“Pay no heed to such things,” continued Sir John. “I certainly do not.”
“You are very kind… . Its content was arrant nonsense, of course. Those who would impede my advancement are legion, and—”
“Yes, I know it. I might observe, however, that it should not bother me even if the claims in the pamphlet were true, as long as trials are conducted fairly. Of course, one does prefer those involved with the law to be of the highest integrity.”
“As I said, those claims are the basest libel—”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Sir John, waving him away.
There were many pubs with a low reputation in London, and some were chiefly frequented by those who preferred the company of their own sex. The pamphlet had accused Hitchin of being a regular patron at the Rose, which was one such establishment.
Pubs like the Rose had back rooms for changing in, since no man of any standing could leave his house dressed in women’s clothing. Some establishments even allowed regulars to store clothing and cosmetics there, and offered rental services too.
Adorned in Clothing intended for Women, Marshal Charles Hitchin is addressed by other Patrons as Your Ladyship. In the Den of Iniquity he favours, men call each other Dear, embrace, and even kiss. Hitchin is enamoured of a Boy (perhaps a young Actor specializing in female Roles) whom the others call Titania, and gladly dons the Head of an Ass in exchange for his Favourite’s Caresses.
Does one of such Degeneracy have any Place in the practice of Law?
Sir John smiled wryly, after their visitor had left. “Do you suppose he is calling on every member of the legal profession with whom he has any acquaintance, to insist on the pamphlet’s inaccuracy? I fear the result may be the opposite of what he intends.”
“Who do you suppose is trying to bring him down?” asked Anne.
“Someone aligned with a defendant in one of his trials, I imagine. Their lawyer might be behind it. To judge from his voice, Hitchin does not sound like a man whose figure would be flattered by women’s clothing.”
“He is twice the size of Benjamin Beamis. Perhaps thrice, in dress and petticoat.”
“Ah, well. We must get back to work. Please read that letter again.”
Edward, Nigel,
Help me.
I am imprisoned against my will. I have no way to communicate with you.
Escape is my intention. I hope to find my way to you somehow, but I cannot predict whether I shall reach you alive or dead.
Below I record all the events leading up to my present circumstances. If I am unable to speak for myself when found, read this instead.
My gaoler is a man called Guy Evans. He lives in London, but I do not know the address… .
When Anne reached the end of it, Sir John handed her the writing samples he had received from Barton. There were six: one for each pupil, and one for Barton himself.
“Compare these, if you would.”
“All six differ markedly from the hand in which the letter is written,” said Anne after a few moments. Then, clearly vexed, she added, “Mr. Barton’s writing is highly idiosyncratic. I wonder whether someone who took his prescription to an apothecary would receive the correct medicine.”
“How I regret my inability to see it for myself,” smiled Sir John. “The boy’s letter is quite long. One might be able to imitate another’s hand for a line or two, but surely not for a work of that length. Not without some difficulty.”
“I agree. You think the letter might be a forgery, Sir John?”
“Evans and Harrington conspired to manipulate stock prices. We can consider this a fact, I suppose. Robert Barton incurred great losses as a result. Here, too, I imagine that Mr. Hume is telling the truth, although we require evidence that can be submitted in court. Why should Evans consider it necessary to kill Harrington? Turner offers as motivation Harrington’s knowledge of the boy’s forgery… but this idea rests on the assumption that the letter to Messrs. Turner and Hart is genuine.”
“Do you mean to suggest that Mr. Turner wrote the letter to back his own claims, then had it copied out by someone else?”
“Such a thing is certainly possible. He lies without a hint of unease. You said he was handsome?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose, as a young woman, you fell under his spell,” he teased.
“I do not allow emotion to interfere with my investigations,” she retorted.
“I know it, Anne. Now, pray read the rest of the reports.”
But Abbott entered the room before she could begin. “Mr. Hume from the Temple Bank has arrived as you requested, sir.”
Sir John had Anne put the papers away again.
“Were you aware that Edward Turner was attacked and wounded on the street?”
Sir John heard Hume gasp, then cry: “By him?!”
“‘Him’?”
“By Evans… . Excuse me.” He struggled to get his breathing back under control after his outburst. “Was the wound deep? Surely not fatal? Sir John, is your business with me urgent? If you permit, I should like to call on Edward straight away. You see, he suspected that he and his colleague Nigel Hart would be Evans’s next target… . Did Nigel escape any harm?”
“Only Mr. Turner was hurt. His assailant seems to have slashed at his side as they passed each other.”
“Evans would never expose himself to such risk. Who can he have used as an accomplice?”
“Calm yourself, sir. No serious harm was done. Now, I understand that Mr. Turner called on you yesterday?”
“He did.”
“On what business?” he asked, knowing the answer already.
“I had discussed a certain matter with him the previous day, and he came again to confirm some of the details. Edward helped—that is, Mr. Turner helped my wife through a difficult birth, alongside Professor Barton—Daniel, I mean, not his brother. Thanks to them, both mother and child are in good health, and my son dotes on Edward. Afterwards, Nigel—Mr. Hart—arrived to report that Barton was on his way. Then he and Edward left together. Did it happen on their way home?”
