The Judge, too, smiled. ‘Yes, Mr Lindley, you’ll have me thinking I’m going senile.’ .
‘My Lord, it seems very simple to me …’
The Judge became stern. ‘Are you then perhaps suggesting that I am senile, Mr Lindley?’
‘I crave Your Lordship’s pardon. I will try to put the question more clearly.’ Counsel for the Prosecution turned back to Sonny. ‘I would like you to look at the Gentlemen of the Jury. Now, can you tell me if you know any of them?’ Sonny replied that he did not. ‘And how did you ascertain that you did not know them?’
‘Just by looking at them,’ replied Sonny in bewilderment.
‘Precisely! To be able to tell if one knows a person, one has first to see them. We are told that the corpse was burnt beyond recognition, so how can you be absolutely certain that you did not know the man if you had not first seen him alive?’
‘Ah, I take your meaning, Mr Lindley.’ The Judge nodded.
‘Thank you, My Lord,’ replied the other insincerely. ‘Answer the question please, Mr Feeney.’
‘What I meant was …’ Sonny hestiated. ‘When I said that I was certain I didn’t know the man I wasn’t lying. It’s just that… I had reason to believe that my wife was having an affair and can only surmise that the man who died was her lover.’ Thomasin closed her eyes. Up in the gallery, Josie prayed that they would not dwell too long on this subject.
‘And when did you discover your wife’s infidelity?’
Sonny licked his lips and glanced at his brother. He would have to risk another lie; he couldn’t do that to Dickie, even though Dickie might do it to him were the positions reversed. ‘During the summer months.’
‘And did you intend to divorce her?’ Lindley received a positive answer. ‘Yet you had started no proceedings against her.’
‘No, but I had made up my mind to sort the matter out.’
‘To sort the matter out,’ echoed the barrister ponderously. ‘Can you tell us exactly what you mean by that?’
‘Well… to see a solicitor.’
‘But of course when your wife was killed in the fire there was no further reason to divorce her. However, it would have looked most suspicious had anyone been aware that the man who died with her was her lover.’
‘Objection, My Lord. My client is not on trial for murder.’
‘My Lord,’ said Lindley in a smooth tone, ‘I am not for one moment suggesting he is. I am simply trying to show that in order to avoid a scandal it would have been better for all concerned if the body had been that of Richard Feeney.’
‘Objection overruled.’
‘Mr Feeney, why did you not mention the possibility of your wife’s lover being in the house to the persons who investigated the fire?’
Sonny tried to keep his agitation from the Jury, but inside his stomach quaked. ‘I’ve told you, I was so utterly convinced that my brother had died – why should I raise the sordid details of my wife’s affair? What had that to do with Richard? All I could think of was that I’d lost him.’
‘So, let us now concentrate on your brother’s reappearance. Had you heard nothing at all during those twenty-six years since the fire to indicate that he was still alive?’
‘Nothing,’ lied Sonny in what he hoped was a firm tone.
‘And in what manner did Richard Feeney make his reappearance?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘Did he write to say he was coming? Did he simply walk in … ?’
‘Oh yes, he wrote. It was a tremendous shock for all of us.’
‘To whom was the letter addressed?’
‘To me.’
‘Do we have the letter as evidence?’ asked Lindley.
‘I’m afraid I threw it on the fire.’
‘How very inconvenient. For any particular reason?’
‘I was furious with him for pretending to be dead all these years and then turning up out of the blue. I threw it on the fire out of rage.’
‘Did it not strike you as odd that after twenty-six years’ exile your brother should suddenly decide to come home? After he had deceived you for so long?’
Sonny could smile now. ‘Nothing my brother did could ever surprise me.’
‘So you readily admit that your brother was no stranger to deceit?’ Sonny’s face altered, but Lindley was already onto the next question. ‘Why did you tell police officers that Richard Feeney was your cousin?’
‘Because … I didn’t want to get my mother into trouble.’
‘So you lied?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘You lied not simply to protect your mother from prosecution, but to hide the truth about your part in the conspiracy.’
