The Regency Detective

by David Lassman

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Swann stood upon the summit of Beechen Cliff, on the southern slopes of Bath, and looked over the panoramic view of the city that was afforded from this spot. From here, he watched as the dark rain cloud that had been heading from Bristol passed the city on its northern side, leaving the centre dry as it headed off in the direction of Chippenham and then on, perhaps, to London.

  He had left the church grounds, on concluding his investigations, and then made his way across a series of fields before striding up the steep incline of this hill to its pinnacle. Mary had mentioned a little while before about the view which could be obtained from this particular vantage point and its being worthy of the climb which preceded it, and as he now gazed out over the city he saw she was right. There was a sense of omnipotence surrounding this vista, with its opportunity to comprehend the city from above and so perceive it in all its completeness. Down there, at this moment, Wicks was no doubt going about his criminal activities, while Gregor-Smith languished in jail for a crime he had not committed. The Scarred Man roamed the streets a free man, although the artist was hopefully in the process of capturing his present-day likeness. Mary was also down there somewhere, going about her daily business, as was Fitzpatrick, Lockhart and all the other people Swann knew in Bath. From this elevated position he now saw the Royal Crescent and Avon Street simultaneously and through doing so pondered, for a few moments, on their respective inhabitants as they lived out their contrasting existences. If there was anywhere in the city to gain such an overall perspective, this was it.

  Kirby would not be back in his office until five o’clock, according to Fitzpatrick, which was in just over two hours’ time, and so Swann looked eastward towards the rural landscapes which bordered the city on that particular side and decided he would undertake a walk across the area, creating a route in his mind which would leave him by Great Pulteney Street at its close. There was nothing more to be done at present in regard to Gregor-Smith and so an afternoon walk, with its potential for contemplation, seemed the most productive way to spend this time.

  Leaving the slopes of Beechen Cliff behind him, Swann walked down into the valley known as Lyncombe Vale. The area fell within the parish of Widcombe, which lay just outside the city centre and was situated in a narrow and secluded basin. Meandering across the moss-covered valley floor was a brook, which was enclosed on one side by a wooded incline, whilst open ground lay to the other. Swann navigated his way along an ill-defined track through the trees which mirrored the line of the fast-flowing water. The brook was swollen with the run-off from the snow that had fallen earlier in the week, having now melted and found its way down here from the hills, bringing with it various loose sticks and vegetation. It was late autumn and the scene throughout the vale reflected this time of year; birdsong was sporadic and only a spattering of leaves remained on the branches, rendering the summer canopy all but gone and the valley exposed to the grey-laden, mid-afternoon sky. The uneven trail under Swann’s boots became slippery in places as he made his way over the layer of mulch that comprised the shed leaves which had begun their inevitable decay into the soil to enrich next year’s growth; such was the cyclical nature of things.

  Swann now came to a raised narrow footpath which bounded the small stream on one side. As he walked alongside the water, a robin appeared and for many yards seemingly led the way, flitting from branch to branch, here to there, all the while accompanying Swann as he made his way to the end of Lyncombe Vale. Once there, Swann emerged on to an elongated roadway, situated in an area synonymous with one of the three renowned ‘creators’ of eighteenth-century Bath, who, along with John Wood the elder and Richard ‘Beau’ Nash, had left his indelible and permanent mark on the city. This was Ralph Allen and he had been the subject of a book Fitzpatrick had recently lent Swann.

