Bruce Alexander - [Sir John Fielding 01]

by Alexander, Bruce

  “Goodbye, then, David, and thank you for your time.”

  “My pleasure. And good fortune to you. Master Jeremy. Should you see my valet lurking about the hall and reasonably sober, tell him to come in, won’t you?”

  I promised to do so, though once we had exited, I saw no one. The long hall had cleared completely during our time with Mr. Garrick. We walked the length of it. Sir John proceeded silently, his stick elevated and out slightly, tapping to a slow rhythm on the floor as he went. Nevertheless, I stuck close by his side, ready to pull him back from the wall that marked the end of the hall. Yet there was no need. Once again he amazed me by stopping just short of the wall, my hand mere inches from his elbow.

  He turned to his right. “Her door should be just here. Have I got it right?”

  “Quite perfect, sir.”

  He knocked firmly on the door.

  “Who’s there?” squawked a voice beyond it. “I ain’t ready yet.” Though pitched a bit lower, it matched Mrs. Gredge’s for volume and unpleasantness. I thought perhaps we’d got the wrong door.

  “Sir John Fielding, magistrate of the Bow Street Court, is come to make inquiries regarding the death of Lord Goodhope.” I had heard this voice from him but once before, and that from the bench. The occasion that presented itself to mind was the appearance of Mr. Bailey’s attacker, Dick Dillon. Sir John had dealt with him severely and in just such a voice.

  Whoever was behind the door attended smartly to that voice, for the door flew open, and a woman of no little beauty stood revealed, wearing her shift with hoops and a petticoat below. In my life I had not seen a woman in such a state of undress, save for my mother.

  “Why, Sir John,” said she in the sweet tones of Lady Macbeth, “what an unexpected pleasure. Do come in.” This was indeed Lucy Kilbourne! Sir John stepped forward into her dressing room, which was even smaller than Mr. Garrick’s; yet I held back, thinking it improper to visit a woman who was in such a state. Yet she, with a shrug and a wink, beckoned me forward. From that moment, a vague air of conspiracy was established between us. I followed Sir John inside and looked about for the squawking woman who had yelled through the door: She was nowhere to be seen. I could only conclude that she had been Mistress Kilbourne, speaking unawares. Yet which was the real and which the false?

  “I have a few questions for you,” said Sir John.

  “And I shall be happy to answer them,” said she most winningly.

  She grabbed at her dress, black and severe yet as fashionable as Mr. Garrick had described, and she swiftly pulled it on.

  “I hear the rustle of clothing,” said he. “Are you properly dressed. Mistress Kilbourne?”

  “Why, of course, Sir John. I was merely clearing a chair for you. Won’t you sit down?”

  “1 prefer to stand, as will my young companion.”

  “As you wish then.”

  She gestured toward her back and turned it to me, indicating I was to close the series of hooks and eyes that rose up from her naked back from waist to neck. I knew not what to do. Surely Sir John would disapprove, yet this woman possessed a glamour I found quite bewitching. She threw a smile at me over her shoulder, and the next moment I found myself doing her wordless bidding.

  “How long were you acquainted with Richard Goodhope?” he asked.

  “For less than a year,” said she. “John Bilbo introduced us. If you are asking, however, when I became his companion—for I make no secret of that—then the answer would be six months ago.”

  “You were previously companion to Bilbo?”

  “To my shame, yes.”

  “Did he take it ill when you transferred your affections to Lord Goodhope?”

  “Perhaps you might say so. Yet that is something only he can truly answer.”

  “Well taken,” said Sir John. “What drew you to Lord Goodhope? You knew, of course, that he was married and the father of a son? Or perhaps you did not know at the beginning?” He thus offered her a plea, one which she declined to use.

  “It was indeed the consequence of his marriage that drew me to him,” she declared quite brazenly. “He was deeply unhappy in it. I did what I could to make him happier.”

  “And would you behave in such a way with every man unhappy in marriage? There are countless thousands of ‘em in London alone.”

  “Make not light of me, I pray,” said she.

  “Damn!” said I.

