“What relations?”
“Come, sir! The fact, on your own showing, that you were seeing all you could of his wife; the fact that you were in love with her, and wanted her to go away with you.”
“She did not want to go away with me. I would willingly have gone to her husband, but I had no right to without her permission.”
“Did you ask for that permission?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she had told me we could only meet as friends.”
“I suggest she told you nothing of the sort?”
“My Lord, that is asking me if I am a liar.”
“Answer the question.”
“I am not a liar.”
“That is the answer, I think, Mr. Brough.”
“Tell me, sir: you heard the respondent’s evidence, did it strike you as entirely truthful?”
Dinny saw, and hoped that no one else saw, the quivering of his face.
“Yes, so far as I could judge.”
“It was perhaps not quite a fair question. But I may put it this way: If the respondent were to say that she had done, or not done, this or that, you would feel bound in honour to corroborate her statement, where you could, and to believe it where you could not?”
“I am not sure that is quite fair, Mr. Brough.”
“My Lord, I submit that it is vital to my case to establish to the jury what the state of the co-respondent’s mind has been throughout this business.”
“Well, I won’t stop the question, but there is a limit, you know, to these generalities.”
Dinny saw the first flicker of a smile on young Croom’s face.
“My Lord, I don’t at all mind answering the question. I do not know what I should feel bound in honour to do, generally speaking.”
“Well, let us come to the particular. Lady Corven has said that she could trust you not to make love to her. Would you say that was true?”
Dinny saw his face darken.
“Not quite true. But she knew I did my best not to.”
“But now and then you couldn’t help it?”
“I don’t know what you mean by the expression ‘making love’; but now and then I know I showed my feelings.”
“Now and then? Mr. Croom, didn’t you always show your feelings?”
“If you mean did I always show that I was in love with her—of course I did, you can’t hide a thing like that.”
“That is a fair admission. I don’t want to catch you. I mean more than just showing by your face and eyes that you were in love. I mean downright physical expression.”
“Then, no, except—”
“Yes?”
“Kissing her cheek three times altogether, and holding her hand sometimes.”
“So much she has admitted, and it is all you are prepared to swear to?”
“I will swear there was no more.”
“Tell me, did you sleep at all during that night in the car, when her head was on your shoulder?”
“Yes.”
“Considering the state of your feelings, wasn’t that singular?”
“Yes. But I was up at five that morning and I’d driven a hundred and fifty miles.”
“You seriously expect us to believe that after nearly five months of longing you took no advantage of that marvellous opportunity, but just went to sleep?”
“I took no advantage. But I have told you that I do not expect to be believed.”
“I don’t wonder.”
For a long time the slow rich voice went on asking questions, and for a long time Dinny’s eyes remained fixed on that bitterly unhappy face, till a sort of numbness came over her. She was roused by:
“I suggest to you, sir, that from beginning to end of your evidence you have been actuated by the feeling that you must do everything you can for this lady without regard to your own consciousness of what is true? That your attitude, in fact, has been one of distorted chivalry?”
“No.”
“Very well. That is all.”
Then came the re-examination, and the Judge’s releasing remark.
Dinny and Clare arose and, followed by their father, walked out into the corridor, and, as quickly as might be, to open air.
The General said:
“Instone’s made a mess of it with that quite unnecessary point of his.”
Clare did not answer.
“I am glad,” said Dinny. “You’ll get your divorce.”
CHAPTER 33
The speeches were over, and the Judge was summing up. From beside her father, on one of the back benches now, Dinny could see Jerry Corven still sitting in front beside his solicitors, and ‘very young’ Roger sitting alone. Clare was not in Court. Neither was young Croom.
The Judge’s voice came slowly, as if struggling past his teeth. It seemed to Dinny marvellous how he remembered everything, for he looked but little at his notes; nor could she detect anything that was not fair in his review of the evidence. Now and again his eyes, turned towards the jury, seemed to close, but his voice never stopped. Now and again he poked his neck forward, priest and tortoise for a moment coalescing; then he would draw it back and speak as it were to himself.
“The evidence not being of the conclusive nature which we expect of evidence tendered to this Court”—(No ‘calling with a cup of tea,’ she thought), “counsel for the petitioner in his able speech laid great stress, and rightly, upon credibility. He directed your attention especially to the respondent’s denial that there was any renewal of the marital relationship between the petitioner and herself on the occasion when he went to her rooms. He suggested that there was reason for her denial in her desire to spare the feelings of the co-respondent. But you must consider whether a woman who, as she says, was not in love with the co-respondent, had not encouraged him, or been intimate with him in any way, would go so far as to perjure herself to save his feelings. According to her account, he was from the beginning of their acquaintanceship in the nature of a friend to her and nothing more. On the other hand, if you believe the petitioner on that point—and there seems no sufficient reason for his volunteering perjury—it follows that you disbelieve the respondent, and she has deliberately denied evidence which was in her favour rather than against her. It seems difficult to believe that she would do that unless she had feelings for the co-respondent warmer than those of mere friendship. This is, in fact, a very crucial point, and the decision you come to as to which is true—the husband’s statement or the wife’s denial of it—seems to me a cardinal factor in your consideration of whether or not to accept the respondent’s evidence in the rest of the case. You have only what is called circumstantial evidence to go upon; and in such cases the credibility of the parties is a very important factor. If on one point you are satisfied that one of the parties is not speaking the truth, then the whole of his or her evidence is tinged with doubt. In regard to the co-respondent, though he conveyed an impression of candour, you must remember that there is a traditional belief in this country, regrettable or not, that a man whose attentions have involved a married woman in a situation of this kind must not, in vulgar parlance, ‘give her away.’ You must ask yourselves how far you can treat this young man, who is quite obviously, and by his own admission, deeply in love, as a free, independent, truthful witness.
“On the other hand, and apart from this question of general credibility, you must not let appearances run away with your judgment. In these days young people are free and easy in their association with each other. What might have seemed conclusive indication in the days of my youth is now by no means conclusive. In regard to the night, however, that was spent in the car, you may think it well to pay particular attention to the answer the respondent gave to my question: Why, when the lights went out, they did not simply stop a passing car, tell the occupants what had happened, and request to be given a lead into Henley. Her answer was: ‘I don’t think we thought of it, my Lord. I did ask Mr. Croom to follow a car, but it was going too fast.’ It is for you to consider, in the light of that answer, whether the respondent really wanted that simple solution of the difficulty they were in, namely, a lead into Henley, where no doubt the damage could have been repaired; or whence at least she could have returned to London by train. It is said by her counsel that to have gone into Henley at that time with a damaged car would have made them too conspicuous. But you will remember that she has said she was not aware that she was being watched. If that was so, you will consider whether the question of conspicuosity would have been present to her mind.”