There was a judge with a full-bottomed wig, a scarlet and ermine
vesture, there was a jury of prosperous shopkeepers, retired half
pay officers, a hotelkeeper or two, a journalist, an architect, and
a builder. A very celebrated King's Counsel prosecuted--the Cabinet
thus said to the Racing World "We've done _all_ we can"--and Vivie
defended herself with the aid of a clever solicitor whom Bertie
Adams had found for her.
From the very moment of her arrest, Bertie Adams had refused--even
though they took away his salary--to think of anything but Vivie's
trial and how she might issue from it triumphant. He must have lost
a stone in weight. He was ready to give evidence himself, though he
was really quite unconcerned with the offences for which Vivie was
on trial; prepared to swear to anything; to swear he arranged the
conflagrations; that Miss Warren had really been in London when
witness had seen her purchasing explosives at Newmarket (both
stories were equally untrue). Bertie Adams only asked to be allowed
to perjure himself to the tune of Five Years' penal servitude if
that would set Vivie free. Yet at a word or a look from her he
became manageable.
The Attorney General of course began something like this. "I am
very anxious to impress on you," he said, addressing the jury, "that
from the moment we begin to deal with the facts of this case, all
questions of whether a woman is entitled to the Parliamentary
franchise, whether she should have the same right of franchise as a
man are matters which in no sense are involved in the trial of this
issue.
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