The Masters of Bow Street (21 page)

John Furnival had first entered the library about thirty years ago by this same door when his grandfather, the first John Furnival, had sat at the huge carved oak desk, soon after the house had been formally opened and the families in Great Furnival Square had taken up residence. He, the young John, had been fascinated by the masses of books which rose from floor to ceiling and by the beautifully carved twisting oaken staircase to the gallery, from which one reached one section of the shelves. There had been few changes. Two walls were solid with leather-bound books and there were more on either side of the great fireplace.

Those who entered the library by the secondary door found themselves on a platform raised some eighteen inches above the wooden-block floor, from which one could see and be seen while speaking.

John Furnival stood on this platform now.

Every chair, every stool, every couch, was occupied; the fifty or so people who had seemed so sparse in the hall now crammed the room so that there could hardly be space for another half dozen. Husbands and wives sat apart, men on one side, women on the other, and the Members of Parliament and the men from the City of London were grouped together as if they felt they would be in need of protection.

A babble of talk had stopped as Francis entered and held the door open for his brother. They made a strange contrast, one so frail, the other so massive, but the disparity faded as Francis smiled and raised his hands as a priest might in a blessing.

‘I don’t really know whether we’re going to hear a sermon or a political speech,’ he began, and was forced to stop as laughter, starting slowly, drowned his words. He allowed it to die away naturally, then looked around and up at his brother and added: ‘Or a boxing match.’

Once again came a roar of laughter, and John Furnival found it easy to join in, glad that Francis was relaxed and amusing; this was the best side of his brother.

The others soon settled and Francis went on, still in a light tone but with obvious seriousness.

‘No one could be more pleased to see him here than I—’

There was a chorus of agreement but John Furnival noticed little came from the solid phalanx of politicians and financiers and merchants. Could they have come to oppose for the sake of opposing?

‘And I’m very glad that I am the host and he is not—’

A woman cried, ‘He means he’s glad we’re not at Bow Street!’

The phalanx of men relaxed into smiles this time, and John looked appreciatively at his brother, who was creating the most receptive atmosphere possible. Francis smiled back at him.

‘I have no idea what he has to talk about; I only know that there has at last been a crack in that granite-hard mind of his, and he thinks there is a way by which he could rejoin us in our multifarious activities. I cannot imagine any prospect more to be desired.’

Francis sat down on a monk’s stool obviously placed in position for him, and John Furnival moved to the centre of the platform. He knew exactly what he wanted to say and was adept in varying the way he spoke to fit the mood of a meeting. There was some applause, mostly from the women, as he looked about him.

‘Why on earth you should want me when you have Francis—’ he began, and immediately was drowned by a burst of applause. In a way this was a political meeting, and feelings were aroused much more than he would have thought possible. But the City group, though smiling, was still wary; and it was they, with his brothers and their sons, who would make the decisions. As the noise died down he went on more gravely. ‘I doubt that many of you present really understand why I left the - ah - bosom of my family and went to Bow Street, although the reason was simple and may be clearly apparent. I believe in the law, not a law merely for those who can afford it, not a law which a man can break with impunity if he has enough money to buy his freedom from prison or the hangman’s rope, but a law free from corruption and indeed incorruptible, as rigid for the rich as for the poor, a protection for the poor who cannot buy protection for themselves. I went to Bow Street as chief magistrate and later became a justice of the peace for Westminster and the County of Middlesex in the faith that I could create - or at the very least help to create - such a law not only in London but throughout the land. I could do what few others could: pay for reliable men to serve Bow Street and the law. I could and did afford to pay each man enough money so that he did not need, for his stomach’s sake, to accept bribes or depend on a share of the blood money. So they were able to be thief-takers, not thief-makers.’

For the first time, he paused. There was not a sound in the room and not an eye was turned away from him; it was as if all those present had stopped breathing. He looked from one side to the other without focusing his gaze on anyone before going on.