  I had got up in the row of hooks and eyes to the middle of her back. There her body offered considerable resistance. Straining to put the hook into the eye, I had them together, or so I thought, and then suddenly the hook had jumped from its housing, and thus prompted my exclamation.

  “Jeremy! What are you up to?”

  I hesitated guiltily. “I bumped into a chair, Sir John.”

  His head was cocked in my direction. “Try to be more careful,” said he. “Come and stand by my side. I should feel more certain of you here.”

  “As you will. Sir John,” said I.

  I did as he bade, of course, directing a shrug to Mistress Kil-bourne. She, in response, gave me a fierce look of annoyance. Then she began struggling manfully, if that is quite the right word, to contain her ample bosom within the confines of her widow’s weeds.

  “Where were we?” asked Sir John. “Ah yes, you had asked me not to make light of you. I do not. Mistress Kilbourne. I only mean to suggest that others find themselves in that selfsame situation. What was it drove you to Richard Goodhope, in particular?”

  She left off her heaving and struggling long enough to say: “It was his wit, his intelligence, his sensibility. In truth, I had never met a man like him, and now, with him gone, I am quite sure I shall never meet another.” This speech she delivered in the sweetest, saddest tones ever heard, though the vexed expression on her face seemed to contradict them.

  “You attended a number of informal parties at his residence, evenings he termed his ‘impromptus.’ “

  “I did, yes.”

  “What happened there?”

  “Nothing untoward, if that is the implication of your question. Certainly nothing of a scandalous nature. Ignorant tongues wag. Those who were actually present will confirm me in this.”

  At last she had got the recalcitrant hook in place. She exhaled deeply and, shifting her arms, reached over her shoulders to attack the rest.

  “What is it. Mistress Kilbourne?” asked Sir John.

  “What do you mean, Sir John?”

  “You seemed to sigh. Was it some memory awakened in particular?”

  “Lord Goodhope is always in my memory,” said she.

  “Do you believe him to be a suicide? That would confirm his unhappiness in marriage, perhaps, though it speaks little for your ministrations. He left no notes. Did he communicate anything to you of his intentions?”

  “No, he did not,” said she a bit sharply. “And as to what I may believe regarding his end, that really matters little. It is, after all, you who are conducting the inquiry, is it not?”

  “It is, yes, and I wish to have you available to speak further in it.”

  “That may be difficult.”

  “Oh? Why so?”

  “I’d planned to go off to Bath.”

  “Rushing the season a bit, aren’t you?”

  “I have a complaint of a digestive nature. I had hoped the waters there might …”

  “I must insist that you delay your trip.”

  She sighed once more. “Well, if I must…”

  “You must,” said Sir John firmly. “I have but one more question for you.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Who is your dressmaker?”

  “My what?”

  “I spoke plain enough.”

  “But what … ? All right, she is Mrs. Mary Deemey. Her shop and fitting room is on Chandos Street.”

  “Ah, good, not far from my court. That will be all. Mistress Kilbourne. You will no doubt be hearing from me again.”

  “That will be my
pleasure, Sir John.”

  She seemed at last to have managed the last of the hooks, for she busied herself smoothing the front of her dress as Sir John turned to go. I made quick to open the door for him, and he stepped quickly into the hall. Before closing the door behind us, I risked a last glance back at her. Our eyes met, and she gave me a bent smile.

  Sir John was moving down the hall at a recklessly swift pace. I ran to catch him up.

  “That was a waste of time,” he declared. “Or perhaps not entirely.”

  “In truth, she had not much to say,” said I.

  “Saint Richard, martyr to a bad marriage! Indeed!” He broke off then, brooding silently for a moment as he stormed ahead. “I might have stayed longer and put the screws to her, but I sensed … Jeremy, I know not what passed between you two there, and I wish neither assurances nor an answer from you, but somehow I felt there was an alliance against me.”

  “But I—”

  “Not a word! Now, where is this stage door we must exit?”

  “At the top of the stairs, which stand—just three paces aheadr

  He stopped dead then. “Oh,” said he, “thank you, Jeremy.” He put out his stick then and proceeded at a more reasonable step through the remaining distance.

