'No! No! I wouldn't! That's a wicked - '
- that in your evil, spiteful rage at the frustration of your crime, you were ready to mutilate without pity, to hack blindly at anyone who - '
'I would have hacked at you!' It came out in a tortured shriek, from a contorted face, and was followed instantly by a flood of sobbing; she beat her hand feebly on the edge of the box and sank back, holding her face and wailing, while the court sat shocked. Mr Lees stood for a moment, took up his pen, replaced the cap, and sat down.
Mr Stratton did what he could. When her hysteria had passed, he was able by painful persuasion to extract a halting, almost incoherent apology from his client. She was sorry - it came out in a whisper - very sorry: she had not meant what she said to the gentleman. Finally, she had not tried to strike Miss Delys.
Stratton sat down, and Millicent Shore was helped back to the dock, whimpering softly. Lady Helen did not look at her, but sat bolt upright while Sir Huntly rose unwillingly.
'My client wishes to make an unsworn statement, m'lud.'
The court buzzed as she came to her feet. General Flashman stroked his chin, Sir Huntly looked apprehensive, Lady Helen spoke dispassionately to the wall above the judge's head.
`I wish to state that I take full responsibility for the events at the Royal Academy. The reason why Miss Shore and not I attacked the painting was that we had agreed that I should distract attention by calling out to the persons in the gallery. The suggestion that she attacked anyone is utterly ridiculous and malicious - '
The judge intervened sternly to remind her that she might speak on her own behalf only; also, that since what she said was not open to cross-examination, it would have corresponding weight with the court.
'Very well. I was the instigator of the attack on the painting, and acted as one with Miss Shore in every respect. Whatever guilt attaches to her, attaches to me equally, in the eyes of the law and of the cruel and unjust society we are fighting against. That is all.' She sat down.
The addresses to the jury were predictable. Mr Lees used his ironic gift lavishly in dealing with Lady Helen's gentle birth, high principles and lofty connections, reminding the jury that they were not medieval peasants who need quail before the imperious glance of a lord's daughter. (The jury assumed the look of sturdy yeomen, and glanced surreptitiously at the dock, but nobility's imperious glance was levelled indifferently at the opposite wall.) A paragon of society, Mr Lees continued, with a penchant for violence, who admitted a previous assault and might be thought likely to use a parasol as freely as she would, in a previous incarnation, doubtless have used a horsewhip. Bowing to Sir Huntly's indignant interruption, Mr Lees passed on
imperturbably to suggest that between Mr Franklin's gallant evasions and Mr Miller's impartial testimony there was an obvious choice, and he could rely on the jury's good sense to make it.
In the case of Shore, however, he could see no choice at all. The evidence was all too dreadfully clear, and the accused herself had provided the most damning of it: they had seen for themselves her reaction in the grip of passion. Mr Lees touched indulgently on Pip's understandably suspect memory, and movingly on her fragile beauty which might have been so foully disfigured. He cautioned the jury not to be unduly moved by Shore's present pathetic appearance, `which might move your pity if you did not recall how little pity she showed when she swung that horrid cleaver at a tender girl. She shed no tears then.'
Mr Stratton laboured manfully on the point that Pip herself denied the charge against his client; he reminded the jury of the well-known question of reasonable doubt, and drew attention to the accused's age, frailty, and obvious repugnance at the charge. In Mr Franklin's view, he made only a middling best of a fairly bad case - unlike Sir Huntly, who knew well how to make the best of his, by skilfully contrasting the charge against Shore with that against Lady Helen, and pointing up the triviality of the latter. He dwelt flatteringly on Mr Franklin's intelligence, integrity, and reliability, implied with masterly innuendo that Ealing stockbrokers were perhaps not the most impartial witnesses where the aristocracy was concerned, and concluded that a jury of such shrewd perception (here he looked knowingly at the bovine faces of the twelve good men and true) could hardly suppose that an honourable lady - for however they might deplore her political views, she was a lady - would freely admit to abetting the destruction of a valuable painting, and at the same time demean herself by lying about a mere slap with a parasol.
The judge's summing-up was a revelation to Mr Franklin. He had supposed his lordship asleep for much of the trial; even during his waking moments he had looked and sounded rather like something out of Gilbert and Sullivan. Now, like many before and since, Mr Franklin received a humbling surprise as he listened to a brisk, lucid, and comprehensive account of the evidence, with brief dissertations on the legal definition of assault, and on the delicacy of deciding between conflicting witnesses. This last, the judge emphasised, was of crucial importance, especially where accused and principal witness were in agreement against the testimony of other bystanders, as happened in both cases here. It was for the jury to weigh this, and perhaps to remember the old sporting adage that the onlooker sees most of the game.
'In other words, you and me don't know what we're talking about,' observed Pip shrewdly to Mr Franklin as they waited in the corridor outside the court. When the jury retired they adjourned to the pub, where the sight of Mr Lees and Mr Stratton, in their wigs and gowns, discussing cricket scores with a uniformed police inspector, had so moved Pip's indignation that she had insisted on returning to the court building. There, the most interesting spectacle was General Flashman conversing aside with two large and capable-looking men in blue serge suits; Mr Franklin wondered vaguely who they were.
