The Color of Death

by Alexander, Bruce

  Her companion, blond and distinctly pink in complexion, regarded me in a somewhat hostile manner as I passed her by. Nevertheless, I thought her quite comely. Though not as striking as her companion, she was, in a way, prettier, and would, no doubt, be widely regarded as beautiful.

  All this I took in with a few furtive glances as I went past. Then, once beyond, the gawking faces of Mr. Fuller and Mr. Marsden took me somewhat by surprise. Yet they, in turn, were surprised, indeed more than surprised, by the two female visitors. It was as if they had never seen such before — and perhaps they never had.

  I went quickly to Sir John’s chambers. There I found him standing at his desk, his attention fastened upon the open door, whereon I knocked.

  “Who is there? Is it you, Jeremy?”

  “It is, Sir John.”

  Proceeding inside, I discovered Clarissa in a far corner applying Sir John’s official seal to a letter — apparently one just given her by Sir John. I was shocked. Had she now usurped my position as the magistrate’s amanuensis?

  “Ah,” said she, looking in my direction, “the postman has arrived!” Was that to be my sole function? I thought not!

  “Yes, Jeremy, I’ve just dictated a letter to Clarissa which must be delivered as swiftly as possible. I realize you’ve just returned from one such errand, but it is really most important to get this into the hands of Mr. Trezavant.”

  “But Sir John,” said I, “Mr. Martinez has told me something which I feel I must convey to you.”

  “It can wait, can’t it?”

  “Well …” said I, most reluctant, “I suppose so. But I also have a letter for you from Mr. Humber.”

  “Oh, give it here. We’ll get to it later.”

  I had no choice, of course. I surrendered the letter. Just then, however, a despairing wail sounded from down the long corridor.

  “What id that?” Sir John asked in a most peevish manner. “Just before you came in, Jeremy, I thought I heard the sound of female weeping. Now th’u.”

  “You did hear a female weeping,” said I.

  “Oh?”

  “Indeed, sir. You recall that you postulated the purpose of Mr. Burn-ham’s long rides? ‘Two or three times a week and always on Sunday’?”

  “Why, yes,” said he. “I do recall hazarding a guess of some sort.”

  “Well, your guess has proven out, sir. She and a friend arrived in Lord Mansfield’s coach-and-four.”

  “Ah, truly, you say? Why not invite them here into my chambers? I should like to meet the young lady who so turned the head of Mr. Burnham that he seems willing to go to the gallows rather than divulge her identity.”

  “That will not be necessary, Sir John Fielding.”

  All in the room turned to the sound of that voice — unmistakably female. It was, as I anticipated, the voice of the lighter of the two young ladies. She spoke for them both. Her partner was, at least for the moment, too distraught to express herself with ease; she sniffled into her kerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

  “You have the advantage of me,” said Sir John. “You know who I am, yet I know not who you are.”

  “That is easily remedied,” said she. “I am Lady Elizabeth Murray, and this is my cousin, Dido Elizabeth Belle.”

  “Why, if I may ask, have you two young ladies decided to come here? Surely not simply to cheer our prisoner.”

  “No sir,” said Dido, now recovered and speaking for the first time to Sir John.

  “Oh?” said he. “What then?”

  “My cousin and I are both wards of the Earl of Mansfield, who is the Lord Chief Justice. I believe you know him well.”

  “Professionally acquainted, let us say, rather.”

  “As you will,” said she. “I meant only to suggest that through him we know something of the law. We are here to make a formal statement.”

  “One statement for the two of you?”

  The two cousins regarded each other, frowning. Then did Lady Murray clear her throat and speak forth: “Two statements, I suppose, would be the proper thing, one from each of us. They will speak in support of Mr. Burnham. We just want them done correctly and according to the rules of law so that they will stand up in court.”

  “I assure you, young ladies, I shall do my part.” Then did he turn away from them and toward us, Clarissa and me. “Will you summon Mr. Marsden, Clarissa? Tell him to bring pen and paper. And Jeremy, are you still here?”

