I knew not quite what to say, so overcome was I by the evidence of trust shown in this generous act — yet I felt that I must say something. “I shall try my utmost to …” I fumbled, “to justify the faith you put in me.”
“Well, that much is understood.”
“Thank you, Sir John.”
“See if you can still thank me when you’ve done with it. But off with you, Jeremy. Go down to the Lilley residence and put the fear of God into them. Talk to whomever you must need talk to. Don’t be shy. Be rude, if you must, but don’t be shy.”
To my surprise, my knock at the door of the Lilley residence was answered not by the butler, Mr. Collier, but rather by the porter, Mr. Burley, who had told us a good deal about the murdered man. Far more surprising was the attitude he showed toward me. I was greeted by a frown. When I attempted to speak, he shook his head severely and made to shut the door in my face. That, I would not allow.
“Take your foot out of the door,” said he.
“You remember me, don’t you?”
“I do. You was here last night with the blind magistrate from Bow Street who was asking all the questions.”
“Right you are,” said I. “And as you may or may not know, that blind magistrate from Bow Street was shot, just down the street from here. He has appointed me to continue the investigation in his stead. I’ve been granted full powers.”
“You’re talking pretty powerful for one so young. How old are you?”
“That matters not one jot,” I declared quite snappishly. “Whatever he had the power to do, I now can do.” (Perhaps I was a bit carried away by my new authority.) “I can bring a swarm of constables here this very night to force answers for my questions. How would you like that?”
“A sight more than I would having a swarm of soldiers underfoot.”
That I did not understand. “What do you mean?”
He sighed and grudgingly opened the door just wide enough for me to slip through. “Come into the hall here,” said he. “I’ll explain the situation to you.”
As I stepped inside, he closed the door carefully and noiselessly behind me. Then did he speak in a tone hardly louder than a whisper.
“When Lord Lilley come home last night, he went room to room counting his losses. You can tell when he gets angriest ‘cause that’s when he gets quietest. And when he’d finished his tour of the house, he and the Lady went right upstairs. He’s a very cold man, he is.
“Today, early this morning, he gathers us all together and announces who all gets sacked and who stays.”
“But Sir John left a request that none of the staff be discharged until he — ”
“I know. I heard about that. But there’s Lord Lilley’s answer to your chief. As for the rest of us — the ones he’s not throwing out in the cold — he told us under no circumstances was we to talk to Sir John or his constables, or help in the investigation. So you can see I’m taking a great chance here just talking to you.”
“But that’s nonsense. How are we to — ”
“True, true, I know. The master’s gone off to the Tower to demand soldiers to patrol St. James Street. He says Bow Street can’t deal with the crime no more.”
“But … but that’s not true. I mean, Sir John — that is … Is there any chance that Lord Lilley will have his way?”
“I don’t know, p’rhaps. He’s a duke, ain’t he?”
“But I have special need to talk to one of the household staff who was evidently absent during our visit last evening — a William Waters.”
The porter looked at me blankly. “There’s no one of such a name here,” said he.
“Well, then, perhaps it would be William Walters.”
“No, sorry.”
“William Walker?”
He shook his head in the negative rather solemnly.
“Is there no one by a name even remotely like it?”
“No, lad, there’s no William at all. And as for family names with a ‘W,’ we’ve got only a Wiggins, but first name’s Elizabeth. She’s the cook.”
I stood there quite dumbfounded, rendered mute by my frustration. It seemed to me that I should have this confirmed by the butler. He was, after all, the chief of the household staff. “Could I speak with Mr. Collier?”
“No, ‘fraid not. He’s been sacked. That’s why I’m tending the door. I s’pose I will be till they hire a proper butler.”
“AndPinkham?”
“Sacked.”
“Anyone else?”
“Piper and Albertson — kitchen slaveys.”
“What was their offense? I mean, the last two.”
“They complained about the sacking of the first two — and Lord Lilley overheard. But now you must go, young man, for I’ve no wish to follow them out into the street.”
