The Maze

by Philip MacDonald

  Parfaitement. I understand perfectly. I know all that it means—all! I say to myself before I come here today to this place: J’n’ette, how do you do if all this—all this—what you have just say, m’sieu, all this is to—what do you call it?—come out. And at first, m’sieu, at first I say to myself: J’n’ette, you say no, no, no; you say that it is not true. Then I think to myself, m’sieu, but wait! For I think: there is M’sieu Broonton who has been kill’, and I think this is une affaire sérieuse—a thing which is very great—a thing in which a girl must not say anything but that which is the truth; and I think—

  One moment! Will you please condense your answers—make them a little shorter. All this court is concerned with at present is whether you can corroborate, that is, whether you agree with, the evidence of Mr Adrian Brunton. I take it that you do. I understand that you admit yourself that you were at one time on terms of full intimacy with Mr Maxwell Brunton?

  Yes, m’sieu.

  At what time was this? At what period? When?

  It is all right what that Adrian he say. All right except—

  One moment. You agree with Mr Brunton’s assumption of the time when this liaison was taking place—that is, about eighteen months ago?

  Yes, m’sieu.

  Can you give us any more exact time?

  That time, a year and half a year—he is right.

  And how long did this affair continue?

  Ah, m’sieu, it was not a long time; it was a very short time. It was perhaps because I was—how do you say?—a silly damfool girl, but M’sieu Broonton he was, how do you say, ’ansome, so magnifique, so—Oh, ’ow I wish I could explain ’im. It does not matter. I was a silly damfool girl. That is what matters. I—

  You can give us, then, no clearer notion of how long the—er—affair actually went on for? Was it a month, or two months, or more?

  Ah, non, m’sieu, not even one month it was. Perhaps a week, I do not know; perhaps two weeks, but not a month, m’sieu! And, m’sieu—

  One moment. I take it that Mr Adrian Brunton was correct when he stated that no one else in the house except you and his father and himself knew of this affair?

  But, m’sieu, evidently.

  Yes, yes, I see. Mamzel, what were your feelings for Mr Maxwell Brunton after he terminated your intimacy?

  Pardon, m’sieu. I do not quite understand what you say now.

  I am asking you to tell the Court what your feelings were after Mr Brunton had, to put it plainly, got rid of you; put an end, that is, to the affair?

  M’sieu Broonton make an end to the affair! Mr Broonton! … M’sieu, that is what I have been waiting for. That Adrian—it cannot hurt me, what I say now, for after this, how can I stay with Madame?—that Adrian, he lies! Lies, lies, lies! He, that Adrian—that Adrian—he—how do you say?—make it look—make it seem, that M’sieu, his father, he chuck me off. That, m’sieu, is not true. It is a lie, a damn lie! What happened, m’sieu, is like this. After this little time—a week, two weeks, it is me who understand. I think, think, think, think; it is me who understand that this is—not right. Not right for me, not right for Madame. It is I, m’sieu, J’n’ette Bocquet, who make the end. If it had not been I to make the end, how could I, m’sieu, have—

  One moment. I am sorry to interrupt you, but I must confine you just to answering my questions. To put it in a few words, I gather that your answer to my last question is that, though you admit a liaison with Mr Maxwell Brunton, it was a short liaison, lasting no more than a week or two, and finally that it was terminated by you of your own volition.

  Pardon, m’sieu. I do not understand that last word you say.

  I was saying that you stated that the affair was ended by you and not by Mr Brunton.

  That is right, m’sieu.

  Now, Mamzel Bokay, the Court will have to hear from your own lips whether this liaison with Mr Maxwell Brunton was ever resumed after it was broken off.

  Pardon, m’sieu?

  I think you understand what I mean. I am asking you whether you ever had any further intimacy with Mr Brunton?

  Aftaire I finished, non, m’sieu, non, non, nevaire! I would not do that, I!

  You are sure?

  Mais certainement! But yes, m’sieu!

  When you told us just now, Mamzel, that eleven-thirty was the last time on that night that you saw Mr Brunton, and that then you did not speak to him, and that then he was just entering his study, were you satisfied that that is the truth and the whole truth?

  Yes, m’sieu!