  “I am, sir.”

  “Whatever for? Did I not tell you that the letter to Mr. Trezavant must be delivered quickly?”

  “Uh, yes, Sir John.”

  “Then off with you, lad. Take a hackney coach, if that will get you there faster. You’ll be reimbursed.”

  I left the room at a jog-trot with Clarissa behind.

  “Here, Jeremy,” she called after me. “You’ll need this, won’t you?”

  I halted, turned, and saw that she waved at me the letter for Mr. Trezavant she had taken in dictation from Sir John. This was most embarrassing! “Yes, of course I’ll need it.” And I snatched it from her quite rudely.

  “Here now,” said she. “I’ve saved you from making a fool of yourself, you must at least answer a few questions for me.”

  “Oh, all right, but quickly. You heard what Sir John said.”

  “What was this mysterious matter between you and him that had to do with Mr. Burnham’s long rides?”

  I thought about that a moment. There was really no reason why Clarissa should not know. “Well,” said I to her, “Sir John guessed at the very beginning that the most likely explanation for Mr. Burnham’s frequent rides to the country was that he was courting some woman.”

  “And you think it was one of those two, do you?”

  “Of course — the more beautiful, the darker of the two.”

  “Oh, but this is terrible!”

  “Terrible? Why should it be terrible? She will make a statement which will prove Mr. Burnham’s alibi. He will be set free.”

  “I know,” said Clarissa, “but just think of poor Annie! What will she do?”

  “What will she do? Why, get on with her life, just as I must now get on to Mr. Trezavant.” And with that, I left her where she stood.

  A few minutes later, sitting in the back of a hackney, I considered the fatuousness of women. Certainly Clarissa, and perhaps even Annie, would prefer that Mr. Burnham be punished for a crime of which he was innocent so that they might keep alive their foolish fancies. But was Mr. Burnham any less foolish? Had he not put himself in a most perilous position, all because he felt it necessary to protect the good name of a young woman? What romantic rubbish!

  Though politely worded and nicely phrased, the letter to Mr. Trezavant was nothing more or less than a summons. Sir John had gone to some pains to explain that, while most impressive, the accusation he had made against Mr. Burnham was of no legal worth unless it were made in court. Therefore, much as Sir John hated to ask, it would be necessary for Mr. Trezavant to come to the magistrate’s court at noon that very day and repeat the accusation. Otherwise, Sir John would have to release the prisoner.

  Mr. Trezavant made no attempt to hide his displeasure at this turn of events. Indeed quite the opposite was true. He railed against rules and procedures which allowed countless malefactors to go free and commit further crimes. This and other complaints were directed at me, as if I were at fault and had the power to change the situation. But in the end he left off such carping and agreed to do as Sir John had asked. Satisfied, I bade him good day and took my leave of him.

  As Arthur had done before him, Mr. Collier accompanied me to the street door. He was, however, far more talkative than his predecessor had been — and far more inquisitive.

  “Mossman tells me that you were with Mr. Robb when he died there in St. Bart’s,” said he to me. “What did he have to say?”

  “Oh, nothing of value.”

  “Surely he said something.”

  Hastily, I attempted to explain that while it was tru
e that I had been with Arthur during the last hours of his life, for most of that time I had been dozing peacefully in the chair beside his bed. The few things he had said before that proved quite worthless.

  But still he pressed: “Such as … what?”

  We stood at the door to Little Jermyn Street; I wished to be through it and away from his prying questions. With that and only that in mind, I said, “Oh, there was something about Crocker, and …” And there I halted when about to mention the King’s Carabineers. It had suddenly occurred to me that he had no right to know any of this. An alarm sounded within me.

  “You mean little Crocker, the chambermaid?” he asked eagerly. “What did he say? “

  “That, sir, is none of your affair,” said I, drawing myself up and looking him coldly in the eye. “And I must say, Mr. Collier, I wonder at your intense curiosity in this matter, seeing that you were hardly even acquainted with Arthur Robb.”

