Smuggler's Moon

by Bruce Alexander

  As for myself, I, an orphan, did come before Sir John falsely accused of theft. That most just of magistrates saw through the perjured testimony that had brought me to him. He made me, after his fashion, a ward of the court and eventually took me into his household. Thereafter, I helped with the housework and soon found myself able to give him aid in his work as magistrate. And how, you may ask, could a mere lad of thirteen (which was then my age) be of help to one noted as a lawyer and as an enforcer of the laws? Why, by performing all those duties for him which he might have been capable of had he the faculty of sight. For yes, strange though it may seem, and amazing though it would have been to see, he had so distinguished himself as a magistrate that he had been knighted—even though he had been blinded many years before.

  All the while, as we wended our way through the tight streets, Clarissa kept her mind upon the awful tests that lay ahead. That is to say, I was reasonably certain that it was thereupon she had concentrated her thoughts, for as I glanced over at her once or twice, she seemed to be repeating Lady Fielding’s instructions to her word for word, over and over again, almost as a litany, a prayer. But then, of a sudden, she did turn to me, stopped in the busy walkway, and confronted me.

  “Jeremy,” said she, ”you will do the buying for me, will you not?”

  “Why, certainly,” said I, ”if that is what you require. I did the buying for Lady Fielding, for Annie, and for Mrs. Gredge before them all. But perhaps you ought to accompany me—if not this day, then another—that you might see how the buying is done. I would introduce you to Mr. Tolliver, the butcher, and to some others. They can be very helpful.”

  “Well …,” said she, in a manner a bit less certain than her usual, ”as you say, if not this day then another. I believe another would be better.”

  Thus we came to Bow Street and sought entrance not into the courtroom, for Sir John’s voice could already be heard through the stout oaken door, loud and commanding.

  “Come along upstairs,” said she to me. ”I’ll prepare a list for you.”

  Returning from Covent Garden well over an hour later, I was fair loaded with all manner of comestible cargo — packages of carrots and turnips, a sack of potatoes, a loaf of bread, and last (though not in the order of importance), some good pieces of stew meat bought from Mr. Tolliver, our butcher. That last came with detailed instructions for preparation, which I was to pass on to Clarissa. And that I would have done had I not been hailed by Mr. Marsden, the clerk of the Bow Street Court, the moment I struggled through the door.

  “Here, you, Jeremy! The magistrate wishes to see you most immediate.”

  It had been my experience that when Mr. Marsden referred to Sir John by his position, it bode ill for me—and so it proved that day, as well. The moment I looked into the modest room at the end of the hall, which he referred to somewhat grandiosely as his ”chambers,” I was greeted by a blast that near singed the hair upon my head.

  “Who is there? Is that you, Jeremy?”

  “Yes, Sir John, I—”

  “Where have you been, boy?”

  It had also been my experience that when I was addressed as ”lad,” then all was well, but should I be called ”boy,” I was then to expect the worst.

  ”Why, only to the Garden, Sir John. I—”

  “It is not a fit place to spend your time,” said he, interrupting again. ”There are too many of the young criminal element thereabouts. Your friend Bunkins, now that he is reformed, no longer lays about on the steps of St. Paul’s, Covent Garden, as he once did. Why, praytell, should you go there, then?”

  “To do the buying for supper—at Clarissa’s request.”

  “What? Oh, I … I …” Taken off guard, he stammered for a moment as he sought to adjust himself. ”But did I not tell you that we were to meet with the Lord Chief Justice this very afternoon?”

  “Yes sir, you said that it was bound to mean trouble. But you did not say at what hour on the clock we were to depart.”

  “Well, never mind that. Did I not say the meeting was to take place in the afternoon?”

  “Yes sir, but—”

  “But me no but’s. Is it not now the afternoon?”

  I sighed. ”Yes, Sir John.”

  “Then let us be off.” He jumped up from the chair where he sat and, feeling about the top of the desk for his hat, he found it and planted it firmly upon his head.

  “I must bring what I have bought to Clarissa,” said I, shifting the packages noisily in my arms.

