Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor
I never thought at my years to have such bitter experience of the evil;
and it seemed to me that if the lawyers failed to do their duty, they
ought to pay people for waiting upon them, instead of making them pay
for it. But here I was, now in the second month living at my own
charges in the house of a worthy fellmonger at the sign of the Seal and
Squirrel, abutting upon the Strand road which leads from Temple Bar
to Charing. Here I did very well indeed, having a mattress of good
skin-dressings, and plenty to eat every day of my life, but the butter
was something to cry “but” thrice at (according to a conceit of our
school days), and the milk must have come from cows driven to water.
However, these evils were light compared with the heavy bill sent up to
me every Saturday afternoon; and knowing how my mother had pinched to
send me nobly to London, and had told me to spare for nothing, but live
bravely with the best of them, the tears very nearly came into my eyes,
as I thought, while I ate, of so robbing her.
At length, being quite at the end of my money, and seeing no other help
for it, I determined to listen to clerks no more, but force my way up to
the Justices, and insist upon being heard by them, or discharged from my
recognisance. For so they had termed the bond or deed which I had been
forced to execute, in the presence of a chief clerk or notary, the very
day after I came to London. And the purport of it was, that on pain of
a heavy fine or escheatment, I would hold myself ready and present, to
give evidence when called upon. Having delivered me up to sign this,
Jeremy Stickles was quit of me, and went upon other business, not but
what he was kind and good to me, when his time and pursuits allowed of
it.
CHAPTER XXV
A GREAT MAN ATTENDS TO BUSINESS
Having seen Lord Russell murdered in the fields of Lincoln's Inn, or
rather having gone to see it, but turned away with a sickness and a
bitter flood of tears--for a whiter and a nobler neck never fell
before low beast--I strode away towards Westminster, cured of half my
indignation at the death of Charles the First. Many people hurried past
me, chiefly of the more tender sort, revolting at the butchery. In their
ghastly faces, as they turned them back, lest the sight should be coming
after them, great sorrow was to be seen, and horror, and pity, and some
anger.
In Westminster Hall I found nobody; not even the crowd of crawling
varlets, who used to be craving evermore for employment or for payment.
I knocked at three doors, one after other, of lobbies going out of it,
where I had formerly seen some officers and people pressing in and out,
but for my trouble I took nothing, except some thumps from echo. And at
last an old man told me that all the lawyers were gone to see the result
of their own works, in the fields of Lincoln's Inn.
However, in a few days' time, I had better fortune; for the court was
sitting and full of business, to clear off the arrears of work, before
the lawyers' holiday. As I was waiting in the hall for a good occasion,
a man with horsehair on his head, and a long blue bag in his left hand,
touched me gently on the arm, and led me into a quiet place. I followed
him very gladly, being confident that he came to me with a message from
the Justiciaries. But after taking pains to be sure that none could
overhear us, he turned on me suddenly, and asked,--
“Now, John, how is your dear mother?”
“Worshipful sir” I answered him, after recovering from my surprise at
his knowledge of our affairs, and kindly interest in them, “it is two
months now since I have seen her. Would to God that I only knew how she
is faring now, and how the business of the farm goes!”
“Sir, I respect and admire you,” the old gentleman replied, with a
bow very low and genteel; “few young court-gallants of our time are so
reverent and dutiful. Oh, how I did love my mother!” Here he turned up
his eyes to heaven, in a manner that made me feel for him and yet with a
kind of wonder.
“I am very sorry for you, sir,” I answered most respectfully, not
meaning to trespass on his grief, yet wondering at his mother's age; for
he seemed to be at least threescore; “but I am no court-gallant, sir; I
am only a farmer's son, and learning how to farm a little.”
“Enough, John; quite enough,” he cried, “I can read it in thy
countenance. Honesty is written there, and courage and simplicity. But I
fear that, in this town of London, thou art apt to be taken in by people
of no principle. Ah me! Ah me! The world is bad, and I am too old to
improve it.”
Then finding him so good and kind, and anxious to improve the age, I
told him almost everything; how much I paid the fellmonger, and all the
things I had been to see; and how I longed to get away, before the corn
was ripening; yet how (despite of these desires) I felt myself bound to
walk up and down, being under a thing called “recognisance.” In short,
I told him everything; except the nature of my summons (which I had no
right to tell), and that I was out of money.
My tale was told in a little archway, apart from other lawyers; and the
other lawyers seemed to me to shift themselves, and to look askew, like
sheep through a hurdle, when the rest are feeding.
“What! Good God!” my lawyer cried, smiting his breast indignantly with a
roll of something learned; “in what country do we live? Under what
laws are we governed? No case before the court whatever; no primary
deposition, so far as we are furnished; not even a King's writ
issued--and here we have a fine young man dragged from his home and
adoring mother, during the height of agriculture, at his own cost and
charges! I have heard of many grievances; but this the very worst of
all. Nothing short of a Royal Commission could be warranty for it. This
is not only illegal, sir, but most gravely unconstitutional.”
“I had not told you, worthy sir,” I answered him, in a lower tone, “if I
could have thought that your sense of right would be moved so painfully.
