AN ORIGINAL PLOY
Chapter 2 The Greatest Barrister of His Day
Well, That's a New One
"Sir Edward Carson is going to defend Anna?!"
It was tea time, the day after Henry Talbot's visit, and Robert, Cora, Edith, and Mary were gathered in the library. In Mary's hands was the telegram she had just opened and read.
Carson has agreed to consider. London the 19th? Call for details. Henry Talbot.
"Lord Carson, Baron of Duncairn," Robert corrected Edith. "And he won't be defending Anna. He can't. He's a member of the Lords of Appeal in Ordinary. He's only going to consult." He paused breathlessly. "I can't believe it."
Mary glanced from her father to her mother. "I know nothing about him. Do you?"
Cora shook her head. "No. Robert?"
But it was Edith who responded. "He's the most famous barrister in Britain. Or, was."
"And what would you know about him?" Mary asked testily, annoyed by Edith's manner.
"A lot more than you do, I imagine."
"He's not exactly a household name," Mary said irritably.
"But he is."
Robert and Cora exchanged looks. Too often they were spectators in the ongoing battles between their daughters. "But what can this Lord Carson do for Anna?" Cora asked, attempting to re-direct the conversation.
Mary was diverted. "Mr. Talbot seemed to think that a legal opinion, even an informal one, from Lord Carson will put an end to Inspector Vyner's nuisance raids on Anna. I'm not really sure how that might work."
"Mr. Talbot? This is Henry Talbot, who we met at Brancaster Castle?" Edith said.
"Yes. When we were dancing, I told him about Anna and he came yesterday to suggest an intervention by Lord Carson. Apparently, Mr. Talbot's father and Lord Carson are friends or something."
"Well, that's an original ploy," Edith said.
"What are you talking about?" Mary demanded crossly, never at her best when Edith had the upper hand.
"I've heard that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. But I wasn't aware that the way to a woman's heart was through the legal defence of her maid."
Mary hissed in exasperation and got to her feet. "I'm going to tell Anna."
Anna's Response
It was an odd time of day for Lady Mary to ring, two hours before the gong was to be rung. But Anna answered such summaries when they came.
"How may I help you, my lady?" Anna asked, looking around the bedroom. She expected Lady Mary to have found a seam that needed mending or a shoe that needed brushing. And then she realized that Mary seemed excited about something, barely able to contain herself. Although Mary's whole demeanour was positive, Anna was wary. "What is it?"
"Anna, I've had some news."
Anna allowed herself to be swept along by Lady Mary's mood. "Has His Lordship heard from Mr. Bates, my lady?" Anna appreciated her husband's efforts to liberate her from prison, even with a lie. But he had been only half successful. She had been released, but the charge of murder still shadowed her existence and the lie had required Mr. Bates to flee the jurisdiction in order to remain free himself. Anna was grateful for even her half-liberty, but she would almost rather have her husband's immediate support, even through prison bars, than to be free and parted from him so completely.
Lady Mary's elation diminished sharply. "No," she admitted ruefully. "I'm sorry Anna. I didn't mean to raise your hopes in that way. This news, it's about you."
Anna deflated. John's return was the only development in which she could see an improvement in circumstances. Her own situation she thought beyond help. "Oh?"
"Yes. Anna, Lord Edward Carson has agreed to look at the case against you."
This news fell flat and Mary hastened to explain.
"He's a famous lawyer and now he's a judge. And he wants to talk to you."
It was a bewildering announcement. Anna floundered. "Why would he want to do that, my lady?"
"I told you about meeting Henry Talbot at Brancaster Castle."
Anna nodded. She was sensitive to Lady Mary's impressions and, despite a lot of bluster about how the man had pushed in on the shoot, Mary had clearly been enamoured of him. But mention of him in this context only bemused Anna all the more.
"Well, I told Mr. Talbot about you. We'd just heard that a trial date was set and we were, all of us, discouraged about it. Mr. Talbot asked the cause. On the basis of what I told him about the evidence against you, Mr. Talbot thought a consultation with a proper legal authority might make a difference, and Lord Carson is a friend of his family's."
