The First Day
Then came the morning on which Caldigate and Hester must part. Very
little had been said about it, but a word or two had been absolutely
necessary. The trial would probably take two days, and it would not be
well that he should be brought back to Folking for the sad intervening
night. And then,--should the verdict be given against him, the prison
doors would be closed against her, his wife, more rigidly than against
any other friend who might knock at them inquiring after his welfare.
Her, at any rate, he would not be allowed to see. All the prison
authorities would be bound to regard her as the victim of his crime and
as the instrument of his vice. The law would have locked him up to
avenge her injuries,--of her, whose only future joy could come from that
distant freedom which the fraudulent law would at length allow to him.
All this was not put into words between them, but it was understood. It
might be that they were to be parted now for a term of years, during
which she would be as a widow at Folking while he would be alone in his
jail.
There are moments as to which it would be so much better that their
coming should never be accomplished! It would have been better for them
both had they been separated without that last embrace. He was to start
from Folking at eight that he might surrender himself to the hands of
justice in due time for the trial at ten. She did not come down with him
to the breakfast parlour, having been requested by him not to be there
among the servants when he took his departure; but standing there in her
own room, with his baby in her arms, she spoke her last word, 'You will
keep up your courage, John?'
'I will try, Hester.'
'I will keep up mine. I will never fail, for your sake and his,'--here
she held the child a moment away from her bosom,--'I will never allow
myself to droop. To be your wife and his mother shall be enough to
support me even though you should be torn from both of us for a time.'
'I wish I were as brave as you,' he said.
'You will leave me here,' she continued, 'mistress of your house; and if
God spares me, here you will find me. They can't move me from this. Your
father says so. They may call me what they will, but they cannot move
me. There is the Lord above us, and before Him they cannot make me other
than your wife,--your wife,--your wife.' As she repeated the name, she
put the boy out to him, and when he had taken the child, she stretched
out her hands upwards, and falling on her knees at his feet, prayed to
God for his deliverance. 'Let him come back to us, O my God. Deliver
him from his enemies, and let him come back to us.'
'One kiss, my own,' he said, as he raised her from the ground.
'Oh yes;--and a thousand shall be in store for you when you come back to
us. Yes; kiss him too. Your boy shall hear the praises of his father
every day, till at last he shall understand that he may be proud of you
even though he should have learned why it is that you are not with him.
Now go, my darling. Go; and support yourself by remembering that I have
got that within me which will support me.' Then he left her.
The old Squire had expressed his intention of being present throughout
the trial, and now was ready for the journey. When counselled to remain
at home, both by Mr. Seely and by his son, he had declared that only by
his presence could he make the world around him understand how confident
he was of his son's innocence. So it was arranged, and a place was kept
for him next to the attorney. The servants all came out into the hall
and shook hands with their young master; and the cook, wiping her eyes
with her apron, declared that she would have dinner ready for him on the
following day. At the front door Mr. Holt was standing, having come over
the ferry to greet the young squire before his departure. 'They may say
what they will there, squire, but they won't make none of us here
believe that you've been the man to injure a lady such as she up there.'
Then there was another shaking of hands, and the father and son got into
the carriage.
The court was full, of course. Mr. Justice Bramber, by whom the case
was to be tried, was reputed to be an excellent judge, a man of no
softnesses,--able to wear the black cap without convulsive throbbings,
anxious also that the law should run its course,--averse to mercy when
guilt had been proved, but as clear-sighted and as just as Minos; a man
whom nothing could turn one way or another,--who could hang his friend,
but who would certainly not mulct his enemy because he was his enemy.
It had reached Caldigate's ears that he was unfortunate in his judge;
by which, they who had so said, had intended to imply that this judge's
mind would not be perverted by any sentiments as to the prisoner, as to
the sweet young woman who called herself his wife at home, or as to
want of sweetness on the part of the other woman who claimed him.
The jury was sworn in without more than ordinary delay, and then the
trial was commenced. That which had to be done for the prosecution
seemed to be simple enough. The first witness called was the woman
herself, who was summoned in the names of Euphemia Caldigate
_alias_ Smith. She gave her evidence very clearly, and with great
composure,--saying how she had become acquainted with the man on board
the ship; how she had been engaged to him at Melbourne; how he had come
down to her at Sydney; how, in compliance with his orders, she had
followed him up to Ahalala; and how she had there been married to him
by Mr. Allan. Then she brought forth the documents which professed to
be the copy of the register of the marriage, made by the minister in
his own book; and the envelope,--the damning envelope,--which Caldigate
was prepared to admit that he had himself addressed to Mrs. Caldigate;
and the letter which purported to have been written by the minister to
Caldigate, recommending him to be married in some better established
township than that existing at Ahalala. She did it well. She was very
correct, and at the same time very determined, giving many details of
her early theatrical life, which it was thought better to get from
her in the comparative ease of a direct examination than to have them
extracted afterwards by an adverse advocate. During her evidence in
chief, which was necessarily long, she seemed to be quite at ease; but
those around her observed that she never once turned her eyes upon him
whom she claimed as her husband except when she was asked whether the
man there before her was the man she had married at Ahalala. Then,
looking at him for a moment in silence, she replied, very steadily,
'Yes; that is my husband, John Caldigate.'
