B-Berry and I Look Back (12 page)

“Before the case began, I was sitting with Coles Willing right in front, on the seat in front of that reserved for Queen’s Counsel, waiting for the Judge to come in, when Sir George Lewis, the famous solicitor, appeared. He had a word with Coles and then passed on to speak with Sir Edward Clarke. ‘You ought to win this case hands down,’ he said. ‘I mean to,’ said Clarke. I heard the words myself.”

“Was Sir George concerned in the case?”

“No. Lewis and Lewis were not concerned.”

“Then how did he know about it?”

“Sir George Lewis knew everything. God knows how he was informed; but he always knew – everything. Somebody said of him once, ‘From whom no secrets are hid.’ A most remarkable man. Years afterwards I met Reginald Poole, who succeeded Sir George as head of the firm. He was such a very nice man, and a brilliant solicitor. I called him
Lacey
and put him in LOWER THAN VERMIN. They were a wonderful firm – for all I know, they’re a wonderful firm today. But old Sir George was a legend. I’m glad to have seen him, you know. Of course Coles told me who he was. Few people know that he made Eldon Bankes when he was at the Bar.”

“A remarkable achievement,” said Berry.

I laughed.

“Bankes was a much better counsel than he was a Judge. And he had a very gentlemanly way, which made him valuable. Juries liked him.

“Here and now let me say that I didn’t take to Clarke. He had for years, of course, been the leader of the Bar and he was undoubtedly a very eminent man. But I was disappointed. He’d a very forbidding expression and his manner was abrupt and autocratic. He was a small man and still wore the old-fashioned ‘Piccadilly weepers’, that is to say, long whiskers that hung down like twin beards on either side of his face. He always wore a grey frock-coat-suit and elastic-sided boots. Charles Gill, as you know, I came to know very well. He was already a distinguished ‘silk’ and a renowned cross-examiner. Priestley was one of the two leading juniors of the Divorce Court, and, as such, quite exceptional.”

“A cryptic saying,” said Berry.

“Well, those members of the Bar who practised in the Divorce Court, which was a very close borough, would seldom, if ever, have got on in the Queen’s Bench Division. I’m speaking of my day, of course. Things may have changed; but in my day they were painfully undistinguished. Priestley, however, was out of another drawer. He was very able and he had an admirable address. Had he remained in practice, he would certainly have reached the Bench, for he was a head and shoulders above any of his fellows. I admit that to rise in the Divorce Court of my day was by no means difficult, but that does not alter the fact that Priestley was outstanding.”

“Why ever did he give up?”

“I think he had a bad illness which was followed by a long convalescence. He then came back for a while, but again withdrew. I may be quite wrong, for it’s such a long time ago, but my belief is that he had substantial private means, in which case it would have been idle to continue to jeopardize his health. And I don’t think such a man can have enjoyed his work. Divorce work is easy enough to do, but it is hardly inspiring. And in any case of importance, such as the one which I am reporting, Common Lawyers were always brought in.”

“But this wasn’t a Divorce,” said Daphne.

“It was a Probate matter – that is, to do with a Will. And Probate and Divorce belong to the same Division.”

“How very confusing.”

“I agree. Why Probate and Admiralty matters should have been linked with Divorce, I cannot conceive. Of course, when that was arranged, there weren’t many Probate matters, few Admiralty cases and only about a hundred Divorces a year. Probate and Admiralty matters are still few, but Divorce cases have increased to thirty thousand a year. I believe those figures are accurate.”

“Progress,” said Jonah.

“I suppose so.

“To continue. I wasn’t greatly impressed by Bargrave Deane. I think I am right in saying that he later became a Divorce Court Judge, but I may be wrong there. Barnard was the other leading junior of the Divorce Court. He was genial, but undistinguished. The Trustees certainly had very much the better team.

“Then Jeune entered and took his seat on the Bench. I can’t say I liked his manner. I believe that he was accounted a good Judge, but his manner was by no means agreeable. I never heard him make a pleasant remark. That was the only occasion on which I saw him, and he may have been at his worst, for, as I shall show, there was feeling between him and Edward Clarke. Both knew, of course, that Clarke had been offered and had refused the Mastership of the Rolls. Had he accepted that great office, he would have taken precedence of Jeune, as President of the Divorce Court.

