Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 2/Divorce a vinculo - Part 3
DIVORCE A VINCULO; or, THE TERRORS OF
SIR CRESSWELL CRESSWELL.
(Continued from p. 211.)
r. Dodge was introduced to all the party with formal courtesy by our mutual friend Lamb. I couldn’t help thinking that Mrs. Barber soared a little too high into the empyrean—flapped her dove’s pinions a little too hard—put on, in fact, a trifle too much of the angel for the occasion. She avoided and yet courted the learned civilian’s glance—she made place for him by her side, and yet produced an effect as though Lamb had put a chair there, and forced the Doctor into it. There was such sweet confusion in her downward glance—so melting an appeal for protection in her candid blue eyes—that Dodge must have been a brute indeed to have resisted it. Mrs. Barber had evidently thrown Lamb overboard for the moment, and appointed Dodge “Guardian Angel in Ordinary.”
My friend Lamb did not appear in the least put out by this sudden revolution in the feelings of his client—nay, he seemed rather to regard her with increased admiration. For myself I confess that although the suspicion suggested above did cross my mind for a moment when Mrs. Barber was placing Dr. Dodge in solution—one playful glance which she cast my way when the professional gentlemen turned round to look for some papers on the table brought me down like a struck pheasant, and quite reassured me as to her perfect sincerity.
After all—poor thing—what could she do? It must be heartbreaking indeed for an injured lady to be compelled to bare her tender breast to the gaze of two unfeeling professional men; to be examined as to the innocent endearments which she had lavished upon a wretch unworthy of the possession of such a treasure; nay—far worse, to have to tell how she was repelled with scorn by the brute when she had glided down to his side with healing on her wings. Oh! to be obliged, for her dear child’s sake, to claim the protection of the law against the father of that blessed child—her own, too—fondly adored—idolised husband—the lover whose vows had sounded so honey-sweet in her virgin ears. But now! she who would have given her own life for his a thousand times—must tell the world what manner of man he really was! Oh! oh! oh!
I confess that, at this moment, the thought occurred to me that it would be well if I broke through the indolence in which I had been wasting too many years of my life. What if I should blaze into practice before Sir C. C, and carry balm and consolation to many a bleeding heart? Flora would, I am sure, approve of the idea, and I felt convinced that I could do the work better than—by Jove! Mrs. Barber is fluttering round him again—that beast, Dodge. How can Lamb employ such a fellow!
“We were speaking, Doctor Dodge, when you came in,” said Lamb, “of a particular incident in this distressing case? I mean the conduct of Mr. Barber, at Brussels.”
“Yes, you allude, Mr. Lamb, I presume, to the severance or abscission, or curtailment, of Mrs. Barber’s hair. When I was drawing the allegations I had not the particulars of the res gestæ before me in a satisfactory way, so I charged the other side broadly enough to let in the scalp, if Mrs. Barber can swear up to that point. What do you say, Mrs. Barber?”
“I don’t think we can actually scalp Mrs. Barber,” said Lamb, as his client appeared to be hesitating for a reply. “Not quite that.”
“Boggles v. Boggles,” continued the learned gentleman, “is the leading case on the point which has governed all subsequent decisions under this head of sævitia, or cruelty. It was there held that within limits the marital power extends to a control over the wife’s hair during cohabitation. Mrs. Boggles charged that, upon one occasion, her husband cut off her hair when she was asleep—and, to use her own graphic, but somewhat trivial, phrase, when she awoke she was as bare as a barber’s block. Boggles replied, that true it was he had softly, during the lady’s slumber, removed a certain portion of her hair, which she was in the habit of wearing of an undue length, but that he had done so because it excited remark, and to avoid scandal. The court held that the husband was justified to the extent of moderate curtailment, but not to the length of a total deprivation of the wife’s hair—not upon the ground that the hair is an ornament—for as to the propriety of certain ornaments the husband is the best judge—but because the total and sudden loss of hair might imperil health, and might therefore be well called sævitia. The learned judge let fall an obiter dictum upon that occasion, that it would have been otherwise had the scalp or cuticle been injured by a sharp-cutting instrument, for there was manifest cruelty—save indeed the lesion had occurred, per incuriam, or through carelessness, when it would have been well enough. But in Boggles and Boggles there was a primâ facie presumption that such was not the case, as the amotion or removal of the hair had taken place during sleep, and, as the Ecclesiastical Judge shrewdly remarked, had the lady been cut or otherwise wounded on the head during her sleep, there was a violent probability that she would have awoken. But it was not so. Ah! Mr. Lamb, these cases were well looked into before the alteration in the system.”
