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Confession by W. Gilmore Simms

W >> W. Gilmore Simms >> Confession




The brief space of twenty-four hours was soon overpassed, and my
anxieties ceased as the moment for the meeting with my enemy, drew
nigh. My friend called at my lodgings a good hour before daylight--it
was a point of credit with him that we should not delay the
opposite party the sixtieth part of a second. We drove out into the
country in a close carriage, taking a surgeon--who was a friend of
Kingsley--along with us. We were on the ground in due season, and
some little time before our customers. But they did not fail or
delay us. They were there with sufficient promptitude.

Perkins was a man of coolness and courage. He took his position
with admirable nonchalance; but I observed, when his eyes met mine,
that they were darkened with a scowl of anger. His brows were
contracted, and his face which was ordinarily red, had an increased
flush upon it which betrayed unusual excitement. He evidently
regarded me with feelings of bitter animosity. Perhaps this was
natural enough, if he believed the story of Mrs. Clifford--and my
scornful answer to his friend, Mr. Carter, was not calculated to
lessen the soreness. For my part, I am free to declare, I had not
the smallest sentiment of unkindness toward the fellow. I thought
little of him, but did not hate--I could not have hated him. I had
no wish to do him hurt; and, as already stated, only went out to
put a stop to the further annoyances of insolents and bullies, by
the only effectual mode--precisely as I should have used a bludgeon
over his head, in the event of a personal assault upon me. Of
course, I had no purpose to do him any injury, unless--with the
view to my own safety. I resolved secretly to throw away my fire.
Kingsley suspected me of some such intention, and earnestly protested
against it.

"I should not place you at all," he said, "if I fancied you could
do a thing so d---d foolish. The fellow intends to shoot you if he
can. Help him to a share of the same sauce."

I nodded as he proceeded to his arrangements. Here some conference
ensued between the seconds:--

"Mr. Carter was very sorry that such a business must proceed. Was it
yet too late to rectify mistakes? Might not the matter be adjusted?"

Kingsley, on such occasions, the very prince of punctilio, agreed
that the matter was a very lamentable one--to be regretted, and so
forth--but of the necessity of the thing, he, Mr. Carter, for his
principal, must be the only judge.

"Mr. Carter could answer for his friend, Mr. Perkins, that he was
always accessible to reason."

"Mr. Kingsley never knew a man more so than HIS principal."

"May we not reconcile the parties?" demanded Mr. Carter.

"Does Mr. Perkins withdraw his message?" answered Kingsley by
another question.

"He would do so, readily, were there any prospect of adjusting the
matter upon an honorable footing."

"Mr. Carter will be pleased to name the basis for what he esteems
an honorable adjustment."

"Mr. Perkins withdraws his challenge."

"We have no objection to that."

"He substitutes a courteous requisition upon Mr. Clifford for an
explanation of certain language, supposed to be offensive, made to
a lady."

"Mr. Clifford denies, without qualification, the employment of any
such language."

"This throws us back on our old ground," said Carter--"there is a
lady in question--"

"Who can not certainly be brought into the controversy," said
Kingsley--"I see no other remedy, Mr. Carter, but that we should
place the parties. We are here to answer to your final summons."

"Very good, sir; this matter, and what happens, must lie at your
door. You are peremptory. I trust you have provided a surgeon."

"His services are at your need, sir," replied Kingsley with military
courtesy.

"I thank you, sir--my remark had reference to your own necessity.
Shall we toss up for the word?"

These preliminaries were soon adjusted. The word fell to Carter,
and thus gave an advantage to Perkins, as his ear was more familiar
than mine with the accents of his friend. We were placed, and the
pistol put into my hands, without my uttering a sentence.

"Coolly now, my dear fellow," said Kingsley in a whisper, as he
withdrew from my side;--"wing him at least--but don't burn powder
for nothing."

