“Take this to him to whom it is addressed,” said Sir John to me. “You needn’t, of course, wait for a reply, for the Lord Chief Justice will likely think about it for some time and summon me to argue it in person. I would, however, like you to bring with you the Chinese vase which Roundtree filched from his residence. Do not simply deliver it. Before you hand it over, insist on sure and certain identification of it as the one that had been stolen.”
So intrigued and delighted was I by this final instruction that in taking my hurried leave, I nearly bumped into Mr. Donnelly at the door. I paused but to make an urgent inquiry into Mr. Cowley’s state.
“The surgery went well,” said he. “His wife is with him now, quite overcome she is. He is comforting her. A good sign, that. I think he will pull through.”
Thanking him, I went off to find Mr. Marsden that he might hand over the vase to me. Yet I was still near enough to hear Mr. Donnelly say: “Sir John, I have received another letter from my old professor at the medical faculty, an addendum to the first, which I believe will interest you greatly.”
That, of course, interested me greatly, as well. Yet the importance of the letter I carried and the pleasure of returning the vase urged me go forth at all speed, rather than find some excuse to dawdle and thus hear what Mr. Donnelly had to report.
It was one of those days in early February which offer a hint of the coming of spring. Oh, it was still winter, and have no doubt of it. I was happy to have my muffler tucked tight about my neck. My hands were thrust deep into my pockets, one of which contained the letter and the other the small porcelain vase. Yet the sky was blue, the air was clear and dry, and the sun shone down upon us all who walked the streets. My steps were buoyed by this slight change in the weather, so that the journey to Bloomsbury Square seemed not to last near so long.
I arrived and beat confidently upon the door. The butler, with whom I had fought so many engagements in the past, was as quick to arrive as he usually was. He opened the door no more than a foot or two, and stared out at me with the same air of imperturbable sobriety that he always showed me.
“What is it you wish, lad?”
“I have a letter for the Lord Chief Justice.”
“I see that you wear your bottle-green coat,” said he. “You may wait inside for your reply, if you will.”
“There is no need for that, or so I was told by Sir John.”
“Then give it me.”
He held out his hand, and I delivered the letter into it. Yet just as he was about to shut the great door, I piped up once again.
“There is another matter.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“I have here a Chinese vase,” said I, producing it from the other pocket. “Would this be the same one was taken from the house when the carpenters were working here?”
He looked at it, though not closely, and offered his hand again.
“I suppose it is,” said he. “I’ll take it.”
I pulled it back out of his reach.
“I’m afraid, sir, that your supposition will not do. Sir John instructed me that I was to have sure and certain identification of it before I surrendered it to you or anyone else in the house.”
“But … but,” he sputtered, “the proper place for it is in Lady Murray’s bedroom. I’ve had no cause to enter there but once or twice.”
“Perhaps, then, Lady Murray’s maid might identify it.”
He stood frowning at me a bit longer than I thought necessary. Then at last he said, “Wait here,” and shut the door upon me.
I returned the vase to my pocket and waited quite happily. I turned and surveyed the street, whistling a ballad, a tune from Annie’s inexhaustible supply. As it happened then, my back was turned when the door came open again — exactly as I’d planned it.
“Lad, here, lad, I have brought Lady Murray’s maid.”
I turned with a smile and one was returned me by the woman who crowded the doorway with the butler. Quite plump and motherly she looked, but her eyes were eager as a child’s.
“Doy truly have the vase?” she asked.
“I may,” said I, taking it from my pocket. “Would this be it?”
She took it from me carefully and examined it, turning it round to examine it this way and that.
“Oh, it is, it is! I’d know it anywheres. Wherever did you find it?”
“Sir John Fielding recovered it in the execution of his duties.”
“Well, you must thank him for all of us. M’lady will be jo pleased. Egbert,” said she to the butler, giving him a nudge with her elbow, “have you no sense of justice? Give the lad a reward.”
