A Marriage of Convenience (44 page)

‘I assure you I was kindness itself in comparison with what Mason’s going to try to do to you.’

‘It was hateful reading those letters.’ He looked away. ‘Do you know something? I wish to God she’d lied.’

‘But she did,’ said Alderson, wiping his forehead just below the line of his wig. ‘Not about being your mistress. But how could she? Must have known we could call half-a-dozen maids from York and Dublin to swear that only one bed was slept in. They wouldn’t all have been disbelieved. Her counsel knew that.’ Alderson glanced at his downcast face. ‘She lied, I’m telling you. You said your brother didn’t want her to marry you. He
must
have warned her against marrying in Ireland.’

‘But if he
did
,’ whispered Clinton urgently, ‘why did she ever agree to go through the ceremony?’

‘She decided to take a risk. She wanted to be Lady Ardmore, and any kind of marriage seemed better than none. She obviously thought she could hold you to it. Remember the certificate.’ Clinton said nothing. ‘Look, man, if she’d turned down your proposal in Ireland, she’d have had to admit she didn’t trust you. And then you would have resented that and maybe got cold feet later. That was the last thing she cared to risk.’

‘I don’t know what I think any more. When you read that letter … You told me I ought to have settled out of court. I wish to hell I had.’

‘I’m thankful you didn’t. I think we’ll win.’

‘Did she really lie, Serjeant? I know what you said … but I saw
the way she gave evidence.’ Clinton looked imploringly at his advocate.

‘My lord, I haven’t the least doubt of it. It always hurts to find one’s been made a fool of; but that’s no reason to pretend it didn’t happen.’ He paused slightly. ‘Least of all in a place like this.’

The next witness called by Mason was not Esmond, but Father Maguire. While the priest was being sworn and asked the necessary formal questions, Clinton remembered the man’s sparsely furnished room and the scaffolding around the church. If only he had refused me, thought Clinton. But there would have been another priest needing money just as badly; and in the end he would have found him. Maguire, who had seemed so stolid to Clinton, now looked distraught and painfully nervous. Serjeant Mason treated him severely from the beginning.

As soon as the priest had said who he was, he turned to the Lord Chief Justice.

‘I beg leave, your worship, before I give evidence in this case …’

‘I won’t allow this, my Lord,’ said Mason. ‘The reverend gentleman is trying to make a speech.’

‘I wasn’t going to.’

The judge gazed at him reproachfully.

‘You are sworn now as a witness, and your duty is to answer such questions as you may be asked. Later, if you think you should, you may give explanations. In here you must address me as my Lord.’

Mason leant forward.

‘Did Lord Ardmore and Theresa Barr, as she then was, enter your church together on Sunday January 6th 1867?’

‘Yes.’

‘And were you at the altar when they came in?’

‘I was inside the altar rails … My Lord,’ asked the priest in desperation, ‘may I be allowed to …’

‘Not yet, sir. Did they kneel down before you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you ask the man whether he would take the woman to be his wife, and did you ask the woman would she take the man to be her husband?’

‘Yes, but I must …’

‘Answer this, sir. Was a ring produced?’

‘I have no knowledge of seeing a ring; except when I gave a short exhortation after the ceremony, he had his hand on her hand.’

‘Putting the ring on her finger—come now?’

‘Holding the ring.’

‘What did he do with it?’

‘I saw him turning it.’

‘Did you ever see a wedding ring put on a finger before?’

‘I did often enough. I don’t think he put it on.’

‘Perhaps it was too small?’ asked Mason with heavy sarcasm.

‘Possibly, sir.’

‘Did Lord Ardmore say these words, repeating them after you: “I take thee Theresa Barr, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward?”’

‘He did.’

‘And did he continue right through the form of words after you?’

‘They both gave their verbal consent in that way, but the marriage ceremony was not complete.’

‘That isn’t for you to decide.’

‘I did not end with the normal form of benediction.’

‘That was out of turn, sir.’

Maguire blurted out:

‘The words of the service when the parties plight their troth, include the expression “if holy church permit”. In my opinion …’

‘You must behave yourself,’ put in the judge, ‘and only answer learned counsel’s questions; otherwise I will send you to prison for contempt of court. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, my Lord.’

‘Now, sir, did both parties pledge themselves distinctly?’

‘Yes.’

‘And she kneeling by his side at the altar?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you married them?’

‘I renewed a consent which I understood …’

‘I object to that answer. I object to anyone, be he the Pope or the Archbishop of Canterbury, telling us what marriage is. If he went through the form, it is for your Lordship to decide what it is.’