“Yes—Sir Cresswell would never have thought of that,” said Lamb, not without a certain tinge, as I thought, of irony in his tone. I may here as well remark that Dr. Dodge was a somewhat portly elderly man, with grey hair, and a healthy red face, which seemed indicative of good, yet of careful living. You would have said here was a man who might not impossibly drink his two bottles of port a day, but who knew the value of shower-baths, rough towels, and early walking. He talked in a slow, emphatic manner, and had a way of throwing back his head and closing his eyes during the more involved portion of his argument; but he would awake from his apparent lethargy, and look you defiantly in the face while letting off his scraps of law-Latin. He actually rolled these about in his mouth like delicacies—they evidently smacked sweetly on his intellectual palate. During his exposition of the law, Mrs. Barber’s remarkably red and satisfactory lips had been the seat of considerable nervous energy; you would have supposed that her thoughts had been busy with her sad and desecrated Past, save at the moment when Dr. Dodge spoke of the barber’s block as an illustration of the condition to which the lady’s head had been reduced by the barbarous act of that monster Boggles. The nervous twitching was then an obvious effort to repress a smile; but Mrs. Barber quickly subsided into her more mournful, and now, alas! more usual tone of thought. It appeared, however, that she had thoroughly appreciated the gist of the learned civilian’s argument, for she remarked, as soon as Dr. Dodge had concluded his exposition of the law:
“I might have done it myself, perhaps—indeed, of course, it was so—besides, I don’t think—”
“What, ma’am!” said Lamb. “Give us the facts: it is for Dr. Dodge and myself to judge of their value.”
“I never said anything about it at the time, but, in struggling to escape from Mr. Barber, the knife with which he was threatening me certainly did cut me,—not that I think for a moment that he really intended my death,—but Augustus was so incautious. The wound bled very much, and spoilt a sweet little collar of Brussels point, which I had only bought the day before, because dear baby—”
“Never mind that interesting child just now—any scar left, Mrs. Barber?”
The lady threw back her veil, and gave a triumphant start—but in this she instantly checked herself and stared into vacancy, whilst her eyes filled with tears. I could not have supposed that any human eyes could have contained so much water without overflowing. At last down it came with a rush—it was a positive relief to me, and I am sure to the other two gentlemen also, when we heard her sob. Oh! for but one quarter of an hour’s private interview with Barber—giving me just time to have a pair of boots made for the occasion?
“Mrs. Barber, be calm,” said Lamb.
“My de-e-ear Mrs. Barber!” said Dr. Dodge.
For myself, I turned round to the window, and without shame to my manhood be it spoken, attended to my Adam’s apple, which was feeling unpleasantly large in my throat. When I looked round again on the group, Mrs. Barber was holding Dr. Dodge’s wrist tightly with one hand, Mr. Lamb’s with the other.
“Oh! I’ll never tell! Augustus, is it come to this? I’ll never, never, never tell. You won’t hang him, sir, will you?—besides. Oh! how can I save him? I shall go distracted—if it was not for my blessed, blessed child. No matter, I’ll go to the foot of the throne—”
“It will be quite unnecessary, ma’am, I assure you, to give yourself that trouble. Sir Cresswell doesn’t go the length you suppose, even in his sternest moods. Mr. Barber’s neck is perfectly, and unfortunately safe.”
“The more’s the pity: a scoundrel who thirsted after a woman’s blood—and such a woman, such an angel as that!” said I; but I was instantly frowned down by the two professional gentlemen. For this I did not care one rush, as Mrs. Barber turned upon me her blue eyes overflowing with gratitude for my honest sympathy,—and, her nostrils distended, quite panted in her efforts to suppress her natural and very creditable emotions at the danger which, as she supposed, threatened her unworthy husband. Poor soul! what could she know about the differences in jurisdiction between a criminal, and a matrimonial Court of Justice?
