Rumpole of the Bailey (1978) s05e03 Episode Script
Rumpole and the Age of Miracles
(Congregation) # Praise him, praise him Praise him, praise him Praise with us the God of grace The Gospel according to St Matthew, chapter 16, verse 4.
"A wicked and adulterous generation "seeketh after a sign "and there shall be no sign given unto it.
" You're always looking for signs, aren't you? You're looking for miracles.
Can't you believe in the goodness of God unless he entertains you with conjuring tricks? No doubt God can perform miracles.
No doubt he can do jolly well everything! But why should he? Why should he? Look up at the sky.
A red sky tonight means a fine day tomorrow.
Isn't that enough of a miracle for you? "O, ye hypocrites," Jesus said.
"Ye can discern the face of the sky, "but can ye not discern the signs of the times?" "And I give thanks that I have been chosen.
"May I be worthy of your work "and promote the true interests of your Church.
" - Mr Rumpole.
- Morning, Henry.
- Just ticking you off, sir.
- Oh, really? What have I done now? No, no, no, no.
Mr Ballard's instructions.
Time in and out of Chambers has to be noted so he can calculate how much of our facilities each of you gentlemen uses.
What?! Soapy Sam "Bollard" wants us clocking in and out? - Where's he gone to earth? - He's in his room.
- Is he, indeed? - He said not to interrupt him.
Well, he may have to be rudely interrupted.
(Rumpole shouts) Ballard? "ever mindful of the fact that in these dark days standards must be kept up.
- "We therefore ask you, Lord" - What do you think this is, Ballard? Do you fancy yourself as the governor of some sort of high security nick? Perhaps you'd like to introduce slopping out while you sit in here and count the government issue toilet paper.
Have you dropped something? Collar stud on the floor? Don't imagine I'm going to help you look for it.
"Amen.
" Ah, Rumpole.
I was just giving thanks for a singular honour that has been done to me.
- Quite undeserved, of course.
- Well, of course.
What honour? I believe it's the first time in our long history, Rumpole, that these chambers have contained a Chancellor.
- A Chancellor? - Yes, Rumpole.
Unworthy as I am.
Well, that's the understatement of the year.
The Prime Minister must've completely lost her marbles.
You, Bollard, on the Woolsack? No, no, no.
Not the Woolsack, Rumpole.
Of course I don't aspire to Lord Chancellor yet awhile.
No, I have been chosen to the post of Worshipful Chancellor of the Diocese of Lawnchester.
I shall act, from time to time, as a judge in the ecclesiastical court.
Grand Inquisitor, eh? I'd have nothing to do with it, if I were you.
It is a post open only to communicating members of the Church of England.
I doubt very much it would be offered to you, O, thou of little faith.
- I happen to have a good deal of faith.
- Yes, in what precisely? The health-giving properties of Claret.
The presumption of innocence.
And not having to clock into Chambers in the morning! Well, well, Chancellor of the Diocese, eh? Planning to burn anyone at the stake over the weekend? Try not to be frivolous, Rumpole.
Nowadays the ecclesiastical court deals with ritual and church furnishings.
Ah, yes.
Smells and bells.
How many eagles can perch on a lectern? That sort of paraphernalia.
Don't you get a decent chance to unfrock a priest occasionally? That painful duty has not been asked of the Diocese, for at least 25 years.
Oh, you never know your luck.
(Chuckles) Go to it, Ballard.
Rip the frocks off the clergy, but leave God-fearing barristers alone! (Door closes) - (Hilda shouts) Is that you, Rumpole? - Of course not! It's the village blacksmith come to crown you Queen of the May.
(Hilda) Had a good day, have you, dear? (Rumpole) "'Dear"? She Who Must Be Obeyed calling me "Dear"? ' Can she be feeling quite well? - (Hilda) What did you say, dear? - I said no, Chambers is hell! Shh! That Soapy Sam Savonarola "Bollard" has gone clean off his chump.
I caught him praying! Probably for divine intervention to keep the electricity bills down.
- Rumpole - Isn't it odd? The more they preach Christianity, the less Christian they become.
Do be careful, Rumpole! A priest might find that extremely upsetting.
I'm sorry.
Have you taken Holy Orders? I'm trying to tell you, Rumpole, we have a visitor.
Oh? - Uncle Horace.
- It's Timmy.
Timmy Donkin.
- Er, Donkin? - You remember, Rumpole.
Poor cousin Esme's boy.
He's quite a big shot in the Cathedral.
They've made him a canon.
Was that a funny, Hilda? - Pleased to meet you.
- I expect you're dying for some tea.
Timmy had to come up on business, so he thought he'd drop in on the family.
- Oh, what family? - This family.
There's not much of us to see, really.
As a matter of fact, it was you I wanted to talk to, Uncle Horace.
- You're in trouble.
- Don't be ridiculous, Rumpole.
They've made him a canon in charge of ordinands.
Deep trouble.
What is it? Fiddling the organ fund? Pawning the candlesticks? - Choirboys? - Rumpole! Nothing like that, Uncle Horace, I promise you.
I suppose it's best described as old fashioned adultery.
Oh, well, I've done that, of course.
Not for a good many years now, unfortunately.
In the Divorce Courts, Hilda, from time to time.
I'll go and make the tea.
(Rumpole) Well, please, sit down.
(Timmy) Thank you.
(Rumpole) Now, then.
- Well, I'm a married man, Uncle Horace.
- Well, of course.
It makes it easier to commit adultery if you're married, doesn't it? Mother said Auntie Hilda had married a barrister with a sense of humour.
Ah, yes, that has been the cross that she has had to bear.
My wife Gertrude is an absolute saint, of course.
But she's not the tidiest person, and she fails to keep the children quiet.
You and Saint Gertrude are blessed with issue, are you? Two boys.
Twelve and ten.
Martin and Erasmus.
Young theologians? I'm sorry to say their games are of a military nature.
So, when I have a difficult sermon to write Say no more.
You clock into the nearest monastery for a couple of days? I might join you some time.
As a matter of fact, I usually take a room at the Saint Edithna Hotel.
It's our local Home-From-Home hotel.
I'm not a great one for monasteries.
I like to be able to ring for a pot of tea, and perhaps a round or two of hot buttered toast in the afternoon.
So you indulge yourself with a bit of hotel accommodation.
(Sighs) Perhaps it is a little vanity.
Ah, "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity," saith the preacher.
No doubt it gave them the excuse they wanted.
Gave who? My six accusers.
Pillars of respectability, or should I say whited sepulchres of my congregation.
They made a formal complaint against me to the Bishop.
What? For booking into your local Home-From-Home hotel? A bit risky, I suppose, if you're allergic to frozen vegetables and cold Claret, but hardly a criminal offence.
They say I had a woman up in my room, Uncle Horace.
They've got witnesses.
A maid says she saw me let a woman into my bedroom.
And what do you say to that evidence? I treat it with the contempt it deserves.
And does it? Deserve contempt, I mean.
They hate me in Lawnchester, because of my views on miracles.
I don't think God goes in for conjuring tricks.
You believe in a God that doesn't do conjuring tricks? Oh, yes, of course.
That must make you a bit of a rarity in the Church of England.
Was that another joke? Er yes, a sort of joke.
Uncle Horace do you appear in the Ecclesiastical Courts? Ecclesiastical? They're going to charge me with conduct unbecoming to a priest in Holy Orders.
There is not a court in heaven or earth, Tim, where Horace Rumpole is not ready and willing to appear.
On the Day of Judgement I shall probably be up on my hind legs putting a few impertinent questions to the prosecution.
Thank you.
It's absolutely disgusting.
Oh, dear.
A naughty word in the "Daily Telegraph" crossword? Even the clergy at it! Or mainly the clergy at it, from what you read in the "News of the World".
What you read in the "News of the World".
Only you take it.
Well, I have to keep up with the law reports, Hilda.
As a matter of fact, I rather took to the Reverend Timothy.
Oh, I expect you did.
No doubt you're birds of a feather.
I always had my suspicions about that young pupil you go around with.
Ms Liz Probert? Oh, Hilda! I expect she'll be helping you with Timothy's case.
If she has nothing better to do.
Staying in hotel rooms in the afternoon for a bit of piece and quiet.
I've never heard of anything so ridiculous.
I suppose you will be defending him.
You'd never go near a cathedral otherwise.
I sometimes think you'd go anywhere for a criminal.
He was tried as a criminal, too, wasn't he? - What? - The fella that started it all.
Sentenced, too, from what I remember.
Anyway, I've always thought there was something peculiar about that family.
- Jesus's family? - Do try not to be so blasphemous.
The Donkin family.
Bad blood.
No doubt came from Arthur Donkin.
Timmy's sister Wendy's the one that no one ever mentions.
She went to jail, did Wendy.
