Bruce Alexander - [Sir John Fielding 01]

by Alexander, Bruce

  “Ah, Jeremy,” said he as I approached, “I have two most important errands for you to run.”

  “Whatever you like, sir, it will be done.”

  “Good boy.” He took two letters from his desk, each with the Bow Street seal, and offered them to me. “You have here separate letters to be delivered directly to the hands of those whose names appear on the outer face—and only to their hands. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” said I, taking them, “completely.”

  “There is a deal of distance between the two addresses and it makes no matter to which you go first. Find Mr. Bailey, Mr. Baker, or Mr. Marsden, and get directions from them. One of them should help.”

  “Is there an hour by which I should return?”

  “Well, by dark, certainly. But it should not take so long, even if they ask you to wait for a reply. One or both may do that. In any case, you and I must have time to dine before going off to the Goodhope residence.”

  I could not but smile broadly at that. “Then I’m to accompany you?”

  “Oh, yes. You shall have a part to play. But on your way now.”

  I bade him goodbye then and left to search out one of the three he had named. As it happened, I was fortunate to find Mr, Marsden, for he, the court clerk, not only gave me clear instructions to each destination, but also wrote them down for me.

  Therefore, making haste into the city through a good many streets I had never walked before, I consulted my written instructions but once. I came quickly enough to Lloyd’s Coffee House, a place where Mr. Marsden had told me much business was done besides that of coffee drinking.

  It was well marked and well lit (for it had many windows). As I entered, I encountered a great hubbub in the house. There were tables all around, at which one or sometimes two men sat, conversing loudly with those at tables nearby. Yet their attention was divided, for many seemed to return again and again to a large slate at one corner of the place upon which a fellow in an apron made entries and notations. Some shouted at him. Others seemed to ignore him completely. While all the while other fellows in aprons passed among them, distributing pots and collecting cups.

  I tapped one of these servers politely on the arm as he passed by and asked him to identify Mr. Alfred Humber, as read the name on the envelope which I held. He directed me to a gentleman of a settled look, corpulent, and somewhat senior to the rest. He sat in the midst of the throng with a young man not much older than myself at his side. As I approached, he appeared to be dozing, and I wondered should I wake him. Yet upon my arrival at his table his eyes snapped open of a sudden, like those of a cat. And though he made not a move with his body, fingers still folded over his bulging belly, he fixed me with a close look.

  “What is it, boy?” said he, not rudely but indulgently.

  “If you are Mr. Alfred Humber,” said 1, “I have a letter for you from Sir John Fielding, magistrate of the Bow Street Court.”

  “I am your man, so you may give it me.”

  At last he bestirred himself, put forth his hand for the letter, and found a pair of spectacles in his waistcoat pocket with which to read it. He tore the seal with indifference and put the letter before him for studv.

  Having done so, he frowned at me. “He wants not only the owners, but also the plan of its last voyage and its next?”

  “Sorry, sir, I know not the contents of the letter.”

  “I see, of course.” He turned to the young fellow at his side, who had quite openly read the letter over his shoulder, and handed it over to him. “George, my lad,” said he to him, “take this about— oh, first to Timmons and then to Craik. One of the two has this account, I’m sure. Have them write the information on the bottom of the page.”

  Without a word, the assistant (if that was indeed his position) was off to the far corner of the large room.

  “Would you like a cup?” Mr. Humber asked me. “Sit down here.”

  “A cup, sir?”

  “A cup of coffee.”

  He signaled to one of the servers, who brought cups and a fresh pot, poured the black-brown brew, and was away the next moment.

  “I’ve never had it before,” said I. “Will it make me drunk?”

  “Oh no. The contrary is true. It will revive you, if you need reviving, as I do. And if you do not, it will for a short space give you strength you had no idea you possessed.”

  “A magic potion?” said I.

  “An elixir,” said he.

  I tasted it and found it warm though not hot, slightly bitter though not unpleasant to the taste. And so I drank deep of it, liking it better with each draught.

