Watery Grave (37 page)

“Uh … yes sir.”

“Good. Now here is the door, is it not?”

He leaned forward and fumbled at it, searching for the handle. Finding it, he swung open the door —and there, to my surprise, standing quite nearby, was Benjamin Bailey, captain of the Bow Street Runners. Behind him I glimpsed Constable Perkins, which surprised me further.

“I’m here, Sir John,” said Mr. Bailey.

“Good. Now, Jeremy, you must return. But one last word: Do not let Boone get away.”

Boone? thought I as I jog-trotted back up the stairs. What importance had he? What had been planned? Could they not have trusted me sufficient to include me in their strategy?

I felt much confused and a little hurt as I reentered the hearing room and slipped into the chair by the door which I had left only a minute or two before. Those who had stood were still on their feet. There was some discussion between two or three, which was carried on in low, quiet tones. None made so bold as to walk about. Hartsell and Boone sat together; not a word passed between them. Lieutenant Landon was but a few feet away. His eyes were open, yet somehow blank; it was as though he had removed himself from this room, in which he had been so humiliated and abused, and taken himself away to some friendlier place where justice and charity ruled.

We had not long to wait. It could not have been much more than five minutes when the door to the hall reopened and the three judges returned through it and made their way back to their table. They remained standing.

“Will the prisoner come forward?”

It was necessary that one of the marines prod Lieutenant Landon to return him to the proper time and place, so far had he gone. Yet once back, he responded in the approved manner and presented himself to the judges of the court-martial. He saluted.

Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Redmond said as follows: “Lieutenant William Landon, you are found by the judges of this court-martial guilty of the murder of Captain Josiah Markham by means of drowning. You are hereby sentenced to be hanged by the neck until dead at Execution Dock one week from today. Corporal of the guard, return the prisoner to the Tower.” At that Mr. Landon saluted once again, which quite amazed me.

The rest was all carried out with great swiftness. The marines surrounded the lieutenant; and the corporal, barking out a series of commands, moved the entire party dovn the aisle past me through the door. Mr. Landon gave me no sign of recognition as he went by. Though I had been prepared for this outcome, I was dumbstruck nevertheless.

First to their feet were Hartsell and Boone. The newly made captain turned and looked about as if he expected to receive congratulations. He got none. Those who had assembled, for whatever reason, to witness these proceedings turned away from him as if from a leper. The judges of the court-martial disappeared through their portal at the far end of the room. Others followed them out. A few trailed out the door just to my right, among them Hartsell and Boone. The captain paid me no mind; the midshipman, however, gave me a scowl which, I believe, was meant to frighten me. I allowed one or two to get between me and them so that my pursuit -would not seem obvious.

Thus we went down the stairs, and thus we exited through the door into the warm July morning. I came through the door just in time to hear Mr. Bailey say, “Captain Hartsell?”

And the foolish man looked up, smiled after his fashion, and said, “Why, yes” — as if he believed he was at last about to receive the recognition he was due tor his daring and cleverness.

“Right this way, sir.”

Curious, he followed Mr. Bailey toward the waiting coach. Neither he nor Boone noticed when Constable Perkins and I fell in behind them.

“Just inside, sir, ” said Mr. Bailey, most polite.” The coach will take you to your destination.”

Satisfied with that, Hartsell took himself up and was nearly inside, when (as I later learned) he spied Black Emma and the innkeeper from the Green Man awaiting him, alongside Sir John.

“That is the man,” said Black Emma.

“Aye,” said the innkeeper.” That’s him.”

“You are under arrest, sir, for the murder of Tobias Trindle,” said Sir John.

Then tried Hartsell vainly to clamber out. Mr. Perkins dealt him a great blow upon the backside wath his club, and Mr. Bailey picked him up by his trousers and threw him bodily inside.

That left Boone for me. He turned, wild-eyed, and looked where he might run. He found no place, for I delivered him a stout blow in his midsection for which he was in no wise prepared. He doubled over, and I gave him another in the face.

“That’ll do,” said Mr. Perkins to me.

