An Experiment in Treason

by Alexander, Bruce

  “Oh, dear God, I hope not!” cried Sir John. It was as if the words had leaped from his mouth of their own volition. I had not even considered that possibility.

  “But go on, Jeremy. Do go on, please.”

  “All right, to conclude then,” said I, “let me offer this as an hypothesis. The stolen packet of letters are from some member of Parliament or, more probably, from a member of the cabinet, not Lord Hillsborough, to the Lord Chief Justice, asking him what might be done within the law to silence those loudest voices of rebellion in the colonies. There may have been a reply from Lord Mansfield, further inquiry on details raised by the reply — and so on. Three or four letters would constitute a ‘packet,’ wouldn’t you say so, sir?”

  “At this point, young Jeremy, all I can say is that you have frightened me quite to death, for who but I — “

  Sir John was then interrupted by a knock upon the door below. He seemed almost relieved at the interruption.

  “You get that, will you?” said he to me. “I shall sit here and consider the awful implications of what 4you have just suggested.”

  “But Sir John, ‘tis just an hypothesis.”

  “Never mind. Go and answer the door.”

  The knocking had ceased soon as it began, which meant to me that either Molly or Clarissa had answered and ‘were now considering whether or not the visitor were important enough, or the matter he brought urgent enough, to merit disturbing Sir John. The women of the house tended to be quite protective of him, his time, and his attention.

  When I arrived in the kitchen, I saw that it was as I had supposed. Constable Perkins had penetrated no farther than just inside the door. There, Molly stood her ground, preventing him from going beyond that point by force of her considerable will. Clarissa was there behind her, fussing fruitlessly, offering to carry whatever news he had up to Sir John.

  ” ‘Course I remember you,” Molly declared to Mr. Perkins as he attempted to push past. “You’re the one-armed gentleman sat at my own table in Deal and celebrated with us all the downfall of that villainous baronet. And of course I’ll let you up to see him soon as he says it’s proper.”

  “I’ll go!” declared Clarissa. “I’ll go right up and tell him now what your news is.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” said I, as loudly and confidently as I was able. “Mr. Perkins is expected. Sir John sent me to fetch him up and save you the trouble — isn’t that so, Mr. Perkins?”

  “Oh, indeed so, Jeremy.”

  “And have you the answer to that puzzle we put before you earlier?”

  “Yes, I have it right here.” And, so saying, Mr. Perkins tapped his head with a great show of certainty.

  Reluctantly, Molly stepped aside and left the way clear for him to join me. Clarissa, knowing me better, followed him suspiciously with her eyes as he crossed the kitchen and made his way to me at the foot of the stairs. The last I saw of her, she was looking dubiously directly at me.

  I whispered to Mr. Perkins once we were out of sight and earshot: “There are times when a good lie, well told, serves better than the truth.”

  “It can save a good deal of time,” said he.

  Sir John who, I believe, had the keenest sense of hearing of any man alive, was chuckling with great delight when we entered his darkened study, as if to say to us that he had heard all. Yet he made no comment upon it.

  “Jeremy, light a candle for Mr. Perkins, will you? You’re the only one who’ll abide my habit of sitting in the dark. I’m sure he’d rather a bit of light.”

  I reached for the tinderbox but was restrained by Mr. Perkins’s hand upon my wrist.

  “Don’t bother,” said he. “This should not take long and besides, I like sitting in the dark. It’s restful is what it is.”

  “As you will then,” said Sir John. “What have you for us. Mr. Perkins?”

  “Well, it’s this way, sir. When you gave us that little talk about that burglary in Whitehall, I got to thinking about it whilst I was out, and some of the details you described sounded pretty familiar.”

  “Which details?” asked Sir John.

  “Why, the fact the dogs didn’t bark and the tape that was left upon the locks. But I couldn’t put it together myself, so I went to my favorite snitch, and put it all before her, and she says without so much as a blink-your-eye, ‘No question of it, has to be Ned Ferguson and Tommy Skinner.’ I’ve a question for you. Sir John. Did they go in the front door?”