  “Thank you, Mr. Humber. It suits me well.”

  “I warn you, though, boy. Drink it careful, for it could become a habit. The dear Lord knows it has become so with me.”

  Just then Mr. Humber’s George returned from his ramble about the room, tossing down the letter on the table, and seating himself once again.

  “Craik’s it was, sir,” said he. ” ‘E’s askin’ what it’s all about.”

  “That’s for Sir John to tell, and I know him well enough to say he will not tell till he is ready.”

  Mr. Humber picked up the letter and glanced at the information appended to the bottom of it. He passed it on to me.

  “There you are,” said he. “Give my best to him.”

  I jumped to my feet and drank to the bottom of the cup.

  “Thank you, Mr. Humber, and thank you for bringing coffee to my acquaintance.”

  “Mind it doesn’t become a habit.”

  With a wave, I left him and departed the coffeehouse. Then, consulting Mr. Marsden’s directions and traversing the city, I made for the East India Company in Leadenhall Street. It stood, a mighty edifice, hard by the houses of government. There was no difficulty in locating the place, but once inside and passed on at the entrance, I found it to be a perfect maze of stairs and corridors. Through opened doors I glimpsed great halls of clerks laboring at their separate desks with quill and ink. Where could I find the man I sought?

  At last, climbing to yet another floor, asking one met along the way, I came to the door I sought—that of Sir Percival Peeper, who I have since learned was then a proprietor of that great enterprise. I knocked, and the door was opened by a man in usher’s livery. He seemed quite unimpressed by my person.

  “Yes, boy, what is it?” This in the tone of one permanently exasperated.

  “I have a letter for Sir Percival Peeper.”

  “Give it me. I shall deliver it.”

  “I cannot. It is from Sir John Fielding, magistrate of the Bow Street Court. He instructed me to put it direct into his hands.”

  “Sir John Fielding, you say?”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “Wait here.”

  He shut the door in my face. I waited there in the corridor for a good space of time, growing increasingly annoyed that my long search for the proper door should end with me held outside it. Yet I was determined to carry out Sir John’s instructions to the letter. I would wait here all day, if need be, rather than deliver the missive into the hands of that fellow. I ws assuring myself I would welcome the opportunity to tell him that when suddenly the door opened, and he stood before me once more.

  “This way,” said he.

  I stepped inside a room all dark wood and leather. The deep colors, the lack of daylight gave a sense of oppressiveness to the anteroom which seemed to fit my guide’s demeanor. He led me through it and down a short, narrow corridor to another door. He rapped lightly upon it and, at a word from inside, threw it open and admitted me. A small, wizened man not much larger than a child sat there behind a large desk, frowning out at me. I was aware that the usher stood waiting as I marched up the carpet to the desk. Here, at least, the curtains had been parted and there was light enough to see.

  I was quite certain he was the man I had come to see, of course, yet I chose to ask in a manner most bold: “Are you Sir Percival Peeper?”

 
“Of course I am.”

  “Then this is for you, sir.”

  I placed the letter on his desk. He looked at it and touched it impatiently with his fingers, waiting for me to turn and go.

  “I believe an answer of some sort is desired,” said I.

  “Oh … all right.”

  With that, he tore it open roughly and read swiftly through its contents.

  “Will there be an answer, sir?”

  “Yes, yes, of course there will, but it will not be immediate. What Sir John asks for must be searched out from our files. Go, boy, and tell him that.”

  Although it might seem an impertinence, I felt that something should be said. “I believe an answer is needed by nine for a meeting at the Goodhope residence.”

  “So it says here. He will have it by then. If need be, I’ll have it brought to him there. You may tell him that, too.” He fluttered his hand at me, making it clear he wished me to leave. As I started to turn to go, he called after me. “But hold, boy, who are you to tell me what is and is not needed and by when?”

