THE FIRST DAY OF THE TRIAL

And now the judge was there on the bench, the barristers and the attorneys were collected, the prisoner was seated in their presence, and the trial was begun.  As is usual in cases of much public moment, when a person of mark is put upon his purgation, or the offence is one which has attracted notice, a considerable amount of time was spent in preliminaries.  But we, who are not bound by the necessities under which the court laboured, will pass over these somewhat rapidly.  The prisoner was arraigned on the charge of perjury, and pleaded “not guilty” in a voice which, though low, was audible to all the court.  At that moment the hum of voices had stayed itself, and the two small words, spoken in a clear, silver tone, reached the ears of all that then were there assembled.  Some had surmised it to be possible that she would at the last moment plead guilty, but such persons had not known Lady Mason.  And then by slow degrees a jury was sworn, a considerable number of jurors having been set aside at the instance of Lady Mason’s counsel.  Mr. Aram had learned to what part of the county each man belonged, and upon his instructions those who came from the neighbourhood of Hamworth were passed over.

The comparative lightness of the offence divested the commencement of the trial of much of that importance and apparent dignity which attach themselves to most celebrated criminal cases.  The prisoner was not bidden to look upon the juror, nor the juror to look upon the prisoner, as though a battle for life and death were to be fought between them.  A true bill of perjury had come down to the court from the grand jury, but the court officials could not bring themselves on such an occasion to open the case with all that solemnity and deference to the prisoner which they would have exhibited had she been charged with murdering her old husband.  Nor was it even the same as though she had been accused of forgery.  Though forgery be not now a capital crime, it was so within our memories, and there is still a certain grandeur in the name.  But perjury sounds small and petty, and it was not therefore till the trial had advanced a stage or two that it assumed that importance which it afterwards never lost.  That this should be so cut Mr. Mason of Groby to the very soul.  Even Mr. Dockwrath had been unable to make him understand that his chance of regaining the property was under the present circumstances much greater than it would have been had Lady Mason been arraigned for forgery.  He would not believe that the act of forgery might possibly not have been proved.  Could she have been first whipped through the street for the misdemeanour, and then hung for the felony, his spirit would not have been more than sufficiently appeased.

The case was opened by one Mr. Steelyard, the junior counsel for the prosecution; but his work on this occasion was hardly more than formal.  He merely stated the nature of the accusation against Lady Mason, and the issue which the jury were called upon to try.  Then got up Sir Richard Leatherham, the solicitor-general, and at great length and with wonderful perspicuity explained all the circumstances of the case, beginning with the undoubted will left by Sir Joseph Mason, the will independently of the codicil, and coming down gradually to the discovery of that document in Mr. Dockwrath’s office, which led to the surmise that the signature of those two witnesses had been obtained, not to a codicil to a will, but to a deed of another character.  In doing this Sir Richard did not seem to lean very heavily upon Lady Mason, nor did he say much as to the wrongs suffered by Mr. Mason of Groby.  When he alluded to Mr. Dockwrath and his part in these transactions, he paid no compliment to the Hamworth attorney; but in referring to his learned friend on the other side he protested his conviction that the defence of Lady Mason would be conducted not only with zeal, but in that spirit of justice and truth for which the gentlemen opposite to him were so conspicuous in their profession.  All this was wormwood to Joseph Mason; but nevertheless, though Sir Richard was so moderate as to his own side, and so courteous to that opposed to him, he made it very clear before he sat down that if those witnesses were prepared to swear that which he was instructed they would swear, either they must be utterly unworthy of credit ­a fact which his learned friends opposite were as able to elicit as any gentlemen who had ever graced the English bar ­or else the prisoner now on her trial must have been guilty of the crime of perjury now imputed to her.

