The Color of Death (3 page)

Only then did Mr. Baker speak up: “There’s a hackney at the door. I whistled him down from the corner and told him to wait on pain of death.”

“On pain of death, Mr. Baker?”

“Well, Sir John, sometimes I exaggerate a little just to keep their attention.”

“And your threats work well enough?”

“I ain’t had to kill any yet.”

“And thank God for it,” said Sir John with a chuckle. “It would indeed be a black mark against the Magistrate’s Court.”

With that, we departed Number 4 Bow Street and climbed into the waiting coach. I had so often walked to the Bilbo residence in St. James Street and knew the way so well, that I thought of it as only a short distance away. In reality it was not, but the time it took to get to St. James was barely sufficient for Sir John to tell what he knew of the robbery. He knew little of the murder; we would learn more of that upon our arrival.

To summarize: At about ten in the evening, a gang of well-armed men tricked their way into the home of Lord Lilley of Perth. As it happened, Lord and Lady Lilley were absent that evening, attending a dinner at the residence of the Dutch ambassador. The robbers herded the entire household staff into the kitchen below the stairs, put a guard upon them, and then proceeded to strip the place of everything of value — Lady Lilley’s jewels, paintings, statuary, silver plates, the odd piece of furniture, et cetera. So much was taken that it must have been necessary to cart it away in a wagon; evidently one was waiting at the rear of the mansion. It took less than an hour to empty the house of its treasures. The homicide was most peculiar: One of the staff, a footman, was taken from the company in the kitchen and summarily shot. Even more peculiar was the fact that the raiding party was made up entirely of black men.

When the hackney driver pulled up at the number on St. James Street which he had been given, I spied Constable Brede standing guard at the door. I passed word of this on to Sir John. He seemed quite pleased to hear it.

“That means,” said he, “that Constable Bailey is inside. He will have heard something from every witness in the house and will be able to inform us just who of them is worth talking to and which may be passed over. This need not take as long as I feared. I, for one, Jeremy, was quite ready to retire when word came of this outrage.”

“But you’ve always said, sir, that the most important work in any investigation is done at the first visit to the scene of the crime and that there was no point in rushing through it.”

“Have I always said that?” He sighed. “Probably I have. How unkind of you to remind me.”

Mr. Brede passed us through, saying little, as was his way. And once inside we soon discovered that Mr. Bailey had arranged things as Sir John predicted. The magistrate’s chief constable may not have been greatly talented as an interrogator, but long experience had taught him the sort of thing Sir John would be interested in; it had also taught him how to recognize one who was withholding information, equivocating, or just plain lying.

According to Benjamin Bailey, though he had not quite finished talking to all the potential witnesses, it seemed to him that only a few would be worth the magistrate’s attention.

“I thought you might want to talk to the butler first,” said he to Sir John.

“Always a good place to start.”

“He it was who opened the door to that murderous crew.”

“Ah yes, but the mention of the murder reminds me, Constable Bailey, has Mr. Donnelly been sent for?”

“Yes sir, indeed he has. I sent Will Patley for him soon as I arrived. Just like you told us, sir, if there’s a killing or even a wounding, we send for the medical examiner — right away — ain’t that right?”

“Quite right. But now, if you will just put me with the butler …”

“Certainly, sir — right over here.”

The butler, a Mr. Collier, was a slight man of not much more than forty years with a bloodied bump on his forehead. He stood in a corner of the great entry hall, somewhat apart from the rest of the servants gathered there. His small hands were clasped before him in such a way that if his eyes had been shut or his lips moving, I should have sworn that he was praying. Indeed he looked like a man in need of prayer. Never, I think, have I seen a man appear so obviously overcome by worry. Sir John did not add to his burden. He questioned him as gently as I had ever known him to question any witness.

He did not, for example, ask Mr. Collier directly how it had come about that he had opened the door to the robbers; rather, he took a circuitous route and first solicited the opinion of the butler on a variety of matters related to the invasion of Lord Lilley’s residence.

Sir John asked, for instance, how many there were in the raiding parry. Mr. Collier’s reply: “That is difficult to say, sir, for in the beginning they seemed not so many, but I’m sure there were more of them there at the end.”

