Only too glad to see an end to this murderous encounter, Gunston lowered his sabre and gave back. Roger, furious at Beefy’s interference, berserk with accumulated rage and determined not to let his old enemy escape without at least a nasty gash that would be a lesson to him, yelled at Beefy to get out of the way, sidestepped and made another thrust.
Beefy was standing between them and sideways on to both, but looking towards Gunston. At Roger’s shout he swerved half round and brought up his blackthorn, to strike Roger’s rapier down. Roger’s thrust had been aimed to pass behind Beefy’s back, but the quantity of brandy he had drunk had slightly impaired his timing and, at the same moment, Beefy’s swerve had altered his position a little. The slender blade failed to clear him. It ripped through the silk of his coat near the base of his spine.
He suddenly stiffened. His eyes started from their sockets. He gave an awful groan and fell to the ground.
For a moment Roger, Gunston and Georgina all remained as though paralysed, staring with horrified eyes at the squirming figure. Then throwing herself on her knees beside her husband Georgina took his head in her lap. His eyes rolled, froth bubbled from his lips and his body jerked spasmodically, so that she had difficulty in holding him.
Suddenly a prolonged bubbling sound began to issue from Beefy’s throat. It was not the first time that Roger had heard a dying man give vent to the death rattle and it confirmed his worst fears. His rapier must have passed through Beefy’s liver.
By this time, attracted by the sounds of strife a small crowd of people had come out into the hall. Some of them began to shout, ‘Get a doctor!’ ‘Fetch some water!’ ‘Give him brandy!’, while others violently upbraided Roger and Gunston as being the evident cause of the tragedy.
Ignoring them, Roger threw his rapier on the floor and stared down at Georgina. Letting fall her dead husband’s head, she rose and faced him. Then, her black eyes as yet tearless but hard as stones, she said in a low tense voice:
‘I always knew you to be unscrupulous towards your enemies. But to have done this thing to me almost passes belief. Seeing an opportunity to gain your ends you put them before all thought of my happiness.’ Suddenly her voice rose almost to a scream:
‘Go from here! Go! I hate you! I never want to set eyes on you again!’
No more awful thing could have happened to Roger than that Georgina, his life-long love, should drive him from her. Yet even that was not the full price he was to pay for this terrible occurrence. For this was not France, where Napoleon’s officers fought one another on the slightest provocation and counted it no more than good practice for using their swords against France’s enemies. This was England, where to kill a man was manslaughter—or might be accounted murder.
12
On Trial for His Life
For the five weeks that followed Beefy’s death Roger felt as though he was living through a nightmare. In deference to Georgina’s dismissal of him, and feeling it to be certainly more fitting, he had begged a lift in a carriage, had himself driven in to Ripley and there secured a room at the Talbot Inn.
Next morning he woke with a furred tongue and an aching head. It was not often that he felt the effects on the morning after of what he had drunk the night before; but on this occasion he had punished the cognac very severely—so severely that he had no very clear recollection of what had happened, apart from the salient facts that Georgina had been mauled and insulted by Gunston, with whom he had then fought, Beefy had sought to intervene and, by a misdirected thrust, had then been killed by him. Yet Georgina’s last words rang as clear as crystal through his aching head:
‘Go! Go from here! I hate you! I never want to set eyes on you again.’
Roger did not for one moment believe that she really meant them. Their lives were so closely interwoven that, whatever he had done, she could not possibly cast him off for good at a moment’s notice. That John Beefy should stupidly have got himself in the way of a sword thrust was regrettable. He had been a very decent fellow and it was hard on him that his life should have been cut short when he was only a little over forty. But for a man of his position he had been fortunate—incredibly fortunate—in that for two years he had had Georgina as his wife; and, Roger now recalled, she had read in Beefy’s hand before she married him that his life would not be a long one.