“I understand. And I have but one more question; it is this: Who was it carried the news of the robbery to Bow Street?”
Burley thought a moment upon it. “I’m not rightly sure anyone did,” said he. “But you’d have to ask Mr. Collier about that to be sure of it.”
I stood, arms folded, a scowl upon my face and a pistol at either side. I was placed prominently before the public entry to the Bow Street Court, inside the courtroom itself. The usual crowd of spectators paid little heed to me and to the similarly well-armed Mr. Fuller at the other door; Sir John and Mr. Marsden paid none at all. The business of the court was carried on as usual.
I had been armed and assigned my place by Mr. Marsden upon my return to Bow Street from the Lilley residence. He, the court clerk, sat beside the magistrate, a large, old cavalry pistol prominently displayed on the table before him. This show of arms was, of course, meant to discourage any further attempt upon Sir John’s life. I, for one, doubted there would be any such attack in a place so public. There was, after all, not a single black face among the many in the courtroom, and I knew quite well that his assailant of the night before had been an African.
In any case, Sir John’s session had gone routinely well that day. No shots were fired, and there were no disturbances of any sort. For his part, the magistrate sent a pickpocket off to a term of sixty days in prison; fined two brawlers for disturbing the peace in Bedford Street; and settled commercial disagreements between two Covent Garden greengrocers and their customer. An average day it was, perhaps a bit lighter than some. Even so, by the time Sir John had heard the last case, he was visibly exhausted. I saw him rise from his place, then did I notice that his left arm, bent at the elbow, was suspended in a narrow cloth sling. I turned away, giving my attention to the last of the spectators as they filed past me and out the door. When next I turned my attention back to him, I was shocked to see him collapsing to the floor before my very eyes. Fortunately Mr. Marsden was close by, and reaching out to him, he managed at least to ease his passage down. I hastened to them, hoping that I might be of some help.
“Mr. Marsden,” I called out before I had quite arrived, “what is wrong?”
“What indeed!” he wailed. “I could do naught to prevent his fall.”
Sir John, I saw, had slipped to a sitting position there on the floor and was fully conscious. “There is nothing wrong with me but a brief bout of lightheadedness. Why, it could happen to anyone.” Grousing and grumbling he was as one might, having slipped upon the stairs.
“But the truth of it, Sir John, is that it happened to you,” said Mr. Marsden, obviously distressed. “We must have you looked after.” Then, turning to me: “Jeremy, go tell Mr. Fuller to come at once. Then you must run and fetch the doctor — the Irishman in Drury Lane.”
I did as he said, sending Mr. Fuller back into the courtroom whence he had just come, and then ran at full speed for Mr. Donnelly. Luckily, I found him in his surgery and quite ready to match me stride for stride as we raced back to Bow Street.
We found Sir John still in the courtroom, sitting in the chair from which he had presided over the day’s session. Mr. Marsden hovered nearby. Mr. Fuller, having aided to the exte
nt to which he was capable, had excused himself and was no doubt preparing his single prisoner (the pickpocket) for his journey to jail.
“Well,” said Mr. Donnelly, looking down upon Sir John most severely, “and what did I prescribe for you last night just before I left Mr. Bilbo’s residence?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Sir John, “I was drunk at the time — as you well know.”
“Jeremy,” said the surgeon, turning to me, “what was it that I prescribed?”
“Bed rest,” said I in a manner most emphatic.
“Exactly,” said he. “And here you are paying the price for your disobedience. But let me examine you, so that I may see if you have done irreparable damage to yourself.”
And without further ado, he pushed aside Sir John’s coat, pulled up his shirt and listened to the patient’s heart with a kind of ear trumpet which he had pulled from his bag. Satisfied, he removed the dressing he had applied the night before and examined the wound itself. “You’re coming along,” said he.
” ‘Coming along’? What does that mean?”