“All of them were black men?”

“All that I saw.”

“And did they speak as black men would speak?”

In forming his answer to this question, Mr. Collier paused; he seemed troubled. “Well, that was where I was deceived, you see,” said the butler. “I wouldn’t have opened the door to a black man at any time of the day or night, no matter what his tale of woe. But whoever it was talked through the door — I’d say he was probably the leader — and he talked just as any Londoner would. He made a fool of me for fair — and now I fear for my position. I shall be blamed for this.”

Only then did Sir John ask the question that must have interested him most: “What was it that he said which persuaded you to open the door to him?”

Realizing that he had come at last to the matter he wished sincerely to avoid, the butler hesitated long enough to clear his throat, then plunged ahead: “He described a most terrible carriage accident which he said had taken place nearby in St. James Street. ‘Was there a doctor who lived hereabouts?’ he asked through the door, for there was, he said, a woman pinned in the wreckage who could not be freed unless the carriage were set right. Footmen would be needed, or porters. Could any be spared? ‘The poor woman was near crushed,’ he declared. ‘She might die if she weren’t soon helped.’ “

The butler continued: “All this, mind, was said in tone and manner just as one might hear the same said in Covent Garden or any street in London — except there was terrible urgency in his voice. He seemed quite overcome with worry and fear. To this moment I find it difficult to believe that he was shamming.” At that point, Mr. Collier took a deep breath, as if fortifying himself for what lay ahead. “Well, what can I say in my defense? Convinced by the sound of his voice, I opened the door out of kindhearted concern, sympathy, and, well, curiosity, too, must have played a part.”

“But indeed you did open the door,” said Sir John.

“I did, sir.”

“What then occurred?”

“I had no sooner heaved back the night bolt and opened the door a crack when it was slammed against me. I fell unconscious there in the hall, probably only for a minute or less, for next thing I knew I was dragged down the hall and then down the back stairs to the kitchen. It was not until all the rest of the staff had been moved into the kitchen that I was fully conscious.”

“How many men entered by way of the front door?”

“I would have no way of saying exactly, for I was unconscious most of that time, but probably no more than three.”

“And were all of them black?”

“I could only say that the face I glimpsed ever so briefly as I opened the door was that of an African. I was told by others of the household staff, however, that all who entered, including some who were seen to enter through the rear door of the house, were unmistakably of the black race.”

“And what do you know of the murdered man, Mr. Collier?”

“Very little,” said the butler. “Walter Travis had not been long on staff. I hired him three months past to replace a porter who’d fallen mortally ill with the pox. Lord Lilley didn’t want one who was ill in such a way under his roof. Travis brought with him a good character from his last employer. I have no notion why anyone should have been killed, nor why they chose him.”

“Hmmm,” said Sir John, “it does indeed seem strange.” He mused a moment upon the matter, and then spoke up again. “You may go, Mr. Collier. By the bye, if Lord Lilley blames you, as you say he will, I should be happy to reason with him on the matter. I take it that he has been sent for?”

“He has, yes sir. Oh, thank you, sir. I am greatly obliged to you, sir.”

All the while the butler said this, he was backing away and bobbing his head like some puppet. I no longer pitied him as I had at first. He cared a bit too much for himself, it seemed to me, without caring much for others. What had happened, for example, to the poor fellow dying of the pox? Collier seemed not to care. Why did he say he would, under no circumstances, open the door of Lord Lilley’s residence to a black man at any hour, night or day? And why did he feel so unfairly deceived simply because one who proved to be black spoke as any white Londoner might speak? Had I not, that very morning at Dr. Johnson’s, met Frank Barber and heard him talk as any proper fellow from Fleet Street might? Not all those who look as Africans speak as Africans, after all.

By then it seemed to me that Sir John had been entirely too gentle with the butler. I was just putting together a well-reasoned complaint to the magistrate when he rumbled something deep under his breath.

“What was that, sir?”

“I said, ‘I never dealt before with such a lickspittle.’ “

“But … but … you encouraged him, Sir John. You were a good deal nicer to him than was necessary.”

“I may need him a bit later.”