Yet much as I should have liked to remain to witness his discomfiture in this situation, I stepped back and bowed deep to her. “The smile on your face is reward enough,” said I to her, “for I was, after all, but the bearer. Goodbye to you, then.”
And so saying, I left them both with a wave. The sour look on the butler’s face was one which I can picture to this day. He knew he had been bested. And I, oh yes, I knew it, too. I fairly danced back to Bow Street.
Upon my arrival, I was informed by Mr. Fuller that Sir John wished to see me. I hastened off to his chambers, found the door standing open, and entered. Immediately he rose from his desk.
“Jeremy? Come along. We’re off to visit Mr. Donnelly’s patient.”
“You mean Mr. Cowley, sir?”
“Ah no, that will have to wait, I fear — though not so long, to be sure. I meant his more illustrious patient, Lord Laningham. There are a few things I wish to find out from him, and thanks to the admirable speed with which you performed the task I gave you, I have just enough time to make my inquiries before I hold my court. Perhaps it’s best if you precede me and bring a hackney to our door.”
“I shall have one waiting, Sir John.”
Perhaps I was a bit optimistic in my promise, for I found it necessary to go all the way to Russell Street before I encountered a hackney for hire; when I rode back in it, I spied Sir John before Number 4, leaning upon his stick. He had his head up high, and wore a broad smile upon his face. As I helped him up into the coach, he remarked upon the day.
“There is the breath of spring in the air,” said he. “I truly wish we might walk the way to St. James Square, yet time is against it.”
He settled back in his seat, I shut the door, and we were off. We had not gone far when I timidly approached him on a question to which I was eager to have an answer.
“Sir John?”
“Yes, Jeremy, what is it?”
“Would this visit to Lord Laningham, these few things you wish to find out—would all this have something to do with the letter from Vienna which Mr. Donnelly brought to you today?”
“Ah, you heard that, did you?”
“Only that he thought its contents would interest you.”
“And you, too, are interested, eh?”
“Oh, yes sir, very keenly interested.”
“Well, I fear I must disappoint you for now as to what was said in the letter. Perhaps it will not be long, however, until all will be revealed to you.”
With that, he fell into that deep silence so like sleep. As we bumped along over the cobblestones his head bobbed loosely, though his chin never rested full upon his chest. I knew him to be deep in thought. No doubt, I surmised, he was planning his strategy for the battle that lay ahead.
Battle? Nay when it came, I considered it more in the nature of a skirmish. In truth, I was rather disappointed at the magistrate’s gentle handling of a fellow whom he held in low regard. In spite of the outcome of the experiment with the rats (which now lay two feet beneath the weeds and furze of the yard behind Number 4 Bow Street), I felt that Sir John still held Lord Laningham suspect.
We were met at the door by Mr. Poole, the butler, who conducted us to the bedchamber of the master, a grand room by any measure. And it was one decorated in the grand manner: there were paintings and statuary, with furniture of the size and so
rt one might more likely expect to find in a drawing room; a fire blazed in a fireplace wide as it was tall. In the midst of all this inherited splendor, Lord Laningham sat up in as large a bed as I had ever seen. He leaned against a whole mountain of pillows and smiled wanly as Sir John was ushered in.
“Ah, Sir John,” said he, “so good of you to come. In fact, I so hoped you might that I left instructions with Poole that should you make an appearance, you were to be shown up to me without formalities or delay.”
“Mr. Donnelly cautioned me that until today you were in no condition to accept visitors,” said Sir John.
“Ah, Donnelly, I owe my life to the man! Do you know the medicine he prescribed? The elixir that brought me from death’s door?”
“Milk, as I understand.”
“Uh, yes, so it was,” said he, somewhat deflated. “It somehow acted against the poison. Ah, the miracles of modern medicine, eh?”
Though the curtains had been drawn against the blue sky and morning sun and the room was quite gloomy, I saw Lord Laningham plain by candlelight and the blaze of the fire. He looked indeed as if he had passed through a great ordeal. The dark discoloration I had earlier perceived round his eyes seemed darker still. His face seemed thinner, drawn. Nevertheless, though his voice was low and seemed somewhat strained, his words were more confident, perhaps, than ever before.