  Very well. We will leave that point now … I will ask you whether you know of any other liaison which Mr Brunton may have had with any woman living in the house which was still continuing up to the time of his death. Do you understand me?

  Perfectly, m’sieu. I, I do not know. M’sieu Broonton, il adore les—I am sorry, m’sieu, I wish to say M’sieu Broonton, he cannot stay away from the ladies—cannot, cannot, cannot! And the ladies, I know, they cannot stay away from M’sieu Broonton. He is so ’ansome, he is so jeune homme … But you ask, m’sieu, whether I know of any othaire little affaire up to just this time now. I do not know; how can I know? I am not—I do not even talk with M’sieu Broonton. But if you look, m’sieu, how could it be? There is not one in the house. Ma’mselle Lamort, she is, how you say, very lovely, but she is a lady who is—well, she is cousin to Madame, and she is great friend to Madame, and she is, how you say, cold, cold! No, m’sieu, I do not—

  Very well; I take it that you cannot give us any help in this matter. Now, then, another question: Did you, during the time immediately before Mr Brunton’s death, and particularly during the day preceding his death, notice anything unusual about the atmosphere of the household? I mean, did there seem to be a strained atmosphere? These quarrels which we have heard of between Mr Brunton and members of his family, did they show themselves to persons outside the family such as yourself? I hope you understand me?

  Perfectly, m’sieu. I shall say: Yes.

  Indeed! Perhaps you will tell us some of the things you noticed?

  Yes, m’sieu. The first time I notice, it is Madame. I have been maid to Madame a long time. I know Madame, and on that day Madame is—well—she is distracted.

  By distracted, what do you mean exactly? Was she—did you see her weeping? Or did her nerves seem to give way or … could you explain yourself a little more fully?

  I mean, m’sieu, that Madame, she give way that day. She is très, très jalouse. In ’er room, she walk up down, up down. She will not speak to J’n’ette. She will not speak to anyone. But she speak all the time to ’erself.

  When did you first notice this behaviour of Mrs Brunton’s?

  M’sieu, M’sieu ’Arrison, he tell you, ’ow shall I say, of the quarrel between M’sieu and Madame. It was aftaire that. Madame she go straight to ’er room. I was there seeing to Madame’s clothes. She do not mind me. She is used to J’n’ette. She take no notice, but she walk, as I tell you, up down, up down, up down! And she does not speak except always to ’erself.

  May I ask whether you had ever seen Mrs Brunton behave in a similar manner before?

  But yes, m’sieu. Not once, not twice, but many, many time’.

  Can you give us definite information, Mamzel, as to when these other occasions were? I mean, can you give us dates and times?

  M’sieu, ’ow can I do that? I am not, what do you say, a cullender. I am not a book for other people to write in. But often, yes, Madame do like this.

  If you cannot tell us dates, perhaps you would be able to tell us about these other occasions when you had seen Mrs Brunton behaving in this way. Did they, to your knowledge, coincide with her having had trouble with Mr Brunton?

  But of course, m’sieu. Why else should Madame go like this? Talk to ’erself. Walk up down, up down?

  You are not speaking from conjecture, Mamzel?

  Pardon, m’sieu. I do not quite understand what you say.

  You are telling us, Mamzel, what you know,
not what you guess?

  But, m’sieu, should I come into this place ’ere and tell just what I guess! Ah, non! I tell only ’ere what I know.

  I see. On this particular day—on last Thursday, Mamzel, how long did this behaviour on Mrs Brunton’s part continue?

  But, m’sieu, ’ow can I know? I attend to Madame. I see Madame like this. I know that Madame does not wish that anyone shall see her like this. I attend to Madame’s clothes, and I go. It is not possible for me to say what you ask.

  I see. When, Mamzel, after this incident did you next see Mrs Brunton?

  I cannot say, m’sieu. I see Madame all day, all day! I am not a clock. How can I say?

  If you cannot say when, perhaps you could tell us whether, when next you saw Mrs Brunton, she appeared to have recovered?

  But certainly, m’sieu. When next I see Madame she is joost the same as she is always.

  Did this strike you as strange in any way?

  But non, m’sieu. That is so like Madame. Joost when she is alone—she does not count J’n’ette—she, how you say, let go. But soon, very soon, she is joost the same Madame that everyone see always.