  My face burned in embarrassment. Perhaps I had been a bit too brazen. “I beg your pardon, sir,” said I. “I meant no harm.”

  “Do you think perhaps that you yourself are the law?”

  “No, sir, but I am the law’s messenger.”

  He laughed a dry little laugh and beckoned me forward to him. “A good answer,” said he, as he went fishing into his pocket. He pulled out a shilling and offered it to me. “Such an answer deserves a shilling.”

  I hesitated to take it, thinking Sir John might not approve. But then, fearing even more that Sir Percival Peeper might be affronted by my refusal, I ducked my head in the semblance of a bow and took the shilling.

  “Thank you, sir,” said I.

  “You may go,” said he.

  I was moved out swiftly by the man in livery and left in the hall without a word. Finding my way out offered no difficulty. And once on the street I felt most peculiarly elated. Perhaps it was the matter of the shilling—not the coin itself, but the reward. I felt as if I had passed a test of some sort, that I had acquitted myself well before a man of importance.

  Or perhaps it was merely the coffee I had drunk by the generosity of Mr. Humber. He had promised me it would give strength I knew not I possessed, and that might also mean the strength to give good answers.

  In any case, full of coffee, full of hope, I set off on a run through the dusk to Bow Street, thinking I could hardly wait for that nine o’clock hour to come.

  Chapter Eleven

  In which all is made clear

  The chairs were set out in a crescent-moon arrangement in the Goodhope library—twenty of them in two rows often. There would never be so many there, I told myself, remembering Sir John’s request to be passed on to Lady Goodhope by Mr. Donnelly. Yet by the end of the evening many had been occupied, if only temporarily. To put it plain, there was to be a good deal of coming and going.

  The chairs, then empty, faced and half-circled the desk at which a corpus had sat but a few nights past. I wondered at the necessity which dictated that this singular meeting be held in this particular room. When Sir John and I had made our entrance to the house a few minutes before, Lady Goodhope had met us at the door and protested loudly, and in unladylike fashion, against the meeting, against its location, and against her attendance at it, which Sir John required. He, urging her into the sitting room in which they had previously conversed on a number of occasions, sought to allay her fears. But entering, he called me to him and ordered me down the hall to the library to make certain the room had been prepared according to his wishes.

  Except for the superabundance of chairs, all seemed to be in order. A fire blazed in the fireplace, making the room almost uncomfortably warm. All around the room, candles were lit. Two standing candelabra had been brought in from some other place to supplement the rest. The effect was to bring the library to a condition quite like that in which I had seen it previously in daylight. The burning candles seemed also to add to the warmth of the room.

  I was standing at the desk, taking what I thought to be a last look about, when I was hailed from behind by name. Turning, I saw Mr. Donnelly advancing toward me from the door. He seemed not quite jolly, but in high spirits due to the occasion. His face was flushed. He moved with his familiar quick step.

  “Well,” said he, “what think you of this important evening?”

  “I know not what to think,” said I in all truth.

  “Then … Sir John has given you no hint of what’s to come?”

  “None, sir. He asked only that I make sure the room was in order.”

  He looked about him. “It seems to be, does it not?”

  “Only but there are a few too many chairs.”

  “He could not object to that, surely. It would seem the servants emptied the dining room.”

  I thought for something to say. I was quite bursting to tell someone of the letters I had delivered—of my first taste of coffee and the shilling I had earned with a sober answer—yet I feared that such would seem to Mr. Donnelly mere boyish prattle. And so I offered merely what came to mind: “Sir John is in the sitting room off the front hall with Lady Goodhope.”

  “Ah, yes,” said he. “I perceived as much. I heard their voices, quite contentious, the moment I was admitted. I thought to wander about a bit until the two had settled their differences. Was that cowardly of me?”

  Again, I wondered at the question and decided Mr. Donnelly had simply given voice to his private thoughts. But I was quick to answer: “Oh no, sir. The matter is, after all, between the two of them.”

