The Women of Eden (60 page)

A polite laugh from Delane's solicitors was a nice reward for his humor. But Andrew Rhoades did not share that humor. Withdrawing a handkerchief and applying it to the palms of his hands, he stepped back toward the table, as though to align himself with his silent cHent. "Does that mean, milord, that a public figure has no recourse to—"

"It simply means, Mr. Rhoades, that a public figure is just that, available to the public and highly visible."

He saw Eden lean forward and summon Andrew Rhoades back to the table. The whispered exchange was brief. When it was completed Rhoades looked like a man who had suffered a fatal blow.

"Milord," he commenced, the white handkerchief in his left hand balled tightly inside his fist, "may I respectfully point out that my client's major contention is that this particular journalist is anonymous."

Well, by Judds, that small point did escape me. Sir Henry drew back the newsprint and studied the name at the bottom of the page. "There is a name here, Mr. Rhoades," he protested.

"A false one, milord, a coward who has taken refuge behind the protective shield of a respected newspaper and, from that secure point of concealment, is thus free to say anything he wishes about anyone, relieved of the possibility of ever having to face those whom he most grievously offends."

Sir Henry studied the name. It was a curious one. "Lord Ripples." Well, this changed the complexion of things a bit, offended his sense of justice entirely. Full disclosures, in his professional opinion, meant full disclosures for all.

"Is this true?" he demanded of the table on his left

Poor Delane! Of course it was trae. His face revealed everything. Yet one of his sohcitors stood and announced with impressive calm, "We prefer not to answer any questions, milord, until both sides have had a chance to present their cases."

"Fair enough," Sir Henry agreed, "though I assure you the question will be asked again."

"And we are prepared to answer at the proper time, milord."

Sir Henry nodded, impressed. How smooth and professional they were compared to the zoo on his right. The young Indian was whispering continuously into Mr. Eden's ear.

"Well, Mr. Rhoades?" Sir Henry smiled.

Growing more distracted by the moment, Rhoades looked as though he were incapable of saying anything. Finally words evolved out of his confusion.

"Just this, milord," he murmured. "We feel that it is unfair for one man to be a target for another. And again let me remind you it is not the words or the circumstances under which they were written that we are challenging. The offense, the only offense, lies in the fact of the journalist's concealment. Today we respectfully ask you to pose a single question to Mr. John Thadeus Delane. We seek only the identity of the man who hides behind the pose of Lord Ripples."

Well, he had mustered a bit of showmanship there at the end. Still, it was by and large a lackluster performance. As Andrew Rhoades was taking his seat. Sir Henry glanced toward Delane's solicitors. "Proceed," he commanded.

"Milord," one solicitor said, smiling. A young man. Sir Henry noticed, perhaps the youngest in the room v^dth the exception of the Indian. Sir Henry disliked the young on general principles. "Our defense against this vague charge is simple. I present to you the facts. In our editorial offices in Printing House Square there are eighteen editors in addition to Mr. John Thadeus Delane. There are twenty-two editorial assistants, seventeen secretaries, nine permanent columnists and a fluctuating number of volunteer contributors."

He paused to let the numbers register mth all present. His motive was clear. It required a small army to bring forth a single edition of the newspaper.

"Milord," the young man went on, "I think we can agree that it would be beyond the realistic expectations of any reasonable man to assume that Mr. John Thadeus Delane can be held solely responsible for the contents of this newspaper." His smile broadened. "Indeed

there are times when, for various reasons, Mr. Delane's professional services are needed elsewhere and during those times he does not see the proof sheets at all."

The young man was clever. Not once had he addressed the opposite table. All his comments had been directed to the bench, a flattering focus as far as Sir Henry was concerned, surely a humiliating one as far as Eden was concerned.

The young solicitor stood directly before the bench, an apologetic smile on his face. "I respectfully submit, milord, that my client is being held responsible for writings that could have been executed and approved by perhaps fifty or sixty men. So, milord," he concluded, "in essence, as I'm sure you will agree, one cannot prepare a case if there is not a legitimate charge, and it is our opinion that Mr. Delane is innocent of any wrongdoing. In fact, we are baffled as to why we have been summoned here today and, as soon as Your Lordship adjourns this hearing, we will return to our respective and long-neglected duties."