Of all those in court now attending to the proceedings, none listened with greater care to the statement made by Sir Richard than Joseph Mason, Lady Mason herself, and Felix Graham.  To Joseph Mason it appeared that his counsel was betraying him.  Sir Richard and Round were in a boat together and were determined to throw him over yet once again.  Had it been possible he would have stopped the proceedings, and in this spirit he spoke to Dockwrath.  To Joseph Mason it would have seemed right that Sir Richard should begin by holding up Lady Mason to the scorn and indignation of the twelve honest jurymen before him.  Mr. Dockwrath, whose intelligence was keener in such matters, endeavoured to make his patron understand that he was wrong; but in this he did not succeed.  “If he lets her escape me,” said Mason, “I think it will be the death of me.”

To Lady Mason it appeared as though the man who was now showing to all the crowd there assembled the chief scenes of her past life, had been present and seen everything that she had ever done.  He told the jury of all who had been present in the room when that true deed had been signed; he described how old Usbech had sat there incapable of action; how that affair of the partnership had been brought to a close; how those two witnesses had thereupon appended their name to a deed; how those witnesses had been deceived, or partially deceived, as to their own signatures when called upon to give their testimony at a former trial; and he told them also that a comparison of the signatures on the codicil with those signatures which were undoubtedly true would lead an expert and professional judge of writing to tell them that the one set of signatures or the other must be forgeries.  Then he went on to describe how the pretended codicil must in truth have been executed ­speaking of the solitary room in which the bad work had been done, of the midnight care and terrible solicitude for secrecy.  And then, with apparent mercy, he attempted to mitigate the iniquity of the deed by telling the jury that it had not been done by that lady with any view to self-aggrandisement, but had been brought about by a lamentable, infatuated, mad idea that she might in this way do that justice to her child which that child’s father had refused to do at her instance.  He also, when he told of this, spoke of Rebekah and her son; and Mrs. Orme when she heard him did not dare to raise her eyes from the table.  Lucius Mason, when he had listened to this, lifted his clenched hand on high, and brought it down with loud violence on the raised desk in front of him.  “I know the merits of that young man,” said Sir Richard, looking at him; “I am told that he is a gentleman, good, industrious, and high spirited.  I wish he were not here; I wish with all my heart he were not here.”  And then a tear, an absolute and true drop of briny moisture, stood in the eye of that old experienced lawyer.  Lucius, when he heard this, for a moment covered his face.  It was but for a moment, and then he looked up again, turning his eyes slowly round the entire court, and as he did so grasping his mother by the arm.  “He’ll look in a different sort of fashion by to-morrow evening, I guess,” said Dockwrath into his neighbour’s ear.  During all this time no change came over Lady Mason’s face.  When she felt her son’s hand upon her arm her muscles had moved involuntarily; but she recovered herself at the moment, and then went on enduring it all with absolute composure.  Nevertheless it seemed to her as though that man who stood before her, telling his tale so calmly, had read the secrets of her very soul.  What chance could there be for her when everything was thus known?

To every word that was spoken Felix Graham gave all his mind.  While Mr. Chaffanbrass sat fidgeting, or reading, or dreaming, caring nothing for all that his learned brother might say, Graham listened to every fact that was stated, and to every surmise that was propounded.  To him the absolute truth in this affair was matter of great moment, but yet he felt that he dreaded to know the truth.  Would it not be better for him that he should not know it?  But yet he listened, and his active mind, intent on the various points as they were evolved, would not restrain itself from forming opinions.  With all his ears he listened, and as he did so Mr. Chaffanbrass, amidst his dreaming, reading, and fidgeting, kept an attentive eye upon him.  To him it was a matter of course that Lady Mason should be guilty.  Had she not been guilty, he, Mr. Chaffanbrass, would not have been required.  Mr. Chaffanbrass well understood that the defence of injured innocence was no part of his mission.

