Rosy Is My Relative (25 page)

“What the hell was all that about?” asked Adrian. “I don’t see that this has got anything to do with the case at all.”

Sir Magnus gave him a frosty glance from under his eyebrows.

“Look at the jury,” he said.

Adrian looked and saw twelve faces staring at Lady Fenneltree almost avidly. Here was a woman, an aristocrat, a person who should, by all the rules and regulations, be infallible, and Sir Magnus by some alchemy had proved her to be just as fallible as the next person. You could see the thought fermenting in their minds like yeast. Adrian was horrified.

“But look,” he whispered, “Rosy
did
bring that chandelier down.”

Sir Magnus produced his snuff-box and opened it carefully and then glanced up at Adrian.

“Be careful of your choice of words,” he said quietly. “Lady Fenneltree wasn’t. Rosy
brought
the chandelier down, she didn’t
pull
it down.”

“But I don’t see that that makes any difference,” said Adrian.

“Stop quibbling,” said Sir Magnus. “I’m really not interested in the chandelier. I’m merely interested in putting what you very accurately described as a vindictive old cow into an invidious position.”

Lady Fenneltree left the box, casting black looks in the direction of Sir Magnus. Sir Augustus got to his feet.

“My next witness is Lord Fenneltree,” he said, with a faintly despairing air.

Lord Fenneltree ambled amiably into the witness-box as though sauntering into his favourite club, beamed and waved at Adrian, fixed his monocle carefully in his eye and took the oath. Sir Augustus, having identified beyond all shadow of doubt who Lord Fenneltree was, cleared his throat and fixed his soulful gaze upon the witness.

“On the 21st April, Lord Fenneltree,” he said, “I understand that you met the defendant, Adrian Rookwhistle in a lane some distance away from your house.”

“Absolutely correct, my dear chap,” said Lord Fenneltree nodding.

“You then suggested to him that he and his elephant should take up residence at Fenneltree Hall so that elephant might take part in the birthday celebrations your daughter?”

“Yes,” said Lord Fenneltree. “Yes, you have grasped essential facts.”

“I take it,” said Sir Augustus, with the air of one who has primed his witness well, “that the defendant at no time intimated to you that the animal in question might be a danger to life and property?”

“No,” said Lord Fenneltree musingly, “I cannot say that he did, but then he had got no reason to, had he?”

“Lord Fenneltree,” said Sir Augustus hastily, “I would be glad if you would answer just ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to my questions. By elaborating on them you just confuse the jury.”

Sir Magnus at this point opened one eye and gave a tiny snort of derision.

“When you introduced the elephant into the ballroom, what was the result?” asked Sir Augustus.

Lord Fenneltree remained silent.

“Come, sir,” said Sir Augustus with some asperity, “surely you know what the result was when you introduced the elephant to the ball?”

“It is awfully difficult,” said Lord Fenneltree, looking plaintively at the judge, “to answer that sort of question with either a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. Could I use some other word?”

“By all means,” said the judge.

“Let me repeat the question,” said Sir Augustus. “What was the result of your introducing the elephant to the ballroom?”

“Chaos,” said his lordship, smiling happily.

“What exactly do you mean by chaos?”

“Practically everything you can think of,” said his lordship. “She wrecked all the tables, she knocked down the chandalier, she did a very pretty waltz with my wife and picked up old Darcey and dumped him on the floor. I can assure you that if it hadn’t been for my wife’s indignation, the whole thing would have been splendidly diverting.

“Now, my lord,” said Sir Augustus, turning to the judge, “I think I have established my point that this elephant is a wild and savage animal and that Adrian Rookwhistle knew it to be. And that without any thought for persons or property, he continually allowed it to rampage throughout the county.”

He cast a faintly worried look at Sir Magnus.

“Perhaps my honourable friend would like to cross-examine?” he enquired.

“No,” said Sir Magnus, waving a lavish hand, “I have no wish to cross-examine at this precise moment, my lord, but I would ask permission to recall this witness later.”

Sir Augustus leapt to his feet.

“I object, my lord,” he said. “This is most unethical.”

“It is rather unusual, Sir Magnus,” said the judge.