  “Oh … well, I did know him, you see … in a way. I’d seen him every day … spoken … “

  “Goodbye to you,” said I to him, and so saying, I grasped the large brass handle and heaved open the door. I did not hear it close behind me, though I’m sure it did.

  There was a considerable crowd in court that day. It was unusually large for the magistrate’s court, though the number assembled would not in any way have compared with the crowds in attendance in any of the courtrooms at Old Bailey.

  In addition to the “regulars” — drabs, women of the street, porters, and layabouts who dropped by Bow Street for their midday’s entertainment — there were many more who had come because it was rumored that an arrest had been made in what were then popularly called “the St. James robberies.” Some had even heard that the robber in question was a “proper blackie”; they wanted an early look at him before he was sent on to Old Bailey and given his ticket to the crap merchant.

  Because so many had come thus to gawk at Mr. Burnham, they grew restive as Sir John heard a pair of lesser matters that had been brought before the magistrate’s court in search of settlement. They were of the usual sort: two Covent Garden green merchants who claimed the same choice stall (one of them, it turned out, had simply arrived earlier one morning and claimed the spot as squatter’s privilege). The second matter, in its own way just as frivolous, turned upon the discovery in the street of a deal of money by two men who purported to be friends; both claimed to have spied the sack of gold first and fell into a brawl over it; this attracted another, a merchant, who claimed to be the true owner of the sack of money (Sir John awarded the sack to the third man after the latter had correctly given the exact amount therein, but the magistrate then instructed him to given a guinea to each of the other two men in reward for having discovered the fortune in the street).

  As they shuffled off, Sir John turned to Mr. Marsden and instructed him to bring on the next case and have the prisoner brought forth.

  That Mr. Marsden did, calling out Robert Burnham by name, and turning to the door through which he would be brought by Mr. Fuller. But when the door opened, a great noise was heard from the crowd, for Mr. Fuller herded in not one prisoner, but four. Each of the four was of the same brown hue; each was dressed similarly and was about the same height; and each wore hand irons.

  They were directed to the bench off to the right of Sir John where they remained standing.

  Sir John spoke out in a voice deep and solemn: “Mr. Burnham, you have been accused of taking active part in the robbery by force and violence of the Trezavant residence in Little Jermyn Street in the city of Westminster three evenings past. How say you, sir — guilty or not guilty?”

  Then came a most remarkable occurrence: In response to Sir John’s question, all four men spoke together as with one voice, “Not guilty.”

  They did then sit down upon the bench and listen as Mr. Marsden read forth a description of the robbery, complete with a list of the goods taken — paintings and furniture, table silver, and various objects made of gold. Appended to this was a description of the “apoplectic disorder” of Mr. Arthur Robb, which was occasioned by the robbery and caused his eventual demise a day later in St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.

  Though seated, the four men gave all this their full attention. It was while they were thus occupied that I, looking upon them, was able to identify two of the four. At the far end I recognized Mr. Burnham; and at the nearest was none other than Dr. Johnson’s young charge, Frank Barber. But who the two men were between them, I could not say, though there was something about each which did seem familiar.

  Once Mr. Marsden had done, Sir John intoned (again most solemnly): “We have a witness. He is Mr. Thomas Trezavant. Come forward please, sir.”

  Thus invited, Mr. Trezavant rose from his place in the front row of benches and moved forward as swiftly and resolutely as his great bulk would allow. When he halted, he was directly in front of the magistrate, with Mr. Burnham and his companions a good fifteen feet or more off to his right.

  “Will you tell us, Mr. Trezavant,” said Sir John, “what you saw on the evening that your residence was robbed in the manner just described by Mr. Marsden?”

  “That I shall and gladly, but first let me congratulate you, sir. I thought you had but one of this black-faced crew in captivity, but I see that you have captured all of them.”

