Breaths of Suspicion (19 page)

‘Did the bullion robbery have anything to do with that meeting Lewis Goodman held at the Abbey Inn near Welbeck, those years ago? Goodman spoke of an
investment
. Saward was there, wasn’t he, and you—’

‘And a banker called Sadleir,’ Agar affirmed. ‘The man who topped himself recently. Yes, Mr James, the meeting was about what I just told you—Saward and Goodman were involved, raising some cash for the putting up of the plot—we needed money, naturally, to set up the whole scheme. Burgess, Tester, Pierce, they
all needed tin in advance to do the planning, pay some bribes.’

‘But why was I invited that day?’ I queried.

Agar shrugged. ‘Goodman’s idea. He teased you, asking for money for an investment—the robbery—but really he wanted you there as a reliable adviser, a legal contact, a backup in case of trouble. Someone he could put pressure on later in court, if things started to go awry. But then it all went wrong right away, when his lordship walked in. He saw us all together. Me, Sadleir, Goodman, Saward—and you! It meant Goodman pulled out, Sadleir pulled out—and you, Mr James, well, you really were never in it at all, were you?’

I took a deep, quivering breath. I remembered the sudden panic in that taproom, when Bentinck made his remark and turned on his heel.

‘That leaves me with one question. What actually happened to Lord George Bentinck that day?’

Edward Agar’s features were in shadow, and his tone was low, his voice so quiet that I had to strain to hear him distinctly. ‘When he caught us there, recognized some of us, made that remark about rogues, he caused consternation. You, I recall, you were for chasing after him to remonstrate but Goodman held you back. And Sadleir, he was really panicked. From what I hear now he had good reason: he must already have been stealing money from his banks, and if Bentinck started talking about him and the company he was keeping his reputation might have suffered, his stock might have gone down, questions might have been asked about his activities, and expenditures.’

‘I wanted to follow Bentinck. Goodman held me back,’ I said woodenly.

‘But Sadleir plunged out into the wood, after Bentinck. Goodman gave me the nod and I followed them. I stayed at the edge of the woods and I saw Sadleir catch up with his lordship, saw their argument on the path. I couldn’t hear what was being
said, but Sadleir grabbed at Bentinck’s arm. His lordship turned on him angrily and they exchanged high words. I don’t know what was said, and I kept myself half-hidden among the trees but I saw his lordship, enraged, face suffused with blood—he was always a quick-tempered man, I heard. He raised his stick, swung it at Sadleir’s head. Sadleir ducked, the blow missed, and then Sadleir let him have it with a straight left. He’d been a fair pugilist, I hear, back in Ireland as a young man. Fought at the county fairs. Certainly, it was a well-struck blow. It took Lord George high on the chest, and he went down like a stone.’

Agar sighed, and shook his head.

‘Just the one blow, it was. Sadleir stood there for a little while, staring down at his lordship, who hadn’t moved. Then he sort of stiffened, looked about him—he didn’t see me skulking among the trees—and he set off briskly, back down the track in the direction of Thoresby. He didn’t return to the Abbey Inn. I never actually saw him again. He took no part in the robbery planning thereafter. Nor did Goodman—he chased off to France, after his daughter, seduced she was by some French count.’

So there you have it, Joe my boy.

One blow—the coroner found an unexplained bruise on Lord George’s chest, but there was no explanation for it and so he concluded Bentinck had died of a heart attack. There was no reason for Sadleir to come forward—and every reason not to. Some suspicion lurked in the mind of the police, especially Inspector Redwood, but he never found any evidence to connect me with the incident—it’s been suspicion only. Breaths of suspicion.…

And after hearing the truth from Agar, I had no reason ever to talk about it. Until today: and this is a private family conversation, ain’t it? Sadleir ended an alleged suicide, there was no one who would want to talk about the meeting at the Abbey Inn and all Redwood’s suspicions would come to naught.

So … my worst enemy had passed on … not that it made
much difference to me in the long run. I was soon making enemies enough, if only through envy of my professional success, my rise to become a Recorder, a QC, an MP, and, well, my financial indebtedness, which continued to rise and rise and rise.

But it was a dead man who enabled me to obtain my goal: a seat in Parliament. There were occasional rumours, of course—it was said from time to time that someone resembling John Sadleir had been seen in Quito, or Valparaiso, or in some remote town in the Andes. But nothing was proved. And as we learned recently in the Tichborne Claimant trial, a man can vanish among those southern hills. Oddly enough, Sadleir’s brother, who had been involved in his crimes, had fled to Switzerland where he was murdered some years later. A botched attempt at robbery, it seems: he died for a fob watch. Chance again, hey?

But now, I must insist, I’m an old man and it’s time for bed. My fall from the heights of my profession, my marriage and flight to America, my part in the hunt for President Lincoln’s assassin, and the story of my passionate association with the most renowned actress of the day, famous in America and Europe—that must await another day.

You’ll stay up a while? Ah, it’s a fresh bottle of rum you’re opening: tipple of the sailor, hey? Well, I must confess I’m more inclined to brandy and water myself, but now you insist, perhaps as a nightcap, I’ll take one more small one with you.…

But one only, and then, to the arms of Lethe!

D
uring his account of his life I felt occasional irritations at the exposure of Mr James’s prejudices: for instance, Prince Albert was not
Prussian
. He was of the House of Saxe Coburg. And I confess that after hearing the story of my stepfather’s rise to the heights of his profession, and the manner in which he achieved his seat at Marylebone I was taken with a certain degree of scepticism. However, on taking the trouble to check the public records I have become convinced that by and large Mr James was telling the truth. His professional relationship with Alexander Cockburn is well documented and Cockburn certainly defended James in the House when questions were raised as to his suitability to become a Recorder. His account of the 1847 Horsham by-election was also true: the election became a by-word for bribery and corruption and was regarded as scandalous even by the standards of the time. The part played by Mr James is also well documented, and his account largely accurate.

