Jane Austen Stole My Boyfriend (27 page)

And then Mrs Leigh-Perrot is brought in from a door at the back of the platform. She is dressed very stylishly in her dark green pelisse, a fine muslin white scarf swathed around her neck, and a
brand-new elaborate headdress in green velvet – not exactly a bonnet – is gathered in a sort of band around the front and covers her head, flowing down to her shoulders at the back in a
very elegant style. She must have sent for this especially to wear at the trial. I had never seen it before, but Rosalie had been up and down to the prison with clothes for her mistress.

‘Isn’t she brave?’ whispers Jane admiringly, and I nod.

Suddenly I feel tears streaming down my cheeks. I hadn’t realized quite how fond I have become of the elderly couple. They have been so good and kind to Jane and myself, buying us the new
ball gowns and trying to arrange my marriage for me. I don’t know whom I pity the most: Mrs Leigh-Perrot, erect and stately, bowing her head slightly to the jury and then taking her place,
still standing, in the prisoner’s box, or her poor husband, convulsed with sorrow at the sight of her.

And then the judge comes in. ‘Mr
Justice Lawrence,’’
whispers James to his mother, and everyone rises until he takes his seat. Mrs Leigh-Perrot gives him a stately bow,
rather as if he has come to one of her stylish receptions at the Paragon in Bath, and he bows back quite courteously. He takes his seat and then whispers to a court official, who comes over to Mrs
Leigh-Perrot and obviously tells her to sit down.

‘That’s a good sign,’ whispers Jane in my ear. ‘He can’t have fallen in love with her so quickly, so perhaps he thinks that she is innocent.’

Then the trial begins. Sir Vicary Gibbs opens the case for the prosecution. He is a small man, very small, perhaps only an inch or so bigger than I am – and I am only five foot two inches!
Jane whispers in my ear that James told her Sir Vicary is called Sir Vinegar because he is so sour. He does seem sour, being very sarcastic and witty about rich ladies who think it is fun to steal
from poor shopkeepers. Everyone turns to look at Mrs Leigh-Perrot when he says that, but not a muscle in her face moves as she sits there, quietly attentive. I admire her courage. I think I would
prefer to die rather than to sit there and have that horrible man say such terrible things about me.

‘I will bring witnesses to prove that this woman stole lace worth over nineteen shillings,’ he says loudly, and he reminds the jury to make sure that they are not in any way
influenced by the wealth and rank of the woman in the dock.

I see Mr Leigh-Perrot shudder when he hears his wife, the heiress of vast estates in Barbados, called a woman. I don’t suppose that she has ever been called that in her life before. She
was probably called a lady from the time she was two years old.

However, I also notice that the foreman of the jury looks a bit offended at that piece of advice. Perhaps that was not such a clever idea from the chief prosecutor.

But then Miss Gregory, the first witness, is so precise and seems to remember everything so well that I begin to feel quite worried again. I hadn’t even noticed her going downstairs for
her dinner, leaving Mr Filby to wrap the parcel and the apprentice Sarah Raines to tidy away the cards of lace – though perhaps that happened after Jane and I had left the shop.

Then there is Mr Filby – again with the air of having learned everything by heart. He even admits that he lives with Miss Gregory, though they are not married. I look at the jury when he
says that, but they don’t look as though they care. And then Mr Bond, one of Aunt Leigh-Perrot’s lawyers, rises to cross-examine Mr Filby. He makes a very good job of it, I think, and I
feel quite excited. Mrs Kent and Mrs Blagrave are there in court and he bows towards them when he refers to them.

‘It seems as if you are in the habit of wrapping up extra goods in your customers’ parcels,’ he says to Filby, and the man doesn’t quite know what to reply. In the end he
says that he perhaps has made the occasional mistake.

‘But these ladies told you of your error,’ says Mr Bond. ‘What about others? What happens when the customer does not bring back the goods? It’s not surprising, is it,
that the shop does not make a profit. Or do you perhaps do it on purpose so that the shop
will
make a profit...?’

I see Jane give a quick nod of her head when he says that. Her letter has been carefully read and the bit about Miss Gregory being behind with the rent for the printer, Mr Gye, has been
noticed.

And then Sarah Raines the apprentice gives her statement, which is that she is sure that Mr Filby did not wrap up any white lace in Mrs Leigh-Perrot’s parcel. Mr Jekyll cross-examines her
and she gets into a great muddle. The judge tries to help her, and unfortunately she improves then and goes back to the statement that she has prepared.