  “Well, yes, I suppose you must. I shall meet you at the door to the street.”

  “Done,” said I and hastened back down the hall and up the stairs. Yet I found when I reached the top that I could not quite manage the door latch, so full were my hands. I kicked at the door, but it did not budge until, after a brief pause, Clarissa threw it open.

  “Ah, Jeremy, just in time. I’ll need you to peel the potatoes.”

  “Sorry,” said I, pushing past her, ”but I must accompany Sir John to his meeting with Lord Mansfield.”

  I deposited the load in my arms upon the kitchen table, then made for the door.

  “Must I do it all myself?” Clarissa wailed.

  “Why not? Annie managed it so.”

  “Well I know that I’ m not Annie. You needn’t remind me of my limitations.”

  That I caught just as I started down the stairs.

  “Don’t worry,” I called back to her. ”You’ve hours before dinnertime.”

  By the time I reached the foot of the stairs and spied Sir John waiting by the door, it had occurred to me that I had not passed on to Clarissa the instructions given me by Mr. Tolliver on cooking the stew meat. There simply had not been time for that. Ah well, I assured myself. Lady Fielding had no doubt covered all that earlier. Besides, women knew all about such matters as cooking, didn’t they? It was second nature to them, was it not?

  “You had best fetch us a hackney,” said he to me. ”I have the feeling that we are awaited.”

  Sir John Fielding had often said to others within my hearing, ”If a man lacks one of his senses, then he must compensate by strengthening the other four.” Since he had lost his sight more than three decades before whilst in the Royal Navy, he had so strengthened his smell, touch, taste, and hearing that through them he could perform prodigies of ”seeing” with his blind eyes that astounded all but those who worked by his side each day. And if this were not sufficient, he seemed, during this same period of time, to have developed still another sense nearly as reliable, and even more impressive, than the other four. He would identify a visitor by his knock upon the door, a criminal by the tone of his voice, and who, among a silent dozen, had been discussing him only moments before he entered the room. Therefore, reader, I was inclined to take him quite seriously when he said that he had the feeling that we were awaited. And furthermore, I took it that his tetchiness regarding our departure had to do with his feeling that the meeting ahead was of greater importance than he had previously supposed. And so it proved to be.

  As we bumped toward the residence of the Lord Chief Justice in Bloomsbury Square, it occurred to me that this might be the moment to raise this embarrassing matter of the implied promise of consideration made to Mr. Henry Curtin. Yet soon as it had entered my mind, I dismissed it: no, this was emphatically not the right moment. I recognized that, after all, I should have to confess to him what had been done and said, embarrassing though it be, but with him now in this odd state of upset, the matter could and should wait.

  The hackney driver reined in the horses before the residence of William Murray, Earl of Mansfield, the Lord Chief Justice. It was an imposing structure by any standard, the largest of any of the grand houses in the square. As I paid the driver, Sir John sought to find his bearings that he might reach the front door without assistance. Alas, he could not. He wandered, looking somewhat befuddled, awaiting my assistance.

  By the time I caught him up, the door to the residence had opened, and there stood two
men, obviously saying their goodbyes. One of them I recognized immediately as Lord Mansfield; the second I had never seen before. Both seemed to catch sight of Sir John at the same time; it was Lord Mansfield, however, who waved to him.

  “Sir John!” he called out. ”How fortunate you’ve come!”

  They were together in a moment’s time; Lord Mansfield introduced him to George Eccles, who had just been taking his leave. Mr. Eccles, it seemed, was Chief Customs Officer for eastern Kent. He explained that he would be unable to stay longer, much as he would like to, for he had, at the last moment, been given an appointment with the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

  ”And it’s either take it when it is offered or wait a week or a month for another bit of time to come open.”

  “Never having had dealings direct with the Chancellor of the Exchequer,” said Sir John, ”I must take your word for it, but from what I have heard, Mr. Eccles, I can well imagine your difficulty.”

  “Though I should like to stay on and explain the situation to you, I cannot. Yet in any practical way, it is of no matter, for Lord Mansfield here has all the details—at least all those which do pertain to the judiciary’s part of the problem.”

