The Masters of Bow Street (73 page)

This time his pause was obviously for effect, and as he held the attention of the House he bowed first to Lord John Russell on the Whig benches and next, with equal deliberation, to Richard; and he paused again so that Members could call out their approval, as most did.

Among the loudest was Sir Douglas Rackham.

‘I shall read those instructions to the House,’ Peel went on at last.

Richard closed his eyes and listened to the persuasive voice, repeating the words to himself almost as if this were a litany.

‘It should be understood at the outset that the principal object to be attained is the prevention of crime. He, the constable, will be civil and obliging to all people of every rank and class. . . Particular care is to be taken that the constables of the police do not form false notions of their powers or duties.’

The approval was deep-throated and universal, and when Richard opened his eyes he saw nearly every Member’s mouth open, many papers waving, only here and there a scowl or straight face of disapproval. He had no doubt at all that the bill would soon become an Act of Parliament, that the skeleton organisation could be formed and its leaders named, that an arrangement would be made for recruiting - not a handful, as Furnival and the Fieldings had begged for, not a few dozen men, but a force of police more than three thousand strong.

In the House of Lords, the Duke of Wellington, using much the same phraseology, moved the bill and was warmly received.

That night Sir Douglas Rackham saw several of those Members who were opposed to the bill, and also Todhunter Mason, one of the members of the syndicate that had bought
The Daily Clarion.
No one questioned the accuracy of Rackham’s prognostication now; they could not hope to prevent the bill from becoming law.

‘So we must use our utmost endeavours to make sure that the law fails,’ Rackham repeated.

‘As they plan to build, so must we plan to destroy. But for the time being I shall give limited praise to the new force in the columns of
The Daily Clarion
, so that when the time comes to attack, it cannot be charged that the newspaper has acted out of prejudice. As
The Daily Clarion
is again becoming a popular voice of the people, it will help to sway public opinion whichever way we desire.’

‘Don’t make any mistake about it,’ said Todhunter Mason.

‘If this police force is a success, we’re done, mates. Finished. Pickled in our own blood and that’s the truth. We want trading justices and Runners working together, thieves with one hand and thief-takers with the other, that’s what we want! If these new police get too strong, they’ll put an end to the Runners sure as I stand here.’

There was a roar of agreement from the crowded cellar beneath the Black Swan, and he gave the men time to settle before going on:

‘We’ve got to give them no peace, friends. And if they put spies among us then, God help us, we can provide a few, can’t’ we? Never let a little thing like a thief stop us, did we? So why let a spy or two? We’ll plant ‘em in the force, and we’ll let the magistrates find them when the time’s ripe, see. And we’ll make those bloody men o’ Peel’s so drunk they don’t know whether they’re arresting a thief or a Member of Parliament or a bloody bishop, lads. No corruption, Peel says. God help us, they’ll be so corrupt before we’ve finished with them that Parliament will squeal for us to get back to our legitimate work!’

His talk was punctuated by roars of laughter and much banging of tankards on the deal tables, but all of this paled into insignificance as he went on.

‘And we’ll put the women onto them, that’s what we’ll do. Old soldiers, are they? And old sailors? Ever known one of the King’s men who didn’t like half an hour with his doxy? We’ll tell the pretties to give them the eye, then we’ll catch them in the act. Rape, that’s what we’ll get ‘em for. Do you know what? I give them a
year
. No I don’t!’ he bellowed, ‘I give them six months. They’ll want to peel themselves off from Peel by then, don’t you worry.’

The roar made the walls and the ceiling of the cellar shake.

Again among those present was Arthur Jackson, the Bow Street Runner, unrecognisable in his disguise of black side whiskers and a moustache as the man who had been at Sir Douglas Rackham’s meeting not long ago. So far, he warned himself, this was only drunken talk. He must bide his time, and before he could take any effective action he had to join the new force. A guinea a week, food and lodgings would not set a man up for a lifetime, but Simon Rattray-Furnival would pay handsomely for information - and even more handsomely when he knew that Todhunter Mason was the man he had been seeking for so many years.

