The Color of Death (8 page)

I did as he requested, though it pained me to inform him of Lord Lilley s actions and my consequent inability to gather further information from there. I felt myself a failure in this.

Sir John, however, took the matter with equanimity and, as he settled down beneath the bedcovers, he said to me, “Don’t worry upon it. Lord Lilley has for some time wished the army to take part in the policing of the streets. There would be little to be gained by it — and anyone with a penny’s worth of sense knows that. I would like you to see if you can locate the butler, however. I don’t know that we need search out Pinkham, or the two others. Nasty … fellow that… Lord Lilley … don’t you think?”

“Oh, I do, sir.”

I am not sure, in all truth, that he heard me, for by that time his head had sunk to the pillow, and as he had concluded that last speech, his voice had grown fainter and the words slower to come. I spoke his name quietly and got no response but his heavy, rhythmic breathing. I was satisfied that he was asleep. I tiptoed from the room and met Annie on the stairs; she moved carefully, carrying the tray of food that Sir John had requested (meat had won out over broth).

“Is he asleep?” she whispered.

I nodded.

“Ah, well,” said she. “I can’t say as I’m surprised. Come down, and we’ll drink the tea. I’ll just put the rest away. None of it will go to waste.”

I followed her suggestion, and only minutes later we two were at the kitchen table sipping the tea she had brewed for Sir John. I, too, could have done with a bit of a nap, and so the tea was most welcome as a stimulant, though a cup of coffee would have been far more welcome. Nevertheless, my mind began properly to work once more, and as the cobwebs cleared, I found myself telling Annie all I had heard that morning from Burley, the porter and butler pro-tem. It seemed I had good reason to do so.

“Annie,” said I, once I had told the tale, “Sir John wishes me to persist and find the butler to question him further.”

“Look for the lady’s maid, as well,” said she. “Now that she’s out of their employ she may have more to say.”

“That’s just the problem, you see. How would I go about looking for them? Where would I find them now that they’ve been cast out? I thought you might know. You were in service once yourself, after all.”

“I thought I was still,” said she, with a curious smile.

“Well …yes, I suppose you are — and I am, too, of course — but I mean those who work in the great houses. Where do they go once they’ve been given the sack? Where should I look?”

At that, she threw back her head and gazed up at the ceiling, as if she hoped to find the answer to my question written there. She held that pose, thinking hard upon the matter for quite some time. Then did she take a sip of tea, still frowning, and give me a most direct sort of look. “You should go to the great houses up and down St. James Street and ask after them at the door. Those in service there keep well in contact. Remember that I worked in St. James Street myself. I remember that’s how it was there then. But you must convince them that you mean no harm to the butler — or to the maid. Only then will it be likely that they will pass you on to those you are looking for.”

I found the butler, Mr. Collier, three houses up from Lilley’s in the residence of a Mr. Zondervan, a rich Dutch merchant. He had not found a place on the household staff (nor was he likely to), but his friends in the Zondervan kitchen beneath the stairs had gathered round him to give him their support and their advice on where he might go to find a new place of employment. This I had learned from the butler of the house, who admitted me only after I convinced him that I did truly represent Sir John Fielding of the Bow Street Court, and that Sir John was greatly displeased that Lord Lilley had closed his door to the investigation.

“He had specifically asked that Lord Lilley take no action until his investigation was complete,” I had said to the Zondervan butler. “He thought Mr. Collier and Mistress Pinkham quite without guilt in the matter. He felt that the facts would exonerate them from all blame.”

That last bit, I concede, was a little far from the truth. Nevertheless, it helped me gain entry into the house, for I concluded with a request that if he were to know Mr. Collier’s whereabouts, would he then please convey my need to speak with him.

The butler, a tall man, looked at me rather closely, as if assessing my worth (which in a sense was exactly what he was doing). Then did he say to me, “You may tell him that yourself, if you like. Right this way, young man.”

