitted to visit his employer in a tiny private room allotted to him in University College Hospital. It had been obvious immediately to the secretary that Sir William had made a remarkable recovery from his physical injuries. He had left his hospital bed, and now walked warily with a stick. There were calipers on his right leg.

  Lardner blushed with pleasure at his employer’s words. A swift glance at Sir William’s smiling face told him that Lady Porteous had revealed nothing to her husband of the sinister visit of Gideon Raikes to Queen Adelaide Gate.

  ‘Lady Porteous is too good, sir. And is it really true that you’ll be leaving the hospital?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, Lardner. The medical authorities have decided that I can be safely moved from here to a nursing home.’ His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘About time, too! Matron’s a dear soul at heart, but a regular tartar into the bargain! Old Trevor’s downstairs, arguing the merits of various suitable establishments with Sir Arthur Carew-Field. It was really most generous of Her Majesty to interest the court physician in my case. Most gracious and kindly.’

  ‘Carew-Field?’

  ‘Yes, Lardner. A very affable, smooth kind of man. He has to be like that, I suppose. Dr Trevor favours Malvern as the most appropriate place for my convalescence – he sent me there five years ago, as you’ll remember, after that bout of pleurisy. Sir Arthur Carew-Field, however, urges the advantages of Chelford Grange, which, apparently, is a sanatorium “nestling among the pine woods near Pinner, in Middlesex” – his words, not mine, I hasten to add! I leave the choice entirely to them. Anywhere will do, as long as I can get away from Matron!’

  Sir William’s manner was encouragingly ebullient, but Lardner wondered how fully he had survived the attempt on his life. His round, patrician face was pale and drawn, and his eyes betrayed some kind of lingering anxiety – or was it fear? Nevertheless, it was immensely encouraging to hear Sir William talk as he did. In a year, perhaps, he would be fit once again for the fray.

  ‘Well, sir,’ said Lardner, ‘it’s always been my privilege to be of service to you: Soon, I hope, I can play my part in completing your mission – the ultimate destruction of Gideon Raikes.’

  Porteous was startled at the vehemence of Lardner’s tone, but he thoroughly applauded the sentiment. The secretary’s words seemed to lend him extra strength.

  ‘Well done, Lardner! So Raikes has been tinkering with my accounts, has he? Well, we’ll have to pay him out for that! Yes, I believe that Providence has spared me to fulfil the task of destroying Gideon Raikes, though it’s going to be a year before I can stride into court again. Providence has always blessed my crusade against crime and vice, and has spared me to continue the fight. A year’s recuperation in the country, Lardner, and then I shall rush back into the thick of the fray!’

  ‘It’s quite impossible,’ said Lardner, angrily, ‘to plumb the depths of Gideon Raikes’s evil mind. How could a man even contemplate such a murderous attack on an unarmed and unsuspecting victim?’

  Sir William’s gaze shifted from Lardner to a dimension beyond the hospital room.

  ‘Contemplate such an attack? Oh, I’d find that quite an easy thing to do, Lardner. I’ve mentioned this matter to you before. Can you not imagine a man who sees a broad highway stretching before him – a royal road to destiny, with the fierce light of Heaven beating down upon it? And then, an obstacle appears to block the path. Ugly, dark, an affront to the light. Insupportable! That obstacle must be removed, Lardner, destroyed, and the royal road left open, as Fate ordained! Be it man or woman, creed or institution, if it blocks
the way, then it must be swept aside—’

  Sir William stood transfixed for a while, and then his eyes suddenly focused once again on Lardner. The flow of words ceased. He looked so comically crestfallen that the secretary smiled in spite of himself. But smile or not, he could nor banish a feeling of disquiet. Sir William’s recovery was by no means complete yet. The great advocate glanced sheepishly at Lardner, and attempted a wry smile.

  ‘There, I’m talking nonsense! But that’s how you must understand Gideon Raikes. Enough of him! Lady Porteous, now – do you think that something is amiss with her? I suspect that she’s trying to hide something, some tension or trouble. What do you think?’

