Bruce Alexander - [Sir John Fielding 01]

by Alexander, Bruce

  Sir John sighed, whether from fatigue or in some response to the tale just told, I could not discern. Yet I was sure it was not from boredom. I, for one, was fascinated by this instance of how men and women conduct their affairs. It was a glimpse into a world I could but enter in my fantasies.

  “One thing only disturbs me in what you have said, Mr. Bilbo,” said he. “And that is the question of why, knowing the extent of his debt to you, Lucy Kilbourne should choose an apparently impoverished nobleman.”

  “Oh, not impoverished, I can tell you. His holdings in Lancashire was worth many times his debt here. But there was his person, too. He was a pretty fellow—I know I compared ill to him in that way— and witty, too, and I’ve little to offer there. But the important word of those you uttered was ‘nobleman.’ He had what I do not have, cannot have, and with all due respect to you, sir, would not want— namely, a title. Some women is greatly impressed by such.”

  In response to that. Sir John simply nodded.

  “Something I would say,” said Mr. Bilbo, “for it came to me as I was telling you about Lucy’s first meetings with Lord Goodhope here in my establishment when she was still under my protection, so to speak. I am sure certain that one of those meetings, and it may well have been the first of them, was the last one in which he was in attendance with his brother, Charles Clairmont. I thought that worth adding, for she is with him just now down below.”

  Sir John sat up sharply. ”Now? With Clairmont? Indeed as we speak here?”

  Taken aback somewhat by such reaction, Mr. Bilbo fumbled in his response: “Well … well, yes, what I mean is, she was. You heard that silly high laugh of hers, like unto a horse’s neigh? That’s as she laughs when she is not on the stage, low drab that she is. She was sitting beside Clairmont as he was robbing me to—”

  “Jeremy, you did not see her?”

  “N-no, Sir John,” said I in apology, “nor Mr. Clairmont. The crowd about them was too much for me.”

  “Well and good,” said Sir John to me, and then: “Mr. Bilbo, thank you for your time and your willing answers. Now, if you would but take us to this oddly matched pair.”

  With that, he stood and I with him. Bilbo, somewhat baffled, rose more slowly and blew out the candles he had lit upon our arrival. “This way,” said he.

  And he led us back down as we had come, speaking little, and that only in condemnation of Lucy Kilbourne, remarking upon her facility in moving from companion to companion without a break in stride—now from brother to brother.

  Upon our arrival in the room we had left, I saw that all had altered to a state I took to be usual: The crowd had dissipated and was now evenly distributed between the two gaming tables. But looking about, I quickly determined that neither of the two we sought was to be found there. Mr. Bilbo, coming also to this conclusion, led us back into the hall and summoned the ever-helpful Nancy.

  “My girl,” said he to her, “have you seen Clairmont and that silly twat Lucy about? Or have they already absconded with my funds?”

  Then, turning, she pointed to the door. “Just leaving,” said she.

  And so they were, the two of them, adjusting their coats and skirts, making ready to go with the help of the doorman.

  “I’ll hold them for you,” said Mr. Bilbo, and went on swiftly ahead of us.

  “Take me to them,” said Sir John to me, “but let us proceed at a sedate pace and feign surprise at meeting them.”

  Thus we advanced down the long, red carpet to the point, at its end, where Mr. Bilbo now detained the two in talk. I spied Lucy Kilbourne (at last fully clothed in her widow’s weeds) glance our way, recognize us, then give a tug at Mr. Clairmont’s sleeve. This I conveyed to Sir John.

  “Good,” said he, “now gesture toward them as if you had just informed me of their presence. And that done, we may pick up our pace a bit and catch them up.”

  Just so. And even in advance of our arrival Sir John had put upon his face a most pleasant smile. “Is it you two?” he called out. “Mr. Clairmont? Mistress Kilbourne? Why, how fortunate to run into you here!”

  “And such a surprise,” said Mistress Kilbourne.

  “Yes,” agreed Mr. Clairmont, in a manner most dry, “is it not?”

  Sir John took a place close to them by the door, and I by his side. Mr. Bilbo, displaying keen interest, remained.