- How do you know that? - What? How do you know she went to jail if nobody mentioned it? Going to sleep now, are we? If you can, Rumpole, with your conscience.
(Sighs) (Man) The original church was built by Bishop Sartorius in the year 852, and dedicated to the blessed Saint Edithna.
Of course, you know our Saint Edithna? (Rumpole) Not personally, no.
She were a real Christian lady in the old Roman town of Lignum Castro, now known as Lawnchester.
She was accused of, er, shall we say, naughty carryings-on.
It were all lies.
What they didn't like was her trying to convert them to Christianity.
It was a trumped-up charge.
But they brought in a guilty verdict against her, see? - Probably had a bad barrister.
- So they stoned our Edithna to death.
On the sight of what is now our St Edithna Hotel, part of the well-known Home-from-Home chain in West Street.
Some say that visitors to the hotel have seen the ghost of our saint.
Others say she's only visible if you've had a good dinner.
Oh, highly comical.
A lady in a white gown a-wringing of her hands.
Her martyrdom is shown in Bishop Sartorius's chantry, if you would follow me, ladies and gentlemen.
As we pass by, you may notice the gothic mouldings carved into "When holy and devout religious men are at their beads, "'tis hard to draw them thence so sweet is zealous contemplation.
" Rumpole? What on earth are you doing here, Claude? Everyone in Chambers seems to be at prayer nowadays.
- Rumpole.
- I suppose that is prayer, is it? That curious Church of England crouch with your bottom on the edge of the pew.
You're not 100 percent committed to getting down on your knees.
What on earth are you doing here? No, I asked you first.
I drop into West Country cathedrals from time to time, just to re-charge the spiritual batteries.
As a matter of fact, I'm pursuing my career in the Ecclesiastical Courts.
- You can't do that.
- Why not? Shh.
You have to be a practising member of the Church of England.
I'm a member of the Church of England, practising at the Old Bailey.
How did you get in on the act, pray? Ballard was asked to suggest someone to prosecute for the Archdeacon.
He just happened to ask me if I were a practising member.
And here you are, practising away like mad.
It's a case that's excited a great deal of attention in Lawnchester.
I know - They're after his frock! - Shh! Ah, my clients.
Cultivate them, then, Brother Claude.
May the Lord be with you.
- Tracy my name's Rumpole.
- How are you spelling that, sir? How about R-U-M-P-O-L-E, pronounced "Marjoribanks"? What was that, sir? Can I help you, sir? - Have you a Mr Rumpole staying here? - How are you spelling that, sir? Don't persecute it, it'll have a nervous breakdown.
- I'm Horace Rumpole.
- Timothy Donkin's Uncle Horace? Not my only claim to fame.
Frank Marlin of Marlin, Marlin & Spiking, Solicitors of Lawnchester.
- We're acting for Timmy.
- My instructing solicitor.
You wish to confer? Shall we, in the lounge? No, on second thoughts, the opposition's just ordered up a fresh lot of sandwiches.
I thought Canon Donkin's house might be the place for a cosy chat? - Have you been to his house? - No, can't say I have.
That little group over there, talking to that rather superior-Iooking barrister guzzling teacake and trying to look as though he isn't - (Marlin) Our six accusers.
- Oh, indeed? You know ecclesiastical law, Mr Rumpole? Of course.
My favourite bedtime reading.
But just remind me, will you? The case against a priest has to be brought by six of his parishioners, and they have to put up the money for the trial.
Do they, indeed? They must be very keen to unfrock the Canon? - Oh, I think they are.
- Give me the cast list, just briefly.
Mr Fox-Beasley, Manager of the Nat Wessex.
Admiral Seal, retired.
Mrs Elphick, Chairman of the Bench.
(Rumpole) She looks like an advocate for hanging for unrenewed dog licences.
(Marlin) Mr Growbury, the chemist.
Bit of a lay preacher.
(Rumpole) Sermons and senna pods.
Go on.
Peter Lambert, he's our biggest estate agent, responsible for Lawnchester's re-development.
(Rumpole) How has he escaped lynching? (Marlin) And Cynthia, his wife.
She does a good deal of charitable work.
- (Rumpole) Oh, like unfrocking vicars? - I don't know if she's tried that before.
She looks as though she'd be knitting as the frock comes off.
Well, there they are, the unfriendly six.
- We have an advantage over them.
- What's that? Horace Rumpole is on the other side.
I say that in all modesty.
Right, gird up your loins, Marlin, we're off to see the Canon.
Oh, Tracy, would you have my bags put in my room when the machine's made up its mind? Right you are, Mr Marjoribanks.
(Church bells ring) (Rumpole) Another Lambert site! (Marlin) For a giant Carnation supermarket.
Isn't it a bit near the house of God? There's been a long correspondence about it in the "Herald".
And protests by the Stop Carnation Society.
We had a Bach concert in the Cathedral for the fighting fund.
- Oh? And raised what, £50? - £75.
Lambert and Carnation Stores are bound to win in the end.
They always do.
(Door opens) It's your Uncle Horace.
The one you're putting your faith in.
Gertrude Perhaps our visitors would like some tea.
Well, you know where the kettle is, don't you? (Children shouting) - I'm afraid Gertrude's tired.
- (Rumpole) Oh, I understand.
I understand why you go to a hotel room, too, to write your sermons.
Oh, yes.
- Uncle Horace, please do take a seat.
- Thank you.
(Donkin) Frank Oh, er, I'll remove the armaments.
Oh, sorry.
I think Mr Rumpole would like to discuss the evidence, what the maid actually saw.
Yes, well, I shall tell them I don't consider it any of their business.
God will be my judge, Uncle Horace.
Yes, but tomorrow Soapy Sam will be your judge, and he just can't wait to unfrock someone.
Hmm.
I don't feel called upon to answer any of their questions.
- Never? - Never.
Not even in the witness box, when you're under oath? It's all very well for your God, Tim.
According to you, he doesn't feel called on to perform any miracles.
But if that's your attitude, I'll have to pull something off a great deal trickier than the feeding of the five thousand.
Starting tomorrow morning.
Uncle Horace I'm sure you'll do your best for me.
(Grunts) (Children shouting and screaming) Well, I'll have the Tournedos Edithna, with dewy morning-picked mushrooms, cottage garden broccoli and jumbo sized West Country spud with golden dairy butter, please.
No doubt all thawed from the freezer by besmocked yokels.
Yes, sir.
Anything to drink? How about a blooming great pint of scrumpy Shirley? - We don't do scrumpy, sir.
- What a relief.
Then it can be the house French-style Claret.
You can only die once.
Thank you.
How are you, Claude? Oh, is that you, "Bollard"? - What time did you clock in? - Is that you, Rumpole? No, of course not, it's the Archbishop of Canterbury travelling incognito.
- We ought to have dinner together.
- With the case tomorrow? - That would hardly be appropriate.
- I think it more seemly if I dine alone.
You would have both the prosecution and the defence.
Neither of us could nobble you.
- I suppose, Judge - Chancellor.
Chancellor, Erskine-Brown.
- It is an ecclesiastical title.
- Of course.
Chancellor.
I suppose I shouldn't have any rooted objection, Chancellor, if both the defence and the prosecution were represented at your table.
I should make sure of that, of course.
I would make it my duty to see you were both represented.
Yes, and quite right and proper, too, Chancellor, if I may say so.
Thank you, Rumpole.
But it wouldn't be right to discuss the case.
Good heavens, no.
For us to discuss the case would be most improper.
But we can talk about anything else, can't we? (Wind roars) Brr A night like this makes one think of old injustices.
- We mustn't discuss the case! - No, of course not.
No, not a word about the case.
Unfrock the port, Erskine-Brown.
- What's that? - Er I mean, pass the port, old devil.
Of course.
Well, this is a bit of a new departure for us, isn't it? - What, drinking port? - No, no, no.
Ecclesiastical law.
Of course, I shall have to rely a good deal on you fellows for the legal side.
Yes, well, I have spent the past couple of weeks boning up on the subject.
- (Rumpole) It's not a matter of law.
- Oh, isn't it? Like most things in life, it's a matter of fact.
(Ballard) Rumpole! Injustice is the same in a law court or a cathedral.
- We mustn't discuss the case.
- Of course not.
(Wind howling) Strange sound the wind's making tonight.
Can you hear it? It has been a dreadful summer, certainly.
You've noticed that, too, Chancellor? The wind, I mean.
(Thunder rumbling) Yes, extraordinary.
(Thunderclap) Can you hear in the wind the sound of a woman crying out? - (Claude) No.
- Sure? Unless your wife's come down to visit us.
Mock on, Erskine-Brown.
Mock on.
It's clear that you don't believe in miracles.
Miracles? Miracles are certainly an essential part of Christian dogma.
Well, I I'm sure we all accept that.
Then we accept the story of the blessed Saint Edithna.
I thought she was a hotel.