‘Were you proud?’ Katherine asked Richard, smiling at him across their table at Rules, a restaurant and oyster bar of renown in Maiden Lane, one of the narrow streets near Covent Garden. Prints of actors and journalists, authors and Members of Parliament, verses signed by their composers, sketches by both Hogarth and Rowlandson, were on the walls. The food was straightforward English style, the roast beef and steak and oyster pies especially good. Sole fresh caught in the English Channel only that morning was always available, and there was a note of elegance and quality everywhere. That night Richard and Katherine had arrived before the rush which would follow the arrival of the patrons from Drury Lane and the Opera House, and they were in a stall in a corner where they could not be overhead.

‘Yes,’ Richard admitted. ‘I was very proud indeed. I tried to see you in the Strangers’ Gallery but failed.’

‘I was quieter and less conspicuous than a mouse!’

‘Impossible,’ Richard riposted, and although he laughed there was seriousness in his manner. ‘Katherine, do you know that I love you as deeply as I am capable of love?’

‘You are flattering me,’ she said, and her eyes danced.

‘You know better than that,’ he declared. ‘But what you may
not
know is why I have not yet declared myself nor told you that I would be truly proud if you were to marry me.’

She sat very still, as if oblivious of everything but his expression and the cool touch of his hand on hers.

‘I have assumed that it is because you have doubt of your feelings,’ she said, no longer smiling.

‘None whatsoever,’ he assured her. ‘Not a single moment. I am absolutely sure of my feeling for you. But I am almost twenty years older than you, Katherine. You have already been married to a man much your senior in years, and you would not be human if you did not sometimes long for a younger man, one of your own age. If you do, I—’ He broke off and pressed her hand firmly before going on. ‘I would ask you to forgive and forget what I have said. I think - I do believe the new bill has gone to my head like wine so that I dare speak when, sober, I would have the good sense to keep silent.’

She did not respond at once.

A waiter drew near and would have come to the table but an older one held him back, shaking his head surreptitiously. Both Richard and Katherine were unmindful of everything and everyone about them.

Richard thought, She is trying to find a gentle way of saying No. I cannot blame her but in God’s name I wish it were not so.

At last she spoke.

‘I am thirty-seven, Richard. Old enough to understand and love you, young enough, if it is your wish, to bear you children, strong enough to help you where you need help; experienced enough to become impatient with younger men.’

She stopped, and he hardly seemed to breathe . . . until he took her hands and drew her closer. A spoon fell and they did not notice, a platter fell and broke and they did not notice. Fleetingly Richard thought, I am fifty-five and she thirty-seven, but please God, I can make her happy.

When at last they walked from Rules to the Strand, where there would be a hackney to take first Katherine and then Richard home, Katherine pointed to a newsboy carrying a placard of
The Times
which contained two words:
POLICE! POLICE!

Richard felt he needed nothing more.

It was a double wedding. But as Katherine walked down the aisle towards Richard and Simon as they waited, first for her and then for Susan, she had eyes only for Richard.

‘Wilt thou take this woman. . .’

‘I will.’

‘Wilt thou take this man. . .’

‘I will.’

She was aware of Richard’s lips against hers, of his hand touching her, of the swelling notes of the ancient organ, the massed voices of choristers and congregation. She was not aware of the emerald beauty of her eyes against the paleness of her face and the rich silk of her gown.

Nor did she notice the ranks of nobles and bankers, merchants and sailors, Members of Parliament and justices, and the guard of honour, half in the honey-brown livery of the House of Furnival, half Bow Street Runners, although for a moment the Runners did pierce her euphoria. Richard had for so long been involved with them and the forging of a police force.

She was virtually oblivious of the gilded coach, liveried footmen, coachmen, youths strewing rose petals on the cobbled road; of the crowd lining the streets eager to watch any great occasion; of the fusiliers and dragoons stationed in various places; of the watchmen and constables, the boatmen and the members of the river police; of the urchins, of the poor who gazed, enraptured and without envy.

