So Perkins’s snitch was a woman. Somehow, I hadn’t quite expected that. I offered my hand. She took a step closer and grasped it strongly. Thus did I see her close for the first time. I smiled and said merely that I was happy to make her acquaintance.
“Glad to meet you, too,” said she. “Oliver speaks well of you.”
Oliver? Who was Oliver? I wondered. Then did I remember that such was Mr. Perkins’s Christian name. What she said and how she said it did not quite fit the physical presence of the woman. She was a person of stature, as tall as either one of us. Yet it was her face that was most arresting: not that she was a great beauty — for she was not — but because of the look of hard-won wisdom that was writ upon it. Her green eyes, while not cold, seemed to have deep within them the kind of wariness seen in animals just come in from the wild. Though undoubtedly a whore, she seemed to be meant for grander things.
“Is he in there now?” IVlr. Perkins asked her.
“He is, ‘ said she. “His nickname is ‘Duke’ or ‘the Duke.’ He’s with one came in about a week ago, then dropped out of sight — at least dropped out of my sight,”
“And of course no sign of Skinner and Ferguson.”
“No, and not likely to be by the talk on the street.”
The constable sighed, gave me a wave, and said, “Well, let’s go inside, Jeremy. Just follow me and be easy. Don’t let him know you came to give him a look.”
I nodded my understanding, turned back to bid farewell to Bess, and found she had already retired noiselessly into the shad-ows. Already I had slipped a bit behind Constable Perkins. I hurried to catch him up at the door.
Inside the King’s Pleasure, it was dark, crowded, and murky with tobacco smoke. Though the poor lighting made it difficult to see into the far corners of the place, the smoke was even worse for my purposes: I was no more than a few steps inside when I fell into a violent coughing fit. Thus did I find it impossible to search out Mr. Perkins’s “gent,” because of the tears that flooded my eyes, and at the same time was I brought to the attention of the entire tavern. There was harsh laughter; fingers were pointed; a few nearby blew smoke up into my face just for the sport of it.
Yet somehow I managed to survive the fit. Clearing my throat, wiping my eyes dry of tears, I looked round the room and blinked as I caught sight of a man at the far end of the room running for the side door to the alley, the same alley where we had talked to Bess.
He was dressed in black, as were half the men round me, and in a way there was naught to call my attention to him, except that there was something familiar in his movements. Even from behind I seemed to recognize a certain awkwardness in his hurried stride. But then, just as he grabbed at the doorknob to make his exit, he turned his head slightly, for an instant enough to give me a view of his profile, or most of it — and again he looked even more familiar. Who was he?
“Come along, Jeremy. Let’s sit at a table,” Mr. Perkins whispered. “An ale will clear your throat.”
Reluctantly, I assented, my mind still laboring to put a name to that profile. The constable took me to a table just emptied nearby. As if by magic, two tankards of ale appeared upon the table before us. Mr. Perkins put a few pence into the serving girl’s outstretched hand, then leaned across the table and said again in a whisper:
“Now Jeremy, the one sitting alone at the table behind me, he’s the one I want you to take a look at. See if you know him.”
I sighed, and did as he told me. I let my eyes sweep around the room a bit until they came to rest upon the man called to my attention by Mr. Perkins. They did not linger upon him long but continued their traverse of the room. He was certainly not Lord Hillsborough, nor was he even my idea of a gentleman. True enough.
he was expensively outfitted, and he was clean-shaven and may well have had the cleanest hands in Christendom (though I should have to have been much closer than I was to tell that). Still, he had the features, and wore the expression, of a villain. I would ever keep a watchful eye round such a fellow and never turn my back upon him.
“No,” said I to Mr. Perkins. “I’ve never seen him before.”
“Well, drink up and we’ll go.”
It was a challenge to which I was unequal. Had I the practice Mr. Perkins had I might well have taken the ale down in a single long gulp, as he managed to do. As it was, it took me near two minutes with frequent belching to empty my tankard. He smiled indulgently and rose from his chair.