  Ralph Allen was born in Cornwall, according to the magistrate’s book, Ralph Allen: His Life and Legacy, but arrived in the city that he would later become so closely associated with in 1710, at the age of seventeen. He promptly secured the position of Bath’s deputy postmaster and two years later became the youngest postmaster in the country. Through his audacious developments of the postal service while in the role, including the establishment of ‘cross posts’ – a network of postal routes that ran between the more provincial towns – along with certain fortuitous events which furthered his standing, he began to amass the beginnings of a fortune that allowed him to take full advantage of the burgeoning expansion planned for Bath from the early 1720s onwards. In anticipation of the vast stocks of building materials that would be required, he purchased land at Combe Down and began to quarry the oolite limestone found there, although this sedimentary rock, which stonemasons had found could be sawn or ‘squared up’ in any direction, would become more famously known around the world as ‘Bath Stone’. In order to transport this malleable freestone material from his mines to the riverside wharf he especially constructed at Widcombe, Allen designed the ingenious tramway, an extended, steep roadway that used nature’s gravity to its advantage. Two thirds of the way down, it passed the spot where Swann stood, although it had ceased to be in operation since Allen’s death in 1764. As he looked up the deserted thoroughfare, however, he could visualise what the scene must have looked like in its heyday, from an artist’s impression he had seen reproduced in Fitzpatrick’s book. Heavily laden, cast-iron wheeled trucks, each one containing between three to four tons of the stone which would provide the buildings of Bath its distinctive warm, honey-coloured appearance, would hurtle down the steep gradient on oak rails night and day, using gravity to propel them from the top and the skill and courage of brakemen at the bottom. Once unloaded, horse-power would then return the trucks back up the incline to begin the process once more.

  Allen became a rich man through his quarrying and as his wealth and standing in the city increased inordinately, he decided to have built a residential seat that would at once reflect his achievements and stand as a permanent monument to the qualities of the material it was built with. In 1737, work commenced on the enormous mansion Swann now observed high on a shallow curve of a hillside, to the east of where he stood, and which contained magnificent views of the valley below and the centre of Bath beyond. Given the name of Prior Park, in respect of the Benedictine Priory that had originally existed on the land, it took twenty years to fully realise Allen’s vision but once completed, was described as ‘a noble seat which sees all Bath and which was built for all the world to see.’

  Swann walked down the remainder of the old railed route to its lower end and turned right. After passing the site of Allen’s wharf, he continued along towards the Widcombe turnpike and once through its gates, found the land opened out in front of him. The road here was well maintained and it did not take Swann long to cover the distance between Widcombe and Bathwick. As he did so, however, he observed ongoing construction work to his right. This was the building of a canal that was to connect Bath with Reading. Ultimately it would join the River Avon at Widcombe as planned, but the scheme had been severely delayed, Swann understood, due to technical and legal difficulties and it was predicted to take several more years before its completion. At present, he could see the work had now reached just beyond an area known as Sydney Wharf.

  Ahead was the beginning of the Bathwick estate, where the pleasure gardens of Sydney Vauxhall could be seen in the distance; the contrast between the current expanse of land and the more built up areas of the estate being all too marked. The Bathwick estate lay adjacent to the Pulteney one, on which Great Pulteney Street had been built, and as Swann made his way to where it started, he passed the gardens on his right.

  Sydney Gardens was opened in 1795 and during its eight-year existence had already witnessed several momentous events, such as the inaugural Gala held in 1796, which had attracted more than four thousand visitors, a visit by the Prince of Wales the same year, and a Royal birthday celebration for the King himself, three years after that, which had, accordin
g to Mary who frequented the gardens often and had attended all these events herself, included a firework display ‘to exceed all expectations’. More recently, the previous year in fact, there had also been the ascent from its grounds by the balloonist Garnerin, which Fitzpatrick had witnessed.

