(So fixed was my attention upon Sir John and Elizabeth that I had not noticed until she began her description that Clarissa was taking down all that was said by her with paper and pencil. This was something new.)
“Now,” said Sir John to Elizabeth, “you have given a fair and complete description of the place to which you were taken, but I note that much of it, perhaps most, could only have been noted by you from a distance. You seemed to have known in advance to which house you were headed.”
“Well, I didn’t!” said she rather hotly. “Whilst I was prisoner in that house I had much opportunity to study the details that you eagerly sought. But for that matter, my two captors talked of it in such a way that I knew we were close.”
“Saying. . what?”
“Oh, they wondered what sort of price I might fetch. The one called Dick seemed to doubt whether I would be taken at all, kept insisting that I was not pretty enough, nor was my bosom sufficient.”
“All right. I’ll accept that,” said Sir John. “Let’s get on with it, shall we. You entered this old house in the company of the two men, and then what?”
“We went round the back and entered through the kitchen. I remember they knocked upon the door and said who they were. Bobby and Dick, they said, and the door was opened to us. Waiting for us there in the kitchen were three people-a man about forty, a young girl who was fair pretty, and a woman with the ugliest face I did ever see. It was her, the ugly one, that the two men who brought me bowed and scraped to. She looked me over proper, pinched my arm and my bosom and just all over. And finally she says to me, ‘What about it, dearie? Will you join us?’ Which I took to mean, will you follow the Devil’s path? And then-”
At this point, Mr. Tarkington, unable to contain himself further, interrupted, calling to his chief, the silversmith Turbott: “Sir, that sounds like Mother Jeffers’s house to me-from the look of the house, the way she describes the old harridan herself.”
“You’ve been there?” Turbott demanded.
“A time or two.”
“What about it, Elizabeth?” cried Turbott. “Was that the woman’s name?”
“I. . I think so. Yes, perhaps it was. When I said no and declared I would have no part of her life she slapped my face, took my dress from me, and said I should be thrown into the garret. Then did the two men say, ‘Yes, Mother Jeffers.’ That was it! Mother Jeffers!”
The room then fell into complete turmoil. Mrs. Hooker was shouting out in praise of her daughter for resisting the Devil and his minions. Mr. Tarkington shouted, “Well, let’s go out and get the old witch.” Joe the apprentice urged that they bring a rope. And Mr. Turbott cried, “Let’s see if some of those people out in the hall might wish to come along.” But Sir John, alone of them all, resisted these calls for swift justice and sought to restore some order.
“Listen to me,” said he who could outshout them all. “I warned you, gentlemen, that you must leave if you did not keep silent-and you agreed to my terms. Now you have violated your side of the agreement, so I must ask you to leave this room most immediate.”
“Oh, we shall leave right enough,” called out Mr. Turbott, “and we shall head for Clerkenwell. You may command in this room, sir, but once outside it, we shall command, as you will see.”
“I put you on warning, sir, that all who defy the law will be punished severely, and that includes yourself. I will not allow rule by mob in my precincts.”
The difficulty-as Sir John well knew-was that he could not confidently speak of “my precincts,” for, truth to tell, though there was no strict division of territories, as a matter of custom, it would generally have fallen to Mr. Saunders Welch, as magistrate of Holborn to deal with this matter; Clerkenwell, after all, was near to Holborn. All this and more we discussed once we had returned from that memorable visit. Yet as we four-Elizabeth, Clarissa, Sir John, and I-rocked back and forth along the way to the house at the four corners in Clerkenwell, we spoke little amongst ourselves. The reason for this, of course, was the presence of Elizabeth, whom we had come to regard in a different light from before. No longer a hapless victim, she now seemed to be hiding more than she had disclosed, altering facts to suit her, and generally providing unreliable information. There was but a brief period at the beginning of our journey when we, the Bow Street contingent, felt free to speak our minds, and that was when Mrs. Hooker was preparing Elizabeth for the trip as we awaited the putative victim in the hackney coach. ’Twas then that Clarissa opened the discussion with a confession.
“Never, I believe, have I been so mistaken about a person,” said she, “as I have been about my old friend Elizabeth.”
“Oh?” said Sir John. “Mistaken in what way?”
“In every way. I thought her dull and commonplace, unimaginative and without ambition-oh, specially without any sort of intellectual ambition.”
“And now what do you think of her?” I asked. “You were signaling something to me from across the room of her consistency.”
“Oh yes, that! Yes, of course, it proves my point.”
“What do you mean by saying that it proves your point?” asked Sir John.
“Simple enough,” said she. “You remember when she claimed to have been beaten about the head by one of the two who had abducted her? She said she was in a daze for quite some time afterward.”
“Yes, naturally I remember.”
“Well, the midwife-what was her name? Goody Moss, I believe-she wanted me to stand close and observe all that she did. It was all most interesting.”
“Yes?” said I. “Go on.”
“Oh, of course. I was also near enough that I might look down upon her head, and I can assure you that there was no sign that she had been beaten in the way that she said.”