A Christian woman in Roman times, Erskine-Brown.
Falsely accused of adultery because her religious beliefs irritated the establishment.
They stoned her to death on this very spot.
And where she fell dead, a small stream of pure cold water came trickling from the ground.
Must've been the one that came out of my bath tap this morning.
Hold on, Claude.
I don't think it does to take these mysteries lightly.
I'm frightfully sorry, Chancellor.
"There are more things in Heaven and Earth "than are dreamt of in Erskine-Brown's philosophy, Chancellor.
" They built an inn on the site of Edithna's well in the Middle Ages.
There's been one here ever since.
But they do say she still keeps walking.
Like Felix the Cat! - (High-pitched laughter) - "Walking", Rumpole? Yes, when some great injustice has been done.
Now, look here.
We decided we wouldn't discuss the case.
Erskine-Brown, really! Are you suggesting the Chancellor would permit any injustice in our case? Yes, Erskine-Brown, really! I take considerable exception Oh, terribly sorry, Chancellor.
I do apologise.
This has nothing to do with Canon Donkin's case.
It's a matter of historical fact.
She walks.
She walks, she walks, you see? When did they say she walked last, Rumpole? Ah they do say if my memory serves when a chancellor in the time of Bloody Mary had two very decent Church of England canons burnt on the Cathedral Green, Saint Edithna appeared on the staircase of the inn, wringing her hands, crying out against injustice.
She was probably wondering what happened to her breakfast.
Erskine-Brown! Thou of little faith.
Erskine-Brown, there is nothing in the teachings of our church to suggest miracles are impossible.
Well said, Chancellor.
And injustice still continues from Roman times right up unto the present day.
I only hope the poor soul can rest in peace after this.
After this what, Rumpole? After this dinner, Chancellor.
(Wind howling) You can still hear that wind, though.
Listen.
A definite hint of sobbing.
(Heavy rain and gales) (Door opens) (Rumpole wails mournfully) (Claude) Canon Donkin has said that he used his bedroom in the Saint Edithna Hotel to write his sermons.
This improbable excuse becomes incredible when the Court learns that he frequently worked in the Cathedral Library (Whispers) Did you? Yes, for my "History of Lawnchester Cathedral".
All the documents are there.
Then why didn't you write your sermons in the library? Well, the old librarian is always chattering.
- Mr Erskine-Brown, I can't understand - Yes, worshipful Chancellor? why a priest needs a hotel bedroom in which to write his sermons.
May I, with great respect, remind Your Worship of a point of legal procedure? Mr Rumpole It is customary to pass judgement at the end of a trial, not the beginning.
And sitting, as Your Worship is, in the Cathedral, you must be especially anxious that a great historical injustice not be repeated? I imagine my learned friend is referring to Saint Edithna.
Wrongly convicted of adultery.
I do not recall that the blessed Saint Edithna checked into a hotel bedroom for the purposes of writing her sermons.
My learned friend should not be quick to make any such assumption.
Mr Rumpole, Mr Erskine-Brown Gentlemen, shall we get on and hear the evidence? Just the course I was hoping Your Worship would take.
I am much obliged to you.
If your worship pleases, I will call Mr Thomas Campion.
Mr Thomas Campion.
(Rumpole) 'Odd sort of situation 'Saintly Sam as my judge and his jury of four Assessors, 'EIders of the Church, I suppose, firmly wedded to the Commandment, "'Thou shalt not commit hanky panky in the Saint Edithna Hotel.
"' the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
(Claude) Mr Campion, as manager of the Saint Edithna Hotel, do you produce the registration form for room number 39 signed by Canon Timothy Donkin on 17th March this year? Yes, sir, this is it.
How would you describe the room? A twin-bedded room, sir, with a bathroom attached.
- So, it is a room for two people? - Yes.
- With twin beds? - Yes, indeed, sir.
- Close together? - About two feet apart, sir.
Only two feet apart.
So I suppose, if a couple were so minded, they might pull the two beds together? - Yes, sir, they might.
- Thereby making one larger bed? - What a brilliant deduction.
- Thank you, Mr Campion.
Mr Campion Canon Donkin had occupied that room on many previous occasions.
He had taken similar rooms.
And you say number 39 is a double room? With twin beds, Mr Rumpole, which could be pulled together.
If the occupants were prepared to risk falling down the gap in the middle.
- (Laughter) - (Ballard) Silence.
And there is no reason why this room should not be used for a single person? No reason, no.
- And frequently is? - Yes.
Do you, in fact, have any single rooms in your hotel? No, since our recent conversion, all our rooms have twin beds or king-size double beds.
And did Canon Donkin particularly order a king-size bed? Not as far as I can remember.
So it doesn't seem he'd come to your hotel for any hanky panky - Mr Rumpole! - Er yes, Your Worship? - We are within church precincts.
- Oh, I had forgotten.
- I thought we were in Court.
- Yes So perhaps your expression "hanky" The expression you used was not entirely appropriate.
Really? What expression would you like me to use in the Cathedral's precincts? The charge is conduct unbecoming The fact that Canon Donkin had not ordered a king-size bed would indicate to you that he had not come to your hotel for any conduct unbecoming a clerk in Holy Orders? - I didn't know why he'd come.
- Oh, did you not? But he'd come frequently to your hotel.
Once or twice a month? Yes.
And each time he told you it was to work on a particularly difficult sermon.
- He did say that.
- Did you believe him? Your Worship, I object.
What this witness believed is totally irrelevant.
Do sit down, Erskine-Brown.
You let him the room at a cheap rate, did you not? We do what we can to help the church authorities.
Well, you wouldn't be helping them if you assisted one of their clergy to commit hanky conduct unbecoming? I suppose not, no.
Are we to understand that you and Home-From-Home Hotels Ltd.
Are running some church knocking-shop? Mr Rumpole! Sorry.
Some sort of ecclesiastical house of ill repute? Your Worship, I object.
That is a totally monstrous suggestion.
No more monstrous than the charge of immorality levelled at Canon Donkin.
Mr Rumpole, I rule against the admissibility of that question.
Oh, very well, if this trial is to be conducted with all the ruthlessness of tea on the vicarage lawn, I have absolutely nothing more to say.
Mr Rumpole, Mr Erskine-Brown Perhaps this would be a convenient moment to rise for luncheon? (Usher) Be upstanding! Ah, thank you.
I don't think I feel like any lunch.
Got to keep your strength up, Tim, the trial's only just warming up.
Judge isn't behaving too well, though.
I'll have to put the fear of God into him somehow.
- Mr Ballard? - (Rumpole) Hmm.
Hmm.
He's in danger of confusing the Christian church with Christianity.
Ah Speaking of the church, how's your history of the Cathedral coming? Ah.
I think I'm on the track of something interesting.
- Orgies in the organ loft? - No, nothing like that.
There seems to have been a gift of land to the Cathedral from the crown in 1672.
Sensational stuff! That'll shoot you to the top of the bestselling list.
- Don't want to bore you - No, no.
Tell us all about it.
Well, it's rather exciting.
You see, in the back room of the library (Claude) Miss O'Keefe, just tell us exactly what you saw.
I was standing at the end of the corridor - (Claude) The third floor corridor? - Yeah.
I was standing there, and the door from the emergency staircase opened and I saw a woman.
- Can you describe her? - Not very well, the light was behind her.
Erm she was thin, and I think she was dressed in a sort of grey suit.
Oh, yeah, reddish hair, from what I remember.
What happened then? Well, she walked quickly to the door of number 39.
She knocked at the door, and I saw him open it to her.
- (Ballard) By him, you mean the Canon? - Yes, sir.
(Claude) And then? He let her into the room and shut the door on the both of them.
And after that? I watched for some time, but they didn't come out.
How long did you stand in the corridor? About three quarters of an hour.
And then, what did you do? Then I went downstairs to the reception area, and at about six o'clock I saw that gentleman.
- (Claude) Canon Donkin? - Yes, sir.
I saw him leave the hotel, and then I went up to room 39.
Did you notice anything about the room? Well, the beds were, you know, made up, like.
There were cigarettes with lipstick on them in the ashtray beside the bed.
Thank you, Miss O'Keefe.
Just stay there, will you, please? (Ballard) Any questions, Mr Rumpole? Just a few, My Lord.
Miss O'Keefe What did you do with the lipstick-stained cigarette ends? Did you keep them? I chucked them away in the rubbish bin.
I suggest you did the same with the rest of your worthless evidence.
Mr Rumpole! Oh, very well, let us try to take this thing seriously.
You say when the Canon left the beds were made.
They could have been made up after use, Mr Rumpole.
By a particularly domesticated pair of lovers, yes.
You told us you waited in the corridor for three quarters of an hour after you'd seen a woman admitted? Yes, I did.
You just stood there, neglecting your duties? No, I wasn't neglecting my duties.
It was my afternoon off.