‘Did you go through the form?’ asked the judge.

‘Yes, but without the customary form of benediction.’

‘How can that change the fact of their consent?’ demanded Serjeant Mason.

‘I
will rule on that later,’ replied the Lord Chief Justice.

‘When the defendant came to see you alone, before he came with the lady, did he say he was a Catholic? Surely you would have had nothing to do with him otherwise?’

‘He said he was of no religion.’

He attended Mass after his marriage. Do you swear he said he had no religion?’

‘Yes.’

‘What was your fee?’

‘For attending at the ceremony?’

‘I call it marriage. But tell me your fee?’

‘Twenty pounds.’

‘What is the usual fee for a marriage?’

‘Two pounds.’

‘The defendant could have been ten times married for his fee, could he not?’

‘He wasn’t though, sir.’

Serjeant Mason asked for the marriage certificate to be shown to the witness.

‘You sent that certificate now produced?’

‘Yes.’

‘You wrote it?’

‘My curate did.’

‘By your authority?’

‘Yes.’

‘And with your knowledge and assent?’

‘Yes.’

‘I have no further questions.’

Serjeant Alderson in the opening questions of his cross-
examination
got Father Maguire to admit that if he had thought he was marrying the couple, he would have made more diligent enquiries about Lord Ardmore’s religion. He had not done so, he said, because he had never intended to do more than renew a consent given at an earlier marriage. Thus at the outset Alderson managed to inform the jury that Maguire had probably been mistaken about Clinton’s lack of religion. To Clinton this seemed very little to set against Serjeant Mason’s efforts.

‘In your church,’ continued Alderson, ‘I believe there is a particular dress to be worn by clergymen celebrating marriages?’

‘I object to that,’ snarled Serjeant Mason. ‘If he’d had a sack on his head, it wouldn’t make any difference.’

The Lord Chief Justice said that Serjeant Alderson could put his question.

‘What way were you dressed then? In those special vestments?’

‘No, sir. I wore a soutane.’

‘No other clerical dress at all?’

‘No.’

‘Before the ceremony, were the banns registered?’

‘They were not.’

‘Were two witnesses present in accordance with the law?’

‘No.’

‘Did the parties swear to the lack of any impediment?’

‘They did not.’

‘Did they sign the register of marriages?’

‘They signed in another book. They knew it was not the church register.’

‘You told them that?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did their refusal to sign the proper register make you think?’

‘That the lady knew the ceremony was a blessing. I had never been in much doubt, but this convinced me.’

‘Did you have any other reason … what had first made you think the lady knew?’

‘I had an instinct.’

‘Had it to do with confession?’

‘I will not answer anything about confession.’

‘I certainly won’t press you to. I have no more to ask.’

‘My Lord,’ said Serjeant Mason, rising to re-examine, ‘the last exchanges were outrageous. An insinuation was made that cannot be challenged because of the seal of confession.’

‘The jury should discount the insinuation,’ replied the judge.

Mason looked at the priest with derision.

‘In the certificate you sent the lady, you described what you did as marriage. You also stated that this marriage had been recorded in the register. Do you deny that?’

‘No. May I explain, my Lord?’

‘Answer this one question first,’ said Mason. ‘Since the lady knew the marriage was to be kept secret, was there anything strange in her agreement to sign a private register?’

‘I thought so then.’

‘Why, sir?’

‘An impression. I can’t be more precise.’

‘You were precise enough with your certificate.’

‘When may I explain about it?’ moaned the priest.

‘You may do so now,’ said the judge.

‘The lady told me she was expecting. I didn’t want the child to be denied baptism. If I’d ever suspected the purpose the certificate was to be used for, I’d have cut off my hand before I gave it.’

‘You explain this in your letter to Lord Ardmore. It is on page twelve of the jury’s printed documents.’ Maguire was handed his letter. ‘Did you write this to the defendant?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did you not produce his letter which prompted it?’

‘I destroyed it.’

‘Why?’

‘I foolishly thought I could forget the whole business. I wished I’d never seen the man.’

‘Didn’t you destroy it because Lord Ardmore, in his letter to you, gave you warning that you could face prosecution for marrying a Protestant unless you wrote what he asked you to?’

‘That was not my reason. I swore an affidavit on this. I swore the truth.’

‘We have under your hand as evidence two documents. They contradict each other, do they not?’

‘For the reasons I gave.’

