But, m’sieu, perfectly. But, m’sieu, I cannot understan’ how you ask. I am here to tell you all I know. What I tell you is the truth. If I tell you M’sieu Broonton he—
Very well, very well. Can you give us any idea how it was that Mr Brunton told you these very intimate details of his past and showed you this letter—this damaging, incriminating letter?
But m’sieu, M’sieu Broonton, ’e was—how do you say?—’e love’ me. ’E tell me anyt’ing. M’sieu Broonton would ’ave gone on loving me, but, as I tell you, I see that it is wrong, and I stop. But while M’sieu ’e love me, ’e tell me everyt’ing.
I see. I see. Now, is there anything else that you have to tell us in this connection? That is to say, now we understand what you have said and have read this letter which you have handed in, is there any further evidence you have to give in connection with this particular point? You follow me?
Perfectly, m’sieu. I ’ave nothing further to say. I ’ave tell you all I know, and I ’ave tell you the truth. That is all.
Do you mean to say, that is all you have to tell in regard to the evidence of the other witnesses you have heard?
Non, m’sieu. There is one other t’ing that you ’ave not ask’ me.
But I have asked you. There is no other witness.
But, m’sieu, you ’ave not ask’ me about the man Jenning’ and what ’e say.
Jennings? Oh, well, well! Perhaps you are right. Have you anything … What is it that you have to say?
I ’ave tol’ you, m’sieu, I come ’ere aftaire I ’ave think, think, think, and—how do you say?—I decide that, in this affaire grande sérieuse, I must say everyt’ing …
About this Jennings, Mamzel?
I think I should tell you that this man Jenning’ ’e is félon—how do you say?—’e ’as been in prison. ’E—what is it?—made getaway. ’E is—
One moment. One moment. Are you trying to tell the Court that Jennings, Mr Maxwell Brunton’s butler, is an escaped convict?
Convic’. That is it. That is the word. Yes, m’sieu, ’e is convic’, and ’e is, ah! I ’ave it, escape’.
But, good gracious me, girl! Really your evidence … Have you—how do you come to know this? Please tell the Court at once what you mean by this extraordinary statement.
M’sieu est dérangé? I say what I say. I do not think. The thing that is not truth, I do not say. But I can give you—’ow do you say?—proof.
You mean seriously to tell me, Mamzel, that you have proof that this Jennings is a convict—criminal—and has escaped from prison?
But yes, m’sieu. That is what I tell you.
How do you come to know this astonishing—
But, m’sieu. It was, of course, M’sieu Broonton ’oo tell me. ’E tell me that Jenning’ is, ah, yes, recommend’ to ’im by a friend of ’is ’oo tell ’im to give Jenning’ a chance because Jenning’ is un homme extraordinaire. Jenning’ is—what do you say, m’sieu?—an escape’ convic’, and Jenning’ wish to ’ave a try-to-go-straight. So M’sieu Broonton, he take Jenning’.
But can you prove this?
M’sieu, there is no need for me to proof. All that is wanted is for you to tell the—the—police and ask them and say, This Jenning’, is ’e an escape’ convic’?
Yes … yes … I need not tell you, I suppose, that if these statements you are making are not true, you are liable to get yourself into serious trouble.
But, of course, m’sieu. I am not folle, I.
Well … I think … Is there anything else which you wish to say?
Oui, m’sieu. I ’ave not finish to tell you about Jenning’. It is not that I am unkind. It is that I wish to say the truth, and I know this, that Jenning, ’e steal from M’sieu Broonton, and that M’sieu Broonton, ’e find out that Jenning’ steal from ’im.
When was this?
It was ago, not long. Let me think. Un, deux, trois, quatre … Non, it was one week ago. Jenning’, ’e steal. ’E steal some money. M’sieu Broonton, ’e—how do you say?—find out. ’E did not find out on the day Jenning’ steal, but he find out—Merc—Wednesday.
You mean the Wednesday immediately prior to his death?
That is right, m’sieu.
And Mr Brunton, when he found out, sent for Jennings? …
And ’e tell to Jenning’, well, somet’ing that I do not know.
How do you know anything at all about this? You have told us that you and Mr Brunton no longer spoke together.