To Caldigate and his friends,--and indeed to all those collected in
the court,--the most interesting person of the day was Sir John Joram.
In a sensational cause the leading barrister for the defence is always
the hero of the plot,--the actor from whom the best bit of acting is
expected,--the person who is most likely to become a personage on the
occasion. The prisoners are necessarily mute, and can only be looked
at, not heard. The judge is not expected to do much till the time comes
for his charge, and even then is supposed to lower the dignity of the
bench if he makes his charge with any view to effect on his own behalf.
The barrister who prosecutes should be tame, or he will appear to be
vindictive. The witnesses, however interesting they may be in detail,
are but episodes. Each comes and goes, and there is an end of them. But
the part of the defending advocate requires action through the whole of
the piece. And he may be impassioned. He is bound to be on the alert.
Everything seems to depend on him. They who accuse can have or should
have no longing for the condemnation of the accused one. But in
regard to the other, an acquittal is a matter of personal prowess, of
professional triumph, and possibly of well simulated feeling.
Sir John Joram was at this time a man of considerable dignity, above
fifty years of age, having already served the offices of Solicitor and
Attorney-General to his party. To his compeers and intimate friends it
seemed to be but the other day since he was Jacky Joram, one of the
jolliest little fellows ever known at an evening party, up to every kind
of fun, always rather short of money, and one of whom it was thought
that, because he was good-looking, he might some day achieve the success
of marrying a woman with money. On a sudden he married a girl without a
shilling, and men shook their heads and sighed as they spoke of poor
Jacky Joram. But, again, on a sudden,--quite as suddenly,--there came
tidings that Jacky had been found out by the attorneys, and that he was
earning his bread. As we grow old things seem to come so quickly! His
friends had hardly realised the fact that Jacky was earning his bread
before he was in Parliament and had ceased to be Jacky. And the celerity
with which he became Sir John was the most astonishing of all. Years no
doubt had passed by. But years at fifty are no more than months at
thirty,--are less than weeks in boyhood. And now while some tongues, by
dint of sheer habit, were still forming themselves into Jacky, Sir John
Joram had become the leading advocate of the day, and a man renowned for
the dignity of his manners.
In the House,--for he had quite got the ear of the House,--a certain
impressive good sense, a habit of saying nothing that was not necessary
to the occasion, had chiefly made for him the high character he enjoyed;
but in the law courts it was perhaps his complaisance, his peculiar
courtesy, of which they who praised him talked the most. His aptitude to
get verdicts was of course the cause of his success. But it was observed
of him that in perverting the course of justice,--which may be said to
be the special work of a successful advocate,--he never condescended to
bully anybody. To his own witnesses he was simple and courteous, as are
barristers generally. But to adverse witnesses he was more courteous,
though no doubt less simple. Even to some perjured comrade of an
habitual burglar he would be studiously civil: but to a woman such as
Euphemia Caldigate, _alias_ Smith, it was certain that he would be so
smooth as to make her feel almost pleased with the amenities of her
position.
He asked her very many questions, offering to provide her with the
comfort of a seat if it were necessary. She said that she was not at
all tired, and that she preferred to stand. As to the absolute fact of
the marriage she did not hesitate at all. She was married in the tent
at Ahalala in the presence of Crinkett and Adamson, and of her own
female companion, Anna Young,--all of whom were there to give evidence
of the fact. Whether any one else was in the tent, she could not say,
but she knew that there were others at the entrance. The tent was
hardly large enough for more than five or six. Dick Shand had not been
there, because he had always been her enemy, and had tried to prevent
the marriage. And she was quite clear about the letter. There was a
great deal said about the letter. She was sure that the envelope with
the letter had come to her at Ahalala by post from Sydney when her
husband was at the latter place. The Sydney postmark with the date was
very plain. There was much said as to the accuracy and clearness of the
Sydney postmark, and something as to the absence of any postmark at
Nobble. She could not account for the absence of the Nobble postmark.
She was aware that letters were stamped at Nobble generally. Mr. Allan,
she said, had himself handed to her the copy of the register almost
immediately after the marriage, but she could not say by whom it had
been copied. The letter purporting to be from Mr. Allan to her husband
was no doubt, she said, in the minister's handwriting. Caldigate had
showed it to her before their marriage, and she had kept it without any
opposition from him. Then she was asked as to her residence after her
marriage, and here she was less clear. She had lived with him first at
Ahalala and then at Nobble, but she could not say for how long. It had
been off and on. There had been quarrels, and after a time they had
agreed to part. She had received from him a certain amount of mining
shares and of money, and had undertaken in return never to bother him
any more. There was a great deal said about times and dates, which left
an impression upon those around her in the court that she was less sure
of her facts than a woman in such circumstances naturally would have
been.
