SEYMOUR CHARLTON.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 14235, 4 December 1909, Page 3 (Supplement)

SEYMOUR CHARLTON.

BT SPECIAL ARBAHQJMENT.

g: BY W. B. MAXWELL, ■ .'Author of " The Countess el Maybnry." "Fabulous Fancies." "Tie Basts* Ucssensrcr." "The Guarded i ' Flame,'* etc.. etc. tCOPTBIOHT.] CHAPTER XLI. •*LAMrtoiicn v. the Karl of Brentwood and other:'." This, as newspapers toll us, ■ is an action against the defendants for conaspiring together to defraud the plaintiff by inducing hire, by false and fraudulent statements, to purchase shares in a company called the "New Darmstadt Hotel (Company." And now, in the muddy, .drabhued days of December, the action is being heard before tire Lord Chief Justice ; .Mid a special jury.

*■" Intrinsically it is a • very trifling matter. "It means that virulent Laiupknigh bought) i a paltry £100 of the second f Darmstadt issrie. He wants his money back, and he is siring Lord Brentwood and" the other directors for its recovery. But he will not sueceed. Wise legal Advisers declare that ho ■..«■'.'ha* not the ghost of » chance. He probably knows so himself; but ho is vindictive,' he wishes to bo nasty, and tie takes •this opportunity of thrashing out his wretched pamphlet once again. Of course the chairman and directors must strenuously def«nd the action, because, wore this* shareholder to succeed] all the rest of tho shareholders might launch similar action*. Legal advisers may perhaps remark that though Lamploujjh will fail a* against the defendants, he may incidentally land our jfriend Copland in Queer-street. To 'the large, unthinking public the matter is of very different import. Newspaper readers see those words "false.and fraudulent statements, - ' " conspiring," etc., and regard it as the case of a nobleman in trouble. They speak of it a* "the trial of Xord Brentwood.' 7 s Newspaper editors, indulging their readers, say tho case is one of " sensational interest." At least twenty counsel are engaged in it. Tlu> court is to be packed with members of ilia aristocracy. Sketches .of Lord; Brentwood in court;" ."ketches of Lord Brentwood walking and talking with bis legal advisors, newspapers cannot tsupplv too many portraits of the principal •defendant. Again let us see a snapshot •of Lord Brentwood driving up to the law ■courts, mud churning from brougham •vheett, mud ready to bespatter his lordship if he be not very careful. . The mud is %ing. That explains the • intensity and far-reaching cluvracter of the interest. That is why there is no elbow space for defendants and their solicitors, or Jot.- witnesses, solicitors' clerks, and mas-a*-Tigers, or for the cartloads of book* and Jprpers of the bankrupt company. That is 'why galleries and gangways are densely •thronged, *nd why on back benches, be- ; .hind iv.C.V and juniors, ladies of exalted i'station and historic names are content to suffer close pressure and constraint by balfI washed plebeian neighbour*.,/ • "Conspicuous 'his morning among fashionable visitors wei» the Marchioness of I Molasey, Lady Enid Carisbrooke," eta. Yes, Iwe, want to gape at dear, reckless Seymour *Brentwood assailed by mud-throwers. Them he sits, on the front bench of all, {facing his judge. He seems to us more .handsome than ever, wrapping himself round in melancholy dignitv, looking like » deposed prince—like Charles the First at hi» trial in Westminster Halllike anything splendid, tragic, or morbidly inter- : esting. •.- '"'..;: ■ , - ■' i ... "And I must trace at some ;■■ length.for a clear understanding of his •position—the previous trade adventures of /.this man Copland, who is, as I sav, the f*tbw-in-law of the defendant,. Lord Brenti.wood—the father-in-law,, as I was saying, i ofi Lord Brentwood. ..." * This is the interminable opening speech *i plaintiff's counsel, , listened to in dull disgust by (ho principal defendant. Lamjpkwghhiw briefed a third-rate K.C., who, ■ *rith ; i«mede bluster and portentous man- , nereis. telling the gloomy tale of the man ■of straw.|| For the second time a son-in- , law hears the Copland in the foggy King's Road, Chelsea, ' Copland set upon hi* rickety legs in Oxford-street; it is end.i; Jess. It goes on all one day and half the net. ,