Ah, but, m’sieu, it is simple. I ’ear Jenning’ and cette grande vache, that woman, ’is wife, I ’ear them talk. I can ’ear them. I do not listen. But they talk, they talk so loud they boom, boom, boom!
I see. You overheard a conversation between Jennings and his wife. Did you hear what Mr Brunton told Jennings he proposed to do about this?
But, m’sieu, I do not hear. I do not care. I do not listen. It is not my business.
I see. Is there anything else in any of the other evidence which you have heard about which you wish to make a statement?
No, m’sieu. It is just that I wish to speak the truth.
Mamzel Bokay, you have given some of the most astonishing evidence that as a coroner of many years’ experience it has ever been my lot to hear. I want to ask you to reconsider this evidence. Will you please do so? Will you please, that is, think before you answer this question?—and then tell me whether you wish to change in any way any of your remarks and statements.
M’sieu, there is no reason for me to think. I only tell the truth. I do not change one word, one word of what I ’ave say.
One moment. Did Mr Maxwell Brunton himself tell you these things? That is, first about Mr Hargreaves’s mother and second about Jennings? Or did you ascertain these things, first by, shall we say, finding the letter which you have handed into Court, and second by listening to the conversation of Mr and Mrs Jennings?
M’sieu. How many times have I got to say that I come here to tell the truth? I do not think it can be right for you to say such question. It is … it is not …
Very well. Will you please remain silent for a moment?
Gentlemen, you have just heard some astonishing evidence. I cannot but think, in view of this letter which we have read, that the witness has at least some foundation for part of her statements. I propose, if you agree, to ask this witness to stand down now—she seems to have finished at last—and proceed with the other evidence in the order which I had previously arranged. Of course, as you will have already realised, this is not a case in which my summing up will come after merely one hearing. So that there will be plenty of opportunity to go into the allegations made by Jeannette Bokay. I propose that we let this witness stand down without any further questions at this stage. I should remind you also, of course, that representatives of the police are now in Court and that they will pursue any line of inquiry which seems necessary to them outside this Court. Do you agree with my proposal, gentlemen? … Thank you very much.
Mamzel Bokay, you may stand down now. We may want to take further evidence from you again later.
Gentlemen, I will now go on with the other evidence as I had arranged … Call Sarah Jennings.
XIII
SARAH MARGARET RUBY JENNINGS, Cook-HOUSEKEEPER TO THE BRUNTON HOUSEHOLD
WHAT is your full name?
Sarah Margaret Ruby Jennings.
Will you now please take the oath?
… I swear by Halmighty God that what I shall say in evidence in this Court shall be the truth, the ’ole truth and nothink but the truth.
You are Sarah Jennings and you are, I believe, employed as cook-housekeeper to the Brunton household?
I am that, sir.
How long have you held the position?
Two year come next October, sir.
And are you conversant, Mrs Jennings, with the general ways of the Brunton family?
That I am, sir. I’ve always been considered sufficient. I don’t want to seem to be standing up ’ere a-blowin’
of my own strumpet, but what I can do I knows I can do, and I ’aven’t no shame in admittin’. I was engaged as a cook-’ousekeeper and I cooks well and I ’ousekeeps better. So that answers your question—you can’t be a good cook no more than you can be a good ’ousekeeper—and certainly you can’t be both—if you don’t know the ways of the gentry that you’re serving. There’s far too many women goin’ about—
Please, Mrs Jennings, you must let me speak! I’m afraid you misunderstood my last question. What I meant to ask you was this: Were you at all conversant with the relations of the Brunton family and their guests—er—one to the other?
I don’t azackly quite see ’ow you mean, sir.
Dear me, we shall have to try again! What I am trying to get at is this, Mrs Jennings: being not only cook but housekeeper to the household it struck me that you must know their—how shall I put it?—their relations to one another: that you must know, in other words, of any particular friendships, dislikes, jealousies and that sort of thing.