“Well, the proceedings began. The old Will was propounded and Clarke opened the Trustees’ case. He disclosed that by the provisions of the old Will, every penny of Mrs Druce’s considerable fortune was left to charities in which she had taken a lifelong interest; whereas, by the provisions of the new Will, not a penny was left to any charity, but the handsome legacy of five thousand pounds was left to an odd general practitioner who had attended her for five days and the whole of the rest of her fortune, more than one hundred thousand pounds, had been divided equally between a solicitor on whom she had never set eyes till four days before her death and the solicitor’s sister who had acted as her companion for the last six months and was in receipt of a very humble salary. He declared that ‘this infamous document’ had been drawn without Mrs Druce’s knowledge or consent, that when it was read to her, she was far too ill to understand its contents and that, when she affixed her signature – if, in fact, she did – she was moribund and quite incapable of knowing what she was doing. He submitted that it was a daring attempt – which, but for the fortuitous visit of Mrs Gascoigne, might well have succeeded – on the part of the companion and her brother to steal the old lady’s fortune and that the doctor whom they had summoned had been ‘left’ five thousand pounds to hold his tongue. Of course Clarke didn’t put it so bluntly as that, but that was what he implied.”

“As,” said Berry, “he had every right to. I trust Jeune impounded the documents and that the wicked trio came by their rights. Sorry. Please go on.”

“Well, then the witnesses were called.

“For some reason or other, Mrs Gascoigne did not give evidence. Looking back, I find that surprising; for her chance, but dramatic arrival and her description of what she found would have thrown a lurid glare on the events to come.”

“You amaze me,” said Jonah. “And she doesn’t sound as if she would have made a bad witness. Why on earth wasn’t she called?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“I can’t remember that Coles commented upon her absence, and I was too young and inexperienced to do anything but take things for granted. She may, of course, have begged to be excused; for particularly in those days ladies shrank from the idea of appearing in court. I think that’s the most likely explanation. But it is quite possible that Clarke thought he could win the case without her evidence. As I’ve said, he was very autocratic, and, as being the leader, he had to have his way. The less time a case takes, the better – for any distinguished counsel whose services are in demand.

“Perhaps I ought to have said that the old Will was produced, I think by Mrs Druce’s solicitors, and made an exhibit. I can’t remember that happening, but I imagine that it was done.

“I think the eminent doctor, whom Mrs Gascoigne summoned, was the next witness. He said that he first saw Mrs Druce on the day before she was said to have signed the new Will and that she was even then so seriously ill that it was very doubtful whether she could have appreciated the contents of any document: that when he saw her the next morning she was worse and that on that same evening she was approaching a condition of coma. Bargrave Deane cross-examined him, but could not shake him on any material point.

“Then the two nurses were called. One was very definite. She said that she could not believe that the patient understood what was going on. She was too ill. Bargrave Deane, naturally, attacked her. ‘Do you mean to tell the Court that you watched her sign her Will and then subscribed your name, when all the time you believed that she didn’t know what she was doing? Why didn’t you say,
But she’s not fit to sign a Will?
’ And so on. Still, he couldn’t shake her. Gill re-examined very well and led her to say what was the undoubted truth – that she had felt that she ought to protest and decline to witness Mrs Druce’s signature, but that she hadn’t liked to. After all, she was quite a young girl, and the companion’s brother was probably rather compelling.

“The second nurse, who had witnessed the ordeal which her comrade had just endured, was pardonably nervous. She was less definite than the other, but she did state that, when Mrs Druce signed the Will, she, the nurse, held the pen into the patient’s hand and guided the pen over the paper, and that, had she not done this, the patient could not have affixed her signature. Coles told me later that in her statement to the solicitors she had said that Mrs Druce’s signature had been written on the Will in pencil and that she had guided the pen to follow its shape. But she would not go so far in court; and, of course, Gill could not cross-examine her because she was his own witness.”

“She’d been got at,” said Berry.

“Possibly. And she was certainly scared of Bargrave Deane. He shook her to some extent, but she stuck to the fact that she had guided Mrs Druce’s hand and that the companion’s brother had told her to do so.”

