A Modern Tragedy (52 page)

Only the last quarter of the speech of the counsel for the prosecution was devoted to Walter, but that was enough to put Rosamond and Elaine into torments of shame. The line adopted was that in Walter, Tasker had found an able and unscrupulous tool, somebody to do the dirty detail work, though not admitted to a view of the whole operation. This was of all others the view most humiliating to Walter, and Rosamond, stealing a glance of commiseration at Elaine, was not surprised to see her eyes hard and glittering, her cheek pale. With the termination of counsel's speech, the proceedings were adjourned for the day; and as soon as the judge and the accused had left the court, Rosamond whispered in Elaine's ear:

“That was only one side, of course.”

“Of course,” said Elaine impatiently in her high little voice. “Did you think the trial was over?”

But the hand which adjusted her coat shook, and the swift
rise and fall of her slight breast revealed her agitation. In the corridor she raised her handkerchief to her lips once or twice, but faced the crowd at the door composedly. They drove to Clay Hall, where after some time they were joined by Walter; he looked completely exhausted, and could hardly drink the tea which Elaine, in a cool artificial little tone, pressed upon him; but presently he seemed to come out of a daze to exclaim, hitching his chair nearer to his wife's and staring at her dully:

“I'm innocent!”

“Oh, Walter!” cried Elaine, starting in irrepressible irritation. She bit her lip, however, controlled her voice, and added gently: “We all know that, darling.”

Rosamond had the agreeable task of reporting all this to her mother.

The trial lasted some nine days. The case for the prosecution, once counsel's opening speech was over, seemed to Rosamond both dull and difficult to follow; for days on end witnesses (of whom the wretched Dollam, against whom his Accountants' society would certainly take disciplinary action, was one) reeled forth figures and technical financial and textile terms until the facts they were trying to prove seemed to Rosamond to become hopelessly confused, lost in a mass of contradictory detail. Indeed for the first time she began to find excuses for her brother; anyone, she thought, might make a false step amid so many complications. She could see, however, that Tasker followed all this with close attention, and that his counsel and Walter's tried to shake the Crown's witnesses in cross-examination, unsuccessfully. During these days the crowd of spectators diminished, but they increased again when the counsel for the defence made their eloquent, ironical, witty, pathetic, but as it seemed to Rosamond fundamentally unsound speeches, in which they represented Tasker and Walter as honest men ruined by the long continuance
of the slump. Or rather, that was how Tasker's counsel represented the matter; Walter's dwelt on his client's youth and inexperience, and implied that Walter, though not perhaps the dupe, for that was an ugly word, was at least the mere junior, the mere subordinate employee, of Tasker. Rosamond stirred restlessly under this; it was a stab in Tasker's back, she thought; and even though it were partly true, how could Walter countenance a plea so shameful? Elaine too moved her little hands restlessly in her lap.

But it was during the following days, when the witnesses for the defence were being examined, that the interest of the case rose to its height from the public's point of view. For Walter and Tasker had naturally both elected to give evidence in their own defence; and Tasker as a witness enlivened the proceedings to the pitch of a music-hall turn, and provided the journalists with endless copy. It was almost impossible to believe him seriously guilty; he looked so well-groomed, so assured, was so obviously enjoying himself, so jolly. His blue eyes sparkled, his tones, though gruff, were audible and easy; he was respectful to the judge, courteously ironic to the counsel; under cross-examination his replies were so full of wit that the court bubbled with laughter, and several times the prosecution had to quit a subject in discomfiture. He had a habit of replying to an opening question with: “I may as well say frankly”—something or other which the prosecution was just about to drag out from him to his disadvantage; he thus took the wind out of counsel's sails, foiled his questions, and threw the emphasis on his own creditable desire to assist the court's investigations—as evinced for example by his voluntary surrender to the police, on which he harped skilfully, not often enough to be wearisome. A good impression was created, too, by his cheerful assumption of complete responsibility. If there was any blame, it was his, he said; not Walter Haigh's and certainly not Henry Clay Crosland's.
To Rosamond's eyes, sharpened by love, it seemed that he thus took the blame not particularly because he thought it all his, or to save Walter, but because he knew himself so much stronger than Walter, knew himself a grown man to Walter's child. No single damaging admission was wrung from him—or rather, no admission in a damaging manner; once or twice—about Heights and about Valley, for example—he said “Yes,” with such an air of briskness that the jury seemed unmoved, but Rosamond observed that the judge made a note, and intervened with further enquiries which confirmed the answer.