‘No!’
‘I put it to you that when Richard Feeney came out of that house with your children he told you of the sight he had seen, of the man in your wife’s bedroom, and suggested a plan to fake his own death, thereby saving you all from scandal.’
Sonny looked derisive. ‘There wasn’t time for any plan! He was only on the pavement a couple of seconds before rushing back into the house. We knew nothing until last year.’
‘You are asking this Court to believe that a man would allow his own brother, his own mother to think he was dead, would not send so much as a note to let them out of their misery, would continue this abominable fraud for twenty-six years and then blithely return as if nothing had happened?’
‘I’ve told the truth,’ insisted Sonny.
‘That is for the court to decide.’ Lindley sat down.
Haig begged to re-examine. ‘Mr Feeney, you say that nothing your brother did could ever surprise you. What did you mean by this?’
Sonny was eager for the chance to make reparation. ‘It was just a figure of speech. I simply meant that I wasn’t surprised that he wanted to come home to us. We were always very close.’
‘I will ask you to reaffirm: before last December, had you any idea, any inkling that your brother might be alive?’
‘I had not.’
Haig thanked him and sat down.
* * *
The time came for Thomasin to defend herself. Her barrister asked the Judge that she might be spared the walk to the witness box because of her infirmity, but before Lord Alverstone could grant this mercy, Thomasin herself said that she would prefer to stand in the rightful place. Fox was glad of her decision: the sight of this aged widow’s painful transfer to the witness box could only inspire pity.
Her journey was accomanied by the whistle of silk, amplified by the surrounding silence. Fox was most solicitous and gave her a bolstering smile before embarking on his questioning, asking her about the fire and where she had lived afterwards, going on to say, ‘Mrs Feeney, when did you learn that your son Richard was still alive?’
Thomasin leaned on her walking stick – she had also declined the offer of a chair. ‘Just before Christmas of last year.’
‘And how did you come to learn?’
‘My other son, John, told me. He received a letter out of the blue.’
‘And what was your impulse when John broke the news?’
‘I fainted.’ Thomasin smiled at the Judge but got little reaction.
‘So it was a great shock to you.’
‘It certainly was! But…’ Thomasin lowered her eyes, ‘it wasn’t the only one I got that day.’ At Fox’s prompting, she explained, ‘I believed that my husband had gone for a holiday to Ireland … when a friend revealed that he had in fact gone there to die.’ She looked up, eyes glistening with tears. They were not faked. ‘He was suffering from a terminal illness and he didn’t want his family to watch him suffer. He’d always expressed a wish to revisit his homeland. I didn’t realise that he intended to remain there until he died.’
Fox allowed her lachrymose interval to take full effect on the Jury, then asked, ‘Do you feel ready to continue, Mrs Feeney?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry.’ Thomasin gave a final sniff into her handkerchief. ‘I should be getting over
his death by now.’
‘Not at all,’ replied Fox kindly. ‘Such grief can sometimes never be assuaged. One only had to look at our own dear departed Queen after she lost her beloved Prince. Her mourning never ended until the day of her passing. So, Mrs Feeney, if it will not cause you too much distress, will you tell the Court of your first action after you received this terrible news about your husband?’
Prosecution stood. ‘My Lord, I fail to see …’
‘With respect to my learned friend,’ said Fox to the Judge, ‘I am trying to show the background to this case.’
Lindley gave a soft laugh of ridicule. ‘My Lord, the background to this case began, not last Christmas, but twenty-six years ago.’
‘My Lord,’ argued Fox, ‘were I to chop down a hundred year old oak tree in my neighbour’s garden I should be pursued for my actions on the day of the destruction, not on the day of its planting.’ While both the Judge and the Prosecution tried to interpret this riddle, he added, ‘If Your Lordship will bear with me, I shall be coming to the matter of the insurance policy very shortly.’
The Judge was still mulling over the business with the oak tree. ‘Oh … very well, proceed, Mr Fox.’
‘Mrs Feeney, I have to ask you again, what was your first act on receiving the news of your husband’s imminent departure from this world?’
