by Roy Lewis
It was my first step on the ladder to success. I knew it, instinctively. What I did not appreciate at the time was that it also signified the first step on a long, slippery slope downwards, to disgrace and ignominy.
You know, my boy, when you’re at the top of the tree, it’s a long way down. And the sad thing is, there’s no bugger waiting at the bottom to break your fall.
But just then, standing in the courtroom with the brief for Wood v Peel in my hands, knowing it would be a hearing that all of London would want to attend, all I could think of was that my financial problems would now soon be over.
I could ride to glory, on the back of Running Rein.
3
That foxy little bastard Cockburn kept us waiting, of course, in his anteroom, just by way of making an unspoken demonstration of his importance. But the delay gave me the opportunity to become acquainted with the briefing solicitor Mr Bulstrode.
I could see at a glance that the burly Mr Bulstrode thought he knew a Great Man when he saw one. He came towards me, with a deferential bow.
‘You come highly recommended, sir,’ he averred in an obsequioustone. By the corn merchant, of course. This, on the basis of a card handed to a triumphant – now infuriated – horse owner. I’d been lucky, if unprincipled.
In the next few minutes I realized that Bulstrode was also the kind of person who considered himself to be no fool.
‘I tell you, sir,’ he confided in me as we waited, ‘there are those who assume that, because I have a West Country accent and affect gilt buttons on my waistcoat, my wits are not as sharp and my judgment as measured as other London solicitors. They might think me a dandy….’
It was exactly how he impressed me, with his high-collared, dark-blue coat and stiff stock, the satin ornamented with a small diamond and pin connected with a thin gold chain.
‘But to make assumptions about my perspicacity from such evidence is, in my view, shortsightedness on their part,’ he averred.
I listened with interest, and kept my eyes on the diamond and pin. He was not yet forty years of age, he advised me proudly, and had already established a successful practice in London, from the Exeter firm his father had founded: Bulstrode and Bulstrode were now a force to be reckoned with in both the West Country and the metropolis. He was a relatively wealthy man and did not need to seek work, but he enjoyed the bustle and excitement of the London courts and the Home Circuit. And though he did not say so, he clearly enjoyed rubbing shoulders with Great Men.
Alexander Cockburn, as we both knew, was already a Great Man. A Queen’s Counsel with a considerable reputation. And I had been highly recommended, so Bulstrode already regarded me with respect. He kept me entertained with views about his own connections in the West Country but leapt eagerly to his feet when Cockburn’s clerk asked us to enter the chambers, and even stepped aside to allow me the privilege of preceding him.
Alexander Cockburn, confident in his social and professional superiority, made no attempt to rise from behind his desk when we entered. Small in stature, neat in appearance, vain, red-haired and somewhat vulpine in features, Cockburn had built himself a powerful reputation over the years. Not just in the courts, I should add: I had heard he’d scrambled out of numerous windows in his youth, just before irate, horsewhip-in-hand husbands had burst into marital bedchambers. But the wild young bachelor was now considered to have matured into an eminent, sage and successful pleader before the courts, known for the vehemence and insistence of his cross-examination technique. At the Bar, of course, I still heard whispers of liaisons and visits to married ladies in the afternoons, but they were muted, and the talk now was of the significant successes that Cockburn had won in cases of moment.
So there I was that day in Cockburn’s chambers, briefed in my first big case. I was convinced about the implications. Wood v Peel was destined to launch me on the road to fame and wealth.
I did not realize, of course, that it would also hurl me into eventual infamy, poverty and disgrace. At the time, I saw it only as opportunity.
‘This is not going to be an easy matter to handle,’ Cockburn announced in his thin, squeaky tones, tapping the brief on the desk in front of him. He took a delicate pinch of snuff, brushing some of the grains from the front of his coat as a stray shaft of sunlight gleamed in his thinning, reddish hair. ‘On the one hand, we have an Epsom corn merchant – our client, Mr Wood. On the other hand, formidable opposition: a Member of Parliament and brother to the Prime Minister….’
‘Ranged with Lord George Bentinck, Baron le Tissier, and the worthies of the Jockey Club itself,’ I made so bold as to add. ‘The considerable weight of the Establishment.’