‘But one of them is still a falsehood.’ Serjeant Mason paused. ‘Before you go back to Rathnagar, answer me this question—generally speaking, which do you consider the more important of these two: a letter, or a certificate of marriage?’

‘In general, the certificate.’

‘Tell me one more thing, and I am done—is it usual for Catholic priests to issue false certificates of marriage?’

‘It is not.’

‘That is all, sir.’

The day ended on a note of bathos. Serjeant Mason decided not to call Esmond till the following day. Instead he put in the box a jeweller, who claimed to have sold a wedding ring to Clinton—and actually had done—but sounded unconvincing when cross-
examined
; and next a maid and a waiter, from the hotel where Clinton and Theresa had spent the night after their marriage. Both swore that Clinton had spoken of Theresa as his wife. Serjeant Alderson was not impressed, and destroyed them by asking whether in their experience many hotel guests who were unmarried cared to
advertise
the fact. And last came the old man who had first driven Clinton to Rathnagar. His evidence favoured the idea that Clinton had intended to marry somebody, but was almost entirely
discredited
by his admission that he had suggested Father Maguire because he would not be as scrupulous about regulations as most other priests in the district.

That evening, after the court had adjourned, Clinton, with Yeatman’s clerk acting as intermediary, paid out over thirty pounds in a vain attempt to discover where Esmond was staying. But Esmond had clearly foreseen this, and had chosen not to stay in any of Dublin’s principal hotels. In Clinton’s opinion, Esmond not only held the key to who would win the case, but his words, and his alone, seemed destined to answer the question which tormented him above all others. Had Theresa practised on him deception that made his own fault insignificant? That night he slept very little. It was bitterly cold, and from a clear sky the stars shone as brilliantly
as on the evening he had set out with Theresa on the journey that was to take them to Rathnagar. He wondered whether in some other room in the sleeping city she too was looking at the stars—remembering.

During their short carriage ride from their hotel in Merrion Square to the Four Courts, at the start of the second day, Major Simmonds handed Theresa a copy of the
Morning
Register
folded open at the leader page.

Though the piece wounded Theresa, she was not surprised by it. The press had prematurely represented her as an innocent Catholic heroine and were going to punish her for their mistake. Like Romans at a gladiatorial combat, people would now only be interested to see which side inflicted the ugliest wounds. She handed back the paper in silence. Her father looked as if about to weep, but instead he blurted out:

‘The adventuress … The whore. Isn’t that what you’ll be next?’

‘They can’t make me anything.’

‘Can’t they?’

She looked out of the window and said nothing. Dazed by her own misery, she felt neither anger nor pity for her father. At times she saw the trial as something so extraordinary and alien that it seemed impossible that it could have anything to do with her; then suddenly its reality would dwarf and crush her own existence. She had felt, when Clinton’s counsel had read out and derided her letters, that her memories no longer belonged to her; they had been wrenched and smeared now, beyond recognition. The people being talked about were not her or Clinton but strangers existing in another world. Yet there in the distance were the crowded bridges in front of the courts; the carriage was jolting across cobbles; in a few hours Clinton would be called to give evidence. Her
perceptions
could do nothing to diminish the reality of what was happening.

Her father said:

‘I suppose you know what people will think, because you were mad enough to say you
wanted
to be his mistress whether he meant to marry you or not? They’ll say you only let him go, so you could share that rich girl’s money with him … I heard that said at the hotel.’

After a silence, Theresa turned to him.

‘Have you thought what’ll happen to him if you win?’

‘He’ll have to make amends for what he did to you.’

‘Could any man face the divorce courts or an appeal after this trial? That girl’s family will sue him for breach of contract. And if they do … what will happen to him? He’s as proud as you are.’

As if unaware of her suffering, Simmonds said bitterly:

‘I don’t think you need trouble your conscience. You did your best to ruin yourself yesterday.’ He picked up the newspaper on the seat between them, and threw it to the floor.

Approaching the courts, they were recognised through the carriage windows. Men and boys started running alongside them, jumping up to get an unobstructed view. Blurred and senseless faces, bobbing in and out of sight like grotesque puppets or jumping jacks. Theresa shuddered as the coachman whipped up the horses to avoid being forced to a halt; and, as the faces fell away, she could not help remembering Clinton laughing, as he drove full-tilt at the angry crowd barring their way out of a small market square in the west.