“Hadn’t you better leave me alone with the lady?” said Dr. Dodge, in a soft, soothing tone, like that of a surgeon about to commence an operation.
“No, sir, certainly not. I am in the habit of attending to my clients myself. Would you like a little sal volatile, Mrs. Barber? I always keep a quart in the cupboard, besides twelve bottles of salts, and a packet of stay-laces.”
“Thank you, no, dear kind Mr. Lamb. Thank you, no—thank you, no.” A change had evidently come over Mrs. Barber’s mood, for she rose from her seat, and kept shaking the two gentlemen, who did not seem to know what to make of it, violently by the hand. I had sometimes seen my beloved Flora ‘taken'—so could the better understand these sudden revulsions of feeling;—the female organisation is so sensitive—so delicate—by George, it won’t do to trifle with it. I thought I might as well have a shake myself whilst they were being served out so plentifully. I confess, however, that even I was not prepared for the extent of Mrs. Barber’s gratitude; for, after all, what had I done? Nothing, certainly, that deserved “to be remembered to the last moment of her sad existence!” In another moment she was quite playful, and it was pretty to see the infantine way in which she tore off her bonnet—the identical chapeau-à-la-Cresswell which Madame Lareine had prepared with so much taste and discrimination. She then took out two little side combs, and let her hair float in disorder round her face. If the jury could but have seen her as she put it aside, and peeped out like a sweetly mischievous child, I am very confident they would have torn Barber into atoms, only allowing the foreman the privilege of the first kick. She then indicated to Dr. Dodge the spot which was the seat of the injury. That learned civilian put on his spectacles, in order that he might more clearly discover the mischief.
“Yes, indeed, Mr. Lamb, here is a well-defined cicatrix, or scar. See here, Mr. Lamb. Will you allow me, Mrs. Barber?”
That lady had folded her arms upon her breast, and smiled on him so meekly, that it went to my heart. In proper hands what might not that woman have been, and here were all her pretty ways to be commented on, and measured and balanced by these two rude professional men? Dr. Dodge gently enough—I must admit—put her hair aside; and, stooping down, blew upon her head—the vile grampus!—in order to secure an efficient parting. Mrs. Barber gave a little shudder, and looking up, archly said:
“O-o-oh! doctor, it tickles so! Oh, how funny!”
Lamb was examining the scar with the help of one of those large magnifying glasses which they hand to you in an engraver’s shop to help you to a sight of the finer and more delicate efforts of the artist. On the whole, I thought that the two gentlemen spent more time over the investigation than was actually necessary.
“Are you quite sure, Mrs. Barber,” said Lamb, “that you never received any injury on your head in childhood—never tumbled down-stairs, or over a fender, or anything of that sort?”
“Oh! never, never, never!—dear mamma was always so careful of us” (here the poor soul began to cry again), “and would never let us out of her sight. There was never any accident in our family but one, and that was when little Alfred was playing at soldiers with us girls, and doing the Life Guards at Waterloo, and he ran the toasting-fork into Eliza’s eye. Poor Eliza always had a cast in it afterwards till the twins were born, and then it got right again.”
“Dear me,” said Lamb, “very singular circumstance! However, there is the scar sure enough; and we may perhaps import it into the case. Will the other side call any of the old servants of the family, I wonder? Well, well, we’ll think about it. Now, Mrs. Barber, let us go on to the other points of the evidence. You understand we are confining ourselves just now to the head of—cruelty.”
“Yes, Mr. Lamb, I perfectly understand you, and Augustus was so very, very cruel!”
“Will you forgive me, madam, for impressing on you the importance of precision in this matter. I want to know when was the first, and when was the last, act of cruelty charged? Within what limits did the Respondent ill-use us? When did the Defence—if I may so express it—first show the cloven hoof?”
“You mean, sir, when Augustus was first naughty? I remember very well, for I was so astonished at it. It was within a week after our marriage. We were at Hastings, and he asked me to play at ball; and as we hadn’t any ball, he asked me to chuck my purse to him, and he would catch it. I did so, and he put it quietly in his pocket, and called me a ‘little goose,’ and wouldn’t give it me back, and I was so disappointed because I wanted to buy presents for him with it; but when I burst out crying, and told him this, he said he would give effect to my wishes in a more judicious way than I could myself.”
