The Merciless Ladies (17 page)

‘I suppose you're keeping to the defence you stipulated? No mud-slinging, I mean?'

Paul looked at his watch. ‘Time we left. I've got my car round the corner … Mud, you ask? Well, mud seems to be a sort of suspensory agent in all law cases. There won't be any direct mud-slinging if I can help it, Bill. But I can see there's going to be plenty of insinuations flung about, and nothing I can say will make the least difference.'

Just before we reached the Strand we stopped at a post office, and I sent off a telegram to Holly telling het of our safe arrival.

The Courts were fermenting with life, and reporters tried to get a statement and took photographs as we entered. Mr Freeman and Mr Kidstone were waiting in the gloomy Monastic-Gothic central hall; I shook hands with them and we went straight into court. We had to thread our way through numbers of well-dressed people who, on the grounds of various remote and largely imaginary connections with the case, were attempting to get into the body of the court, the public gallery being already full. Some of them greeted Paul hopefully, but his responses were brief and without encouragement.

We took seats just below the judicial bench. Freeman and Kidstone sat on each side of Paul, and I sat next to Kidstone. Further down Mr Henry Ludwig was passing the time flipping through a Sotheby's catalogue.

Already the court was nearly full. One was conscious all about one of a stir of expectancy. Pervading everything was that strange smell, books and breath and old leather.

Diana Marnsett came in, took a seat at the other end of the row in which we were sitting and began to confer with her solicitor. She didn't glance in our direction. She looked austere and irreproachable, dressed in black with a white flower to give the ensemble relief, and with a close-fitting black hat. I realized how wrong an impression I should gain of her if I were on the jury.

At this point a rich throaty voice broke in from behind and Paul turned to reply to it. Our counsel. I didn't like to turn round and so only received an impression of a red face and hooked nose with the curled grey wig tilted forward over it. So this was Mr Raymond Hart, KC, who had worked his way up'.

Beside him gowned figures were talking together in undertones, and at the other end of the bench I recognized Sir Philip Bagshawe from photographs, the heavy black-rimmed spectacles, the plump cheeks, the receding chin. There were three women on the jury.

Paul leaned across to me.

‘I'm glad you're here, Bill. I feel more comfortable with you about.'

‘What d'you make of the case so far?' I asked Kidstone.

Kidstone crossed his legs. ‘Yesterday's witnesses were not impressive. Mr Hart succeeded in nullifying the effect of the doctor who said Mrs Marnsett had been ill as a result of the libel. And the employee of the Ludwig Galleries who came forward to testify that Mr Stafford was furious when he took in the portrait to be hung … well, a man who has been discharged for drunkenness … The sort of witness who comes forward and testifies from spite isn't much good to a litigant. Of course, a lot will depend—'

The rap of the hammer stopped him in mid-stride, and we rose to our feet as the judge came in. We bowed to each other and he sat down. The business of the day was ready to begin.

III

The sharp, thin, ascetic face under the wig didn't look a healthy face, but it looked a very alert one. Mr Justice Freyte was well known for his summings-up. Silence fell on the court. Sir Philip Bagshawe was on his feet.

‘Call the Hon. Mrs Brian Marnsett.'

We watched her rise and walk with feline dignity into the witness box. With her beauty and poise she would be a hard witness to handle roughly, if one wished to keep the sympathy of the jury. Our Mr Raymond Hart would have his hands full.

Sir Philip led his client through her evidence: it was all courteous, deferential. The beautiful society woman, dignified and refined, second daughter of Lord Crantell, one-time governor of Bengal. Wife of Colonel Brian Marnsett, the well-known philanthropist and art connoisseur. This painting commissioned from Mr Paul Stafford. On completion a dispute arose as to the disposal of the painting. Mrs Marnsett had naturally understood it was to be her property at the price agreed.

Where
was
Colonel Marnsett? I wondered. If he was partly behind this action, as Paul suspected, there was no evidence of it by his presence in court.