His personal escapades with Alexander Cockburn cannot be confirmed from public accounts, naturally enough. But they have the ring of truth. These were men of their times: Viscount Palmerston was noted for his amatory wandering in corridors late at night; Cockburn’s unusual extra-marital escapades were as well known as those of Wilkie Collins, Charles Dickens and
Thackeray; and as for my stepfather’s skills before a jury, they were much commented upon at the time. Comment was not always favourable: I recently came across a letter to
The Times
, for instance, published in 1857, where the writer complained that Mr James was ‘
notorious for his jocularity and indulges in it frequently at the expense of that delicacy, propriety and seriousness which should characterize the proceedings of a court of justice
.’ The writer considered that the Court of Queen’s Bench was not ‘
the proper scene for coarse ribaldry and insult to a lady
’. But the juries evidently liked it—and brought in verdicts for his clients.

As for oratory, Mr James’s speech in defence of Dr Simon Bernard can be judged on its merits: it was published in pamphlet form and at the time lauded for its oratorical sweep. Similarly, his speeches in Parliament are a matter of record in
Hansard
so much of what he recounted to me can be taken as true. Moreover, he was remarkably frank with me about the reprehensible manner in which he and his leader, Attorney General Cockburn, conducted the Palmer prosecution: it gave rise to much criticism at the time, as Mr James mentioned, and was roundly condemned by senior members in the profession—though much of the blame was directed towards the Bench, and particularly towards the summing-up by Lord Chief Justice Campbell.

And yet there were some issues that left me with nagging doubts. The confession of Edward Agar to the court in 1855 made no mention of my stepfather; the death of Lord George Bentinck remained mysterious and much commented upon, but it was never suggested in the Press that it might have been murder—or that Mr James, or John Sadleir, was involved. But, so many years after the event, what reason would he have for lying about such matters to me? Particularly since they do not cast him in a favourable light. As for the startling revelation concerning John Sadleir’s suicide, whatever the truth may be it must be a matter for remark that one rogue—my stepfather—was called upon to identify the corpse of
an even bigger rogue! Coincidence, possibly. Or perhaps Mr James was telling me the truth.

Why would he, even after such a length of time, confide such secrets to me? One can conjecture, of course: it might have been pride, perhaps, or the need to impress me, or the desire to fantasize, spin tall tales—we hear many such on long voyages before the mast. And certainly there remained a nagging doubt in my mind as he talked, the thought that he might have been merely boasting, or seeking to make sense of his career, bring logic and reason to the events, assign blame and responsibility to others, eliminate—or emphasize—the part that chance played in his life.

What I certainly have to balance in the ledger is that his memory was certainly failing him when he gave his account to me. He was vague, even inaccurate about dates and timings, and that must raise some doubts about his revelations. For instance, a minor matter: the
Lord Huntingtower
case took place before, not after
Running Rein
. Again, the action in which he first met the Rugeley poisoner, Dr Palmer, was brought by a moneylender called Padwick, not Padstone, as Mr James identified him. More seriously, he seems to have conflated events in an odd fashion, confused and compressed them in timescale: the Derby case took place in 1844, Mr James took up residence at The Nunnery in 1845, the Horsham by-election occurred in 1847, the Palmer case in 1855. But Sir John Jervis died in 1850 and James was not appointed Queen’s Counsel till 1854. The gold bullion robbery occurred in 1854, and Agar’s trial in 1855. Mr James’s appointment as Recorder to Brighton really took place in 1850, his election to Parliament was not won until 1859. But in his account to me these events seem to have been intermingled, made consequentially in a somewhat distorted sequence.

However, perhaps these discrepancies are to be explained by the fading faculties of an ageing man, the confused memory for dates and timings of events that took place decades earlier, the emotional need to bring order to the chaotic course of personal events. I may
point to a similar problem to be found in the recently published memoirs of another lawyer, a contemporary of Mr James. William Ballantine’s first published memoirs were widely read and this encouraged him to write a sequel. The second book was poorly received; it was obvious that in the interim period his memory had become confused and vague and uncertain so the second volume was virtually incomprehensible.

I am left with the knowledge that much of what Mr James told me can be confirmed from other sources, even though the more startling confessions, such as to the fates of Lord George Bentinck and John Sadleir MP must continue to remain veiled in mystery. Yet in the balance, I feel that what my stepfather related to me can be taken largely as truth.

And his account certainly has some value in that it confirms and explains events that have puzzled commentators over the ensuing years. And there yet remained the story of his adventures in Italy, with Garibaldi, and the startling story of his years in the United States, his involvement in the events surrounding the death of the President, his liaison with the most famous actress in America and Europe.… It was a narrative that I was anticipating with some eagerness, not least since it dealt with a period in which I myself was for a time living in New York, years when world-shattering events took place in which my stepfather apparently played a significant part.

Joachim Edgar Stocqueler

Master Mariner

1889

Design for Murder

Dead Ringer

The Arnold Landon Novels

Shadowmaker

Dragonhead

Grave Error

Headhunter

The Ways of Death

Dead Secret

An Assumption of Death

The Ghost Dancers

The Shape Shifter

Suddenly as a Shadow

Angel of Death

A Short-Lived Ghost

The Cross Bearer

Bloodeagle

A Wisp of Smoke

The Devil is Dead

Men of Subtle Craft

A Trout in the Milk

Most Cunning Workmen

A Gathering of Ghosts

Goddess of Death