But now I must beg to leave you, sir--for I see that the door again is
open. I beg you, worshipful sir, to accept--”
Upon this he put forth his hand and said, “Nay, nay, my son, not two,
not two:” yet looking away, that he might not scare me.
“To accept, kind sir, my very best thanks, and most respectful
remembrances.” And with that, I laid my hand in his. “And if, sir, any
circumstances of business or of pleasure should bring you to our part
of the world, I trust you will not forget that my mother and myself (if
ever I get home again) will do our best to make you comfortable with our
poor hospitality.”
With this I was hasting away from him, but he held my hand and looked
round at me. And he spoke without cordiality.
“Young man, a general invitation is no entry for my fee book. I have
spent a good hour of business-time in mastering thy case, and stating
my opinion of it. And being a member of the bar, called six-and-thirty
years agone by the honourable society of the Inner Temple, my fee is
at my own discretion; albeit an honorarium. For the honour of the
profession, and my position in it, I ought to charge thee at least five
guineas, although I would have accepted one, offered with good will
and delicacy. Now I will enter it two, my son, and half a crown for my
clerk's fee.”
Saying this, he drew forth from his deep, blue bag, a red book having
clasps to it, and endorsed in gold letters “Fee-book”; and before I
could speak (being frightened so) he had entered on a page of it, “To
consideration of case as stated by John Ridd, and advising thereupon,
two guineas.”
“But sir, good sir,” I stammered forth, not having two guineas left in
the world, yet grieving to confess it, “I knew not that I was to pay,
learned sir. I never thought of it in that way.”
“Wounds of God! In what way thought you that a lawyer listened to your
rigmarole?”
“I thought that you listened from kindness, sir, and compassion of my
grievous case, and a sort of liking for me.”
“A lawyer like thee, young curmudgeon! A lawyer afford to feel
compassion gratis! Either thou art a very deep knave, or the greenest of
all greenhorns. Well, I suppose, I must let thee off for one guinea, and
the clerk's fee. A bad business, a shocking business!”
Now, if this man had continued kind and soft, as when he heard my story,
I would have pawned my clothes to pay him, rather than leave a debt
behind, although contracted unwittingly. But when he used harsh language
so, knowing that I did not deserve it, I began to doubt within myself
whether he deserved my money. Therefore I answered him with some
readiness, such as comes sometimes to me, although I am so slow.
“Sir, I am no curmudgeon: if a young man had called me so, it would not
have been well with him. This money shall be paid, if due, albeit I
had no desire to incur the debt. You have advised me that the Court
is liable for my expenses, so far as they be reasonable. If this be
a reasonable expense, come with me now to Lord Justice Jeffreys, and
receive from him the two guineas, or (it may be) five, for the counsel
you have given me to deny his jurisdiction.” With these words, I took
his arm to lead him, for the door was open still.
“In the name of God, boy, let me go. Worthy sir, pray let me go. My wife
is sick, and my daughter dying--in the name of God, sir, let me go.”
“Nay, nay,” I said, having fast hold of him, “I cannot let thee go
unpaid, sir. Right is right; and thou shalt have it.”
“Ruin is what I shall have, boy, if you drag me before that devil. He
will strike me from the bar at once, and starve me, and all my family.
Here, lad, good lad, take these two guineas. Thou hast despoiled
the spoiler. Never again will I trust mine eyes for knowledge of a
greenhorn.”
He slipped two guineas into the hand which I had hooked through his
elbow, and spoke in an urgent whisper again, for the people came
crowding around us--“For God's sake let me go, boy; another moment will
be too late.”
“Learned sir,” I answered him, “twice you spoke, unless I err, of the
necessity of a clerk's fee, as a thing to be lamented.”
“To be sure, to be sure, my son. You have a clerk as much as I have.
There it is. Now I pray thee, take to the study of the law. Possession
is nine points of it, which thou hast of me. Self-possession is the
tenth, and that thou hast more than the other nine.”
Being flattered by this, and by the feeling of the two guineas and
half-crown, I dropped my hold upon Counsellor Kitch (for he was no less
a man than that), and he was out of sight in a second of time, wig, blue
bag, and family. And before I had time to make up my mind what I should
do with his money (for of course I meant not to keep it) the crier of
the Court (as they told me) came out, and wanted to know who I was. I
told him, as shortly as I could, that my business lay with His Majesty's
bench, and was very confidential; upon which he took me inside with
warning, and showed me to an under-clerk, who showed me to a higher one,
and the higher clerk to the head one.
When this gentleman understood all about my business (which I told him
without complaint) he frowned at me very heavily, as if I had done him
an injury.
“John Ridd,” he asked me with a stern glance, “is it your deliberate
desire to be brought into the presence of the Lord Chief Justice?”
“Surely, sir, it has been my desire for the last two months and more.”
“Then, John, thou shalt be. But mind one thing, not a word of thy long
detention, or thou mayst get into trouble.”
“How, sir? For being detained against my own wish?” I asked him; but he
turned away, as if that matter were not worth his arguing, as, indeed, I