*

Neither side wished to call her again, so Theresa was allowed to watch the proceedings in court. Her father was the first witness to be examined that day, and since he was only to be asked to confirm that he had lent her the sum which was now claimed from Clinton,
Theresa did not expect his stay in the witness box to be long or eventful. But when Serjeant Alderson began to cross-examine with the same supercilious smile he had worn so often the day before, she saw her father grow rigid with anger. Alderson started by trying to get her father to say what he thought her theatrical earnings had been in the six months after she parted with the defendant. When Alderson failed to establish a figure, his smile faded.

‘I put it to you, Major Simmonds, if loans were to be made during this period, Mrs Barr was better able to make them than
yourself
?’

‘Not when I advanced the sum in question.’

‘Well we know she earned more than that soon afterwards. I suggest that she asked you to lend her money so that Lord Ardmore could be threatened with proceedings like these. So he would be forced to acknowledge her as his wife?’

‘She begged me not to bring this action.’

‘That may be so, major. But did she beg you not to
threaten
to bring it?’

‘She wanted nothing to do with it in any shape.’

‘Come now, major. Wasn’t it only when she saw that Lord Ardmore wasn’t going to be cowed by threats that she begged you not to bring the issue to an actual trial?’

‘That’s not true, sir.’

‘Well whether she wanted him threatened or not, I can
understand
why she begged you not to let it come to court. She begged you not to, didn’t she?’

‘She did, sir.’

Alderson nodded; his smile once more seeming as fixed and permanent as an engraving.

‘I put it to you that she begged you not to because she was not Lord Ardmore’s lawful wife and knew it. Isn’t that what she told you?’

Then her father began to shout, and though the judge warned him, Theresa could see that nothing would stop him.

‘She still loves him, sir. That’s your reason why she begged me … Didn’t want him harmed. So she lied on oath … brought shame on herself to protect him.’ Again the judge intervened and was ignored. ‘She was never his mistress … only his wife. I know her, sir.’ Even when her father was escorted from the box he was still shouting. ‘She was going to have his child … nearly died. She wouldn’t see my counsel … wouldn’t even do that. She hopes he’ll get off …’ The doors of the court swung shut behind him, snuffing out his voice with eerie suddenness.

Theresa looked at the shocked faces of the jury as she heard
Mason apologising for his client’s behaviour. But what her father had said meant nothing to her. What made her want to scream was the dawning fear that Clinton might believe his counsel’s
arguments
. And now there was nothing she could do to let him know that she was guiltless. Even if she could speak to him alone, she wondered whether he would believe that she had played no part in his ruin.

When Esmond took the stand, it took Serjeant Mason few questions to elicit from him that he had told the lady that Lord Ardmore wanted to marry her. He stared straight ahead of him, and spoke in a quiet dead voice.

‘When did you tell her this?’

‘About two weeks before she left for Dublin.’

‘Did you suggest anything to her which might have made her think Lord Ardmore contemplated any other form of relations with her?’

‘You mean other than marriage?’

‘Well?’

‘Marriage was the only word I used.’

When Mason had finished, though Theresa realised that, if Esmond’s evidence convinced the jury, it would effectively clear her of having knowingly participated in a fraudulent ceremony, she felt despair rather than relief. She had sworn that she had thought the marriage true, only because she had been unable to bring herself to lie about it. Esmond too had sworn truthfully, and between them they had brought Clinton almost to destruction.

Serjeant Alderson’s manner was as unruffled as at any time in the trial when he rose to cross-examine.

‘Mr Danvers,’ he began softly, ‘did Lord Ardmore make Mrs Barr his mistress at Kilkreen Castle?’

‘I believe so,’ murmured Esmond, colouring deeply.

‘He gave you good reason to dislike him, did he not?’

Suppressed laughter came from the gallery.

‘He did.’

‘Very well, sir; when you saw Mrs Barr in York, what was your purpose?’

‘To persuade her not to marry Lord Ardmore.’

Alderson pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose as though suddenly bored. Then he rapped out:

‘By virtue of your oath, sir, was there ever any occasion, before you saw Mrs Barr in York, when you heard the Irish Marriage Act spoken of in Lord Ardmore’s hearing?’

After a long silence, Esmond nodded.

‘My mother once mentioned reading about a court case involving
it. There was no particular reason why … the subject arose by chance.’

‘When did this conversation take place?’

‘The autumn before last—1866.’

‘Do you recall anything Lord Ardmore said during this
conversation
?’

‘As far as I remember, he showed no interest.’

‘I see,’ said the serjeant suavely. ‘Now, sir, your brother had told you he was thinking of marrying Mrs Barr. Did you subsequently give any thought to where this marriage might take place?’

‘Not beyond the fact that it would be in an out of the way place.’