~... "I piuwt from tLese beds—these beds for tfci smaller rooms—but before doing so I will, my, lord, as succinctly as jposwble, call i the attention of the gentle.men of the jury to this significant ctrcum]?i<,tanc?* * I ■'■hall submit evidence which will prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that ■of these; one-hundred beds, at ■.;'■:,■' four pounds apiece, supposed to hare been delivered by Copland, and scheduled as an »s*««t— property actually in .the hotel— there wore, en sober fact/delivered eightyone beds and no more—-not one hundred-and-three f beds, ;; but i eighty-one • beds. :.. T».enty : two beds short—beds and matK t»es«a. I pass on.. . ;.•.■■.?,-- v \< Thus .the icndle*st web of words is spun ■i'r out. V And suddenly fhe judge asks a quesl^.lion:*^.;',:'.*:"-•:''• ■.■■ ;;.;*; -v?'-:..'; ■; .• ,-'-. "Why are you labouring all these detail* ' -' . "Oh, my lord, surely they are strictly sign relevant to the issue?. . .-. . . Shall I go ' <*», my lord?" . 'Dully Seymour wonders 4 why' the judge < asks his question. Is it in order to keep ,; -the jury awake, or lias he himself become , Ined and oblivious already r'; *'■ . . "Now I come to the end of these I preposterous pictures. * As I sav, I m shall, 1 think, succeed in showing that these mi three picture* alleged to be from the brush -of Reynolds, Romney, and Gainsborough— ■worthless copies—really the most wretched ;,;"ttaubs—are identical with three canvases entered at an auction sale, and knocked • down amid the derision of the room for seventy shillings, . sixty shillings, and "thirty shillings; boVttev came into Cop;lands possession, were -umpluously framed .; by him, to find their way to the Dttss. ,*ttdV Hotel and figure as' a purchase *' three artistic gems tit four thousand guinea* ; each ~ ', * * .Vith difficulty I repress ■ myself— there is no necessity to dress I forth the fuels', of 'he transaction. ... Shall I venture U. ray this without' wounding the sufceptihilities of my learned Jnend—or anybody else? To. form a corMet opinion of the value of such m'ctures, r 'v " , , not necessary to have an eve trainee! V by the pergonal ownership of galleries and . •aloons rich with the authentic work of .£■: these' very master*. , . .'* '<'.•■■■'■' Angry protest by eminent K.C., principal ; defendant's counsel, whispers in court, ; long-drawn breath of fashionable •: ladies— : this is what we have come for. The mud '',:.'' flying. ,; t -At the end of the first day Seymour went •way in the company of his father-in-law. -Daylight was gone — impossible to take snapshots, but descriptive reporters could ,«» "the Earl" get into the cab with "the VMian .of. (draw." v ; rt ; Messrs. Killick and Mills had said it ■_:■;,. would be wise to sustain Mr. Copland's I courage, to brace him up for hia ordeal in line witness-box, «nd not unwise to keep an J ,«ye on him. But Seymour had quite other ■ r reasons for his attentive courtesy. The i ■m&ix of straw was his wife's father— '.' ; .: r .'* a reason. ' "Thin is very. kind. , Brentwood, my «car fellow, I am touched by this kindness. How do you think things ore going? My Emu lias not said on<> word, and your man . *eemed to be somewhat supine. Several ■p. times I fancied he could have intervened with:good effect," '.Lord and Lady Brentwood were not stay--6 ing at A ntl oyer House. It had seemed to '~ ... both of them that just now/, for this visit ;—to t London, their own how would be inP B "ppc.rtab!e. They had tajcefl rooms at one H-.ofthe •■'baring Cross h'Jtele, and thither Lord B'.'?ntwoud and his connection by niar- '.'• rw go repaired. : -.Mr. Copland drank ten* with his son and y daughter, and -accepted, an invitation to return and dine with then). Ho was low- ; spirited at tea, but at dinner he seemed to he cheered by the food and wine, and alter dinner, in Lady Brentwood's sittingroom, he discoursed with bright-eyed VlVacifty. "In a sense, it is.» very remarkable caee, :*;■•*. Gladys—Brentwoo'i will endorse roe— II •gathering of f<«tuaic talent, Sir Henry llJjordoa, who represents our old friend MaiwMi& .; /;- '. : -^r;•.::■:.;.■

eoroson,, has been, twice Solicitor-General. Then there V George Jefferiee, the most merciless cross-examiner now in practice fortunately on our .side; Fargus Bull, and Piniield, who, they say, is a future Lord Chancellor." He explained that he was not a party to the case, but he was represented by counsel two counsel—" watching brief, as it is termed. My men have high reputations. Brentwood's men have the highest reputations. It is really a tremendous muster. I should like you to see it, Gladysif only for half an hour." Listening to him, tone might have supposed that he had been in or about the law courts all his life, that he felt con-'

tented and at home there.