“Yes, mi lord, I realise that,” said Sir Magnus, “but I feel once you have heard the evidence of my other witnesses you will find that Lord Fenneltree has something of worth to contribute to
my
side of the case.”

“Very well,” said the judge. “Just this once. And now I suggest that we all adjourn. I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I am beginning to feel decidedly peckish. We will resume at two o’clock.”

“My lord,” said Sir Magnus, “prison fare, as you know, is not of the sort that makes a gourmet tremble with delight. I would therefore ask your lordship most humbly, if it would be possible for you to release my client so that he may lunch with me?”

“You really do ask for the most unusual things, Sir Magnus,” said the judge severely. “However, I suppose there can’t be any harm in it. But make sure you bring back.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Sir Magnus.

The judge scrambled out of his chair while the court stood and disappeared through the door into his chambers.

“Well,” said Sir Magnus, taking a teaspoonful of snuff and inserting it up both nostrils, “a most successful morning.”

He sneezed violently.

“Let us go and have some lunch, dear boy,” he said to Adrian.

“I don’t know what you are so pleased about,” said Adrian. “As far as I can make out, everyone has talked a lot of nonsense this morning which hasn’t settled anything one way or the other, and the prosecution is actually telling lies.”

“Dear boy,” said Sir Magnus, “what a charming innocent you are. However, wait until this afternoon, when we start telling lies.”

They went over the road to a small oak-beamed tavern where they sustained themselves with several flagons of ale followed by crisp, brown lamb chops, each wearing a frilly ballet skirt of paper around the bone. These were adorned with tender green asparagus shoots, awash in butter, piles of mashed potatoes mixed with cream, and a regiment of tender peas. This was followed by a cherry tart and a cheese board containing cheeses so ripe that you were aware of their presence long before they entered the room.

“Why did you say that you wanted to recall Lord Fenneltree?” asked Adrian towards the end of lunch. Sir Magnus placed a great greeny-gold lump of Stilton on a morsel of bread and thrust it into his mouth.

“Because,” he said munching, “I consider him to be a better witness for the defence than for the prosecution.”

“But he’s a prosecution witness,” said Adrian.

“He thinks he is,” corrected Sir Magnus. “So does the prosecution, but in fact if anyone’s going to win this case for you, it’s going to be him.” He glanced at his watch. “Now, let’s have another swift pint of beer,” he said, “and then we’d better be getting back into court.”

Alter lunch Sir Augustus put Mr. Clattercup in the box. From Sir Augustus’s point of view he proved to be an unfortunate witness, who only succeeded in giving the impression that, at whatever cost and by whatever means, he was determined to see both Adrian and Rosy condemned. But in spite of this, the fact that his leg was encased in an enormous plaster cast and that he had to get in and out of the witness-box with the aid of two crutches and two policemen obviously impressed itself upon the jury. When Mr. Clattercup had thumped and staggered his way out of court, Sir Augustus rose to his feet and settled his gown. Then with a musing, almost affectionate air, he pulled the pile of books along the table and rested his hands upon them.

“My lord,” he said, “I think you have heard sufficient evidence to persuade you that, as I said initially, this case is a very unusual one.”

“Yes,” said the judge, who was looking rather rosy and benign as a result of lunch “It would be unusual even if it did not have any animals in it.”

“I would like at this juncture,” said Sir Augustus, “before we hear the defence, if indeed there can be a defence, to quote one or two parallel cases which I have succeeded in finding.”

He opened one of the massive tomes in front of him and ran his forefinger along the type.

“Here, for example,” he said, “you will see the case of Regina versus Pigwhistle, 1884, where the defendant was in charge of a large Shire horse which removed and ate, not only the hat, but the wig of an elderly lady in the town High Street. You will see, my lord, that it was ruled by the judge that the defendant, being in control of the Shire horse and knowing that it had a positively morbid liking for flowers, was therefore responsible by letting it come within eating distance of the hat of the lady in question. This, I think, is a very good parallel to the case which is before us to-day.”

“A good point, a good point,” said the judge, “but then, Sir Augustus, if the person in question had the horse under control, and the woman of her own volition moved within striking distance of the horse, what then?”