She did not see Arthur Jackson or his father Frederick. She did not see Todhunter Mason and his favourite cronies. She did not hear the roar of rattles and the ringing of bells, the hooting of ships from the river, the blowing of trumpets and the clear notes of horns, the hurrahs of the people and the cheers of the children.

She was aware only of Richard.

How could a man come to mean so much to her? she wondered, when love, the need for a satisfying sexual relationship, had lain dormant within her for so long. Now they were passionately alive. Had she come to mean as much to him? Was he as eager as she to bring their love to the fiercest consummation? She felt a sudden stir of uncertainty, perhaps even of apprehension, for she did not really know him and he did not know her. He, especially, had lived by himself for so long that once the excitement of the honeymoon faded he might find a shared life intolerable.

She did not in her heart believe that he would, yet the shadow of the possibility hovered.

She had not thought of love during the arid years of her marriage. Affection, yes, and liking, but love - it belonged to those far-off days, to youth, to yesterday. Yet here was Richard, leading her into the main house of Great Furnival Square and to the wedding breakfast -
her
wedding breakfast. Was it all a dream, she wondered, and would she wake, suddenly and with a shock of aching loss, into reality?

And here was Simon with his new bride Susan. He took both her hands, kissed her on either cheek. ‘I told you how you would feel about Richard, didn’t I?’ he said, laughing.

Was he a wizard with Merlin’s touch? For he had told her.

‘I hope you are very, very happy,’ said Susan.

‘You cannot wish that more for me than I wish it for you,’ Katherine told her.

Suddenly she was surrounded by men and women who seemed strangers, all clamouring to talk to her, and at once all apprehension was gone and she was out of the trance and back in the real world, knowing this was no dream, that these well-wishers were of flesh and blood, her relatives and Richard’s, her friends and his. Then, as if at a given signal, everyone moved away, drawn to food, drawn by plans which Simon had made, and Katherine and Richard were alone but for Simon and Susan. Simon was handing Richard a large envelope which appeared to be made of parchment and which bore the great gold seal of the House of Furnival.

‘My wedding present to you both,’ he said. Then, taking Katherine’s hands, he gripped them tightly. ‘I charge you to take care of this rare creature, this good man,’ he told her gravely. The next moment, as if ashamed of his momentary seriousness, his face broke into laughter and he declared, ‘You now have one precious hour on your own!’

As quickly as the words fell he took Susan’s arm and led her off, while a man whom Katherine did not know, silver-haired and courtly, came into the hall from another doorway and said, ‘My felicitations to you both. Will you be good enough to follow me?’

‘I know my way—’ Richard began, but the elderly man appeared not to have heard.

He led them first from the great hall into a passage, closing a heavy shiny door behind them, then to another door. He did not attempt to open this, but bowed, smiled, and said with obvious pleasure, ‘The key to your home is in the envelope, Mr. Marshall.’

‘The key to my home?’ Richard exclaimed in disbelief.

‘Indeed yes, sir - your new home. Also in the envelope are the deeds and the deed of gift from Mr. Simon.’

The silver-haired man bowed again and moved back along the way he had come.

‘I still can’t quite believe it,’ Richard declared, and his tone held a pitch of doubt. ‘I have long been aware that Simon was the most generous of men, but this—’

He broke off and turned to Katherine, taking her hands for the first time since they had walked through this house, all of its four floors, even the attic, approached by a narrow back staircase, from which they had looked down onto the long, narrow walled garden on one side of which were the stables and outhouses. Nothing but swift, cursory glances had been possible; at furniture and furnishings, carpets and curtains in most of the rooms, although some had been left empty, obviously for their own choice. These rooms had richly polished oak flooring, panelled walls, and ceilings beautifully painted and patterned.

Now they were in a small room - small, that was, compared with most in the house - plainly furnished yet with a substantial bed and huge wardrobe. Leading off on one side was a room with bath and water closet; one of the walls was a huge mirror. And leading from this second room, was a dressing room for Richard.