‘The need for secrecy would have made Ireland very suitable?’

‘No more than many other places.’

Serjeant Alderson leant forward.

‘I put it to you that because Lord Ardmore was stationed in Ireland, it must have occurred to you that he would consider marrying her in this country.’

‘It may have crossed my mind. I can’t remember.’

‘Sir,’ snapped Alderson, ‘since Lord Ardmore had shown
no
interest
in the possible legal pitfalls, didn’t you think it advisable to warn Mrs Barr about the consequences of marrying your brother in the country where he was stationed?’

For the first time since taking the stand, Esmond appeared shaken. He said vehemently:

‘If I’d mentioned it, she would have thought I was trying to damage him in her eyes. She wouldn’t have listened.’

‘You didn’t consider it worth telling her in case she did listen?’

‘It could have made her doubt the other reasons I put forward to persuade her not to marry.’

Serjeant Alderson shook his head sadly.

‘Mr Danvers, did you not say you wished to dissuade her from accepting your brother?’

‘I did.’

‘Well then, sir, it must surely have been clear to you that if you told Mrs Barr what your mother had said in Lord Ardmore’s hearing, and he had then suggested an Irish marriage, her confidence in him would have been considerably reduced?’

‘I said nothing to her about it. I explained why.’ Esmond broke off and then burst out bitterly: ‘You imply that I came here to harm my brother by protecting the lady. It’s not true … I never wished this on him … never. I’m here because I was subpoenaed by the plaintiff’s lawyers.’

Alderson looked at him with raised brows.

‘
I
made no accusation of that sort, sir. You may go down now. I have no further questions.’

At that moment Theresa glanced at Clinton and the misery and tension in his face overwhelmed her. Though Esmond had indeed said no word to her about Irish marriages, Alderson had
undermined
him so skilfully that perhaps the majority in the courtroom would now believe that he had warned her. Nothing Theresa had suffered during her cross-examination approached the pain she felt as it dawned upon her that Clinton would think this too. And if he did, her evidence would seem perjured to him, and every claim she had ever made about belief in her marriage, a pack of lies. Because Alderson had undoubtedly helped the defence by discrediting Esmond, Clinton’s dejection could only be explained by loss of faith in her and in everything they had once shared. In a daze Theresa heard Serjeant Alderson begin his opening speech for the defence.

‘May it please your Lordship, gentlemen of the jury, it is now my solemn duty to lay before you the case for the defendant. Before drawing your attention to the evidence, I must first warn you against the absurd error of looking upon this case as one between Major Simmonds and Lord Ardmore. In this action, the major is a mere stalking-horse for his daughter.’

Alderson went on to remind the jury of various answers Theresa had given in cross-examination, and quoted again passages from letters—especially the comments she had made on the impossibility of marriage in her letter to Clinton sent shortly before the ceremony.

‘In the same letter,’ he continued blandly, ‘she quoted a dissolute French monarch’s complaint about marriage with relish: “Perdrix, toujours perdrix.” I confess I rather enjoy partridge, but really, gentlemen, was that a fit way to speak of the life of mutual dedication, which she wishes us to suppose she had in mind when she went to Rathnagar? Gentlemen of the jury, I have no intention of doing the lady the injustice of trying to give you a better picture of her than the one she herself presented in her letters and in the witness box. Who can gainsay that she can be witty and clever? In her own words, she is “no lover of convention”. I have no doubt that she knows Latin as well as she knows French. I am sure, if asked, she could instruct us all in the wiles of the sirens who lured men to disaster. Actresses, gentlemen, must be women of the world. Without resourcefulness and cunning they would hardly make their livings in so ruthless a profession. I leave it to you to judge which of the two would be most likely to lead the other—the experienced actress or the young army officer, whose upbringing had been so very different from the lady’s? Counsel for the plaintiff will have us
believe that the lady was seduced and led astray by my client. The poor actress scarcely knew what she was about when she gave herself to Lord Ardmore at Kilkreen Castle and again in York. I flatter myself that you will laugh at such an absurd proposition. She captivated Lord Ardmore, and having done so, ran away to York. I ask you to consider what could have been more enticing than this sudden virtuous flight after she had given him a single taste of pleasure! Could any action have been better calculated to excite a hot-blooded man’s passion? I don’t deny that Lord Ardmore behaved foolishly in taking the hook that she had so temptingly baited. Doubtless he should be censured morally. But, gentlemen, if any man in this court is tempted to throw stones, let him think of his own youth, and ask whether his conscience is clear before he judges too harshly.’