Two nights earlier she had made it clear that he meant a lot to her, because he had brought into her life a background of quiet happiness and peaceful regularity; and when a woman had turned thirty she felt a need for a man with whom she could settle down. But Roger felt confident that she would soon get over her loss and forget Beefy in much less time than she had her second husband, Charles St. Ermins, for whom she had cared deeply.
The only thing that really worried him was that she appeared to have thought that he had taken advantage of the mêlée to kill Beefy deliberately, and so rid himself of the prohibition against coming to Stillwaters whenever he wished. But he could not believe that she would long continue to harbour a suspicion that he had acted so basely; and he decided that, for the time being, it would be wiser not to force his presence on her, either to express his sorrow at having killed her husband or to assure her that the tragedy had been an entirely unforeseeable accident.
When he rang for the chambermaid and ordered up a bottle of Madeira, as a tonic to pull himself together, she told him that his things had been sent across from Stillwaters, but no message had come with them. An hour later he dressed with the intention of riding post back to London. But when he went downstairs he found a tipstaff awaiting him. The man touched him with a paper and caused him to stiffen with sudden shock by saying:
‘Mister Brook, I ’av orders to take ye into custerdy on o’count o’ what ‘appened lars night. Ye’ll ’ave to answer ter a charge o’ manslaughter; so be pleased ter come along o’ me.’
Roger’s mind had been so occupied with distress at his breach with Georgina that he had not given a thought to other possible consequences of the tragedy. Now, with sudden alarm, he recalled that there were very severe penalties in England for duelling, and it could not be denied that Beefy had met his end as a result of what would certainly be regarded as a duel. Putting the best face he could on the matter, he had his things carried out of the inn and accompanied the tipstaff in a stuffy, closed carriage to Guildford.
There, after having been formally charged, he obtained permission to write to Droopy Ned and, an hour later, had sent off a full account of what had happened the previous night, with a request for his friend’s help. The remainder of the day he spent gloomily in a cold and narrow cell.
Next morning he was taken from his cell to a sparsely furnished room in which Droopy, accompanied by an enormously fat man who waddled on two short legs, was awaiting him. The fat man was wearing a lawyer’s wig and flowing gown, wheezed badly and had a pair of alarmingly protuberant brown eyes. Droopy introduced him as Sergeant Burnfurze. After a quarter of an hour’s conversation the Sergeant said in a deep, sonorous voice:
‘Mr. Brook, it cannot be contested that it was by your act that the deceased met his death. My advice to you therefore is to plead guilty, and we will use such arguments as offer themselves in the hope of getting you off with as light a sentence as possible. Today, of course, we shall reserve our defence as the proceedings will be only formal.’
An hour or so later Roger stood in the dock. Georgina was said to be too ill to attend, but Gunston was in Court. Without displaying malice he gave evidence that Roger had forced a fight upon him and of what had then occurred. He was followed by Georgina’s doctor who testified that John Beefy had died as a result of a weapon penetrating his liver. The still-bloodstained rapier that Roger had used was produced and the doctor agreed that it tallied with the wound of the deceased. The magistrates did not even withdraw to deliberate. After the Chairman of the Bench had collected nods from his colleagues, he committed Roger for trial at the Guildford Assizes. Sergeant Burnfurze applied for bail and it was gran
ted in two sureties of £2,000 each. Droopy Ned making himself responsible for one and Roger’s bond being accepted for the other, Roger was released and, after a gloomy lunch at the Angel Inn, he returned with Droopy and the Sergeant to London.
Next day he wrote a long letter to Georgina telling her what had happened, expressing his deep contrition and assuring her that the thrust with which he had killed Beefy had been entirely an accident.
Two days later, to his amazement and acute distress, he received a brief reply in her round, flowing hand, ‘Since you have killed one of the best men who ever lived and by so doing ruined my life you can expect no sympathy from me. Kicking your heels for a few months in prison may cure you of your belligerent ways, which may be suitable when adventuring abroad, but in this country are a menace to decent people.’