Suddenly there was movement to Sir Henry's left. The young Indian leaned up and whispered something in Eden's ear. Eden appeared to listen carefully, nodding, then he was on his feet, ignoring the bench as though he had taken over his own defense.

"You know damn well what the charge is!" he shouted across at the young solicitor who had just taken his seat next to Mr. Delane. "You know perfectly well or you wouldn't be here now."

"Mr. Eden, I beg you," Sir Henry scolded, "please sit down. Direct your questions through Mr. Rhoades, who in turn will address them to the bench. We must maintain a semblance of professionalism, even in so unorthodox an arena."

Reluctantiy and with Rhoades' assistance Eden returned to his seat, though there was a telltale flush on his face for all to see.

There was another brief whispered conference involving the three and at last Rhoades stood. "Milord, if I may rephrase the point of this hearing for the benefit of all, we are bringing no charges against Mr. Delane. We are here to seek infomation, a simple question. Who is the man behind the Lord Ripples column? We are not even questioning his right to print what he wishes. All we seek is his identity so that my client may face him directiy and answer his charges— that is all," Rhoades concluded with simple though effective weariness.

"Also, if I may respectfully point out, this is not the first Lord

Ripples column. They have been appearing irregularly for several years and, almost without fail, they have always been the cause of great agitation." His voice fell. "We find it difficult, if not impossible, to believe," Rhoades went on, "that Mr. Delane does not know the identity of the scribbler who increases the newspaper's circulation every time he picks up his pen."

By Judas, it's turning into good theater after all, complete with pathos and dramatic pauses. Well, enough. It's time for me to make sense of it all. "In my opinion, the matter is simple," Sir Henry pronounced, pleased to see both tables look up, as though they had not expected a decision so soon. "Mr. Delane"—he smiled apologetically—Tm afraid we must ask you for a name."

The look on Delane's face was not encouraging. All at once his self-confidence seemed to have deserted him. His young solicitor protested. "Milord, we fail to see—"

"Please sit down," Sir Henry commanded, though he never raised his voice. It was more fun to humiliate youth with the quiet dignity and authority of age.

Although it galled Sir Henry to admit it, Mr. Eden had been right. There was a name to be had here, and they knew it.

Sir Henry leaned forward, sensing that they were approaching the final act. He cleared his throat. "Having listened carefully," he began, "it is my opinion that, though the offense is a questionable one, nonetheless offense has occurred. To Mr. Eden I would like to say"—and he looked in that direction—"that I am a staunch believer in an open and free press. No shackles must be applied to these journalists in the execution of their duties, which is to inform the public fully in all matters of public concern."

He heard a premature murmur of victory coming from Delane's table. Not so quick, he silentiy warned them. The best drama was created by maintaining an equal balance of tension.

"However," he proceeded, "I also believe that a man, any man, has a right to his detractors' names. We cannot endorse anonymous journalism. We have only to look to history for disastrous precedents: the French Revolution, the Inquisition, the countiess charges of witchcraft and heresy. . . ."

He shook his head. "No, while we must give to the journalist complete and unfettered freedom, we must also insist that they exercise these freedoms in a manner devoid of intrigue and hearsay."

Now the light of hope seemed to be emanating from the table on his right What fun it was, playing with men!

"Therefore," he concluded, "and with all due respect, I request that Mr. John Thadeus Delane stand and answer one direct question which I will address to him from the bench."

With an air of sympathy he watched as one last hurried conf^-ence took place at the table on his right, though nothing came of it. The sohcitors shook their heads at Delane's insistent questions. Apparently within the letter of the law there was nothing more to be done.

Thus it was that at last Mr. Delane bowed his head, then slowly pushed back from the table, rising wearily, a good man brought low by a scheming, vengeful bastard.

Hardening himself for the performance of his duty. Sir Henry sat erect in his chair and posed one simple question: "It is the request of this bench, Mr. Delane, that with clarity and truthfulness you reveal to all parties present the full name of the Englishman who writes under the pseudonym of Lord Ripples."

