An Experiment in Treason (4 page)

Mr. Lambert, however, had a good deal of significance to tell. It was he, after all, who had discovered the body of Albert Calder on the floor of the study and noted the chaos left behind by the burglars. It seems that Calder and Lambert had been charged with guarding the interior of the house each night for the past month; they were to be specially watchful round the master’s study. When Calder had failed to wake up Lambert, the latter woke of his own accord and, noting the late hour (near three in the morning), believed something was amiss. He armed himself and —

That, as it happened, reader, was as far as Clarissa got with her narrative of the night before, for just then we heard heavy steps upon the stairs which led up to the kitchen where we were sat round the table. They were unmistakably those of Sir John. He reached the door, and without a pause threw it open. He marched into the kitchen. We all sat dumb before him. Thinking it only proper to offer some greeting, I rose from my chair.

“Good evening to you, Sir John,” said I. “Mr. Donnelly and I have just — “

“Good evening?” he interrupted me. “Good, you say? I see nothing good in this evening. I’ll be damned if I do.” And so saying, he marched on past us, up the stairs and into the bedroom which he shared with Lady Fielding.

Within minutes, Mr. Donnelly had departed, and Molly had banked the fire. It was time for us in the kitchen to climb the stairs and proceed to our beds. I had seldom, if ever, seen Sir John in a mood so foul. It would not do for him to hear us buzzing and whispering there in the kitchen.

Weary in spite of the long nap I had had in the coach, I lay in bed in my small attic room high above them all. From the floor be-low, I could hear the voices of Sir John and Lady Fielding — his deep and rumbling in anger, and hers lighter, higher, and in a sort of pleading tone. I could hear the voices but not the words that were spoken. What might they be saying?

Next day, the three of us met once again in the kitchen. I was, as usual, the first to arrive. With shoes in hand, that I might not disturb Sir John and Lady F, I came quiet and knelt down to kindle a blaze in the fireplace; such had been my task as long as I had been there at Number 4 Bow Street. Having done thus much, I put on the water for a pot of tea. At about that time, Molly and Clarissa appeared, still groggy with sleep.

Tea was brewed. The loaf of soda bread baked for dinner, still fresh and light, was put out by Molly with a crock of butter. We ate and drank our fill and gradually came full awake as we whispered round the table.

“What do you s’pose has gotten into him?” asked Molly.

“Oh, it’s to do with Black Jack Bilbo,” said I, “of that I’m sure.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Clarissa.

“And it’s all because of that woman, isn’t it? I’ve little use for her myself. It’s not personal, mind you now — simply because she took away my livelihood and turned me out of a place which had been my home for a good five years or more. Ah, no, for had she not brought her cook from France and sent me packing, I would not have met and married Albert Sarton. We were not together but a year — not even that — yet it was the best time of my life, so it was. So no, I don’t see that I can blame her for personal reasons.”

“What then?” said I.

” ‘Twas the way she set her hat for Mr. Bilbo there on the boat. She saw him as one who might rescue her from the god-awful situation which she found herself in. I’ve seldom seen a more bold and barefaced attempt to ensnare a man for reasons of personal salvation.”

At that, Clarissa and I exchanged quick looks but said naught. From what we had seen there on shipboard on our return from Deal to London, the attraction between Bilbo and Marie-Helene had been both real and mutual.

Molly caught the glances that passed between us and would not let that moment go unnoted.

“Ah, you two,” said she to us. “I know, indeed I do, that she’s won you over, as well. She’s a charmer, she is, and no getting around it. But just remember what I’ve said, will you?”

I nodded soberly, but Clarissa simply said, “I will.”

Then did we, all three, fall silent, and in that silence I heard stirring in that room at the top of the stairs wherein Sir John and his Lady slept. I wondered, would they emerge in the next moment or two and save us from this awkward moment.

But then Clarissa did rouse herself and announce — to me, in particular:

“I did not have the opportunity to finish my story last night.”

“Ah,” said I, “so you did not. What more have you to tell?”

“Simply this,” said she. “I told Sir John when we left the grand residence in Whitehall that, in my judgment, Lord Hillsborough had not said a single word of truth all the time we had him before us.”

“And how did Sir John react to that statement?” asked I.