‘I went to Ireland to bring him back, and to tell him that his son was still alive.’
‘How did he meet the news?’
‘He was overjoyed. Losing our son had caused him a great deal of torment over the years. He never came to terms with it.’
‘Did you ever consider that your son’s homecoming would bring about this trial?’
Thomasin raised a sardonic smile. ‘I’d have put him straight back on the boat to America if I had!’ She relapsed into her languid state. ‘No … when you receive two shocks like that in the space of five minutes, you don’t automatically think of insurance policies.’
‘And when was the first time you did think of insurance policies?’
‘That was when Mr Rufforth came and I suddenly realised that he’d been the one to meet my claim on Dickie’s death – or supposed death.’ Fox asked what she had done. ‘I didn’t know what to do, so …’ she bit her lip, ‘I’m afraid I lied, said he was my nephew. I don’t know what possessed me to say it. I suppose the magnitude of it all came crashing in. I was afraid.’
‘Afraid that you would be put in prison?’
‘Yes, but more than that: afraid that I’d be separated from my son, the son I’d been deprived of for more than half his lifetime. I couldn’t bear that.’
‘So, it was a foolish action rather than a mischievous one which prompted your deception of Mr Rufforth?’
‘Yes. Very foolish, and very shaming. But it was never my intent to deceive anyone for monetary gain.’ Thomasin arched her body in discomfort.
‘Thank you, Mrs Feeney,’ Fox sat down.
When it was Lindley’s turn, he lifted his face and stared up into the small window at the centre of the domed roof, appearing to be deep in thought but in fact merely trying to unnerve Thomasin. At last he looked at her. ‘Mrs Feeney, if you were indeed innocent of deception why, then, did you wait until you were under arrest before offering to pay the money back?’
‘I wanted to – but after that impulsive lie I feared it would make matters worse.’
‘As, of course, it did.’ Lindley stroked his chin, and delayed the next question, appearing to be reading through his notes until the Judge started to tap impatiently with his pencil. ‘When did you make your original claim on the policy which you had taken out on Richard Feeney’s life?’
‘Let me see,’ Thomasin tried to concentrate. ‘It would be a couple of months at least after the fire. As I mentioned, you don’t immediately think of money in a tragedy like that.’
‘Quite.’ Lindley nodded calmly. ‘But the claim to which I refer is not the one you made after the fire destroyed your house, but the one made two years earlier in July eighteen seventy-two.’
His question dropped like a sinker into the tranquil exchange. Thomasin’s stomach lurched and she stared at him. There was murmuring from the gallery.
‘Am I correct, Mrs Feeney? Did you approach the Yorkshire Insurance Company on that date with a view to making a claim?’
Thomasin could feel her family’s alarm. She looked at Erin whose fan was moving like a deranged bat. She tried to speak but shock had swelled her tongue. ‘There is a record of your application in the Insurance Company’s files, Mrs Feeney.’
‘I did write to them, yes…’ She glanced at her barrister’s face. It was inscrutable.
‘And what reply were you given?’
‘But you see …’ She was told to answer the question. ‘I was informed that a claim couldn’t be made without presentation of a death certificate – but…’
‘In effect, without a body?’
‘My Lord!’ Fox bounced to the floor. He was ordered to sit down.
Lindley pressed on. ‘So it is true that even before today’s occasion you made false claim …’
‘Objection, My Lord!’
‘Mr Lindley,’ warned the Judge. ‘May I remind you that the prisoner has yet to be proven guilty.’
Lindley apologised but pressed Thomasin for an answer. ‘I thought he might be dead!’ she protested.
‘But as we can see,’ Lindley gestured at Dickie, ‘he is not.’
‘I …’ began Thomasin. Lindley cut her off and sat down.
Fox rose. ‘Mrs Feeney, may I put to you just two further questions in order to clarify any misunderstanding that my learned friend may have planted in the minds of the jurors: under what circumstances did you make the insurance claim in eighteen seventy-two?’
