Without Sin Read online

  The judge, whose white bushy eyebrows were almost meeting above the bridge of his nose in a frown, merely grunted and nodded to the plaintiff’s lawyer to proceed.

  Mr Snape droned on for another hour, extolling the virtues of his client as a woman of independent means, of a certain standing in the community who would bring nothing but respectability and stability to her future husband in both his personal and business life. In comparison, he painted a lurid picture of Meg as a woman who would bring disgrace and eventual ruin to the defendant.

  At last he sat down and the court buzzed again, until Mr Henderson rose slowly to commence his opening speech.

  ‘Much has been made of the plaintiff’s standing in the community, but let us, for a moment, consider the position of my client. Mr Rodwell’ – Mr Henderson stressed the use of Percy’s name – ‘was born here, in this town, in the rooms above the premises where he now conducts his business. He now lives in a small town house on Church Street. A modest dwelling by some standards –’ he glanced towards the prosecution – ‘that is true. Mr Rodwell is not a wealthy man. He makes no claims to be. He is, indeed, a modest man in all ways. Modest in wealth, modest in character. And, following in his family’s footsteps, he runs a modest enterprise in, as we have heard, rented property. Rented, as we have also heard, your honour, from the plaintiff’s brother. I’m sure there is no one in this courtroom’ – Mr Henderson’s glance swept the public gallery and around the court – ‘who would deny that my client runs a respectable, though modest, tailoring business’ – his voice became a little louder and his tone firmer, ‘in a fair and honest manner. But consider for a moment, if you will, the position my client must have found himself in some eight years ago. We are led to believe that it was my client, Mr Rodwell, who began to court the plaintiff. In fact, your honour, it was the plaintiff who made the first – er – shall we say – approach to my client. Of course, there is no shame in this. Was it not our late and much lamented Queen Victoria – correct me if I am wrong – who was obliged to make the proposal of marriage to her beloved Albert because of her superior position?’

  Now there was a gale of laughter around the courtroom and the judge banged his gavel irritably.

  ‘As we have heard, the plaintiff is a genteel and respectable lady. But when she invited Mr Rodwell to dine at the Hall with herself and her brother, was that not placing my client in something of a dilemma? Apart from not wishing – quite understandably – to upset this genteel and respectable lady, he is also her brother’s tenant and would feel, no doubt, under some kind of obligation to accept their kind invitation.’ He paused to allow these thoughts to filter into the minds of all those listening. Meg glanced at Clara and saw her whispering urgently in her solicitor’s ear, but Mr Snape was shaking his head and patting her arm as if to quieten her. Meg smiled wryly. Miss Finch wanted to argue with the opposition’s statements just as she herself had done so rashly.

  ‘Events moved on,’ Mr Henderson continued, ‘and the invitations to dine, to parties, to Sunday afternoon outings became more frequent, so frequent, in fact, with refusal unthinkable, that in the eyes of the community there must be some kind of – er – understanding between the plaintiff and my client. This modest and unassuming man found himself drawn into a relationship with the plaintiff that had really not been of his making. But let us be fair – we must not forget that the plaintiff is a genteel lady. I have no doubt that her motives were most respectable.’

  Again a ripple of laughter ran through the courtroom, quickly silenced by the judge’s frown.

  ‘Perhaps at this time the plaintiff’s brother – my client’s landlord – took a hand in moving matters forward by pointing out to my client that his frequent visits to the home of the lady in question were putting her reputation at risk. Now, imagine my modest and unassuming client’s feelings at this point. He has no wish to offend his landlord. The lady in question is . . .’

  Here Mr Henderson paused and turned to look at Clara. He regarded her for some moments, his silence drawing the attention of everyone present to her: to her gaunt face, to her hooked nose, to her hard, beady eyes, to her thin and shapeless figure. He cleared his throat and continued, ‘. . . as we have been repeatedly told, is a genteel and respectable lady. And Mr Rodwell had, at that time, no other – er – prospect.’

  There was a titter from the gallery.

