'No, I imagine she has decided views about the propriety of brawling in some places but not in others. One doesn't assault guests of royalty, but the common herd are fair game. You must be confusing for her, popping up in unlikely places. Equally, it must be difficult for you - not knowing whether to say "How do you do, Lady Helen", or duck.' Peggy laughed softly.
'I haven't met her all that often,' said Mr Franklin, 'and only once on what you would call formal terms.'
'What was she like then?' asked Peggy. 'I've met her here and there, at parties - not that she seems to mix a great deal - one feels that she prefers the company of horses and servants, when she isn't making a fool of herself in public. Does she condescend to those beneath her lofty station?'
'You've probably seen more of her than I have. I'd say she's probably not the warmest personality I've met. But it's difficult to say - the suffragette is always pretty much in evidence.'
'Hiding the sweet and fragile nature underneath.' He watched her dim reflection in the glass behind the driver's head, and saw the upward curl at the corner of her mouth. 'It'll be interesting to see whether she plays the grand dame in front of a judge and jury - I wouldn't be surprised.'
'Are you going to be there to see?'
'Good heavens, no! Nobody's going - if she puts herself outside the pale the best thing to do is ignore her.'
'I'd have thought,' said Mr Franklin, `that Hilda Tredenham, or Poppy Davenport, would have been too overcome with curiosity to keep away. Belgravia must be coming to a pretty pass if good taste is spoiling their appetite for scandal.'
'Oh, you'll find it hasn't quite done that,' laughed Peggy. 'You can expect a minor deluge of invitations in the next week, I expect - all the eager hostesses in search of the gory details.'
'Then they can expect a minor deluge of polite refusals,' said Mr Franklin. 'They'll have to be content with the papers.'
'Spoil-sport! The papers may tell them what the accused wore, and whether she looked "composed" or "penitent" or "distraught", but they'll expect you to tell them exactly how you gave your evidence, and how La Cessford took it, and whether she regarded you with distaste or well-bred contempt or aristocratic loathing, like the heroines of the women's novels.' Peggy seemed to enjoy the prospect. 'What will you say, by the way - in court, I mean?'
'My evidence? I'll tell 'em what happened.'
'Oh, you know what I mean! Obviously it depends on you - about the assault charge. If you say she was trying to thump you, she's a goner; if you say she wasn't, I suppose she might get off.'
The thought had been in Mr Franklin's mind for days, but it had not occurred to him that others, like Peggy, would have reached the same conclusion - that Lady Helen's fate, on that charge at least, rested with him.
'I doubt that very much,' he said slowly. 'I'm not the only witness.'
'But you were the object of her attack - of the brutal assault on an innocent bystander! I mean - you took her parasol away from her - because she was trying to poke your eye out with it, or because you thought it might come on to rain?' Peggy turned to laugh at him. 'It all depends how you put it, doesn't it?'
'And that could depend on what I'm asked,' said Mr Franklin, as the taxi drew up outside the Albert Hall.
'I think,' said Peggy, gathering her skirts together, 'that you're going to be chivalrous. Poppy Davenport doesn't. She thinks you're the kind of brute who'll be quite happy to swear la belle Helene into a deep, dank cell - you tried to throw her into the corridor at Oxton, she says, which shows what you're capable of.'
'Anyone who could throw Poppy any distance would have to be a bigger and better man than I am,' said Mr Franklin, as he handed her down. 'And she has a very vivid imagination.'
Neither of them mentioned the subject again during the ball, or on the way home, and in the morning Peggy decided to have breakfast in bed, so that Mr Franklin was left to his own thoughts and the morning paper downstairs. If the approaching trial, or Peggy's remarks about it, were troubling his mind, it did not diminish his appetite; he ate a steak and two fried eggs, called a taxi, and was at the court in excellent time. There he was conducted to the room set aside for witnesses; the large man who had been so vociferous at the Royal Academy was already there, and they exchanged nods, with furtive glances at the attendant constable to make sure that even such a cursory greeting did not amount to collusion. Three uniformed minions of the gallery were also present, and there presently arrived, in succession, the lady who had spoken to Pip, and who smiled timidly at Mr Franklin and
thereafter sat in nervous immobility with a handkerchief pressed to her nose; an imposing gentleman in morning coat and resplendent top hat, with an orchid in his buttonhole and a faintly Bohemian air, who proved to be the President of the Royal Academy; and finally, with a bustling of helpful constables and setting of chairs, the leading lady of Pip, Squeak!, smiling demurely in appreciation of all this attention, inclining her head graciously to the President, who made her a bow both austere and artistic, ignoring the large man, who went pink, and taking her seat quietly opposite Mr Franklin, on whom she bestowed, unseen by the other waiting witnesses, a wink that would have taxed the facial muscles of a circus clown. Otherwise, she was on her best behaviour, modestly attired in a pale grey dress of such simple elegance that the lady with the handkerchief could not tear her eyes from it, and her golden hair neatly contained under one of the severely expensive new German hats with the smallest of aigrets. The room was now almost full; plainly if the truth failed to emerge in court it would not be from lack of testimony. Mr Franklin sat patiently, noting how the eyes of the constable at the door would range casually round the room and inevitably alight on Pip's profile, and how she, in turn, was restraining her natural inclination to cross her legs and display her ankles. Obviously she was impressed by the solemnity of the occasion.