Cockburn eyed me warily, weighing me up with a suspicious lifting of an eyebrow but Bulstrode was clearly excited at the prospect of battle. He intervened eagerly. ‘There is a point in our favour, however. I understand there had already been a degree of internal dissension prior to the running of the Derby itself. Baron le Tissier and Lord George have been at odds. There were arguments about Running Rein before the race was run. This dispute between Colonel Peel and Mr Wood has been the culmination of a long established dispute involving other parties and it seems to me that our client Mr Wood might be able to take advantage of this situation….’ His voice tailed away as he caught the hostile gleam in Cockburn’s eye. He licked his lips nervously. ‘I would of course defer to the consideration of the strategy you would wish to employ….’
‘Strategy,’ Cockburn humphed, and tapped a doubtful finger on the pink-stringed brief in front of him. ‘It will be all important if we are to sway the jury.’ He hesitated, eyed me once more in a speculative fashion. He knew I was a mere junior, not yet fully blooded. ‘What thoughts do you have on the matter, James?’
I hesitated, aware of the self-important figure of Bulstrode beside me. It was there the purse-strings lay, not with Cockburn. And the solicitor wanted a battle. I affected an air of sagacity. ‘I believe the strategy should be a bold one. The dissension Mr Bulstrode has identified is a weakness in their defence: mention of their disagreement needs to be brought out into the open; the dispute between Lord George and Baron le Tissier needs to be highlighted, because it tends to undermine Colonel Peel’s case. We need also to obtain more information on the betting syndicate that is behind the whole thing. There are shadowy figures behind the scenes, putting pressure on Peel to raise this issue in court.’
Bulstrode shivered with excitement. Cockburn smiled drily: he clearly felt my description of the situation would be more in keeping for the courtroom argument than a sober discussion here in chambers. But I knew it was important that Bulstrode should be hooked.
‘Shadowy figures, yes,’ the solicitor murmured sagely, making an eager note in his pocketbook. ‘I would agree, we would be well advised to attack those who are working behind Colonel Peel.’
Cockburn frowned. He knew it would be a dangerous sea to venture upon. His slim fingers touched his freckled cheek: he had a passion for sailing and had indulged himself over the weekend in his yacht, the Zouave. His skin burned easily, and there was an angry redness about his forehead despite the precautions he had taken with a wide brimmed hat. Somewhat testily, he said, ‘Just so … but how are we to bring these issues out? Mr Wood can of course testify to the original dispute between himself and Lord George Bentinck over the age of the horse. After all, that is what this case is all about, in essence.’
Bulstrode nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, but it seems Lord George earlier lodged an objection before the Jockey Club, claiming that Running Rein was not eligible for the Derby. At the ensuing hearing the Chief Steward, Baron le Tissier, refused to countenance the objection.’
‘We’ll need to bring that out,’ I suggested. ‘And that means we must put Lord George and the baron on the witness stand.’
Cockburn’s narrow little eyes shifted to me, as he noted the determination in my tones. ‘That would be a strategy of high risk,’ he suggested.
‘But necessary,’
I insisted boldly. Bulstrode’s eyes gleamed.
Cockburn was doubtful. ‘We need to be careful. Lord George Bentinck and Baron le Tissier are supporters of Colonel Peel; if we call them, we’d be in danger of giving them a platform on which they could launch an attack on Mr Wood’s case.’
‘The Solicitor General will surely call Lord George to give support to Colonel Peel,’ I suggested. ‘We’re going to have to deal with him on the witness stand in any event.’
Cockburn opened the snuff box on the desk in front of him, tipped some snuff on the back of his hand, indulged himself and sneezed, then took out his pocket handkerchief. He listened as I continued, ‘The Solicitor General won’t want to call Baron le Tissier, if there really was a dispute between the two of them about Running Rein, before the running of the Derby.’
Cockburn nodded slowly. ‘You’re thinking we could quickly establish both Bentinck and Baron le Tissier as hostile witnesses—’
‘And treat them accordingly,’ I added.