Then at last Sir Richard Leatherham brought to a close his long tale, and the examination of the witnesses was commenced.  By this time it was past two o’clock, and the judge went out of court for a few minutes to refresh himself with a glass of wine and a sandwich.  And now young Peregrine Orme, in spite of all obstacles, made his way up to his mother and led her also out of court.  He took his mother’s arm, and Lady Mason followed with her son, and so they made their way into the small outer room which they had first entered.  Not a word was said between them on the subject which was filling the minds of all of them.  Lucius stood silent and absorbed while Peregrine offered refreshment to both the ladies.  Lady Mason, doing as she was bid, essayed to eat and to drink.  What was it to her whether she ate and drank or was a-hungered?  To maintain by her demeanour the idea in men’s minds that she might still possibly be innocent ­that was her work.  And therefore, in order that those two young men might still think so, she ate and drank as she was bidden.

On their return to court Mr. Steelyard got up to examine Dockwrath, who was put into the box as the first witness.  The attorney produced certain documents supposed to be of relevancy, which he had found among his father-in-law’s papers, and then described how he had found that special document which gave him to understand that Bolster and Kenneby had been used as witnesses to a certain signature on that 14th of July.  He had known all the circumstances of the old trial, and hence his suspicions had been aroused.  Acting upon this he had gone immediately down to Mr. Mason in Yorkshire, and the present trial was the result of his care and intelligence.  This was in effect the purport of his direct evidence, and then he was handed over to the tender mercies of the other side.

On the other side Mr. Chaffanbrass rose to begin the battle.  Mr. Furnival had already been engaged in sundry of those preliminary skirmishes which had been found necessary before the fight had been commenced in earnest, and therefore the turn had now come for Mr. Chaffanbrass.  All this, however, had been arranged beforehand, and it had been agreed that if possible Dockwrath should be made to fall into the clutches of the Old Bailey barrister.  It was pretty to see the meek way in which Mr. Chaffanbrass rose to his work; how gently he smiled, how he fidgeted about a few of the papers as though he were not at first quite master of his situation, and how he arranged his old wig in a modest, becoming manner, bringing it well forward over his forehead.  His voice also was low and soft; ­so low that it was hardly heard through the whole court, and persons who had come far to listen to him began to feel themselves disappointed.  And it was pretty also to see how Dockwrath armed himself for the encounter, ­how he sharpened his teeth, as it were, and felt the points of his own claws.  The little devices of Mr. Chaffanbrass did not deceive him.  He knew what he had to expect; but his pluck was good, as is the pluck of a terrier when a mastiff prepares to attack him.  Let Mr. Chaffanbrass do his worst; that would all be over in an hour or so.  But when Mr. Chaffanbrass had done his worst, Orley Farm would still remain.

“I believe you were a tenant of Lady Mason’s at one time, Mr. Dockwrath?” asked the barrister.

“I was; and she turned me out.  If you will allow me I will tell you how all that happened, and how I was angered by the usage I received.”  Mr. Dockwrath was determined to make a clean breast of it, and rather go before his tormentor in telling all that there was to be told, than lag behind as an unwilling witness.

“Do,” said Mr. Chaffanbrass.  “That will be very kind of you.  When I have learned all that, and one other little circumstance of the same nature, I do not think I shall want to trouble you any more.”  And then Mr. Dockwrath did tell it all; ­how he had lost the two fields, how he had thus become very angry, how this anger had induced him at once to do that which he had long thought of doing, ­search, namely, among the papers of old Mr. Usbech, with the view of ascertaining what might be the real truth as regarded that doubtful codicil.

“And you found what you searched for, Mr. Dockwrath?”

“I did,” said Dockwrath.

“Without very much delay, apparently?”

“I was two or three days over the work.”

“But you found exactly what you wanted?”

“I found what I expected to find.”

“And that, although all those papers had been subjected to the scrutiny of Messrs. Round and Crook at the time of that other trial twenty years ago?”

“I was sharper than them, Mr. Chaffanbrass, ­a deal sharper.”

“So I perceive,” said Chaffanbrass, and now he had pushed back his wig a little, and his eyes had begun to glare with an ugly red light.  “Yes,” he said, “it will be long, I think, before my old friends Round and Crook are as sharp as you are, Mr. Dockwrath.”

“Upon my word I agree with you, Mr. Chaffanbrass.”