Oh, I see what you mean, sir. Oh no, I know nothink o’ that sort. I’m one as believes in bein’ busy about my own work, not minding other folks’ business—the which I might say doesn’t seem to be the rule followed by a good many people whose names I might mention but for the sake of good manners will not do so. No, sir, I goes about me work and I does me work. So long as my employers are satisfied with me and treats me right and proper and befittin’, as you might say, I’m satisfied. I never was one to ’old with a-introdoocin’ foreigners into domestic service. Keep yourself to yourself, says I. And what I says to myself I keeps to. So if you was hopin’ sir, with all due respect, as ’ow I should agree with all these other evidences what you’ve just twisted out, I beg to be allowed to state, sir, that you are in herror. I ’ave one rule in life and that is—
One moment, Mrs Jennings, one moment! In your position as cook-housekeeper did you frequently see the deceased?
Lor’ bless me, no sir! Not ’alf so frequent as I should of liked, because if ever there was a real gentleman the master was that. Even now, sir, when I comes to think o’ this ’orrible—
Did you happen to see Mr Maxwell Brunton, Mrs Jennings, upon the day preceding his death?
That I did not, sir, more’s the pity! Why, a full week had gone by since I so much as set eyes on the master. Keep yourself to yourself is my motto. Not but what I shouldn’t of liked to have seen the master, because, as I believe I says just now, a pleasanter, better gentleman never breathed than the master—
One moment, Mrs Jennings. Please, please! After all, I must be allowed to speak in this Court. I gather that the core of what you have been telling the jury is that you have nothing of any value whatsoever to add to the evidence which has gone before your own. That is, of course, in connection with those matters about which I have already asked you. Now, however, Mrs Jennings, coming to the point upon which you can help us—
Yes, sir. I know what you’re goin’ to say, sir. It’s about Jennings. If I’d ’a’ thought that little French tart—beggin’ your pardon, sir, and you gentlemen all—but what else is a woman to call ’er?—If I’d ’a’ thought that that Mamzelle, that pryin’, snoopin’, sneakin’—
Mrs Jennings, please! If you cannot restrain yourself I shall have to be rather more severe with you. Will you please answer my questions and do nothing else. We do not want your opinions, valuable though they doubtless are.
Yes, sir, I’m sure, sir, as I never meant any ’arm, sir. It all seemed so extr’ord’n’ry like.
Now, Mrs Jennings, I know already from the evidence of Jeannette Bokay, and also from corroboration which, a moment before you came on to the stand, I received from the police, that your husband, Arthur Waterloo Jennings, is an escaped convict; that when he escaped he was serving a term of three years’ penal servitude at Parkmoor Prison on conviction for burglary. I know, too, that Jennings had served only a year of his sentence. What I do not know is whether Mr Brunton was aware of this when he first engaged you and your husband. Please spare us your further remarks about Bokay. We remember that she told us that Mr Brunton was aware of this. Will you now give us your answer?
Yes, sir. Mr Brunton didn’t know, sir, when we took the places, but, sir, after we’d been with Mr Brunton a year and we’d seen, sir, what a fine master he was to work for, I sez to Jennings, I sez, we’d better tell ’im and get it over. You see, it ’ad been preying on my mind like. Jennings—’e cut up rough, but I settled ’im, and the long and the short of it was that ’e went to the master and ’e told ’im. As a matter of fack, I went with ’im. We both seed the master. I wanted to keep me eye on Arthur ’cause ’e might ’ave come back and sed ’e’d talked to the master and not done nothink of the sort, not at all. I mean, ’e’s all right as men go, but that’s not very far, is it? I mean, ’is class of man, I wasn’t speaking of the gentry, like yourself, sir …
So you mean to tell us, Mrs Jennings, that after a year of service with Mr Maxwell Brunton, when you found out that he was a generous and kindly master to work for you thought that you must in duty bound tell him your secret? And that you and your husband together, in fact, told him?
Yes, sir, that’s the truth. See it wet, see it dry! I’m sorry, sir; I gets carried away sometimes. I meant to say that’s the truth, so ’elp me God! The truth, the ’ole truth, and nothink but the truth.
I see, Mrs Jennings. That’s the truth of the matter?
Yes, sir. It’s as I said, sir. Jennings and me, after we’d been there a year, well, we sez it’s time that we went and saw the master and told ’im. I didn’t let ’im go ’imself, mind you.