Scarcely the lapse of a moment followed, when I heard the words "one,"
"two," "three," in tolerably rapid succession, and, at the utterance
of the last, I pulled trigger. My antagonist had done so at the
first. His eye was fixed upon mine with deliberate malignity--THAT
I clearly saw--but it did not affect my shot. This, I purposely
threw away. The skill of my enemy did not correspondend (sic) with
his evident desires. I was hurt, but very slightly. His bullet
merely raised the skin upon the fleshy part of my right thigh. We
kept our places while a conference ensued between the two seconds.
Mr. Perkins, through his friend, declared himself unsatisfied
unless I apologized, or--in less unpleasant language--explained.
This demand was answered by Kingsley with cavalier indifference He
came to me with a second pistol. His good-humored visage was now
slightly ruffled.

"Clifford!" said he, as he put the weapon into my hand, "you must
trifle no longer. This fellow abuses your generosity. He knows,
as well as I, that you threw away your fire; and he will play the
same game with you, on the same terms, for a month together, Sundays
not excepted. I am not willing to stand by and see you risk your
life in this manner; and, unless you tell me that you will give
him as good as he sends, I leave you on the spot. Will you take
aim this time?"

"I will!"

"You promise me then?"

"I do!"

I was conscious of the increased activity of my organ of
destructiveness as I said these words. I smiled with a feeling
of pleasant bitterness--that spicy sort of malice which you may
sometimes rouse in the bosom of the best-natured man in the world,
by an attempt to do him injustice. The wound I had received, though
very trifling, had no little to do with this determination. It
was not unlike such a wound as would be made by a smart stroke of
a whip, and the effect upon my blood was pretty much as if it had
been inflicted by some such instrument. I was stung and irritated
by it, and the pertinacity of my enemy, particularly as he must
have seen that my shot was thrown away, decided me to punish him
if I could. I did so! I was not conscious that I was hurt myself,
until I saw him falling!--I then felt a heavy and numbing sensation
in the same thigh which had been touched before. A faintness relieved
me from present sensibility, and when I became conscious, I found
myself in the carriage, supported by Kingsley and the surgeon, on
my way to my lodgings. My wound was a flesh wound only; the ball
was soon extracted, and in a few weeks after, I was enabled to
move about with scarcely a feeling of inconvenience. My opponent
suffered a much heavier penalty. The bone of his leg was fractured,
and it was several months before he was considered perfectly safe.
The lesson he got made him a sorer and shorter--a wiser, if not a
better man; but as I do not now, and did not then, charge myself
with the task of bringing about his moral improvement, it is not
incumbent upon me to say anything further on this subject. We will
leave him to get better as he may.






CHAPTER X.

HEAD WINDS.





The hurts of Perkins did not, unhappily, delay the progress of my
uncle to that destruction to which his silly wife and knavish lawyer
had destined him. His business was brought before the court by the
claimants, Messrs. Banks & Tressell; and a brief period only was
left him for putting in his answer. When I thought of Julia, I
resolved, in spite of all previous difficulties--the sneers of the
father, and the more direct, coarse insults of the mother--to make
one more effort to rescue him from the fate which threatened him.
I felt sure that, for the reasons already given, the merchants
would still be willing to effect a compromise which would secure
them the principal of their claim, without incurring the delay and
risk of litigation. Accordingly, I penned a note to Mr. Clifford,
requesting permission to wait upon him at home, at a stated hour.
To this I received a cold, brief answer, covering the permission
which I sought. I went, but might as well have spared myself the
labor and annoyance of this visit. Mrs. Clifford was still in the
ascendant--still deaf to reason, and utterly blind to the base
position into which her meddlesome interference in the business
threw her husband. She had her answer ready; and did not merely
content herself with rejecting my overtures, but proceeded to speak
in the language of one who really regarded me as busily seeking,
by covert ways, to effect the ruin of her family. Her looks and
language equally expressed the indignation of a mind perfectly
convinced of the fraudulent and evil purposes of the person she
addressed. Those of my uncle were scarcely less offensive. A grin
of malicious self-gratulation mantled his lips as he thanked me
for my counsel, which, he yet remarked, "however wise and good,
and well-intended, he did not think it advisable to adopt. He had
every confidence in the judgment of Mr. Perkins, who, though without
the great legal knowledge of some of his youthful neighbors, had
enough for his purposes; and had persuaded him to see the matter
in a very different point of view from that in which I was pleased
to regard it."