  As Swann reached the start of Great Pulteney Street he looked across the road to a line of terraced houses opposite, which comprised Sydney Place. In one of them, he believed, lived the Austens. He had not met them yet, but they were friends of the family, Mary had told him, and he would surely do so soon. They had been away in Lyme Regis, he understood, but were due back at any time. In fact, as he maintained his gaze across the street, he saw a young woman enter the fourth house along and wondered if this was one of the two daughters Mary had mentioned, but he then continued on his way down Great Pulteney Street, refreshed from his walk and ready to confront Kirby over Gregor-Smith.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Swann stopped briefly at the house in Great Pulteney Street, to confirm the arrangements for the art exhibition that evening with Mary, before continuing into town in order to visit Kirby in his office located in the King’s Circus. The route Swann took through the city went by Queen Square and Gay Street, as he wanted to stop at his rooms in the latter, which ran off the former from its north-east corner. Swann entered the premises at No.40 Gay Street and went up to the first floor, where his rooms were located towards the rear. He went inside and consulted the giant map on the wall. He wrote down the details of the murder on a piece of paper and attached it to the wall, beside the map. He then fashioned a line from the paper to the spot on the map, to show its precise location. It had been a most eventful day and the walk through Lyncombe had done much to lift his spirits. He checked the time and saw it was a little after five. If Fitzpatrick was correct, his magisterial colleague should be in his office now.

  Swann left his Gay Street rooms and headed up towards the King’s Circus, to where Kirby’s business premises were situated. He was in no mood for anything other than the immediate release of Gregor-Smith by Kirby. On reaching the top of Gay Street he turned right, towards the section which contained Kirby’s office. He found the relevant numbered property and was about to knock on the main door when it was opened. Swann allowed an elderly gentleman to leave and then entered. The building sounded empty from his echoed footsteps, as he climbed the stairs, and it took a little while to find where Kirby was situated, but eventually he saw an open door and the magistrate sitting behind a desk. He knocked and an already unhappy Kirby looked up. He had been told by Wicks earlier in the day that Lockhart had been followed to Bristol on Swann’s orders, as well as the matter regarding the Royal Mail coach ticket; the latter for which Kirby himself had to reimburse Wicks. Now Swann stood in his office.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Kirby demanded. ‘How did you get in?’

  ‘Your front door was open,’ answered Swann, ‘and I am here to demand the release of a wrongly accused man.’

  These were not the answers Kirby wanted.

  ‘That door should always be locked,’ replied an indignant Kirby, ‘and what gives you the right to think that you can barge in here and demand anything?’

  ‘I can demand it, sir, because my investigation shows him to be innocent.’

  ‘I am the arresting magistrate and so this is my investigation. And even if this were not the case, I do not believe any of my colleagues, even Henry Fitzpatrick, would release a possible murder suspect simply due to your wild speculations and misinformed observations. In this city, Mr Swann, we deal in hard facts.’

  ‘And the facts in this case being?’ enquired Swann.

  ‘It is really none of your business, as this investigation does not concern you. I thought I told Fitzpatrick to make that clear to you!’

  ‘Yes, he did, but he is unaware of my presence here now.’

  ‘Well, that presence is no longer required, good day to you.’

  ‘You have a choice Kirby. You can either tell me what evidence you have on Mr Gregor-Smith, or I will leave this office and head straight to those occupied by the Bath Chronicle, to visit a journalist acquaintance I have recently made. I am certain he would be most interested to learn about this case.’

  Kirby was fuming but did not show it. He took a manilla-coloured folder from one of the trays on his desk and opened it.

  ‘In the case of the first murder, Gregor-Smith’s residence is in very close proximity to the crime and …’

  Swann shook his head in disbelief as Kirby continued.

  ‘… further to this, both murders are described in his unpublished manuscript.’

  ‘Those facts are merely circumstantial,’ retorted Swann.

  The magistrate opened a drawer and retrieved an item from inside it.

  ‘Well, this was actually found on the body of the second murder victim,’ Kirby said. He held up a piece of jewellery that Swann saw was a small mauve amulet with a silver chain attached.

  ‘There is also an inscription engraved on it,’ continued Kirby. ‘It reads: “To Henry G-S, warmest love always, Lydia”. Very touching, I am sure you will agree, but also very incriminating.’

  Swann was not impressed.

  ‘Gregor-Smith had already lost that amulet when I spoke with him yesterday,’ Swann told the magistrate.

