So far Mr. Chaffanbrass had not done much; but that was only the preliminary skirmish, as fencers play with their foils before they begin.
“And now, Bridget Bolster, if I understand you,” he said, “you have sworn that on the 14th of July you only signed one of these documents.”
“I only signed once, sir. I didn’t say nothing about the 14th of July, because I don’t remember.”
“But when you signed the one deed, you did not sign any other?”
“Neither then nor never.”
“Do you know the offence for which that lady is being tried—Lady Mason?”
“Well, I ain’t sure; it’s for doing something about the will.”
“No, woman, it is not.” And then, as Mr. Chaffanbrass raised his voice, and spoke with savage earnestness, Bridget again started, and gave a little leap up from the floor. But she soon settled herself back in her old position. “No one has dared to accuse her of that,” continued Mr. Chaffanbrass, looking over at the lawyers on the other side. “The charge they have brought forward against her is that of perjury—of having given false evidence twenty years ago in a court of law. Now look here, Bridget Bolster; look at me, I say.” She did look at him for a moment, and then turned her eyes back to the canopy. “As sure as you’re a living woman, you shall be placed there and tried for the same offence—for perjury—if you tell me a falsehood respecting this matter.”
“I won’t say nothing but what’s right,” said Bridget.
“You had better not. Now look at these two signatures;” and he handed to her two deeds, or rather made one of the servants of the court hold them for him; “which of those signatures is the one which you did not sign?”
“I can’t say, sir.”
“Did you write that further one—that with your hand on it?”
“I can’t say, sir.”
“Look at it, woman, before you answer me.”
Bridget looked at it, and then repeated the same words—
“I can’t say, sir.”
“And now look at the other.” And she again looked down for a moment. “Did you write that?”
“I can’t say, sir.”
“Will you swear that you wrote either?”
“I did write one once.”
“Don’t prevaricate with me, woman. Were either of those signatures there written by you?”
“I suppose that one was.”
“Will you swear that you wrote either the one or the other?”
“I’ll swear I did write one, once.”
“Will you swear you wrote one of those you have before you? You can read, can’t you?”
“Oh yes, I can read.”
“Then look at them.” Again she turned her eyes on them for half a moment. “Will you swear that you wrote either of those?”
“Not if there’s another anywhere else,” said Bridget, at last.
“Another anywhere else,” said Chaffanbrass, repeating her words; “what do you mean by another?”
“If you’ve got another that anybody else has done, I won’t say which of the three is mine. But I did one, and I didn’t do no more.”
Mr. Chaffanbrass continued at it for a long time, but with very indifferent success. That affair of the signatures, which was indeed the only point on which evidence was worth anything, he then abandoned, and tried to make her contradict herself about old Usbech. But on this subject she could say nothing. That Usbech was present she remembered well, but as to his signing the deed, or not signing it, she would not pretend to say anything.
“I know he was cram full of gout,” she said; “but I don’t remember nothing more.”
But it may be explained that Mr. Chaffanbrass had altogether altered his intention and the very plan of his campaign with reference to this witness, as soon as he saw what was her nature and disposition. He discovered very early in the affair that he could not force her to contradict herself and reduce her own evidence to nothing, as Furnival had done with the man. Nothing would flurry this woman, or force her to utter words of which she herself did not know the meaning. The more he might persevere in such an attempt, the more dogged and steady she would become. He therefore soon gave that up. He had already given it up when he threatened to accuse her of perjury, and resolved that as he could not shake her he would shake the confidence which the jury might place in her. He could not make a fool of her, and therefore he would make her out to be a rogue. Her evidence would stand alone, or nearly alone; and in this way he might turn her firmness to his own purpose, and explain that her dogged resolution to stick to one plain statement arose from her having been specially instructed so to do, with the object of ruining his client. For more than half an hour he persisted in asking her questions with this object; hinting that she was on friendly terms with Dockwrath; asking her what pay she had received for her evidence; making her acknowledge that she was being kept at free quarters, and on the fat of the land. He even produced from her a list of the good things she had eaten that morning at breakfast, and at last succeeded in obtaining information as to that small but indiscreet glass of spirits. It was then, and then only, that poor Bridget became discomposed. Beefsteaks, sausages, and pigs’ fry, though they were taken three times a day, were not disgraceful in her line of life; but that little thimble of brandy, taken after much pressing and in the openness of good fellowship, went sorely against the grain with her. “When one has to be badgered like this, one wants a drop of something more than ordinary,” she said at last. And they were the only words which she did say which proved any triumph on the part of Mr. Chaffanbrass. But nevertheless Mr. Chaffanbrass was not dissatisfied. Triumph, immediate triumph over a poor maidservant could hardly have been the object of a
