Here Mr. Popesgrove knew that he must intervene, and he did so effectually. “That, you know, we mustn’t be swayed by. The judge made English law on that point absolutely clear. The defendant has the right to give or not give evidence as she pleases, and we are not to be prejudiced by her decision whatever it is. Many perfectly innocent people are unable to face the ordeal of cross-examination. They may know beforehand that they will make themselves ridiculous in the witness box and from sheer confusion and inability to express themselves rush into a mass of contradictions. Not everybody can keep their head when they’re questioned by a clever lawyer on matters on which their life depends. If they don’t feel up to it, they must be allowed to stand aside. Anyway, apart from all that, our duty is clear and has been laid down for us by his lordship in quite categorical terms: we are not in any way to be influenced by this circumstance.” He looked at the two young men with a mixture of persuasiveness and sternness. They abandoned their point at once: they had never meant it very seriously.
Mr. Popesgrove turned to Edward George.
“You, sir?”
The trade union secretary started and said, “I’ve not decided. I would prefer to hear the opinions of others.”
Mr. Popesgrove sighed with relief. There had been too much prejudice already—petty prejudice most of it. At least there was one man who was taking his duties as seriously as he was and was endeavouring to be impartial. The jury system was at the base of all British justice, and once or twice he had found himself wondering if in this case the basis was as sound as it ought to be. Here was a relief: there would be at least two just men.
If he had realized it, his own opinion was beginning to be formed for him. He had decided it was his duty to combat prejudice. A just decision; but prejudice in the jury-room was practically certain to be prejudice against the accused, and so it had been. The two women’s speeches, the snobbish salesman’s intervention, and this last exchange had all provoked him to defend the prisoner. He was finding excuses for her and already looking upon her as a person it was his task to protect. The needle in his mind was veering over towards acquittal.
Before any one else could speak, Edward Bryan took his hands away from his face and stared at his fellow-jurors. His eyes were hard and excited. Light had come to him, and now he had knowledge. It was not easy for him to come forward and speak; but the duty of testifying had fallen to him and he would not hold back.
“I wish it had been open to all of you,” he said, speaking formally but with obvious sincerity, “to receive the guidance and help that has come to me. Seek the Lord in prayer, and you shall find. I have done so, and as far as I may I will tell you what has been shown to me. I will try and use your own language, the speech of the market place, and I hope that each one of you will listen to me.
“There was in that village a house in which there was a great deal of evil speaking and jealousy. From nearly all who spoke there arose an odour of worldliness and of sin: they were persons, as one of you said, in whom no man should put his trust. There was only one person in that house of whom any good thing was reported, and that was the woman in the dock. The clergyman who spoke was a weak and vain man for a man of God. But he told us what was necessary: when she left his place of worship, for good reasons, she continued her prayers at home. She was seeking for guidance, and in that house it seems that she alone was seeking for guidance. The very fact that others in that house hated her and despitefully used her is proof that she was a righteous woman among the wicked.”
Bryan hesitated and ran his finger round his throat, inside his stiff collar. How could he say to this audience what he meant? His real thought was: “All of you, as far as I can judge, are bound for eternal fire. I cannot tell whether you are more sinful or more ignorant; and I do not really mind. All the people in this case are in the same condition: impious, froward, uncircumcised in heart and ears. Except for one, the defendant, upon whom all the rest have made an attack. I was moved to ask certain questions, and, despite the obstruction of the judge, I learnt from them that she perhaps might be a child of light. You do not even know what that means. But I see now, that I was sent for a purpose on to this jury and it was to save a servant of the Lord in great distress. It was the Prince of Darkness who spoke through the mouth of the judge and tried to prevent me from asking the one important question. It is my duty to see that this woman goes free: that task has been laid on me by the Almighty, and all that you have to do is to obey.”
It was useless to say this, yet he felt that without it his words were weak and ineffective. He was trying to argue, and argument was something he was almost unable to handle. He feared that he was losing his battle—that the jurors’ minds were wandering away from what he was saying. In his mind he said a brief prayer for aid and pledged all his strength of will and his weak powers of thought. Refreshed, he put up his hand and stopped an interruption from Dr. Holmes.
“One of you,” he said, “remarked that, above all, we must think of the character of the accused. Indeed, we must. Violence and darkness surround us, as again one of you has said, and we must here as everywhere else seek to know who is on the side of righteousness. We are like the king who was sent by the Lord into Samaria when it was ruled by the wicked woman: we must cry out: ‘Who is on our side? Who?’ Who then in that house was on the side of righteousness? Was it the cook and the gardener, coveting wealth, besotting themselves with strong drink, and thieving? Was it the teacher of profane knowledge, with his hands picking among the books belonging to other persons? Was it the poor boy himself, cut off in his sins? Child though he was, he was meditating murder. He had been reading a book placed in his way by the Devil and teaching him to imagine evil. Only one person remembered her Creator in prayer. What if she did restrain the child from self-indulgence? The world would be a better place if children were taught, as they were once, to value fleshly amusements less. We are told: whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth. Will you blame her if she tried to follow that example?”
