Rosy Is My Relative

  ‘Exactly so, my lord.’

  The jury had been nodding and whispering like a barnful of hens and the foreman got to his feet.

  ‘Excuse me, my lord,’ he said, ‘but could we have one point made clear?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ said the judge doubtfully. ‘There are several points which I would like to get clear. What is it you wish to know?’

  ‘Well we’re a bit puzzled like with this incarnation thing.’

  ‘A good question,’ said the judge, and looked hopefully at Sir Magnus.

  ‘In parts of the world,’ said Sir Magnus oratorically, ‘where they believe in Buddhism as opposed to Christianity, one of the beliefs is that you live a whole series of lives.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Mr Filigree.

  ‘Therefore, in calling Mr Filigree as a witness, we are exceedingly lucky. Nay, I would go further and say that this is probably the most extraordinary piece of evidence ever to have been put in front of a jury. You are having the benefit of Mr Filigree’s expert knowledge of elephants, gathered over the course of years, and as you have gleaned, gentlemen of the jury, not just one elephant, not even a passing acquaintance with a pachyderm, but he had in his possession one hundred and one of them. Now you will all instantly perceive that a man who has possessed no less than one hundred and one elephants is in a much better position to advise us more humble mortals, who have not even had the privilege of keeping one elephant.’

  The foreman of the jury looked faintly stunned. He opened his mouth once or twice like an exhausted goldfish and then sat down.

  ‘Mr Filigree,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘I have pointed out to the jury your expertise on all matters appertaining to elephants. I would now like you to tell the jury what your impression of the elephant in question, Rosy, was.’

  ‘Rosy,’ squeaked Mr Filigree, his face growing even pinker, ‘is, one of the sweetest, most adorable elephants I have ever met in my life. If she had a fault at all, it was the minor one of not having any tusks.’

  ‘Why is the lack of tusks a fault?’ enquired the judge.

  ‘You cannot bore holes in them,’ said Mr Filigree.

  ‘Sir Magnus,’ said the judge, ‘I do wish you would exercise a little control over your witnesses. It seems to me they are dragging in a lot of extraneous matter which has nothing to do with the case in question.’

  ‘Of course, my lord,’ said Sir Magnus.

  ‘I had no wish to appear harsh towards Rosy,’ said Mr Filigree earnestly, waving his fingers at the judge.

  ‘Would you have said, then that she was a vicious creature?’ enquired Sir Magnus.

  ‘Vicious!’ said Mr Filigree, his face growing deep red at the mere thought. ‘Rosy vicious! She’s one of the nicest elephants I have ever met.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sir Magnus. ‘And you speak, of course, as we all know, from a vast experience of keeping elephants.’

  Sir Augustus did not really want to cross-examine but, since he had been forced to let two witnesses slip through his fingers, he felt he ought to put up some sort of show. He rose to his feet and glared at Mr Filigree.

  ‘Mr Filigree,’ he said, cuttingly, ‘Would you not say that if we do not share your beliefs in reincarnation, that the evidence you have given is null and void?’

  ‘No, no,’ fluted Mr Filigree earnestly. ‘You cannot help it if you don’t believe. You see, I have positive evidence. I was telling Adrian about my cat. That is a very good example.’

  ‘Sir Augustus,’ said the judge, ‘I don’t know why it is, but every time you get up to examine a witness, you manage to introduce a new animal of some sort. I find this very confusing.’

  ‘My lord,’ said Sir Augustus, ‘I was merely trying to make clear . . .’

  ‘Well, you are not making it clear,’ snapped the judge. ‘We have now got a cat mixed up in it.’

  ‘It was a beautiful cat,’ said Mr Filigree. ‘He recognised me instantly.’

  ‘The cat has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the case,’ said the judge. ‘I find your line of questioning, Sir Augustus, most irrelevant.’

  ‘As your lordship pleases,’ said Sir Augustus with restraint. ‘Then I have no further questions.’ He sat down and glowered at Sir Magnus, who was lying back with his eyes closed and a beatific smile on his face.

  ‘The witness may stand down,’ said the judge. He shuffled through his notes and then looked at Sir Magnus.