“They stopped at a coffee-house and were attacked as they left. Fortunately, one of my officers was nearby and came to their aid—regrettably allowing the attacker to escape. I myself did not see Mr. Turner until today, as I was in court yesterday. The Evans you mentioned just now—I presume you mean the broker, Guy Evans?”
“I do. Yet… why would—” Hume abruptly fell silent, but it sounded to the magistrate as if the next word had been “Nigel.”
“May I inquire what you were about to say?”
“Oh—nothing. Sir John, allow me to abandon my banker’s discretion and condemn Guy Evans for some vile crimes. I believe he is guilty of forcing Robert Barton to kill the boy Cullen and the journalist Harrington.”
“I know it is an incongruous request, Mr. Hume, but would you be so kind as to place your hand on top of mine?”
Startled, Hume began to rise from his chair.
“You may remain seated. My hand should be within reach.”
Sir John had his left hand out, palm up. Hume placed his own hand on top of it, and the magistrate covered it with his right.
“Lacking the sense of sight, I am obliged to rely on hearing and smell instead,” he explained. “Sometimes I also employ the sense of touch. I need your co-operation in this matter, and hope you will forgive me using the latter sense to confirm that you can be trusted.”
“Whatever co-operation you need from me you may depend upon.”
“All I ask is that you tell me the truth.”
He felt Hume’s hand firmly grip his own.
“You know the identity of the two corpses?” the magistrate asked.
“Yesterday, when Edward visited me, he revealed in detail his suspicions of Evans in the matter of Cullen’s and Harrington’s
deaths. I take it you have heard about the Pacific Company, and Cullen’s forged poem.”
“Pray tell me in your own words.”
Hume complied. His story was identical to the one Barton and Edward had told.
“Are you acquainted with Guy Evans?” asked Sir John.
“We have only exchanged pleasantries, but I know his face.”
“I have heard the rumours that Evans was connected with the Pacific crash, but is there anything that might constitute evidence of this?”
“He was not ‘connected’ with it, sir. He controlled the whole affair. As there is no firm evidence to that effect, you might dismiss this as conjecture, but…”
“You refer, perhaps, to his reputation for helping the Lord Mayor, various members of Parliament, and other powerful figures earn large profits?”
“Many people seem to think so.” He thought for a moment. “You might obtain some relevant information by asking at Jonathan’s, the coffee-house in Change Alley. I have never been there myself, but a group of the more important brokers pay its owner eight pounds a year for the right to hold a private three-hour meeting there weekly, to discuss their business.”
“That is most helpful,” said Sir John. “My thanks. Jonathan’s in Change Alley. I shall investigate. By the by, did you ever meet Nathan Cullen?”
“No, I only heard about him from Edward. An awful business. Edward is convinced that Evans forced Robert Barton to help smooth the way to passing off a forgery as the genuine article. I am inclined to agree. It may be wrong to express opinions based only on guesswork, but I cannot think of any better explanation for the facts.”
Sir John’s hands had grown warm. Hume placed his own left hand on top of them all and shook them vigorously.
“While this matter remains unresolved, Edward and Nigel remain in danger of being attacked again.”
“You think that it was an agent of Evans’s who wounded Mr. Turner?”
“Who else might it be? Edward is not the sort of person to make enemies.”
“You think that Evans arranged it because of what the two friends knew of Cullen’s talent?”
“Yes. I beg you, do something about that man. Dr. Barton, too.”
“We cannot yet conclude that either is guilty. Evidence is required. Why should Dr. Barton accept such a hazardous commission? If he were caught, he would be hanged.”
“To have his debts wiped clean. Barring drastic action, he faced financial ruin.”
“I see… . Incidentally, Mr. Hume, will you write the name ‘Guy Evans’ here for me?”
Again, Hume seemed startled, but when handed paper and a pen, he complied.
Saying he was off to see Edward, he then hurried out of the room. One of the magistrate’s officers, arriving to deliver a report, passed him in the doorway.
“We spoke to Guy Evans’s staff,” the officer told Sir John, “but all denied he had ever done anything such as hold a young man captive. Nor did the offer of money change their stories.”
“You took care to ensure that Evans himself was not aware of your inquiries, of course.”
“Yes, sir.”
If the servants had received a sufficient bribe from their master, the small amount his officers could offer was unlikely to loosen their tongues. What’s more, they would report the matter to Evans. Sir John recalled the request for secrecy that Barton’s pupil Albert Wood had made. “He has the ear of the Lord Mayor and members of the House of Lords, and he disposes of those who interfere with his designs. There is no saying what he might do if he senses us nosing about.”
If they were to seize him by the tail, however, they had to flush him out.
“What of Evans’s family?”
“He does not seem to have any.”
After the officer had left, Sir John had Anne compare Hume’s written Guy Evans with the handwriting of the letter: My gaoler is a man called Guy Evans…
“They are quite different.”
“What was your impression of Hume?”
“His surprise and concern when he heard of Turner’s injury appeared to be heartfelt. His attitude afterwards was also sincere. However, when you asked him if he had ever met Nathan Cullen, although he denied it immediately, I detected a hint of nervousness in his expression.”