And indeed it would, for Mr. Bailey picked Boone up then and with no trouble at all threw him in atop his master. Then he jumped in after them both.

“You’d best ride up top, Jeremy,” said Mr. Perkins, “ft may be a bit rough inside.”

Then he, too, ascended into the coach and slammed the door after him.

The footman, quite unknown to me, gave me a hand up and made room on the seat. The coachman urged the four horses into motion and we were off—I knew not where.

A small crowd had gathered to gape at our departure.

The coach, I was quite amazed to learn, was Black Jack Bilbo’s. Four horses pulled it. The compartment below contained seven at that moment—though perhaps not in great comfort. My seat above, praise be, was equipped with a strong handle that I might grasp to keep myself from flying high and wide off the seat and onto the cobblestones, for the driver hurried the horses on to Mr. Bilbo’s residence.

All this I learned from the footman who rode beside me. He was a jolly sort, all “begod ” and “bejesus, ” as he shouted out to me all the preparations that had been made by the “cove of the ken.” Quite proud he was of their part in the successful abduction of Hartsell and Boone.

The driver reined up the horses before the great house.

“Down you go, lad, ” said the footman.

I started my descent, feeling with careful feet for each rung below.

“We’ll be right here a-waitin’.”

By the time I reached the pavement, half our company was inside. Mr. Bailey pushing Hartsell forward with no difficulty, and Mr. Perkins followed close behind, gripping Boone by the collar. It was remarkable how swiftly the two culprits had taken on the appearance of common street criminals now that they were in the hands of the law: Hartsell had lost his tricorn in the coach, and his wig was askew; Boone was whining and squealing as loudly as any seven-year-old might.

Sir John paid them no mind. Assembling the rest of us, he moved forward with my help through the open door. Black Emma and the innkeeper from the Green Man close behind. Mr. Bilbo was there at the door and slammed it shut once all were within.

“Right down at the end of the hall, Sir John,” said he.” I believe you know the way.”

“I do indeed, sir. Come all, and follow me.”

He led our procession, sure enough, wishing no guidance from me, running his stick along the wall on the left until he came to the open door.

In the room, the constables waited with their prisoners, so Mr. Marsden also waited upon Sir John’s arrival. A sufficient number of chairs had been ranged about facing the large desk. In one of them sat a familiar figure, puffing on a pipe; Old Isaac it was, and beside him, arms folded and a frown upon his face, sat Constable Cowley.

Mr. Marsden hastened to Sir John’s side and moved him up to the place that had been prepared for him at the desk. The two sat down side by side and conferred.

“Come, Jeremy, take this chair next me, and we shall see this through together.”

It was Mr. Bilbo pounding the chair beside him; I took it, and looked about to see if others of his household had come to witness these proceedings. There were none. The door to the hall had been shut tight.

“If you’re searching for Bunkins, you’ll not find him, ” said Mr. Bilbo.” I sent him off on an errand that should keep him the rest of the morning. The rest I told to keep away. Sir John wanted this kept private.”

“Secret?”

“Private, was what I said.”

Sir John Fielding beat thrice loudly on the top of the desk with the flat of his hand. What whispering there was in the room ceased.

“The Bow Street Court will come to order,” said he in a proper, solemn tone.” We meet here in special session on this day, the twenty-fifth of July, 1769, at Number Twelve St. James Street for to hear testimony on a single matter. That which is before us now is the murder of Tobias Trindle, able seaman late of the H.M.S.
Adventure
, just after midnight two days past. The acting captain of the
Adventure
, formerly Lieutenant and now Captain James Hartsell, has been detained in this matter. Will he come forward now?”

Hartsell remained seated, grasping tight to the arms of his chair.

“Captain Hartsell, come forward,” repeated Sir John.

Mr. Bailey, beside the prisoner, rose and ripped him bodily from his place as easily as he might a bird from his perch. He marched him up to Sir John at the desk and held him there.

“Captain Hartsell, you will save us considerable trouble if you now admit your guilt in this matter. So tell us now, prisoner, how do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?”