But then Mr Jekyll calls the shop girl who is prepared to swear that she saw Sarah Raines come out of the pastry-cook shop with a large pie on a plate and that Mrs Leigh-Perrot was coming out of
Miss Gregory’s shop at the same time.

‘So it looks as though you were not present while the parcel was being wrapped, doesn’t it?’ says Mr Jekyll with a sweet smile, and Sarah Raines just nods.

‘Oh, well done, Harry,’ whispers Jane in my ear. The jurymen are all sitting up and exchanging glances with each other.

And then Miss Gregory is recalled and now it is the turn of another of the lawyers from London, a Mr Dallas this time. He has a very sharp manner and seems a bit of a bully, shaking his finger
at her whenever she stumbles over her story or seems not to be saying the same thing as before.

‘So Mrs Leigh-Perrot, her parcel in her basket, was just strolling past your shop like a lady with nothing on her mind after the supposed theft, is that what you are saying?

Miss Gregory does not reply.

‘Come now,’ he says, ‘let’s get the truth out of you. It’s a simple question. Is the answer yes or no?’

‘Answer the question, please,’ says the judge.

‘She was passing the shop, but she wasn’t like a person with nothing on her mind and she didn’t have her parcel in her basket either; she had it hidden under her cloak.’
Miss Gregory stares at the lawyer triumphantly.

‘That’s a lie! She wasn’t wearing a cloak. She was wearing a pelisse, the one that she has on now!’ I can only admire Jane’s courage. And her quick-wittedness! She
stands up very straight, ignoring the faces of the rows in front of us that turn round to look at her. Her clear voice rings through the whole courtroom. Mrs Leigh-Perrot, of course, is not allowed
to say anything in her own defence. There is a murmur of sound as two thousand people turn to a neighbour and comment. Heads are craned, trying to see who has spoken.

‘Silence in court!’ The official almost yells it and the judge frowns. Mrs Austen, to my surprise, gives an approving grin and squeezes Jane’s arm. Mr Dallas from London looks
now like a hunting dog on the trail of something interesting. He gives a half-glance down at the table of lawyers, and in a moment Mr Pell – another of the London lawyers – is on his
feet.

‘With your lordship’s permission... approach my client ... a matter of ascertaining the facts...’ Mr Dallas is almost breathless, and Mr Justice Lawrence gives a reluctant
nod.

Mr Pell hardly waits for this. He is on his feet and up the steps to the platform almost before Mr Dallas begs permission. He bends over Mrs Leigh-Perrot, whispers a question, gets the reply and
then gives a tiny nod in the direction of his superior.

‘And so she had the parcel tucked under her cloak, did she?’ asks Mr Dallas with the smiling expression of a cat looking at a mouse that thinks it can escape.

Miss Gregory nods, but her expression shows that she feels she has been trapped.

‘But we have a witness who claims my client was not wearing a cloak that day,’ says Mr Dallas gently, ‘that she was wearing the very same pelisse that she wears today. What do
you say to that?’

Miss Gregory looks uncomfortable. She looks around the court. She looks at Mr Vicary Gibbs, who has a savage expression on his face; she looks at her lover, Mr Filby, but no one can help
her.

‘I may have been mistaken,’ she says. ‘Perhaps Mrs Leigh-Perrot wore a pelisse that day, but the parcel was under it.’

‘Perhaps, my lord, I may ask Mrs Leigh-Perrot to stand up for the benefit of the jury?’ Mr Dallas asks the question very carefully, very deferentially, but his expression shows that
he scents victory.

The judge nods. Our aunt stands up straight and tall, looking magnificent. The pelisse had been made by the finest dressmaker in Bath and it fits her like a second skin, nipped in at the waist,
tight across the stomach, well-fitted around the hips – there is no possibility that a parcel containing a gown could have been concealed under it.

‘No further questions,’ says Mr Dallas with a deep bow to the judge.

And then Mr Vicary Gibbs sums up for the prosecution – and does his best with the threads of evidence that have been left to him.

And Mr Bond sums up for the defence, making full use of all the uncertainty of Miss Gregory’s evidence, of the improbability that the apprentice Sarah Raines was speaking the truth, and of
the testimony that Mr Filby has tried the same trick on other customers. He hints vaguely at Mr Filby’s character as the lover of an unmarried woman, but does not labour the point.