“Your husband never had any money of his own, Mrs. Barber, I believe?” said Dr. Dodge.
“I never saw any: he used to tell me, before we were married, that he had a fine estate, although he didn’t wish to mention it to my family, as it would be an agreeable surprise to them. After we were married, I kept teasing him about it—for I wished to see the castle of which he had told me so often—so one morning he said he would gratify me by showing me the title-deeds, and he brought down a long box—”
“The usual thing, Doctor,” said Lamb, “a brace of billiard cues.”
“Yes, yes, the usual thing,” answered Dodge, as though the point wasn’t even worth discussion.
I confess I was scandalised at Mr. Barber’s duplicity; but, of course, professional men do get hardened.
“And the last time, Mrs. Barber? You see I want to fix the limits, and then to show that the sævitia, or cruelty, was continuous.”
“The last time, sir,” said Mrs. Barber, “I shall never forget it. We were stopping at the Pavilion, at Folkstone: we had just come back from Paris, and I was very tired with the journey, for Augustus had insisted on my crossing that night—the stormiest night in the whole year—and I had gone to bed, and fallen asleep, when I was awoken with a stifling sensation, and found my nose in flames.”
“Your nose in flames, Mrs. Barber?” said Dr. Dodge. “Allow me to say that that is a very singular circumstance!”
“Ah! but it’s true for all that. Augustus had rubbed my nose over with cold cream, and then he had torn off a bit of my handkerchief, and cold-creamed that too, and then he put that on my nose, and set fire to it. I hope that’s cruel enough; but he was so very, very unkind.”
“I protest, madam, in the course of my professional experience I never heard of such a fact,” said Dodge. “I can’t get nearer it than Mapleson and Mapleson, in which case the husband had slit the lady’s nose up with a pen-knife. This, if done with felonious intent, was obviously well enough, and would have brought Mr. Mapleson within the cutting and maiming statutes; but it was proved on his side, aliunde, that he was fanatically convinced of the advantages of the Taliacotian operation, and did seriously intend the conversion of the wife’s nose from a snub to a Grecian. He was examined according to the forms then in use amongst us at the Commons, and deposed that the snub-like character of the lady’s nose had weighed upon his spirits for years—that he had brought her over to his own views—that she actually requested him to proceed with the operation, and that in pursuance of such request the alleged injury was inflicted. The Court decided that whatever might be said to such a transaction before another tribunal, it could not be pronounced to be sævitia in an Ecclesiastical Court. Here was the husband intending the lady’s benefit—the lady consenting—the pretext colourable; at the same time, the presiding Judge let fall a strong expression of opinion that a husband should never venture to perform a surgical operation upon his wife, more especially when he was not inops consilii, but magnas inter opes inops. Had it indeed been the amputation of a limb under circumstances of great pressure it might have been otherwise; but nobody could contend that the change in Mrs. Mapleson’s nose, from a snub to a Grecian, could not have been postponed until such time as regular professional assistance could have been secured. But I am far indeed from saying, my dear Mrs. Barber, that Mapleson and Mapleson goes the length of your nose. It can scarcely be argued, on the other side, that Mr. Barber intended an improvement in your appearance by burning it.”
“Mrs. Barber’s nose is quite a feature in the case,” said Lamb, with a disgusting chuckle; but the lady soon brought him to his senses by the simple process of applying her handkerchief to her eyes. How could any one with a man’s heart and feelings venture to joke at the sufferings of a distressed lady?
Lamb attempted to repair the mischief he had done by various expressions of a soothing character; and that which was, to me, a decisive proof of the vulgarity of the man’s mind was, that he caught hold of her little hand, forced it open, and began tapping on the palm with all the ardour of a monthly nurse. Mrs. Barber was, at that moment, at least five degrees removed from the point at which such a method of treatment is available—though, indeed, it is doubtful if a man’s rude hand can ever administer it with advantage. That blundering, though perhaps well-meaning, solicitor had better look to himself. It would not greatly surprise me if his ears were well boxed within the next thirty seconds, or Mrs. Barber may possibly become perfectly rigid, or else dissolve in a Niagara of tears. Of the three alternatives I should much prefer that her grief took the form of an assault upon Lamb—he is a stout fellow, and blows inflicted by that fairy hand could not hurt very much. Besides, he would have brought it on himself.