He lectured me, as we walked to the back stairs, on how fortunate I was to have come when I did. Was that because Mr. Collier had only lately arrived and would not stay long? No, it seemed that I was lucky that I had come when Mr. Zondervan (“the master,” as he was called) had just left on a quick visit to the Continent. “If he were not,” said he, “I could not possibly allow you inside.”

I divined from this that Mr. Collier was also fortunate in having come when he did. He did not, however, appear as one who judged himself so. On the contrary, at first glimpse he seemed, if anything, more agitated and troubled than he had when Sir John had interrogated him the night before. He sat at the far end of the long kitchen table surrounded by no less than four of his cronies from the Zondervan staff. With him I spied an older woman of a rather slovenly appearance (surely the cook) and a man in rough twill who toyed with a great, high horsewhip (undoubtedly the coach driver) and two male servants of undefined position. Mr. Collier held the attention of all as he railed against the perfidy — nay, the treachery — of employers. There was general agreement amongst his listeners at that. He inhaled deeply and made ready to fire another broadside, but just then I managed to catch his eye. He said nothing at all for a moment as he stared at me, frowning, unable quite to place me.

“Here now,” said he, “I know you, don’t I?”

“Yes sir, you do,” said I. “When Sir John Fielding asked questions of you last night I was there at his side.”

“So you were, so you were.”

“He has sent me to ask a few more questions of you.”

Mr. Collier said nothing for a moment, evidently considering the matter I had put before him. Then, of a sudden, did he lash out at me: “Oh, he did, did he? Well, he did precious little to help my cause with Lord Lilley; why should I help him now?”

His personal disaster had made him bold — far bolder than he had been before. That he now had the opportunity to perform before an audience must also have given him encouragement. His four listeners had become eager participants in the show. They murmured praise for his last outburst as I sought the proper words with which to soothe his anger. Something must be said — that much was certain.

“You must know that he left a message for Lord Lilley with one of the constables. He asked that none of the household staff be discharged or penalized,” said I.

“I know he jaid he would make such an appeal, but why did he not come this morning and present an argument on our behalf to the master?”

“Because, my good sir, he was shot down by one of the robbers right here in St. James Street in a dastardly attack. He, who nearly lost his life, is far more the victim of those villains than you, sir, who lost only your employment!”

Was this how I hoped to soothe the feelings of this testy little man? Not likely, I fear. After all, I reminded myself, the purpose of this visit was to get this fellow to answer some questions and not to scold him. And yet, I again reminded myself, when he sent me out to perform this task, Sir John had instructed me not to be shy — to be rude if I must — but not to be shy.

Yet when Mr. Collier next spoke the nature of his response surprised me with its sudden change in tone and temper.

“Yes,” said he, “well … I … uh … did hear something about that. How is he? I hope … he — ”

“He will survive,” said I.

“I am greatly relieved to hear it.”

Looking round me, I saw that the audience, which had grown by one or two, was now similarly overcome with pious sympathy. Their faces had lengthened; their heads were bowed. But why not? These were servants, were they not? — as indeed so also was Mr. Collier. If I had spoken rudely because of my feelings for Sir John, then I had also spoken to him with the voice of authority. And he, as a servant, responded best to expressions of authority.

I took a step forward and leaned over him in a manner somewhat threatening. “I have questions for you,” said I to Mr. Collier. “Will you answer them?”

“Absolutely, young sir, to the best of my ability.”

“Very well. Had you anyone on the household staff by the name of William Waters?”

“Nooo, no indeed we had not.”

“William Walters? William Walker?”

“Nothing like that. No one by any such name was employed at Lord Lilley’s.”

Having had Burley’s information confirmed, I went on to the next question: “As butler of the Lilley residence, you presided over the staff. When you knew that the robbers had gone, who did you send to summon help? To bring a constable? To notify the magistrate?”

Mr. Collier looked at me, blinked a couple of times and said, “Why, I’m not sure.”

“Give it some thought.”