‘I was able, also, to pay constables in some parishes, or those hired by constables to do their work, money enough to keep them - or most of them - from temptation.’

‘There is no such thing as an incorruptible man,’ a member of the City group rasped. ‘Men are wholly trustworthy only when they are watched.’ The speaker, a lantern-jawed man with a heavy moustache and mutton-chop whiskers, was Cornelius Hooper, the husband of a sister of Sarah’s husband and one of the wealthiest merchants in the City, with shares in most great banks and companies. Wherever the Furnivals married, they made sure of strengthening their position and gaining support for their policies.

Furnival heard him out and for the first time felt a stirring of anger, but he suppressed it and actually smiled as he said acidly, ‘I have at least twenty retainers whom I would trust with my life and my possessions, Mr. Hopper. I am sorry that your philosophy has made you less fortunate. Now if I may proceed?’ No one interrupted and he went on: ‘Thank you. Taking as a guide a count, over six months at all the magistrates’ courts in the two cities and the counties, however, for every reliable constable employed by the parishes there are at least fifty men who call themselves thief-takers. These men will falsify evidence, perhaps themselves accept bribes, falsely accuse the innocent, all for the sake of their share of the government reward paid to every thief-taker for a conviction. If this were not bad enough, for every magistrate with a court and court officials, such as at Bow Street, there are twenty trading justices. These hold court in taverns and alehouses, yes, and even in brothels, and commit men to Newgate and other abominable jails on evidence they know to be false simply for their share of the reward.’ He paused as several of the women drew in their breath, and then went on with great deliberation. ‘It is not justice, it is a prostitution of justice. When you see a Hogarth picture of the people of London you see many as they really are, not—’

‘I must protest!’ Hooper interrupted. ‘Hogarth seeks out the drunken lechers and the gin-sodden who present nothing but the filth in which they live. Nine citizens of London out of ten, aye, ninety-nine citizens out of a hundred are decent and respectable. You’ll do no good making the situation out to be worse than it is.’

‘If there is to remain a London it cannot become any worse than it is,’ Furnival retorted. ‘Because you keep the crime at a distance from you by employing a strong and well-paid force of private peace officers, you will not be able to hold it back forever, any more than by having water closets and sewers here at Great Furnival Square and at Furnival Tower House you can keep the stench of open sewers and open cesspits away when the wind carries it from outside your walls. You may carry the waste to fields and keep it from the Thames and the Tyburn, but others don’t and they befoul the air you have to breathe. So the crime in the rest of London befouls the House of Furnival and all those like it. It is useless to be farsighted if all you can see is a brick wall.’

He stopped, glaring at Hooper. Robert Yeoman put a restraining hand on Hooper’s arm, and, without getting up, Francis spoke in his bell-like voice, ‘Brother John, if you could continue uninterrupted for - for a while - not too long,’ he added, smiling, ‘would you answer any questions afterward?’

‘Yes,’ barked Furnival.

‘Then I shall be absorbed in what you have to say - and fascinated to find out what you want us to do.’

‘So shall I,’ growled Hooper.

Furnival was aware of Anne watching him intently, and her expression suggested that she was pleading with him to keep the peace, to avoid an open quarrel. That was right, of course, and what he had to do, but it was far from easy.

‘Telling you what I want is simple, but only useful if you see the need to support me,’ he said. ‘We have in this huge city and its close environs three-quarters of a million people, more, perhaps, than are gathered in any other area in the world except possibly the capital cities of China and Japan. Among these in the metropolis of London we have an estimated one hundred and fifteen thousand people who live on the proceeds of crime. We have a small, exclusive number of very rich people who live better than they could anywhere in the world since London has long since been the greatest port for the importation of exotic foods and spices in the Western Hemisphere. We have - and you will see how little we have changed since Defoe’s figure of 1720 - about one hundred and fifty thousand people of middling income, who, if they work hard, can eat and clothe themselves and their families well; and we have more than five hundred and fifty thousand who can barely earn a living, who are hungry most of the time. This is the breeding ground of our drunkards and our criminals. It exists. And we have to clean it up just as we have to clean up our streets and our sewers and our rivers. The Act of 1737 demanded half as many watch boxes as there were watchmen, so that each parish area should have one watchman patrolling and one at a box. But there are neither the required number of boxes nor the required number of watchmen. Only the old and frail and useless will do such work - or pretend to - for five shillings a week. This is a mockery of protection as the trading justices are a mockery of justice.’