Did you know, Brentwood, there is a very snug little grill-room round the corner at the bottom of the stairs? I lunched there to-dav with Mr. Sykes, Killick's managing clerk, a very intelligent and amusing fellow. He stigmatises Lamplough'* claim as wasting the time of the court— foregone conclusion. . . ,'.. "Mr. Sykes heartened me enormously by something" else he said. I must not attach too much weight to an opening speech. It is then that things are made to look black—as black as possible. But all of it can be washed out by the defence," and Mr. Copland moistened his lips before ho went on talking. "It was the dutv of the nun to-day to tint even-thing with a complexion of-"-er—what one muet call hanky-panky. I have no fear of the result. I shall explain much if lam allowed a chance of doing it." To Seymour, silently listening, it was like everything else to-day, wonderful and dreamlike and disgusting. Did Copland know right from wrong? Did he in the least degree realise how black things were looking for him? "Good night." said Mr. Copland cheerfully. "Or au revoir, my dear Brentwood, till'we meet to-morrow' in the same old place." And then he came trotting back for ft last word. " Don't forget that little grill-room in the luncheon interval. ..;-... . But, pardon me, I have disturbed you— stupidly," and he shut the door again. rap*, returning thus unexpectedly and looking into the sitting-room, obtained a too domestic glimpse. His daughter had moved from the chair by the fire and was kneeling at her husband's feet. She was weeping, pressing his hand to her lips, and Seymour, with" his arm round her waist, was lif tine her from tin; ground. " How kind and "->ble yon are. Oh, how I worship you for your gentleness to my unhappy father!" ! " Gladys, my dear girl Let mo go" with you'to-morrow— me be there by your side." " No. no—not to be thought of." "It breaks my heart. It is I who have brought all this trouble on through my father." " No, your father didn't influence me. If anybody, it was Malcomson." . "But for m»» you would' never have known him. It is all my fault." "No. It was nobody but myself. It was my own folly." Seymour and his father-in-law had met again " in the same old place." You climbed stairs to reach the place, but directly you were inside it you forgot, you could not believe that you were above ground. The longer you stayed in it, the firmer grew the impression of being sunk far down beneath the surface of the earth. Everything aided the impression, the airlessness, the loftv, windowless walls, tho disproportionate height, * the remote glass instead of a ceiling dimly perceived above one's lifted head.

Compared with thwe depths the tankish House of Lords might be a bright and airy upper chamber in a tower at the top of a mountain. This morning he thought the Lord Chief Justice's court like* a fantastic buried room, excavated and decorated by people who were confused in their recollections of rooms on the face of the earth. Latticed bookcases round the walls, reminiscence of ft something suggestive of an old-fashioned inn bedroom about the judge's bench and the dusty green curtains through which he went in and out; a monstrously too big clock, a vague memory of the clock at a railway station—these men had forgotten the daylight world when they made 'for themselves this deep-sunk temple of ceaseless talk. . : '-.' ' V *'" ,: J He looked about him. The men'had forgotten daylight clothes: they wore wigs and gowns. * u They' were an underground race for ever banished from the sun's rays. Imagination could not enable one < to see them employed otherwise '; than here; one could not conceive of ; them breathing good air, or riding fast across open fields. They had no colour. Their faces were like baked earth, their mobile months were like indiarubber, their swiftly turning eyes were like tarnushed ' glass. . \ - • ' i - . . . . " I shall, my lord, say little more about these presents —these extraordinary complimentary gifts offered to all and sundry who had the checking, the valuing, or the estimating, or the inventorying of all this mass of furniture this furniture. ..." . .- ' ~ t \ ':'■':■■ ', -

: He looked about him. There was no colour anywhere. It was- something to do with the atmosphere a successful resistance to the filtration of the feebly descending light. Some brightly bound ledgers on ' the floor by Killick's feet were colourless. There was absolutely no colour in the gaily dressed ladies clustered together in the judge's gallery. It was aa if a dust-storm had covered them. :~r '■■■■■<- h *.'•>'; *,< ■ 'iH

.■* . . ■ "Briefly recapitulating the evidence I propose to submit in this connection—" : " ' -'- "-. ."•■■%

"What was that word? Did you say 'this invention"?" ■"■:.">- ;, .