“Yes; Round and Crook are babies to you, Mr. Dockwrath;” and now Mr. Chaffanbrass began to pick at his chin with his finger, as he was accustomed to do when he warmed to his subject.  “Babies to you!  You have had a good deal to do with them, I should say, in getting up this case.”

“I have had something to do with them.”

“And very much they must have enjoyed your society, Mr. Dockwrath!  And what wrinkles they must have learned from you!  What a pleasant oasis it must have been in the generally somewhat dull course of their monotonous though profitable business!  I quite envy Round and Crook having you alongside of them in their inner council-chamber.”

“I know nothing about that, sir.”

“No; I dare say you don’t; ­but they’ll remember it.  Well, when you’d turned over your father-in-law’s papers for three days you found what you looked for?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You had been tolerably sure that you would find it before you began, eh?”

“Well, I had expected that something would turn up.”

“I have no doubt you did, ­and something has turned up.  That gentleman sitting next to you there, ­who is he?”

“Joseph Mason, Esquire, of Groby Park,” said Dockwrath.

“So I thought.  It is he that is to have Orley Farm, if Lady Mason and her son should lose it?”

“In that case he would be the heir.”

“Exactly.  He would be the heir.  How pleasant it must be to you to find yourself on such affectionate terms with ­the heir!  And when he comes into his inheritance, who is to be tenant?  Can you tell us that?”

Dockwrath here paused for a moment.  Not that he hesitated as to telling the whole truth.  He had fully made up his mind to do so, and to brazen the matter out, declaring that of course he was to be considered worthy of his reward.  But there was that in the manner and eye of Chaffanbrass which stopped him for a moment, and his enemy immediately took advantage of this hesitation.  “Come sir,” said he, “out with it.  If I don’t get it from you, I shall from somebody else.  You’ve been very plain-spoken hitherto.  Don’t let the jury think that your heart is failing you at last.”

“There is no reason why my heart should fail me,” said Dockwrath, in an angry tone.

“Is there not?  I must differ from you there, Mr. Dockwrath.  The heart of any man placed in such a position as that you now hold must, I think, fail him.  But never mind that.  Who is to be the tenant of Orley Farm when my client has been deprived of it?”

“I am.”

“Just so.  You were turned out from those two fields when young Mason came home from Germany?”

“I was.”

“You immediately went to work and discovered this document?”

“I did.”

“You put up Joseph Mason to this trial?”

“I told him my opinion.”

“Exactly.  And if the result be successful, you are to be put in possession of the land.”

“I shall become Mr. Mason’s tenant at Orley Farm.”

“Yes, you will become Mr. Mason’s tenant at Orley Farm.  Upon my word, Mr. Dockwrath, you have made my work to-day uncommonly easy for me, ­uncommonly easy.  I don’t know that I have anything else to ask you.”  And then Mr. Chaffanbrass, as he sat down, looked up to the jury with an expression of countenance which was in itself worth any fee that could be paid to him for that day’s work.  His face spoke as plain as a face could speak, and what his face said was this:  “After that, gentlemen of the jury, very little more can be necessary.  You now see the motives of our opponents, and the way in which those motives have been allowed to act.  We, who are altogether upon the square in what we are doing, desire nothing more than that.”  All which Mr. Chaffanbrass said by his look, his shrug, and his gesture, much more eloquently than he could have done by the use of any words.

Mr. Dockwrath, as he left the box and went back to his seat ­in doing which he had to cross the table in the middle of the court ­endeavoured to look and move as though all were right with him.  He knew that the eyes of the court were on him, and especially the eyes of the judge and jury.  He knew also how men’s minds are unconsciously swayed by small appearances.  He endeavoured therefore to seem indifferent; but in doing so he swaggered, and was conscious that he swaggered; and he felt as he gained his seat that Mr. Chaffanbrass had been too much for him.