  Lardner’s mind flew back to the evening he had spent with Sergeant Knollys. It had been a pleasant break in his daily routine, but it had been dangerous, too. Although Knollys had seen Lady Porteous only briefly that evening, he had immediately sensed that something was wrong behind her controlled exterior. Lardner now gave his employer the same answer as he had given to Knollys.

  ‘Lady Porteous has been devastated by the attempt on your life, Sir William. She displays admirable control, as one would expect from a lady of her quality, but I venture to say that she will never be quite the same again. She has been profoundly shocked, and the signs show through.’

  ‘You may be right, Lardner. Well, we shall see. I must concentrate on getting better. Goodbye for the moment. One day, I will contrive a way to thank you more adequately for your kindness and devotion to my wife and me!’

  Dr Trevor approved of Chelford Grange. It was a pleasant, airy place, suitably opulent without being vulgar. It lay in its own considerable grounds, seemingly enclosed on all sides to the horizon in a fragrant forest of pine. A special train had been hired from the London and North Western Railway Company, and Sir William, supported by doctors, nurses, and a bevy of servants, had departed from Euston amid much fuss and flurry.

  Carew-Field, thought Trevor, had been right in his choice. Once the convalescent had been settled in, the party could return very conveniently to London. For the moment, though, he and Carew-Field had matters medical to discuss. They had been left discreetly alone in the registrar’s office while Sir William was installed in his suite on the first floor.

  ‘It’ll do no harm, Sir Arthur,’ said Dr Trevor, as soon as the office door was closed, ‘to let Porteous continue to think that it was the Queen who interested you in his case. He doesn’t know that you’re a specialist in mental states.’

  Trevor noted that the eminent court physician had chosen to come down to Chelford Grange in country tweeds. It was, he thought wryly, the kind of thing that Sir Arthur Carew-Field would do to proclaim his renown to the world. For himself, he was content to wear sober but smart black on all professional occasions.

  ‘And you had intended to call upon my services, Trevor?’

  ‘Yes. I’d been considering Porteous’s case for over a year. At first, I thought his curious lapses were due to irascibility resulting from the burden of his work—’

  ‘No, Trevor, it was not that. I encouraged him to talk to me while he was at Gower Street, and very soon he was saying the same things to me as he had said to you. I simply had to mention the idea of opposition to his wishes, or recall the name of one of his past opponents at the Bar, to trigger off well-defined incidents of catatonic spasm.’

  Dr Trevor relaxed. Really, it was such a change to converse with a man who spoke the same language as himself. There was no need now for soothing platitudes or the reassurance of half-truths. Perhaps Carew-Field felt the same way.

  ‘I had wondered whether those sudden diatribes of Porteous’s were incidents of catatonia,’ said Trevor. ‘But I think Porteous was more on his guard before the attempted assassination. Certainly the verbal violence of those incidents – mysterious obstacles lying in his path, to be crushed and annihilated, and so forth – that verbal violence, I say, was totally out of character.’

  ‘Perhaps you can see now, Trevor, why I was so quick to suggest Chelford Grange. Your suggestion of Malvern was an excellent one, but I had good and sufficient reasons for choosing this place for Sir William’s convalescence.’

  Sir Arthur had been looking out of the window while he spoke. He still gazed thoughtfully across the leaf-strewn lawns, and the acres of pine woods surrounding the sanatorium, until his eyes rested on the pink brick turrets and towers of a building lying about a mile away from Chelford Grange.

  Dr Trevor followed his colleague’s glance. His face assumed a sudden alertness.

  ‘Broadfield? Do you think it’s as bad as that?’

  ‘I do. There are two of him, Trevor! For years he has shut out the capacity for violence, presumably following an incident of extreme trauma. Now, that capacity has begun to assume a personality of its own, a dark and dangerous companion walking in step with the great advocate and family man. Yes; there are two of him, now.’

  Trevor said nothing for a while. It was his turn to gaze out of the window at the pink brick mansion a mile away through the trees. Broadfield…

  ‘It was much the same kind of thing that had begun to unsettle my view of Sir William over the last twelve months,’ he said. ‘He was in very good physical health, so that my visits were rare. But on several occasions I happened to mention a name – on one occasion, it was that of Mr Gideon Raikes, the collector – and he reacted in a way that showed all the classical symptoms of schizophrenic stupor. It is very sinister. And very sad.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Lady Porteous about this matter?’ asked Sir Arthur.