It came as a shock when the door opened and a voice said: 'Mr Mark Franklin', and a moment later he was in the great, dark-panelled court-room, aware of a wigged judge behind the elevated bench, a double row of nondescript faces which must be the jury, men in wigs and black robes before him, and General Flashman, a hulking figure at the back of the public benches, sitting chin on fist with his mane of white hair shining like a beacon. And there was Lady Helen Cessford, gazing coldly before her as he took the oath, with the small woman, looking wan and old, beside her in the railed dock. Policemen bare-headed at the doors, his own voice saying "So help me God" and adding his name and address, and then one of the men in wig and robe turning to address him.
'Mr Franklin, I believe you were present at the Royal Academy's exhibition on the afternoon of May 18th?'
'Yes, sir, I was.'
`Before I ask you to describe what took place there at approximately 3.30 p. m., I wish to ask a question which you may think strange, but which I put to you, in the form in which I put it, with the agreement of my learned friends and with the leave of his lordship.' The barrister paused. 'In the gallery, at any time during the afternoon, did you see any person known to you - I do not mean a friend or acquaintance, but a person who might be thought well-known, and in the public eye?'
Mr Franklin was puzzled, and asked for the question to be repeated, which it was, with the deliberation of assumed weariness, as though counsel were addressing a deaf Irishman or a backward child. He considered it in some bewilderment.
'I can't think that I did, sir. Unless you mean Lady Helen Cessford?' There were exclamations from the seated barristers, looks of irritation, and a sigh from the barrister on his feet.
'No, Mr Franklin - a prominent public personality, someone who I daresay might be considered a celebrity?'
Mr Franklin was beginning a mystified apology when the judge intervened. 'Perhaps I may be able to assist the witness, Mr Sullivan?' Obsequious murmurs from the barrister, whereafter the judge contemplated his stomach in an attitude of prayer and asked:
'Did you see a tall person, an author of plays?'
The light dawned. 'O
h, Mr Shaw. Yes, sir - my lord, I saw him. Mr George Bernard Shaw.'
The judge nodded benignly, the barrister expressed his gratitude, and turned again to Mr Franklin.
'You saw Mr Bernard Shaw. What was he doing?'
'He was looking at the pictures,' said Mr Franklin, thanking God for an opportunity to tell the truth with confidence at last.
'At the pictures. Yes. Anything more than that? Tell us what he did.'
'Well, sir,' said Mr Franklin, 'he walked up and down, looking at various pictures. Er ... with great interest, it appeared to me. I didn't watch him closely, of course, but that was. .. about ... what he did.'
'Did you hear him speak to anyone?'
Mr Franklin replied carefully. 'Not to anyone - but he made one or two observations, I believe.'
'Can you tell us what they were?'
'Well, I believe he looked at the picture of Captain Oates, and - ' 'Captain who?' asked the judge.
'Oates, m'lud. Witness is referring to the picture of Captain Oates in the snow, at which Mr Shaw was looking.'
'Ah, Oates. The explorer. I see. Mr Shaw was looking at that picture. Go on.'
'Well, sir,' said Mr Franklin, 'he looked at the picture of Captain Oates, and - '
'Are you an American?' asked the judge suddenly.
'Yes, sir,' said Mr Franklin, startled.
'I see,' said the judge. 'I beg your pardon, Mr Sullivan. Do go on.'
'Thank you, m'lud. Mr Shaw looked at the picture of Captain Oates, and ... ?' The barrister invited Mr Franklin to continue.
'And he said,' began Mr Franklin, feeling slightly desperate. 'No, he didn't. I'm sorry, my lord. It wasn't at Captain Oates's picture that he said it - it was at another one. I do apologise; it was at another picture that he said - what he said. He didn't say anything about Captain Oates. I'm sure of that.' He stopped, appalled at the thought of perjury narrowly avoided.
'I see,' said the judge thoughtfully. 'He said nothing at Captain Oates's picture. At what picture did he say something?'
Mr Franklin was aware that his palms were sweating. 'It was at the picture of the . . . the Greek lady . . . the Greek queen, I believe she was.'
'Clytemnestra?' said the barrister helpfully.
'That's the one,' said Mr Franklin, relieved. 'Yes - Clytemnestra.'
'Indeed,' said the judge. 'Clit-em-nestra - that, as I recall, is the pronunciation we were taught, Mr Sullivan. Queen to Agamemnon, whom she betrayed and murdered on his return from Troy?'