Then Sir John produced the letter which she had written to Caldigate,
and in which she had distinctly offered to marry Crinkett if the money
demanded were paid. She must have expected the production of this
letter, but still, for a few moments, it silenced her. 'Yes,' she said,
at last, 'I wrote it.'
'And the money you demanded has been paid?'
'Yes, it has been paid. But not then. It was not paid till we came
over.'
'But if it had been paid then you would have--married Mr. Crinkett?' Sir
John's manner as he asked the question was so gentle and so soft that it
was felt by all to contain an apology for intruding on so delicate a
subject. But when she hesitated, he did, after a pause, renew his
inquiry in another form. 'Perhaps this was only a threat, and you had no
purpose of carrying it out.'
Then she plucked up her courage. 'I have not married him,' she said.
'But did you intend it?'
'I did. What were the laws to me out there? He had left me and had taken
another wife. I had to do the best for myself. I did intend it. But I
didn't do it. A woman can't be tried for her intentions.'
'No,' said Sir John. 'But she may be judged by her intentions.'
Then she was asked why she had not gone when she had got the money,
according to her promise. 'He defied us,' she said, 'and called us bad
names,--liars and perjurers. He knew that we were not liars. And then we
were watched and told that we might not go. As he said that he was
indifferent, I was willing enough to stay and see it out.'
'You cannot give us,' he asked again,--and this was his last
question,--'any clearer record of those months which you lived with your
husband?'
'No,' she said, 'I cannot. I kept no journal.' Then she was allowed to
go, and though she had been under examination for three hours, it was
thought she had escaped easily.
Crinkett was the next, who swore that he had been Caldigate's partner
in sundry mining speculations,--that they had been in every way
intimate,--that he had always recommended Caldigate to marry Mrs.
Smith, thinking, as he said, 'that respectability paid in the long
run,'--and that, having so advised him, he had become Caldigate's
special friend at the time, to the exclusion of Dick Shand, who was
generally drunk, and who, whether drunk or sober, was opposed to the
marriage. He had been selected to stand by his friend at the marriage,
and he, thinking that another witness would be beneficial, had taken
Adamson with him. His only wonder was that any one should dispute a
fact which was at the time so notorious both at Ahalala and at Nobble.
He held his head high during his evidence in chief, and more than
once called the prisoner 'Caldigate,'--'Caldigate knew this,'--and
'Caldigate did that.' It was past four when he was handed over for
cross-examination; but when it was said that another hour would suffice
for it, the judge agreed to sit for that other hour.
But it was nearly two hours before the gentleman who was with Sir John
had finished his work, during which Mr. Crinkett seemed to suffer much.
The gentleman was by no means so complacent as Sir John, and asked some
very disagreeable questions. Had Crinkett intended to commit bigamy by
marrying the last witness, knowing at the time that she was a married
woman? 'I never said that I intended to marry her,' said Crinkett.
'What she wrote to Caldigate was nothing to me.' He could not be made to
own, as she had done in a straightforward way, that he had intended to
set the law at defiance. His courage failed him, and his presence of
mind, and he was made to declare at last that he had only talked about
such a marriage, with the view of keeping the woman in good humour, but
that he had never intended to marry her. Then he was asked as to
Bollum;--had he told Bollum that he intended to marry the woman? At last
he owned that he might have done so. Of course he had been anxious to
get his money, and he had thought that he might best do so by such an
offer. He was reduced to much misery during his cross-examination; but
on the one main statement that he had been present at the marriage he
was not shaken.
At six o'clock the trial was adjourned till the next day, and the two
Caldigates were taken in a fly to a neighbouring inn, at which rooms had
been provided for them. Here they were soon joined by Mr. Seely, who
explained, however, that he had come merely to make arrangements for the
morrow. 'How is it going?' asked Caldigate.
The question was very natural, but it was one which Mr. Seely was not
disposed to answer. 'I couldn't give an opinion,' he said. 'In such
cases I never do give an opinion. The evidence is very clear, and has
not been shaken; but the witnesses are people of a bad character.
Character goes a long way with a jury. It will depend a good deal on the
judge, I should say. But I cannot give an opinion.'
No opinion one way or the other was expressed to the father or son,--who
indeed saw no one else the whole evening; but Robert Bolton, in
discussing the matter with his father, expressed a strong conviction
that Caldigate would be acquitted. He had heard it all, and understood
the nature of such cases. 'I do not in the least doubt that they were
married,' said Robert Bolton. 'All the circumstances make me sure of
it. But the witnesses are just of that kind which a jury always
distrusts. The jury will acquit him, not because they do not believe the
marriage, but out of enmity to Crinkett and the woman.'
'What shall we do, then?' asked the old man. To this Robert Bolton could
make no answer. He only shook his head and turned away.