… Astonished and deeply hurt at the news. Could hardly believe it, so she went round to the Ludwig Galleries and saw for herself. Certainly she felt that such a hanging was a grave and deliberate affront to her moral character – and made by a former friend. So upset had she been that she had been taken ill the following day, as Dr Sowerby had testified, and her health had been impaired for some time.

The gentle, courteous voice went on and on, coaxing its responses from the witness. The jury could not help but be convinced by the frank and modest manner in which the story was being told. The judge was leaning forward writing down the replies which Mrs Marnsett made. The light was shining across the lenses of his spectacles, and one got the impression that he was writing with his eyes shut. Unlike most of his colleagues, he didn't hold up the hearing every few seconds while he completed his notes, and I wondered if he used shorthand.

The voice of Sir Philip Bagshawe ceased, there was a stir in court and another stir behind me. Sir Philip had sat down and Mr Hart had risen to his feet. I saw Diana put one hand on the edge of the box and raise her head to meet the prospective challenge.

Mr Hart began to speak. A peculiar voice. Rich and rusty and aggravating.

‘Mrs Marnsett, is it true that you are generally accepted as a beautiful woman?'

Diana stared at him a moment.

‘Possibly.'

‘Many men have told you that?'

‘Some.'

‘Sufficient to make you feel that there was some truth in their statements, eh?'

‘Yes.'

‘But you would not, I should say, describe yourself as a conceited woman?'

‘Certainly not.'

‘Just, shall we say, one with an adequate appreciation of her own charm and beauty?'

‘I am not ashamed of being considered good-looking.'

‘You are not ashamed. Certainly not. Now is it true, Mrs Marnsett, that in the last four years you have been painted eight times by various artists?'

Diana looked rather feline. ‘What has that to do with it?'

‘Please answer my question.'

‘I can't remember off-hand. Probably seven or eight.'

‘In fact you make quite a practice of it.'

‘Not at all. It has just happened that I have been painted several times.'

‘I see. It has ‘‘ just happened”. And these portraits: were they all commissioned by you?'

‘Not exactly. In several cases the artist has expressed a wish to paint me and I have agreed.'

‘In which case I suppose he has done the portrait without fee?'

‘Yes. If I have liked it I have generally bought it.'

‘And if you disliked it?'

Diana hesitated. ‘Then I have not bought it.'

‘And so the poor artist got nothing?'

‘If you wish to express it that way.'

‘Rather putting a premium on flattery, don't you think?'

‘Not if an artist is honest.'

‘An honest artist, you would say then, paints what he sees irrespective of what the sitter will think?'

Diana bit her lip. ‘I didn't say that. But an honest artist will not descend to flattery.'

‘Now this latest portrait by Mr Stafford. Did that, like the others, just happen?'

‘No, it was commissioned. He agreed to paint my portrait for a sum of money, as he would anyone else's.'

‘Did he appear reluctant to execute this commission?'

‘Not at all.'

‘You did not pester him until he accepted it?'

‘I certainly did not.'

‘He was in fact eager to paint your portrait?'

‘I didn't say that. He was quite willing.'

‘Even though he had painted you once before?'

‘It's not unusual to do that.'

‘Did the suggestion to paint your portrait again come from you or from him?'

‘From me.''

‘I put it to you that he was somewhat unwilling to accept this commission but that you would not leave him alone until he agreed to do it.'

‘That isn't true.'

There was a moment's pause; then the rusty, well-fed voice began again. Question and answer, question and answer. The judge had stopped writing and was sitting with fingers clasped patiently listening to the long interchange.

‘You have stated that you did not see the portrait until it was finished?' said Mr Hart.

‘That is so.'

‘May I ask what your feelings were when you did see it?''

‘I was – annoyed. I didn't consider it lifelike.'

‘Sufficiently – annoyed to attack the painting with a knife?'

A faint flush appeared in Mrs Marnsett's cheeks.

‘A palette knife. I was annoyed. At first glance the painting seemed to be a deliberate insult. I made some gesture towards it as if to strike at the face. That was all.'