It was clear that Lady Mary thought such a development would have a profound impact on Anna's circumstances, but Anna herself still could not see it. "I don't…."
"Anna, at present and for months past, you have been subject to an almost frivolous investigation by a perversely single-minded and wrong Scotland Yard man. He has been willing you to confess to a crime you did not commit, rather than go out and do the work involved in finding the actual killer. A word from Lord Carson will put an end to it."
"But … how?"
This seemed to catch Lady Mary unawares. She paused and then the elation that had consumed her from the moment Anna stepped into the room dissipated somewhat. "Well, I don't really know. But Mr. Talbot seemed to think that a word from Carson, even very informally stated, will oblige Scotland Yard either to take the case to court or dismiss it altogether."
"And what if it is the former?" Anna asked stiffly, looking at Lady Mary, but not really seeing her.
"But it won't be!" Lady Mary declared. "Anna, the case is stalled is because they've got nothing and the only reason they're sticking to it at all is because Inspector Vyner won't admit he's wrong. Someone like Lord Carson can force the decision." She paused. "So … will you meet him?"
"Yes, of course." Anna spoke affirmatively, but she still doubted. "I wish Mr. Bates were here, my lady."
Lady Mary's countenance softened. "Of course you do. Anna, if this goes well, and it will, Bates will be home by Christmas. And that is no fatuous 1914 war pledge, either."
To Have Friends Like That
Barrow, who had been upstairs serving the tea, broke the news in the servants' hall.
"Blimey!" he added. "Sir Edward Carson."
"What's this?" Mr. Carson, who had not heard Barrow's announcement, stepped into the room in time to hear his surname.
"Apparently Sir Edward Carson has been asked to intervene in the case against Anna," Mrs. Hughes told him.
"What?"
"Is he any relation to you, Mr. Carson?" Molesley asked. The servants were in that lull between upstairs tea and the push for dinner. The assembled company now included Barrow, Molesley, Mr. Carson, and Mrs. Hughes, as well as Mrs. Patmore, Miss Baxter, and Daisy. Anna had gone upstairs in answer to Lady Mary's bell.
"No. But I would be proud to call him a kinsman. Even if he is an Irishman."*
"An Irishman who raised an army to challenge an Act of the British Parliament," Mrs. Hughes remarked, frowning. No matter what he was, she had no sympathy for that and was surprised Mr. Carson did.
"In defense of Protestantism and the unity of the kingdom," Mr. Carson responded drily. "I thought we were done with controversy over Ireland when Mr. Branson moved upstairs."
"Who is he?" Daisy interjected. "Why's it matter?"
"He's only the greatest barrister of our day," Molesley said emphatically. "He single-handedly changed how witnesses are dealt with in court. And his victories have broadened the application of British justice." That Molesley should be so informed surprised no one, but it didn't' impress them either. Although his awareness of history and politics was extensive, such knowledge had little application in service.
"I doubt Mr. Oscar Wilde would agree with you there," Barrow said wryly, rattling his tea cup.
"Mr. Oscar Wilde thought that because he wrote three, four brilliant comedic plays, that he was above British justice," Mr. Carson countered firmly. "Lord Carson showed him differently."
Mrs. Hughes was distracted. She squinted at the butler. "Did you just compliment Oscar Wilde?"
Mr. Carson harrumphed and abandoned the scene without securing the cup of tea the want of which had brought him to the servants' hall in the first place.
"This is the Carson who put the chocolate people in their place," Mrs. Patmore put in.
"The what?" Almost everyone looked her way.
"What would you know about that?" Barrow said sceptically.
"You think I don't read the papers?" Mrs. Patmore charged belligerently. She then addressed herself to the rest of them. "A chocolate company – Cadbury's – sued a newspaper for saying they got their cocoa from plantations that used slave labour."
"But they're British. And there is no slavery," Daisy said promptly. "Britain abolished it in 1833."
"King Leopold must have missed that directive," Barrow murmured.