Bryan’s vehemence of tone made up for the repetitive nature of his words. His almost colourless grey eyes protruded; he pushed his head forward in his anxiety and his long knobbly neck rippled like a tortoise’s. The jurors paid him attention, though only Mr. Stannard considered his arguments were of weight. The rest admitted that he indeed had a profound conviction, but they were not certain why.
He stopped, and there was a momentary silence. Then Mr. Popesgrove realized that the time had come when he must speak, and that in the fine confusion of opinion that had shown itself, the fate of the prisoner might well depend on what he said.
8
The court was only partly empty. The official element was represented by the clerk of assize and several policemen. The judge, the lawyers, the accused, the jury were all away. But a good half of the audience was keeping its seats, unwilling to risk missing the verdict. It was pretty quiet, for the possibilities of the verdict had been gone over so often that every one was tired of prophesying. Several people were openly yawning, and from time to time one or two would get up and go out. The air was stale and the room was cold. Near the front a woman complained of it.
“It’d be worse in America,” answered her companion, a middle-aged woman in a dull green coat. “Everybody smokes there. They have spittoons in court, too, you know.”
“I shall go to sleep soon,” said the first woman, paying no attention. “How long do you think it’ll be?”
“No idea.”
***
Mr. Proudie was eating two grilled chops and drinking half a bottle of claret, in a great hurry. He had arranged to be notified as soon as the jury moved, but it unsettled him to know that he might be disturbed. He gulped his food and paid no attention to the taste. The judge was in his room sitting with his eyes almost shut. He was not asleep, but the habit of nearly closing his eyes had become second nature. Originally, he had encouraged it because he felt it increased his
formidability and his appearance of wisdom. He thought of himself as sitting up there on the bench very wizened, very old and very wise, motionless and sightless, and yet taking everything in. And then lifting his lids rarely and suddenly for a penetrating and fierce glance. Now that he had become a little tired of these vanities it was too much trouble to change. He seemed always to be almost asleep; well, it didn’t matter, he thought, it would not be long before he would be wholly asleep, and for always.
Sir Ikey was in a nearby bar drinking hock and eating ham sandwiches. He had decided to have his dinner later and not spoil it by gobbling now. The sandwiches were made to his exact instructions, each was an inch thick, no more nor less. The two slices of bread were an eighth of an inch each and the ham was three-quarters of an inch thick, cut rather fat, for that was the way he preferred it. He had refused to go and see his client, telling Mr. Henderson that that was his duty.
Rosalie was sitting in a bare whitewashed room with a wardress. She had not cried, or made any sort of scene: the wardress thought her one of the most untroublesome customers she’d ever had. Sir Ikey had in fact been unfair to her. Judging from a very few conversations he had diagnosed her as incapable of self-control. But she had taken herself in hand more and more as the trial approached: it is probable, even, that she could safely have been put in the box. In recent years she had had no one to contradict her, and no reason to control herself. But earlier on life had not been so easy: she had known poverty when Mr. van Beer spent most of her allowance, and at other times had suffered various kinds of discomfort and humiliation. For much of her life she had been able to get what she wanted by nagging or flying into a temper, but not all her life; she had had to acquire a certain toughness which had remained with her. Once she had realized that temper was no good to get her out of this difficulty she found some amount of cold common sense to help her. She had had to look after herself in the days when she lived in Pimlico, she reflected, and she could do so again. Having money was no use now—that is, all its use was over when it had bought her an expensive lawyer—and making scenes was doing no good. It would have been a way out to drink, but you couldn’t get a drop in prison. All there was to do was be quiet and sensible and cooperate with the lawyers, and that she had been trying to do. The thing was, she repeatedly told herself, to find out what was their line of defence and give them or help them to find all the facts that would help that line of defence. As for telling them anything else; well, that was another matter.
The wardress had told her she might smoke, and she was chainsmoking Gold Flake. Her hands trembled but she showed no other signs of emotion. When Mr. Henderson came in and sat down, she greeted him in a calm tone. Then she asked:
“How long will they be?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “I’m surprised they have taken so long. But then, I haven’t great experience in this kind of case. My firm deals almost exclusively with civil law, you see.”
“And—and what do you think the verdict will be?”
Mr. Henderson was prepared for that.
“We have very high hopes. Sir Isambard and I both think the same. We expect a favourable verdict. Of course, there is quite likely to be some obstinate person on the jury. There generally is; and that would explain the delay. But I think we can confidently look forward to the verdict that we desire.
“By the way, Sir Isambard asks me to apologize for his not being here. He was snatching a little food. His speech was a great effort—a splendid one, I may say—but it left him very exhausted.”
“I thought it was awfully nice,” said Rosalie politely.
