The Forsyte saga - Complete
George turned on him, looking really formidable, with a sort of
savage gloom on his big face.
“Dry up!” he said. “Don’t I tell you he’s ‘taken the knock!’”
CHAPTER V THE TRIAL
In the morning of his case, which was second in the list, Soames
was again obliged to start without seeing Irene, and it was just
as well, for he had not as yet made up his mind what attitude to
adopt towards her.
He had been requested to be in court by half-past ten, to provide
against the event of the first action (a breach of promise)
collapsing, which however it did not, both sides showing a
courage that afforded Waterbuck, Q.C., an opportunity for
improving his already great reputation in this class of case. He
was opposed by Ram, the other celebrated breach of promise man.
It was a battle of giants.
The court delivered judgment just before the luncheon interval.
The jury left the box for good, and Soames went out to get
something to eat. He met James standing at the little
luncheon-bar, like a pelican in the wilderness of the galleries,
bent over a sandwich with a glass of sherry before him. The
spacious emptiness of the great central hall, over which father
and son brooded as they stood together, was marred now and then
for a fleeting moment by barristers in wig and gown hurriedly
bolting across, by an occasional old lady or rusty-coated man,
looking up in a frightened way, and by two persons, bolder than
their generation, seated in an embrasure arguing. The sound of
their voices arose, together with a scent as of neglected wells,
which, mingling with the odour of the galleries, combined to form
the savour, like nothing but the emanation of a refined cheese,
so indissolubly connected with the administration of British
Justice.
It was not long before James addressed his son.
“When’s your case coming on? I suppose it’ll be on directly. I
shouldn’t wonder if this Bosinney’d say anything; I should think
he’d have to. He’ll go bankrupt if it goes against him.” He took
a large bite at his sandwich and a mouthful of sherry. “Your
mother,” he said, “wants you and Irene to come and dine
to-night.”
A chill smile played round Soames’s lips; he looked back at his
father. Anyone who had seen the look, cold and furtive, thus
interchanged, might have been pardoned for not appreciating the
real understanding between them. James finished his sherry at a
draught.
“How much?” he asked.
On returning to the court Soames took at once his rightful seat
on the front bench beside his solicitor. He ascertained where his
father was seated with a glance so sidelong as to commit nobody.
James, sitting back with his hands clasped over the handle of his
umbrella, was brooding on the end of the bench immediately behind
counsel, whence he could get away at once when the case was over.
He considered Bosinney’s conduct in every way outrageous, but he
did not wish to run up against him, feeling that the meeting
would be awkward.
Next to the Divorce Court, this court was, perhaps, the favourite
emporium of justice, libel, breach of promise, and other
commercial actions being frequently decided there. Quite a
sprinkling of persons unconnected with the law occupied the back
benches, and the hat of a woman or two could be seen in the
gallery.
The two rows of seats immediately in front of James were
gradually filled by barristers in wigs, who sat down to make
pencil notes, chat, and attend to their teeth; but his interest
was soon diverted from these lesser lights of justice by the
entrance of Waterbuck, Q.C., with the wings of his silk gown
rustling, and his red, capable face supported by two short, brown
whiskers. The famous Q.C. looked, as James freely admitted, the
very picture of a man who could heckle a witness.
For all his experience, it so happened that he had never seen
Waterbuck, Q.C., before, and, like many Forsytes in the lower
branch of the profession, he had an extreme admiration for a good
cross-examiner. The long, lugubrious folds in his cheeks relaxed
somewhat after seeing him, especially as he now perceived that
Soames alone was represented by silk.
Waterbuck, Q.C., had barely screwed round on his elbow to chat
with his Junior before Mr. Justice Bentham himself appeared—a
thin, rather hen-like man, with a little stoop, clean-shaven
under his snowy wig. Like all the rest of the court, Waterbuck
rose, and remained on his feet until the judge was seated. James
rose but slightly; he was already comfortable, and had no opinion
of Bentham, having sat next but one to him at dinner twice at the
Bumley Tomms’. Bumley Tomm was rather a poor thing, though he had
been so successful. James himself had given him his first brief.
He was excited, too, for he had just found out that Bosinney was
not in court.
“Now, what’s he mean by that?” he kept on thinking.
The case having been called on, Waterbuck, Q.C., pushing back his
papers, hitched his gown on his shoulder, and, with a
semi-circular look around him, like a man who is going to bat,
arose and addressed the Court.