“Let’s be gone,” said he.
Outside, we were met by Bess, who was standing out on the walk at the mouth of the alley.
“How did you fare?” she asked. She seemed eager to know.
“Not well,” said the constable. “Jeremy said he’d never seen him before.”
“But tell me,” said I to her, “did you notice someone coming out the alley door?”
“Notice him? I was near knocked over by him. He came out running like the devil was after him.”
“Where did he go? Did you see?”
“Indeed I did see. He ran right over there and jumped into the hackney which was waiting for him right there at the front door.”
“That was his coach?”
“That’s the one brought him here.” She hesitated, then added: “He’s the one was sitting with the gent when I took my stroll through the King’s Pleasure.”
Things now were becoming a bit clearer. “And the ‘gent,’ as Mr. Perkins names him, has been seen with Skinner and Ferguson?”
“Yes,” said she, “often.”
I pulled out a shilling piece and offered it to her. “Here, take this,” said I. “You’ve helped us out a great deal.”
“Oh, I can’t do that. Oliver here, he pays me regular.”
“Take it, Bess,” said Mr. Perkins. “Jeremy wouldn’t offer it if he didn’t feel what you told him was worth it.”
lOO
And I did feel it was so, for what she had said suggested to me that the man I had seen leaving the King’s Pleasure in such a great hurry was none but Arthur Lee. Still, I could not be sure. I had seen him only in profile and then only for the briefest moment. How could I be sure?
FIVE
In which I wrestle
with my doubts
and am overcome
“Arthur Lee? Are you serious, Jeremy?”
“Indeed I am. I would not be here to discuss this with you if I were not.”
I had come to Mr. Donnelly to present my case against Arthur Lee, complete with all my doubts and ambiguities. He was in his dressing gown when he greeted me at the door. He said that he was just preparing to shave when I knocked upon his door and asked if I might speak with him at some length on a certain matter. He was most willing to hear me but asked if we might talk as he shaved.
I told him of our suspicion that the Hillsborough burglary had been done for hire, and that, of course, had been the reason for bringing Benjamin Franklin to dinner the night before. Then did I tell Mr. Donnelly of where I had gone with Mr. Perkins and why, which led in turn to the figure I saw running for the alley door at the King’s Pleasure, the glimpse I had of him in profile, and his hasty departure in the waiting coach. It was then that I told him that though I could not be sure, I believed that the man who, upon my entrance, was so eager to leave was Arthur Lee. And that was when and why Mr. Donnelly yelped in such surprise and brushed aside my declaration of utter seriousness in the matter.
“But my dear fellow,” said he, “much as I respect your sharp eyes, I must say that I simply cannot believe that a man such as Lee would involve himself in the theft of letters of state. He may have behaved in an ungentlemanly fashion in the matter of our return from Portsmouth, but he explained the matter and made restitution. I have forgiven him, and you should, too.”
“There is nothing for me to forgive,” said I. “He did me no direct harm.”
“True! And that’s all the more reason for you to harbor no such resentment against him. Look at it this way, Jeremy; there are
those who are able to move with ease in that dark world of spies and conspiracies, and there are those of us who cannot. Arthur Lee almost certainly belongs to that far more numerous, latter group.”
“You said ‘almost,’” I pointed out to him.
“Well, I know I did. After all, I am not God. I have not the ability to see all and know all. I cannot say with absolute certainty what sort of man he is, on such brief acquaintance. I’ve known him but a year or so.”
“Would Arthur Lee do it if he were directed to by Benjamin Franklin?”
At that, Mr. Donnelly wiped his face dry and peered at me for what seemed to me a considerable length of time. “Why are you so determined to condemn Lee?” he asked at last.
“I’m not!” I protested. “I have made it most clear that I saw that man at the door of the King’s Pleasure for but an instant — and then only in profile. It is because of my uncertainty in this that I came to see you and discuss this with you. But your defense of him is as weak as my accusation. You seem to be saying that Arthur Lee couldn’t have been involved in any such matter as this because he’s not that sort of fellow.”