  “They did indeed.”

  “Well, that’s Ferguson for you. Aly snitch says there ain’t a better picklock in London, maybe in all the world, than Ferguson. He wants into a place, he gets into it in a minute or less. He’s so proud of his work he leaves the locks taped just as a kind of calling card.”

  “A signature?”

  “Right you are, sir. And while Ferguson is busy with the locks, Skinner feeds the dogs with real meat — beef or mutton, what-ever it is, whatever might keep them quiet. Tommy Skinner is also ready to provide muscle, as it’s needed. Something must have gone wrong there in Whitehall, for he ain’t killed nobody before. Too bad about that.”

  “Indeed it is,” said Sir John. “What you’ve brought us is most welcome, let me assure you. All I can say, sir, is, bring in these two burglars, and I shall question them — the sooner the better.”

  THREE

  In which Sir John

  seeks Mr. Johnson’s help

  in planning a dinner party

  The next day began in a manner quite like the one before it. Very early in the morning, even before I had had my morning cup of tea, Mr. Baker climbed the stairs to notify us that the Lord Chief Justice had once more sent his coach-and-four to bring Sir John to an early morning conference at his residence in Bloomsbury Square. The conveyance awaited him below, in Bow Street.

  It fell to me to inform Sir John of this unexpected summons. I tried tapping upon his door, knocking, and finally pounding, before I managed to get some response. And then did it come from Lady Fielding, rather than from Sir John himself. Calling through the door, she promised to get him out of bed and into his clothes.

  “It may take a bit, though,” she warned. “He’s still sleeping sound.”

  And, indeed, it did take a bit. It was near half an hour before he was up, dressed, and downstairs, slurping his tea and cramming buttered soda bread into his mouth.

  At best he was a greedy eater; when he felt hurried, as he did that morning, he was like a poorhouse boy at Christmas, determined to eat his fill and more before it be taken from him. Yet I managed to separate him from the table at last with a reminder that Mr. Perkins might be returned with a bit of news of the two burglars.

  Rising, brushing the crumbs from his waistcoat, he consented to go — but only if Molly would cut and butter another piece that he might take it with him in the coach. So it was — and though Mr.

  Perkins was nowhere about, nor were Ferguson and Skinner in the strongroom, Sir John was satisfied that the constable would do all that need be done and permitted me to usher him out the door and into the waiting coach.

  Once we were under way, he turned to me and asked, did I have some idea why this second early-morning invitation had been extended. When I told him I had none, he laughed somewhat bitterly.

  “I put that to you,” said he, “for you seem to have a talent for divining the worst possibilities, and I wanted to steel myself against the worst that could happen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That hypothesis of yours kept me sleepless half the night. It is, if you will pardon me for sajang so, all too reasonable. I ask myself how it could be that I, who knows these slippery blackguards who constitute His Majesty’s government far better than you, could have neglected such a possibility as you have suggested.”

  “But sir, ‘tis only an hypothesis, though as you say, a reasonable one.”

  “More than reasonable. I call it real.”

  I felt quite ambiguously about all of this. While I li
ked it not that I had given Sir John such a bad night of it, I was nevertheless secretly pleased that I had thought of something he had not. Was this wrong of me? I believed that, after all, what we had been involved in the night before was another of his exercises to teach me to think in the manner of a lawyer.

  We finished our journey in silence. It was not such a long one, nor did our silence signify anger or hurt feelings. In truth, I thought that it was most likely that Sir John, having finished his morsel of buttered bread, had settled down for a brief doze. The black silk band which he wore round his head, covering his eyes, often made it impossible to tell if he were awake or sleeping.

  Whether it was one or the other made little difference, for the moment we came to the residence of the Lord Chief Justice, and the ‘wheels of the coach stopped turning, he was alert and upright.