Now somewhat recovered and thus emboldened, Hartsell declared: “I do not plead neither, for I do not recognize this court. I am an officer in His Majesty’s Navy and can only be tried in a naval court-martial.”

“Captain Hartsell, you may not recognize this court, but this court recognizes you, for the crime for which you have been detained was committed within its jurisdiction and be you admiral or general, it is all the same. One who is accused of a crime committed in Ivondon will be tried by a London court. I will explain, however, that this court will not try you for the said crime of murder. It will but weigh testimony and evidence to determine if they be sufficient for you to be bound over for trial in the felony court at Old Bailey. So now I put it to you again: How do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?”

Hartsell remained most belligerently silent.

“Mr. Marsden, put it down that the prisoner refuses to plead, but we shall continue as if we had heard a not-guilty plea from him. Return, Captain Hartsell, and Midshipman Albert Boone, come forward.”

Boone did not resist. He came hopping eagerly to the desk.

“Not guilty,” cried he, impatient to be asked.” I only done what he told me to, sir, and he’s my captain, so I had to do it, sir.”

“Not quite so impetuous, Mr. Boone. Let me inform you of the charge on which you have been detained and explain it to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are supposed to have aided and abetted Captain Hartsell in the murder of Tobias Trindle, to have acted as his accomplice in it. Now, to have been so involved in a capital crime is itself a capital crime — that is, punishable by death. Now, having heard, how do you plead? Guilty or not guilty? ‘

“Not guilty, sir, not guilty, for as I said, I only done what he told me.”

“Return to your place. Now, Mr. Marsden, call the first witness.”

The clerk called Isaac Tenker —Old Isaac, as I knew him —and the weathered seaman approached Sir John somewhat less than confidently. The story that he told confirmed Tom Durham’s suspicions. He admitted a bit shame-faced to Sir John that after he had told me in general where we might look to find Tobias Trindle, and with whom, he had been visited in the Fleet Prison by Midshipman Boone, to whom he had given the same information.

“Exactly the same?”

“Not exactly, no. I told him as how ol’ Tobias said something about lookin’ for the black woman at a place downriver called the Green Man. I would we told your boy the same, except I only remembered that part after I talked to him.”

“Such a pit” said Sir John.” Mr. Trindle might be alive today, had you remembered. But tell me, Mr. Tenker, why did you tell Midshipman Boone anything at all? Had you special fondness for him?”

“Uh … no sir. It was just, y’see, he said he had come on the authority of the captain, and he was speakin’ for the captain, and a man can’t go against his captain, now can he?”

“I find no need to answer your question,” said Sir John, “and so I shall ask you to return to your place. Mr. Marsden, call the next.”

Call him he did, loud and clear: “Seth Tarkin, come forvvard.”

The name was unfamiliar to me. Yet I was not surprised to see the innkeeper of the Green Man rise and take the place before the desk vacated by Old Isaac. His part in it I knew already, for Constable Perkins had threatened it out of him in my presence. He told willingly to Sir John what he had done: that for a bribe of a guinea (twentv’-one pieces of silver, not even thirt)) he had told “that man there” (Hartsell) not only where to find Black Emma’s lodging house, but the exact location of her lodgings, as well (“top floor, last on the left”).

Sir John did not discuss with him the propriety of his act. He simply asked him if Captain Hartsell was alone when he entered the Green Alan to glean this information from him.

“No, sir, he weren’t alone. That boy there was with him.”

And with that, the innkeeper turned and pointed direct at Midshipman Boone.

“That will be all. Mr. Marsden, call the next witness, please.”

“Constable Oliver Perkins.”

Constable Perkins came up and explained that he had, with me, toured a great number of inns and gin-houses in the district, and on information given him by another innkeeper, returned to the Green Man.” I persuaded Mr. Tarkin to tell me the same that he had told the earlier visitor. He also told me that there /pac) been an earlier visitor, only a few minutes past. Young Mr. Proctor and I hurried to the location. I instructed Mr. Proctor to go to the back, whilst I would enter through the front.”