'Think they'll get off?' asked Pip, for the twentieth time. 'You'd reckon they would, wouldn't you, after what we said? Not that I care, honestly, about that snooty bitch Cessford, but if they send the old girl down it'll be just. .. just damned nonsense, that's what! I know she didn't mean it! Look, tell you what - you heard me, and I heard you. Tell me what you'd do, about my one, if you were on the jury, and I'll tell you what I'd do about yours.'
Mr Franklin considered. 'I'd believe your evidence. I'd reckon Miller was too prejudiced against suffragettes to be reliable - and Mrs Redcliffe can't see anything except that cleaver just missing your hand. If we were in Scotland, where they have the in-between verdict, I'd say "not proven". As we're in England - well, I'd acquit, I guess. But it would be a pretty close thing. What about Lady Helen?'
'Well,' said Pip slowly, 'I'd convict her - and that's not being catty or jealous just 'cos she's got a good figure and tons of style. She'd make a good second lead - you know, stately-proud, like the wife in Ideal Husband, or a principal boy, if she didn't look more likely to neigh than sing - '
'She's on trial for assault, not auditioning for Puss-in-Boots,' said Mr Franklin. 'Why would you convict?'
'Because it's plain as a pikestaff she tried to land you one. Well, she did, didn't she? And everyone can see you fancy her quite a bit - even those clods on the jury. Now, don't deny it,' Pip added, with amusement, 'because that will be perjury. I don't mean you're biting your nails over her, but she fascinates you a bit. So I reckon the jury'll believe Miller rather than you.'
'Well, I'll be damned!' said Mr Franklin.
'You'd be a mug if you didn't fancy her,' said Pip cheerfully. 'I mean, she's not bad - and she's a marquess's daughter. Men!' She shook her head and giggled. 'Here, isn't the judge a little pet? I'll have to get the Dandini part again this Christmas, if only for his sake. Hello - what's happening?'
There was a general bustle towards the court; Mr Lees hurried in, straightening his wig, constables appeared, Sir Huntly strode through majestically, and Pip and Mr Franklin made their way inside to the benches. General Flashman took his stand in the aisle, eyeing the jury as they filed back; the two burly men had disappeared. The court settled once the judge had seated himsel
f, and the clerk rose and asked the jury if they had reached their verdicts, and were they the verdicts of them all? The foreman said they were, the prisoners were instructed to rise, and there was a tense hush as the clerk asked for the verdict on Millicent Shore.
'Guilty, my lord.'
Pip gasped and put her hands to her mouth, turning a white face to Mr Franklin. 'They can't! She didn't!' The murmur of the court was stilled again as the verdict was called for on Lady Helen Cessford.
'Not guilty, my lord.'
This time the murmur was louder, there was a hiss from somewhere on the public benches, the clerk glared furiously round, and there were cries of 'Order! Silence!' Mr Franklin's eyes were fixed in fascination on the dock; Millicent Shore was leaning forward with both hands on the rail, her head down; Lady Helen was bolt upright, her face white and furious. As the noise subsided her voice rang out across the court:
'I wish to change my plea! I wish to plead guilty to the charge of assault! I - '
This time there was no stilling the uproar. Noise seemed to be coming from every direction except the press table, where the reporters were scribbling furiously, one eye on the court and the other on their shorthand. Sir Huntly had arisen and was falling over things in his efforts to get to the dock, the judge was staring scandalised, the clerk was demanding silence and order.
'The defendant will be quiet. This is most improper.' The judge admonished Lady Helen in shocked tones. 'Your plea has been taken, and the verdict given. You must be silent. In a moment you will have an opportunity to speak.' For a second it looked as though Lady Helen was about to answer back in no uncertain voice, but with Sir Huntly restraining her in dumb show she eventually put her lips together and waited, obviously biding her time. Order was restored, the judge conferred with the clerk, and then addressed the dock.
'Prisoners at the bar, you have pleaded guilty, the defendant Shore to the charge of malicious damage, the defendant Cessford to the charge of aiding and abetting that damage. You have heard the verdicts of the jury on the further charges of assault. Have you anything to say before sentence is passed upon you? Shore?'
Millicent Shore shook her lowered head; she was trembling violently, but suddenly she seemed to master herself and raised her tear-stained face.
'I am so sorry . . . that the young lady ...'The whispered voice trailed away. Then: 'I did not try to hurt her; I did not. I ask her pardon with all my heart. ..'She relapsed into sobs, and the wardress came to support her.
'Cessford?'
Lady Helen took hold of the dock rail, and the court braced itself Sir Huntly was screwed round in his seat, glowering at her.
'If I am not to be allowed to change my plea,' she said, in a surprisingly quiet voice, 'and if my admission of the assault carries no weight, then that is a matter for the court - and for the country, who can judge of the way in which justice is dispensed in its name. That I can be pronounced innocent, where Miss Shore, in the face of clear evidence to the contrary, is found guilty, is nothing less than a travesty of justice. In all that took place at the Royal Academy, I am as guilty as she; no, I will not call it guilt, since what we did was forced on us by the blind stupidity, prejudice, and cruelty of the shoddy and unworthy men who abuse the trust - '
A thunderous banging from the clerk's table interrupted her. The judge said calmly: 'You are permitted to make a statement; that does not give you licence to indulge in vulgar abuse. It does not become you, and it will not help you. If you have anything to say, you must say it in proper terms.'