Your afternoon off? Then what on earth were you doing, spying on Canon Donkin? (Sighs and clears throat) A gentleman asked me to keep an eye on the Reverend, when he came to the hotel.
Indeed? And did this gentleman pay you thirty pieces of silver, perhaps? I do object! Yes, Mr Rumpole.
I think we should try and keep the Bible out of this.
Oh, am I to understand that the Gospels don't apply in an ecclesiastical court? Er no, of course not.
Certainly not! Erm Miss O'Keefe, I want to understand your evidence.
Were you paid? Did some gentleman pay you to keep watch on Reverend Timothy Donkin? Ten pounds he gave me, for the afternoon.
And who was this generous gentleman, this open-handed spymaster? It was that gentleman, sir.
(People murmur) (Rumpole) You have indicated and you are looking directly at Mr Peter Lambert of Lambert and Palfrey, estate agents and property developers of Lawnchester.
Thank you very much, Miss O'Keefe.
My Lord Er Your Worship The evidence which Mr Rumpole has just brought out has rather taken me by surprise.
Oh, I'm terribly sorry.
I would like an opportunity to take instructions.
- Perhaps Mr Lambert can explain.
- I rather doubt it.
If Your Worship would rise perhaps for ten minutes? Yes, very well.
We will take a short break.
For silent prayer, Claude? (Usher) Be upstanding.
(Church bells ringing) Send me a sign.
Keep the change, thank you.
Mr Lambert, Miss Rita O'Keefe has suggested that you paid her to keep some sort of observation.
Is that right? Now let's get this right.
A gift of the land to the Cathedral by Charles II? Spoken of in contemporary documents.
I still have to find the deeds.
I thought he should be exposed.
Miss O'Keefe's observations proved me absolutely right.
Absolutely right.
Thank you.
(Grunts) Er, Mr Lambert I think you're anxious to develop a site very near the Cathedral Green as a new Carnation Shopping Market.
My Lord, I can't imagine what this has to do with the case.
Sit down and be quiet and you might learn.
- What's the answer, Mr Lambert? - Yes.
So that the view of the Cathedral may be spoiled, and the citizens of Lawnchester may wander around a concrete monstrosity, filling little wire wheelbarrows with goods they never wanted in the first place? Yes, we do intend to develop the property, sir.
And you were aware that my client, Canon Donkin, was delving into the history of the Cathedral? When he was not otherwise engaged in amorous affairs, yes.
Might I suggest that you have obtained information, probably from the talkative librarian, regarding the research Canon Donkin is doing into the title of that very piece of land you want to develop as a supermarket.
It is most probable that land was a gift to the Cathedral by Charles II in 1672, and has been Cathedral property ever since.
I heard he had some wild idea about that, yes.
And if that is the case, you have no title to that land whatsoever.
It seems that is what he's trying to prove.
And bang would go your chances of making a packet on a new supermarket.
So now we can see why you and your cronies, the bank manager, admiral and Chairman of the Bench, that motley crew of self-interested guardians of public morality, who have all invested in the new Carnation site.
Now we can see why you all wanted to get rid of Reverend Timothy Donkin.
Well, what's the answer, Mr Lambert? We honestly believe he is guilty of immorality, sir.
Do you, indeed? How very convenient for you.
Mr Rumpole Even if Mr Lambert and his friends have a financial interest in this case (Rumpole) "Even if", Your Worship? I still have to consider Miss O'Keefe's evidence about the woman who came to the Canon's room.
Shall we say ten o'clock tomorrow morning? Yeah Yes Good.
Yes, I've got all that, Inspector.
Thank you very much.
It's most interesting.
Yes Oh, Inspector Blackie Thank the criminal records computer for me, too, will you? Yes.
Bye.
Thank you.
(Rumpole) Hilda! Did I come as a bit of a shock to you, Rumpole? Come to see all the fun at the ecclesiastical fair, have you? I would hardly call adultery by a priest in Holy Orders "fun".
No, I don't suppose you would.
Still, they may have enjoyed it at the time.
- That seems in remarkably poor taste.
- Yes, I suppose it is.
What's it to be? Your usual G and T? - I prefer not to take anything.
- Please yourself.
Large Claret, please, Nicky, love.
What are you doing here, Hilda? Doing a tour of the great English cathedral cities, are you? Sight-seeing? Salisbury's next, is it? The sight I have come to see is you, Rumpole.
Well, I suppose in some quarters I may be known as an ancient monument.
Far too ancient to be staying in hotels with girls about you.
Girls? Not one girl, Hilda.
Oh, until you arrived, of course.
- Well, where is she, then? - Where's who? You know perfectly well who I mean.
Ms Probert.
And don't try to look so innocent! You've come all this way to see Ms Liz, have you? "Will she be coming with you?" I said.
"Oh, yes, if she's got nothing better to do," you told me.
I'm sure she had nothing better to do.
Hilda, Ms Probert is doing a spot of indecency up at Snaresbrook.
- She's getting work on her own now.
- She's not here then? I am sorry.
Are you dreadfully disappointed, Hilda? - Oh, well, she's not here, then? - Nope.
I wanted to have a look around Lawnchester again, anyhow.
Of course.
- And it's too late to go back tonight.
- Ah, yes, I'm afraid it is.
We'll find a restaurant, hmm? The food here is rather like my jokes.
- What do you mean? - Not always in the very best of taste.
(Hilda) How did it get out of order? (Rumpole) It happens in the best hotels.
(Hilda) It's extremely inconvenient! (Rumpole) Yes, I know.
There's one in perfect working order just along the landing there.
(Toilet flushes) (Footsteps) (Gasps) (Rumpole starts wailing) (Rumpole) Your sister, Miss Wendy Donkin, convicted of fraud and false pretences 1986, released on licence, now wanted for ten subsequent offences concerning cheques and stolen credit cards.
So far avoided arrest.
If she's caught, which she will be, she will be sent back to complete her original sentence.
And that's only the start.
- Poor Wendy.
- Exactly.
She needed money.
She telephoned you, you arranged to meet her in the hotel bedroom, where you are eccentric enough to compose your sermons.
I imagine you suggested she come up the emergency staircase to avoid unwelcome attention? But neither of you had bargained for Mr Lambert or his spy, hmm? You gave her money, I suppose? - I gave her a promise.
- What? Not to tell anyone that I'd seen her.
Well, that's a promise you'll have to break.
I'm putting you in the witness box to tell Soapy Sam all about it.
No.
- What? - No, Uncle Horace.
I gave my word.
- I'm not bringing Wendy into it.
- Ah, look, Tim Reverend Tim Are you quite insane? (Sighs) I don't think so.
But I'm quite determined.
Oh, do resist the temptation to be a martyr, old love.
It's not that.
I'm simply not going back on my word, just because of Peter Lambert.
I'm sorry, Uncle Horace.
I'm sorry to disappoint you.
- It just adds another terror to my job.
- What? Having some sort of saint as a client! (Footsteps) - Mr Rumpole! - Yes, what is it? The Chancellor would like to see both counsels before the court sits.
Would he, indeed? I have had a sleepless night and given this case very anxious consideration.
This is not an ordinary court, and we are exercising a very special jurisdiction.
We must be particularly careful that we don't commit any sort of injustice against a person who may be who may very well be entirely innocent.
We have, of course, the memory of a certain martyr very much in our minds.
Oh, very much, Chancellor.
In my mind constantly.
We must also be grateful if a place like this, this holy city of Lawnchester, can give us any sort of guidance.
Guidance, Your Worship? Guidance comes to us, Erskine-Brown, from many unexpected sources.
What the Chancellor means is that there are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Very well put, if I may say so.
So, as I say, I have thought anxiously about this case, and I'm not ashamed to say I have prayed.
I'm quite sure that we have all prayed, Your Worship.
Well So, having prayed, I have come to the clear decision that, having regard to the financial interests involved and the possibility that Miss O'Keefe might have been tempted to shall we say, invent for money Oh, more than a possibility.
There's so much original sin about these days.
Yes.
I have come to the conclusion that it would not be safe for us to proceed any further against Canon Donkin on this evidence.
I propose to direct the Assessors to acquit.
Of course, I'll hear arguments if you wish to address me.
Your Worship Oh, give up gracefully, Claude.
Having regard to the God's against you.
Hmm (Door closes) (Whistling) - Rumpole? - (Shouts) Yes, it is I! Saint Rumpole and all the angels.
There you are, Hilda.
I'm I'm so sorry that your holiday in the West Country was so short, Hilda.
- I don't know why I came down.
- No, it was enormously kind of you.
You were a power for good.
Not that I'm jealous of you.
Don't flatter yourself about that.
No, of course not.
- Did they mend the lavatory? - Almost as soon as you'd gone.
Why are you looking so pleased? Don't tell me you won the case? A famous victory, Hilda.
Yes, the Age of Miracles is not past.