“I thought his denial too quick myself—even indignant. His hand twitched also. But even if he had met the boy, why lie about it?”
“It does not make sense.”
“Anne, there is something I should tell you. Turner’s father was hanged for the theft of silverware from a church. Later, it was discovered that he was innocent.”
“How awful!”
“Sympathy for his misfortune will not cloud your judgement, I hope.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Something about the matter of the ink seems unnatural to me, Anne. Suppose that Cullen were rendered unconscious and laid on a dissecting table to have his wrist slit. He regains his senses, but is weak from blood loss. When he realizes his situation, would he not first attempt to staunch the bleeding? Even if this proves impossible, he would surely at least remove his hand from the water. How could he open the inkpot with his left hand so immersed? Turner said that Cullen always carried writing implements on his person. Did he hold the inkpot in his right hand, brace it against the table, and use only his right fingers and thumb to remove the lid? And did he then dip three—and only three—fingers into it, one by one? Without spilling a drop?”
“Are you implying that the sign in ink was put there by Turner and Hart, after they found the boy dead on the table, hand in the basin? As a ruse to make us think that he had been murdered, and that the murderer was Dr. Barton?”
“I believe that the boy killed himself, and that they took measures to disguise it as a murder. For the sake of argument, let us accept their story as they told it. But the idea that the boy used three fingers to draw a fountain which Robert Barton covered with a roundel—this, surely, was a trick intended to cast suspicion on the doctor. Turner simply poured ink on Cullen’s chest and used the boy’s three fingers to spread it. It is unprovable, but it seems far more natural than any alternative. It beggars belief that someone on the verge of death should open an inkpot one-handed without staining any part of themselves but the tips of three fingers. No, Messrs. Turner and Hart have layered deception on deception in order to lead us to the conclusion that Dr. Barton was the murderer.”
“But how does it benefit them to do this? If he were executed, their school would be shut down and the Professor forced to end his research. And it seems to me that all his pupils have the highest respect and affection for him. The work of dissection is hardly a popular one. Their interest in it is largely due to him.”
“Barton’s preparations could all be lost to his elder brother’s debts, anyway. Turner knows this. Even if he did nothing, they might disappear. In that case, why not at least pin the murder on the elder Barton as an act of revenge? The Chatterbox mentioned that Dr. Barton stole not only specimens but research from both Turner and the Professor. Presumably Turner nurses a personal animus against him as a result.”
“I see… .”
“Anne, defend the young man. In no way do I wish to find him a criminal. I am simply theorizing about the suspicious side of his behaviour. Flushing out inconsistencies helps reveal the truth. Certainly, we cannot say that Dr. Barton has behaved blamelessly. Perhaps he was compelled by Evans to murder Harrington and Cullen. But, at the very least, the matter of the ink is unnatural.”
“We also need to know whether the letter is a forgery or not. If we could find the bookshop involved, we could compare the forged poem with the letter-writer’s hand… . Oh, but if the poem was written in imitation of a mediaeval scribe, it would differ from his natural hand… .”
“He must have left some writings at his home. Once we locate hi
s family and bring them to London, they can confirm the letter’s handwriting for us. Another coffee, if you please, Anne, and pour one for yourself. Then let us continue with the reports.”
A little later, she told him: “This one was taken from a waiter at Matthew’s. He remembered an insolent youth, name unknown, who came every day and did nothing but write. The boy was reportedly close to Turner and Hart, who were regular customers. All three were there when a passer-by once came to the coffee-house to complain about being drenched by the fountain outside, though the waiter did not know the name of this man, either.” She put down the report. “We have determined that the fountain incident did take place, but our only sources for the claim that it was Robert Barton who was drenched are Turner and Hart.
“The next report,” she went on, “contains the autopsy results from Dr. Osborne. The boy’s body had multiple scars, but none from a fatal wound. He was gaunt and weak. Dr. Osborne thinks it not unlikely that his final weeks were debilitating.”
“Which gives some backing to the letter’s allegations of abuse and starvation as punishment for slow progress on the poem.”
“Yes. Regarding the faceless cadaver suspected of belonging to Thomas Harrington, Dr. Osborne found no sign of poisoning, although putrefaction was sufficiently advanced to make it difficult to be sure. As far as can be ascertained, the cause of death was strangulation, at least four or five days ago.”
“More uncertainty. Professor Barton is quite correct: more cadavers are needed to advance the science and improve our autopsy results. Now, where was Robert Barton four or five days ago?”
The latter had been summoned to the magistrate’s office two days ago in connection with the body of Elaine Roughhead. On that occasion, he had mentioned spending his time recently with his family at his wife’s parents’ home. They were wealthy gentry with a sprawling estate in Marlow, not far from London, he had explained; his wife was often there, preferring it to life in the city. He had been there with her this time, enjoying some rest himself, when Sir Charles had called him back to London, where (at Sir Charles’s request) he had helped ensure that Elaine’s suicide by arsenic ingestion should be viewed as a death from illness. These measures, he explained, had been taken to prevent damage being done to the family’s reputation; he was sure Sir John would understand.
The Resurrection Fireplace Page 24