Cockburn smiled thinly. He could see I would want to get my forensic teeth into two hostile witnesses and perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to give me the opportunity. Slowly, he nodded. ‘Were you to be addressing the jury, how would you describe the nub of the case, James?’
‘A conspiracy by senior members of the Jockey Club, against an honest corn merchant, to deny him his rightful winnings after a fairly run race.’
Bulstrode almost bounced in his chair and beamed. He truly was in the presence of Great Men. ‘I’ll make sure the necessary papers are served as soon as possible.’
I smiled. ‘I think we should also attack Lord George’s own history, as far as the Turf is concerned.’
Cockburn’s glance was cool and calculating. ‘You think we can raise some … ah … interesting issues here?’
‘I’ve heard a number of rumours over recent years. There are people I can talk to,’ I said confidently, while Bulstrode wriggled in delight.
Cockburn pursed his lips. Like me, he had a reputation as a sporting man. He was himself well enough aware of the information that could be picked up in the clubs as well as at the racecourse and the prize ring, although of late Cockburn himself had tended to somewhat distance himself from such obvious pleasures. Women and sailing, yes, but the gaming tables and the night houses were now a distant distraction for him ‘You’re suggesting we should be trying to muddy the waters.’
‘It will serve our purpose.’
‘Hmm.’ Cockburn frowned. ‘Lord George Bentinck’s reputation … but we also have a problem of reputation to confront us.’
‘Why so?’ Bulstrode pricked up his ears. ‘Mr Wood is a man of propriety, and recognized integrity who is only seeking to make Colonel Peel honour a debt arising from the winning of the Derby.’
‘Mr Wood has owned Running Rein for a short period of time only,’ Cockburn countered coldly.
‘I don’t see that this is a matter of significance—’
‘The significance lies in the identity of the gentleman from whom Mr Wood obtained the animal,’ Cockburn interrupted.
Bulstrode consulted his notes. ‘A Mr Lewis Goodman,’ he said after a few moments. ‘I have no information—’
Cockburn cocked a quizzical eyebrow and turned to me. There was a gleam of malice in his eyes. He had clearly heard more than a few rumours about me. ‘I imagine you will know him, James.’
There were few who frequented the West End cigar divans who had not heard of Lewis Goodman. I hesitated. ‘I’ve heard he has certain … interests in premises of entertainment.’
‘You might call them that,’ Cockburn said drily. ‘One or two clubs off St James’s. He’s a frequenter of the race track and a provider of doubtful … entertainments. This is the man from whom our corn merchant bought his horse. The other side will certainly want the jury to take a view of Mr Lewis Goodman.’
‘We’ll have to call him,’ I stated. ‘Mr Wood will give evidence as to the purchase, of course, but the history of the horse can be provided only by Goodman.’
‘And back we return to high risk strategy.’ Cockburn sighed. ‘Our witness Mr Goodman will, I’m certain, prove to be a smooth, efficient and well-versed provider of evidence. He will speak with confidence and I’ve no doubt he’ll stand up well to the Solicitor General’s attack in cross-examination. But will the jury believe him?’
‘If the man tells the truth—’ Bulstrode began to bluster. I stared at him. His innocence was appalling.
Cockburn cut him short. ‘The Solicitor General will raise issues about Goodman’s background which could be damaging to Wood’s case. It’ll be up to us to attempt to limit that damage. Consequently, we will need to have the supporting evidence of others – grooms, stable boys, trainers … not the most reliable, or highly regarded people in society, but knowledgeable.’ He fixed the solicitor with a steely glance. ‘You will apply to Mr Wood for names, Mr Bulstrode?’
‘Certainly, Mr Cockburn,’ Bulstrode replied, hurriedly making notes.
Cockburn smiled. A vain man of short stature and even shorter temper, he liked to see how his personality could cow others. ‘Well, gentlemen, I think that will do for now. We will require another conference before trial, of course, and if any major issues arise in the meanwhile, I’m sure Mr Bulstrode will keep us both informed.’ Cockburn paused, fixed his eyes on me. ‘Perhaps you would work closely with Mr Bulstrode on this matter, James.’