  You cannot add anything to your statement in regard to this behaviour on Mrs Brunton’s part on Thursday last?

  Non, m’sieu. If there is anything else which I ’ad to say, I should ’ave tol’ you.

  I see … A little while ago, I see from my notes—in fact, at the beginning of your evidence—you began to make some sort of a statement in regard to the evidence of the other witnesses. Do you follow what I am saying?

  But perfectly, m’sieu.

  You remember the incident to which I refer?

  Remember! I ’ave been waiting!

  This reference of yours which I cut short to keep you confined to answering my questions seemed to imply, if I am not mistaken, that you did not agree with all the evidence that you have heard?

  M’sieu, that is so, beyond all doubt.

  Would you like to amplify that statement, Mamzel?

  Pardon, m’sieu. I do not quite—

  Would you like to tell me in your own way exactly what it was in what any of these other witnesses said with which you do not agree?

  Ah, m’sieu. Would I like! I come here to tell the truth, I! and when I sit there and sit there and sit there, joost waiting until it is J’n’ette’s turn, and I ’ear what they all say, these people, and then I—

  Please confine yourself to making any statement you have to make. I understand that you disagree with some of the evidence you have heard. I asked you to make a statement, but I am afraid that you are wandering off on to other matters … Perhaps it would be better if I asked you questions … Have you, for instance, anything to say in disagreement with the evidence of Mr Harrison?

  Ah, non, m’sieu! M’sieu ’Arrison, what does ’e mattaire? ’E is the little gentleman who, ’ow do you say, lick the envelopes for M’sieu. ’E talk a lot ’ere, but that is, I t’ink, because he does not often get a chance to talk.

  Do you disagree with anything in the evidence of Mrs Brunton?

  But no, m’sieu. Madame—when Madame speak it is the truth. She does not speak to you very many words, but what she do speak, that is true.

  Do you disagree with anything in the evidence of Mr Adrian Brunton in any respect other than that which you have already told us?

  Pardon, m’sieu, but I do not quite understand. You speak so quick, and you use words very difficult.

  I was asking whether there was anything in Mr Adrian Brunton’s evidence that you disagree with. Anything, that is, beyond the question of who it was that stopped the alliance between you and Mr Maxwell Brunton. That we have already gone into in your evidence. Do you understand me now?

  But perfectly, m’sieu. No. In what that Adrian he say, there is nothing else which I can say it is not true.

  Do you disagree with anything in the evidence of Mrs Bayford?

  But m’sieu, yes. I wait and I wait, and at last you come!

  Is it that you disagree with Mrs Bayford’s evidence in general or in any particular?

  Pardon, m’sieu. I do not understand.

  Is it with one thing that you disagree—?

  Yes, m’sieu. One thing, but what a big thing! … It is what Madame Bayfoot she say about M’sieu Broonton and M’sieu ’Argreave’. Madame Bayfoot, she try to make you t’ink that the raison for M’sieu Broonton not to like M’sieu ’Argreave’ is joost because M’sieu ’Argreave’ ’e may want to marry Madame Bayfoot and take Madame Bayfoot away from M’sieu Broonton. That it is wrong. It is a lie! That is not the raison. It may be a little of the raison, but not all. No! The raison M’sieu Broonton not like M’sieu ’Argreave’ is because, a long time ago, M’sieu Broonton ’e ’ave liaison with Madame ’Argreave’ who is that M’sieu ’Argreave’s mother. I do not tell things, but this is—une affaire grande sérieuse. I tell what I know. M’sieu Broonton, he has been killed and everything should—how do you say?—come out … M’sieu, when M’sieu Broonton, when I and M’sieu Broonton were intime, M’sieu Broonton, ’e tell me many thing. ’E tell me once that the only thing ’e is sorry in the whole of his life, it is the one woman who ’e love. She killed ’erself. That is aftaire the amour. He tell me that this woman is the mother of le jeune homme who at one time it was possible Madame Bayfoot should marry. He tell me that while it was possible that Madame Bayfoot wish to marry this—fils—son of this so foolish woman who kill ’erself, then it was very sad, very difficile for M’sieu Broonton. He tell me that it was all right after because Madame Bayfoot she did not marry this son. She marry M’sieu Bayfoot instead. M’sieu Bayfoot, M’sieu Broonton say, is a rotter! But M’sieu Bayfoot die, so everyt’ing, he say, in the garden was lovely. That, of course, m’sieu, was before M’sieu ’Argreave’ he come back from Afrique. M’sieu Broonton, ’e tell me also that while it was possible that M’sieu ’Argreave’ should wish to marry Madame Bayfoot when she was Mademoiselle it was very difficile for M’sieu Broonton because he always—’ow do you say?—wonder, wonder when M’sieu ’Argreave’ will find out. ’E sometimes t’ink that perhaps M’sieu ’Argreave’ will find out, and then ’e will come back and there will be—fracas. I tell you, m’sieu, that when Madame Bayfoot and M’sieu ’Argreave’ sit in this chair and they tell you what they tell you I could not hardly but speak. It is not true! It is not right that they should sit in this chair and tell you lie!—that M’sieu Broonton did not like M’sieu ’Argreave’ just because M’sieu ’Argreave’ might marry Madame Bayfoot. I tell you, m’sieu—

