“I’d not met the fellow before,” put in Mr. Baker, “though Ben had. Quite the blackguard, in my opinion, Jonathan Wild reincarnated, Sir John.”
“A like description,” the magistrate agreed.
“Well, this one whom indeed I have had dealings with on past occasions,” continued Mr. Bailey, “he fiddled and farted about, reading your document and then reading it again, and then telling us that what you requested was quite impossible.”
“I did not request,” said Sir John. “I demanded
“That’s as I told him, sir.”
“Then we asked why was it impossible,” said Mr. Baker, “and he says it’s because the prisoner is down in the hole. Solitary.”
“And why was that?”
Mr. Bailey: “For punishment, says he. He’s a very hard case. He injured a warder during the night most severely.”
Mr. Baker: ” ‘Knifed him,’ said he, ‘carved him up like a Christmas goose.’ “
Sir John: “Don’t tell me! I hazard that the warder’s name was John Larkin.”
At that, Bailey and Baker looked at one another, each with raised eyebrows, halted for but a moment in their collaborative account.
“It was so!” exclaimed Mr. Baker.
“Indeed,” said Mr. Bailey. “That’s as we discovered when we asked to see the prisoner. Well, they took us off to some part of the place that was nothing to do with the gaol proper, but was a manner of sickroom for the warders. There they showed us this warder, Larkin.”
Mr. Baker: ” ‘See what your man done to this poor fellow,’ the chief warder says to us. ‘How can we let such a vicious animal outside Newgate, for this is the safest prison in the realm. What would he do if he were to escape from some other? He would be like some wolf loosed upon the innocent lambs of London!’ Sir John, ain’t that the utterest piece of nonsense ever you heard? Innocent lambs indeed! Were he to show his face in Seven Dials again, he’d probably have his nose slit for putting to bother one of their company.”
“And then,” said Mr. Bailey, “when we made to question this fellow Larkin as to the particulars of the incident, he became very shifty. In truth, sir, he was not all that bad hurt. His hand was pierced through, and he had what I would judge to be a slight nick on his throat.”
“Why do you judge it so?” asked Sir John. “That could have been intended as a mortal wound.”
“Well, it was bound up, sure enough, so I could not be sure, but there was no blood on the bandage, and this Larkin had no trouble talking.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, well,” said Mr. Baker, “he made himself quite the victim of his own kindness. He claimed that the prisoner, Dillon, had called to him for water and said he was in the throes of the ague. And when this man, this warder, Larkin, had entered, he was immediately set upon by Dillon and wounded many times by him with a dirk. Well, ‘many times’ was a considerable exaggeration, for his wounds was as Ben described, and the whole account had about it the nature of a fabrication. You know how it is. Sir John, when we arrest them on the street they all have a story, or sometimes the supposed victim of the crime has one, but the story they tell is not quite right in their manner of telling. And of course with this one there were some questions that arose immediately.”
“Such as,” put in Mr. Bailey, “how came the prisoner to be in possession of the dirk.”
“What said he to that?” asked Sir John.
“Said it must have been smuggled in to him. He knew not by who.”
“Another question,” said Mr. Baker. “What was the prisoner’s intention in attacking him so?”
“Aye,” said Mr. Bailev, “they claimed escape was his intention. Yet they were hard put to explain whv he never left the Master Felons Ward. Larkin just pushed him out into the corridor and waited for him to be rescued by the warders, who set upon him and disarmed the prisoner. They said they got to him before he could decide which wav to run. That, again, I doubt somewhat because the telling of it seemed false. We tried to go round a bit with him on it, get him to repeat it, looking for details that might not match up, as you might. But the chief warder would have none of that. He brought us awav from Larkin. So then, we asks to visit the Master Felons Ward so as to put questions to the warders and the inmates and view the scene. And he says to us, ‘Who are you to doubt that fellow’s story?’”