'As your lordship pleases,' said the barrister. 'What,' he added hastily before anyone else could get in, 'did Mr Shaw say about that picture?'
'He said "Remarkable", sir.' Mr Franklin spoke with confidence.
'I see. And what other observations did he make?'
'I believe I heard him say "Extraordinary",' said Mr Franklin, and went on quickly: 'But I don't remember at which picture he said it.'
'I see. These were critical appraisals, would you say?'
'Yes, sir. Just his opinions - spoken musingly.' Mr Franklin felt rather proud of that, and the barrister brightened.
'Did you hear him say anything else? To any other person?'
'No, sir.'
'Think carefully, Mr Franklin.' The barrister looked earnest. 'You are positive that he spoke to no one else, that you are aware of? He did not, for example, address either of the defendants?'
Mention of the defendants took Mr Franklin momentarily aback; what did they have to do with it when George Bernard Shaw was plainly in peril of his life unless Mr Franklin's evidence was believed?
Then he remembered: the defendants were on trial, and this bewildering nonsense about Mr Shaw was ... was ... well, he did not know what it was, but at least he could answer the question.
'Good gracious, no, sir! He never - I mean I never saw him near them. Indeed,' said Mr Franklin, cudgelling his memory, 'I had not seen Mr Shaw in the gallery for some time - when the ... ladies ... that is, the defendants - when I first saw them. I would have thought that Mr Bernard Shaw had left the gallery by then.'
'Why should you have thought that?' snapped the barrister, quickly.
'Well, sir, he had the air of a man - when I last noticed him - he looked as though he was about to leave. He looked, if you ask me,' Mr Franklin said diffidently, 'like a man who'd seen all he wanted to see.'
There was a murmur of laughter in the court, and a voice that might have been General Flashman's muttered: 'Shaw isn't the fool he looks.'
'Silence!' cried someone, and the barrister went on doggedly:
'So, Mr Franklin - do you have any reason whatsoever to connect the presence of Mr George Bernard Shaw in the gallery with the events which later took place there? The events with which we are concerned today?'
Precisely which events they were concerned with had been becoming less clear to Mr Franklin as time went on, but now he saw where the barrister was headed, and it shocked him.
'Certainly not, sir. None at all.' And for no sane reason that he could have given, he added: 'Mr Shaw didn't show any disapproval of the picture that was defaced.'
Laughter in court was promptly hushed by the constables; the barrister glared at Mr Franklin as though suspecting him of levity.
'Well, Mr Sullivan,' said the judge, and addressed the barrister in a mumble in which could be heard: 'no need to hear further ... unusual procedure ... oh, quite, harmful rumours . . . reputation ... plainly demonstrated ... no question of implication whatsoever ... perfectly satisfactory ... Mr Lees? Sir Huntly? Mr Stratton? Very good ... obliged. ..' at the end of which Mr Sullivan gathered up his papers, bowed to the bench, murmured, and strode from the court, leaving Mr Franklin a trifle dazed, but under the, impression that his testimony thus far had been of service to Mr Bernard Shaw, which, since he had enjoyed portions of the man's plays (although not The Shewing Up of Blanco Posnet) was quite an agreeable sensation.
It was not, however, the principal reason why he had been called to court, as he was now reminded. Another barrister, Mr Lees, now rose and invited Mr Franklin to describe what had taken place at or about 3.30 p.m. in the vicinity of the painting "Vision of the Stainless Knight".
Since he had rehearsed what he would say, this presented no great difficulty. He must have told it concisely and well, for counsel did not interrupt, although the seated ones scribbled busily. He described how Lady Helen Cessford had denounced the House of Lord's decision, how Millicent Shore had then attacked the painting with what appeared to be a butcher's cleaver, how he had tried to intervene but had been blocked by a spectator, and how Pip had prevented Shore from continuing the destruction of the picture. At this point Mr Lees intervened.
'You hastened forward when you saw the picture being mutilated, but someone was in your way. Who was that?'
'I don't know his name. A tall man - I believe he is among the witnesses. It was quite accidental.'
'Meanwhile Miss Delys had run forward and was grappling with the defendant Shore. What did you do then?'
'I pushed past the tall man, to try to help Miss Delys.'
'And did you?'
'No, I didn't reach her.'
'Why not?'
Mr Franklin had no wish to make the case against Lady Helen blacker than it was, but he knew that hedging would probably do just that.
'Lady Helen Cessford was in the way.'
'Ah. She was blocking your path - with the intention of preventing your reaching the painting and helping Miss Delys, who was trying to save it from destruction?'
Before he could answer a tall barrister with a large hawk nose was on his feet. 'M'lud, the witness can hardly know what the intentions of my client were.'
'He could judge from her actions, however,' said Lees promptly. 'Did the defendant Cessford, in your opinion, intentionally block your path?'
'I believe she did - yes.' That could do no damage that had not already been done by her own plea of guilty to aiding and abetting the attack on the picture.
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