That he did quite visibly, screwing his face into a mask of concentration, shutting his eyes to exclude all distractions. He held this pose for a minute or more, quite impressing me with the intensity of his concentration. Only then did he relax sufficiently to say: “I did not send anyone.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Well … yes. I was dealt such a blow to my head when the robbers came through the door that I was incapable of collecting my thoughts when they had gone. It… it must have been someone else sent for help.”

“Or someone had taken it into his head to go.”

“Yes, I suppose that could be, too.”

“Mr. Collier,” said I, ” you gave Sir John quite a detailed report regarding what happened prior to the entry of the robbers — and I’m sure quite an accurate one, as well. I wonder if you would now put your mind to what happened afterward.”

“Afterward? But… as I said, the blow to my head from the door left me a bit addled, I fear.”

“I know, but I fear you must try.”

He did try, no doubt to the best of his ability. First he told how he had been dragged through the house, then taken down the back stairs and dumped upon the kitchen floor. That, in any case, was where he came fully conscious. The staff — all except for Pinkham (who was later to join them) and the coachmen (who awaited Lord and Lady Lilley at the ambassador’s residence) — had been gathered together in the kitchen, where they were held prisoner by a threatening black man with a ring in his ear, a pistol at his side, and a cutlass in his hand. Mr. Collier then explained that from that point on, all that he could glean of the robbers’ activities within the house had come to him through his ears. He heard the footsteps of more men above them as they entered through the rear of the house. How many? He could not be sure; perhaps three in addition to those who had come through the front — perhaps more. In any case, the robbers were very well organized, for they did not stay long. How long? Only minutes — as many as fifteen, though perhaps ten would be more accurate.

“And in that time,” I put it to him, “when was it Pinkham joined the rest in the kitchen?”

“Only toward the end,” said Mr. Collier. “That would have been in the last few minutes.”

“How many minutes?”

He seemed to take offense at my persistent questioning. “I have a timepiece, but I did not consult it. I can be no more accurate than I have been.”

“We shall let it stand then at a,few minutes.”

Something had occurred to him. That was evident from the vague expression that of a sudden appeared in his eyes.

“What is it?” I asked. “What are you now thinking?”

“I am now thinking that perhaps I can say with some certainty that it was just at the very end that she was brought down to the kitchen, for he who brought her had a conversation in whispers with him who had been standing guard over us.”

“Have you no idea what was discussed?” I pressed him thusly.

“Oh yes, indeed I have, for it was then that they selected Walter Travis out and took him away.”

“Walter Travis?” I knew I should know the name, but…

“The man they murdered.”

“Ah yes,” said I. (Glad I was that Sir John had not been present to hear me make such an error.) “Was he simply grabbed out of the crowd and taken away? Was nothing said?”

“Yes, there was a good deal said. A great threat was made by the one who brought Pinkham down. He said that they were leaving and none should follow. And if we was to do that, he would kill this fellow who was now their hostage, as well as any who followed. Now I can’t swear to it, because all these blackies look alike to me, but from the sound of his voice I’d say he was the same one tricked me into opening the front door for him and his fellows.”

“Are you saying then, Mr. Collier, that Walter Travis was slain because some of those in the kitchen trailed the robbers out the back?”

“No, no such thing,” said he with great certainty, “because just as soon as they were upstairs and out the back, we heard the shot, and we knew somehow that poor Travis had been killed. For some time afterward, we waited there in the kitchen. Burley, the other porter, was the only one of us who showed any eagerness to get upstairs. He got on well with Travis. You might even say as how they were friends. I cautioned Burley, held him back till there was no point holding him back further. And then he was first one up the stairs. He found the body where we expected it would be — right there in the back garden.”

“And you saw it there yourself ? ” I asked.

“Well, yes, eventually. First thing I did was go through the house room by room to see all that was missing. I got to credit those black boys. They stole a lot in a very short time.”

“How much did they steal? What sort of cash value could you put upon it?”

“That would be difficult to say, but with the paintings, the silver plates, the Chinese vases, and all, I’d guess it at thousands of pounds — maybe close to ten. God knows what the jewels were worth — perhaps an equal amount, but likely more. I made up a list for my master — or former master.