It is hard to believe what mere words can arouse. But through them, I have come to realise that I find myself seemingly at odds with the world around me. I feel at times like Rousseau’s Solitary Walker, walking in a world in which I feel I do not belong, a world which in many ways repulses me, a world which embraces all I loathe and abhor – wealth, greed, and self-aggrandisement – at the cost of the ordinary person.
I ask myself once more, as I have done so on many occasions previously, what drives a person to commit a crime, to murder, to steal, to trick, to leave another human being in a worse state? Morally, I cannot understand it. There must be logic to the world, some natural sense, other than the religious observance which seems to end every such conversation with the words ‘it is God’s will’. Was it God’s will that my father should die, that he should be murdered but the perpetrators walk free, to go about their daily business for all these years, while others, including myself, suffer? For twenty years I have mourned my father and not a day passes when I do not recall a statement he made or a conversation between us or the expression on his face when he regaled to me the memories of the fairs he visited when he was younger. He was the perfect man that I so long to become, yet find I fall short in so many aspects.
At periods such as this, I cannot help but think Hobbes is right – that man’s nature is intrinsically evil and it is only the rules society creates that prevents him from killing his fellow man. Left to their own devices, men would inevitably turn to slaughtering each other, resulting in everyone’s life becoming ‘solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.’ For did not even Rousseau, who so passionately believed in man’s ‘primitive state of innocence’, eventually come to see his fellow man as agents of his own discontentment and that all were out to pursue him to his grave by treacherous means and so leaving him to become, in his own words, a solitary walker through this world.
I do not believe I am as paranoid as Rousseau thought himself to be, yet I can identify with him in the way he saw the world. We are born into this world, to fend for ourselves, at the mercies of forces unseen and at any moment can be swept away into an abyss of grief or despair, swept by the tidal wave of fate, or incredulity. What would have happened that evening if those men had gone to the next house and not the Gardiners, or some divine intervention had called them to tend to other business? Every scenario that might have occurred on that evening has taken place within my mind during these past twenty years.
As for what I have sacrificed because of it, I cannot even begin to describe. I have written about this subject in yesterday’s entry but it requires repeating. I have Mary and of that I am thankful. I have many acquaintances in London, but not friends. As for female companionship of a more romantic nature, of course not, why would I wish to be with any other female after her. It is not to be. I have long since chosen my own fate and whether the forces that govern us will allow this destiny to be carried out I can only wait to see, but mark my words, as I write them in this very journal, I will do everything in my power to make sure that it does work out the way I want it.
Rousseau comes to mind again. In one of the discourses he wrote towards the end of his career, he meditated on his life and the state of mind which had arisen from the varied circumstances of it. Where he had experienced periods of prosperity, he recounted he had no lasting impression or ‘agreeable memories’, yet by contrast, the times of his life when he experienced hardship, there was an overriding wealth of emotions which seemed to burst forth, which resulted in his existence seemingly more complete and his life more fully lived at these times. Is that why I am perhaps afraid to find Malone, because I believe that there will be nothing left to provoke me, or to stir my soul? Do I somehow find solace in the great wrong which has been done to me? Whatever I may think, I perhaps cannot deny that I only really feel alive when I think of the revenge I wish to take and this sets anger in my heart which warms me.
Now that the funeral is over, I can turn my full attention back to Malone and the criminal aspect of Bath and, if my instincts are correct, I will be crossing paths with them in the very near future.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was spitting with rain when Swann left the house in Great Pulteney Street the following morning. The makeshift covering over the smashed window had held and it would soon be replaced by a pane of glass that workmen were bringing later that day.
What was on Swann’s mind now, however, was who the perpetrator of this broken window had been. Who had sent the warning and disrupted the house the previous evening? He made his way into the centre of town and towards the magistrates’ court, where Mary believed Fitzpatrick might be. On arriving at the building, however, he was informed that the magistrate had no session during the morning and would therefore, no doubt, be working from his office in Queen Square. Swann made his way up the High Street and into Milsom Street, reputed to be the most prestigious shopping street in the whole of the South West.
The cross-sweepers were already out in force, clearing pathways through the mounds of droppings from the multitude of livestock driven through the city earlier that morning, on their way to slaughterhouses located near the river. The smell of the manure hung palpably in the air as Swann made his way through the crowd of early morning shoppers, who consisted almost exclusively of young ladies. He turned left into Quiet Street and then Wood Street and into Queen Square, emerging into it by the south-east corner.
Queen Square had been the architect John Wood’s first great achievement in Bath and was to have been his inaugural pronouncement of the grand design he envisaged for the city. He had sited it to the north-west of the city’s old medieval boundaries, midway between what would later become the upper and lower towns, on land leased to him by its owner, Robert Gay. Excavation work had begun in December 1728 and the first stone was laid the following month at the corner of Wood Street, where Swann now stood. It took seven years to complete the Square and much of his original plan had been changed. Wood had initially envisaged three sides of the Square – the north, east and west – to collectively form a palace forecourt, this splendid view to be appreciated each morning by the architect himself, from the windows of his house within the south range of buildings. While the east side remained basically as he had primarily imagined, the buildings on the west became that of a large mansion.