  ‘He lived alone and ran his business alone. His only social life was comprised of invitations from the plaintiff. And so he becomes betrothed to this lady of means, of standing in the community, and the event is duly celebrated and becomes common knowledge. But this engagement, your honour, lasts six years. It would appear to an outsider, would it not, that there was nothing to stand in the way of the nuptials between these two – er – young lovers?’

  More laughter from those present and even the judge allowed his lips to twitch.

  ‘But if the prosecution is to be believed it was my client who prevaricated, with the weak excuse that he had nothing to offer his lady love. And indeed –’ Mr Henderson puffed out his chest and gestured towards Clara – ‘in comparison with this lady of independent means, of superior standing in the community, what has a modest tailor in rented business premises and living in a tiny cottage got to offer her?

  ‘But in all this, your honour, we have not heard one word of the emotions between the plaintiff and my client. Oh, much has been made of the plaintiff’s suitability. Who could argue that she is an undoubted catch?’

  Now there was loud, insulting laughter from the gallery. The judge bowed his head as if to hide his face. Then he banged his gavel, but there was still stifled sniggering from the gallery.

  ‘We have heard no mention of love between them, of unbridled passion that could not wait for blissful union—’

  ‘Mr Henderson,’ the judge warned, and Percy’s solicitor bowed, acknowledging that his turn of phrase might be becoming indelicate.

  ‘Your honour,’ he murmured. ‘But then,’ he continued, ‘into my client’s life comes this young woman – an impoverished young woman, your honour, with not a penny to her name, with nothing to offer a prospective husband. She has no standing in the community, she comes from the workhouse.’ He paused to allow this information to sink in. ‘But one day, in an effort to pull herself out of the mire, she dresses herself in the only clothes she has and walks all the way into town to Mr Rodwell’s shop. She has been told, by a friend of the plaintiff’s I might add, Miss Pendleton, the matron at the workhouse’ – Clara whispered urgently into Mr Snape’s ear, but Mr Henderson continued – ‘that Mr Rodwell might be looking for a female assistant to serve his lady customers with . . .’ Mr Henderson coughed delicately, ‘underwear. And so, with a hopeful heart, this young girl sets out to better her circumstances with no further thought in her pretty head than that of securing a respectable, though lowly, position and being able to support herself and her poor mother.

  ‘My client, altruistic and kindly, takes her on trial. On trial, mark you. But the young woman rapidly proves her worth. She is lively, warm-hearted, has a natural empathy with the customers and she is willing to do anything that is asked of her.’

  There was a loud guffaw from a man standing at the back of the public gallery. ‘I bet she is!’ He was quickly shushed by those around him. Ignoring the interruption with a look of contempt, Mr Henderson continued, ‘But this young woman’s strong instinct to be independent, not to be a burden on the parish any longer than she must, leads her to seek shelter at night in the shop.’ Cleverly, the solicitor glossed over Meg’s reason for leaving the workhouse. ‘When he finds out, her kindly employer, far from dismissing her as his fiancée demanded he should, takes this girl to his home and gives her shelter. In return for his kindness, his trust in her, the young woman brings comfort and affection into his life. His world is suddenly a sunnier place and he falls hopelessly in love with her. But his love is not hopeless for, to his great surprise and delight, the young woman returns his
affection.’

  Mr Henderson stood for a moment shaking his head sadly. ‘But now, of course, we come to the crux of the matter and why we find ourselves here in this courtroom today. The engagement that we are led to believe existed between the plaintiff and my client.’

  At this there was an explosive snort of rage from Clara and nervous laughter from the public gallery. Again Meg noticed Mr Snape patting Clara’s hand to quieten her.