One moment, Mrs Jennings. I think you told us that before, just now. Thank you. Now, Mrs Jennings—is there any foundation in fact—please consider your answer carefully before you make it—is there any foundation in fact for Bokay’s statement that recently Jennings had stolen something from Mr Brunton?
No, sir. Not from the master. Even Arthur wouldn’t go for to do that. It’s a damn stinkin’—excuse me, sir, begging your pardon—it’s a dirty lie!
So that you have it, Mrs Jennings, that Bokay’s story is false?
Well, I can’t exactly say that, sir. You see, it was like this. One day—it was in the middle of the month too, sir, and Jennings and me was wanting to get rid of our old wireless set and get a new one, sir—well, to cut a long story short, sir, it was like this: Jennings, sir, was sent up by Sneaky Syd—I beg your pardon, sir, I meant Mr ’Arrison—’e goes, sent up by Mr ’Arrison, to get somethink or other from Mr ’Arrison’s room, and while ’e’s there, to cut a long story short, ’e sees some money on the dressing-table, and it so ’appens, the most peculiar thing, sir, to be just the amount of money we was wantin,’ if you follow me, sir, sort of to make up what we wanted for this new radio set I was talking about. Well, Arthur, ’e sort of borrowed this money from Mr ’Arrison without sayin’ anythink about it like. Mr ’Arrison found it out—I don’t know ’ow—before Arthur ’ad ’ad a chance to pay it back, and Mr ’Arrison, ’e went and told the master, and the master, ’e sent for Arthur. I goes up with Arthur again, sir. I insisted like, not knowing what Mr ’Arrison may ’ave said. I never did trust that—Mr ’Arrison never was very popular with any of us. It’s always been a myst’ry to us why the master used to keep such a—gentleman—about the place—
Now, Mrs Jennings! What did Mr Brunton say to you and your husband in this interview?
The master, sir, ’e said, sir, that ’e was considerin’ what ’e was goin’ to do about it, and ’e said, sir, ’e said as ’e’d let us know when ’e’d come to some decision, like. But we never ’eard, sir. The next week, the master … why, the master—
Come, Mrs Jennings, pull yourself together.
Do you mean to tell me that Mr Brunton never referred again to this very serious matter?
Well, sir, not refer exactly like. About a couple o’ days arterwards Arthur did get a bit nervous and spoke to the master. But the master said
as ’e ’adn’t yet come to his decision like. ’E promised to let Arthur know the followin’ Friday. But on the Wensday—on the Wensday …
Calm yourself, Mrs Jennings. Well, gentlemen, I think I have been through every point with this witness. I should suggest that there are no other matters on which she can be of use to us at present. Do you agree? … Thank you, Mrs Jennings, you may stand down …
Call Violet Ethel Burrage.
XIV
VIOLET ETHEL BURRAGE, KITCHEN MAID AND BETWEEN MAID IN THE BRUNTON HOUSEHOLD
WHAT is your full name?
Violet Ethel Burrage.
Will you take the oath?
I thwear by almighty God that what I thall thay in evidenth in thith Court thall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
You are employed as scullery maid in the Brunton household?
No, thir. I was … I am kitthen maid and between maid, thir—
I see. I see. Well, Burrage, will you please tell the Court how long you have been employed in the Brunton household?
Yeth, thir. I have been there jutht about thirteen month, thir.
I see. Did you, Burrage, in the course of your duties frequently see the late Mr Maxwell Brunton?
Yeth, thir, and no, thir. I hardly know, thir, what you mean by frequently.
Burrage, there is no need for you to be nervous. Just imagine that you are answering a few questions that I am putting to you alone. Pay no attention to the rest of the Court.
I thee, thir. Thank you, thir.
That’s right. Now then: let me put my last question to you in a slightly different form. How many times, on an average, would you say that you saw Mr Maxwell Brunton during a week?
I couldn’t thay, thir. I uthed to thee the mathter nearly every day at one time or another.
I see. And you were fairly conversant, I suppose, with the ways of the household … By that, Burrage, I mean that you knew a good deal about the sort of life which was lived by the Brunton family?
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