  The door to the coach was thrown open by the footman, and we descended to the pavement. And a minute later, we were in the house, following the detested butler to Lord Mansfield’s study.

  “Please sit down, Sir John,” said the Chief Justice. “I’ve not much time, and I wish to get this done as quickly as possible.”

  I arranged the chair beneath the magistrate and tapped him to indicate that he might seat himself.

  “That will suit me well,” said Sir John.

  “I have heard once again from Lord Hillsborough and from the solicitor general, whom I believe you met during your visit to Lord Hillsborough yesterday.”

  “It was a singularly unfruitful visit.”

  “Well, you’ll not have to repeat it — not today, an3rway.”

  “You know not how happy I am to hear that.”

  “No, I have been asked by them to urge you to continue your investigation and to suggest to you — and I quote — ‘in the strongest terms possible’ to question Benjamin Franklin regarding the matter of the burglary.”

  “Benjamin Franklin?” echoed Sir John in a loud tone of exasperation, “what has he to do with this? “

  “Quite a bit, if I’m to believe them.”

  “And do you?”

  “That’s neither here nor there, unless he appears before me and I hear the evidence against him.”

  “Evidence which I’m expected to assemble.”

  “Well … yes.”

  “Don’t you think it rather an odd way to go about an investigation: to pick out the culprit first and then search about for the evidence to convict him? Who is conducting this investigation, may I ask? Is it you, Lord Mansfield? Is it the solicitor general? Is it Lord Hillsborough himself? Or someone higher — the prime minister, perhaps? Or — “

  “All I can say to that, Sir John, is that I am not the one conducting the investigation. As for the others you mentioned, I can tell you that Dexter and Lord Hillsborough hinted broadly that they were simply passing on to me the wishes of another, obviously of one with greater authority than either one of them have. You mentioned the Prime Minister — yes, it could be he.”

  “Or another member of the Privy Council.”

  “That, too, is possible.”

  “In short, you don’t know.” At that Sir John paused. Then, in a more accommodating tone: “I don’t mean to belabor this, Lord Mansfield, but you must understand my position. If I’m to be the cat’s paw for another, I would like to know who that other is.”

  “I understand,” said the Chief Justice. “I only regret that I cannot satisfy you in this regard. But do give me your assurance, sir, that you will question this man, Franklin.”

  “Well and good, I shall question this distinguished personage, but it will be at my own time and in my own way.”

  “Yes, yes, do it your own way, by all means. Do it any way you choose.”

  From the sly expression that lingered upon Sir John’s face following this concession, I was fair certain that he had something planned. Yet what that something would be, I could not possibly, at this point, have divined.

  “And now, Sir John, since I have twice routed you from your bed at an ungodly hour, let me at least see you back to Bow Street in my coach — unless you’d prefer to go afoot …”

  “By no means,” said Sir John. “Certainly I accept your offer. There remains something I should like to discuss with you. We could do so along the way.”

  “Excellent, ” said Lord Mansfield, rising from his chair. “Shall we then be off?”

  Thus we went, Sir John at my elbow and Lord Mansfield leading the way. The butler was nowhere in sight until we arrived at the door to the street, and then did he pop out from a large closet and offer his master a cloak to wear against the morning chill. He assisted him in donning the garment, and then opened the door for us all. As I passed him, our eyes met, and he seemed to look upon me with a sort of benevolent amusement. I knew not if this were preferable to his unusual air of cold, aloof superiority. I decided that I should have to consider the matter.

  Then up and into the coach, assisted by the footman. To be rich, I decided, was to be thought incapable of performing such mundane acts without help. Perhaps that was why so many of the wealthy behaved as children: They were treated as such.

  We were well on our way when Lord Mansfield, who had been running his hand idly over the upholstery of his seat, did suddenly sit erect and take notice of what he had encountered there.