‘Meaning, of course, no harm to the picture?' came the sarcastic voice.

‘Oh, I might have cut it; I don't know. Mr Stafford took good care I shouldn't get near it.'

‘Was there a struggle?'

‘A slight one.'

‘Did you stab Mr Stafford in the hand?'

‘Certainly not.'

‘Yet Mr Stafford's hand was rather badly cut, was it not?'

‘Possibly it was scratched. I didn't notice.'

‘Too beside yourself with fury?'

‘If he cut his hand he did it himself.'

‘Would it interest you to know that he had to have two stitches in the wound? Surely not the sort of thing one does oneself.'

‘He obviously took my movement seriously and jumped on the knife. He was very offensive in his attitude. I left immediately.'

‘Nevertheless, you later offered to purchase the picture. Why was that?'

Diana lifted her shoulders slightly. ‘I wished to keep my part of the contract.'

‘You mean you wished to buy the painting in order to destroy it?'

‘I didn't say that.'

‘That is the natural inference, isn't it?'

‘If you like.'

‘You were not concerned with any artistic value it may have possessed?'

‘I didn't consider it had any.'

‘That is your opinion. I will call expert opinion to the contrary. You are aware, of course, that this portrait was submitted to the committee of the Burlington House exhibition and accepted for their annual summer exhibition, and that later without good reason it was abruptly rejected.'

‘I am aware that it was rejected.'

‘Is it true, Mrs Marnsett, that your husband is a trustee of the Royal Academy and a trustee administrator of various bequests connected with that establishment?'

There was a pause before Diana replied. ‘ I and my husband had no influence over the rejection of the picture from the Academy exhibition, if that is what you suggest.'

‘What
I
suggest?' said counsel. ‘No, madam, the suggestion comes from you. If you choose to put your own construction on the question, the jury must decide why such a denial leapt to your mind.'

The judge moved his head.

‘Frankly, Mr Hart, that would seem to me the natural construction to put on your questions.'

‘As your Lordship pleases—'

‘Or I should say', went on Mr Justice Freyte, ‘ the natural inference to draw from the juxtaposition of the questions. Considered separately, of course, the questions impute nothing of the sort, and had they been asked with some interval between, it is unlikely that the witness would have drawn from them the inference that she did.'

‘I am indebted to your Lordship for correcting me … May I put it to you this way, Mrs Marnsett. In all the numerous portraits which have been painted for you, have you ever made it a condition that the portrait when finished should not be publicly exhibited by the artist if he had the chance?'

‘No.'

‘Might it be said that an artist would take it for granted, even in the event of a commissioned portrait, that he would first have the right to exhibit?'

‘I have no idea of the law on the matter.'

‘Would you have objected to this unflattering portrait appearing before your friends in the Academy show?'

‘Of course I should have disliked the idea', said Diana, her voice raised in exasperation.' It was only natural to dislike it.'

‘Even though, even though if it had appeared as intended on the Academy walls,
there would have been no question of any moral imputation in the pictures with which it was associated?
'

I glanced across at the jury. For the most part their faces were expressionless. They seemed to be watching the counsel more than Mrs Marnsett. Diana was now holding the edge of the witness box with both gloved hands.

‘Now, Mrs Marnsett, turn your attention, please, to the actual fact of the exhibition of the picture at the Ludwig Galleries. You have said that a friend first told you of this portrait being exhibited, and that you went there yourself and were deeply upset at what you saw.'

‘Yes.'

‘Who was this friend?'

‘A Mrs Simon Armitage.'

‘Why has she not appeared in this court?'

‘My Lord', said Sir Philip Bagshawe, half rising, ‘I thought I had already explained that Mrs Armirage was in America. My learned friend must appreciate that her evidence is unlikely to influence the result of this suit.'

Mr Hart said: ‘This Mrs Armitage; when she told you, she was shocked, I suppose?'

‘She told me out of friendship', said Diana. ‘ People were already talking about it.'