"I'm glad to know you've been studying your history, Daisy," Mrs. Hughes remarked, "but Britain could only abolish slavery in the British Empire. There's quite a lot of world outside of that and slavery exists in places even now."
"Cadbury's makes wonderful chocolate," Miss Baxter remarked. "Finish your story, Mrs. Patmore."
The cook shrugged. "Not much to tell. A newspaper reported that the cocoa came from slave plantations, Cadbury sued for damages, and Sir Edward Carson defended newspaper."
"And?" Barrow prompted her. "Don't leave us in suspense."
"The Cadburys won contemptuous damages against the Standard," Molesley said.
"Then, this Mr. Carson lost," Daisy said, looking somewhat confused.
"Well, the Cadburys had recognized the problem and were changing their practices, as were the other chocolate companies," Molesley went on. "So, while the story was no longer true, it had been. And the damages to be paid to them were set at one farthing."
This confused Daisy all the more. "But … that's nothing. You can't buy a peppermint with a farthing?"
"That was the point, wasn't it?" Mrs. Patmore said. "Sir Edward made them look foolish for protesting what had been the truth and they were rewarded for their pains with a contemptuous judgment – a farthing. Worse than nothing."
This didn't clear anything up for Daisy. "The law is strange."
"You can say that again," Barrow said with feeling.
There were steps in the passage and Anna came into the servants' hall and stopped abruptly, surprised to see them all gathered about as they were.
"So, what did you do to deserve the attention of Sir Edward Carson?" Barrow demanded before she had time to catch her breath.
"What do you know of it?" she asked, puzzled.
"Mr. Barrow served the tea," Mrs. Hughes told her. "They were talking about it upstairs." Although Mrs. Hughes spoke in her usual measured tones, it was clear that she was curious as everyone else as to the answer to Barrow's question.
Anna had hardly had time to digest it herself. "It was Lady Mary's idea. A friend of hers suggested Lord Carson might have an opinion."
"I'd like to have friends like that," Barrow quipped.
"Why?" Mrs. Hughes said, glancing his way. "What have you done?"
Barrow only smirked and patted his pockets looking for cigarette and matches.
"Let's leave Anna alone," Mrs. Hughes went on.
Mrs. Patmore ignored this directive. "Has something happened in your case, then?" she asked.
"No. Nothing."
It appeared that Anna was not going to shed any more light on the situation and she confirmed this by withdrawing to the passage once more. Mrs. Hughes followed her. Anna didn't wait for further questions.
"Lady Mary thinks, somehow, that just talking to this lawyer – judge – will end things."
"But you're not sure."
Anna shrugged. "I don't even know how this began, Mrs. Hughes. How can I possibly imagine how it will end?"
Anna's despondent air was, to Mrs. Hughes's mind, wholly justified. The death of Mr. Green had taken up far too much time and had weighed unjustly on Anna and Mr. Bates far too long. "If it might help, then it's worth trying, isn't it?"
But Anna shifted uneasily. "I don't like being … at the centre of things. I feel nervous when too much is made of some fragment."
"It's no wonder, when that would be an apt description of all the evidence against you."
"I worry that it will all go against me."
Mrs. Hughes put a reassuring hand on her arm. "Well, some remedies have greater promise than others. I don't, as a rule, find myself on the same page as Lady Mary. But when it comes to the law in England, I understand there are few more informed than Sir Edward Carson."
The Irishman in the Room
"Why is the most expensive barrister in England troubling himself with the travails of a lady's maid?" Violet had come for dinner and brought her opinions with her.
"He isn't a barrister anymore," Robert said. "And he's only consulting."
"And he's acted without compensation before, too – in the Archer-Shee case," Edith put in.
"Well, I hope he charged the Marquess of Queensberry a pretty penny for putting Mr. Wilde in his place," Violet sniffed. She tried to avoid the vulgar dailies, and their even more vulgar stories, and this had been easier in the 1890s than it was now in the 1920s. But her efforts had been futile against the popular frenzy over Oscar Wilde's controversial trials.