Tears won the day. Dr. Dodge and I exchanged glances which meant as plainly as glances could utter it, “Is the time come for thrashing Lamb?” But the injured angel stood between him and his fate. She took his hand quite affectionately.
“Oh! dear Mr. Lamb! I am very, very sure, you didn’t mean anything; but I have undergone so much, and words and little fancies which are nothing to a stranger’s eye put me so in mind of other days. I am sure I am so troublesome to you—why should you give yourself any more pains about me? I am sure it must be very tiresome to you—a perfect stranger—to listen to the story of my sorrows. If I have done anything wrong, or anything to offend you, I will ask your pardon on my bended knees. I won’t go on with this business. I know—Oh, yes! I know too—too well that all Augustus wants is my fortune. Let him have it. I have a little money left, and I can go down to Poldadek by this evening’s train—and I will creep into the house at night, and steal away with my child—and I can live in perfect obscurity somewhere in London. Yes; I can take a house near Dorset Square, or some other low neighbourhood, and take in needle-work till I have earned enough to send my child to Eton, or buy him a commission in the Guards. Perhaps, Dr. Dodge, you will be good enough to patronise me, and let me make your shirts. Indeed I can do fine-sewing very nicely. Yes—yes! that will be best—let me begone.”
“Mr. Lamb, you are much to blame,” said Dr. Dodge, severely.
“Oh! don’t say anything against my good, kind adviser. There, Mr. Lamb, give me your hand, and let us be friends. We’ll say no more about it. I am sure you always mean well.”
So Mr. Lamb was pardoned, and we went on with the business in hand. Mrs. Barber then gave us, as a third instance of her husband’s cruelty, another scene that had occurred at Folkstone upon a different occasion, when Mr. Barber, with many opprobrious words, had accused her of showing her ankles as she got in and out of the railroad-train, and up the ladder from the steamer. The accusation, as Mrs. Barber observed, was perfectly ridiculous, because she knew perfectly well that her foot and ankle were not as well made as they might be. “Indeed,” she continued, “it is very odd, but I was the only one of the Montresors who had ugly feet. Oh! if you had seen Eliza’s foot and ankle. Gentlemen used to go and take their stand near crossings on dirty days just upon the chance of getting a glimpse of them. Mamma, too, has the Montresor foot to this day; but I always knew that I was not a Montresor in this respect. Now, if you’ll promise not to tell,” she added, smilingly, “I’ll show you my foot, and you shall judge for yourselves what a story Augustus was when he said I could wish to show it. There, see how clumsy!” Mrs. Barber, as she said this, was good enough to indulge us with the sight of a foot which, if it did not prove her case, at least proved how humble-minded she was, and how poor an estimate she had formed of her own attractions. For the first time I understood the story of Cinderella. The thought occurred to me that I would request her to allow me to have a model taken of it, that I might use it as a paper-weight. However, Flora perhaps wouldn’t like the idea;—so, on the whole, it was safest to say nothing about it. For the first time I comprehended the frenzy of which a friend of my own had been guilty. He saw one day a lady’s boot in a dressing-room. The tender passion filled his soul—he caught it up—kissed it repeatedly—put it in his pocket—found out the lovely owner—proposed in three days, and was accepted. They have now been married seventeen years, and have two thumping boys at school, one of whom has just been put into the Georgics. I don’t believe there was ever a happier marriage. My friend treasures up the marvellous boot, and swears it shall go into his coffin.
