Authors: Yelena Kopylova
down hard on her lip, and he said gently, ”Try not to think about it. You can’t do anything, none
of us can do anything, it’s out of our hands.”
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Mr Justice Hazeldean looked over the courtroom. He wished he could keep his mind on the case
in hand but his whole body seemed to be bursting with relief, he could even call it joy, so much
so that only his long training prevented his face from slipping into a broad smile, it even
prevented him from getting up and dashing home and putting his arms around his wife because
she would still be crying with relief.
Yesterday they had been childless, they had been childless since they were informed their only
son was missing, presumed dead. Now this very day, this very morning they had received news
that he was a prisoner-of-war. He was wounded when his plane crashed and had been in hospital
since. They didn’t know the extent of his wounds, but he was alive.
He made his mind return to the case proceeding. Old Benbow was in good form this morning. He
was doing his prosecution with passion; he hoped for the prisoner’s sake that Collins was as
good with his defence. This case wasn’t plain sailing, however, it wasn’t just bigamy; there was
the reason why this man had left his wife in the first place. Nasty business that. And now the
wife - she was a little thing, the kind that Margaret called snipey - Oh dear, dear. She had started quietly enough, mouse-like in fact, but now she was haranguing her husband, in spite of Mr
Benbow’s efforts to calm her down. . . . What was her name ? Mason. Mrs Mason. Well, she was
showing her true colours. H’m. H’m. One could see why it would be somewhat difficult to live
with a little termagant like her. . . . The defence was protesting. He conceded their protest. That
bit was enlightening.
He now looked towards the prisoner in the dock. He certainly had a way with women, or so it
seemed, did that big fellow. If what his legal wife had just tried to bring out was true, he was
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now living with his illegal wife’s sister. Well, well! quite^a list: a mistress, a wife, an illegal
wife, another mistress. That is what was known, there might be a lot still unknown. He was
indeed a-fellow. Yet looking at him, one wouldn’t put him in the category of a Don Juan. He was
big, granted, and good-looking in a way, but he had a quiet air about him. Well dressed too. He
could be taken for middle-class any day in the week, but he was a working man. He gave a little
chuckle inside. He was indeed a working man, « four or more women ! He was indeed a working
man. a hard working man.
• He wished Benbow would get that woman off the stand, he couldn’t tolerate the sound of her
voice. She was now ranting about having to support herself all these years. Oh dear me, there
j.jgjTV* was the defence popping up again. He gave a quick glance at his watch. How long
would the case take ? It was the last before lunch. Margaret was to meet him at the club. He
would like to buy her something, something big. Well, it could be worked. Harrison had a friend
who had a friend in the black market, jewellery department. He chuckled again. Why not? Why
not indeed! This was an occasion to be celebrated. He’d see him before he left the court.
Ah ! now this was interesting - he was brought back to the case again - Mr Collins was jumping
into his client’s defence from the deep end, reading a letter from the illegal wife. Well, well ! so the prisoner hadn’t wanted to marry her; he had apparently done everything in his power not to.
Well, well ! But he had proposed living with her. However, she had insisted on a ceremony. H’m.
H’m. What a lot of trouble she would have saved everybody if she hadn’t insisted on a ceremony.
And now she had written that he had been a very good husband and a wonderful father to his son.
H’m. H’m.
He looked at the prisoner again. The man had changed colour. A few minutes ago he was a pasty
white, now you could almost say he was blushing. There was feeling there; somehow one could
say that this fellow was perhaps more sinned against than sinning. He looked the kind of fellow
women wanted to mother. They always wanted to mother the big ’uns. For himself, he found that
generally most big chaps were wind and water. And yet what about Arthur? Arthur was big
enough and there was no wind or water about Arthur; no, he was a doer was Arthur. How many
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raids had he led this last year? Well, his raiding days were over now. But he wasn’t dead. No ! he
wasn’t dead. He was alive and would soon be home. The end of the war was in sight; oh yes,
well in sight. . . . Oh! the fellow was on the stand now and had changed his plea to guilty. Well,
well! But he seemed to have nothing to say for himself. Collins was working hard in his defence
pointing out the other reasons why he left his legal wife. She was a nagging woman - oh he could
believe that - lazy, and cruel to their son, the evidence of which was with the young man who
now had a defective ear. Why did Collins use such terms as defective ear ? In the language of
today it almost sounded as if the ear had gone over to the enemy. He again chuckled to himself.
Why couldn’t Collins simply say his hearing was affected ?
He was saying that the prisoner and his child had tramped the roads for several weeks and it was
mainly because he, the prisoner, wanted to make a permanent home for his son that he had taken
Mrs Maxwell’s offer. Ah! Ah! The prisoner didn’t seem to like that bit, and Collins wasn’t going
to give him the chance to speak at this stage. Dear, dear. He wished he would cut it short.
Anyway, he knew what sentence he was going to give the fellow.
Oh! So the wife was asking for maintenance, was she, while living with her cousin in North
Shields ? Oh, there she was again popping up, yelling that she was his housekeeper. Would this
man need a housekeeper in a two-roomed flat ? She was a little bitch of a woman, and proving
herself to be a liar. He had a good mind to let the fellow go free just to spite her; he couldn’t
stand snipes of women. In the prisoner’s shoes, he, too, would have walked out on one like this.
She had said she wouldn’t divorce the man, well now, if what was being hinted at now were true,
he could divorce her, couldn’t he ? Who was his solicitor ? He looked down at his notes. John
Roscommon. Ah well, Roscommon. He had his standards had Roscommon, he didn’t make many
mistakes, and he had chosen well in the defence, too. Collins had done a good job. He had shown
that fellow had a case. And yes, in a way he was a brave man for it had taken courage of a sort to
be a conscientious objector in the last war, for it had been the women one had to face then. Like
savages they had been, out for blood, and in many cases did actually draw it.