  Once out in the alley next the theatre, it was as David Garrick had predicted. A considerable crowd awaited Lucy Kilbourne. Indeed, when I opened the stage door, a cheer broke forth in expectation of her imminent appearance, but it soon died when Sir John stepped forth, though not in unfriendly fashion. A few laughed at their error.

  “It’s the Beak of Bow Street,” called out one, identifying him to the rest.

  I had earlier heard Sir John referred to thus by the court gallery, and sometimes less considerately as “the Blind Beak.” I knew not the import of the term, yet it seemed well intended, and the magistrate took no offense at it.

  In this instance, as we two merged into the crowd, Sir John turned in the direction of the man who had spoken. “Will Simpson, is that you?”

  “It’s me for fair, m’lord.”

  “Back from your holiday, are you?”

  “Newgate ain’t Bath!”

  “Nor was it ever intended to be!”

  There was general hilarity at this. Sir John himself joined in the laughter. Though somewhat raucous, it was a good-natured collection of cutpurses, pimps, and their bawds who awaited the heroine of this evening. However, as we were still caught in their midst. Mistress Lucy suddenly stepped forth through the portal, and with a roar the crowd surged forward, catching us quite unawares and forcing us back.

  Sir John grabbed fast to my arm. “Jeremy, get us out of this, will you?”

  “I … I’ll try!”

  And try I did, pushing and heaving ahead of him through the mass of humanity trapped in that tight little alleyway, luitil at last we were clear of them. Sir John took a moment to regain his composure, straightening his tricorn, which had been knocked akilter, and making sure of his periwig.

  “Good boy,” said he. “I feared for a moment we should be trampled underfoot.”

  “She’s certainly a favorite of theirs,” said I.

  “Of course she is,” said Sir John. “She was once one of them. They honor her for her ascent.” He turned this way and that. “I smell a horse,” said he. “Is there a hackney carriage about? See if one is free, will you?”

  Indeed there was one waiting near the alley entrance. I ran to it and inquired of the driver. Just as he informed me that he had been paid to wait, my eye was caught by movement behind the window of the compartment. I got a glimpse of something: a face seen for the merest instant before it disappeared. I could not be certain from such a view, of course, yet I had the distinct impression that it was Mr. Charles Clairmont who waited within.

  Chapter Eight

  In which an offer is made

  and an unexpected meeting

  takes place

  The next morning began with a visit by Mr. Donnelly to his patient. When I responded to his knock and opened the door for him, Mrs. Gredge being otherwise engaged, I was surprised to find looming beside him the large figure of Benjamin Bailey.

  “Mr. Bailey, sir,” said I to him, “are you well?”

  “Well and fit,” said he with a show of confidence, “and ready for duty.”

  “He’s nothing of the kind,” put in Mr. Donnelly, “but he insisted on coming along.”

  “I will but a word with Sir John. Let him decide.”

  And so the two tramped into the kitchen, while at the same time Mrs. Gredge flew in, warning Mr. Bailey not to muddy her clean floor, though it had not rained for days. Mr. Donnelly, whom she rightly took to be a gentleman, received no such caution. She made her usual offer of tea, bread, and butter, which both declined, then ran off to apprise Sir John of their arrival.

  “What of Lady Fielding?” Mr. Donnelly asked of me.

  “She has slept, sir, quite continually since your visit yester morning.”

  “That’s to be desired, of course, yet I would not dose her too strong. And her pain?”

  “You had best talk to Sir John or Mrs. Gredge of that.”

  “Of course,” said he. “It’s never wise to speculate idly.”

  Then came Sir John into the kitchen. “Ah, Mr. Donnelly, thank you for your visit. And I understand you have a companion?”

  “It’s me, it is, Benjamin Bailey,” said he, making a loud, healthy sound with his voice

  “Yes, ‘the night watchman,’ as Mrs. Gredge informed me.”

  “She has her ways, don’t she?” said Mr. Bailey.

  “How is he, Mr. Donnelly?”

  “Not as well as he claims to be, but his recovery proceeds impressively. The woimd is knitting nicely, no sign of fever.”

  “I’m ready. Sir John!” declared Mr. Bailey.