Let us drink to the blessed Saint Edithna (Rumpole) ' also known as She Who Must Be Obeyed.
'
"A wicked and adulterous generation "seeketh after a sign "and there shall be no sign given unto it.
" You're always looking for signs, aren't you? You're looking for miracles.
Can't you believe in the goodness of God unless he entertains you with conjuring tricks? No doubt God can perform miracles.
No doubt he can do jolly well everything! But why should he? Why should he? Look up at the sky.
A red sky tonight means a fine day tomorrow.
Isn't that enough of a miracle for you? "O, ye hypocrites," Jesus said.
"Ye can discern the face of the sky, "but can ye not discern the signs of the times?" "And I give thanks that I have been chosen.
"May I be worthy of your work "and promote the true interests of your Church.
" - Mr Rumpole.
- Morning, Henry.
- Just ticking you off, sir.
- Oh, really? What have I done now? No, no, no, no.
Mr Ballard's instructions.
Time in and out of Chambers has to be noted so he can calculate how much of our facilities each of you gentlemen uses.
What?! Soapy Sam "Bollard" wants us clocking in and out? - Where's he gone to earth? - He's in his room.
- Is he, indeed? - He said not to interrupt him.
Well, he may have to be rudely interrupted.
(Rumpole shouts) Ballard? "ever mindful of the fact that in these dark days standards must be kept up.
- "We therefore ask you, Lord" - What do you think this is, Ballard? Do you fancy yourself as the governor of some sort of high security nick? Perhaps you'd like to introduce slopping out while you sit in here and count the government issue toilet paper.
Have you dropped something? Collar stud on the floor? Don't imagine I'm going to help you look for it.
"Amen.
" Ah, Rumpole.
I was just giving thanks for a singular honour that has been done to me.
- Quite undeserved, of course.
- Well, of course.
What honour? I believe it's the first time in our long history, Rumpole, that these chambers have contained a Chancellor.
- A Chancellor? - Yes, Rumpole.
Unworthy as I am.
Well, that's the understatement of the year.
The Prime Minister must've completely lost her marbles.
You, Bollard, on the Woolsack? No, no, no.
Not the Woolsack, Rumpole.
Of course I don't aspire to Lord Chancellor yet awhile.
No, I have been chosen to the post of Worshipful Chancellor of the Diocese of Lawnchester.
I shall act, from time to time, as a judge in the ecclesiastical court.
Grand Inquisitor, eh? I'd have nothing to do with it, if I were you.
It is a post open only to communicating members of the Church of England.
I doubt very much it would be offered to you, O, thou of little faith.
- I happen to have a good deal of faith.
- Yes, in what precisely? The health-giving properties of Claret.
The presumption of innocence.
And not having to clock into Chambers in the morning! Well, well, Chancellor of the Diocese, eh? Planning to burn anyone at the stake over the weekend? Try not to be frivolous, Rumpole.
Nowadays the ecclesiastical court deals with ritual and church furnishings.
Ah, yes.
Smells and bells.
How many eagles can perch on a lectern? That sort of paraphernalia.
Don't you get a decent chance to unfrock a priest occasionally? That painful duty has not been asked of the Diocese, for at least 25 years.
Oh, you never know your luck.
(Chuckles) Go to it, Ballard.
Rip the frocks off the clergy, but leave God-fearing barristers alone! (Door closes) - (Hilda shouts) Is that you, Rumpole? - Of course not! It's the village blacksmith come to crown you Queen of the May.
(Hilda) Had a good day, have you, dear? (Rumpole) "'Dear"? She Who Must Be Obeyed calling me "Dear"? ' Can she be feeling quite well? - (Hilda) What did you say, dear? - I said no, Chambers is hell! Shh! That Soapy Sam Savonarola "Bollard" has gone clean off his chump.
I caught him praying! Probably for divine intervention to keep the electricity bills down.
- Rumpole - Isn't it odd? The more they preach Christianity, the less Christian they become.
Do be careful, Rumpole! A priest might find that extremely upsetting.
I'm sorry.
Have you taken Holy Orders? I'm trying to tell you, Rumpole, we have a visitor.
Oh? - Uncle Horace.
- It's Timmy.
Timmy Donkin.
- Er, Donkin? - You remember, Rumpole.
Poor cousin Esme's boy.
He's quite a big shot in the Cathedral.
They've made him a canon.
Was that a funny, Hilda? - Pleased to meet you.
- I expect you're dying for some tea.
Timmy had to come up on business, so he thought he'd drop in on the family.
- Oh, what family? - This family.
There's not much of us to see, really.
As a matter of fact, it was you I wanted to talk to, Uncle Horace.
- You're in trouble.
- Don't be ridiculous, Rumpole.
They've made him a canon in charge of ordinands.
Deep trouble.
What is it? Fiddling the organ fund? Pawning the candlesticks? - Choirboys? - Rumpole! Nothing like that, Uncle Horace, I promise you.
I suppose it's best described as old fashioned adultery.
Oh, well, I've done that, of course.
Not for a good many years now, unfortunately.
In the Divorce Courts, Hilda, from time to time.
I'll go and make the tea.
(Rumpole) Well, please, sit down.
(Timmy) Thank you.
(Rumpole) Now, then.
- Well, I'm a married man, Uncle Horace.
- Well, of course.
It makes it easier to commit adultery if you're married, doesn't it? Mother said Auntie Hilda had married a barrister with a sense of humour.
Ah, yes, that has been the cross that she has had to bear.
My wife Gertrude is an absolute saint, of course.
But she's not the tidiest person, and she fails to keep the children quiet.
You and Saint Gertrude are blessed with issue, are you? Two boys.
Twelve and ten.
Martin and Erasmus.
Young theologians? I'm sorry to say their games are of a military nature.
So, when I have a difficult sermon to write Say no more.
You clock into the nearest monastery for a couple of days? I might join you some time.
As a matter of fact, I usually take a room at the Saint Edithna Hotel.
It's our local Home-From-Home hotel.
I'm not a great one for monasteries.
I like to be able to ring for a pot of tea, and perhaps a round or two of hot buttered toast in the afternoon.
So you indulge yourself with a bit of hotel accommodation.
(Sighs) Perhaps it is a little vanity.
Ah, "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity," saith the preacher.
No doubt it gave them the excuse they wanted.
Gave who? My six accusers.
Pillars of respectability, or should I say whited sepulchres of my congregation.
They made a formal complaint against me to the Bishop.
What? For booking into your local Home-From-Home hotel? A bit risky, I suppose, if you're allergic to frozen vegetables and cold Claret, but hardly a criminal offence.
They say I had a woman up in my room, Uncle Horace.
They've got witnesses.
A maid says she saw me let a woman into my bedroom.
And what do you say to that evidence? I treat it with the contempt it deserves.
And does it? Deserve contempt, I mean.
They hate me in Lawnchester, because of my views on miracles.
I don't think God goes in for conjuring tricks.
You believe in a God that doesn't do conjuring tricks? Oh, yes, of course.
That must make you a bit of a rarity in the Church of England.
Was that another joke? Er yes, a sort of joke.
Uncle Horace do you appear in the Ecclesiastical Courts? Ecclesiastical? They're going to charge me with conduct unbecoming to a priest in Holy Orders.
There is not a court in heaven or earth, Tim, where Horace Rumpole is not ready and willing to appear.
On the Day of Judgement I shall probably be up on my hind legs putting a few impertinent questions to the prosecution.
Thank you.
It's absolutely disgusting.
Oh, dear.
A naughty word in the "Daily Telegraph" crossword? Even the clergy at it! Or mainly the clergy at it, from what you read in the "News of the World".
What you read in the "News of the World".
Only you take it.
Well, I have to keep up with the law reports, Hilda.
As a matter of fact, I rather took to the Reverend Timothy.
Oh, I expect you did.
No doubt you're birds of a feather.
I always had my suspicions about that young pupil you go around with.
Ms Liz Probert? Oh, Hilda! I expect she'll be helping you with Timothy's case.
If she has nothing better to do.
Staying in hotel rooms in the afternoon for a bit of piece and quiet.
I've never heard of anything so ridiculous.
I suppose you will be defending him.
You'd never go near a cathedral otherwise.
I sometimes think you'd go anywhere for a criminal.
He was tried as a criminal, too, wasn't he? - What? - The fella that started it all.
Sentenced, too, from what I remember.
Anyway, I've always thought there was something peculiar about that family.
- Jesus's family? - Do try not to be so blasphemous.
The Donkin family.
Bad blood.
No doubt came from Arthur Donkin.
Timmy's sister Wendy's the one that no one ever mentions.
She went to jail, did Wendy.
- How do you know that? - What? How do you know she went to jail if nobody mentioned it? Going to sleep now, are we? If you can, Rumpole, with your conscience.