" Connection. - This connection, my lord. In this connection. . . ." <

There were almost continuous interruptions. ' The* tired voice of counsel was always being raised to repeat .words or phrases. These underground men were all deaf. : But soon Seymour began to fail occasionally in hearing what was said. It was the deadness of the air, a heavy, cotton-woolly , medium through which sound penetrated with difficulty. ," . ..■-■"I shall call some of the clerks of the defendants' company, the clerks who choked and scrutinised the deliveries, the clerks who assisted at drawing up the inventories, who took down the .schedules from the company's expert appraisers, and the clerks who presented such documents for the examination of the defendants themselves." ,

"Not quite so fast, please. For the examination of —? Who examined it?' " The defendants, my lord." "The defendants—" How could the thing ever end at this rat?? It was endless. ~, :

.. . . " Moreover, as I have told the gentlemen of the jury, I shall submit the evidence of this sorvant of the wholesale furniture house Width in part supplied Conland, and he will tell the f.tory of Copland's present of two glass and silver decanters. He will tell you that Copland assured him that the gift was a customary matter, a largesse of the company. ... But this witness, although at the moment be accepted the gift, thought it so extraordinary that on reflection he decided to return it. ' ..." '"';,.' ' Seymour looked here and there at the underground men. Ho felt that they were spiders weaving their web.< about him; friends and foes alike were spinning the threads to tie him down. Their endless words were the endless threads with which thev meant to bind and stifle him. The long hand of the momtrous clock reached the half hour after one. Instantly, in the middle of a rambling sentence, the Court rose. Seymour stood up, looked round, and seemed to meet the concentrated eyen of the world mutely interrogating him. During the interval he walked with Killick in the great hall, and if descriptive reporters watched him they probably observed an agitated or unusually emphatic manner. He is making some sort of protest or anxious inquiry, Is his man, this famous Matthew Bering, K.C., a man to be relied on? Does he really understand our case in all its bearings? Can one trust him to understand everything? Mr. Killick is pacifying his client. He assures Lord Brentwood that he is in safe hands., But in court again his disgust returns, grows more nauseating, is changing to dull anger. We have come to the witnesses now, an inexhaustible array of them. Clerks, servants, underlings, are examined and cross-examined and re-examined. Now one sees what our famous counsel can do for us. It is his turn now." He is a large, leaden-tinted man with pendulous cheeks and hirsute brows, and,' assuming a righteous indignation, be skirmishes heavily

against the learned foe. r The cross-exami-nation ie always the . same—to exonerate Lord Brentwood from 1 responsibility, to show that he could not have been cognisant of any irregularities if they existed, and Set to make the jury believe that Lord Brentwood was never negligent but regularly attending to the business in an assiduous fashion.

. .' . "And Lord Brentwood examinee these. schedules himself

"Yes, if they were put before him; it was mostly Mr. Waller or Mr. Tilney—" "Don't introduce irrelevant information. Just answer my question." , "He is answering your question," says counsel for plaintiff. > % : , Then there .is bickering, what the . more literary newspapers call " a scone," what unliterary "newspapers call "a breeze.between counsel." The breeze blows itself out, and then they go on again. '

" Now, I am asking you about these schedules of January 18 and 23, the schedules D 3 and 4. You hold them there— they have just been handed to you—those you now have. Please confine your retention to those. You told us just now, before my learned friend for the fifth or sixth time interrupted me— ~ . But the learned friend protests, the judge is appealed to for protection under such a savage attack there is another ttiffish breeze between counsel. " You told us that document was submitted to the directors and signed. LooV, and you will see the signatures." " Yes."

"Is Lord Brentwood's name there?". " Yes." ~. v.. v.

"Did he examine- the document before signing itf' > "Yes."

"Carefully?" "Yes. I think so." "In short, so far as vou observed, he examined it carefully and "completely?" "Yes." ' r J

Lord Brentwood writhed in the webs. Ho was tongue-tied by the power of these glib and coarse-grained advocates, and his honour was at stake. He was ignored, poohpoohed, overborne by these gross vulgarians, and his good name was being weighed by tho world.

Disgust, profounder and> -profounder, sickened him—disgust of this crowded court, of ii« foul air, the somnolently staring jury, the hired speakers, of his "father-in-law, disgust of alt this sordid business realm. They were all cheats at heart; not only Copland and Stuart and the others, but the accountants who should have seen and who knew that they were being paid not to see, the bankers who profited by the cash balances in their coffers—nil, all of them cheats. His dull anger was changing fast to hot revolt. Never had a proud prince blundered into such a fall from his high place in the world.