He drew a deep breath, and expected another interruption, but no one spoke and he sensed a tension which now touched them all. He was quite sure that to many of the women the figures he quoted came as a shock, which was why he had wanted them here.

At last he went on with great deliberation.

‘There is only one way: a strong peace force, as I would call it, paid not by individuals who can afford to protect themselves and devil take the others, nor by parishes, which avoid paying every penny they can, but by the government.’ He went a step closer to the edge of the little platform and raised his hands waist high, the first gesture he had made. ‘If the House of Furnival, with all its influence in Parliament, with the King and with wealthy merchants and the guilds, will commit itself to fighting for such a professional force, I will resign from Bow Street and devote myself to all the affairs of the Furnival enterprises.

‘I ask for no money, no charitable foundations, no work for other good causes, but simply for this.

‘For if we prosper out of the sickness and the poverty, the hunger and the desperation of the mass of the people, the time will come when there will be a terrible reckoning.’

When Furnival stopped, the silence was even more profound; none among the City group stirred; everyone was watching him as if expecting more. Yet without repeating himself there was nothing more to say. His mouth was dry and he was sweating at the forehead and the neck although he did not know whether anyone else was aware of that. He expected Hooper or one of his group to speak but it was Robert Yeoman, sitting behind them but not one of them, who rose to his feet, and standing against a well of books, he looked more elegant than among the crowd. He placed a pinch of snuff on the back of his hand, sniffed up each nostril in turn, and then said, ‘Most eloquent, John; never heard such eloquence. You belong at Westminster or in the Bishop’s Palace. Such sentiments do you credit, great credit. At the beginning you told me that you are what you are because you believe in people. ‘Tis not for me to argue with you about how many people are in the mob or whether they could improve themselves by hard work or endeavour. That can be a matter of opinion and no doubt always will be. But it is for me to tell you, John, that anyone who tried to persuade Walpole to create such a peace force would be wasting his time. Walpole will have none of it, nor will the King. Cromwell tried it and left scars enough. A peace force is an army used against the people, John; these people you say you wish to help and protect. An army, I say, in England, to be used against the people day in and day out, not simply at times of riot and disturbance or to keep order on hanging days. You forget one thing, John. You forget that before their possessions, before the sanctity of their homes, aye, and even before their families, Englishmen love freedom. The worst of them, the lowest of them, the murderers and thieves who will hang at Tyburn or Tower Hill, would call for freedom with his dying breath. And you would have their streets patrolled by armed men. You would ravage the sanctity of their homes by sending soldiers to search and pry. Who could believe that a man’s wife and daughters would ever be safe if troops patrolled—’

‘May I inquire,’ interrupted Furnival coldly, ‘whether you are speaking for the King, for Walpole, for the people, or for yourself?’

‘As God is my witness, for all four!’

‘May I say a few words?’ Plump-faced Martin Montmorency stood up, and Yeoman immediately gave way to him, as no doubt he would on a day when the House of Commons was behaving courteously.

Furnival felt quite sure what had been planned: that each man should speak in turn, opposing whatever they felt he would propose, if they were of a mind, showing the rest of the family that opposition was not from one but from several men with different interests and different causes for loyalty to the House of Furnival. It was as if witness after witness were standing up to give evidence on behalf of a rogue they knew to be guilty, hoping to impress by weight of numbers even if they could not do so by fact.