“No scabs? No scars?”
“Nothing of the kind. In truth, her hair had been washed, so that indeed I would have seen such, had there been anything to see.”
“Interesting, yes, very interesting indeed.”
“And another thing-though I hesitate even to mention it. I went with the midwife to the door, so that she might explain all that she had done and seen. And what she whispered to me was the most remarkable thing of all. She said that Elizabeth was pregnant. I don’t think I could ever have supposed such a thing of her.”
“She told us the same,” said Sir John. “And I-”
“Caution, sir,” said I. “They are on their way now.”
Mother and daughter approached the hackney, but only the daughter entered the door, which I held for them. Sir John inquired of the mother if she were not also coming. She declared that she was not.
“’Twould be worth my immortal soul to step inside such a place,” said she with a great shudder. “I think it a great shame that Elizabeth should have to return.” Then did she depart.
Then, only minutes later, the caravan pulled out of Dawson’s Alley. It was a rather strange array, which moved forth on the way to Clerkenwell. There were two coaches-our own hackney and another, which I understood Mr. Turbott rented more or less regularly from a nearby stable. In a trailing line were five or six on ponies and nags that had been rented or borrowed for the occasion.
As we traveled, Sir John took the opportunity to question Elizabeth further. There was not much left for her to tell. For, once she was locked in the garret, she stayed there, a prisoner, for over a week. She had naught but a pile of straw to sleep upon and a thin blanket to keep her warm. She was fed thin gruel and water once a day and visited by the one she now called Mother Jeffers. Elizabeth was asked by her again each day if she would join their company, and each day she refused. This continued so until the night before, when she at last managed to loose the window that overlooked the great pile of leaves in the yard. Then, waiting till all was silent within the house, she perched upon the window sill and leapt down into the leaves. With only the blanket to wrap round her and her shift beneath it, she started south and found her way home to her mother’s place in Dawson’s Alley.
“Well,” said she, “I saw four, but there were probably a couple more.”
“So, six in all? And how did they divide between men and women?”
“Probably four women and two men. Something like that.” She seemed curiously indifferent of a sudden.
“But you could only identify four?”
“If that.”
Sir John accepted that and put no more questions to her. And in no more than a few minutes’ time she was asleep in the corner of the seat. It seemed to me strange that she could sleep so peacefully as we bounced about so wildly. Clarissa evidently wished to resume our conversation regarding Elizabeth. Sir John must have sensed this, for when she began to address him, he shook his head in the negative and put a finger to his lips, thus calling for quiet. With that gesture, he communicated his suspicion that her sound sleep was feigned.
After near half an hour of backtracking and wending our way in a general northerly direction, we came to open country and picked up our pace. It was then but a short time on a swift road that we drew to a halt behind Mr. Turbott’s coach. I threw open the door and hopped down to the road at about the same moment Mr. Tarkington descended from his perch next to the driver. He opened the door like a proper footman and out came a whole squad of men. Those trailing on horses rode up. As all formed round him, Turbott raised his voice so loud that I wondered, could he not be heard inside the house just ahead.
“We know not what awaits us there”-pointing ahead as if aiming at a target-“so I must ask, how many of you have weapons with you?”
In response, a number of hands shot up-and in those hands were deadly weapons of every sort, pistols, knives, and fowling pieces. Turbott himself brandished a ceremonial sword of some sort.
“Good God, Jeremy,” said Sir John, “this is as bad as I feared. Help me down from here, and I shall accompany you. We cannot allow these men to attack this house on such flimsy evidence.”
I did as he asked, whilst Turbott divided his men into two groups-those with and those without weapons. He then gave his troop of irregulars a proper harangue. And, as he did this, Sir John began muttering something in my direction, which I could not quite understand. At first, I thought it a prayer; yet potentially calamitous as was the situation, it did not seem to me that prayer was called for. But then did the magistrate explain.
“You are now deputized as a constable,” said he to me. “Arrest whomever I tell you to arrest.”
Shouting back to the two girls in the hackney to stay where they were until they were summoned, he felt about for my arm. When at last he found it, he instructed me to take him forward.
“Where to?” said I.
“Into the fray,” said he rather dramatically.
Indeed, the battle had begun, so to speak, for Mr. Turbott was leading his men forward, waving his sword most ferociously. The rank of armed men moved forward behind him; and behind them, not quite so bold, came the unarmed group.
We marched through this latter group on our way across the road. They seemed more than willing to clear a way for us. We were just approaching the forward rank when I happened to notice one of the upstairs windows move. And, being unlatched, the window was then pushed open; it hit the wall of the house with a big BANG! Whereupon Turbott and all those with him threw themselves flat upon the ground, hoping to make smaller targets of themselves, for they supposed that they were being shot at. The woman responsible for that great noise stuck her head out the open window and, seeing a number of armed men in the front yard, let out a lusty scream.
Sir John did not miss a step. We picked our way through the prone figures as Turbott began shouting slogans and battle cries at his men as he urged them onto their feet that they might storm the door.