He spent, the evening alone with his wife in the hotel sitting-room. He read again some of the innumerable letters that those days had brought him. A few were anonymous and abusive.; the rest wore from shareholders. They had been written by retired soldiers, country parsons, widows who entertained f paying guests, and so on down the social scale to quite humble folk. Like Marrow, the writers all said they had risked their money on the faith of his good name. The letters altogether seemed to him to form a faintly heard cry for help from a great distance. Is it too late, my lord, to save us from the inevitable? lor the sake of our blind faith in you, save your •lordship's ruined but still obedient, respectful servant*.' While his wife sat pensively looking into the fire, he was smoothing and folding the letters. He thought of the trial in that stuffy den of practised hirelings, and of his trial in the open court of public opinion. At this moment, hundreds, thousands of men were talking of him. Scattered wide all over the kingdom, those critics of the streets and taverns were speaking his name. Carelessa few words; then the talk turns to something else. He could hear the vulgar lips— And that Lord Brentwood, he was on the make same as the others. He don't know nothing now. Oh, no! But he knew a thing or two when he started. He wasn't in it for 'is 'ealth—no bloomin* fearT* *' I'd give tha swab five years' hard, for all he was a lord and a member o' Government." These were the voices—scattered far and wide. But if you could collect them together, the voices would be a roaring volume of —from a multitude as great as ever gathered beneath a prince's windows to bellow scorn and rebellion.

; Then he thought of all the men of his own class—how they would judge him. And then he thought of the few really big men of both political parties; they must, of course, be talking* too. He thought of the grey old lords who held high office by right of birth, of the solemn commoners who had won it by force of merit. These should have been his peers— were the men who in truth would try him. 'Only they were competent to form a court. Anger and pride stirred as ho thought of them. They were immeasurably different from the abject business mob. They could handle millions of money, and nothing stuck to their strong, clean hands. He thought of the secrets they guard, the power they wield—of how they are given a pittance of five thousand a year and illimitable power, of how they retire into private lite poorer, much poorer for the toil and the burden. They would understand—they would know that he could not lie or cheat. But, how would they judge him as a leader of men—as a trusted prince surrounded. by treacherous, mud-stained lieutenants, conducting his faithful army into ambush and quagmire? They would suspend their judgment, but they, would watch and listen with generous anxiety. In imagination he could hear their voices also : " Oh, I trust, I cannot doubt that Brentwood will cut himself clear from such ignoble associates. lam sure that he will have some really handsome answer to these ugly insinuations."

After all, these were his judges. "Seymour, it is getting late." He came to his wife's side, took her hand, and smiled at her tenderly. Seymour, your thoughts have been very sad. Can you tell me what you wore thinking?" V-,- v- " Nothing to distress or worry you. I was thinking, you and I,.Gladys, we are safest by ourselves—when wo trust tooursclves and no one else."

It was on the third day in the morning when he began to tear the webs. His counsel was cross-examining as hitherto, and he stopped him.

" Stop!" he said in a loud voice. " That's not true. I took no trouble; I ascertained nothing. . May I speak?" People heard the loud voice without catching his words. There was whispering and commotion. His counsel were scandalised; all counsel looked pained and shocked; everybody endeavoured to silence him. •

" I want to say that the responsibility and the blame are not to be—

All this was imperfectly heard in the unusual raised tones—and then he was somehow restrained and quieted. The judge, with a kindly seriousness, explained that he could not permit that sort of interruption, and he strongly advised Lord Brentwood, in his own interests, not to interfere with counsel who were there to represent him. It was another "scene" for the newspapers to describe; one of them spoke of " Lord Brentwood's extraordinary outburst of temper." During the interval he came through the assembled lunchcrs in the refreshment tar, surrounded by a.. bodyguard of his J«gal advisers. They led him out into the coolness and space of the big hall to soothe and pacify him. Mr. Killick, vainly striving to subdue the excitability of his client, and noticing a sternness and grating tone in the client's voice, thought of the late Lord Collingbourne. Thes6 Charltons. even the best of thorn, were difficult, nearly impossible people to deal with. Killick- told his client that ho really must restrain himself, that he had offended his senior counsel that the great Mr. Bering had, in fact, almost threatened to throw up his brief.

(To be continued next Saturday.) *