  ‘Then I suggest it was located after you left his residence but he was careless enough to lose it again while murdering the clergyman. There is nothing I can do until he faces the charges he has been arrested for and Fitzpatrick would agree.’

  ‘I wish to see Gregor-Smith. Where are you holding him?’ said Swann.

  ‘That is impossible, I cannot allow it,’ replied Kirby.

  ‘He is an innocent man. I demand it.’

  ‘Again you demand it, sir,’ exclaimed Kirby, as he stood angrily at his desk. ‘Just remember where you are making this demand. You may have acquired a reputation in London and seem to be building one here, but in this city I have jurisdiction and what I decide is the law. Now, once more, good day to you, I have legal matters to attend to.’

  Kirby strode over to the door and pulled it open. Swann remained by the desk for a moment before he left. He was not pleased at this turn of events but realised he had to bide his time. Nevertheless, as he went through the door, he said, ‘You have not heard the last of this, Kirby.’

  An hour later Swann sat opposite Gregor-Smith in his cell. In his jacket pocket was the forged letter, hastily written on Kirby’s personal notepaper, which had allowed Swann access to the writer; the headed sheet requisitioned from Kirby’s office as the magistrate walked over to the door, while Swann remained at the desk for the briefest moment, the signature copied from a fleetingly observed one at the bottom of a letter that was also on the desk. Even this letter, however, could not guarantee a completely trouble-free journey and Swann had tried several places where he thought the writer might be held, before finally locating him within the Grove Street prison. It was a shrewd move by Kirby, Swann thought, as he had entered the prison, as ordinarily its inhabitants consisted purely of petty offenders and debtors, not double-murderers. Swann had been taken to the rear of the building, on being granted access, and found Gregor-Smith in a cell within the recently built block which, although only two years old, had been left inadequately damp and completely uninhabitable through the regular flooding of the building.

  ‘I will get you out of here,’ Swann told the writer, ‘do not concern yourself.’

  ‘That is most kind of you,’ replied a haggard-looking Gregor-Smith, ‘but I fear my fate has been cast. Once the journalists get hold of the story there will be no one in England who will believe my innocence.’

  ‘There will always be one person that believes it,’ replied Swann.

  ‘However well that is received by myself, I believe it may not be enough, as I doubt your powers to be such as to combat the entire press, the judicial system and the determination of the person carrying out these murders.’


  ‘Is there anyone who holds a grudge against you?’

  ‘I do not intentionally make enemies, Mr Swann. And although I do not quite understand why you are helping me, sir, I do appreciate it greatly,’ said Gregor-Smith.

  ‘I have my reasons,’ said Swann, ‘although the main one is that I know you to be innocent. It is now up to me to prove that and get you released from this filthy abomination of a prison before Kirby can make his next move.’

  Swann now stood, little realising what the next forty-eight hours would bring.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  ‘Kirby is right I’m afraid, Swann,’ said Fitzpatrick, as they stood within the somewhat crowded art gallery in studious contemplation of a landscape painted by Mr Luchini. ‘However much you may believe him to twist justice to serve his own means, this time he does have the law on his side.’

  ‘I cannot believe how a man like that can hold office,’ replied Swann disdainfully.

  ‘Perhaps you may call me misguided, but I have always found Kirby to be a pleasant enough sort,’ responded Fitzpatrick, ‘not someone you would want at your side in the midst of battle possibly, but nevertheless a competent fellow in upholding the law and carrying out his duties.’

  Swann did not answer.

  ‘This painting is most exquisite, do you not agree,’ enquired Fitzpatrick, tactfully changing the subject.

  The landscape they had been viewing was one painted from the same spot on the top of Beechen Cliff where Swann had stood earlier that afternoon and along with several others, all of which looked down on the city from various locations on its surrounding hillsides, comprised A Series of Bath Landscapes by Italian Master Visconti Luchini.