“Lord Laningham,” said Sir John, “I wonder, did you take any of the steps I urged upon you when you reported the shot fired at you through the window?”
“Unfortunately for me, I did not. No, I took what you told me quite seriously, and I was grateful for your advice, yet there were a number of matters which intervened —my aunt’s funeral, for one, preparations for that near-fatal musical evening, for another. I do recall, however, that you recommended that I engage a bodyguard.”
“A bodyguard would have done you little good those few nights past. It seems you must, like some Oriental potentate, now also employ a food and wine taster.”
“Oh, surely not. Perhaps now that this enemy of the Laningham line has attempted to poison me and failed, he will leave me be for a time.”
“Do you truly believe that, m’lord?”
“Having done his worst? Why not?”
“Not his worst,” said Sir John. “His worst would have been to have succeeded. Or perhaps to murder your wife and daughters as well as yourself.”
“Oh dear!” Lord Laningham appeared appropriately shocked at the suggestion.
“May I put forth a plan?”
“Please, oh please do.”
“Your butler, whom I tend to trust, has informed me that the bottle of wine from which you drank had been chosen specially by you some time before, uncorked, and left to air at a place in the pantry to which the entire household staff had access. So was it with your aunt’s tonic, and so might it also have been with those bottles of wine taken to the Crown and Anchor by your uncle. Having endured what you have, you must now believe that both of them were poisoned?”
“Well, I must, I suppose, though there is that curious discrepancy: I drank from my uncle’s bottle that night of his death and suffered no ill effects from it.”
“Yes, of course, that is a curiosity, is it not? Yet the manner of his death, the sudden attack of vomiting, was quite like what you experienced two nights past.”
“Indeed, it’s true.”
“My point is this,” said Sir John. “This enemy of the Laningham line, as you call him, is either on your household staff or has a close confederate working here. Have you prepared that list of your servants?”
“What? Oh, that. No, as I said, so much has intervened. Poole could provide one, I’m sure.”
“Have him do that. And I suggest you take yourself and your family elsewhere and give me the opportunity to interrogate each one. My methods are such that I firmly believe I shall be able to find our man — or woman. If I cannot prove the case, then my suspicions will be such that you may discharge the person.”
“But why should it be necessary for us to go elsewhere?”
“Why, m’lord, to remove you from further danger. I take it that your estate in Laningham is independently staffed. You would need take none of your servants from your residence here in London with you, thereby leaving your London staff, among which is undoubtedly our poisoner, to me and my powers of interrogation.”
“Yet what about that shot fired at my uncle up in Laningham? You remember? When he was out riding?”
“Ah yes, of course, that was the first attack, was it not? Well, perhaps you would not be entirely safe there. Let me think.” He paused a moment to stroke his chin. “I have it,” Sir John exclaimed. “Why not take your family for a tour of the Continent? You need not do it with a great retinue of servants. Two would suffice. I would suggest the butler and your aunt’s maid, both of whom I’ve already talked to and seemed to me trustworthy. Your daughters would find it quite elevating, and Lady Laningham, as well. Perhaps you yourself have not had that opportunity? “
“Ah, but I have,” said Lord Laningham, as a smile of recollection appeared upon his face. “My uncle may have had his faults, but he was no skinflint. When I reached the age of majority he sent me off on the Grand Tour. An entire year I spent touring the capital cities — Paris, London, Vienna, Venice, Rome, Naples—-viewing the art, tasting the wine, trying the ladies, mere flirting, you understand.”
“Oh, quite. Ah, how I envy you, for you must have seen the great sights — the Mediterranean, the great castles. Lake Como, I have heard, is quite beyond compare. But do you know, had I my sight, I would like most to gaze upon the great mountains of Switzerland and the Austrian Tyrol. Have you … Did you see them?”