There was no doing anything with or for these people. The fiat for
their overthrow had evidently been issued. The fatuity which leads
to self-destruction was fixed upon them; and, with a feeling rather
of commiseration than anger, I prepared to leave the house. In this
interview, I made a discovery, which tended still more to lessen
the hostility I might otherwise have felt toward my uncle. I
was constrained to perceive that he labored under an intellectual
feebleness and incertitude which disconcerted his expression, left
his thoughts seemingly without purpose, and altogether convinced
me that, if not positively imbecile in mind and memory, there were
yet some ugly symptoms of incapacity growing upon him which might
one day result in the loss of both. I had always known him to be a
weak-minded man, disposed to vanity and caprice, but the weakness
had expanded very much in a brief period, and now presented itself to
my view in sundry very salient aspects. It was easy now to divert
his attention from the business which he had in hand--a single casual
remark of courtesy or observation would have this effect--and then
his mind wandered from the subject with all the levity and caprice
of a thoughtless damsel. He seemed to entertain now no sort of
apprehension of his legal difficulties, and spoke of them as topics
already adjusted. Nay, for that matter, he seemed to have no serious
sense of any subject, whatever might be its personal or general
interest; but, passing from point to point, exhibited that
instability of mental vision which may not inaptly be compared to
that wandering glance which is usually supposed to distinguish and
denote, in the physical eye, the presence of insanity. It was not
often now that he indulged, while speaking to me, in that manner of
hostility--those sneers and sarcastic remarks--which had been his
common habit. This was another proof of the change which his mental
man had undergone. It was not that he was more prudent or more
tolerant than before. He was quite as little disposed to be generous
toward me. But he now appeared wholly incapable of that degree
of intellectual concentration which could enable him to examine
a subject to its close. He would begin to talk with me seriously
enough, and with a due solemnity, about the suit against him;
but, in a tangent, he would dart off to the consideration of some
trifle, some household matter, or petty affair, of which, at any
other time, he must have known that his hearers had no wish to hear.
Poor Julia confirmed the conjectures which I entertained, but did
not utter, by telling me that her father had changed very much in
his ways ever since this business had been begun.

"Mother does not see it, but he is no longer the same man. Oh,
Edward, I sometimes think he's even growing childish."

The fear was a well-founded one. Before the case was tried, Mr.
Clifford was generally regarded, among those who knew him intimately,
as little better than an imbecile; and so rapid was the progress of
his infirmity, that when the judgment was given, as it was, against
him, he was wholly unable to understand or fear its import. His own
sense of guilt had anticipated its effects, and his intense vanity
was saved from public shame only by the substitution of public pity.
The decree of the court gave all that was asked; and the handsome
competence of the Cliffords was exchanged for a miserable pittance,
which enabled the family to live only in the very humblest manner.

It will readily be conjectured, from what I have stated in respect
to myself, that mine was not the disposition to seek revenge, or
find cause for exultation in these deplorable events. I had no
hostility against my unhappy uncle; I should have scorned myself if
I had. If such a feeling ever filled my bosom, it would have been
most effectually disarmed by the sight of the wretched old man,
a grinning, gibbering idict, half-dancing and half-shivering from
the cold, over the remnants of a miserable and scant fire in the
severest evening in November. It was when the affair was all over;
when the property of the family was all in the hands of the sheriff;
when the mischievous counsel of such a person as Jonathan Perkins,
Esquire could do no more harm even to so foolish a person as my
uncle's wife; and when his presence, naturally enough withdrawn
from a family from which he could derive no further profit, and
which he had helped to ruin, was no longer likely to offend mine by
meeting him there--that I proceeded to renew my direct intercourse
with the unfortunate people whom I was not suffered to save.