Mr. Baker broke in: ” ‘We are constables is who we are,’ said I to him, and if we cannot see the prisoner, then we demand to see the Keeper of Newgate.’ “
“He laughed at us, he did. And he said, ‘The Keeper of Newgate will not see such as you.’ “
“Well, he will see such as me,” said the magistrate, whose countenance had grown increasing dark during the telling. “Jeremy!” he bellowed of a sudden, “fetch my coat and hat from the study.”
I jumped to his command and ran for it up the stairs. As I helped Sir John into his coat, I hoped fiercely that I might be asked along, yet I was not surprised when no such invitation was extended.
“You still have my writ in your possession?”
“Aye, sir, it is here in my pocket,” said Mr. Bailey.
“Then let us be off, all three of us, for I promise we shall return with the prisoner.”
And so they made a hasty departure down the stairs, Mr. Baker leading the way, then Mr. Bailey, and Sir John last of all with his hand on Mr. Bailey’s shoulder, as was his wont when descending.
I watched them in excitement but was brought suddenly to myself by Mrs. Gredge’s harsh command: “Shut the door, Jeremy.”
I did as she bade me and went direct to her to comment upon this new turn in a matter already too complicated for my understanding.
Yet she cut me short, quite surprising me with a comment which betrayed her ignorance of the affair. “All this fuss about a felon!” said she with a dismissive wave of her hand. “What matter can it be?”
I had somehow fixed it in my mind that she, a grown woman and considerable more, would have the same interest in such concerns of Sir John as I had. Yet when I sought to explain the significance of what we had heard to her, which is to say, Dillon’s likely importance as a witness in the Goodhope inquiry, then she brushed it aside, saying it was all the same to her. And so, I was forced to add indifference to her ignorance. And in truth, I had, in the time I had been there, not heard her ask a single question of her master regarding what went on in the courtroom below, much less about matters more private, such as the inquiry into the death of Lord Goodhope. This last demonstrated the extent of her isolation from the talk of the street, as well, for, as I was to learn, no subject was at that moment of keener interest to the purveyors of speculation and of gossip as that which one of the pamphlets soon to appear would call “The Horror in St. James Street.” Say what I might of her, Mrs. Gredge was quite separated from such stuff of sensation, which was perhaps best for a magistrate’s housekeeper and cook.
It was a bit later on when, having completed my appointed tasks, she asked me if I might go below to Covent Garden and do some buying for her. I agreed readily, realizing that she was entrusting me with what she considered to be one of her most sacred duties.
“Did you sometimes go to the market and buy foodstuffs for your father?” she asked me.
“Oh, often,” said I, “when he was busy with his printing work.”
“Can you buy meat? Potatoes? Greens?”
“All of that.”
“Well and good. I’ll try you out. What I fixed for Sir John and us last night fair cleaned me out, and I am loath to leave Lady Fielding alone in the house.”
So we sat down together and prepared us a list, she doing the telling and I the writing of it, for as I had come to suspect and later confirmed, she was without letters. Then she presented me with the large market basket, put some monev in my pocket, and sent me on my way.
Although I had passed through Covent Garden on separate occasions with Mr. Bailev and Sir John, I had not had occasion to tour
the place as I did that morning. Mrs. Gredge put no limit of time on me, and so I made a leisurely journey through the stalls and the crowds round them, choosing a cabbage here, and potatoes, carrots, and turnips there—for she had in mind to make a stew that might last more nights than one. But what makes a good stew but good spices? Therefore, when I heard a maid’s call, rising above the rest—
Here’s fine rosemary, sage, and thyme. Come buy my ground ivy. Here’s fetherfew, gilliflowers, and rue. Come buy my knotted marjoram ho!
—I thought it a particular invitation to me. I hastened to her through the mob, and after a bit of pleasant bargaining, bought bay leaves and thyme. The maid who had sung her wares was not much my senior; she was good in commerce but took no advantage. She did, however, advertise her leeks to me, and since I decided they would go well in the stew, I took a bunch of them, as well. Since none of these were on the list Mrs. Gredge had made up with me, I bought them from my own dwindling store of coins and then had but two shillings left and a few pence, but I assured myself it was all in a good cause. It made me feel quite the man to do a bit of buying on my own.
