Chapter 18: Fiddlers Three

It was November and Judge Embert Wimple, looking at a lawn sprinkled with dead leaves, was once more struck by the thought that he would have been happy to exchange the Victorian pile and acre-plus of grounds for a town house or flat. He no longer mentioned this at home, as he knew that his wife would maintain her opposition, which he considered strange, as Esmeralda Wimple had never expressed any great affection for the house and had lost interest in the garden since taking up brush and palette. It was in vain that the judge had pointed out to her that a lofty eyrie on the fringe of the city centre’s main park might offer better light than she could get in the converted bedroom she used as a studio. She had argued that the urban murk would more than counteract the gain in height offered by a top-floor apartment. She was still ahead and seemed likely to remain so.

It was probably just as well, thought Embert Wimple as he donned his thermal underwear. No doubt the transplanting of such old trees – both Wimples being well past eighty – would have a downside. Perhaps the idea was just a pipe dream, or would have been if the judge had still smoked a pipe.

On with the serious business of life. A glass of orange juice, a bowl of porridge and three cups of tea prepared the judge for another day in court. The case was Watkins versus Lewthwaite and that was all Embert Wimple knew about it, which in his view was to the good.

The plaintiff, Arthur Watkins, was represented by that old warhorse, Desmond Oddley-Staggers. The defence of Michael Lewthwaite was to be conducted by the redoubtable young Arabella Bray, whose reputation was rising with each case she handled. The judge was not inclined to waste too much time in grasping the details, which would emerge in due course. He nodded to Oddley-Staggers. “Let’s get cracking, Mr Enderby,” he smiled. “We’ll play it by ear.”

This was good news to prosecuting counsel. Such language from the bench suggested that the old boy was in high spirits. Dipping his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets, Oddley-Staggers favoured the judge with a fractional bow. “May it please Your Honour, this case is a clear-cut one. My client, Mr Watkins, was assaulted by the defendant, such that he was unable to pursue his occupation for three days. He calculates that he lost one hundred and fifty pounds in potential earnings. He also, albeit conjecturally, lost income of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, though he is not taking action in respect of this su –”

“What?” Judge Wimple’s voice rose to a falsetto squeak, which Oddley-Staggers felt might belie his honour’s superficially good mood. “Your client is overlooking a quarter of a million pounds, in order to press his claim for less than one-thousandth of that amount? Are you serious?”

“If I may explain, Your Honour.”

“I think you had better do so.”

“Thank you. Mr Watkins is in the second-hand furniture business. From time to time he clears out houses where someone has died. In such cases it is quite common for the family of the deceased to take what they want from the home in question, then hand over the residual work to a professional. Mr Watkins was occasionally assisted by the defendant, who received payment in recognition of his labours. The incident before us took place on the twenty-second of June. The two parties were removing contents from a house in Blenheim Parade, about two miles from here. The property had almost been emptied when my client recalled that he had occasionally found oddments in the lofts of such places. He therefore investigated, finding a large cardboard box, which contained a number of nondescript items, but also a violin.”

“Oh, no,” the judge groaned.

“Your Honour?”

“I hope this is not another Strad in the attic story?”

Oddley-Staggers flushed slightly. “I fear so. However, there are variations here.”

Judge Wimple flapped his hands, projecting weariness. “Please continue.”

“Thank you. All the other objects in the box were put into the removal van, but my client and the defendant deemed it wise to examine the violin. They used a torch to look through the f-holes.”

“The what?” yelped the judge, who was quite clear as to what he had just heard, but felt that feigned ignorance was in order.

“The f-holes, Your Honour. Those are the incisions in the upper face of the instrument. They resemble the lower case letter ‘f’. On shining the torch through the holes, the parties detected the letters S – t – r – a – d – i. Mr Watkins thought it appropriate to prise off the back of the violin. It was found that the name signed inside the instrument was indeed Stradivari. Moreover, following the signature there was a small circle, inside which was a capital letter ‘R’. My client immediately perceived this as evidence of the authenticity of the object. The two men became excited and regrettably the emotional turbulence resulted in a dispute as to who had first discovered what both considered significant. There was a brawl, during which the defendant picked up the instrument, minus the detached base, and struck my client on the head with it, causing the injuries which led to the inability of Mr Watkins to follow his occupation for the period mentioned earlier. For this reason, he seeks satisfaction.”

“Astounding,” bawled the judge. “How could a prize like that fall into such hands. I think we must hear from the defence. What have you to say, Ms Braithwaite?”

Not bad, thought Arabella Bray. She bowed. “May it please Your Honour, the bald facts as stated by my learned colleague may well be accurate, but they do not do justice to the matter.”

“Then perhaps you had better expand.”

“By all means. I have made extensive enquiries and I will try to omit what is unnecessary.”

“Oh, please do,” the judge interjected. “By all means bowdlerise. I doubt that I could stand the unexpurgated version.”

“Very well, Your Honour. My client, Mr Lewthwaite, was a little ahead of the plaintiff, in that he noted that what was left of the violin after the fracas had a distinct smell of tobacco. Not being sure as to when that substance was introduced into Europe, or when Stradivari lived, he took the debris for expert examination, which revealed that the resonating body and neck of the instrument had been made of cedarwood and that the fingerboard, tailpiece, scroll, pegs, pegbox and chin rest were assessed as being of common, kiln-seasoned softwood. Here, certain background details are essential.”

“Why am I not surprised?” the judge groaned. “Go on.”

“Some years ago, there was a young man in Huddersfield named Wayne Jackson. During a period of unemployment, he discovered that he had a remarkable facility for woodcarving. This led him to try his hand at violin-making. He was unable to buy the long-aged spruce, maple, sycamore and ebony woods considered the best material for such work. It so happened that he was friendly with a local tobacconist who often had, or had access to, cigar boxes. Mr Jackson used these to make the resonating bodies of violins. He steamed, laminated and bent them, in such ways as he found effective. For the remaining parts – except the strings, which were conventional – he used lengths of two-by-four pine, obtained from a local do-it-yourself store, where he also bought own-brand varnish, which he used for the finishing.”