I was under no illusions. This case would be a sensation. The Press would be there in force. But it had shaky foundations as far as we were concerned. That was the sole reason why the shifty Cockburn was putting me in the driving seat. Cockburn would want the praise, if all went well, and he would get it as senior counsel. But if the case collapsed Cockburn would certainly not want to bear the responsibility. In his head, he was already preparing his ground. I had the feeling he might give me my head, while he took the fattest fees. But I was not averse to the challenge: it could make my reputation.
Bulstrode and I left the Great Man taking snuff in his chambers.
On the narrow, winding staircase Bulstrode paused, smiled broadly, nodded enthusiastically to me. ‘Mr Cockburn, and of course yourself, sir, should give the Solicitor General a run for his money.’
‘Ah, one should not underestimate the opposition,’ I replied, injecting a note of doubt into my tone.
‘I approve of your strategy for attacking the Jockey Club itself. It’s high time these people—’
‘It’s likely to be expensive, Mr Bulstrode,’ I said shortly. The thought that followed made me hesitate, but I took the step nevertheless.
It was to be a fatal one, I may tell you. But Bulstrode was an innocent, and I had outstanding debts, and when one is in the hands of moneylenders … At any rate, I took the decision.
At the foot of the staircase I stopped, preventing the solicitor stepping out into the shadowed courtyard that led down towards the Temple gardens. I held his glance, with a conspiratorial frown. ‘I think there’s a great deal of work to be done if Mr Wood is to be successful. Cockburn has already suggested that you must get up a list of names of witnesses who can support Wood and Goodman. But this is a matter in which I could possibly provide some assistance.’
Bulstrode gulped. ‘How so, Mr James?’
I linked my arm through the solicitor’s and gently steered him into the courtyard. Surprised, for it was unusual for barristers to demonstrate such a friendly bearing towards the men who briefed them, Bulstrode allowed himself to be towed along through the sun-dappled gardens, beaming with pleasure at this intimacy.
‘Though I’m a member of the Bar,’ I announced cheerfully, ‘I enjoy a life outside the Temple.’ I winked confidentially at Bulstrode, one man of the world to another. ‘I enjoy the theatre, I attend Epsom, the prize ring notes my presence from time to time – and a growing Old Bailey practice brings me into contact with all manner of unusual and interesting persons … from all walks of life, if you take my meaning.’
Bulstrode glanced around him, leaned forward to whisper as though we were in danger of being overheard. ‘You think you might be able to find out … useful information?’
‘At all relevant levels of society,’ I stated solemnly. ‘But it takes a little time … and not a little tin.’
Bulstrode hesitated. ‘Your brief fee—’
‘Is for my work, of course, in court and outside it. But time presses, and a brief fee usually arrives late in the day … sometimes many months later from some solicitors of my acquaintance, though I feel sure that you, Bulstrode—’
‘Oh, I assure you, Mr James,’ the solicitor interrupted hastily, scrabbling at the gilt buttons on his coat, ‘I am always prompt in my payments of brief fees!’
‘I don’t doubt it, Bulstrode.’ We stood at the entrance to the Temple Gardens overlooking the noisy river, where Mr Bazalgette’s Embankment now extends. We looked out over the river where the wherries and steamers plied their trade; pigeons coo-ed in the trees of the Temple gardens and a hansom cab clattered its way beyond the trees that protected the gravelled walks. There was the perfumed hint of roses in the air. I breathed deeply, aware that my bait was being taken. ‘However, there are certain people I could contact, engage to undertake further investigations….’
There was a light grunting sound in Mr Bulstrode’s chest as he gazed about him, considering my words: I guessed he was excited at the hint of using the services of raffish members of the London underworld. But this was an important case; it could help the firm of Bulstrode and Bulstrode significantly. He licked his lips and swallowed hard. ‘If you think an approach to … certain persons might be advantageous and supportive of Mr Wood’s case….’
‘I feel sure it would,’ I said gently, admiring with detached approval the shady walks of the Temple garden.
‘It’s possible I could arrange for a certain advance of funds, Mr James. I could talk to the clerk in your chambers.’