“It means, Sir John, that if you take care of yourself in the manner I have prescribed, then you may well make a swift recovery. If you do not, then you may find yourself chronically ill with the effects of the gunshot wound — not dying, you understand, but never fully recovering.”
Sir John was silent for some time, considering the choice that he had been offered. “All right,” said he, “I’ll go upstairs to my bed and hope for the best.”
“But,” said the surgeon, “not before I’ve put a new dressing on that wound.”
Sir John offered no argument, and Mr. Donnelly accomplished his task with his usual efficiency. As for the ascent to the floor above, when the surgeon suggested that he be carried up the stairs, Sir John refused utterly to allow it, declaring that I, Jeremy, would precede him in the usual way; and that Messrs. Marsden and Donnelly should trail him closely that they might catch him in the event that he should fall backward.
Thus we proceeded without mishap. Sir John’s hand was firm upon my shoulder, and his step was much more sure than I had anticipated. When I opened the door to the kitchen, I found Annie seated at the table, reading in the book given her that day by Mr. Burnham. Seeing that it was Sir John who accompanied me, she was out of her chair in a trice and at his side.
“Sir,” said she in a manner most solicitous, “what may I do for you?”
“Ah, it’s Annie, is it? They are about to put me to bed — and I must admit that I am quite tired. But I wonder, dear girl, could you provide something for me to eat? I’ve had naught since dinner. Some cold meat, bread, and tea would do me nicely.”
“Make it bread and broth and nothing more,” said Mr. Donnelly. “Let us see how well he holds it down.”
Annie looked uncertainly from one to the other, but in another moment we were gone — up that shorter flight of stairs and into the bedroom which Sir John shared with Lady Kate. Here he needed no help: He was most familiar with the room. He sat down upon the bed and removed first his right shoe and then his left.
“Mr. Marsden, and you, Mr. Donnelly, I fear I must ask you both to leave now. Jeremy will ready me for bed. I thank you both for your concern and your assistance. I shall see you again soon, I’m sure.” This was said, reader, with great authority.
Court clerk and surgeon looked one at the other, shrugged, and with meek goodbyes, departed the room.
Sir John sat upon the bed, listening to their footsteps down the stairs and across the kitchen. He turned my way then and said, “Help me out of my coat and breeches, Jeremy, and tell me what you learned at the Lilley residence.”
I did as he requested, though it pained me to inform him of Lord Lilley s actions and my consequent inability to gather further information from there. I felt myself a failure in this.
Sir John, however, took the matter with equanimity and, as he settled down beneath the bedcovers, he said to me, “Don’t worry upon it. Lord Lilley has for some time wished the army to take part in the policing of the streets. There would be little to be gained by it — and anyone with a penny’s worth of sense knows that. I would like you to see if you can locate the butler, however. I don’t know that we need search out Pinkham, or the two others. Nasty … fellow that… Lord Lilley … don’t you think?”
“Oh, I do, sir.”
I am not sure, in all truth, that he heard me, for by that time his head had sunk to the pillow, and as he had concluded that last speech, his voice had grown fainter and the words slower to come. I spoke his name quietly and got no response but his heavy, rhythmic breathing. I was satisfied that he was asleep. I tiptoed from the room and met Annie on the stairs; she moved carefully, carrying the tray of food that Sir John had requested (meat had won out over broth).
“Is he asleep?” she whispered.
I nodded.
“Ah, well,” said she. “I can’t say as I’m surprised. Come down, and we’ll drink the tea. I’ll just put the rest away. None of it will go to waste.”
I followed her suggestion, and only minutes later we two were at the kitchen table sipping the tea she had brewed for Sir John. I, too, could have done with a bit of a nap, and so the tea was most welcome as a stimulant, though a cup of coffee would have been far more welcome. Nevertheless, my mind began properly to work once more, and as the cobwebs cleared, I found myself telling Annie all I had heard that morning from Burley, the porter and butler pro-tem. It seemed I had good reason to do so.
