“I don’t know what he’ll bet, Mr. Moulder; only he says it’s all up with her.”
“Will he back his side, even handed?”
“I ain’t a betting man, Mr. Moulder. I don’t think it’s right. And on such a matter as this, touching the liberty and almost life of a lady whom I’ve had the honour of seeing, and acquainted as I am with the lady of the other party, Mrs. Mason that is of Groby Park, I should rather, if it’s no offence to you, decline the subject of—betting.”
“Bother!”
“Now M., in your own house, you know!” said his wife.
“So it is bother. But never mind that. Go on, Kantwise. What is this you were saying about Dockwrath?”
“Oh, that’s about all. I thought you would like to know what they were doing—particularly Mr. Kenneby. I do hear that they mean to be uncommonly hard upon him.”
The unfortunate witness shifted uneasily in his seat, but at the moment said nothing himself.
“Well, now, I can’t understand it,” said Mrs. Smiley, sitting upright in her chair, and tackling herself to the discussion as though she meant to express her opinion, let who might think differently. “How is anyone to put words into my mouth if I don’t choose to speak then? There’s John’s waistcoat is silk.” Upon which they all looked at Kenneby’s waistcoat, and, with the exception of Kantwise, acknowledged the truth of the assertion.
“That’s as may be,” said he, looking round at it from the corner of his eyes.
“And do you mean to say that all the barristers in London will make me say that it’s made of cloth? It’s ridic’lous—nothing short of ridic’lous.”
“You’ve never tried, my dear,” said Moulder.
“I don’t know about being your dear, Mr. Moulder—”
“Nor yet don’t I neither, Mrs. Smiley,” said the wife.
“Mr. Kenneby’s my dear, and I ain’t ashamed to own him—before men and women. But if he allows hisself to be hocussed in that way, I don’t know but what I shall be ashamed. I call it hocussing—just hocussing.”
“So it is, ma’am,” said Kantwise, “only this, you know, if I hocus you, why you hocus me in return; so it isn’t so very unfair, you know.”
“Unfair!” said Moulder. “It’s the fairest thing that is. It’s the bulwark of the British Constitution.”
“What! being badgered and browbeat?” asked Kenneby, who was thinking within himself that if this were so he did not care if he lived somewhere beyond the protection of that blessed Aegis.
“Trial by jury is,” said Moulder. “And how can you have trial by jury if the witnesses are not to be cross-questioned?”
To this position no one was at the moment ready to give an answer, and Mr. Moulder enjoyed a triumph over his audience. That he lived in a happy and blessed country Moulder was well aware, and with those blessings he did not wish anyone to tamper. “Mother,” said a fastidious child to his parent, “the bread is gritty and the butter tastes of turnips.” “Turnips indeed—and gritty!” said the mother. “Is it not a great thing to have bread and butter at all?” I own that my sympathies are with the child. Bread and butter is a great thing; but I would have it of the best if that be possible.
After that Mr. Kantwise was allowed to dilate upon the subject which had brought him there. Mr. Dockwrath had been summoned to Bedford Row, and there had held a council of war together with Mr. Joseph Mason and Mr. Matthew Round. According to his own story Mr. Matthew had quite come round and been forced to acknowledge all that Dockwrath had done for the cause. In Bedford Row there was no doubt whatever as to the verdict. “That woman Bolster is quite clear that she only signed one deed,” said Kantwise.
“I shall say nothing—nothing here,” said Kenneby.
“Quite right, John,” said Mrs. Smiley. “Your feelings on the occasion become you.”
“I’ll lay an even bet she’s acquitted,” said Moulder. “And I’ll do it in a ten-p’und note.”
LXII
What the Four Lawyers Thought About It
I have spoken of the state of public opinion as to Lady Mason’s coming trial, and have explained that for the most part men’s thoughts and sympathies took part with her. But I cannot say that such was the case with the thoughts of those who were most closely concerned with her in the matter—whatever may have been their sympathies. Of the state of Mr. Furnival’s mind on the matter enough has been said. But if he had still entertained any shadow of doubt as to his client’s guilt or innocence, none whatever was entertained either by Mr. Aram or by Mr. Chaffanbrass. From the day on which they had first gone into the real circumstances of the case, looking into the evidence which could be adduced against their client, and looking also to their means of rebutting that evidence, they had never felt a shadow of doubt upon the subject. But yet neither of them had ever said that she was guilty. Aram, in discussing with his clerks the work which it was necessary that they should do in the matter, had never expressed such an opinion; nor had Chaffanbrass done so in the consultations which he had held with Aram. As to the verdict they had very often expressed an opinion—differing considerably. Mr. Aram was strongly of opinion that Lady Mason would be acquitted, resting that opinion mainly on his great confidence in the powers of Mr. Chaffanbrass. But Mr. Chaffanbrass would shake his head, and sometimes say that things were not now as they used to be.
“That may be so in the City,” said Mr. Aram. “But you won’t find a City jury down at Alston.”
“It’s not the juries, Aram. It’s the judges. It usedn’t to be so, but it is now. When a man has