‘That’s what I was trying to say: that it wasn’t exactly a claim. I just wanted to find out where I stood – I even continued to pay the premium after I’d written to the insurance office. If I’d wished to defraud anybody I’d hardly have done that, would I?’ Fox motioned for her to continue. ‘You see, Richard left home when he was eighteen. But he didn’t tell us he was leaving. We had no idea of what had happened to him. We even reported his disappearance to the police, we were so worried. But they couldn’t find him. After he’d been gone for many months I began to fear that he might be dead. One day, it crossed my mind about the policy. I began to wonder what my position was – should I continue to pay it or should I inform them that my son might be dead? It was merely an enquiry, not an attempt to claim. It was they who told me that I couldn’t collect on the policy without proof of death. I remember being shocked by the tone of their reply, which implied I was only interested in the money. That’s mostly why I continued to pay the premium.’
‘As my learned friend has so eloquently repeated, your son was not dead. When did you next see him?’
‘In eighteen seventy-four. Though I was gready relieved to find him alive, I was angry at the way he’d neglected to contact us in all that time. Because of that and because of the argument over property which my son John mentioned earlier, I told Richard I didn’t want to see him again – but those words are often spoken in the heat of the moment. Much as my son had annoyed and upset me I was so glad to see him again on the day of that fire … I can’t tell you how I felt when I thought the roof had collapsed on top of him.’ She bowed her head. The Judge told her she could stand down.
Her ordeal over, she was assisted back to the dock. The Judge declared that Court would now break for luncheon and would reconvene at two o’clock prompt.
16
Dickie performed a quick check on his fly buttons before moving to the witness box, the black suit and gleaming collar adding a touch of respectability, badly needed after all the detrimental evidence.
‘Now, Mr Feeney,’ said Haig, ‘I do not propose to dwell on the distant past, but could you tell us briefly why you left home in eighteen seventy-two?’
‘It was eighteen seventy-on
e actually,’ corrected Dickie, then answered the question. ‘Well, you know how it is with a young man, Mr Haig. I felt life wasn’t moving fast enough for me. I wanted to strike out, find my independence.’
‘So on that particular occasion there was no rift between you and your family?’
‘None at all,’ lied Dickie without flinching. ‘Though I did feel my parents were too strict – as do many young people.’
‘Did you never consider that they might think that some harm had befallen you?’
‘I’m ashamed now to say I didn’t. The whole episode was based on selfishness. It’s only from the experience of maturity that one can look back and see how callous youth can be.’
‘How true. Are you a parent yourself, Mr Feeney?’
‘I regret not… my wife and I have sadly never been able to complete our family. However,’ his eyes showed warmth, ‘we are in the process of adopting three orphans.’ Best call them that, thought Dickie; it sounds better.
‘Oh, I am sure the Court would wish to offer congratulations,’ replied Haig and smiled at the Jury. ‘Now, let us go to the months shortly before the fire. We have been told that you were barred from the family home due to an argument over property. Did this exile upset you in any way?’
‘It did, very much. By this time I’d begun to grow up a bit, had discovered the true value of a loving family. I missed them an awful lot.’ Haig asked if he had ever considered trying to patch things up. ‘I considered it many times, but I was afraid they might not want to see me.’
‘Mr Feeney, apart from the charge levelled against you, the Prosecution witness Amy Forsdyke has also made certain accusations; one, that you were the proprietor of a house of ill-repute. Would you answer that for us?’
Dickie sighed heavily, and paused long before continuing. ‘I had at that time a lodging house. Because one of my chambermaids chose to behave in an immoral manner with a guest, I was held responsible. The police said…’ He hung his head in shame. ‘They accused me of running a bawdy-house – it was a totally unfounded allegation! I was away on business at the time. I’d always kept a respectable establishment, but because of the actions of one slut I was branded a criminal. When the case appeared in the newspapers I knew what it would do to my family … but I was too ashamed to go and visit my mother. My whole life was completely ruined by those vile and untrue allegations. I was forced to sell my property, my home …’
Dickie (Feeney Family Sagas Book 4) Page 36