“Ah yes, both — such magnificence! Quite beyond description! Switzerland itself has little to offer but a confusion of languages —except for its mountains. Austria, on the other hand, has Vienna and the equally magnificent mountains of the Tyrol. They are very friendly to the English there.”
“And why not? We fought a war on their behalf,” said Sir John. “But there, you see. You have such pleasant memories of that year abroad. Why not give them to your wife and daughters, too? You yourself could serve as their guide.”
“Ah, would that I could. And in a few years perhaps we shall make a trip just as you describe. But for the time being, alas, it is out of the question. I have not yet been presented at court, nor have I properly assumed my seat in the House of Lords. And make no mistake, sir, I mean to be a most active member — acquaint myself with the issues, speak out on them.”
“And will you align yourself with the Whigs or the Tories?”
“That I have not decided quite yet. But when the time comes, I shall choose the party that is in the right.”
“Ah yes, of course you will,” said Sir John. “Since it is your determination to pursue an active political life in London, I can only advise you to engage the services of a bodyguard.”
“I’ll do as you say. And please feel free, Sir John, to enter here at any time and talk to any members of the household staff. I’ll have Poole prepare that list for you.”
“We shall leave it at that, shall we, Lord Laningham? I wish you a goodbye and a swift recovery.”
“Goodbye to you, Sir John Fielding, and I thank you again for your visit to this poor bedridden patient.”
A bow from Sir John, a weak nod from Lord Laningham, and we two made our way through the door, where Mr. Poole materialized of a sudden to lead us down the stairs. At the great door to the street, the magistrate paused and addressed the butler.
“Mr. Poole, you will no doubt be asked by Lord Laningham to prepare a list for me of the members of the household staff. He may present it to you as an urgent matter, but between us there is no great urgency to it. I may come by to talk to the servants one at a time, but they are not to dread these conversations. Please assure them of that. I have even now a fair idea of who is responsible for these attacks upon the late Lord and Lady Laningham and the
present lord.”
“That is good to hear, Sir John. And may I pass word of that on to the staff?”
“You may if you care to.”
We said our goodbyes and stepped out into St. James Square. The day was no worse; if anything, it had grown a bit warmer. We set off for Pall Mall, where we might easily find a free hackney.
“Well, Jeremy, what did you make of that?”
“Very little, I fear, sir,” said I. Then did I mention the darkness about Lord Laningham’s eyes, his drawn visage, and his general appearance of weakness. “He seemed truly to have undergone a great physical strain.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt of that. His voice was weaker toward the end of our interview, quite husky, as if it were a strain upon his throat to talk.”
“Yes, but he seemed more confident somehow.”
“Mmmm,” said Sir John, and no more than that.
We walked on in silence until we were quite near Pall Mall, where two hackney coaches stood free for hire. Then did I burst forth in exasperation.
“Sir, was that interview of any use at all? Was what you told Mr. Poole true?”
“Mmmm,” he repeated, yet this time he continued: “Well, those are two separate but related questions. To answer the second, yes, I shall no doubt be dropping by the Laningham residence to collect details, evidence if possible, and yes, I do have a good idea of who bears guilt in all this. It is up to me to build a case now. And as for your first question, indeed the interview was useful, for Arthur Paltrow told me just what I needed to know.”
And thus ill informed, I guided him to the waiting hackney and aided him inside.
Next morning I was with Sir John, once again taking in dictation a letter of no little importance. It was directed to William Bladgett, Esquire, Magistrate of Lichfield, and it gave to him the circumstances of the death of Thomas Roundtree. And it did so in some detail, explaining that though he was party to the disposal of the body of George Bradbury, he had in no wise participated in his murder. (In this, Sir John took what Roundtree had told me as true.) Further, he attributed to the late Roundtree a not altogether reprehensible motive for his actions —that of earning sufficient to take him and his daughter away to the American colonies (again accepting as true that which he had heard from me). Sir John was frank to say, however, that when given the opportunity to escape, Roundtree took it.
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