'Then,' said Lady Helen, 'I have nothing to say except to protest against the corrupt and unjust laws which have placed us where we are, to express my disgust with the proceedings of this court, and to assure you that I am glad that we did what we did, and that I shall do as much again when the opportunity arises. I shall continue to use any weapons in my -
'That will do,' said the judge. 'The court will not listen to political harangue.' He looked at the barristers inquiringly, there was a shaking of heads, the judge pondered his notes for a moment and then looked up.
'Millicent Shore, you have pleaded guilty to a most shocking act of vandalism. Wantonly and callously you have destroyed a valuable work of art, for no reason except the furtherance of your political views. It is not for me to comment on those views, but it is my duty, by passing sentence, to express the abhorrence of society at the way in which you have misguidedly sought to promote them, and to give warning to others who may be tempted to commit similar outrages. On the charge of malicious damage you will go to prison for a period of eighteen months. You have also been convicted of a far more serious offence - assault with a deadly weapon on the person of a young woman, an assault which I cannot regard but as a most vicious and cruel attack; it is no fault of yours that the victim was not seriously maimed, and I should be failing in my duty if I did not pass on you a sentence appropriate to the wickedness of your offence.' The judge paused. 'However, in view of the fact that by providential chance no actual bodily harm was done, of your advanced years, and of the contrition which you expressed - which I believe to be genuine - the sentence will be the most lenient that can be passed in the circumstances. You will go to prison for three years, the sentences to run concurrently.'
Millicent Shore fainted. The wardress caught her as she fell, tried for a moment to support her on the seat, and then, with the help of a constable, carried her down the hidden stair leading from the dock. The judge turned to Lady Helen, who stood erect and white-faced, waiting. Mr Franklin might have been mistaken, but he sensed almost an air of triumph about her, as though, having heard the kind of sentence that was being passed, she was looking forward to her own. She was the instigator, she had expressed defiance, not contrition, she had admitted - belatedly - the assault.
'Helen Cessford, you have pleaded guilty to aiding and abetting a most scandalous act of vandalism, and you have told this court that you assume full responsibility for the acts committed by the prisoner Shore. That you acted in concert I fully believe, and I find your conduct the more deplorable in that you have shown, by your demeanour in this court, a brazen lack of regard for the consequences of your behaviour. And your case is the more distressing in that you have had the privilege of upbringing and refining influence in that class of society to which, above all others, the public is accustomed to look for patterns of duty, honour, and high principle.'
'That's what he thinks,' muttered Pip derisively.
'Nevertheless,' the judge continued, 'I am bound to take into account that you were the second, and not the author, of the outrage, and that your behaviour was not aggravated by the kind of savagery against an innocent bystander of which your accomplice has been found guilty. In view of this, and of the fact that your age and station are such as may encourage reformation, and that the salutary effect of this experience may serve to curb a temperament which I believe is wilful rather than corrupt, I am inclined to deal leniently with you.' There was an exclamation from Lady Helen, but the judge went on: 'I will impose a fine of £500. You will also compensate the artist and the Royal Academy for the damage done - Sir Huntly, you will be good enough to consult in the appropriate quarters in that respect -and you will be bound over to be of good behaviour for two years.'
He got to his feet, the clerk cried: 'The court will rise!' and the murmur of astonishment from the public benches was half-drowned by the rustle as everyone stood up. But the hissing was heard distinctly now, and in the dock Lady Helen, from chalk-white, had turned crimson.
'No!' she cried. 'No! I will not accept this! I will not be set free! I demand to be punished with Millicent Shore!'
The judge, half out of his seat, regarded her for a moment.
'If there is any further outburst I will hold you in contempt of court.
You are not - '
'Then hold me in contempt! I am in contempt, of you and of this miserable apology for a court of justice! This is a conspiracy to deal leniently with me while persecuting Miss Sho
re! To discredit our movement and - '
'Sir Huntly, will you restrain your client, and instruct her that this court has no intention of assisting her foolish pursuit of martyrdom.' The judge said it quietly, and turned through the little door in the panelling beside his seat. Lady Helen's strident shout followed him.
'This is criminal! Hold me in contempt! I will not be silenced!' She was blazing with rage, her knuckles white on the rail of the dock. 'Come back, you coward!' She struck out angrily as a constable tried to lay a hand on her arm, and suddenly two men appeared at the back of the dock; Mr Franklin recognised them as the ones who had been talking to General Flashman. The first gripped Lady Helen's elbows with practised ease, and with one swift movement had swung her round bodily and virtually lifted her from the dock. 'Let me go! I demand to be - ' What she demanded was abruptly cut off; Mr Franklin guessed that the second man had clapped a hand across her mouth. And suddenly she had disappeared down the hidden stair, leaving a babble of consternation in the court, and a rush from the press table for the exits. Pip turned to Mr Franklin in anger and exultation.