Mr. Donnelly, who had listened to me carefully through it all, allowed a smile to spread slowly across his face. “You know, you’re getting more like a lawyer every day,” said he. “I’m not entirely sure that’s a good thing, but I kno-w it’s true.”
Hearing that, I relaxed a bit. “Someone else said something of the sort to me just the other day.”
“About that question you raised as to whether Lee would allow himself to be involved if Dr. Franklin had put him up to it, I have to admit that mentioning Franklin does put a different complexion on the matter. Lee is, near as I can tell, completely devoted to Franklin. And I must admit that he would probably do whatever he was told to do by him.”
“So the question becomes, would Franklin take part in it through Lee?” I posed it thusly to Gabriel Donnelly. “And in so doing, he would keep his hands clean, would he not?”
Mr. Donnelly thought about that for a moment. “He would, you’re right,” said he, “if Benjamin Franklin were the chief plotter, but I don’t believe he is — no, not for an instant.”
“Why not?”
“Why indeed? You heard him last evening. It was such a treat listening to him and Sir John going each at the other. Two of the best minds in London. It was a joy to hear them. They were perfectly matched.”
“If by that, ” said I, “you mean they had dueled to a draw, I must disagree. Dr. Franklin showed himself on a number of occasions to be rather foolish.”
“Well, you have me there. Not least among those occasions was his prolonged conversation with Molly. You may as well know, Jeremy, he has quite a reputation as a libertine.”
“I’m not surprised to hear it.”
“Molly was made quite uncomfortable by his attentions — so she said to me after he had left.” Then, remembering, he added: “I must thank you for putting me next to her and vety cleverly done it was, too. It did me little good till after the dinner had ended, however. I helped clear the table and lingered in the kitchen and had a bit of a chat with her.”
“And what did you discover?”
“Only enough to tell me I should know more. I did not learn, for instance, how a woman so thoroughly Irish came to be in Kent. Do you know Jeremy?”
“Well, I believe she grew up there and that she considers herself Catholic, more or less. But in truth, I do not know the details of her story, nor even her name before she married.”
“I’d like to see her again, ” said he. “How might we arrange that? “
“That might be difficult.”
“Why? Does Sir John keep her cloistered?”
“Not exactly that,” said I, “but I believe he does feel responsible for her safety.”
“Physical or moral?”
“Both.”
“I could meet her more or less by chance — with your aid, that is. For instance, when does she usually go buying in Covent Garden? What route does she take? Which stalls does she visit?”
“I usually do the buying for the house. She prepares the list.”
“Oh,” said he, sounding disappointed.
“Yet she does upon occasion do the buying by herself, or with me. I could let you know when I know in advance — if I know in advance.”
“Well, that might be all right for a time or two, but I can’t keep on popping up every time she leaves Number 4 Bow Street, now can I?”
“It might seem a bit suspicious,” I allowed. Then did there dawn upon me a solution to the problem. “Look,” said I, “why don’t you simply go to Sir John with it?”
“Oh, I don’t like the sound of that. It seems a bit like going to her father and asking his permission to court his daughter.”
“No, no, nothing of the sort. It would be more in the nature of getting to know her well enough to tell whether it might be worth your while to court her.”
“Hmmm … well, perhaps. You mean, just talk it through with him in manly fashion.”
“Yes, that’s just what I mean.”
“It might be worth a trial. I would want nothing of this sort to come between me and Sir John.”
“It won’t, so long as you approach him properly.”
“I suppose not, ” said he, continuing to think upon the matter. By then, of a sudden, he did rouse himself. “What sort of host am I? May I brew you a pot of tea?”
“No, ” said I, “nothing of the sort. I must be back to Bow Street. Sir John will have errands and tasks for me, I’m sure.” I weighed the possibility of one last effort with him; it seemed worth a try. “You still think there is little chance that it was Arthur Lee that I spied leaving that den of criminals on Bedford Street in such a hurry?”
“That is still my opinion. And have I convinced you of my position?”