Turning away from the spice merchant’s stall, my purchases in my basket, I felt a gentle hand laid upon my arm, looked about, and found before me a face that was familiar, yet difficult to place. Who could this handsome woman be?
“Your name is Jeremy, is it not?” she asked.
“Indeed it is, ma’am. I believe we have met, though to my shame, I cannot say your name.”
“Katherine Durham,” said she. “Sir John Fielding introduced us but a few days past in the Haymarket.”
“Oh yes,” said I, “you must forgive me for not remembering. Since I’ve come to London, so much has happened.”
I recalled her at that moment aright. She it was whose son had been saved from the gallows and sent to sea.
“Indeed,” she said, “it is a most confusing place. I well remember when I first came here with my late husband from Plymouth—the constant tumult, the babble—but I grew accustomed. You will, too. As I recall, you’re a young printer. Has Sir John found you a place?”
“Not as yet, ma’am, no. He’s been terrible busy on an inquiry.”
“Ah, the Goodhope matter, of course. They talk of nothing else in the streets.”
“And then,” said I, blurting more than I should, “there is Lady Fielding, as well.”
“Oh? What is the trouble there?”
“I fear she is dying.”
Though I immediately realized it was wrong of me to have said so much of concerns personal to Sir John, the look of consternation and genuine sympathy that appeared upon her face assured me that at least I had not told them to the wrong person.
“I had no idea,” said she. “The poor, generous, good man—he is then truly beset, is he not? Well, young Jeremy, since I have heard nothing of it from the gossips and prattlers, I shall treat what you told me as a confidence. I’ll not repeat it.”
“I’d be grateful,” said I. “In all truth, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Not a word.” Then, gesturing at our like baskets, she said: “You buy for the household. You have their trust.”
“I hope I’ve done well. Only the meat remains to be bought.”
“Would you like some help with that?”
“Oh, indeed I would. I fear I might buy what’s old or spoiled. My eye is not the best for meat.”
“Then come along,” said she. “We shall do our buying together.”
And off we went to that corner of the Garden where the butchers’ stalls and the vendors of sausages and poultry were set and the early-season flies assembled in number. The hucksters sang their songs—
Mutton chops to marrow bones!
Pork loins and flitches and meaty stewing bones!
—and the buyers gathered. It seemed that those who bellowed the loudest drew the greatest number.
Buy a young chicken fat and plump, Or take two for a shilling? Come buy if you are willing!
But Katherine Durham led me past the mob and on to a stall which, though doing a good trade, did not resort to cries and calls. We took a place to wait for service by one of two young lads who busied themselves behind the board, offering and selling, weighing and wrapping. But as we waited there, we two were spied by the proprietor of the stall, himself a proper butcher for he wore a bloody apron; he left his post at the rear of the stall and beckoned us to him.
“Ho there, Mrs. Durham,” said he. (He was a big man with a big voice.) “And how be you this excellent morning?”
“Oh, very good, Mr. Tolliver, and I have brought to you this fine lad, whose name is Jeremy, and he is come here to the Garden to buy for the household of Sir John Fielding.”
He smiled a great wide smile at me, giving me the opportunity to puff a bit. “Well,” said he, “Sir John, is it? We all wish to stay on the right side of him. What would you be needing today, Master Jeremy?”
“Stew meat,” said I, consulting my list, “off the bone.”
“Well, come over here, both of you, and have a look. I think you’ll find this to your likin’.”
So saying, he led us to a great pot at the far end of the board, which was covered over with a cloth. Unlike the meat put out at neighboring stalls, his was thus covered until showed and sold. Mr. Tolliver pulled off the cloth that we might view the contents.
“Mutton?” asked Mrs. Durham.
“Indeed, mutton it is, and very young mutton at that—near lamb, it is.”