  ‘The truth of the matter is, your honour’ – Mr Henderson rested on his knuckles on the table in front of him, leaning towards the judge and looking directly at him as his sonorous voice echoed round the room – ‘that it was, in fact, the plaintiff who broke off the so-called engagement when my client refused to accede to her wishes. Wishes, your honour, which included the dismissal of the young woman from both his home and from his place of business. The plaintiff’ – he now waved his hand dramatically in the direction of Clara Finch – ‘cared nothing for the welfare of this young woman. Where she could have helped and supported her betrothed in giving the poor girl a chance in life, the plaintiff was vindictive and jealous. She resorted to emotional blackmail. Her very words, your honour, were—’ Here he paused dramatically and held up a piece of paper from which he read, “ ‘If you do not dismiss the girl, Percy, then our engagement is at an end.” ’

  He threw the paper down on the table in disgust. ‘Your honour, I appreciate the difficulty facing you—’

  ‘Thank you for your concern, Mr Henderson,’ the judge remarked dryly. ‘I am sure I shall rise to the occasion.’ He allowed himself a small smile and glanced over the top of his spectacles towards the gallery. He was rewarded by laughter and someone even dared to clap.

  ‘Quite so, your honour, but if I may be permitted to stress the point, it was the plaintiff and not the defendant who terminated their betrothal because he would not obey her. Now’ – he straightened up and smiled benignly – ‘if I am not mistaken, the vows contained in the marriage service do contain the word “obey”. But am I not right in thinking that this particular vow is made, not by the man, but by the woman, who promises to “love, honour and obey”?’ Mr Henderson paused again as if waiting for someone, anyone, to contradict him. When no one did, he added in silky tones, ‘Not a very auspicious start to married life between the plaintiff and the defendant, eh?

  ‘And one last point, your honour—’

  The judge glanced at the huge clock on the back wall of the public gallery. ‘Do you anticipate this taking very long, Mr Henderson?’

  ‘No, your honour, just a few moments more.’

  ‘Very well,’ the judge said resignedly and settled back in his chair, his fingers linked in front of him.

  ‘And my last point is this. My client is an honourable man – the sort of man who would have sacrificed his own happiness for the sake of keeping his word and his promises. But would it not have been the act of a dishonourable man to have continued in this relationship, to have gone through with marriage to a woman he no longer loved, purely for the sake of keeping his word? When all the time he would have been in love with another. Some might say he’s a fool. A fool to throw away all that marriage to the plaintiff might have brought him.’ Mr Henderson ticked the items off on his fingers. ‘A fine house to live in, ownership of his business premises, which, we have heard, was to form part of the marriage settlement. And, last but not least, no doubt he could look forward to a step up the ladder in the social life of this community. He gave up all that, your honour’ – his tone was husky with emotion as he gestured towards Clara and then let his arm continue in a sweep until it came to rest pointing in Meg’s direction – ‘to follow his heart.’

  Thirty-Two

  That evening Jake read the newspaper avidly, where the case was being reported in detail.

  ‘Look,’ he burst out. ‘Just look what they’re saying about her. It’s not true! Someone ought to tell them—’

  ‘Oh aye, and what would you tell ’em, eh?’ Mabel Smallwood said grimly. ‘That she’s whiter than white, ’cos let me tell you if she’s anything like her father – and her mother by all accounts – then she isn’t.’

  Jake stared at her. Then his manner softened a little. Craftily, he said, ‘What was she like before her father – went off?’

  Mrs Smallwood sniffed and admitted grudgingly, ‘All right, I suppose, though she was always a bit of a flirt. Eyeing all the lads and chatting to them.’

  ‘But was there any real harm in her?’

  ‘She was only a lass when she was here. She’s grown up a bit since then.’

  ‘She had to, didn’t she?’ Jake was being greatly daring, defying his mistress in such a way.

  Mrs Smallwood glared at him and then dropped her gaze. ‘Aye well, you could be right. But we couldn’t keep the family on here. Not after . . .’ She fell silent.

  ‘I know,’ Jake said, gently now. ‘I do understand.’

  She looked at him and said slowly, ‘For a young ’un, you’re a very understanding sort of lad.’ Then, unusually, she smiled at him. ‘But just you be careful with that little madam. She’s a heartbreaker, that one.’

  Jake turned away. He didn’t answer her, but what he could have said was: Thanks for the warning, missis, but it’s too late. Meg’s already broken mi heart.

  ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting time off to go to the court tomorrow to hear the verdict?’ When he made no response, she answered herself, flapping her hands at him. ‘Oh, go on with you, then. Though what the mester’ll say, I daren’t think.’