  “So you two mourners found each other, did vou?” said the magistrate, still in the most jovial humor. “Well, I think that admirable. Oh, quite, for after all, life is a gift to us all, and we must celebrate it. Look into your heart, Mistress Kilbourne, and I’m sure you’ll agree that if the late Lord Goodhope were able to speak to you from the beyond, he would urge you not to mourn him in sadness, but in that mode of good spirits and wit which I’m told he possessed in such abundance.”

  “Why, Sir John,” said Mistress Kilbourne, “that was the selfsame argument Charles used in coaxing me out this evening.”

  “Well thought and well argued I”

  “It seemed appropriate to the occasion,” said Mr. Clairmont.

  “Indeed, but how came you two to be acquainted?”

  “Lord Richard introduced us quite some time ago,” said she. “I believe it was on your last trip to London, was it not, Charles?”

  “It was, ves, and in this very place.”

  “Then it is quite fitting you should return. I trust the occasion was blessed by good fortune?”

  “Charles won handsomely.”

  At that point Mr. Bilbo intruded himself into the proceedings: “Though not as handsomely as I first feared. His luck left him.”

  “But still,” said Mr. Clairmont, “a tidy profit—not so, Lucy?”

  “I note,” said Sir John, “that you two salute each other by your Christian names. Thus acquaintanceship has ripened to friendship. It would not be untoward of me then to invite you both, together, to an affair I have planned for tomorrow night.”

  “Oh? What sort of affair?” asked Mistress Kilbourne.

  (I wondered that myself!)

  “Simply a meeting, nothing formal; it will give us all a chance to discuss the matter of Lord Goodhope’s untimely demise. I’m afraid my little house would not be at all proper for the occasion— others will be coming—and so I’ve decided to hold this meeting at the Goodhope residence. As it will be held under my aegis, Lady Goodhope will offer no objection to your coming to the house. I give that as my pledge. You, Mr. Clairmont, will have the opportunity to convey to the widow the condolences which you might have expressed had she not barred you earlier. You, Mistress Kilbourne, will have the opportunity to say to her whatever you deem fitting— or, indeed, to say nothing at all, if you deem that fitting. I would, however, advise against parading in that black dress you have been wearing lately.”

  As each detail of this surprise meeting emerged, the smiles fixed on the faces of Mr. Clairmont and Mistress Kilbourne began to fade until, at the end, both were solemn-faced, each regarding the other with serious looks. Yet they recovered somewhat.

  “Speaking for myself,” said Mistress Kilbourne, “it may not be possible for me to attend. I have a previous engagement.”

  Mr. Clairmont cleared his throat. “Much as I should like to speak to Lady Goodhope, I’m afraid I must meet with that prospective buyer whom I mentioned to you. This matter is, of course, of the utmost importance. It is why I am here in London.”

  “Ah, commerce, yes,” said Sir John, “it is of inarguable consequence, and no doubt your engagement, Mistress Kilbourne, is also of considerable importance, too. Yet I must ask you both to cancel those appointments, for attendance at this meeting tomorrow evening—at nine, by the by—is not optional but obligatory.”

  Mistress Kilbourne: “But …”

  “I know,” said Sir John, “it must seem a terrible annoyance, but do save us the trouble and you the embarrassment of sending a constable after one or both of you.”

  “As you say. Sir John,” said Mistress Kilbourne. Then, nodd
ing at the doorman, she made ready to go.

  Mr. Clairmont simply nodded. The door swung open and both departed. The door shut after them.

  “Well,” said Mr. Bilbo, “that was most interestin’.”

  “I’m glad you judge it so,” said Sir John, “for I shall also be requiring your attendance.”

  “But, Sir John, I have matters that—” “I’ll hear none of that, Mr. Bilbo. You will be there promptly at nine.”

  A great sigh from Mr. Bilbo. “I’ll be there, Sir John.”

  “See that you are.”

  A nod from Sir John, and the door came open again. We marched out together into the night. A light rain was falling. I was glad to see Mr. Clairmont helping Mistress Kilbourne up into a waiting hackney, and glad also that there was one behind it for us.