The magnificently designed north expanse of houses, seven in all, had also remained for the most part intact. Dominating the Square, as it was intended to do, the differing sized buildings nevertheless formed a symmetrical composition which resembled a Palladian palace façade.
In the middle of the Square was a garden and at its centre was an obelisk. The Square stood on sloping land that was going to be levelled but to save money, which at the time had been estimated to be about four thousand pounds, Wood had instead built the houses to the natural contours of the land. The prestige of an address in the Square had been lowered in the preceding years, but even from the brief encounters Swann had already shared with Fitzpatrick, he would not have imagined the magistrate considering even for a moment moving his offices elsewhere. Swann now entered the Square proper, made his way up the east side and then went inside the address he had been given at the Guildhall.
Meanwhile, inside the four-storey building, Fitzpatrick was in discussion with Evans, the local shopkeepers’ representative and the man who had attempted to have Tyler prosecuted earlier that week.
‘I understand exactly what you are saying, Mr Evans,’ said Fitzpatrick, as he sat behind his office desk, ‘but I do not know how I can help at the present.’
‘That is where you are wrong, Mr Fitzpatrick,’ said Evans. ‘To start with, you could agree to address our shopkeepers’ meeting tonight. As their representative, if you were to attend at my request, it would show credibility on my side and for your own standing would show that the local magistracies are concerned about the problem of rising crime and its affect on trade in the city.’
‘I am only too aware of the p
roblems that exist in relation to crime and trade,’ replied Fitzpatrick, sounding as sympathetic as he could.
‘We are already into the season, Mr Fitzpatrick, and the city should be thriving. Yet visitor numbers are down and those that have come here are under constant threat of violence or being robbed by thieves. And we shopkeepers have not fared much better either; Richardson, the watchmaker, had his entire stock of timepieces stolen from outside his shop only two days ago.’
Fitzpatrick could not restrain himself as he heard this age-old problem again.
‘But to be fair, some of this is brought on by yourselves,’ he replied. ‘You do, for example, leave your wares exposed on the street.’
‘But we have to display them there, to encourage trade,’ Evans retorted. ‘Yet boys so young as not long off their mother’s suckling make our life a misery.’
At this moment Swann appeared at Fitzpatrick’s office door. An expression of relief could be seen in the magistrate’s face.
‘Ah, Swann. Come in, please.’
‘I hope I am not interrupting,’ said Swann.
‘Not at all,’ replied Fitzpatrick.
Swann entered the office and Fitzpatrick made the introductions. The two men greeted each other cordially.
‘Mr Evans is the shopkeepers’ representative, Swann.’
‘I assume you are kept very busy in your role, Mr Evans.’
‘That is correct,’ said Evans, appreciative of the insight the other man had shown. ‘And if I may enquire, what is your occupation, Mr Swann?’
‘Mr Swann is a consulting detective with the Bow Street Runners,’ Fitzpatrick interjected.
‘That is exactly the type of organisation that we require in Bath,’ said Evans’ excitedly. ‘There are far too many criminals in this city, on both sides of the law. Present company excluded, of course, Mr Fitzpatrick. Why only two days ago, a local magistrate blatantly allowed a known criminal to walk from his court.’
‘Well, Mr Evans, you will be pleased to know that at least one criminal is not at liberty this morning,’ said Swann, who briefly relayed the details surrounding Tyler’s capture and arrest the previous night.
‘Tyler. Why, that is the very same felon we speak of,’ exclaimed Evans. ‘This is indeed heartening news, Mr Swann, is it not so, Mr Fitzpatrick?’
Swann noticed Fitzpatrick looked uncomfortable during the conversation, but for the present decided not to bring attention to it. Fitzpatrick, however, now nodded in response to Evans’ question.
‘On that good news then, I will leave you gentlemen to discuss your business. But I will see you at the meeting tonight, Mr Fitzpatrick?’
‘I will do my very best to attend, Mr Evans, you have my word.’
Evans bowed respectfully and left. Fitzpatrick turned to Swann.
‘I do not know what I can do,’ he said, somewhat dejectedly. ‘The situation in the city becomes worse every year, but I have no answer. Even if I were to attend the meeting this evening, I do not believe it would make any difference, whatever men like Evans may believe. But enough of my problems, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company at my office this morning, Swann?’
Swann handed the other man the note.
‘How did you come by this?’ asked Fitzpatrick.
‘It was delivered last evening, by a passing carriage, attached to a rock hurled through our window. An unusual method of delivery, you will agree.’
‘Was Mary present at the time?’ asked Fitzpatrick, concerned.
‘Yes,’ replied Swann. ‘She was a little shaken, but no one was hurt.’
‘Do you have any idea who might have done this?’ asked Fitzpatrick.
‘I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on the matter. Although my instinct tells me it is connected with the man arrested last night, Tyler.’
‘If that is the case,’ replied Fitzpatrick, ‘then it may have been a man called Wicks, a most unpleasant sort.’
‘Wicks?’ said Swann.
‘He is responsible for much of the city’s crime, or at least is in charge of those that commit it. Tyler works for him.’