“Annie,” said I, once I had told the tale, “Sir John wishes me to persist and find the butler to question him further.”
“Look for the lady’s maid, as well,” said she. “Now that she’s out of their employ she may have more to say.”
“That’s just the problem, you see. How would I go about looking for them? Where would I find them now that they’ve been cast out? I thought you might know. You were in service once yourself, after all.”
“I thought I was still,” said she, with a curious smile.
“Well …yes, I suppose you are — and I am, too, of course — but I mean those who work in the great houses. Where do they go once they’ve been given the sack? Where should I look?”
At that, she threw back her head and gazed up at the ceiling, as if she hoped to find the answer to my question written there. She held that pose, thinking hard upon the matter for quite some time. Then did she take a sip of tea, still frowning, and give me a most direct sort of look. “You should go to the great houses up and down St. James Street and ask after them at the door. Those in service there keep well in contact. Remember that I worked in St. James Street myself. I remember that’s how it was there then. But you must convince them that you mean no harm to the butler — or to the maid. Only then will it be likely that they will pass you on to those you are looking for.”
I found the butler, Mr. Collier, three houses up from Lilley’s in the residence of a Mr. Zondervan, a rich Dutch merchant. He had not found a place on the household staff (nor was he likely to), but his friends in the Zondervan kitchen beneath the stairs had gathered round him to give him their support and their advice on where he might go to find a new place of employment. This I had learned from the butler of the house, who admitted me only after I convinced him that I did truly represent Sir John Fielding of the Bow Street Court, and that Sir John was greatly displeased that Lord Lilley had closed his door to the investigation.
“He had specifically asked that Lord Lilley take no action until his investigation was complete,” I had said to the Zondervan butler. “He thought Mr. Collier and Mistress Pinkham quite without guilt in the matter. He felt that the facts would exonerate them from all blame.”
That last bit, I concede, was a little far from the truth. Nevertheless, it helped me gain entry into the house, for I concluded with a request that if he were to know Mr. Collier’s whereabouts, would he then please convey my need to speak with him.
The butler, a tall man, looked at me rather clo
sely, as if assessing my worth (which in a sense was exactly what he was doing). Then did he say to me, “You may tell him that yourself, if you like. Right this way, young man.”
He lectured me, as we walked to the back stairs, on how fortunate I was to have come when I did. Was that because Mr. Collier had only lately arrived and would not stay long? No, it seemed that I was lucky that I had come when Mr. Zondervan (“the master,” as he was called) had just left on a quick visit to the Continent. “If he were not,” said he, “I could not possibly allow you inside.”
I divined from this that Mr. Collier was also fortunate in having come when he did. He did not, however, appear as one who judged himself so. On the contrary, at first glimpse he seemed, if anything, more agitated and troubled than he had when Sir John had interrogated him the night before. He sat at the far end of the long kitchen table surrounded by no less than four of his cronies from the Zondervan staff. With him I spied an older woman of a rather slovenly appearance (surely the cook) and a man in rough twill who toyed with a great, high horsewhip (undoubtedly the coach driver) and two male servants of undefined position. Mr. Collier held the attention of all as he railed against the perfidy — nay, the treachery — of employers. There was general agreement amongst his listeners at that. He inhaled deeply and made ready to fire another broadside, but just then I managed to catch his eye. He said nothing at all for a moment as he stared at me, frowning, unable quite to place me.
“Here now,” said he, “I know you, don’t I?”
“Yes sir, you do,” said I. “When Sir John Fielding asked questions of you last night I was there at his side.”
“So you were, so you were.”
“He has sent me to ask a few more questions of you.”
Mr. Collier said nothing for a moment, evidently considering the matter I had put before him. Then, of a sudden, did he lash out at me: “Oh, he did, did he? Well, he did precious little to help my cause with Lord Lilley; why should I help him now?”
The Color of Death Page 6