  ‘Do you intend to call any more witnesses, Sir Magnus?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, my lord. I have several more.’

  The judge looked at his watch.

  ‘Well, I would be glad if you would make it as rapid as possible,’ he said.

  The next witness that Sir Magnus introduced was Honoria, and to Adrian’s astonishment, for his heart had sunk when her name was called, she proved to be an admirable witness. It was not until afterwards that Adrian learned that a bottle and a half of gin had gone into the making of her performance, but she stood in the witness-box, her magnificent bosom heaving in a low-cut dress that had every juryman’s eye fixed longingly upon it. She was in turn soulful and vibrant. Her eulogy on Rosy and on her own friendship with her was a masterpiece. She stood heaving and panting in the witness-box, her head held up proudly while tears trickled in vast quantities down her cheeks as she described how she and she alone had been responsible for the wrecking of the theatre by her introduction of gin into Rosy’s diet. By the time she had finished, there was not an unmoistened eye among the jury and even the judge had to blow his nose vigorously before dismissing Honoria.

  The next witness to enter the box was Ethelbert. He corroborated Honoria’s story and even added a few embellishments of his own. He was reprimanded at one point for calling the judge ‘darling boy’, but nevertheless it was obvious to everyone in court that he was an honest and enthusiastic witness.

  Sir Magnus had wanted to call Samantha, but Adrian had put his foot down. He was not going to have Samantha standing in a witness-box, being bombarded with questions from Sir Augustus. As it turned out, he need not really have worried, because Sir Augustus, after his futile attempt to cross-examine Mr Filigree, sat hunched like a depressed crow, and shook his head every time he was asked to cross-examine.

  ‘Now, my lord,’ said Sir Magnus after Ethelbert had left the box, ‘we are starting to get a clear picture in our minds.’

  ‘I suppose you are right, Sir Magnus,’ said the judge doubtfully. ‘I think I have shown beyond a shadow of a doubt that the elephant in question is one of the most charming and tractable animals of its kind. On the occasions when it caused a certain amount of damage it is quite obvious that this was inadvertent and the animal can be in no way blamed for it, nor indeed can its owner.’

  ‘Well, that point may have been cleared up to your satisfaction, Sir Magnus,’ said the judge, ‘but not as yet to mine.’

  ‘Very well, my lord,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘then if I may crave the court’s indulgence, I will recall Lord Fenneltree.’

  Lord Fenneltree drifted amiably back into the box, polished his monocle, inserted it in his eye and beamed round.

  ‘This is jolly,’ he remarked. ‘I didn’t think I’d be up here twice.’

  ‘Lord Fenneltree,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘will you kindly take your mind back to the night of 28th April. The night of your daughter’s birthday ball.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Lord Fenneltree. ‘I have it clearly in mind.’

  ‘Now, you had arranged for yourself and for the defendant to ride into the ballroom with the elephant, had you not?’

  ‘Indubitably,’ said his lordship.

  ‘Did the elephant prior to that display any evil characteristics?’

  ‘What, old Rosy?’ said his lordship. ‘Of course not. Wonderful animal.’

  Sir Magnus smiled with quiet satisfaction.

  ‘But on the night of the ball,’ he continued, ‘did the defendant display any qualms about the projected adventure?’

  ‘Qualm
s,’ said his lordship chuckling. ‘He was a quivering mass of nerves. He worries too much, that boy, you know. That’s half his trouble. I keep telling him it’s very fatiguing.’

  ‘In other words,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘he did suggest to you that it might be an unwise manoeuvre to introduce the elephant into the ballroom.’

  ‘Frequently,’ said his lordship. ‘About ten times a day on an average.’

  ‘For what reason?’ enquired Sir Magnus.

  ‘Well, he didn’t think my wife would like it,’ said Lord Fenneltree. ‘My wife has that effect on some people.’

  ‘I can well imagine,’ said Sir Magnus dryly. ‘So before the actual night of the ball, he had made several endeavours to stop the plan.’

  ‘That is quite correct.’

  ‘Was he still alarmed on the evening of the ball itself?’

  ‘Alarmed is a mild way of putting it,’ said his lordship. ‘And of course when he found that she was drunk it was all I could do to persuade him to go ahead with the plan.’