The reader is not to suppose that I had kept myself entirely aloof
from the family until these disasters had happened. I sought Julia
when occasion offered, and, though she refused it, tendered my
services and my means whenever they might be hestowed with hope of
good. And now, when all was over, and I met her at the door, and
she sank upon my bosom, and wept in my embrace, still less than
ever was I disposed to show to her mother the natural triumph of a
sagacity which had shown itself at the expense of hers. I forgot,
in the first glance of my uncle, all his folly and unkindness. He
was now a shadow, and the mental wreck was one of the most deplorable,
as it was one of the most rapid and complete, that could be imagined.
In less than seven months, a strong man--strong in health--strong,
as supposed, in intellect--singularly acute in his dealings among
tradesmen--regarded by them as one of the most shrewd in
the fraternity--vain of his parts, of his family, and of his
fortune--solicitous of display, and constant in its indulgence!--that
such a man should be stricken down to imbecility and idiotism--a
meagre skeleton in form--pale, puny, timid--crouching by
the fireplace--grinning with stealthy looks, momently cast around
him--and playing--his most constant employment--with the bellows
strings that hung beside him, or the little kitten, that, delighted
with new consideration, had learned to take her place constantly
at his feet! What a wreck!

But the moral man had been wrecked before, or this could not have
been. It was only because of his guilt--of its exposure rather--that
he sunk. In striving to shake off the oppressive burden, he shook
off the intellect which had been compelled chiefly to endure it.
The sense of shame, the conviction of loss, and, possibly, other
causes of conscience which lay yet deeper--for the progeny of crime
is most frequently a litter as numerous as a whelp's puppies--helped
to crush the mind which was neither strong enough to resist temptation
at first, nor to bear exposure at last. I turned away with a tear,
which I could not suppress, from the wretched spectacle. But I could
have borne with more patience to behold this ruin, than to subdue
the rising reproach which I felt as I turned to encounter Mrs.
Clifford.

This weak woman, still weak, received me coldly, and I could see
in her looks that she regarded me as one whom it was natural to
suppose would feel some exultation at beholding their downfall.
I saw this, but determined to say nothing, in the attempt to undo
these impressions. I knew that time was the best teacher in all
such matters, and resolved that my deportment should gradually make
her wiser on the subject of that nature which she had so frequently
abused, and which, I well knew, she could never understand. But
this hope I soon discovered to be unavailing. Her disaster had
only soured, not subdued her; and, with the natural tendency of
the vulgar mind, she seemed to regard me as the person to whom she
should ascribe all her misfortunes. As, to her narrow intellect,
it seemed natural that I should exult in the accomplishment of my
predictions, so it was a process equally natural that she should
couple me with their occurrence; and, indeed, I was too nearly
connected with the event, through the medium of my unconscious
father, not to feel some portion of the affliction on his account
also; though neither his memory nor my reputation suffered from
the development of the affair in the community where we lived.

Mrs. Clifford did not openly, or in words, betray the feelings
which were striving in her soul; but the general restraint which
she put upon herself in my presence, the acerbity of her tone,
manner, and language, to poor Julia, and the unvaried querulousness
of her remarks, were sufficient to apprize me of the spite which
she would have willingly bestowed upon myself, had she any tolerable
occasion for doing so. A few weeks served still further to humble
the conceit and insolence of the unfortunate woman. The affair
turned out much more seriously than I expected. A sudden fall in
the value of real and personal estate, just about the time when
the sheriff's sale took place, rendered necessary a second levy,
which swept the miserable remnant of Mr. Clifford's fortune, leaving
nothing to my uncle but a small estate which had been secured by
settlement to Mrs. Clifford and her daughter, and which the sheriff
could not legally lay hands on.

I came forward at this juncture, and, having allowed them to remove
into the small tenement to which, in their reduced condition they
found it prudent to retire, I requested a private interview with
Mrs. Clifford, and readily obtained it.