  “He’s not, in my opinion,” said Mr. Donnelly. “Yet I am not here to argue that but rather to see Lady Fielding. You give me permission?”

  “Nay, my blessing, sir. She has had her best day and night in months. I am grateful to you for that. I’m sure she would say more, were she not at this moment asleep. Mrs. Gredge is with her. She has attended her faithfully. Go see them now, by all means.”

  “I shall,” said he, and with a quick bow to Sir John, he went up the stairs to the bedroom.

  With the departure of the surgeon, Sir John turned in the direction of Mr. Bailey. “So now, Captain Bailey, you claim to be fit, but your doctor says otherwise. How do we account for this discrepancy?”

  “He ain’t me, Sir John. He don’t know how I feel.”

  “There is a certain sense to that, I allow, but in truth, it does seem a bit early, does it not? Two days?”

  “Well … I can only say, sir, that one more day in the constant care of Mrs. Plunkett, and I may take a turn for the worse. The woman exhausts me, if you get my meaning, sir.”

  With which remark Sir John broke into a hearty laugh, the sense of which then eluded me. “Why, I believe I do,” said Sir John to him. “Indeed I believe I do. Perhaps we might work out a compromise between us. Would you be willing to try?”

  “Whatever you say, Sir John.”

  “Well then, what about this? What if you were to return to duty, but in a somewhat limited capacity?”

  “That would depend, sir.”

  “Upon what?”

  “How limited, and in what capacity?”

  “Fair enough, Mr. Bailey. What I had in mind was a bit of day work I need done. A Mr. Charles Clairmont, who, it has developed, is the late Lord Goodhope’s half-brother, claims to have arrived from Jamaica on the night before last on the Island Princess and have disembarked at approximately half past seven. I would have you seek out the vessel’s master, a Captain Cawdor, and verify this. But more, hang about the dock a bit and find out all you can regarding the ship and its voyage. Will you do that for me?”

  “Indeed I will, Sir John.”

  “Go dressed as any layabout, but carr
y with you your commission and badge of service to board the ship and convince the captain that you are in earnest and represent me in this. But as for the rest of it, I would say there was no need to reveal your purpose in this matter.”

  “Talk to them all innocent, like?”

  “Exactly, Mr. Bailey. You may buy rum to loosen tongues, but do not allow yourself to be carried away. You will be reimbursed within reason. Take your time in this. Find out all you can. Say… oh, say you are thinking of shipping on and wish to know about the vessel and its captain before you commit yourself. At this point in the investigation of Lord Goodhope’s death, such information may count as very important.”

  “Then rest assured. Sir John, I’ll do a good job for you.”

  “Jeremy has been doing good work for me in this matter, but I think you’ll agree that the task I have put before you is beyond him.”

  “If the boy showed his face on the docks,” said Mr. Bailey with a grin at me, “he’d be likely to wake up outbound for Capetown.”

  “Indeed,” said Sir John. “Furthermore, this morning he and I are off for Newgate.”

  This astonishing revelation set me agog and put me in a peculiar state of anticipation until, half an hour later, we departed on our expedition. The anticipation I felt was peculiar in that it was mixed. I had a natural curiosity about the place. What boy in England, nourished clandestinely by the thrills provided by “The Newgate Calendar” and other such pamphlet collections, would not be eager to see the dreaded gaol for himself? Yet I, having so nearly missed incarceration there myself, felt understandably uneasy about any such visit. Nevertheless, I kept my peace and said nothing, neither to Sir John nor to Mr. Bailey, regarding the planned journey.

  In any case, there was much for me to do in the nature of kitchen work, both sweeping and washing up. Applying my energies diligently and thus calling no attention to myself, I was presently witness to a further dialogue, and that between Sir John and Mr. Donnelly. The surgeon returned from his examination of Lady Fielding after ten minutes had elapsed, or perhaps a little more. I had heard a murmur of conversation between him and Mrs. Gredge, though its content was quite indistinguishable to my listening ear. He came down the stairs and into the kitchen alone; his step was slow and his manner grave. Seeking out Sir John, who sat silent at the table, he accepted the cup of tea offered him and made his report.