  ‘I see,’ said Sir Magnus silkily. ‘Then the defendant in actual fact wanted to call the whole thing off prior to the ball, and on the evening of the ball, finding the animal was intoxicated, he again made serious attempts to persuade you to abandon the project.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lord Fenneltree.

  ‘So, in other words,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘one could really say that the havoc created at the ball was neither the fault of the animal, who was under the influence of alcohol, nor the defendant, since you were directly responsible.’

  There was a pause while Lord Fenneltree mused on this for a moment. It was an original approach that had escaped him hitherto.

  ‘Come to think of it,’ he said at last, breathing on his monocle, polishing it and screwing it back into his eye, ‘come to think of it, you are quite right. The whole thing was my fault.’

  ‘Rupert,’ came the bugle-like call of Lady Fenneltree from the body of the court. ‘Watch what you are saying.’

  ‘Who is creating this interruption?’ enquired the judge, peering round myopically.

  ‘I think it’s the witness’s wife,’ said Sir Magnus with satisfaction.

  ‘My lord,’ boomed Lady Fenneltree, ‘my husband is being led astray.’

  ‘Madam, do you mind being quiet?’ enquired the judge.

  ‘I will not be quiet,’ shouted Lady Fenneltree. ‘I have never met such an inane judge in all my life. I will not stand by and see a miscarriage of justice sliding under your nose.’

  ‘Now, now, dear,’ shouted Lord Fenneltree, waving at her in a placating manner, ‘just keep calm.’

  ‘I will not keep calm,’ shouted Lady Fenneltree.

  ‘Lady Fenneltree,’ said the judge, ‘this case is quite confused enough without your adding to it.’

  ‘You’re the one who’s confused it,’ shouted Lady Fenneltree.

  ‘Madam,’ said the judge icily, ‘if you do not be quiet and sit down, I shall have you removed from the court.’

  Lady Fenneltree grasped her parasol in front of her like a spear.

  ‘You will do so at your peril,’ she said.

  ‘Remove that woman,’ said the judge excitedly.

  Two large constables moved in on Lady Fenneltree who, displaying a remarkable agility for her bulk, danced back three paces and then lunged with her parasol. The point of it caught the largest constable a shade north of his umbilical and he doubled up, completely winded. Lady Fenneltree then wheeled and hit the other constable over the back of the neck. It took the two constables several minutes to subdue her and drag her ignominiously from the court, and the jury watched breathless and fascinated. As she was dragged out, her last despairing cry was carried down. ‘Rupert, don’t you dare say anything.’

  ‘Lord Fenneltree,’ said the judge, ‘I apologise to you for the necessity of having to deal with your wife in that fashion.’

  ‘My dear chap, don’t mention it,’ said Lord Fenneltree. ‘I am lost in admiration. Would it be possible for me to have the names of those two constables before I leave?’

  ‘After that unfortunate incident, may I proceed, my lord?’ enquired Sir Magnus.

  ‘Pray do so,’ said the judge.

  ‘So we now know,’ said Sir Magnus looking at Lord Fenneltree, ‘that you are directly responsible for all the damage caused by the elephant at your ball.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lord Fenneltree, ‘I don’t think you can put it fairer than that and I for one am only sorry poor old Adrian has ended up in this way. He’s a charming young man and it was a most delightful elephant.’

  ‘Thank you, Lord Fenneltree,’ said Sir Magnus. ‘I have no more questions to ask you.’

  He sat down and with an air of triumph took out his snuffbox, plugged some snuff up his nose and then gave an enormous and triumphant sneeze and smiled winningly at Sir Augustus.

  ‘Well, um, yes,’ said the judge. ‘Have you anything to say Sir Augustus?’

  Sir Augustus, who had been looking more and more miserable, rose to his feet, quivering with ill-suppressed indignation.

  ‘My lord,’ he said shakily, ‘I have little to add to my previous summary of the case. I can only say at this juncture that I hope that my learned friend’s introduction of so many dubious witnesses has not in any way damaged his case in the eyes of the jury. The introduction of white witches, strolling players of doubtful background and people who believe in reincarnation should, I would think, undermine rather than buttress the case for the defence.’