  “That’s as may be,” said Sir John. “Or perhaps better said, it is neither here nor there, for the task I put before you is to describe what you yourself saw and heard on the evening of the great robbery.”

  And that Mr. Trezavant attempted to do, yet he lapsed often into hearsay and surmise. Sir John was forced a number of times to remind him of his injunction to report only what had personally been seen or heard.

  “I begin to suspect,” said the magistrate, “that you were safely sequestered in your study during the entire event.”

  “Not so, sir. I may have been made a prisoner in my own study, but I was hardly ‘safe,’ as you assert.”

  “Oh? What then?”

  “I was tortured.”

  “Yes, I recall you said something about that. In what way were you tortured? And to what purpose?”

  “Well … they came blustering into my study without so much as knocking. There were but two of them, but frightening they were, and of fearful countenance. They took me quite by surprise.”

  “Let me interrupt to ask you, sir, were you aware before their appearance that your house had been invaded, so to speak, by this robber band?”

  “Uh, no sir, I was not.”

  “How did they know to find you there?”

  “That I cannot say. They seemed, indeed, to know their way about the house. Perhaps one of the servants directed them to me.”

  “Do you know which one it was? “

  “No, but I have my suspicions.”

  “Keep them to yourself. A magistrate’s court is no place to air suspicions.” Sir John rubbed his chin in thought, producing a scowl of vague disapproval. “Let us get back to this matter of torture,” said he. “What did they wish to know?”

  “The location of my wife’s jewels.”

  “And how did they go about torturing you, Mr. Trezavant?”

  “Well …” He hesitated, looking about the courtroom as if in a state of acute discomfort. ‘They described to me their intentions.”

  A low hum of comment swept through the attending crowd. Yet Sir John made no effort to quiet them, so eager was he to understand properly what he had just heard.

  “They described to you their intentions?” he repeated. “Was that … all?”

  “Yes,” said he, “but I have a most vivid imagination.”

  The hum in the courtroom rose to a pitch, then exploded into a great gale of laughter. Though Sir John himself smiled broadly at Mr. Trezavant’s confession, he must have thought that such unbridled hilarity at the expense of the witness was altogether improper, for he thumped loudly with the mallet which served him for a gavel and called loudly for order.

&
nbsp; But damage had been done. Mr. Trezavant turned round and faced the courtroom — and quite charged with indignation was he.

  “You would not think it amusing,” he shouted out, “if you were to hear in precise detail the steps those black villains meant to take in castrating you — now would you? “

  The laughter ceased abruptly, except for a few titters and giggles heard from the females at the back of the large room; they, too, quietened as Sir John beat louder still upon the table before him.

  “I’m sure we would not think it in the least bit amusing,” said he when all was quiet. “I take it, Mr. Trezavant, that you told the robbers what they wished to know.”

  “No sir, I referred them to one of the servants who had greater knowledge of such matters than I. As it happened, my wife had taken her jewels with her on a visit to her father in Sussex.”

  “So you might have been gelded to no purpose whatever.”

  “I had not thought of it quite that way.”

  “Indeed, sir, you might prefer not to. But let us go now direct to the matter at hand, shall we? You indicated earlier that the man who made those threats to you, who was the leader of the robber band, is in fact here in this courtroom. Is that not so?”

  “It is, Sir John.” Mr. Trezavant seemed to speak with a confidence that was of a sudden renewed.

  “Do you see him here now? You have my word, sir, that he is one of the four you noticed earlier. Can you pick him out from the rest?” He gestured toward the four. “Stand, please, all of you.”

  “I … I am confident that I can identify him.”

  “Very well, take your time.”

  He not only took his time, he also took it upon himself to move much closer to the four. Had it been within his power to walk softly, he might have accomplished his purpose — due, that is, to Sir John’s blindness. Nevertheless, at a good twenty stone, he would have been utterly incapable of tiptoeing about. An individual large as Mr. Trezavant could only crash about in one compass direction or another.