Volume Three—Chapter Five.
Before the Juge de Paix.
Following the Chef, on her arrival at the office, Miss Kingscott found Monsieur le Juge de Paix to be an oldish man, with sharp striking features, his nose having an unfair advantage over the others; and his skin, tightly drawn over the face, was of that saffron hue which adapts itself to the complexion of most Frenchmen, and Messieurs les Espagnols as well, after they have entered their eighth lustrum. He was seated in his official chamber, surrounded with all the majesty of the law, as suited his elevated position. A clerk occupied a lower desk in the same room, and the majestic demeanour of his superior seemed reflected, although in an inferior degree, on him.
Dèchemal and Auguste, the Chefs aides, were both there. So also was the Mère Cliquelle and her husband, appearing terribly frightened, and imagining that they were going to be guillotined at the least. A bust of Napoleon the Third looked down from a niche in the wall, facing the judge, sternly on all, giving an air of dignity to the whole proceedings. The judge was taking notes, his clerk following suit; the mouchards contemplating the impassable physiognomy of the “Man of Destiny;” the Mère Cliquelle and her small better-half awaiting their turn for examination in the background. There was no crowd, no troops of friends and spectators and idlers, such as you would see in a disorderly English court-room; no, they manage these things very differently in France. There were only those persons present who were absolutely necessary for conducting the enquiry; all was silent and quiet, although the machinery of the law Gallic was in rapid motion.
The wheels of justice run in greased grooves on the other side of the Channel.
The arrival of the Chef and his important witness, Miss Kingscott, accelerated movements.
The governess deposed, on oath, as follows:—That on the previous day she had crossed over from Southampton, Angleterre, to Havre, par la vapeur; her object was to see a certain Monsieur Anglais, by name Allynne Markworth (the judge had some difficulty in arriving at the exact etymology of the name, being inclined more than persistently to call it “Makervorts;” so Miss Kingscott had to spell it succinctly, and afterwards write it down for the correct information of the clerk). This gentleman lived, when at Havre, at the house Numéro 7, Rue Montmartre; he had lived there for the last three months, she believed, with his wife—that is a lady whom he had married in England, after abducting her from her home; it was not yet settled whether she was legally his wife or not—there was a law-suit, or procès civil, at present pending in England on the subject. She (Miss Kingscott) knew this lady—Markworth’s wife—very well; she had, indeed, been her gouvernante at her mother’s house for some months; she had reason to know her, she should think, and would not have any difficulty in recognising her. Her name was Susan Hartshorne. This Susan Hartshorne came from the département de Sussex, au sud de l’Angleterre; her mother was une veuve, and a large propriétaire; her address was The Poplars, Sussex, England (direction given by the judge, and note taken by clerk to forward information to said address); she (Miss Kingscott) had crossed in the boat, as she had said, yesterday, and arrived at Havre about mid-day. Perhaps it was before that time, she could not be certain, and, at all events, it did not matter. (Witness was here cautioned by the judge not to make any irrelevant observations. Nothing was too insignificant to be taken note of; the eye of justice was wide, and comprehended everything in its vision.) Markworth probably came over in the same boat with her.
“Did Mademoiselle see ce Monsieur là on board?”