  “Oh?” said Sir John. ”And what is the problem?”

  “I shall explain it all,” said the Lord Chief Justice.

  “Very well, Lord Mansfield, I shall look forward to a more complete explanation from you.”

  Taking that as the proper moment to depart, Mr. Eccles inclined his head sharply in a precise little bow, seemed to wait for Sir John’s answering bob of the head, and then scampered off to claim the hackney in which we had arrived from Bow Street. Somewhere between the door of Lord Mansfield’s residence and the door to the coach, he called out a goodbye. I did not like the fellow.

  “Was I tardy?” Sir John asked Lord Mansfield.

  “By no means,” said the Chief Justice. ”I was given to understand that he wished to come and discuss a matter at length. As it happened, I had the day without cases, and so I was willing to devote the entire afternoon to it. That was how I framed my invitation to you, was it not?”

  “Yes, but for some reason, about half an hour past I suddenly felt a great sense of urgency in getting over here.”

  “Hmmm,” said Lord Mansfield, looking at him a bit queerly, ”that would probably have been about the time that he arrived. He came in, blurted out an accusation, and explained that he must get on to an appointment with the Chancellor of the Exchequer. He certainly lets one know where he stands in relative importance to members of the government, does he not?”

  “Yes, I see what you mean.”

  This brief conversation took place at the open door to the residence. It concluded there when the host offered an invitation to ”come along to my study, and we shall talk this matter through.”

  We entered, and the butler—my old adversary—closed the door after us and then brought us to the study. The Lord Chief Justice seemed quite content to allow him to lead the way, which struck me as odd. Was he unsure of its location? The butler stood aside at the open double door of the study. He frowned at me as I passed him by. It was a look which to me did say, ”They seem to want you inside, and so there is naught I can do to keep you out, and yet if it were left up to me …” He closed the doors after us; that is, he must have, for next I looked at them they were shut—though I had heard not a sound. Ah, butlers! How do they manage?

  “Sit down, Sir John,” said Lord Mansfield. ”I daresay we shall have more to talk about now that Eccles is gone than if he were here.”

  I guided Sir John to a chair, and once he was settled, I looked round for one for myself.

  “Your young fellow can take notes if you like,” said the Chief Justice. ”I’ll provide paper and pen.”

  “Should it be necessary?”

  “There are a few names to remember.”

  “Oh, I’m good at names,” said Sir John. ”Numbers are sometimes a bit of a problem. But let us begin. I assume the problem to which he referred is smuggling.”

  The Lord Chief Justice looked up, an expression of surprise upon his face. ”How did you guess that?”

  “Ah well, simple enough. Our friend Eccles is Chief Customs Officer for east Kent. Customs means import duties, which smugglers evade. And of course east Kent has the most active smuggling trade of any part of England, for it lies just opposite France.”

  “Well … quite right.”

  “And he is now on his way to see the Chancellor of the Exchequer, no doubt, to ask for more money to combat the trade,” said Sir John. ”But indeed the truth is, it is the Chancellor of the Exchequer who caused the problem to begin with—his exorbitant import duties, taxes and so on. Tea and wine are taxed at over double their value, are they not?”

  “Yes … I suppose they are. But see here, Sir John, we’ve been at war for a good part of the time for as long as I can remember. We’ve gone in debt. Money must be raised in some way to retire that debt.”

  “And each time they raise the import duties, smuggling increases.”

  “That is true,” said Lord Mansfield, ”but smuggling must be stamped out. It is a simple matter of enforcing the law, is it not?”

  “Smuggling will never be stamped out, so long as import duties continue so high.”

  The Lord Chief Justice sighed and said nothing for a goodly space of time. He simply studied Sir John, perhaps trying to suppose some means to dissuade him from his contrary position. Apparently there was none.

  But then the magistrate did clear his throat and speak up once more: ”I have an addendum to that which I have just said—an alternative.”

  “Oh? And what is that?”

  “Either import duties be lowered, or…”

  “Yes?”

  “Those of the aristocracy and the nobility refuse to buy what they know to be contraband goods.”