Roger could appreciate her distress at having lost Beefy, but he felt it unfair that she should entirely ignore the fact that, had she taken notice of his warning and not encouraged Gunston, she would have had no trouble with him; and that it was owing to her having called him, Roger, to her aid that the tragedy had taken place.
Being in such low spirits, he would have preferred to stay in Amesbury House and spend most of his time attempting to concentrate on the books in the library. But Droopy Ned insisted that shutting himself up and brooding was bad for him; so he allowed himself to be persuaded to join him in leading the normal life of a man-about-town.
On his visits to White’s he at least met with congenial company, for the Tories there were as indignant as he about the peace terms. To add insult to injury, only the day after the Peace of Amiens had been signed, the news had come through that the French army in Egypt had surrendered.
Early in 1800, soon after Roger had brought Bonaparte’s offer of peace to London, General Kléber, who was then commanding in Egypt, had concluded an armistice with Sir Sidney Smith on the basis of the French being allowed honourably to evacuate the country. But the government in London had delayed so long in ratifying the agreement that, by the time they did, Bonaparte, angered by their rejection of his offer of a general pacification, had refused his consent.
Kléber had been menaced at that time by an army of 70,000 Turks who were advancing from Heliopolis on Cairo. With only 10,000 men at his disposal he had inflicted a crushing defeat on these allies of Britain, so it had then looked as though the French would be able to maintain themselves in Egypt indefinitely.
Two factors had since reduced their chances of doing so. On Kléber’s assassination in June he had been succeeded by General Menou, who possessed neither his ability nor determination; and in October Henry Dundas had pushed Pitt into sending an expeditionary force to Egypt under that tough old fighter, General Sir Ralph Abercrombie. Owing to distance, reports of operations were long delayed, and for many months past it had been assumed that the war in Egypt had more or less reached a stalemate. Now this despatch had come in, reporting that on August 15th the French had capitulated.
Within a fortnight it was not only Pitt’s old supporters who were denouncing the government; the City, too, and the merchants in all the principal cities of the realm were up in arms. For it now emerged that peace did not, after all, mean a resumption of free trade with the Continent. No stipulation whatever for this had been included in the Treaty, so it had gone by default; and it now became clear that the First Consul intended to reimpose the extortionate tariff on the import of British goods that had existed in the early days of the Revolution.
By the end of April the names of Cornwallis, Merry, Bonaparte and Talleyrand were being cursed on all sides, the first two as fools and the second two as tricksters, as more and more details about the negotiations at Amiens became known. During the preliminaries the British had put forward numerous requirements and matters that would have been to their country’s advantage, and the French had agreed to many of them—but only verbally. When the written Treaty was produced it had contained none of them. Cornwallis had vigorously protested, but by then the whole nation was expecting the longed-for peace and, had it failed to mature, the government would have fallen; so Cornwallis had signed and brought home the awful document. But on the last day of April Roger had other things to think about. His trial had been set down for May 20th, and he had held several conferences with Sergeant Burnfurze. Now, the Sergeant, by habit a most jovial man, arrived at Amesbury House looking extremely glum.
After a preliminary cough, he boomed, ‘Mr. Brook, I am sorry to say that your affair is going far from well. The agents of the law have been investigating the matter and have recommended that the charge preferred against you should be changed to one of murder.’
‘Murder!’ exclaimed Roger, aghast.
‘Yes, sir. It seems there are certain grounds for supposing that you had reasons for wishing the deceased out of the way; and that the rapier thrust by which he met his death was directed at him deliberately.’
‘This is absurd, fantastic; utter nonsense!’
‘I have every confidence that you are right in that, sir. But—er—certain allegations are made that you may find difficult to deny.’ Sonorously then the Sergeant gave particulars. In both January and March, Roger had on numerous occasions either accompanied Georgina back to the St. Ermins’ mansion in Berkeley Square late at night and had remained with her for several hours before taking his departure, or had spent whole evenings alone with her there, No more positive evidence could be needed that he had been her lover. Further, on the evening preceding John Beefy’s death, a footman, one James Trigg, employed at Stillwaters bad entered the small drawing room shortly after Roger’s arrival and found him quarrelling with his host. Trigg had at once withdrawn, but a natural if reprehensible curiosity had led him to remain outside listening to the exchanges that took place. He had heard Beefy declare that he would not tolerate further visits to the house by his wife’s lover and, it was argued, since Roger had been for so many years a favoured guest there, his umbrage had been such that he had seized on the opportunity to remove the impediment to his continuing to enjoy these sessions with his mistress in her country home.