‘Well at least that member of his gang is off the streets for the time being,’ said Swann.
Fitzpatrick again remained silent.
‘Is there something wrong, Fitzpatrick? You seem struck mute at each mention of Tyler’s name. He still resides behind bars, does he not?’
‘I am afraid that is no longer true. Tyler was freed this morning.’
‘And on whose authority was this carried out?’
‘My magisterial colleague, Kirby; he recorded a verdict of mistaken identity in regard to the charge of pickpocketing. And Wicks provided an alibi.’
‘But it was you that he robbed, Fitzpatrick. Did you not tell Kirby, this?’
‘If I am to be honest, Swann, I could not be sure I saw the face of the man who robbed me. It happened so quickly. And I could not tell an untruth under oath.’
‘But why was I not called as a witness, or Mary?’
‘I don’t know. But I was only summoned at the last moment. I thought you had already given evidence.’
‘Does this happen a lot?’ asked Swann.
‘More often than I would desire, let us say.’
‘Is Kirby in Wicks’ pay?’
‘Again, that I do not know, but what will you do about this note?’
‘I think I would like to pay this Wicks a visit. Where does he reside?’
‘It is said he has interests in a public house called the Duke of York, down in the Avon Street district,’ replied Fitzpatrick, ‘and I believe he has at least one warehouse across the river. But I would not advise you going there, at least not alone. I can organise some men to go with you, if you desire it.’
‘Thank you, but I will go alone. I usually find it is more effective.’
‘As you wish,’ replied Fitzpatrick.
‘If you could provide me with directions as to how to find the public house though, I would be most grateful.’
‘I am about to leave for my morning constitutional and I pass nearby the area on the way, if you would care to join me,’ offered Fitzpatrick.
‘That would be most agreeable,’ replied Swann.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The route that Fitzpatrick normally undertook for his morning constitutional was a circular one, taking in several of the architectural landmarks of the upper town. As Fitzpatrick had mentioned to Swann, however, it later passed through the outskirts of the lower town, where the Avon Street district and Wicks’ headquarters were located. The two men left Fitzpatrick’s office and headed out of Queen Square at its north-east corner into Gay Street, so named for the man on whose land it was built. The rain had eased and the sun was shining, causing the wet pavements to glisten in the morning light.
‘The writer Tobias Smollett stayed along here several times,’ said Fitzpatrick, having assumed the role of tour guide.
‘Although possibly not with the highest regard towards it, I would suggest,’ answered Swann. ‘You have read his Humphrey Clinker I trust?’
‘It is scornful of the city, I agree, but I have to confess, much of it is wickedly accurate!’ smiled Fitzpatrick. ‘I often feel “the noise, tumult and hurry” of this municipality, to quote Smollett, but what I do take umbrage with him over is his comments about our wonderful buildings. I, for one, certainly do not consider they were merely “contrived without judgement or executed without solidity”.’
‘Perhaps if he had been more successful in the establishment of his medical practice in the city, he might have been less scornful in his writing,’ concluded Swann, as they reached the end of Gay Street and entered what was known as the King’s Circus. Fitzpatrick stopped to allow Swann to take in the full majesty of the spherical structure in front of them.
‘It was designed by the elder John Wood as a residential equivalent to the Coliseum in Rome,’ announced Fitzpatrick authoritatively, ‘but unfortunately he died not long after l
aying the foundation stone and so his son completed it.’
‘Vespasian’s amphitheatre turned outside in,’ added a smiling Swann, as he too quoted Smollett.
The two men stood for a moment, taking in the splendour of the vista, with its successive tiers of Roman Doric, Ionic and Corinthian half-columns adorning the facades of the thirty-three houses which comprised the King’s Circus. A roadway of cobbles radiated from the centre. The houses were grouped into three separate sections, each divided by an approach, but which was built in such a way that the observer of the whole had the effect of a continuous building.
‘Outstanding,’ said an impressed Swann. ‘I am only sorry not to have visited Bath to have had this pleasure before.’
‘It is strange,’ said Fitzpatrick. ‘I see this view on most days and yet it is only when you are in the presence of someone witnessing it for the first time that you actually realise what good fortune one possesses through living in such an architecturally pleasing city.’
‘What a mind to design such beauty,’ replied Swann.
‘It is more than just beauty,’ said Fitzpatrick, with an excited look in his eyes. ‘You might find this incredible,’ he said, ‘but we are standing in the final part of a giant key.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Swann.
‘Well,’ replied Fitzpatrick, ‘and do not ask me why Wood decided to design it in this way, but seen from the air, Queen Square, Gay Street and the King’s Circus form the shape of a giant key.’
‘You know this to be true?’ replied Swann.
‘Yes. Although I did not believe it when first told about it, I have since seen it with my very own eyes.’
‘How did you come by this experience?’
‘I was afforded the opportunity of a flight in a balloon last year, not long after Garnerin had made his ascent here. We took off from the actual place as the Frenchman, Sydney Gardens, and once we had risen so far I was able to look down upon the city. It was then that I saw the shape of the key laid out. As I said, I do not know the significance of it, although it certainly was a sight to behold.’
The Regency Detective Page 8