“Oh, he jested with me. ‘Not a single word?’ said he. ‘Surely something. Not even — oh, what do they call them? — the articles and the conjunctions?’ Yet I stuck by what I said, even though I was forced to admit that Lord Hillsborough had neither sweated nor gone shifty-eyed.”

“What then did you tell Sir John made you so sure?”

“It was his arrogance,” said Clarissa. “He is that rare sort of liar who is so well-practiced at it that he tells lies as readily as the rest of us tell the truth. He feels neither worry nor guilt as we might. Yet, I must confess, I base this on naught but my feminine intuition. So I told him.”

“And what was Sir John’s reaction to that?” I asked her.

“Oh, again he jested, yet more in earnest than before, I believe. ‘Tells lies readily? Feels neither worry nor guilt?’ said Sir John, ‘why, I believe you’ve found him out for what he is — a. poUtLclan!’ And at that he laughed in quite the most jolly manner.”

By then I, too, was laughing — though a bit loud and lusty, I fear.

Next we knew, a knock came upon the door, hard and insistent, like that of one of the constables — and so it turned out to be. The laughter all of a sudden died in my throat, and I jumped up from my place at the table to open the door. It was none but Mr. Baker, jailer and armorer of the Bow Street Runners.

“Ah, Jeremy,” said he. “The Lord Chief Justice, so I am told, requested the presence of Sir John and does so most urgently — so urgently that he’s sent his coach-and-four to get him there quick.”

“When will it be here?” I asked. “I’m not certain that he’s yet awake.”

“When? Well, it’s down there in Bow Street right this minute, so you’d better get him up and let him know.”

Having delivered his message, he gave me a wave and descended the stairs. I eased the door shut and called out, “Better make another pot of tea.” Then did I rush up the stairs and pound upon the door to Sir John’s bedroom.

The Lord Chief Justice was William Murray, Lord Mansfield. As such, he was nominally in charge of the administration of justice throughout the realm. This often put him in direct contact with Sir John, who as the magistrate of the Bow Street Court, settled disputes, sat in judgment upon lesser crimes and misdemeanors, and, after weighing evidence, bound over for trial in the higher court those charged with high crimes and felonies. Sir John’s abihties and his reputation did exceed his office, and therefore Lord Mansfield often sought him out for advice and counsel and to undertake special missions for the Court. Thus had I traveled hither and thither throughout England in his company, visiting cities as far afield as Bath. Though naturally I said nothing of it, it was my hope that this sudden summons from Lord Mansfield would entail a trip of some sort to distant parts; for, reader, I must confess that I did greatly enjoy travel.

I wore my best. Once I had made Sir John presentable, I hied up quickly to my room and changed into the breeches and coat which Lady Fielding had just bought for me (complaining that if I would just stop growing, I would not need my store of clothes to be constantly replenished). Why did I feel it necessary to dress my best when I would more likely than not be given no notice whatever by Lord Mansfield? Well, there were sometimes men of distinction there — and one of them might sometime give me notice. I hoped to find emplo3mnent as a law clerk eventually.

And then, of course, there was that nasty butler of Lord Mansfield’s. He had been quite the bane of my life since the time I first arrived at Number 4 Bow Street and began delivering letters and messages to the Lord Chief Justice at his residence in Blooms-bury Square. I would never be denied entrance in the company of Sir John Fielding, but, at least, there would be no question that I properly belonged if I wore my best. In later years, I realized that the butler whom I so disliked had taught me the importance of proper dress.

Upon this occasion, I received not so much as a frown from Lord Mansfield’s butler. Indeed it was quite the contrary. When he threw open the door and stepped back that we might enter, he gave an appraising look to my attire (which he had not seen before) and nodded his approval. Then did he lead us down the great hall to a door which I knew did open into the study of the Lord Chief Justice. He opened it. We stepped inside.

“Ah, there you are. Sir John. Do sit down. I’ve something to discuss with you.”

“I’m gratified to hear it. I had hoped that we would not be pulled from our beds thus early only to sit here in silence.”

I helped Sir John into his seat and then sat down in the chair beside him.

“Sorry about that,” said Lord Mansfield. “But I must off to court in a short time, and this was best talked about in the morning, for there is a meeting in a short time that I wish you to attend.”