But then there was still that business at the beginning. Murder was a nasty thing, no matter how
it came about, and as that little
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snipe had said there would now have been another j£ the deceased’s family hadn’t been wiped
out in a raid. But now for the summing up. He’d have to read the fellow the Riot Act, but he’d do
it, as Margaret would say, in a low key.
Addressing the accused, he now began:
”I would say that all this has come about through you taking the line of least resistance. There are many men with nagging wives, many men who would like to walk out, but they have a sense of
their responsibility, which they pledged to both church and state when they took part in a
marriage ceremony. . . . Then there was the reason for your leaving your wife. I am sure it has
crossed your mind that that woman in question might have been alive today but for your
association with her. You could argue whether she would have been happy; that is a debatable
point, no one can justify ending a life because of unhappiness. And now we come to your
bigamous marriage. It says something for you that the woman with whom you went through this
form of marriage speaks well of you, in fact she would like to take the whole blame on herself,
and she gives you credit for refusing to marry her in a church. I suppose in your own mind you
imagined you were putting things straight, at least with the Deity. ...”
He stopped here and sent a warning glance around the court to still the tittering; then he resumed:
”It was also to your credit that you did in no way profit from your association with this woman.
She was head of a small but profitable business when you became associated with her. This
business, I understand, is still in her name and all you have received is a moderate weekly wage;
if you had been a rogue instead of just a weak man, you would, I am sure, before now have made
something more of this. You could have persuaded her, no doubt, to put the business in your
name, and failing that, in joint names, but you did none of these things. The only way that I can
see you have profited from this association is in providing a home for yourself and your son. In
the meantime you seemed to have repaid this woman with affection and kindness, so much so
that she wishes you nothing but well. I -” He now looked round the court as if he were searching
for a face; then he let his eyes rest for a second on Lena before going on, ”I take it from the
hearing that your legal wife has no wish to divorce you, in fact she seems determined not to give
you your freedom, but that, on your own saying, you will never return to
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her and on the evidence I have just heard it would seem that you av have grounds yourself for
divorce. But that is another matTr He knew he shouldn’t have put that bit in, but oh, he didn’t
ifke that woman’s face. He paused again, looked down at his notes then raising his head, looked
straight at Abel as he ended, ”I have no need to stress here that there is a war on and your
services would be better employed outside than inside a gaol, but nevertheless you have broken
the law and you could be sent to gaol for seven years, but because I feel, as I have stated, that you are a weak man rather than a bad one I sentence you to nine months’ imprisonment.”
What did the fellow say ? his lips had moved. He imagined he had said ”Thank you, sir”, and
with relief too. He was standing straight. Ah well, with good conduct he could be out in six
months, and he was the kind of fellow who would behave himself. Now to get to the club and
Margaret and see her smile the first time in weeks. That fellow didn’t know it, but if it hadn’t
been for the news about Arthur he might just have sent him down for seven years, war or no war.
Nine months. Florrie looked at her father and he, nodding at her, said, ”Aye, and he got off light.
He was damn lucky. As the old fellow said, he could have got seven years. And that wife of his,
if she’d had any say in it she would have put him away for thirty. God! there was a bitch of hell if ever there was one. No wonder he walked out on her. I would have murdered her. If she’s like
that now what was she like in the beginning. She got up the judge’s back ’cos she kept
interrupting. You could see. Aye, you could see.”
Nine months. Florrie pressed the child tightly to her before laying it down on the couch; then
going to the fireplace she put her hands on the mantelpiece and leant her head against it, and
from there she said, ”I know he forbade me to go, but do you think that he expected me to be
there after all?”
”No; don’t be so bloody soft, woman, you’d have only made things worse for him. What would it
have looked like ? He left his
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first wife for a woman, then goes and marries another, an|Tnow he’s living with her sister and her
sitting in the courtroom! Somebody would have twigged like that bitch of hell herself because
she knew all about you, she brought it out.”
”She did?” She turned quickly from the fireplace.
”Oh aye; but the judge shut her up. I’m telling you, Abel was damn lucky this morning ’cos old
Hazeldean isn’t noted for short sentences. I tell you, when I saw who was on the bench I thought
two years at least. Oh aye, I did.” He shook his head at her.
”But nine months !”
”He’ll only do six of them, and what’s six months after all. Come on, buck up. Look, I’ll get you
a drink.” As he went towards the cabinet she said softly to him, ”Dad,” and without turning
round he said, ”Aye?”
”I know you’ve got a decent flat now but . . . but would you mind staying with me for the next
week or two. I could make the couch up here for you and . . .”
”Don’t go on. I’ve got it all worked out, I’m staying till he comes out.”
”Thanks, Dad.”
Having poured out the two whiskies he brought them to the couch and, handing her one, he said,
”Sit down; I want to tell you something.”
When she had seated herself, he said, ”Go on, have a sup of that,” and as she did so he said,
”You haven’t got only to thank the judge for his leniency this mornin’, if it hadn’t been for her”
he jerked his head - ”things might have gone pretty black for ’im.”
”You mean ... ?”
”I mean Hilda.”
Florrie moved to the edge of the couch before she asked, ”Was she there ?”
”No. No, but she had sent a letter.”
”A letter?”
”Aye. The solicitor read it out. It said that she had practically forced him into the marriage and
he had been good to her. She said that he had never done her out of a penny, and he could have,