Roger continued to protest his innocence but, when the bulky Sergeant Burnfurze had waddled away on his absurdly short legs, he had to admit to himself with considerable alarm that the case appeared very black against him. Georgina’s impetuous nature had often led her to use endearments to him in front of the servants and, owing to their long association, he had allowed himself to become careless about his comings and goings at Berkeley Square. Delightful as had been those little suppers they had enjoyed together in her boudoir in front of a roaring fire, it looked now as though he might have to pay a very heavy price for them.
Greatly perturbed, he consulted Droopy; but that astute, if eccentric, man of the world could give him no comfort. Jenny, Roger knew, would let herself be torn in pieces rather than talk, and many of the other servants at Stillwaters and at Berkeley Square were too attached both to their mistress and to himself to admit to what they must know; but there were others who would have no such scruples and, above all, there was the quarrel that James Trigg, a comparative newcomer to the household, had overheard.
On May 8th Roger was again taken into custody, escorted to Guildford, and charged with murder. The Grand Jury found a true Bill, and it was ordered that, instead of being arraigned for manslaughter, he should stand his trial on the 20th on the capital charge.
His father came up from Hampshire to see him and offered financial support to the limit of his resources. Colonel Thursby came over from Stillwaters and showed the deepest concern. Georgina, he told Roger, had decided that she wished to be quite alone for a while, in order that she might endeavour to forget the tragedy of which Stillwaters constantly reminded her; so she had taken a small house at Weymouth with Jenny to look after her. He added that, since she could not assist in Roger’s defence, he hoped to persuade the authorities to refrain from calling her as a witness so that she should be spared the ordeal of appearing in Court and, shou
ld he succeed in that, he did not intend to inform her that the charge against Roger had been increased to a degree that now endangered his life. But, should the worst happen, he would, of course, set out at once for Weymouth himself and break the terrible news to her.
Droopy and Sergeant Burnfurze took rooms at the George, other eminent lawyers were sent for and there were numerous consultations, but on considering the weight of evidence none of them could hold out firm hope of an acquittal.
On the morning of the 20th the trial was opened with due solemnity. In a hushed silence the scarlet-robed Judge took his seat. As the crowd subsided with a rustle, Roger was brought in, bowed to the Judge and looked about him. Among the dozen grey-wigged lawyers in the well of the Court he saw his father, Colonel Thursby and Droopy, and smiled at them. Glancing round, he was for a moment surprised to see that the public gallery, instead of being occupied with the usual small, nondescript crowd, was packed to capacity with men and women of fashion, many of whom he knew. He realised then that it was Georgina’s name being coupled with his own in such a scandal that had brought them down from London.
The Counsel for the Crown was a small, waspish man who wore his wig slightly awry, had a nose ending in so sharp a point that it quite fascinated Roger, and took snuff with great frequency. Having outlined the case he called his witnesses. George Gunston again told the truth and nothing but the truth. James Trigg stood up well to Sergeant Burnfurze’s browbeating and could not be shaken in his story. Several other servants testified, mostly with reluctance, that they had seen their mistress and Roger in compromising situations.
Burnfurze took the only line of defence open to him: namely that Gunston had given Roger great provocation and had refused a challenge to meet him in a duel; that Roger had snatched up a sword only with the intention of driving him from the house; that the deceased’s appearance on the scene was entirely fortuitous and that he had become a victim of the brawl only because Roger had been so nearly dead-drunk as to be incapable of directing the thrust of his weapon.
The Wanton Princess Page 19