  Sir Magnus rose to his feet. ‘If I may interrupt for a moment,’ he said, ‘I would also like to point out to my learned friend that among white witches, strolling players and believers in reincarnation, there was Lord Fenneltree.’

  He sat down and Sir Augustus gave him a look of such scorching ferocity that Adrian was surprised not to see Sir Magnus disappear in a tiny puff of black smoke.

  ‘It seems to me,’ said Sir Augustus, ‘that the jury can only bring in one verdict, and that is that the defendant, Adrian Rookwhistle, is guilty.’

  Sir Magnus got to his feet.

  ‘I think, my lord, gentlemen of the jury, that I have made my side of things more than clear. I feel from the evidence that we have heard that I have more than vindicated the good character of the defendant and of the noble creature who is his companion.’

  The foreman of the jury had been opening and shutting his mouth for some considerable time. He now got to his feet.

  ‘What is it, what is it?’ said the judge testily.

  ‘Excuse me, your honour,’ said the foreman, ‘but is the elephant in question the one what’s been down on the beach for the last week?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘she enjoys going down there and playing with the little children.’

  The foreman sat down and had a whispered conclave with the rest of the jury. Sir Magnus watched them with a beaming, paternal smile.

  ‘I think, my lord,’ he said smoothly, ‘that I can rely on the good sense of the jury to bring in the right verdict.’

  ‘Yes, yes, well,’ said the judge. He shuffled his notes in a rather flustered fashion. ‘I would be glad if you would stop whispering among yourselves and pay attention to me,’ he said to the jury.

  The foreman of the jury got up once more.

  ‘Excuse me, my lord,’ he said, ‘but we have already reached a verdict.’

  ‘You what?’ said the judge petulantly. ‘I’ve got to sum up.’

  ‘Very well, sir,’ said the foreman and sat down again. The judge cleared his throat, peered at his notes and then sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.

  ‘Basically, what you have got to decide,’ he said, ‘is whether or not the defendant, Adrian Rookwhistle, is guilty.’ He opened his eyes and cast a glance of triumph at the jury. ‘That,’ he continued, ‘might be described as the crux of the whole case. However, there are certain things that you have to consider before you say definitely one way or the other that he is guilty or not guilty. W
e have heard a lot of evidence.’ He shuffled his notes in a rather hopeless way. ‘A lot of evidence,’ he repeated, ‘some of it for, and some of it against. Now it is not my job to tell you what to think, only to guide you along the right lines. You are perfectly free to think that the defendant is guilty even if he is not guilty. On the other hand, you can equally well think him not guilty, if he is guilty. That is the beauty of our legal system. I am merely here to act as a guide through the intricacies of the law.’ He paused and coughed gently to himself for several seconds, shuffling again through his notes, many of which slipped off his desk to the floor.

  ‘Now, we have heard evidence which proves conclusively that Adrian Rookwhistle, being in possession of the elephant and therefore, presumably, in control of it, allowed it to do considerable damage both to human beings and to property.

  ‘But your astuteness will make you perceive that this evidence can be counteracted by other evidence which proves conclusively that the animal in question was not evilly disposed and that the defendant was forced into these invidious situations.’

  The judge paused and cast a sharp look at the foreman of the jury.

  ‘You are following my line of reasoning?’ he inquired. The jury nodded as one man.

  ‘Now, it is incumbent upon you,’ said the judge waving a finger at them, ‘to bring in a verdict of not guilty should you think that the defendant, Adrian Rookwhistle, was in fact, er, um, er, um, not guilty. On the other hand, should you think him guilty, you must show no fear or favour and bring in a verdict of guilty, taking into consideration, as I have said, every aspect of the case. There are many points which you should consider and consider carefully, for example there is the point, on which I am not at all clear, as to whether or not elephants like gin. Again you might like to consider what I consider to be the vital evidence about the elephant sliding on the parquet. Now we have been assured by no lesser legal authority than Sir Magnus that elephants can slide on parquet. Therefore, if we accept this as a fact, we are driven to the conclu­sion that the elephant in question did slide on the parquet and as Sir Augustus has so penetratingly pointed out, caused considerable damage.