The facts, he said, were not in dispute, and all that his
Lordship would be asked was to interpret the correspondence which
had taken place between his client and the defendant, an
architect, with reference to the decoration of a house. He would,
however, submit that this correspondence could only mean one very
plain thing. After briefly reciting the history of the house at
Robin Hill, which he described as a mansion, and the actual facts
of expenditure, he went on as follows:
“My client, Mr. Soames Forsyte, is a gentleman, a man of
property, who would be the last to dispute any legitimate claim
that might be made against him, but he has met with such
treatment from his architect in the matter of this house, over
which he has, as your lordship has heard, already spent some
twelve—some twelve thousand pounds, a sum considerably in advance
of the amount he had originally contemplated, that as a matter of
principle—and this I cannot too strongly emphasize—as a matter of
principle, and in the interests of others, he has felt himself
compelled to bring this action. The point put forward in defence
by the architect I will suggest to your lordship is not worthy of
a moment’s serious consideration.” He then read the
correspondence.
His client, “a man of recognised position,” was prepared to go
into the box, and to swear that he never did authorize, that it
was never in his mind to authorize, the expenditure of any money
beyond the extreme limit of twelve thousand and fifty pounds,
which he had clearly fixed; and not further to waste the time of
the court, he would at once call Mr. Forsyte.
Soames then went into the box. His whole appearance was striking
in its composure. His face, just supercilious enough, pale and
clean-shaven, with a little line between the eyes, and compressed
lips; his dress in unostentatious order, one hand neatly gloved,
the other bare. He answered the questions put to him in a
somewhat low, but distinct voice. His evidence under
cross-examination savoured of taciturnity.
Had he not used the expression, “a free hand”? No.
“Come, come!”
The expression he had used was “a free hand in the terms of this
correspondence.”
“Would you tell the Court that that was English?”
“Yes!”
“What do you say it means?”
“What it says!”
“Are you prepared to deny that it is a contradiction in terms?”
“Yes.”
“You are not an Irishman?”
“No.”
“Are you a well-educated man?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you persist in that statement?”
“Yes.”
Throughout this and much more cross-examination, which turned
again and again around the “nice point,” James sat with his hand
behind his ear, his eyes fixed upon his son.
He was proud of him! He could not but feel that in similar
circumstances he himself would have been tempted to enlarge his
replies, but his instinct told him that this taciturnity was the
very thing. He sighed with relief, however, when Soames, slowly
turning, and without any change of expression, descended from the
box.
When it came to the turn of Bosinney’s Counsel to address the
Judge, James redoubled his attention, and he searched the Court
again and again to see if Bosinney were not somewhere concealed.
Young Chankery began nervously; he was placed by Bosinney’s
absence in an awkward position. He therefore did his best to turn
that absence to account.
He could not but fear—he said—that his client had met with an
accident. He had fully expected him there to give evidence; they
had sent round that morning both to Mr. Bosinney’s office and to
his rooms (though he knew they were one and the same, he thought
it was as well not to say so), but it was not known where he was,
and this he considered to be ominous, knowing how anxious Mr.
Bosinney had been to give his evidence. He had not, however, been
instructed to apply for an adjournment, and in default of such
instruction he conceived it his duty to go on. The plea on which
he somewhat confidently relied, and which his client, had he not
unfortunately been prevented in some way from attending, would
have supported by his evidence, was that such an expression as a
“free hand” could not be limited, fettered, and rendered
unmeaning, by any verbiage which might follow it. He would go
further and say that the correspondence showed that whatever he
might have said in his evidence, Mr. Forsyte had in fact never
contemplated repudiating liability on any of the work ordered or
executed by his architect. The defendant had certainly never
contemplated such a contingency, or, as was demonstrated by his
letters, he would never have proceeded with the work—a work of
extreme delicacy, carried out with great care and efficiency, to
meet and satisfy the fastidious taste of a connoisseur, a rich
man, a man of property. He felt strongly on this point, and
feeling strongly he used, perhaps, rather strong words when he
said that this action was of a most unjustifiable, unexpected,
indeed—unprecedented character. If his Lordship had had the
opportunity that he himself had made it his duty to take, to go
over this very fine house and see the great delicacy and beauty
of the decorations executed by his client—an artist in his most
honourable profession—he felt convinced that not for one moment
would his Lordship tolerate this, he would use no stronger word
than daring attempt to evade legitimate responsibility.
Taking the text of Soames’s letters, he lightly touched on
“Boileau _v_. The Blasted Cement Company, Limited.” “It is
doubtful,” he said, “what that authority has decided; in any case
I would submit that it is just as much in my favour as in my