  “Good God, ” said he, “what is this stuff? “

  He raised his finger with bits of white upon the tip, for closer inspection. “They look like …” He carefully tasted a few of the white bits. “Why, they are! They’re bread crumbs. Now, who would be eating here in the coach? I’ll wager it’s that slovenly driver, Carling. That fellow is ever eating — ever and anywhere! Well, he shall hear from me about this. Indeed.”

  I was sorely embarrassed on behalf of Sir John. He, it was, who had spread the crumbs of soda bread where Lord Mansfield now sat. That I knew full well. What could I do or say to cover his crude misstep? Yet a glance in his direction told me there was no hope of covering up anything. He was just beginning to snicker, and well did I know that he would now progress from snicker to chuckle, and from chuckle to guffaw. And so it went precisely. In less than a minute, he was laughing so loudly and boisterously that the small space within the coach wherein we sat could scarce contain the noise of it.

  “Whatever is the matter with you. Sir John?” said Lord Mansfield in alarm. Then did there pass a full minute in which the customarily dignified magistrate sought to bring himself under control. He did his best. Yet even so, there were a few times in which he lost himself utterly to laughter, and was forced to begin anew.

  “I would only say to you, my lord” — and here he halted briefly, one last time lest he be overcome again with laughter — “I would say to you that your man Carling is not the culprit, but rather ‘twas I, the slovenly magistrate, who spread crumbs all over the seat. So rushed was I to attend your meeting that I fear it was necessary for me to breakfast in your coach. I think, however, that I did no permanent damage.”

  Lord Mansfield, somewhat at a loss, cleared his throat, hemmed and hawed a bit, than said at last, “Yes … well … I’m sure no damage was done, none at all. Sorry to have made such demands upon you, but I’ve a long day in court today, and the sooner I get to it …”

  “The sooner you’ll be done, of course, ” said Sir John.

  An uneasy silence fell inside the coach. Oddly, it was Lord Mansfield, rather than Sir John, who showed signs of embarrassment. Perhaps a change of subject was in order.

  “You said, Sir John, that there was something more you wished to discuss.”

  “What? Oh yes, there is. I was wondering if you yourself are at all familiar with the contents of these missing letters.”

  “Only in a general way.”

  “Meaning … what?”

  “Well, meaning that they have to do with the American colonies and naught to do with Lord Hillsborough’s nasty pursuits.”

  “It has been suggested to me that since the letters no do
ubt concern the talk of rebellion in the American colonies, and His Majesty’s government is so eager to have them back, they might well have to do with a plan to silence the talk of rebellion by resort to legal means.”

  “By what plan is that?” asked the Lord Chief Justice.

  “By trying a few of the leaders on charges of sedition, or even treason. Have you heard of any such plan? Perhaps been consulted on how such might be made to work?”

  Lord Mansfield gave that a bit of thought before replying in a well-considered manner. “Nooo, ‘ said he, “I can’t say that I have been consulted on any plan of that sort. I must say, however, that it is rather a good idea. There d be nothing like a good treason trial followed by a public execution to still those voices of contention.”

  “The reason I ask,” Sir John persisted, “is that the suggestion ‘in the strongest terms possible’ that I focus my investigation upon this man, Franklin, would seem to fit nicely into such a plan.”

  “Yes, wouldn’t it.”

  “Benjamin Franklin may not be as noisy as Samuel Adams and his faction in that place — what is it called?”

  “Massachusetts,” said I quickly.

  “Yes,” said Sir John. “Thank-you, Jeremy. Franklin may not be as noisy as some, but he’s right here in London — most of the time. Ever so handy.”

  Alas, his irony was lost upon the Lord Chief Justice, who continued to appraise the hypothesis in muttered comments to himself. At last, he looked to Sir John and spoke out in a manner most eager.

  “Tell me, sir, who was it made the suggestion to you? I should like to tell him what I think of his plan.”

  “You already have.”

  “Already have? What do you mean? “