“That Lee would not involve himself in a crime such as that burglary because Lee is not that sort of fellow?”
I started out of the room.
“Ah, Jeremy, you are incorrigible. Allow me to accompany you to the door and let you out before I do truly become annoyed at you.”
Though I should have in no wise wished him to know it, Mr. Donnelly had managed to shake further my already weak conviction that it was Arthur Lee whom I had seen the night before. Before visiting him that morning I had been undecided as to whether I should bring my suspicions to Sir John. But having left his surgery, I found myself turning the matter round in my mind as one might a mathematical problem. Looked at thusly, whereas I had been half in favor of turning the matter over to Sir John, I was now half against it. Mr. Donnelly had argued better than he knew. Essentially he said what none but Black Jack Bilbo had said before him: that if you know a man well, you know what he is capable of, and what he is not. Yet the proper response to that had already occurred to me: The operative word in the phrase “know a man well,” is well. Perhaps knowing Arthur Lee over a year meant that Mr. Donnelly had not known him well enough; Mr. Donnelly was, after all, quite astonished when he learned in Portsmouth that he would have to pay his way (and mine) back to London; he hadn’t known Lee well enough to be prepared for that, had he? So was it that I turned the matter over and over again in my mind, and still did it come out to half and half, in spite of all.
I was right in assuming that Sir John would have work for me upon my return to Bow Street. There were letters to be dictated and then delivered — “but not just yet,” as he put it to me. “Come back in the half of an hour, and Mr. Marsden and I should have this mess cleared up by then.”
“May I ask just what sort of mess it is. Sir John?” said L
“Scheduling — it’s always scheduling.”
And so did I return down the long hall from Sir John’s chambers and then climbed the steep flight of stairs to the door leading to our kitchen. Expecting to find Molly in her domain, I was a bit surprised to find Clarissa instead, sitting at the table, as always with a book before her.
“I was off on a visit to Mr. Donnelly.”
“Are you ailing?”
“No, nothing of the kind. I simply had a personal matter to discuss with him.”
“Notx:lap, I hope.”
“Clarijda!” I exclaimed, quite aghast. “I said, it was a personal matter.”
“Don’t you consider clap personal? It’s about as personal as can be, it seems to me.”
“Well, it was nothing of the sort.”
“Just asking,” said she, somewhat mollified. “You will tell me if you haVe any of that … sort of trouble, won’t you? I believe I deserve to know.”
At such times she puzzled me — nay, she more than puzzled me; she sent me into a despair of confusion. Why did she believe she deserved to know? So that she — no, I refused even to speculate upon such bizarre matters.
“Now that we have that settled, ” said I rather frostily, “I believe I shall go and change my attire.” But I paused at the stairs and turned to ask her how she happened to be here so late in the morn.
“Oh, it’s Lady F,” said she, lowering her voice to a whisper. “She went back to bed for another hour’s sleep after breakfast. The party exhausted her. Exhausted Molly, too.”
“But not you.”
“How could I be exhausted with Samuel Johnson at my elbow? We had such a good talk. He was much more receptive to me than the first time we met, and I was better behaved. The conversation we had energized me greatly. I believe I shall begin my first romance this very evening — or at the very least I shall write a poem, a sonnet perhaps.”
At that I excused myself and started up the stairs. What a strange girl she was. She would indulge herself in these grand flights of fancy — writing a romance, composing a sonnet — yet she might look at me straight on and ask if I had caught the clap. How that thought had come to her I had no idea. Had Molly Sarton made the suggestion? That seemed unlikely. Lady Fielding? That seemed even less likely. Yet as I pondered upon the matter, it seemed not in the least remarkable that she had such knowledge of the sordid side of the life round us. After all, had she not escaped from the Lichfield workhouse, only to take up residence in a “rookery,” in which whores walked the halls in a state of near-undress? And did she not work daily with Lady Fielding at the Magdalene Home for Penitent Prostitutes? There she would hear tales of the clap, I’d no doubt, and of the pox, too.
An Experiment in Treason Page 12