9
In the jury-room, the lines of division had become clearer. Five persons alone had strong opinions, and the struggle between them was likely to settle the matter in the end. Dr. Holmes, Mr. Stannard and Mr. Bryan were vehement for acquittal: Miss Atkins and Mrs. Morris equally fierce for conviction. The rest of the jury had no equally strong convictions: if one party were victorious over the other they would probably acquiesce without much resistance. This was true of all except Mr. Popesgrove, who had spent long enough, as he thought, in discouraging any partisanship, and now had made up his own mind. With none of the vehemence of language of the others, he was yet quite decided: there was not sufficient evidence to convict. He had indicated this, as he thought, when he gave his opinion before; but obviously he couldn’t have spoken clearly enough. He must intervene again.
“There seems to be quite a sharp disagreement,” he said. “I wonder if it would help if I went over the evidence again from the beginning? I made very full notes, and I have them here.”
There was no objection, and he began his summary. He would put it pretty strong: there should be no mistake this time. He addressed himself chiefly to Mrs. Morris. She looked a little less obstinate than the grim woman on his left.
10
Mr. Proudie had finished his hurried meal and was suffering the first consequences of having bolted it. He was also very annoyed with the jury for not having decided on its verdict in time to coincide with his finishing his cheese. To have hurried for nothing vexed him extremely.
The judge was really asleep.
Sir Ikey was walking about the corridors fidgeting and yawning.
The audience in the court had dwindled to twenty.
Mrs. van Beer and Mr. Henderson were sitting facing each other, having exhausted their conversation. Mrs. van Beer was showing signs of frayed nerves, and had begun to mutter under her breath. Once she said aloud, “Blast their silly eyes,” and did not apologize. Mr. Henderson was becoming nervous, as he always did at female irritation. A minute later he rose and said, “If you will excuse me, I will go and see if there is any news. Perhaps Sir Isambard will have finished his dinner. If so I will ask him to come here and talk to us.”
“Well, I think he might,” said Rosalie.
Mr. Henderson found Sir Ikey walking up and down.
“Is there any news?” he said.
“No, how should there be?” snapped Sir Ikey.
“Would you come and talk to Mrs. van Beer?”
“What for? There’s nothing worth saying. No, I won’t come.”
11
In the jury-room Mrs. Morris said, “Why, of course, I wouldn’t want to hang any one who was innocent. I don’t see why you should think such a thing of me. It’s only I feel we ought—” She hesitated: what did she feel? It had seemed so clear for a minute. It had connected up with Les in some way, but now this handsome dark man had confused her. But she must finish her sentence for every one was listening. “I mean we oughtn’t to let people get away with things; but then of course if she didn’t do it I suppose she isn’t getting away with anything.” Her voice trailed away to nothing; even to her, her last sentence seemed rather silly.
Dr. Holmes exhaled his relief audibly, with a puff of wind that blew a sheet of notepaper across the table. He also made a loud involuntary noise, which discomposed every one else, but didn’t worry him at all. His method of life made such sounds his frequent companions. As he rarely was in polite company where he might have restrained himself he had gradually got out of the habit of noticing them. He eventually hardly knew that he made them.
“Now that one of the ladies has changed her mind,” he said in what was intended for a fatherly voice, “we are nearly all agreed. If you can persuade the other lady, Mr. Foreman, our task will be over. Perhaps she will not be difficult?”
Dr. Holmes’s last sentence was delivered with a startling leer towards Miss Atkins. The dago, he thought, had done very well with the little piece, and it was his duty to help him a bit by charming the old girl. He felt encouraged by a grumble of assent behind him: the surrender of Mrs. Morris had decided all the waverers that they too were for acquittal.
Victoria Atkins looked at them, all set against her and trying to put her down. If the Matron of the West Fen Home fo
r Orphan Girls had returned to life at that moment, she would have recognized the expression which came over her face. It indicated one of Victoria’s sullen moods: there was nothing whatever to be done with her then (in Matron’s opinion) except to issue very clear orders in a distinct voice and see that they were obeyed immediately, making it quite clear that punishment would instantly follow any misconduct.
“Don’t talk in that stupid way to me,” she said directly to Dr. Holmes. “I’ll thank you not to behave as if I was a fool. There is no doubt in my mind, and my verdict will be given according to my conscience. The woman is guilty. She was all but seen doing it. You can make me sit here all night if you choose: I shall say nothing else at the end. You might as well make up your mind to it now.”
Mr. Popesgrove tried his hand again. “Of course, you will follow your conscience, Miss Atkins. It would be a very wrong act for any one here to do anything else. But since the rest of us seem to have reached a different opinion, won’t you go over the whole thing again and see whether you cannot change your mind?”
He recapitulated most of what he had said to Mrs. Morris, trying to stress points which he thought might appeal to Victoria. His performance was the poorer because he had no idea what these could be. She heard him out in silence. Then she said:
“I know all that. It doesn’t amount to anything. The woman is guilty. There’s no point your going on talking at me,” she added flatly. “I know.”
The pause that followed was broken by Edward Bryan. The arrogance of the last sentence annoyed him. Should one woman stand in the way? And dared that woman say “I know”? Only he, Edward Bryan, knew: others might guess, argue, or fumble in darkness. What did she mean by making a claim like that? He fixed his angry uncoloured eyes on her, and spoke harshly:
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