“Come along, Jeremy,” said Sir John, “right up to the door, if you please.”
“As you will, Sir John.”
When we reached it, he instructed me to give a good, loud knock upon it, which I did in a most commanding manner. Almost immediately, the door came open a crack-no more than two or three inches. Then, from inside, a female voice, fearful and in a mere whisper:
“Who are you?”
“Madame, I am Sir John Fielding of the Bow Street Court, and I have a need to question you and others in the house on a criminal matter.”
“But who are those men with guns out there in the yard?”
“Though it be difficult, I urge you to pay them no attention. They will cause no trouble so long as I am here. But doubtless you would find it easier to answer my questions without them looking on? May we discuss these matters inside?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Well, all right.”
Then did the door open sufficient to allow us to pass inside, single file.
The woman with whom Sir John had spoken closed the door after us. I knew that she must be the one called Mother Jeffers, for Elizabeth had remarked upon her ugliness, and, truth to tell, I had never seen a woman uglier than this one before us. She had a large, misshapen nose with a wart upon its end. Her upper jaw overhung her lower in such a way that she seemed to have no chin at all. But she had a very sweet voice, the sort that seemed to go not at all with her most unfortunate appearance.
“What matter does this concern?” she asked Sir John.
“ ’ Twould be easier, Madame, if I were to bring you together with the complainant that these matters be thrashed out between you. Would it be well with you if I were to bring her in?”
“I suppose so,” she said, “but I’ve water on for tea. Perhaps we could talk in the kitchen?”
“Of course. Jeremy, would you fetch Elizabeth and Clarissa from the coach? And if Mr. Turbott should insist upon coming along, you may tell him that he, and only he, may enter. He must leave his brigade outside-and that is on my explicit orders.”
And so I took my leave and made straight for our hackney. I hurried the two girls out of the coach and bade them follow me. Just as our little group was starting for the house, the driver called down from his seat.
“Say, lad, I see guns and suchlike carried by some. Will there be shooting?”
“Oh no sir,” said I. “Not a chance of it, I’m sure.” A lie, of course.
“Well, that’s good, ’cause if I hear any shots, I shall be out of here quicker than it takes to tell. Tell the blind gentleman that, will you?”
I promised I would, then hurried Elizabeth and Clarissa to the front door. But alas, before reaching it, we were intercepted by Mr. Turbott, who left the group with whom he had been arguing but a moment before.
“Where are you taking her?” he demanded.
“Taking who?”
“As if you didn’t know who I meant! Taking Elizabeth, of course.”
“Sir John requested her presence,” said I. “He wishes to put accuser and accused together that they may thrash things out-so he said.”
“Oh? He did, did he? Well, there’s no need for that. Once we get inside, we’ll have them all pleading with us to listen to their stories. We’ll get the truth out of them!”
“Sir John asked me to tell you that you and you alone may enter-and none of the rest. Any who try to follow you inside will be arrested. I may add, sir, that if you make so bold as to urge and abet any else to enter, then you, too, will be arrested.”
“On what charge?”
“Oh, home invasion would do. And one thing more. You must leave your sword outside. Do you accept the terms?”
To which he replied with a sigh so deep it might well have been a growl. And then: “Yes.”
When I turned back to the two girls after the brief negotiation, I found Clarissa all a-giggle and Elizabeth appearing most concerned.
We were admitted by one scarce older than myself, pretty enough and plump. She curtsied near as well as Elizabeth herself, then led us down a hall to the kitchen. On the way, Clarissa whispered into my ear.
“I thought you quit
e wonderful with that man, Turbott,” said she. “Wouldn’t give an inch, would you?”
It was not the sort of question that called for a response-a statement, rather. Yet as I glanced at her at that moment, I saw something in her eyes that I had never before seen: Clarissa seemed truly admiring of me. It was as if in the past few minutes I had grown near a foot in her estimation. I had never been given such a look before. It was the sort that one had to live up to.
Just then we did hear something that must have disturbed Turbott and Elizabeth. From the kitchen came the sound of laughter-Sir John’s booming baritone and, mingled with it, a light soprano; the latter was surely that of Mother Jeffers. Yet, if we heard them, they also heard us, and the laughter halted soon as ever it had begun.
Ugly though she may have been, Mother Jeffers proved an adequate hostess. She had only to nod at the pot of tea and the cups surrounding it, and the girl who had opened the door to us set about serving up the promised tea. In another minute or two, there was tea and buttered bread before us all.
“Now,” said Sir John, “we meet here that accuser and accused might have the opportunity to confront each other direct, to defend themselves, if need be, to make the other prove her innocence.”
He stopped at that point to clear his throat. It was in the nature of punctuation. He wanted it made clear that, beyond this point, he was speaking ex officio. He began:
“Elizabeth Hooker, here on my left, has given it to me that on the evening of Easter Sunday, two young men, promising to see her home, set off instead for this place, where they might show her to you, Mrs. Jeffers, and get for their trouble some amount of money from you.”
The Price of Murder sjf-10 Page 22