  “How would they recognize contraband from what has entered legally? Both may carry the proper stamp, or something forged to look quite like it.”

  ”True enough, but smuggled goods are luxury goods—perfume, tobacco, wine, all of that. Persuade those who can afford them to forgo such pleasures, and you will have solved the problem.”

  Lord Mansfield regarded him with dismay. ”I thought for a moment that you were being serious. I shall know better next time.”

  “I was being serious—or at least I was trying to make a serious point. And that, Lord Mansfield, is that there is no practical likelihood of reducing smuggling in east Kent, or in any other part of England—not now, in any case.”

  “Mr. George Eccles says otherwise.”

  “He would, wouldn’t he?” said Sir John. ”I did not like the man, you know, rather a self-important sort.”

  “That may be, and for that matter I did not like him, either. Nevertheless, I fear we must take what he says seriously.”

  “And what has he to say?” Sir John put it to him as a sort of challenge. ”There was something about an accusation, was there not?”

  “Indeed there was—and a very serious one it is. According to Eccles, nothing of substance can be done to diminish smuggling in his section of Kent unless we get rid of the local magistrate, a young man named Albert Sarton.”

  “He says that, does he?”

  “Oh, he says far worse. According to Mr. Eccles—and I quote him—”The man is either corrupt, or the most incompetent ever in the history of the magistracy.’”

  “That indeed is a powerful indictment,” said Sir John. ”Yet I have known colleagues who impressed me as both corrupt and incompetent.” A sly smile spread across his face. ”Please don’t press me for names, Lord Mansfield.”

  “The odd thing is,” said the judge, ”I’ve met the fellow, and he didn’t seem at all as Eccles described him.”

  “You’ve met this Albert Sarton?”

  “Yes, I have, and I remember him well. As it comes to me, I had been invited up to Oxford to address the law faculty and students. The invitation ca
me from an old friend of mine, a former classmate he was and now a professor there. At the party given me afterward, he brought forward a good-looking young fellow not much older than your lad here”—nodding toward me. ”He gave his name as Albert Sarton and said that he was quite the most promising student lawyer they had had at Oxford in his memory. He urged me to keep young Sarton in mind for the judiciary—after a proper amount of seasoning, understand. Well, then he left me with this young fellow, and I had a chance to talk with him myself, and I must say, I was very favorably impressed by him. Not only did he show great intelligence, he also showed something far rarer among those young university fellows–good sense.

  “All this was a few years past,” he continued. ”But when, just last year, the post in Deal came open, I remembered meeting this young Sarton, and I inquired after him. I found he had just passed the bar and was looking for a post. Work as a magistrate has always seemed to me good preparation for a career in the judiciary—as I’ve said to you, Sir John, each time I’ve offered a judgeship to you.”

  Sir John waved a hand in a dismissive manner. ”Well, we needn’t go into that again,” said he.

  “As you wish. But to continue, I happened to have another old friend in Deal, a squire who lives in a manor house up above the town—a Sir Simon Grenville. Do you perchance know him, too? I was specially close to his father at Oxford.”

  “I fear not, Lord Mansfield. I leave London only on those errands on which you have sent me. I know no one in Deal.”

  “Ah, well.” The chief justice shrugged indifferently. ”In any case, he is quite influential in those parts, and when he heard that young Sarton came so highly recommended, he promised to do all that he could to see that the post was offered to him. That, essentially, was all that was necessary, though Sir Simon did say that there was some slight opposition to Albert Sarton because he was not from east Kent.”

  “They don’t like outsiders, I take it.”

  “Don’t seem to—no, they don’t. In any case, Sarton got the job, partly through my sponsorship, and I’d heard nothing ill of him until this man George Eccles came forth with these complaints. They all have to do with the smuggling trade thereabouts. Deal seems to be the center of it, at least currently. Eccles says he is letting known smugglers go free, and so on. Says he even consorts with them. Frankly, I find it difficult to credit his complaints. First of all, they were not at all specific. Secondly, I know Sarton is not stupid–and therefore not likely to be incompetent; and as for him being corrupt, well, having met him and talked with him at some length, I can only say, I doubt it.”