Just then Constable Bailey appeared with a woman — hardly more than a girl — in tow. She had quite a saucy manner and seemed rather to enjoy the attention given her. She regarded the captain of the Bow Street Runners rather flirtatiously. For his part, Mr. Bailey’s attitude toward her was one of stony indifference. He delivered her to Sir John with a curt “Mary Pinkham, personal maid to Lady Lilley, sir. She may have something to say which you’d be interested in.” And having said that, he departed, returning to the task he had assigned himself.

“Well, Mistress Pinkham,” said Sir John, “what is it you have to tell?”

“Naught that would interest you, Your Magistrate, ‘cept — ”

“You seem to have me confused with the king,” said Sir John. “And while that is most flattering, the proper form of address when speaking to me would simply be ‘sir.’ ‘

“Yes sir,” said she, and gave a proper curtsey. “Well, as I was sayin’, sir, the onliest thing you might be interested in is that I was the last one caught.”

” ‘Caught’? I don’t quite understand.”

“Simple enough, sir. When the robbers come in, they caught most of the servants below stairs where they’d just finished eatin’, and Mr. Collier they caught when they come in. I was the onliest one was upstairs. I was in her ladyship’s bedroom, straightening up for when she comes back, laying out her nightgown and all.”

“I see,” said the magistrate, “and when were you aware that something was amiss downstairs?”

“Oh, I could tell. There was of a sudden a terrible lot of shouting and noise, and I could tell there was something wrong. I didn’t want no part of it.”

“And how did you react?”

She looked at him blankly. Clearly, the word was not in her vocabulary. ” ‘React,’ sir?”

“What did you do then?”

“I hid myself in Lady Lilley’s closet, the one with all her frocks and all in it. She has so many clothes, sir. Really, you’ve no idea.”

“I’m sure she has,” said Sir John, somewhat annoyed at her, “but let us stick to the matter at hand. Now, as you were hidden away in the closet amongst all those frocks, were you able to hear the robbers as they went from room to room?”

“Oh, yes sir, I surely was, sir. They was yellin’ and shoutin’ about, goin’ all around the house. Why, they scared me half to death, they did.”

“Now, Mistress Pinkham, I ask you to give some thought to this next question.” He paused to give weight to what followed: “Would you say that these men who came to rob the house knew their way around it? Would you think it likely that they had a map of the interior to show them where things were located?”

She did give the matter some thought, but her answer, when it came, may have disappointed Sir John. “No sir,” said she, “I don’t think they was ever in the house before, and I don’t think they had a map. The reason is, when they come upstairs, I could hear them very plain, and they were saying, ‘Where is it?’ and, ‘Which is the room where the duchess sleeps?’ They were searchin’ through the whole upstairs for the room where I was hidin’.”

“And eventually they found it,” he put in.

“They did, sir, but it took them a while, and if they’d had a map of the house, or as you say, known their way around, then they coulda gone right to it.”

Sir John sighed. “I see your point, and I must admit it has a certain validity.”

“Sir?”

“Oh, never mind. Of course all this searching about was not done in an effort to find you.”

“No, sir. They just opened the closet door, and there I was.”

“They were after something quite different.”

“They was, sir, and it was m’lady’s jewels.”

“And they found them.”

“Yes sir, I told the robbers where they was hid.” Neither in her face nor in her voice was there any hint of shame or embarrassment as she made her confession. She even wore a slight smile as one might while engaged in any sort of polite conversation.

“Told them, did you?” He seemed more amused than shocked at her audacious revelation.

“I did, sir, and you would, too, if you’d had a knife stickin’ up your nose. They offered to slit it proper if I didn’t tell.” She shrugged, as if the choice she’d made had been the only reasonable one. “And so I told them.”

Sir John laughed out loud at that. “Your logic,” he said, “is altogether unassailable. I mean to say, you may be certain that you did the right thing. However,” — and here he lowered his voice — “I would not tell it to your Lord or Lady Lilley as you told it to me. Tell them that you fought and screamed and so on, and that one of the robbers happened upon the jewels just as they were about to begin torturing you in earnest. Now, doesn’t that sound better?”