The last act of a matrimonial drama was being watched attentively by six
rows of eager spectators.
Already the gas had been lit, for the dull yellow light of the wintry
London moon was insufficient to illuminate the sombre Court. Upon the
bench, at the rear of which hung a large square board covered with
dark-blue cloth and bearing a golden anchor, the judge sat--grave,
silent, almost statuesque. The public who filled the tiers of seats
before him listened intently to every word of the story of a woman's
faithlessness, which counsel was relating. It was an undefended, and
therefore not an unusually interesting case. Nevertheless, the Divorce
Court has an attraction for the curious, and is nearly always crowded,
even when there are scarcely a dozen people in any of the Queen's Bench
or Chancery Divisions. The very word divorce is sufficient to interest
some, and for the novelty of the thing they desire to witness the
procedure by which husband and wife are disunited.
Perhaps such curiosity is pardonable. It certainly is more excusable
than the ignominious conduct of some _soi-disant_ ladies, who consider
it good form to attend a Criminal Court where a woman is indicted for
murder, and there watch and comment audibly, and with heartless
inhumanity, upon the agonies of their wretched sister who is being tried
for her life. Such scenes at recent trials of unfortunate women have
been a scandal to our civilisation.
In the Divorce Court, however, it is different. The surroundings are
more refined. The _denouement_ of the marriage drama there enacted
frequently develops into broad comedy before the curtain is rung down by
the judicial decision. Even there, however, women gloat over the
stories of the domestic woe of another woman, and ridicule the deceived
husband with a cool indifference that is astounding; they are apparently
quite unimpressed by the gravity of the question at issue.
The President had already disposed of half a dozen undefended suits,
when the case of Willoughby _versus_ Willoughby and Lapasque had been
called on.
"Pardon me, Mr. Grover. My attention was diverted for the moment, and I
did not catch your opening sentences," the judge was saying to counsel
for the petitioner.
"The facts of the case before you, m'lord, are briefly these," exclaimed
the barrister, recommencing. "The petitioner, Captain Willoughby, late
of the 10th Hussars, married the respondent, a French subject, at St.
Mary Abbot's, Kensington, in June, 1884. The parties lived happily at
Brighton, Leeds, Toulon, and other places until about a year had
elapsed, when frequent quarrels arose. The petitioner discovered that
his wife was carrying on an intrigue with a wealthy young man named
Arthur Kingscote, with whom she had been acquainted before marriage.
This led to an encounter between the two men at a Manchester hotel, with
the result that my client was severely injured in the head, in
consequence of which petitioner took proceedings against Kingscote, who
was fined at the Manchester Police Court for the assault. This
apparently incensed the respondent, and quarrels became of more frequent
occurrence, until one day, while living at San Remo, Mrs. Willoughby
left her home unexpectedly, and never returned. Eventually, after a
long series of inquiries, the petitioner found that his wife was living
at Nice, and that she had formed a _liaison_ with the co-respondent,
Gustava Lapasque, who is one of the officials connected with the Casino
at Monte Carlo. The evidence I shall call before you, m'lord, will
prove the latter part of my statement; and as I understand there is no
one present representing either respondent or co-respondent, I shall ask
your lordship to pronounce the decree usual in such a case."
The captain having briefly borne out the statement of his counsel, the
latter turned to the usher, saying--
"Call Giovanni Moretti, please."
In a few minutes a dapper and rather well-dressed Italian stepped into
the witness-box.
"What are you, Signore Moretti?" asked Mr. Grover, when the witness had
been sworn and his name taken.
"Head waiter at the Hotel Victoria, Nice," he replied in broken English.
"Do you recognise this lady?" counsel asked, handing up a cabinet
photograph of Valerie.
"Yes," he said, taking a long glance at it. "The lady is Madame
Lapasque."
"And this photograph?" continued Mr. Grover, handing him another.
"Monsieur Lapasque. They both stayed at our hotel for nearly three
months the summer before last. They came in July and left in October."
"During those months would you have many visitors at your hotel?"
"No; very few. It is not our season."
"In that case you would have plenty of facilities for observing them?"
"I saw them perhaps a dozen times each day. I superintended the waiting
at _a dejeuner_ and _table d'hote_."
"You have no doubt that the lady was the original of that portrait?"
"Not the slightest," he replied, shrugging his shoulders.
"Have you seen the respondent, Mrs. Willoughby, since?" the judge asked,
in slow deliberate tones.
"Yes, I saw her here in London a few weeks ago. I was brought to
England by Monsieur Willoughby to identify madame and give evidence."
"When you saw her, did you tell her that you recognised her as Madame
Lapasque?"
"Of course I told her. She then grew angry, and ordered me from the
room."
"Is that all the evidence you have, Mr. Grover?" asked the judge, when
he had concluded taking notes of the witness's cross-examination.
"No, my lord. I have further corroborative evidence," counsel replied.
The Italian walked from the box, and his place was taken by Nanette
Rambert.
"What are you, Miss Rambert?" asked Mr. Grover, glancing at his brief.
"Lady's maid."
"You identify these photographs, I believe?"
"Yes; the lady is Madame Lapasque, my late mistress, and the gentleman
her husband."
"How long were you in the respondent's service?"
"About two years. At the time she engaged me at Cannes, monsieur was
not with her, but about three months later he joined her, and we
travelled first to San Remo, then to Rome, Homburg, and London."
"And you always believed Lapasque to be her husband?" asked Mr. Grover.
"Of course, m'sieur. Madame always told me he was."
"How long ago did you leave her service?"
"About six months."
"Have you seen either since?"
"I have only seen madame. I was with M'sieur Willoughby, and we saw her
come from a house in Victoria Street, Westminster."
"Did you identify her?"
"Yes, without the slightest difficulty. I did not, however, speak to
her."
No other questions were asked the witness, and she left the box.
His lordship then recalled the petitioner, and questioned him at some
length upon his wife's general conduct, to which the gallant captain
replied with the sorrowful yet indignant air of the injured husband.
After counsel had delivered a brief and pointed address there was a
pause. The judge was weighing the evidence. He read and re-read his
notes, underlining words here and there with a pencil, while the Court
silently awaited his decision.
Suddenly he looked up, coughed slightly, and, addressing Mr. Grover, who
at once rose, said--
"In this case I find that the wife has been guilty of misconduct, and I
shall therefore grant a decree _nisi_ with costs against the
co-respondent."
Counsel, bowing, thanked his lordship, and, tying up his brief, left the
Court, accompanied by the captain, while the onlookers stirred uneasily
in their seats, whispered among each other, and then sat eager to be
regaled with another story of domestic woe.
As the barrister and his client gained the large hall of the Courts,
Nanette joined them. Mr. Grover excused himself on the ground that he
had an appointment at his chambers in the Temple, and, bidding them
adieu, departed. The captain and the maid followed him down the steps,
and, turning in the opposite direction, strolled leisurely past St.
Clement's church and along the Strand.
Willoughby was elated. Not only had he freed himself from a tie that
might some day prove detrimental, but--what was much more to the point--
he was also entitled to claim twenty-five thousand francs, the price his
wife had offered for her liberty. The matter had been rendered quite
easy, the details, together with Lapasque's address, having been
furnished by Valerie herself.
"You're a smart girl, Nanette," he exclaimed flatteringly, after
expressing approbation at the manner in which she had given her
evidence. "Your story had a ring of truth about it that was delightful,
and in answering the questions you drew a long, serious face, and never
once faltered."