“What a shocking business,” said Jonah.

“Yes, it was very dreadful. The poor, dying lady being used like a lay figure, to will her fortune away from the charities she had chosen to two people she hardly knew.”

“I think it was awful,” said Daphne. “How can people be so wicked?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“I admit it smacks of the Old Bailey rather than the Law Courts, but there you are. And I don’t think it’s surprising that the case has stuck in my mind for fifty years.

“Well, so much for the evidence. Now for the Judge. For some astonishing reason, Jeune showed a definite bias in favour of the new Will.”

“Impossible,” cried Berry.

“It’s a fact. He cross-examined the eminent doctor.

“‘You were not present when the Will was signed?’

“‘No, my lord.’

“‘Then you can’t speak to her condition at that time?’

“‘No, my lord.’

“‘Are you going to tell me that it is impossible that her condition temporarily improved between the visit you paid that morning and the visit you paid that night?’

“‘It is not impossible, my lord. But it is improbable.’

“‘Why improbable?’

“‘Because her illness was taking a certain course.’

“‘Have you ever known cases in which patients who were dying suddenly rallied for a while?’

“‘I have known such cases, my lord. But I should be much surprised if this case was one of them.’

“Coles was outraged. I was too young to be outraged, but it seemed to me very surprising and most unfair.”

“It was monstrous,” said Berry. “Whatever was biting Jeune?”

“God knows,” said I. “And he interrupted Clarke more than once, but favoured Bargrave Deane. The more I think upon it, the more inclined I am to the idea that Jeune’s dislike of Clarke had much to do with his attitude. It’s a very painful conclusion, but I can come to no other.

“Well, all this has taken a very short time to tell, but the examination, cross-examination and re-examination of witnesses is a slow business and the case for the Trustees was not concluded until the luncheon-adjournment on the second day. It remained for the companion and her brother to propound their Will and give their evidence and then for Clarke and Bargrave Deane to address the jury.

“As we left the Court, I remember that Coles touched my arm. I looked round. Then I followed his gaze to see Clarke and Bargrave Deane in close conversation, by themselves. ‘The case will be settled,’ said Coles. ‘Let’s go and lunch.’”

“Oh, I can’t bear it,” said Berry.

“He was perfectly right,” I said. “When the Judge took his seat after luncheon, Sir Edward Clarke rose to his feet.

“‘I am happy to say,’ he said, ‘that your lordship will not be further troubled with this case. A settlement has been arranged agreeable to both parties.’

“There was a general rustle of astonishment, but Jeune just nodded.

“‘Very well,’ he said.

“More was said, of course, because you couldn’t have two Wills admitted to Probate. But I don’t remember what was said and I really don’t care. I believe the fortune was divided between the beneficiaries of the first Will and those of the second. But young as I was, I was wild. Bitterly disappointed and wild.

“Coles said very little, although of course I kept on asking him why the Trustees had thrown in their hand.

“As we walked back to his office, ‘I shall learn the truth later,’ he said. ‘And I’ll tell you then. I’m as upset as you are. I cannot bear to see a good case go wrong. The jury were certainly staggered, and I’m told that the betting in court was five to one on the Trustees.’

“I didn’t see him again for three or four weeks.

“Then –

“‘D’you remember what Sir George Lewis said to Sir Edward Clarke?’

“‘I do indeed,’ I said.

“‘What he said was perfectly true. Clarke should have won that case hands down. The Trustees’ case was strong: but if the other side’s case had been presented, you would have had the pleasure of hearing it pulverized. You see, Gill was brought in by the Trustees on purpose to cross-examine – that is his great forte. Imagine his cross-examination of the doctor, who had been left five thousand pounds. Or of the companion, or of her brother. Gill would have torn them in pieces. It was what he was there to do. And the jury would have found for the Trustees without leaving the box. Instead, the case was settled – before the other side had opened their mouths.

“‘You remember that Clarke and Bargrave Deane were in close conversation. Well, after we’d gone, Clarke saw the solicitor to the Trustees and said he wanted to see him and his clients in a consulting-room at a quarter to two.