“I think,” said Sir Augustus smugly, “I can do no better than to quote the case of Regina versus Clutchpenny, 1894. The defendant in this case had a large bull . . .”

“Isn’t it possible,” interrupted the judge, “for you to find parallel cases which do
not
contain animals? It is really most confusing to dodge about between salmon and Shire horses and bulls and elephants.”

“Unfortunately, my lord,” said Sir Augustus, “it is a little difficult to find
parallel
cases that do not contain animals.”

“I had never realised before,” said the judge irritably, “that our entire legal system seems to be infested with the birds and beasts of the field. However, continue.”

Sir Augustus continued. Solemnly, during the next quarter of an hour, he opened the various volumes before him and read out cases, none of which–so far as Adrian could see–bore the remotest resemblance to his case. At length and with a certain reluctance, Sir Augustus closed the last book and laid it reverently on the table.

“I think, my lord,” he said, “that that should have cleared up one or two of the anomalies which might, hitherto, have been puzzling the jury.”

“I shall be delighted,” said the judge, “if the jury understands it. But before you sit down, Sir Augustus, just give me the details again about the man with the python.”

“I don’t think I’ve got any hope,” said Adrian to Sir Magnus. This massive pile-up of legal evidence on the part of Sir Augustus had convinced him beyond a shadow of doubt that he had lost his case. Sir Magnus opened his eyes and beamed at Adrian.

“Always remember, my lad,” he said, “that books are like tools. It depends how you use them. You can cut yourself on a chisel.”

He leant forward and gave an affectionate pat to something which Adrian had not seen earlier. Under Sir Magnus’s table was an extremely large leather suitcase. During the lunch hour Sir Magnus must have sent Screech out for this. What it contained, Adrian could not imagine.

“Poor old Gussy,” said Sir Magnus complacently, shuffling his notes into a neat pile as though he was about to deal a deck of cards, “he was really doomed before he’d even started.”

“Doomed?” said Adrian, “but he’s put up an almost cast-iron argument. I mean, we can’t deny that Rosy did all that damage. I mean, she did it with the best possible intentions, but nevertheless, she
did
do it.”

“Wait and see,” said Sir Magnus as he rose majestically to his feet. He gave a little bow in the direction of the judge and smiled benignly at the jury.

“My lord,” he said, “as my learned friend has so astutely pointed out, this is a very unusual case.”

Here he paused and pulled the large leather suitcase from under the table, opened it and very slowly and carefully produced from it some three dozen massive volumes which, smilingly, he piled one by one into a sort of defensive rampart on the edge of his desk.

“All these books,” he said, patting the pile as though it were a horse, “contain parallel examples which show conclusively that my client is innocent. But,” he went on, holding up an admonishing forefinger, “as the innocence of my client is perfectly obvious to the jury, I needn’t weary you with a lot of details.”

He picked up all the books and returned them to the suitcase. The jury were much impressed.

“Gentlemen of the jury,” Sir Magnus went on, “you have before you the defendant Adrian Rookwhistle. Now it must be obvious to anyone that he is a fine, honest, upstanding young man, who has the one special quality which we all admire and which so few of us possess. He has courage. Which one of you gentlemen would willingly dive into a threshing, storm-tossed sea in order to rescue a dumb animal? Now, as I said to you, my client’s innocence is obvious. You know this and I know this. The crux of the matter, as I am sure you will all have perceived, is whether or not the elephant in question is the savage, uncontrolled and, uncontrollable animal that it is made out a be. I would therefore like to call just a few witnesses to reassure you on this point.

“Mr. Pucklehammer,” he called.

Mr. Pucklehammer came into the box, beamed at Adrian and made gestures of encouragement. He took the oath and gave the closest attention to Sir Magnus.

“I believe, Mr. Pucklehammer,” said Sir Magnus, “that you were with the defendant Rookwhistle on the day when he took delivery of the elephant.”

“Yes, I was,” said Mr Pucklehammer. “He brought it down to my yard.”

“Your yard?’ said Sir Magnus. “What is your occupation exactly?”

“I am a coffin maker and carpenter,” said Mr. Pucklehammer.

“So then, your yard would presumably be full of all the accoutrements of your trade?”