  As it drew up. Sir John shouted out, “Number Four Bow Street,” to the driver. We climbed inside, and I began my report to him. I told him all I had observed, from Mr. Bilbo’s glances in my direction as he talked directly of Mr. Clairmont to his hot desire to answer back on the matter of jealousy with regard to Lucy Kilbourne.

  “What thought you of Mr. Bilbo, in general, as a witness?”

  “I thought him very interesting,” said I. “What I mean is, he is a great talker, is he not? He seemed to be holding little back.”

  “Little, yes. I like him. Probably I should not, but I do. Do you know, Jeremy, it is rumored that he opened that gaming house of his with a fortune he earned in piracy.”

  “Piracy?” said I, amazed. “Truly?”

  “That is the rumor. There are, however, no witnesses about to testify as to his former life.” He sighed. “He is quite capable of killing Richard Goodhope or indeed anyone else upon provocation. Yet I thought he argued well against that notion, didn’t you, Jeremy?”

  “Yes, indeed.” I hesitated, but gathering my courage, I said, “Sir John, I think I should tell you something.”

  “What is that, boy?”

  I had been arguing with myself, scolding myself, since we left Mr. Bilbo’s office. I realized that I had been at fault, and that I must confess this. Yet knowing it had to be done made it no easier. Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour and my fatigue, or perhaps the overwhelming chain of events that had brought me to that moment, but trembling, as I was, on the brink of revelation, I lost control. Reader, I wept.

  “Jeremy, what is it? Here, take this.” He pushed into my hand a kerchief he had fished from his pocket. “Use it, please.”

  I did as he urged, wiped my eyes and blew into it lustily.

  “Good job,” said he in praise. “You play the man so well that I forget you are still but a child.”

  “But I want to be a man!” And having said so, I proved myself a child by beginning again at that moment to snivel.

  “You will be soon enough,” said he. “Now blow again and tell me this awful thing that must be told.”

  Again I did so and began at last to address the matter at hand. I recalled him to the night before and our exit from Drury Lane by the stage door, Lucy Kilbourne’s entrance, and the surge of the crowd.

  “Yes,” said Sir John, “I remember it all very well; what of it, Jeremy?”

  “Once we were clear of them, you sent me to engage the hackney that waited at the head of the alley, by the street.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, the driver said he was engaged, and indeed there was someone inside, a man. I had but a glimpse of him, yet it seemed to me that it could have been Mr. Clairmont, sir.” I hesitated, but then plunged on: “But that was just it, Sir John, I wasn’t sure, and in court you are always so particular that witnesses be sure of what they saw and heard. I knew that if he was there, he might indeed be waiting for Lucy Kilbourne, and I thought that strange. Because I was not certain, I said nothing to you of it. But tonight I saw that it was of great importance to you. I … I didn’t understand that.”

  “But it proved of no matter, Jeremy, for we did find them together tonight and had our little talk with them—did we not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And as for the principle you observed in keeping silent, you were, of course, quite right about matters before the court: Witnesses cannot guess; they cannot voice suspicions; they cannot repeat what others have said as truth. But an inquiry is conducted according to different rules. In an inquiry, guesses, suspicions, and hearsay are all relevant, for they may lead us to direct evidence of one kind or another. And remember, Jeremy, what I told you earlier about details—nothing too small, nothing too insignificant to call to my attention.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  “I know you will. You’ve a good mind, boy.”

  So delighted was I to hear that, and so caught up was I in the spirit of confession that I then laid before him my transgression in the dressing room of Mistress Kilbourne. I was much relieved when he expressed amusement at the tale told him so earnestly.

  Though he forbore laughter, he made to comment merely: “Better you should be engaged in fastening her up than in unfastening her.” And that was said with a smile, somewhat ironic.

  Thus, shriven and penitent, we arrived at our destination, climbed down from the hackney, and made our way up the back stairs to the magistrate’s living quarters. I had no idea of the hour, though I was quite sure I had never been so late awake, not even in the course of my flight to London. Yet half-asleep was what I was, truly, so fatigued suddenly by the emotional expense of those past minutes in the hackney.