“Oh? What sort of meeting?”

“I’ll get to that in due course.”

“That also is gratifying — but do continue.”

“Night before last,” Lord Mansfield began, as if about to tell a long story, “you visited the residence of Lord Hillsborough to investigate a burglary which had taken place there that very night.”

“Indeed, I did. It was a rather extraordinary burglary in a number of ways. First of all, the burglars made their entry by way of the front door. Secondly, when they were detected inside the house by a footman, they were surprised by him in the act of searching through his master’s desk. Or, rather, one of them was surprised, while the other dealt the footman such a blow upon the back of his head that he was knocked senseless — and dead. And, finally, it was an even more unusual burglary in that the victim, Lord Hillsborough, seemed not to know, nor even care what might have been stolen. He was, in any case, very reluctant to say, or even to guess, what was missing.”

“I take it, ” said Lord Mansfield, “that you wish to solve this case?”

“Of course I do. Such a question.”

“Well, I can help you in that, I believe, for I have persuaded Lord Hillsborough that if he truly desires to have restored to him that which was stolen, that he must give greater cooperation to you. You and your — what is it you call that force of constables you keep?”

“The Bow Street Runners.”

“Yes. Well, I told him that you and they represent the only real chance he has of getting it back, whatever it is.”

“Indeed I am pleased that you think so,” said Sir John. “But I have a question for you. Lord Mansfield.”

“And what is that?”

“You referred to the stolen object as ‘whatever it is.’ Don’t you know what it is?”

“No,” said he. “After all, I have no need to know.”

“Is that how Lord Hillsborough put it to you?”

“Yes, dammit, but he’s right. Tell too many and you’ll hear all of London buzzing about it like so many bees round the honeycomb. Look here, Sir John, I’ve persuaded him to talk to you about this, and he has promised to be more forthcoming than before.”

“Does that mean he’ll tell me what’s missing?”

“I don’t know — probably it does, but you’ll have to work all that out with him. There are, so I understand, certain restrictions.”

“And what are they?”

“Again, I’m unsure of that. They are of the kind that anyone might use in handling secret matters of state.”

“A state secret, is it? Well, this should be interesting.”

“Interesting or no, Lord Hillsborough has agreed to meet with you … let’s see …” from his waistcoat pocket he drew a round, fat timepiece, sprang it open, and studied its face somewhat myopi-cally, “in approximately half an hour. You’ll have no difficulty getting there, will you? If you like, I can send you in my coach.”

“No,” said Sir John, levering himself out of his chair. “It would not do to arrive early, and a bit of a walk might help me to recover from this dreadfully early rising hour.” He turned toward me. “Jeremy? Shall we go?” He groped for my arm and found it. Together we started for the door.

“Oh, Sir John,” the Lord Chief Justice called after us, “there is one more thing.”

“And what is that?”

“That Frenchwoman.”

Sir John’s face seemed to darken as he turned back. “What about her?” His jaw set as he awaited the answer to his question.

“I shall try her on Friday, so you had best bind her over soon — though you may put it off till the next Thursday, if you Hke.”

It took Sir John a few moments to respond. “I believe I shall put if off till then,” said he at last.

“Your choice, of course. Good-bye then.”

Sir John said no good-bye and wished no farewell. He simply urged me on. We raced the butler for the door. He barely managed to get it open before we arrived at it. We passed through without a word.

For more than half of our journey southward, I waited, trying to suppose what might be going on within that mighty brain of his. And though he gave no outward sign, I was fair certain that it was Marie-Helene’s day in court which had so sobered him; he was now in the state we had seen him last night at evening’s end. He must, I told myself, feel a great sense of powerlessness. What a burden it is for a man to carry when friendship does contend with duty. What could Mr. Bilbo have said to Sir John? What could he have asked? Did Lord Mansfield not know of the sense of loyalty and liking that the two men felt one for the other? Did he even care?

Then, as if reading my thoughts, Sir John spoke up as one might in offering excuses for another.

“Think not too badly of the Lord Chief Justice, ” said he, “for, after all, he saved Marie-Helene from the Maritime Court.”

“Oh? How was that?” I asked.

“They wished to try her.”