The request had been simply phrased and Mr. Delane was a man of keen intelligence. Then why the faltering look on his face? Why was he gaping toward the bench as though Sir Henry had addressed him in a foreign language?

"Come now, Mr. Delane," Sir Henry scolded. "Speak up!"

"Would you—" Delane began, and stopped. "Would you be so good as to repeat the question?"

Sir Henry heard the impatient murmuring coming from Eden's table and found himsdf in pained agreement. The man did appear to be stalling.

"I will be happy to repeat the question, Mr. Delane, but this time I must warn you. You must deliver yourself of a response. And further, let me warn you that you are imder oath and must in all respects speak the truth. Is that clear?"

"Perfectiy, Sir Henry."

"Then it is the request of this bench," Sir Henry repeated, "that with clarity and truthfulness you reveal to all parties present the full name of the Englishman who writes under the pseudonym of Lord Ripples."

There! He could not make it any clearer, though Delane's face seemed expressionless.

By contrast, the participants on his right were scarcely able to con-

tain their anticipation. A glance in that direction revealed Eden to be on the edge of his chair. The young Indian had drawn closer, the strain clear on his dark features. Even Rhoades seemed to have stirred himself out of his lethargy and appeared to be squinting toward the opposite table, as though he were having difficulty hearing what was being said.

But nothing was being said. "Mr. Delane, will you speak, or will you force me to bring contempt—"

"No, no, Sir Henry," Delane muttered. He lifted his head and in a voice remarkable for its resonance said, "With all respect and sincere apology. Sir Henry, Fm afraid that I am unable to identify the Englishman who writes under the name of Lord Ripples."

There was sharp movement to Sir Henry's right, Eden on his feet, his face flushed with outrage. Sir Henry saw Rhoades place a restraining hand on his client's arm.

"Let me remind you again, Mr. Delane," Sir Henry said sternly, "you are bound to tell the truth, both by the tradition of the law as well as your honor as a gentleman."

Delane nodded. "I am aware of this. Sir Henry, and I can only repeat myself. I do not know and therefore cannot reveal the name of the—Englishman who writes as Lord Ripples."

"That's a lie!" The shouted accusation came from Eden, who was pushing his way through the clutter of chairs about the table, his face flushed with rage, ignoring the restraining hand of Andrew Rhoades.

"That's a lie!" he shouted again, "and Delane knows it, as does everyone in this room." As his fury increased, so did his steps and, though Sir Henry couldn't believe what he was seeing, he saw the deranged man lunge toward Delane, hands extended.

What happened next wasn't quite clear, for it happened so fast and was so lacking in civility that Sir Henry could merely gape, as though he were watching the slow-motion movement of a nightmare. He saw Delane's young solicitor step forward, as though to come between his client and the rampaging Eden, and in the next minute Sir Henry saw Eden draw back his fist and deliver a pistonlike blow to the side of that youthful face. The force of the blow sent the young man spinning backward into his colleagues, rendering them all useless as they struggled for balance, and for one terrifying moment there appeared to be absolutely nothing between Eden and the ob-

jeot of his rage, who continued to stand erect as Eden leveled a barrage of obscenity at him.

As the angry, crude voice rose about him, Sir Henry struggled to his feet. "Stop it!" he shouted. "I command you to—"

But at that moment he saw Eden lunge across the table toward the curiously placid Delane and, if it hadn't been for the rapid intervention of Andrew Rhoades and the Indian who moved swiftly up behind Eden and pinned his arms behind him, Mr. Delane would have received a blow that he most likely would have remembered all his life.

"Enough!" Sir Henry shouted, and belatedly realized that he'd taken no steps to provide this hearing with guards. Yet who would have thought that it would come to this?

"Get him out!" Sir Henry commanded Rhoades and the Indian. "Get him out before he commits an offense that will be truly worthy of a criminal suit."

He might have said more, but his voice was lost in the fury and outrage of Eden, who was literally being dragged from the chambers by Rhoades and the Indian, the intensity of the struggle reflected in their faces as both, allied now for the first time in the morning, dedicated themselves to the task of saving Mr. Eden from himself.