  Saying good night to Sir John, I made my way up to my room on the topmost floor and undressed in the dark. I sank into sleep near immediate. It seemed, however, that the last sound I heard before succumbing completely was the resumption of that pacing from the study two floors below.

  Chapter Ten

  In which a deal of

  preparations are made

  I KNOW NOT ALL OF what transpired during Mr. Donnelly’s visit the next morning, for most of it took place behind closed doors. There was, first of all, his examination of Lady Fielding, which he undertook with Sir John and Mrs. Gredge present. The poppy seed tea was administered, and the two men emerged from the bedroom, talking in grave tones, the sense of which was incomprehensible to me as I worked below in the kitchen. Though I was powerfully curious, I had made up my mind not to eavesdrop. If something was said in my presence, or said loud enough that I might hear without taking special pains—then well and good; but I would not sneak about like some furtive butler with my ear pressed to the door or my eye at the keyhole. I knew full well that Sir John despised Potter of the Goodhope household for such practices.

  From thence the surgeon and the magistrate adjourned to the study, where, as it later came clear, much more than the patient’s condition was discussed. I should hazard that the two talked at some length over the document of identification signed by Lady Good-hope and witnessed by the surgeon. A more sensitive matter was the meeting that I had heard but late the night before was planned at the residence. Not only did Sir John require Mr. Donnelly’s presence, he depended upon him to make Lady Goodhope aware of the absolute necessity that the meeting be held there in the residence, specifically in the library, the location of the crime.

  That this second matter was thus discussed I am indeed certain, for after half of an hour the two men left the study and descended the stairs to the kitchen where I scrubbed and polished. Mrs. Gredge had by then returned from the sickroom, and after a word with her, ascertaining that the patient slept, the surgeon returned to the subject which had then been but recently under discussion.

  “She will not like it,” said he to Sir John. “She will rail against it.”

  “Indeed,” said Sir John, “that is certain, and that is why I send you as my emissary to impress upon her why it must be so.”

  “I’ll do what I can, of course.”

  “You must do more than you can, or more than you imply by that. The meeting must take place, and it must take place there in the library. A d
ozen chairs are to be set out, or more to be on the safe side. But she is to expect near that number at final count.”

  “And all this by nine o’clock in the evening?”

  “Exactly so,” said Sir John, then added: “And do not forget the kitchen girl, Meg. Tell Lady Goodhope that she is to be present, and in proper dress.”

  “Very good, Sir John. I shall do all I can—and more.”

  “I trust you to it.”

  The two had by then reached the door. Upon those last words, they shook hands solemnly. Sir John fumbled slightly for the door latch, found it, and threw it open to a powerful clatter and clump on the stairs below. Who should appear but Mr. Bailey and his second-in-command, Mr. Baker, each of them heavily armed with a cutlass and a brace of pistols. Mr. Donnelly ducked past them with a muttered, “Until nine then,” and with a nod to Mr. Bailey, disappeared through the door.

  Mr. Bailey seemed quite agitated, as indeed did Mr. Baker. The two men called together for Sir John’s attention, setting up a considerable clamor in the kitchen.

  “Please, wait!” said he. “One at a time. Give me your report. Is the prisoner now with us, Mr. Bailey?”

  “He is not, sir, though we tried our damnedest!”

  “And the circumstances is passing strange,” put in Mr. Baker.

  “Tell me then. You left near two hours past.”

  Let me here interject, reader, that I in no wise was aware that the two constables had been sent to Newgate to fetch Dick Dillon, as the magistrate had promised him. Their departure would have taken place even before Mrs. Gredge had roused me from my sound slumber. Since I had slept little, I was left to suspect that Sir John had slept not at all.

  “Aye, sir,” said Benjamin Bailey, “two hours past. We gone direct to Snow Hill. The gatekeeper let us in, after we showed him the papers all sealed with the court seal which you gave us. But instead of sending us to the Master Felons Ward where you said the prisoner was to be found, he directed us instead to the chief warder. So, having no choice in the matter, really, we went to him.”