Then one Mr. Torrington from London was examined by Sir Richard Leatherham, and he proved, apparently beyond all doubt, that a certain deed which he produced was genuine.  That deed bore the same date as the codicil which was now questioned, had been executed at Orley Farm by old Sir Joseph, and bore the signatures of John Kenneby and Bridget Bolster as witnesses.  Sir Richard, holding the deeds in his hands, explained to the jury that he did not at the present stage of the proceedings ask them to take it as proved that those names were the true signatures of the two persons indicated. ("I should think not,” said Mr. Furnival, in a loud voice.) But he asked them to satisfy themselves that the document as now existing purported to bear those two signatures.  It would be for them to judge, when the evidence brought before them should be complete, whether or no that deed were a true document.  And then the deed was handed up into the jury-box, and the twelve jurymen all examined it.  The statement made by this Mr. Torrington was very simple.  It had become his business to know the circumstances of the late partnership between Mason and Martock, and these circumstances he explained.  Then Sir Richard handed him over to be cross-examined.

It was now Graham’s turn to begin his work; but as he rose to do so his mind misgave him.  Not a syllable that this Torrington had said appeared to him to be unworthy of belief.  The man had not uttered a word, of the truth of which Graham did not feel himself positively assured; and, more than that, ­the man had clearly told all that was within him to tell, all that it was well that the jury should hear in order that they might thereby be assisted in coming to a true decision.  It had been hinted in his hearing, both by Chaffanbrass and Aram, that this man was probably in league with Dockwrath, and Aram had declared with a sneer that he was a puzzle-pated old fellow.  He might be puzzle-pated, and had already shown that he was bashful and unhappy in his present position; but he had shown also, as Graham thought, that he was anxious to tell the truth.

And, moreover, Graham had listened with all his mind to the cross-examination of Dockwrath, and he was filled with disgust ­with disgust, not so much at the part played by the attorney as at that played by the barrister.  As Graham regarded the matter, what had the iniquities and greed of Dockwrath to do with it?  Had reason been shown why the statement made by Dockwrath was in itself unworthy of belief, ­that that statement was in its own essence weak, ­then the character of the man making it might fairly affect its credibility.  But presuming that statement to be wrong, ­presuming that it was corroborated by other evidence, how could it be affected by any amount of villainy on the part of Dockwrath?  All that Chaffanbrass had done or attempted was to prove that Dockwrath had had his own end to serve.  Who had ever doubted it?  But not a word had been said, not a spark of evidence elicited, to show that the man had used a falsehood to further those views of his.  Of all this the mind of Felix Graham had been full; and now, as he rose to take his own share of the work, his wit was at work rather in opposition to Lady Mason than on her behalf.

This Torrington was a little old man, and Graham had watched how his hands had trembled when Sir Richard first addressed him.  But Sir Richard had been very kind, ­as was natural to his own witness, and the old man had gradually regained his courage.  But now as he turned his face round to the side where he knew that he might expect to find an enemy, that tremor again came upon him, and the stick which he held in his hand was heard as it tapped gently against the side of the witness-box.  Graham, as he rose to his work, saw that Mr. Chaffanbrass had fixed his eye upon him, and his courage rose the higher within him as he felt the gaze of the man whom he so much disliked.  Was it within the compass of his heart to bully an old man because such a one as Chaffanbrass desired it of him?  By heaven, no!

He first asked Mr. Torrington his age, and having been told that he was over seventy, Graham went on to assure him that nothing which could be avoided should be said to disturb his comfort.  “And now, Mr. Torrington,” he asked, “will you tell me whether you are a friend of Mr. Dockwrath’s, or have had any acquaintance with him previous to the affairs of this trial?” This question he repeated in various forms, but always in a mild voice, and without the appearance of any disbelief in the answers which were given to him.  All these questions Torrington answered by a plain negative.  He had never seen Dockwrath till the attorney had come to him on the matter of that partnership deed.  He had never eaten or drunk with him, nor had there ever been between them any conversation of a confidential nature.  “That will do, Mr. Torrington,” said Graham; and as he sat down, he again turned round and looked Mr. Chaffanbrass full in the face.

After that nothing further of interest was done that day.  A few unimportant witnesses were examined on legal points, and then the court was adjourned.