  Mr Smallwood said nothing. Like his wife, he had taken to the young lad. They both liked Ron and his family, but they were a family unit, complete in themselves. Jake was alone in the world and the couple – though they would never have admitted it, not even to each other – were missing their daughter. The following morning, George Smallwood appeared in the yard dressed in his going-to-town suit. Without preamble he said bluntly, ‘The missis reckons you want to go into the courthouse today. That right?’

  ‘I . . .’ Jake began hesitantly and then decided to be bold. ‘Yes, I do, sir. But only if I can get mi work done first. I wouldn’t go otherwise.’

  ‘You’ll not get it all done afore you go, else you’ll miss all the excitement.’ The tall, rotund figure beamed down at him. ‘I’ve a mind to go myself. Bonfire night last night and the verdict today. Reckon there could be a few fireworks in that courtroom if the verdict goes the wrong way. I’ve known Percy Rodwell all his life and his father before him. A quieter, more docile fellow you couldn’t wish to meet. I just can’t believe he’s in the middle of such scandalous goings on.’ He stroked his chin. ‘And as for that lass . . .’

  Jake waited, holding his breath, willing the man not to say anything unkind about Meg because, if he did, then Jake might just forget himself and likely lose his job.

  ‘As for that lass, she was a pert little thing when she worked for us, but I don’t believe all the things they’re saying about her in the papers.’

  ‘No,’ Jake told him solemnly. ‘Neither do I.’

  ‘Right then, run along home and put your better clothes on.’

  ‘I – er – haven’t got any other clothes than these.’

  ‘What?’ The farmer looked scandalized. ‘Is that so?’ When Jake nodded, George murmured, ‘Oh aye, I was forgetting where you’d come from, lad. That old skin-flint Pendleton wouldn’t give you a decent suit to your back, I’ll be bound.’ He put his hand on Jake’s shoulder. ‘Tell you what, m’lad. When Percy Rodwell’s back in his shop we’ll have you kitted out with a new suit, eh? How about that then?’

  Jake managed to summon a smile and thank him politely. He didn’t want to tell his employer that he had vowed never to set foot in the shop again. Not while Meg was still there.

  Unaware of the young man’s dilemma, George boomed, ‘Let’s be off then. Get the pony and trap harnessed, Jake lad, and we’ll be off. Don’t want to miss the fun, eh?’

  The fun, as George c
alled it, had already started by the time they reached the courthouse. All the seats were taken in the public gallery and George and Jake were obliged to stand just inside the door, squeezed in at the back.

  ‘Not a minute too soon,’ George muttered. ‘They’ve stopped anyone else coming in now.’ Jake heard him with half an ear. He was craning his neck to catch sight of Meg. And then he saw her, sitting in the middle of the front row of the public gallery. But he could not see her face.

  They had scarcely got settled before the judge came in and the proceedings began. It seemed that only the prosecution wished to call any witnesses and there was only one: Mr Theobald Finch.

  ‘Why won’t you let me speak up for you, Percy?’ Meg had begged him. ‘I heard her say it. I was there. She threatened to break off the engagement if you didn’t sack me.’

  ‘I don’t want you involved, Meg dear.’ Percy was firm. ‘And besides, I’m not sure whether a wife is allowed to testify on her husband’s behalf.’ He patted her hand. ‘You just sit in the gallery – quietly, mind. Mr Henderson says you could jeopardize whatever chance I have got if you anger the judge.’

  Meg was contrite. ‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry for my outburst yesterday. If I could apologize to the judge, I would. I was just so angry at all the lies that horrible Mr Snape was telling about you.’

  ‘Well, that’s what the prosecution and defence is all about. Though how the judge is going to make up his mind through it all, I don’t know. Mr Henderson isn’t exactly telling the plain, unvarnished truth either, now is he? He’s angling things the way he wants them to look.’

  Despite the seriousness of their situation, Meg giggled. ‘No, he’s very clever, isn’t he? But surely the judge can see by just looking at Miss Finch that she’s a dried-up old spinster, who’s just out for revenge?’