(Sighs) (Man) The original church was built by Bishop Sartorius in the year 852, and dedicated to the blessed Saint Edithna.
Of course, you know our Saint Edithna? (Rumpole) Not personally, no.
She were a real Christian lady in the old Roman town of Lignum Castro, now known as Lawnchester.
She was accused of, er, shall we say, naughty carryings-on.
It were all lies.
What they didn't like was her trying to convert them to Christianity.
It was a trumped-up charge.
But they brought in a guilty verdict against her, see? - Probably had a bad barrister.
- So they stoned our Edithna to death.
On the sight of what is now our St Edithna Hotel, part of the well-known Home-from-Home chain in West Street.
Some say that visitors to the hotel have seen the ghost of our saint.
Others say she's only visible if you've had a good dinner.
Oh, highly comical.
A lady in a white gown a-wringing of her hands.
Her martyrdom is shown in Bishop Sartorius's chantry, if you would follow me, ladies and gentlemen.
As we pass by, you may notice the gothic mouldings carved into "When holy and devout religious men are at their beads, "'tis hard to draw them thence so sweet is zealous contemplation.
" Rumpole? What on earth are you doing here, Claude? Everyone in Chambers seems to be at prayer nowadays.
- Rumpole.
- I suppose that is prayer, is it? That curious Church of England crouch with your bottom on the edge of the pew.
You're not 100 percent committed to getting down on your knees.
What on earth are you doing here? No, I asked you first.
I drop into West Country cathedrals from time to time, just to re-charge the spiritual batteries.
As a matter of fact, I'm pursuing my career in the Ecclesiastical Courts.
- You can't do that.
- Why not? Shh.
You have to be a practising member of the Church of England.
I'm a member of the Church of England, practising at the Old Bailey.
How did you get in on the act, pray? Ballard was asked to suggest someone to prosecute for the Archdeacon.
He just happened to ask me if I were a practising member.
And here you are, practising away like mad.
It's a case that's excited a great deal of attention in Lawnchester.
I know - They're after his frock! - Shh! Ah, my clients.
Cultivate them, then, Brother Claude.
May the Lord be with you.
- Tracy my name's Rumpole.
- How are you spelling that, sir? How about R-U-M-P-O-L-E, pronounced "Marjoribanks"? What was that, sir? Can I help you, sir? - Have you a Mr Rumpole staying here? - How are you spelling that, sir? Don't persecute it, it'll have a nervous breakdown.
- I'm Horace Rumpole.
- Timothy Donkin's Uncle Horace? Not my only claim to fame.
Frank Marlin of Marlin, Marlin & Spiking, Solicitors of Lawnchester.
- We're acting for Timmy.
- My instructing solicitor.
You wish to confer? Shall we, in the lounge? No, on second thoughts, the opposition's just ordered up a fresh lot of sandwiches.
I thought Canon Donkin's house might be the place for a cosy chat? - Have you been to his house? - No, can't say I have.
That little group over there, talking to that rather superior-Iooking barrister guzzling teacake and trying to look as though he isn't - (Marlin) Our six accusers.
- Oh, indeed? You know ecclesiastical law, Mr Rumpole? Of course.
My favourite bedtime reading.
But just remind me, will you? The case against a priest has to be brought by six of his parishioners, and they have to put up the money for the trial.
Do they, indeed? They must be very keen to unfrock the Canon? - Oh, I think they are.
- Give me the cast list, just briefly.
Mr Fox-Beasley, Manager of the Nat Wessex.
Admiral Seal, retired.
Mrs Elphick, Chairman of the Bench.
(Rumpole) She looks like an advocate for hanging for unrenewed dog licences.
(Marlin) Mr Growbury, the chemist.
Bit of a lay preacher.
(Rumpole) Sermons and senna pods.
Go on.
Peter Lambert, he's our biggest estate agent, responsible for Lawnchester's re-development.
(Rumpole) How has he escaped lynching? (Marlin) And Cynthia, his wife.
She does a good deal of charitable work.
- (Rumpole) Oh, like unfrocking vicars? - I don't know if she's tried that before.
She looks as though she'd be knitting as the frock comes off.
Well, there they are, the unfriendly six.
- We have an advantage over them.
- What's that? Horace Rumpole is on the other side.
I say that in all modesty.
Right, gird up your loins, Marlin, we're off to see the Canon.
Oh, Tracy, would you have my bags put in my room when the machine's made up its mind? Right you are, Mr Marjoribanks.
(Church bells ring) (Rumpole) Another Lambert site! (Marlin) For a giant Carnation supermarket.
Isn't it a bit near the house of God? There's been a long correspondence about it in the "Herald".
And protests by the Stop Carnation Society.
We had a Bach concert in the Cathedral for the fighting fund.
- Oh? And raised what, £50? - £75.
Lambert and Carnation Stores are bound to win in the end.
They always do.
(Door opens) It's your Uncle Horace.
The one you're putting your faith in.
Gertrude Perhaps our visitors would like some tea.
Well, you know where the kettle is, don't you? (Children shouting) - I'm afraid Gertrude's tired.
- (Rumpole) Oh, I understand.
I understand why you go to a hotel room, too, to write your sermons.
Oh, yes.
- Uncle Horace, please do take a seat.
- Thank you.
(Donkin) Frank Oh, er, I'll remove the armaments.
Oh, sorry.
I think Mr Rumpole would like to discuss the evidence, what the maid actually saw.
Yes, well, I shall tell them I don't consider it any of their business.
God will be my judge, Uncle Horace.
Yes, but tomorrow Soapy Sam will be your judge, and he just can't wait to unfrock someone.
Hmm.
I don't feel called upon to answer any of their questions.
- Never? - Never.
Not even in the witness box, when you're under oath? It's all very well for your God, Tim.
According to you, he doesn't feel called on to perform any miracles.
But if that's your attitude, I'll have to pull something off a great deal trickier than the feeding of the five thousand.
Starting tomorrow morning.
Uncle Horace I'm sure you'll do your best for me.
(Grunts) (Children shouting and screaming) Well, I'll have the Tournedos Edithna, with dewy morning-picked mushrooms, cottage garden broccoli and jumbo sized West Country spud with golden dairy butter, please.
No doubt all thawed from the freezer by besmocked yokels.
Yes, sir.
Anything to drink? How about a blooming great pint of scrumpy Shirley? - We don't do scrumpy, sir.
- What a relief.
Then it can be the house French-style Claret.
You can only die once.
Thank you.
How are you, Claude? Oh, is that you, "Bollard"? - What time did you clock in? - Is that you, Rumpole? No, of course not, it's the Archbishop of Canterbury travelling incognito.
- We ought to have dinner together.
- With the case tomorrow? - That would hardly be appropriate.
- I think it more seemly if I dine alone.
You would have both the prosecution and the defence.
Neither of us could nobble you.
- I suppose, Judge - Chancellor.
Chancellor, Erskine-Brown.
- It is an ecclesiastical title.
- Of course.
Chancellor.
I suppose I shouldn't have any rooted objection, Chancellor, if both the defence and the prosecution were represented at your table.
I should make sure of that, of course.
I would make it my duty to see you were both represented.
Yes, and quite right and proper, too, Chancellor, if I may say so.
Thank you, Rumpole.
But it wouldn't be right to discuss the case.
Good heavens, no.
For us to discuss the case would be most improper.
But we can talk about anything else, can't we? (Wind roars) Brr A night like this makes one think of old injustices.
- We mustn't discuss the case! - No, of course not.
No, not a word about the case.
Unfrock the port, Erskine-Brown.
- What's that? - Er I mean, pass the port, old devil.
Of course.
Well, this is a bit of a new departure for us, isn't it? - What, drinking port? - No, no, no.
Ecclesiastical law.
Of course, I shall have to rely a good deal on you fellows for the legal side.
Yes, well, I have spent the past couple of weeks boning up on the subject.
- (Rumpole) It's not a matter of law.
- Oh, isn't it? Like most things in life, it's a matter of fact.
(Ballard) Rumpole! Injustice is the same in a law court or a cathedral.
- We mustn't discuss the case.
- Of course not.
(Wind howling) Strange sound the wind's making tonight.
Can you hear it? It has been a dreadful summer, certainly.
You've noticed that, too, Chancellor? The wind, I mean.
(Thunder rumbling) Yes, extraordinary.
(Thunderclap) Can you hear in the wind the sound of a woman crying out? - (Claude) No.
- Sure? Unless your wife's come down to visit us.
Mock on, Erskine-Brown.
Mock on.
It's clear that you don't believe in miracles.
Miracles? Miracles are certainly an essential part of Christian dogma.
Well, I I'm sure we all accept that.
Then we accept the story of the blessed Saint Edithna.
I thought she was a hotel.
A Christian woman in Roman times, Erskine-Brown.
Falsely accused of adultery because her religious beliefs irritated the establishment.
They stoned her to death on this very spot.