After that Mr Pell, the junior lawyer, reads out statements from many noble people and also from ordinary citizens of Bath, swearing that Mrs Leigh-Perrot’s character is of the highest and
that she has always been very strict about all money matters and has never left a bill unpaid or shown any moral laxity (that was from Lord Braybroke).

And then it was the turn of our aunt to read out her statement.

Surprisingly for a woman with a strong, clear voice, she begins in a very low, timid tone which we cannot hear. The judge, seeing everyone straining ears from the hall, sends the court official
scurrying over to Mr Jekyll, the lawyer. He goes and stands protectively next to his client and repeats each sentence. It is a good speech, cleverly designed to appeal to the jury. It represents
the strong-minded, authoritative Mrs Leigh-Perrot as a gentle, God-fearing, law-abiding woman (but of course blessed with all that could be desired in the way of riches) whose greatest concern is
the injury that this false accusation, arrest and imprisonment has caused to her sick husband.

‘How could I,’ she says and Mr Jekyll repeats her words in his beautiful sonorous voice, ‘lose all recollection of the situation I hold in society – to hazard, for this
meanness, my character and reputation, or to endanger the health and peace of mind of a husband for whom I would die?’

Poor Mr Leigh-Perrot sobs loudly at this and so does Mr Pell, the junior lawyer. Mr Jekyll looks approvingly at his colleague and pats his own eyes with a very large, very white muslin
handkerchief. The judge looks grave and the jury sympathetic. Jane nudges me but preserves a serious face, gazing intently at her aunt. Several sobs rise from the courtroom and I notice the
journalist from
The Times
scribbling frantically in his notebook.

And then the judge sums up. I’m beginning to get a bit worried by all the long phrases about the law of the land being the same for a person of wealth as for the meanest wretch (the
journalist from
The Times
wrote that one down) and how Miss Gregory’s evidence is corroborated by Mr Filby whereas Mrs Leigh-Perrot has not been able to produce any witnesses to prove
she did not take the lace.

‘
However
...’ When the judge says that word I begin to breathe again. He takes a long time to make his point but he does tell the jury that if anything makes them distrust the
evidence of the shopkeeper then they should bear in mind the excellent character of the accused, a character that has been attested by some of the highest in the country, he goes on, no doubt
having in mind Lord Braybroke.

And now the jury are retiring. There is a buzz of conversation when the twelve men file out.

‘I give them fifteen minutes,’ says the
Times
journalist to a colleague. He speaks just as the court official calls for order, and his voice sounds quite loudly through the
courtroom. Mr Austen takes out his timepiece and Jane and I keep peering at it. Mr Leigh-Perrot sobs into his hands. Mrs Austen pats his shoulder. Jane told me last night that our uncle has
resolved to sell all his property in England, his house in Bath as well as his estate in Berkshire, and move out to Australia if my aunt is convicted and deported. The thought of this brings tears
to my eyes.

The time goes very slowly.

But less than ten minutes has gone by when a sudden bustle and a rising storm of whispers make every eye go to the door at the back of the platform. It opens, and the twelve men file in and take
their places in the jury box. The silence is intense. Mrs Leigh-Perrot’s face is like that of a statue carved from stone. I dare not look at her poor husband. It seems an eternity to me
– what must it be like for them?

And then the judge asks the jury whether they have agreed on a verdict and the foreman tells him that they have. Another question, and then the magic words: ‘
Not Guilty
‘.

And the whole courtroom erupts in clapping, exclaiming, laughing. Mrs Leigh-Perrot stays quite still, with her eyes fixed on the judge; the court official struggles to silence everyone. The
judge tries to do the same, and manages to tell the prisoner that she is free to go. She makes a stately bow to him and another to the gentlemen of the jury, who all look as pleased as though she
were their favourite aunt.

And then Mr Jekyll escorts her to where her husband sits. He is so overcome that he cannot move.

It seems as if the whole courtroom wishes to congratulate Mrs Leigh-Perrot. People throng around her – even complete strangers are shaking her by the hand and patting her on the back. The
wife of the prison governor comes to congratulate her and tells her how much they have felt for her in her troubles and advises her to ‘wrap up warm and take a few glasses of port wine every
day’.