  ‘No. I think one must be very sure of oneself over things like that. I shall tell her only if our suspicions develop into certainties.’

  Trevor pursed his lips, and sighed.

  ‘Delusions … When I think of that, Sir Arthur, I find myself rearranging some of my attitudes to Sir William Porteous. His crusade for Justice – I can see it now, perhaps, as an obsessive mania. Do you think these delusions of his are a temporary aberration?’

  ‘No, Trevor. Sadly, I don’t. I’ve tested him, you see. A series of carefully devised stimuli produced the inevitable catatonic responses. He can no longer conceal these delusions. The wall between fantasy and reality is beginning to crumble.’

  ‘Could it not be a result of the vile attempt upon his life?’

  ‘Oh, no. I’ve seen this particular kind of lunacy before. It’s something of far longer standing than the explosion. There’s something very deep there which is slowly withdrawing him from the real world. We must just wait and see. In the meanwhile’ – he nodded towards the window – ‘there’s a convenient place of safety to hand if, as I fear, the worst happens.’

  *

  Arnold Box turned out of Oxford Street into Box’s Cigar Divan and Hair Cutting Rooms, and went upstairs to the skylit den with its tiny fireplace, where Toby Box sat in his old armchair. He had been dozing, and opened his eyes in surprise as his son came into the little room.

  ‘Why, Arnold! So here you are again! What is it this time? More reminiscences?’

  ‘How are you, Pa? Is the leg any better?’

  Toby Box looked down at his legs. As always, he wore knee-breeches, and now, the thick bandages binding the left leg could be seen beneath the fabric. He shook his head.

  ‘It’s no better, Arnold. It’s no good me saying otherwise. Dr Hooper came the other evening, and sat with me for an hour after he’d done the dressings. He talked to me, sitting in that chair where you are now. When he’d finished, I agreed to see Mr Howard Paul. That’s the way things are.’

  Inspector Box was quiet for a moment, gazing at the glowing coals of the fire. He had always known that the leg would have to come off, but somehow hearing his suspicion verified was a shock.

  ‘Mr Howard Paul will do the operation at the Royal Free Hospital, in Gray’s Inn Road. Some time after Christmas, Dr Hooper thinks. So what was it you wanted to ask me, Arnold?’

  Inspector Box’s eyes gleamed with appreciation. Reti
red and wounded he may be, but Toby Box was still a policeman at heart.

  ‘It’s just this, Pa. One day, not very long ago, a man got up in a restaurant here in Oxford Street, and showed another man a watch that he had. This other man denied knowing this watch, and the first man sat down again. The first man was James Hungerford, a flour-merchant, later done to death by Albert John Davidson. Who was the second man?’

  Old Mr Box stretched out his arm and opened the narrow door beside the fireplace.

  ‘Sadie! Come up, will you? Detective Inspector Box is here!’

  In a few moments Sadie appeared, clutching a tea towel. She smiled at Inspector Box and stood waiting for instructions. Box repeated the gist of the story about the two men and the watch.

  ‘Oh, yes, Mr Box, we heard about that. It was in Addy’s Dining-Rooms, just two shops down from us. Ever so embarrassed the man was! Ted Lewis told our Sam about it. Ted’s one of the waiters at Addy’s.’

  ‘What happened exactly, Sadie?’

  ‘Well, this respectable man got up from his table and went across to the other gentleman. “I think you must remember this watch, sir”, he said, “as you threw it away in the Serpentine, half a lifetime ago!” Ted stopped to hear what the other gentleman said. It was such a funny thing to be happening! Other diners had stopped eating to listen to the conversation. “Sir”, said the other man, “I think you must be mistaken. It’s a very fine watch, no doubt, but I have never owned it. Good day to you”.’

  ‘And what did the first man do, Sadie? Did Ted Lewis tell you?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Box. The first man blushed red, and returned to his seat. Everybody went back to eating their dinners. I think they were all sorry for the man with the watch, who’d obviously made a mistake. The other gentleman left soon afterwards.’