I was received by the good lady in apparent state. All the little
furniture which she could save from the former, was transferred
very inappropriately to the present dwelling-house. The one was
quite unsuited to the other. The massive damask curtains accorded
badly with the little windows over which they were now suspended,
and the sofa, ten feet in length, occupied an unreasonable share
of an apartment twelve by sixteen. The dais of piled cushions, on
which so many fashionable groups had lounged in better times, now
seemed a mountain, which begot ideas of labor, difficulty, and
up-hill employment, rather than ease, as the eye beheld it cumbering
two thirds of the miserable area into which it was so untastefully
compressed. These, and other articles of splendor and luxury,
if sold, would have yielded her the means to buy furniture more
suitable to her circumstances and situation, and left her with
some additional resources to meet the daily and sometimes pressing
exigencies of life.

The appearance of this parlor argued little in behalf of the salutary
effect which such reverses might be expected to produce in a mind
even tolerably sensible. They argued, I fancied, as unfavorably for
my suit as for the humility of the lady whom I was about to meet.
If the parlor of Mrs. Clifford bore such sufficient tokens of her
weakness of intellect, her own costume betrayed still more. She had
made her person a sort of frame or rack upon which she hung every
particle of that ostentatious drapery which she was in the habit
of wearing at her fashionable evenings. A year's income was paraded
upon her back, and the trumpery jewels of three generations found
a place on every part of her person where it is usual for fashionable
folly to display such gewgaws. She sailed into the room in a style
that brought to my mind instantly the description which Milton gives
of the approach of Delilah to Samson, after the first days of his
blind captivity:--


"But who is this, what thing of se or land?--
Female of sex it seems--
That so bedecked, ornate and gay,
Comes this way sailing, like a stately ship
Of Tarsus, bound for the isles
Of Javan or Gadire,
With all her bravery on and tackle trim,
Sails filled, and streamers waving,
Courted by all the winds that hold their play,
An amber scent of odorous perfume
Her harbinger!"


No description could have been more, just and literal in the case
of Mrs. Clifford. I could scarce believe my eyes; and when forced
to do so, I could scarcely suppose that this bravery was intended
for my eyes only. Nor was it;--but let me not anticipate. This
spectacle, I need not say, sobered me entirely, if anything
was necessary to produce this effect, and increased the grave
apprehensions which were already at my heart. The next consequence
was to make the manner of my communication serious even to severity.
A smile, which was of that doubtful sort which is always sinister
and offensive, overspread her lips as she motioned me to resume
the seat from which I had risen at her entrance; while she threw
herself with an air of studied negligence upon one part of the
sofa. I felt the awkwardness of my position duly increased, as
her house, dress, and manner, convinced me that she was not yet
subdued to hers; but a conscious rectitude of intention carried me
forward, and lightened the task to my feelings.

"Mrs. Clifford," I said, without circumlocution, "I have presumed
to ask your attention this morning to a brief communication
which materially affects my happiness, and which I trust may not
diminish, if it does not actually promote, yours. Before I make
this communication, however, I hope I may persuade myself that
the little misunderstandings which have occurred between us are no
longer to be considered barriers to our mutual peace, and happiness--"

"Misunderstandings, Mr. Clifford?--I don't know what misunderstandings
you mean. I'm sure I've never misunderstood you."

I could not misunderstand the insolent tenor of this speech, but
I availed myself of the equivoque which it involved to express my
gratification that such was the case.

"My path will then be more easy, Mrs. Clifford--my purpose more
easily explained."

"I am glad you think so, sir," she answered coolly, smoothing down
certain folds of her frock, and crossing her hands upon her lap,
while she assumed the attitude of a patient listener. There was
something very repulsive in all this; but I saw that the only way
to lessen the unpleasantness of the scene, and to get on with her,
would be to make the interview as short as possible, and come at
once to my object. This I did.