To proceed—another instance of her husband’s ungovernable passions mentioned by Mrs. Barber, was, that on one occasion, when a bill of 1l. 5s. 6d. was sent in for a hat and feathers for the child, Mr. B. had declared that she was ruining him, and threatened to send her home. Not satisfied with this, he had seized up the cat, which was asleep on the hearthrug, by the tail, and, twisting the animal several times round his head, had finally flung the infuriated creature at his poor wife. Lamb suggested that perhaps it might tell upon the jury, if they were to produce a cat in court as the unwilling actor in this disgraceful scene, and he offered the services of the Office Cat—a remarkably fine tabby—for the purpose. “Mrs. Barber’s maid, a remarkably intelligent woman, who had lived with her through all the struggles of her married life, would readily identify the cat—she was a most intelligent woman.” Dr. Dodge, however, over-ruled the suggestion, on the ground that Sir Cresswell would never for one moment admit the cat as a competent witness, as it would be impossible to show that puss was aware of the sanctity of an oath. This was not the first time I had remarked that the remembrance of his dramatic career still exercised too much influence over Lamb’s mind. He was always for striking off an effect, and producing a series of tableaux to the jury. The principle no doubt is a sound one, but it may be worked to death. So, despite of some faint mutterings on Lamb’s part with reference to the Dog of Montargis, his valuable suggestion was put aside.
It next appeared, that very soon after her intermarriage with Mr. Barber, his amiable wife had been taken by him down to Poldadek to stay with his two elderly maiden sisters. It is only surprising that she could have retained her senses after the sufferings inflicted on her by these ladies. They may possibly have done it with the best intentions, but was it just—was it right to send her to bed at seven o’clock in the evening—to prevent her from wearing any of the clothes she had brought with her from London? It was so natural and excusable at her age to take pleasure in attire which, however elegantly conceived, was befitting her condition. Besides, why did they put her hair into curl-papers—though the pain of the disgusting operation caused her to shed tears, and she implored of them to desist—and the odious screws of paper kept her awake all night by scrubbing between her tender cheek and the pillow? Besides, they were always sneering at the Montresors, who were of an excellent family, and connected, on the father’s side, with an Irish Viscount. Miss Harriet and Miss Jane Barber, however, held such trifles in small account, and were always sneering at dignities which Mrs. B. believed they envied in their very hearts.
Mr. Lamb ventured to call her attention to what he was pleased to term a very troublesome feature in the case—namely, a series of letters, or notes containing declarations of the most passionate affection, which had been found by Mr. Barber in his wife’s writing-desk, and appropriated by that unmanly ruffian.
Mrs. Barber explained.
When she and her husband were staying at Brussels, Augustus had gone into society which had caused her great uneasiness. In point of fact she was convinced that he had fallen into the hands of a pack of gamblers. For a long time the poor wife had resisted his earnest solicitations to receive these men; but, at length, overcome by his importuity, she had consented. The most noticeable man amongst them was a Comte Alexis de Cubillard. “His appearance was well enough,” Mrs. B. observed, “in fact, rather good-looking than otherwise, but those foreign good looks she detested.” He was a notorious gambler, and the most noted pistol-shot in Brussels. He soon began to persecute her with his odious attentions; but as she would not listen to him—he wrote to her;—wrote repeatedly. If she showed these letters to her husband—there might be a duel, and Augustus might be consigned to a bloody grave on her account. If she destroyed them, and it ever came to light afterwards that such letters had been in her possession, it might be supposed that they contained matter which they had not contained. What was she to do? If Mr. Barber could have shown letters of hers to Count Alexis, it would have been another thing.
“Excellently reasoned, Mrs. Barber,” said Dr. Dodge, full of admiration; “one would really suppose you had been brought up in the Commons. The Count’s letters are only evidence against himself. You are quite sure there are no letters of yours which the other side might spring upon us?”
“Quite!” said the lady, with a smile of seraphic innocence.
“Very well. I don’t think there’s anything more to say,” said Lamb. “With your permission, Mrs. Barber, Dr. Dodge and I will go carefully through the evidence in a professional way when I have had the honour of conducting you to your carriage. Mind, to-morrow, at half-past ten punctually—punctually, Mrs. Barber!”
“Will Mr. Barber be there?” said the lady.
“Oh, certainly!” replied Lamb.
“I will take care and be punctual!” said the injured angel, as she glided out of the room, with a sweeping smile at Dr. Dodge and myself, and left us standing there full of sorrow and sympathy for her and abhorrence for each other. Gamma.