"Queensberry was a rat in so many ways it's almost impossible to count them," Robert agreed.
"His wife managed to get a divorce from him in 1887, and if you knew what it took to accomplish that then, and the social and economic costs she paid for it, you'd have a measure of the man's disagreeableness," Cora added.
"But the law doesn't discriminate on the basis of personality," Robert went on. "The fact is, if you speak the truth about someone – as Douglas did of Wilde – then it isn't libel."**
Edith frowned. "I think the laws on libel are not quite as straightforward as that. And as for why Lord Carson is getting involved, Granny, it's really because Henry Talbot wants to win Mary's favour."
"I can think of worse reasons," Cora said, with a hopeful glance in Mary's direction.
Edith was enjoying teasing Mary. She so seldom had such good material. But she was too committed to precision to leave it at that. "In his legal career, Lord Carson took several cases on principle."
"How do you know all this?" Mary interrupted peremptorily.
Edith favoured her with a disdainful look. "I've been reading the newspapers since I learned to read."
"Well, you know what I think of principles," Violet huffed.
"Yes. But sometimes they can be useful," Edith said. "If Scotland Yard is overstepping its authority, engaging in harassment rather than justifiable process, that might be enough to draw Carson. Although he's clearly a good friend of the Talbots."
"The Talbots?"
"Henry Talbot," Mary interceded, repeating the name. "I met him at Brancaster Castle."
A thoughtful look descended on Violet. "That would be Lady Shackleton's nephew!"
Mary nodded. "I've no idea, although he did mention an aunt in Yorkshire."
"It's him. And why would he impose on a family friend for you?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Cora said gently. "He's taken to Mary."
"And sending her flowers wouldn't have been expression enough of his favour?"
Aggravated by the direction of this conversation, Mary turned to the end of the table to her staunch ally. "Tom? Would you like to speak up on Henry Talbot's behalf? You liked him well enough."
Tom had been quiet from the beginning of the meal and the beginning of the conversation about Mr. Talbot's intervention in affairs at Downton. Indeed, he was not so much quiet as silent and his countenance, usually genial, was grave.
"Henry Talbot I liked. But I'll not stay under the same roof as Carson. Not that Carson."
The women all looked at him in bewilderment.
Robert's eyes fell to the plate before him and he muttered, "Ireland."
"Yes, Ireland." Tom's voice took on a strident tone and he stared boldly round at them. "That Carson- " he made the distinction because Downton's Carson was moving discreetly on the peripheries of the table, wine carafe in hand, " – is a traitor to his country."
Without looking up, and with an air of rushing in where angels feared to tread, Robert said, "I understand he believes Britain to be his country."
"Yes. And he's wrong. And he betrayed that country, too, by raising an army to resist the introduction of Home Rule after it had been passed by the British Parliament. He led the Unionists in Parliament and he's presided over the partition of the Irish state. Ulster is his creation."
Everyone in the room, family and servants, understood the magnitude of the matter for Tom and no one crossed him. Whatever each might think of the Irish troubles, all acknowledged that Tom's personal interest superceded their own intellectual convictions.
Tom made a visible effort to rein in the emotion stirred by the very mention of republican Ireland's inveterate foe. "I understand your enthusiasm to have him play a role in Anna's defense. He was a good barrister who ought to have stuck to the practice of the law. But I want nothing to do with him."
"He lives in Kent and he'll meet with Anna in London," Mary said. "And I doubt our paths will ever cross again."
Tom nodded. "I'm glad to hear it."
Cora and Robert exchanged looks. "So are we," Cora murmured.
* Author's Note: In truth, I rather doubt that Mr. Carson would say this, EVEN though I think he would sympathize with Edward Carson's position on Ireland. But the Irish part and the armed force ... too much for our Mr. Carson.
** Author's Note: John Sholto Douglas was the 9th Marquess of Queensberry, the defendant in Wilde v. Queensberry, and quite as awful as implied here. Edith has a better grasp on the reality of libel laws than does Robert. The truthfulness of a public statement was not always a solid defense against a charge of libel.