"It is now more than a year, Mrs. Clifford, since I had the honor
to say to my uncle, that I entertained for my cousin Julia such
a degree of affection as to make it no longer doubtful to me that
I should best consult my own happiness by seeking to make her my
wife. I had the pleasure at the same time to inform him, which I
believed to be true, that Julia herself was not unwilling that such
should be the nearer tie between us--"

"Yes, yes, Mr. Clifford, I know all this; but my husband and myself
thought better of it, and--" she said with fidgetty impatience.

"And my application was refused," I said calmly; thus finishing
the sentence where she had paused.

"Well, sir, and what then?"

"At that time, madam, my uncle gave as a reason that he had other
arrangements in view."

"Yes, sir, so we had; and this reminds me that those arrangements
were broken off entirely in consequence of the perversity which
you taught my daughter. I know it all, sir; there's no more need
to tell me of it, than there is to deny it. You put my daughter
up to refusing young Roberts, who would have jumped at her, as his
father did--and he one of the best families and best fortunes in
the city. I'm sure I don't know, sir, what object you can have in
reminding me of these things."

Here was ingenious perversity. I bore with it as well as I could,
and strove to preserve my consideration and calmness.

"You do your daughter injustice, Mrs. Clifford, and me no less, in
this opinion. But I do not seek to remind you of misunderstandings
and mistakes, the memory of which can do no good. My purpose now
is to renew the offer to you which I originally made to Mr. Clifford.
My attachment to your daughter remains unaltered, and I am happy
to say that fortune has favored me so far as to enable me to place
her in a situation of comparative comfort and independence which
I could not offer then--"

Letter: Gender roles in the Cinderella story

Doctors assure us that wherever you find an elderly, pompous old writer long past his prime you will find a bottle of scotch nearby. If only that were the case. Hilly hid mine after I fell up the stairs when I came home from the Garrick yesterday, and I've had to make do with a bottle of Blue Nun I found in the maid's parlour. Not that I am an alcoholic. Dipsomaniacs are a breed of the lower orders you meet on street corners: people like myself are bon viveurs who happen to like a drink. Or 12.

My primary observation is that drinking makes the daily grind of dealing with people so much easier. You drink a pint of whisky and become the life and soul of the party. You then start insulting people, before sweating heavily and wetting yourself involuntarily. You will usually find that everyone quickly avoids you, thereby relieving you of the need to make conversation. This is why I prefer to do much of my drinking at home. It saves so much time.

There are a great many drinks on the market - spirits, wines and beers - and I've probably drunk them all. Usually in some kind of combination with one another. Mixing cocktails is one of my favourite hobbies. Here's one I invented last week for my great sycophant, Christopher Hitchens.

The Hitch

One bottle of Babycham

One bottle of absinthe

Five shots of Angostura very bitters

Two tablespoons of bile

Two or three glasses of this tincture can give you a lifetime of self-satisfaction.

At some time you will probably be forced to invite people to your home and they may expect a drink. My advice is to offer them the cheapest tipple you can find; my local off-licence does a ghastly Mosel at 70p a bottle. I've never cared for even the best wines, and this should guarantee those poncing off you neither ask for top-ups nor stay long, thereby leaving you more money and time for the pub.

It is well known that only the very dullest of petit-bourgeois minds fail to over-imbibe on a daily basis, so I regard hangovers as a price worth paying for my brilliance. That said, I have found ways of coping with this metaphysical malaise. The first is to fuck someone; preferably somebody else's wife, but if your own is the only one around then she will do. The second is to read a book by that little shit Mart; it will either remind you you're not that bad a writer or give you some sleep.

The one downside to drinking is that it can make you fat. This is remedied by cutting out food entirely and drinking all spirits without mixers. My weight has gone down to 19st with this diet. There isn't much more to say, but as I'm being paid by the column I'd better repeat myself. And now that I'm dead, there's no harm in Bloomsbury repackaging the same material several times in the same collection.

I don't really like wine. Gin is for pansies, though a snifter with water doesn't go amiss. Liqueurs are best left to patent-shoed Wops. Or Americans. Champagne is an overrated girl's drink, though it can be drunk with any food; as such, it's a perfect breakfast drink because a scotch before 10am is very non-U.

