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IX
And then came the small bald announcement in all the papers.
Mrs. Ferrier has had a slight nervous breakdown. She has gone to Scotland to recuperate.
Conjectures, rumours—positive information that Mrs. Ferrier was not in Scotland, had never
been to Scotland.
Stories, scandalous stories, of where Mrs. Ferrier really was. . . .
And again, people talking.
“I tell you Andy saw her. At that frightful place! She was drunk or doped and with an awful
Argentine gigolo—Ramon. You know!”
More talking.
Mrs. Ferrier had gone off with an Argentine dancer. She had been seen in Paris, doped. She
had been taking drugs for years. She drank like a fish.
Slowly the righteous mind of England, at first unbelieving, had hardened against Mrs. Ferrier.
Seemed as though there must be something in it! That wasn’t the sort of woman to be the Prime
Minister’s wife. “A Jezebel, that’s what she is, nothing better than a Jezebel!”
And then came the camera records.
Mrs. Ferrier, photographed in Paris—lying back in a night club, her arm twined familiarly
over the shoulder of a dark, olive-skinned vicious-looking young man.
Other snapshots—half-naked on a beach—her head on the lounge lizard’s shoulder.
And underneath:
“Mrs. Ferrier has a good time . . .”
Two days later an action for libel was brought against the X-ray News.
X
The case for the prosecution was opened by Sir Mortimer Inglewood, K.C. He was dignified and
full of righteous indignation. Mrs. Ferrier was the victim of an infamous plot—a plot only to be
equalled by the famous case of the Queen’s Necklace familiar to readers of Alexandre Dumas.
That plot had been engineered to lower Queen Marie Antoinette in the eyes of the populace. This
plot, also, had been engineered to discredit a noble and virtuous lady who was in this country in
the position of Cæsar’s wife. Sir Mortimer spoke with bitter disparagement of Fascists and
Communists both of whom sought to undermine Democracy by every unfair machination known.
He then proceeded to call
witnesses.
The first was the Bishop of Northumbria.
Dr. Henderson, the Bishop of Northumbria was one of the best-known figures in the English
church, a man of great saintliness and integrity of character. He was broadminded, tolerant, and a
fine preacher. He was loved and revered by all who knew him.
He went into the box and swore that between the dates mentioned Mrs. Edward Ferrier had
been staying in the Palace with himself and his wife. Worn out by her activities in good works, she
had been recommended a thorough rest. Her visit had been kept a secret so as to obviate any worry
from the Press.
An eminent doctor followed the Bishop and deposed to having ordered Mrs. Ferrier rest and
complete absence from worry.
A local general practitioner gave evidence to the effect that he had attended Mrs. Ferrier at
the Palace.
The next witness called was Thelma Andersen.
A thrill went round the Court when she entered the witness-box. Everyone realized at once
what a strong resemblance the woman bore to Mrs. Edward Ferrier.
“Your name is Thelma Andersen?”
“Yes.”
“You are a Danish subject?”
“Yes. Copenhagen is my home.”
“And you formerly worked at a café there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please tell us in your own words what happened on the 18th March last.”
“There is a gentleman who comes to my table there—an English gentleman. He tells me he
works for an English paper—the X-ray News.”
“You are sure he mentioned that name—X-ray News?”
“Yes, I am sure—because, you see, I think at first it must be a medical paper. But no, it seems
not so. Then he tells me there is an English film actress who wants to find a ‘stand-in,’ and that I
am just the type. I do not go to the pictures much, and I do not recognize the name he says, but he
tells me, yes, she is very famous, and that she has not been well and so she wants someone to
appear as her in public places, and for that she will pay very much money.”
“How much money did this gentleman offer you?”
“Five hundred pounds in English money. I do not at first believe—I think it is some trick, but
he pays me at once half the money. So then, I give in my notice where I work.”
The tale went on. She had been taken to Paris, supplied with smart clothes, and had been
provided with an “escort.” “A very nice Argentinian gentleman—very respectful, very polite.”
It was clear that the woman had thoroughly enjoyed herself. She had flown over to London
and had been taken there to certain “nightclubs” by her olive-skinned cavalier. She had been
photographed in Paris with him. Some of the places to which she had gone were not, she admitted,
quite nice . . . Indeed, they were not respectable! And some of the photographs taken, they too,
had not been very nice. But these things, they had told her, were necessary for “advertisement”—
and Señor Ramon himself had always been most respectful.
In answer to questioning she declared that the name of Mrs. Ferrier had never been
mentioned and that she had had no idea that it was that lady she was supposed to be
understudying. She had meant no harm. She identified certain photographs which were shown to
her as having been taken of her in Paris and on the Riviera.
There was the hallmark of absolute honesty about Thelma Andersen. She was quite clearly a
pleasant, but slightly stupid woman. Her distress at the whole thing, now that she understood it,
was patent to everyone.
The defence was unconvincing. A frenzied denial of having had any dealings with the woman
Andersen. The photos in question had been brought to the London office and had been believed to
be genuine. Sir Mortimer’s closing speech roused enthusiasm. He described the whole thing as a
dastardly political plot, formed to discredit the Prime Minister and his wife. All sympathy would
be extended to the unfortunate Mrs. Ferrier.
The verdict, a foregone conclusion, was given amidst unparalleled scenes. Damages were
assessed at an enormous figure. As Mrs. Ferrier and her husband and father left the court they
were greeted by the appreciative roars of a vast crowd.
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