And where she fell dead, a small stream of pure cold water came trickling from the ground.
Must've been the one that came out of my bath tap this morning.
Hold on, Claude.
I don't think it does to take these mysteries lightly.
I'm frightfully sorry, Chancellor.
"There are more things in Heaven and Earth "than are dreamt of in Erskine-Brown's philosophy, Chancellor.
" They built an inn on the site of Edithna's well in the Middle Ages.
There's been one here ever since.
But they do say she still keeps walking.
Like Felix the Cat! - (High-pitched laughter) - "Walking", Rumpole? Yes, when some great injustice has been done.
Now, look here.
We decided we wouldn't discuss the case.
Erskine-Brown, really! Are you suggesting the Chancellor would permit any injustice in our case? Yes, Erskine-Brown, really! I take considerable exception Oh, terribly sorry, Chancellor.
I do apologise.
This has nothing to do with Canon Donkin's case.
It's a matter of historical fact.
She walks.
She walks, she walks, you see? When did they say she walked last, Rumpole? Ah they do say if my memory serves when a chancellor in the time of Bloody Mary had two very decent Church of England canons burnt on the Cathedral Green, Saint Edithna appeared on the staircase of the inn, wringing her hands, crying out against injustice.
She was probably wondering what happened to her breakfast.
Erskine-Brown! Thou of little faith.
Erskine-Brown, there is nothing in the teachings of our church to suggest miracles are impossible.
Well said, Chancellor.
And injustice still continues from Roman times right up unto the present day.
I only hope the poor soul can rest in peace after this.
After this what, Rumpole? After this dinner, Chancellor.
(Wind howling) You can still hear that wind, though.
Listen.
A definite hint of sobbing.
(Heavy rain and gales) (Door opens) (Rumpole wails mournfully) (Claude) Canon Donkin has said that he used his bedroom in the Saint Edithna Hotel to write his sermons.
This improbable excuse becomes incredible when the Court learns that he frequently worked in the Cathedral Library (Whispers) Did you? Yes, for my "History of Lawnchester Cathedral".
All the documents are there.
Then why didn't you write your sermons in the library? Well, the old librarian is always chattering.
- Mr Erskine-Brown, I can't understand - Yes, worshipful Chancellor? why a priest needs a hotel bedroom in which to write his sermons.
May I, with great respect, remind Your Worship of a point of legal procedure? Mr Rumpole It is customary to pass judgement at the end of a trial, not the beginning.
And sitting, as Your Worship is, in the Cathedral, you must be especially anxious that a great historical injustice not be repeated? I imagine my learned friend is referring to Saint Edithna.
Wrongly convicted of adultery.
I do not recall that the blessed Saint Edithna checked into a hotel bedroom for the purposes of writing her sermons.
My learned friend should not be quick to make any such assumption.
Mr Rumpole, Mr Erskine-Brown Gentlemen, shall we get on and hear the evidence? Just the course I was hoping Your Worship would take.
I am much obliged to you.
If your worship pleases, I will call Mr Thomas Campion.
Mr Thomas Campion.
(Rumpole) 'Odd sort of situation 'Saintly Sam as my judge and his jury of four Assessors, 'EIders of the Church, I suppose, firmly wedded to the Commandment, "'Thou shalt not commit hanky panky in the Saint Edithna Hotel.
"' the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
(Claude) Mr Campion, as manager of the Saint Edithna Hotel, do you produce the registration form for room number 39 signed by Canon Timothy Donkin on 17th March this year? Yes, sir, this is it.
How would you describe the room? A twin-bedded room, sir, with a bathroom attached.
- So, it is a room for two people? - Yes.
- With twin beds? - Yes, indeed, sir.
- Close together? - About two feet apart, sir.
Only two feet apart.
So I suppose, if a couple were so minded, they might pull the two beds together? - Yes, sir, they might.
- Thereby making one larger bed? - What a brilliant deduction.
- Thank you, Mr Campion.
Mr Campion Canon Donkin had occupied that room on many previous occasions.
He had taken similar rooms.
And you say number 39 is a double room? With twin beds, Mr Rumpole, which could be pulled together.
If the occupants were prepared to risk falling down the gap in the middle.
- (Laughter) - (Ballard) Silence.
And there is no reason why this room should not be used for a single person? No reason, no.
- And frequently is? - Yes.
Do you, in fact, have any single rooms in your hotel? No, since our recent conversion, all our rooms have twin beds or king-size double beds.
And did Canon Donkin particularly order a king-size bed? Not as far as I can remember.
So it doesn't seem he'd come to your hotel for any hanky panky - Mr Rumpole! - Er yes, Your Worship? - We are within church precincts.
- Oh, I had forgotten.
- I thought we were in Court.
- Yes So perhaps your expression "hanky" The expression you used was not entirely appropriate.
Really? What expression would you like me to use in the Cathedral's precincts? The charge is conduct unbecoming The fact that Canon Donkin had not ordered a king-size bed would indicate to you that he had not come to your hotel for any conduct unbecoming a clerk in Holy Orders? - I didn't know why he'd come.
- Oh, did you not? But he'd come frequently to your hotel.
Once or twice a month? Yes.
And each time he told you it was to work on a particularly difficult sermon.
- He did say that.
- Did you believe him? Your Worship, I object.
What this witness believed is totally irrelevant.
Do sit down, Erskine-Brown.
You let him the room at a cheap rate, did you not? We do what we can to help the church authorities.
Well, you wouldn't be helping them if you assisted one of their clergy to commit hanky conduct unbecoming? I suppose not, no.
Are we to understand that you and Home-From-Home Hotels Ltd.
Are running some church knocking-shop? Mr Rumpole! Sorry.
Some sort of ecclesiastical house of ill repute? Your Worship, I object.
That is a totally monstrous suggestion.
No more monstrous than the charge of immorality levelled at Canon Donkin.
Mr Rumpole, I rule against the admissibility of that question.
Oh, very well, if this trial is to be conducted with all the ruthlessness of tea on the vicarage lawn, I have absolutely nothing more to say.
Mr Rumpole, Mr Erskine-Brown Perhaps this would be a convenient moment to rise for luncheon? (Usher) Be upstanding! Ah, thank you.
I don't think I feel like any lunch.
Got to keep your strength up, Tim, the trial's only just warming up.
Judge isn't behaving too well, though.
I'll have to put the fear of God into him somehow.
- Mr Ballard? - (Rumpole) Hmm.
Hmm.
He's in danger of confusing the Christian church with Christianity.
Ah Speaking of the church, how's your history of the Cathedral coming? Ah.
I think I'm on the track of something interesting.
- Orgies in the organ loft? - No, nothing like that.
There seems to have been a gift of land to the Cathedral from the crown in 1672.
Sensational stuff! That'll shoot you to the top of the bestselling list.
- Don't want to bore you - No, no.
Tell us all about it.
Well, it's rather exciting.
You see, in the back room of the library (Claude) Miss O'Keefe, just tell us exactly what you saw.
I was standing at the end of the corridor - (Claude) The third floor corridor? - Yeah.
I was standing there, and the door from the emergency staircase opened and I saw a woman.
- Can you describe her? - Not very well, the light was behind her.
Erm she was thin, and I think she was dressed in a sort of grey suit.
Oh, yeah, reddish hair, from what I remember.
What happened then? Well, she walked quickly to the door of number 39.
She knocked at the door, and I saw him open it to her.
- (Ballard) By him, you mean the Canon? - Yes, sir.
(Claude) And then? He let her into the room and shut the door on the both of them.
And after that? I watched for some time, but they didn't come out.
How long did you stand in the corridor? About three quarters of an hour.
And then, what did you do? Then I went downstairs to the reception area, and at about six o'clock I saw that gentleman.
- (Claude) Canon Donkin? - Yes, sir.
I saw him leave the hotel, and then I went up to room 39.
Did you notice anything about the room? Well, the beds were, you know, made up, like.
There were cigarettes with lipstick on them in the ashtray beside the bed.
Thank you, Miss O'Keefe.
Just stay there, will you, please? (Ballard) Any questions, Mr Rumpole? Just a few, My Lord.
Miss O'Keefe What did you do with the lipstick-stained cigarette ends? Did you keep them? I chucked them away in the rubbish bin.
I suggest you did the same with the rest of your worthless evidence.
Mr Rumpole! Oh, very well, let us try to take this thing seriously.
You say when the Canon left the beds were made.
They could have been made up after use, Mr Rumpole.
By a particularly domesticated pair of lovers, yes.
You told us you waited in the corridor for three quarters of an hour after you'd seen a woman admitted? Yes, I did.
You just stood there, neglecting your duties? No, I wasn't neglecting my duties.
It was my afternoon off.
Your afternoon off? Then what on earth were you doing, spying on Canon Donkin? (Sighs and clears throat) A gentleman asked me to keep an eye on the Reverend, when he came to the hotel.