  “Indeed! Precisely what I told myself. But perhaps I had best go and see have they made some progress in their negotiations.” He turned with a sigh and took a step or two toward the door. Then: “Ah, Jeremy, but one question: I was surprised to be let in by Benjamin Bailey, my dear cousin’s friend and boarder.”

  “He came with us here.”

  “All decked out he was with cutlass and pistols. Has that spying butler been sent on his way?”

  “Not to my knowledge, sir.”

  “Well,” said Mr. Donnelly, giving a shake of his head, “an armed constable at the door. That portends a most interesting evening, does it not?” Then, with a wave of his hand he was gone from the room.

  For the first time since my entry into the room that evening, I ventured behind the desk and found it most uncomfortably warm there from the blaze. The fireplace itself, but three paces back, offered a surprise. There was a kettle on the crane I had not at first noticed. Turned back from the fire though it was, it still gave off a wisp of steam. I went to it, bent down, and gave it a heft. I found it well filled with water.

  Then, hearing a sudden, startled “Oh!” behind me, I jumped up, kettle in hand, and found a serving girl bearing a tea service on a tray. She was smallish, fitted in black, with good color in her cheeks. It took me a moment to realize that this was none other than the kitchen girl Meg.

  “Begging your pardon,” said she. “I had not realized anybody was here.”

  She spoke!

  Quickly she went to the cabinets at one side of the desk and placed her burden down atop one of them. With a swift little curtsy, she began to back away.

  I watched her dumbly, still holding to the kettle. Yet before she turned and disappeared completely, I managed at last to say, “Don’t go.”

  She stood then, eyes downcast, a tense little smile upon her pretty face.

  “Sir John said you were to take part tonight. Is that as you wish?”

  “Oh, yes,” said she. “I’m to serve tea merely.”

  “Tea? Oh,” said I, raising the kettle foolishly, “tea, of course.”

  We both laughed at that, no doubt longer than the situation warranted. I replaced the kettle on the crane, then I turned back to her.

  “He seems a good man, your Sir John,” said Mistress Meg. “Have you known him long?”

  “Not long, no. But
I feel that in a way I know him well.” Perhaps more should be said. I decided to tell her what I would not have told others: “I came before him in his court, falsely accused of theft. But he saw through the perjury of my accusers and sent them aw ay with a warning.”

  “Then he is a good man.”

  “Wise and fair.”

  “Do you live now in his household?”

  “Yes,” said I, then added regretfully, “though perhaps not for long. I have a trade. He is attempting to place me in it.”

  “And what is your trade?” she asked brightly.

  “Printing. I learned it from my father.”

  “Oh? And where is he?”

  “No longer alive,” said I, leaving it at that, offering no details. She was silent for a moment. Then, with a grave nod, she said: “Nor is my mother. My father I never knew.” “Orphans,” said I. “Indeed,” said she. “Well …” And again she began to back away.

  “Until later, Mistress Meg,” said I, in the manner of a goodbye. “Until later. Master Jeremy.”

  It was but minutes after the hour of nine when an assembly composed of a number of those to whom Sir John had earlier spoken was brought together in the library. They were, you may be assured, a rather uncomfortable group. At one end of the crescent sat Charles Clairmont and Lucy Kilbourne, and at the other Lady Goodhope and Mr. Donnelly. Lady Goodhope threw daggers and dirks from her eyes at the couple at the other side of the room. Between them Mr. Black Jack Bilbo had situated himself. In the second row of chairs, to my surprise, sat Mr. Alfred Humber and a man whom I had never before seen.

  All this I had surveyed upon our entrance. Sir John allowed me, on this occasion, to take him by the elbow and guide him around the two rows to the desk. There he took his place in the fatal chair. Once he had settled, I retired to a point some paces away and to his right. Mistress Meg stood nearby, and we exchanged covert glances. We were both too near the blazing fire for comfort. But if Sir John could stand such warmth at his back, I knew that I could do so, too.