“Alay I ask, Mr. Perkins,” said Sir John, “what was Mr. Proctor to do to stop the … visitor should he have made an exit through the rear— which, as I recall, he did.”

“Nothing at all, sir. I told him merely to call out to me, should he come. I told him to stay hid. It was a very dark night, sir.”

“I see. Continue.”

“Well, sir, when I was halfway up the stairs and running, I heard what was a pistol shot, most certain. I hurried on my way, my pistol out, then saw a figure leap through the door I was headed for and out the back. He must’ve got a surprise there because there was no stairs in the back — they’s rotted away. With me behind him, he had no choice but to jump. When I appeared, he took a shot at me, and I fired back at the flash.”

“Thus accounting for the three shots heard by the inmates of that lodging house.”

“Yes sir. Well, he ran. I jumped down and ran after him, first instructing young Mr. Proctor to go to the room of that woman to see what had been done and to secure it.”

“Those in the lodging house said the boy who had come down the hall ordering them back into their rooms wielded a pistol.”

“Ah, yes sir, before I sent him into the lodging house, I gave him the pistol I had fired —empty, of course.”

“Of course. It would not do to give a loaded firearm to a lad so young. Go on, Mr. Perkins.”

“Well, Sir John, I gave chase, though there was no sound of steps to follow. There was two ways to take, and I must’ve took the wrong one, for I lost the trail.”

“I see. And where would the other way have taken you?”

“Toward the river and the Tower.”

“Well and good, Mr. Perkins: I believe I shall have Mr. Proctor take up the story at this point.”

Just as I was making to stand up, Mr. Bilbo grasped my arm and whispered in my ear, “I believe we’re off the hook, lad. My thanks to Mr. Perkins.”

I returned his wink as Mr. Marsden called out my name.

“Now, tell me, Mr. Proctor,” said Sir John to me, rather severely, “after you rampaged through that lodging house threatening its residents with an empty pistol, what did you find when at last you entered the room at the end of the hall?”

Thus I told him what I have already told you, reader, and no need to repeat it now. My testimony was brief, and Sir John did not ask me to enlarge on any part of it. I described the condition of the body of Tobias Trindle. I described the condition of the room. He ended my part of the tale at the appearance of Black Emma.

“Call her, Mr. Marsden,” said Sir John.

“Emma Black, come forward now.”

She rose but remained reluctantly where she stood.

“That ain’t my name,” said she most firmly.

He looked down at the paper in his hand and back up at her.

“It is not your name?” said he.” Well, what is?”

“Black Emma,” said she.” It’s the only one I ever had.”

He frowned at that, leaned over, and entered into a whispered discussion with Sir John. Then, with a nod to him, he returned to her.

“Would you care to choose a surname now? ” asked the clerk.

“You mean a name like Smith, or Jones, or Tatersby? ‘

“That’s right.”

“Well, I ain’t sure.” She thought upon it for a moment.” Say my name like you said it before.”

“Emma Black! ” Though he did not shout it, he let it ring out a bit.

“I like that well enough. Leave it so.”

“Then come forward, please.”

That she did, and if Hartsell had previously held some hope that the weight of testimony against him was not so great (for neither Mr. Perkins nor I had claimed to see the face of the man who had fled), then it was dashed utterly by the recital of Emma Black. From her perch on the chamber pot, she had seen a man enter the room, pistol in hand. He stepped over to the bed where Tobias Trindle slept and, putting the barrel of the pistol close to his forehead, pulled the trigger. She heard the loud report of the shot. She saw Trindle s body jump convulsively and sprawl across the bed. She saw his murderer then turn toward her hiding place and pull out another pistol. But, hearing the approach of another, he turned away and ran swiftly out the door.

“How was the man dressed?” Sir John asked her.

“It were not easy to tell, sir, ” said she.” He had on a black cloak that covered him, shoulder to boots. But when he pulled out that other pistol, I did see the flash of something could’ve been a brass button.”

“I see. Then there was light in the room?”

“One candle was burning, my side of the bed.”