Indeed? And did this gentleman pay you thirty pieces of silver, perhaps? I do object! Yes, Mr Rumpole.
I think we should try and keep the Bible out of this.
Oh, am I to understand that the Gospels don't apply in an ecclesiastical court? Er no, of course not.
Certainly not! Erm Miss O'Keefe, I want to understand your evidence.
Were you paid? Did some gentleman pay you to keep watch on Reverend Timothy Donkin? Ten pounds he gave me, for the afternoon.
And who was this generous gentleman, this open-handed spymaster? It was that gentleman, sir.
(People murmur) (Rumpole) You have indicated and you are looking directly at Mr Peter Lambert of Lambert and Palfrey, estate agents and property developers of Lawnchester.
Thank you very much, Miss O'Keefe.
My Lord Er Your Worship The evidence which Mr Rumpole has just brought out has rather taken me by surprise.
Oh, I'm terribly sorry.
I would like an opportunity to take instructions.
- Perhaps Mr Lambert can explain.
- I rather doubt it.
If Your Worship would rise perhaps for ten minutes? Yes, very well.
We will take a short break.
For silent prayer, Claude? (Usher) Be upstanding.
(Church bells ringing) Send me a sign.
Keep the change, thank you.
Mr Lambert, Miss Rita O'Keefe has suggested that you paid her to keep some sort of observation.
Is that right? Now let's get this right.
A gift of the land to the Cathedral by Charles II? Spoken of in contemporary documents.
I still have to find the deeds.
I thought he should be exposed.
Miss O'Keefe's observations proved me absolutely right.
Absolutely right.
Thank you.
(Grunts) Er, Mr Lambert I think you're anxious to develop a site very near the Cathedral Green as a new Carnation Shopping Market.
My Lord, I can't imagine what this has to do with the case.
Sit down and be quiet and you might learn.
- What's the answer, Mr Lambert? - Yes.
So that the view of the Cathedral may be spoiled, and the citizens of Lawnchester may wander around a concrete monstrosity, filling little wire wheelbarrows with goods they never wanted in the first place? Yes, we do intend to develop the property, sir.
And you were aware that my client, Canon Donkin, was delving into the history of the Cathedral? When he was not otherwise engaged in amorous affairs, yes.
Might I suggest that you have obtained information, probably from the talkative librarian, regarding the research Canon Donkin is doing into the title of that very piece of land you want to develop as a supermarket.
It is most probable that land was a gift to the Cathedral by Charles II in 1672, and has been Cathedral property ever since.
I heard he had some wild idea about that, yes.
And if that is the case, you have no title to that land whatsoever.
It seems that is what he's trying to prove.
And bang would go your chances of making a packet on a new supermarket.
So now we can see why you and your cronies, the bank manager, admiral and Chairman of the Bench, that motley crew of self-interested guardians of public morality, who have all invested in the new Carnation site.
Now we can see why you all wanted to get rid of Reverend Timothy Donkin.
Well, what's the answer, Mr Lambert? We honestly believe he is guilty of immorality, sir.
Do you, indeed? How very convenient for you.
Mr Rumpole Even if Mr Lambert and his friends have a financial interest in this case (Rumpole) "Even if", Your Worship? I still have to consider Miss O'Keefe's evidence about the woman who came to the Canon's room.
Shall we say ten o'clock tomorrow morning? Yeah Yes Good.
Yes, I've got all that, Inspector.
Thank you very much.
It's most interesting.
Yes Oh, Inspector Blackie Thank the criminal records computer for me, too, will you? Yes.
Bye.
Thank you.
(Rumpole) Hilda! Did I come as a bit of a shock to you, Rumpole? Come to see all the fun at the ecclesiastical fair, have you? I would hardly call adultery by a priest in Holy Orders "fun".
No, I don't suppose you would.
Still, they may have enjoyed it at the time.
- That seems in remarkably poor taste.
- Yes, I suppose it is.
What's it to be? Your usual G and T? - I prefer not to take anything.
- Please yourself.
Large Claret, please, Nicky, love.
What are you doing here, Hilda? Doing a tour of the great English cathedral cities, are you? Sight-seeing? Salisbury's next, is it? The sight I have come to see is you, Rumpole.
Well, I suppose in some quarters I may be known as an ancient monument.
Far too ancient to be staying in hotels with girls about you.
Girls? Not one girl, Hilda.
Oh, until you arrived, of course.
- Well, where is she, then? - Where's who? You know perfectly well who I mean.
Ms Probert.
And don't try to look so innocent! You've come all this way to see Ms Liz, have you? "Will she be coming with you?" I said.
"Oh, yes, if she's got nothing better to do," you told me.
I'm sure she had nothing better to do.
Hilda, Ms Probert is doing a spot of indecency up at Snaresbrook.
- She's getting work on her own now.
- She's not here then? I am sorry.
Are you dreadfully disappointed, Hilda? - Oh, well, she's not here, then? - Nope.
I wanted to have a look around Lawnchester again, anyhow.
Of course.
- And it's too late to go back tonight.
- Ah, yes, I'm afraid it is.
We'll find a restaurant, hmm? The food here is rather like my jokes.
- What do you mean? - Not always in the very best of taste.
(Hilda) How did it get out of order? (Rumpole) It happens in the best hotels.
(Hilda) It's extremely inconvenient! (Rumpole) Yes, I know.
There's one in perfect working order just along the landing there.
(Toilet flushes) (Footsteps) (Gasps) (Rumpole starts wailing) (Rumpole) Your sister, Miss Wendy Donkin, convicted of fraud and false pretences 1986, released on licence, now wanted for ten subsequent offences concerning cheques and stolen credit cards.
So far avoided arrest.
If she's caught, which she will be, she will be sent back to complete her original sentence.
And that's only the start.
- Poor Wendy.
- Exactly.
She needed money.
She telephoned you, you arranged to meet her in the hotel bedroom, where you are eccentric enough to compose your sermons.
I imagine you suggested she come up the emergency staircase to avoid unwelcome attention? But neither of you had bargained for Mr Lambert or his spy, hmm? You gave her money, I suppose? - I gave her a promise.
- What? Not to tell anyone that I'd seen her.
Well, that's a promise you'll have to break.
I'm putting you in the witness box to tell Soapy Sam all about it.
No.
- What? - No, Uncle Horace.
I gave my word.
- I'm not bringing Wendy into it.
- Ah, look, Tim Reverend Tim Are you quite insane? (Sighs) I don't think so.
But I'm quite determined.
Oh, do resist the temptation to be a martyr, old love.
It's not that.
I'm simply not going back on my word, just because of Peter Lambert.
I'm sorry, Uncle Horace.
I'm sorry to disappoint you.
- It just adds another terror to my job.
- What? Having some sort of saint as a client! (Footsteps) - Mr Rumpole! - Yes, what is it? The Chancellor would like to see both counsels before the court sits.
Would he, indeed? I have had a sleepless night and given this case very anxious consideration.
This is not an ordinary court, and we are exercising a very special jurisdiction.
We must be particularly careful that we don't commit any sort of injustice against a person who may be who may very well be entirely innocent.
We have, of course, the memory of a certain martyr very much in our minds.
Oh, very much, Chancellor.
In my mind constantly.
We must also be grateful if a place like this, this holy city of Lawnchester, can give us any sort of guidance.
Guidance, Your Worship? Guidance comes to us, Erskine-Brown, from many unexpected sources.
What the Chancellor means is that there are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Very well put, if I may say so.
So, as I say, I have thought anxiously about this case, and I'm not ashamed to say I have prayed.
I'm quite sure that we have all prayed, Your Worship.
Well So, having prayed, I have come to the clear decision that, having regard to the financial interests involved and the possibility that Miss O'Keefe might have been tempted to shall we say, invent for money Oh, more than a possibility.
There's so much original sin about these days.
Yes.
I have come to the conclusion that it would not be safe for us to proceed any further against Canon Donkin on this evidence.
I propose to direct the Assessors to acquit.
Of course, I'll hear arguments if you wish to address me.
Your Worship Oh, give up gracefully, Claude.
Having regard to the God's against you.
Hmm (Door closes) (Whistling) - Rumpole? - (Shouts) Yes, it is I! Saint Rumpole and all the angels.
There you are, Hilda.
I'm I'm so sorry that your holiday in the West Country was so short, Hilda.
- I don't know why I came down.
- No, it was enormously kind of you.
You were a power for good.
Not that I'm jealous of you.
Don't flatter yourself about that.
No, of course not.
- Did they mend the lavatory? - Almost as soon as you'd gone.
Why are you looking so pleased? Don't tell me you won the case? A famous victory, Hilda.
Yes, the Age of Miracles is not past.
Let us drink to the blessed Saint Edithna (Rumpole) ' also known as She Who Must Be Obeyed.
'