I looked at it with my unpracticed eye. It was filled with meat of a relatively light hue cut in good-sized chunks. Nearly all, it seemed, had morsels of fat appended. I commented on this, asking if this was usual.
“It’s as you would want it, young sir,” said Mr. Tolliver. “The fat gives body to the stew. The cook will know to skim it off the top as it simmers.”
I looked over at Mrs. Durham, and she gave me a wise nod of agreement.
“Well and good,” said I. “I’ll take a pound.”
“And I but half that,” said she.
“All’s right for both of you,” said he, as he doled out our separate quantities. “Will that be all, then?”
Mrs. Durham indicated so and paid up. I asked for three joints of beef.
“Three, no less?”
“Sir John likes his beef.”
“As any good Englishman would!” said he. “But I must go back and carve those from the side in the stall. It will be but a blink.”
He left us then to attend to the matter, and Katherine Durham extended her hand to me, taking her leave. I clasped her hand eagerly and expressed my thanks, exclaiming at my good luck in meeting her thus by chance.
“It has been my great pleasure,” said she quite graciously. “Now, Jeremy, it would be wrong of me to ask you to give to Sir John my sympathy with regard to Lady Fielding, because as you said, it is a personal matter and was probably better left untold. But nevertheless he does have my deepest sympathy. Simply tell him that you met Katherine Durham. She sends her sincerest greetings and hopes that he may one morning find time to visit at Number Three Berry Lane. Can you remember that address? It is the floor above with a separate entrance.”
“I can remember it, yes, and I will tell him.”
“Goodbye then, and good fortune to you.”
I stood, watching after her as she made her way through the multitude, for I was quite taken by her beauty and gentle manner. Then, sensing the butcher nearby, I turned and found him holding the big, raw slabs of meat out for my inspection. I decided they would look better cooked than they did at that moment. But I nodded my satisfaction, and he wrapped them.
As he took my money, he glanced off in the direction in which Mrs. Durham had disappeared. “A fine woman,” said he—and only that.
Before I gained entrance to Number 4 Bow Street, a coach pulled up at the door, and four men descended. Sir John led the way; the prisoner was third between the two constables. Even at some distance I
could tell that Dick Dillon was much the worse for his ordeal. He walked slowly, though without leg irons, and his head was bowed. I held back, not wishing to impede them on their way, but also to better observe them. Stopping briefly at the door that led to the rear, Sir John turned and instructed the others in some manner. I had not noticed before, though I saw it in him afterward, that on certain occasions he took on something of a military air—giving brief commands and curt directions. Most of his hours he spent as a judge, with proper judicial demeanor, yet there were times when it suited him best to play commander to his constables.
They entered. Sir John last of all, and I hastened to the door to get another look. Inside, I caught the heavy tread of the party far down the hall; near running the length of it, I spied the four disappear into the magistrate’s chambers. How I should have liked to accompany them! But of course I could not intrude, no matter how keen my wish to hear Dillon’s testimony. And so, with a sigh of resignation, I turned away and climbed the stairs to the kitchen, basket in hand.
Mrs. Gredge was much pleased by my purchases, doubly so when she heard that I had bought the unlisted spices and leeks from my own small store of cash. And though she made no offer to reimburse me, she gave me time to myself that I might spend as I pleased. I went up to my attic room, suddenly weary, and though I took down a book to read, I soon found the lines of type swimming before my eyes. The lack of sleep I had suffered the night before won out over my resolve, and before I knew it I had fallen into a deep slumber.
Mrs. Gredge woke me a bit more gently than was her usual. She instructed me that I was wanted down in Sir John’s chambers. I needed little more than that to bring me to a keen state of alertness. I had been abed near two hours.
I pulled on my shoes and made for the ground floor at once. I was surprised, on the way to my destination, to see Dick Dillon in the strong room eating hungrily of bread and cheese. But I had no call to linger and gape, so I went straight to the magistrate’s door and banged on it loudly. Just as loudly I called my name, and Sir John bade me enter.
Bruce Alexander - [Sir John Fielding 01] Page 25