Walter, alas, made by no means such a good witness. White and trembling, guilt written all over his face, which was damp with perspiration, he stumbled over his answers, contradicted himself, made assertions which did not agree with Tasker's evidence, seemed at times to be really unable to follow the questions addressed to him, and fell a pitiable victim to cross-examination. The judge exhorted him irritably to compose himself and reply more audibly; Walter then made an effort to gather his wits, but this resulted in a disagreeable appearance of effrontery, and presently he put the crown on his alienation of the general sympathy by indulging in a silly display of temper to the prosecuting counsel. His case was torn to shreds remorselessly. It was bad enough for herself, thought Rosamond in anguish, to watch that relentless probing, hear those ironic deadly questions—“You passed the prospectus for issue? You were aware of the value of the Heights Mill business? No? Well, you knew what you had sold it for? Oh, that wasn't the current value, you think? How many years had passed since you sold the business to Leonard Tasker? Oh, it was only
months?
And the textile industry was undergoing a deep depression? Yet you thought the value of the business had increased by five times? Ah, not as much as five times; thank you. You passed the prospectus
for issue? I put it to you that you saw the prospectus before issue? What did you say to Leonard Tasker on that occasion? You said nothing; thank you.” Yes, it was bad enough for Rosamond to listen to this, who had always believed Walter guilty; but for Elaine, thought Rosamond in profound compassion, for Elaine, who had believed her husband innocent, to see him thus exposed and degraded before her eyes must be terrible indeed. In the lunch hour she suggested, and Mrs. Crosland supported the suggestion as strongly as her gentle nature allowed, that Elaine should return to Clay Hall and wait for news there; but Elaine, her reddened lips lurid in her deathly face, shook her head, clinging obstinately (or gallantly) to the belief that Walter was innocent and there was nothing to fear.

The lunch-hour newspapers came out with posters:
Astounding Revelations in Tasker Case; Haigh's Evidence;
and accordingly the court was more than ever crowded that afternoon. Even the seats reserved by courtesy for their party were partially invaded—by the old couple to whom Rosamond had seen Tasker make signals on the first day of the trial, who had hitherto remained modestly concealed behind their pillar, in, the shadow of the gallery.

Whenever Walter entered the court his eyes at once flew in the direction of Elaine, and they did so now while his foot was still on the last stair. He had spent a grilling hour with his counsel, who was furious with him for throwing his case away—Tasker on the contrary merely shrugged his shoulders and smiled sardonically—and felt weak and broken; his mind was in a state to receive profound impressions from any trifle which presented itself. Accordingly Tasker, who preceded him into court, was vexed but hardly surprised when Walter suddenly clutched his arm to draw him back, and with pale face and dilated eyes demanded wildly in a whisper:

“Who are those two? Those over there—beside Elaine?”

Tasker craned his neck to look in the direction indicated, and replied calmly: “That's my father and mother.”

Walter drew a deep breath, and released his arm.

“I thought it was
my
father,” he panted.

“No,” said Tasker calmly, as before: “It's mine. They've come in from Stone Green to see the trial. Don't go seeing ghosts now, Walter,” he added with rough kindness: “We've enough on without that.”

The warders now intimated that this whispering must cease, and the two men stepped forward into the dock.