I loathe pubs with loud music, but my utmost detestation is reserved for sanctimonious ex-topers. There's nothing worse than a man who doesn't drink. I once tried not drinking for several hours and my wives and mistresses said how dull it was that I was conscious and they were spared removing my soiled trousers from my bloated legs.

Whisky is my favourite tipple, though I recommend never giving it to a Welshman as it's wasted on someone with an IQ of less than 80. Have I mentioned that I'm partial to a Macallan? Gosh is that the time? Hilly's coming to change my IV drip before I fall unconscious again. The publisher can bloody well pad out the rest of the book with a pointless quiz without me.

Q: Who will buy this?

A: No one.

The digested read digested: The old pub bore.

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Jury clears judge of libelling mother
Sales of 'misery memoirs' fall after they boomed beyond all expectations since Dave Pelzer wrote A Child Called It

Constance Briscoe wins Ugly libel case

A judge who was sued for libel by her mother over allegations of childhood cruelty and neglect in her bestselling "misery memoir" won her case yesterday.

Constance Briscoe burst into tears at the high court in London as a jury unanimously cleared her and publishers Hodder & Stoughton over the claims in Ugly, which her mother Carmen Briscoe-Mitchell, 74, had alleged were a "piece of fiction".

During the 10-day trial, Briscoe, 51, who was one of the first black women judges in the UK, told the court her mother repeatedly beat her with a stick for bed-wetting and called her a "dirty little whore", a "potato-head" and "miss piss-a-bed".

She described trying to kill herself by drinking diluted bleach after failing to get taken into care, and told the jury she used a university grant to have plastic surgery to remove the "ugliness" her mother had taunted her over.

Briscoe, of Clapham, south London, also said that when she was nine, her mother had deliberately cut her on the inside of her arm with a knife in a row over the preparation of a chicken.

Ugly, published in 2006, has sold more than 400,000 copies in the UK. Briscoe and Hodder & Stoughton had denied libel and said the book was substantially true. Andrew Caldecott QC, for Briscoe, said the events occurred between 1964 and 1975.

Briscoe-Mitchell, from Southwark, south-east London, left court without making any immediate comment about her legal defeat. During the trial she had denied all the allegations of verbal and physical abuse and claimed she and her daughter had enjoyed a loving relationship within a happy family.

Her counsel, William Panton, told the jury Briscoe was "spinning a yarn", claiming his client had struggled to bring up her 11 children and had provided for them equally to the best of her ability.

Outside court, Briscoe told reporters she was "very happy" with the jury's verdict, which came after more than a day of deliberation.

"It is sad that my mother still feels the need to pursue me," she said. "Now I just want to get on with my career. I would like to thank all my readers who have sent me messages of support, including the very many children who provided helpful advice.

"I can quite understand why my family went into collective denial but whilst child abuse may be committed behind closed doors it should never be swept under the carpet."

Hodder & Stoughton said it was pleased with the verdict. "We are very proud to be Constance Briscoe's publisher," a statement said. "Her books Ugly and Beyond Ugly have touched hundreds of thousands of readers, many of them children. Sadly, as we know from the news over the past few weeks, child abuse is all too common and nothing and no one should ever stand in the way of the truth."

Asked during the trial why she wrote the book, Briscoe said: "I didn't believe for a split second that I owed my mother a bond of silence. I don't. I had a story to tell and that story really is that I, someone who from dirt poverty, from absolutely nowhere, with absolutely no assistance whatsoever, who faced adversity at every turn, could come through."

The court heard she had cleaned offices for two hours every day before school until her studies took her to Newcastle University, the criminal bar and, eventually, to become one of the country's few black women judges.

"I wanted to say to whoever read the book ... you can be whatever you want to be," Briscoe said. "You just have to believe in yourself ... you do not have to be posh or privileged to be at the Bar.

"You just need to believe in yourself and I truly, truly believe that my book has done an enormous amount of good."

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