  One moment, please, one moment.

  But, m’sieu, I ’ave not—

  One moment, please! You must remember that it is rather difficult for us to follow evidence given by someone not fully conversant with the language.

  Pardon, m’sieu, I do not quite—

  Never mind, never mind. I should like to ask you whether I have understood correctly. I have understood you to say that you believe the reason for Mr Maxwell Brunton’s dislike of having Mr Hargreaves in his house to be on account of Mr Hargreaves’s mother having committed suicide—killed herself—following an illicit love affair—a liaison, you understand—with Mr Brunton?

  That is right, m’sieu. That is what I say.

  Now, Mamzel … a very—er—difficult—er—delicate question. I have to ask you whether you intend to suggest to the Court that the deceased Mr Maxwell Brunton was, in fact, the father of Mr Peter Hargreaves? …

  Silence! I must insist upon silence in the court-room!

  Now, Mamzel, you heard my question?

  Parfaitement, m’sieu. You say is it that M’sieu ’Argreave’ is really the child of M’sieu Broonton? … Non, non, non. I do not mean that … that … that … It is not so! At the time when M’sieu Broonton ’e was—’ow do you say?—’aving an affair with Madame ’Argreave’, this M’sieu ’Argreave’ ’e was already—’ow do you say?—schoolboy. Non, m’sieu, all I say is that the raison that M’sieu Broonton
’e does not like M’sieu ’Argreave’ is not only that ’e does not want Madame Bayfoot to go from ’im and marry M’sieu ’Argreave’ but it is also that M’sieu Broonton ’e is afraid that M’sieu ’Argreave’ ’e will find out that ’is mother make death for ’erself because of M’sieu Broonton. That is all I say, for all that I say ’ere is the truth only.

  This is an amazing story, Mamzel. Have you any means of substantiating it?

  Pardon, m’sieu, I do not—

  I beg your pardon. I mean, have you anything to show which will prove what you say? Can you understand that?

  But perfectly, m’sieu. It is only when you use those words so strange, so difficile, and I do not understand. Oui, m’sieu. Yes. You ask me if I ’ave anyt’ing to show. What do I do! I open my bag—so! I take out this little package—so! I hand the package to this gentleman with the kind face and I ask ’im to give it to you. Inside the packet you will find a lettaire which is a lettaire written from this pauvre Madame ’Argreave’ to M’sieu Broonton. The lettaire which M’sieu Broonton he give me when he tell me all the—what do you say?—yarn. If M’sieu will—

  One moment, please. One moment.

  . . . . . .

  Thank you, sir. All you gentlemen have seen this letter? … Mamzel Bokay, will you please inform this Court how you came into possession of this document which you have just handed in to the jury?

  This—this—how do you say, m’sieu?

  Come, come. This letter—this letter here. How did you get hold of it?

  But, m’sieu, I tell you! M’sieu Broonton give me this lettaire when he tol’ me the whole—what do you call it?—yarn.

  That is your considered statement?

  Pardon, m’sieu. I do not quite understand what you say.

  When you tell me that Mr Maxwell Brunton actually told you this story and gave you this letter, are you serious? Do you mean me to take this as your serious evidence? I hope that is clear.