But Walter could not keep his eyes from the old couple. He's exactly like my father, he thought, except of course older; the white hair, the shrunken bent figure, the pale blue eyes, the veined hands, the neat shabby coat—oh, he's exactly like my father! And the woman at his side: stout, short, heavy, with a rather perplexed and intimidated air, wearing a pathetic black lace scarf and an ill-chosen hat, her work-roughened hands nervously clutching a large handkerchief, her head quivering a little as she gazed anxiously at her son—in another dozen years, Mrs. Haigh would look just like that. And they're Tasker's parents, thought Walter:
Tasker's.
But they look so respectable! So honest, so essentially decent! Impossible to think of the son of such people as the monster Walter had lately considered Tasker! They were so
ordinary;
Tasker must have been ordinary too, as a lad. Tasker had parents just like Walter's. Tasker must have been an ordinary decent lad. There was some connection somewhere between those two statements, thought Walter, puzzled; something he was on the brink of but could not quite discover; something he could almost, but not quite, see. His counsel put him in the witness box again to re-examine him, and this time his answers were given in quite a different tone. He sounded sincere and calm, but preoccupied; the judge indeed begged him ironically to be so kind as to give the court his full attention.
Walter replied: “I'm sorry, my lord”—and at his voice there was a stir of surprise in the court, Rosamond lifted her head eagerly, and Elaine turned her lovely eyes full upon her husband in a look of hope. For it was the voice of the old Walter; the kind candid honest young Walter whom she had loved. His counsel, seeing the good impression he was creating, skilfully prolonged his re-examination; nothing could alter the damning facts of the case, but Walter now looked like an honest man who has made one false step and is paying terribly for it, instead of the cowardly and pettifogging villain he had appeared before.

At the close of the case for the defence the proceedings were adjourned for the day. It was expected that the trial would occupy two more days; one for the final speeches of counsel, one for the judge's summing-up and the jury's verdict. Little could be done now in consultation, and it was not long before Walter entered the drawing-room of Clay Hall, where Mrs. Crosland, Elaine, Rosamond and Ralph (who was having lessons at home with the Clay Green vicar at present) were at tea. Ralph, who sat uncomfortably in a chair too small for him which he had taken out of courtesy, balancing a plate awkwardly on his thin young knees, looked up as Walter came into the room—a look of trusting, sorrowing affection. And immediately Walter knew what it was he had been trying all afternoon to see.

“Elaine,” he said in a quiet grave tone: “Would you mind coming to another room with me for a moment? I want to speak to you alone.”

“Now?” said Elaine in a cross little tone, surprised and alarmed.

“Now, please,” said Walter.

Elaine rose and went to him. “What is it, Walter?” she demanded.

Walter made no reply, but led the way to their bedroom.
A private interview with her husband at this point was the last thing Elaine desired, but she followed him upstairs staunchly. Walter switched on a lamp, closed the door and came towards her with burning eyes; he took her arms in a strong grasp and turned her to face him.

“Listen, Elaine,” he said. “I've often told you that I'm innocent in this case, haven't I?”

“Yes,” said Elaine, wincing.

“Well, it's not true,” said Walter firmly. He released her arms and stood erect before her. “I'm guilty—I'm as guilty as hell. I did it all for you, and I knew what I was doing. Part of it was being afraid, of course; that first day when Tasker tricked me about the cloth, I was frightened of losing his custom and frightened of him and frightened of what Arnold Lumb would say—times were so bad, and I was afraid. Partly it was Tasker who was too clever for me, yes; and partly it was being afraid; but chiefly it was because I wanted you, and didn't care what I did to get you. I fell in love with you that day outside Victory Mills, and I felt so poor and insignificant—I wanted to be rich and powerful so that I could have you, and I wasn't particular whether I won you by fair means or foul. And after all that's what being unscrupulous means. That's what Tasker does; he wants something, and he isn't scrupulous about how he gets it. I'm just like Tasker. Oh, yes, I am,” he went on as Elaine made a movement of pitying protest: “I expect Tasker was just like me when he was young. I'm sure he was. I knew it as soon as I saw those old people in court to-day; his father and mother, you know—they were so respectable, just like my father and mother; he started out good and happy, just like me. He corrupted me; yes, he did; well, I was beginning to corrupt Ralph. I see it now. I was justifying myself to him, making dishonesty appear clever and natural, you know; I was beginning to corrupt Ralph. I even said some of the
same things to him that Tasker did to me! It's terrible to think of. You must be sure to tell Ralph, Elaine—I'd like you to wait till I'm in prison, if you don't mind; but be sure to tell him—tell him I was as guilty as hell.”