The Price of Murder sjf-10

by Bruce Alexander

  “Yes,” said I, “and I can honestly say that I detested him right from the start.”

  “All England will detest him when he is brought to trial. He will be hated as none other before him, I should hope.” The thought of it seemed to give him pleasure. “But tell me again,” said he, “why was it he declined to return with you here to Bow Street? I did not at first understand.”

  “’Twas because he feared that he shared some part of the blame and would surely be sentenced to a term in Newgate.”

  “Considering that he had disposed of the little girl’s body, he was right in that.”

  “I tried to persuade him, but it was useless. He said that if he were to go to prison, he would need all the money he had to bribe the guards.”

  “Pathetic, is it not, that a man must prepare for a term in prison by gathering together all the ready cash he has that he may make his situation tolerable?”

  “Indeed so,” said I. “’Tis said that they have prices set for all ‘courtesies.’ For instance, removing manacles and chains, a single shilling, et cetera.”

  “Disgraceful,” said he. “I fear that one day there will be a great retribution to be paid. When did this fellow Bennett say that he was coming by?”

  “He didn’t say, actually. Though I encouraged him to name a time, he would not. I asked him to come in the morning, yet he would not even allow himself to be committed to that. I believe he feels that he must sneak away, and Lord Lamford keeps him rather tightly under his thumb.”

  “Then I shall keep you close here at Bow Street through the day. Bring him to me soon as ever he appears.”

  He was as good as his word. During that morning and most of the afternoon, we two kept busy answering letters and filing reports. It is the sort of work that collects, piles up, and ultimately may bury us completely if we do not, from time to time, dedicate a single day to disposing of it. This was that day.

  Mr. Marsden was present on that day, no better but no worse than he had been on most other days that month. And so, in addition to dictating, Sir John conducted his usual court session at noon. Because there were no serious cases to be tried (that is to say, none to pass on to the Felony Court at Old Bailey), it was a fairly short session. And afterward, Sir John and I attacked what remained to be done to that now-dwindling pile of letters.

  Then, at some point-let us say, when there were but two or three letters more to be answered-Sir John heaved a great sigh and asked how many more there were till we were done.

  “Not many,” said I, “a few, no more.”

  “Well, let us answer them, and then I would have you visit that fellow with the biblical name-what is it?”

  “Deuteronomy,” I suggested.

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Deuteronomy Plummer. I suggest you visit him and ask if anything has gone amiss with your friend Mr. Bennett. I must admit that I have a rather bad feeling about him.”

  “Something tangible?”

  “No, I wish it were, but it’s simply an uneasiness I have.”

  And that was the way we managed it. Having done all that could be done that day, I parted from him, promising to return for dinner by seven o’clock at the very latest.

  “No matter what, I want you back by then. Is that understood?” And that is all he would say about it.

  What, I wondered, could be so terribly important that I should be told so sternly to be back at seven for dinner? Were we to have some special guest? Was something secret planned? Such questions as these troubled me all the way to Haymarket-and would today, as well, if I were to find myself in a similar situation, for I am one of those who dislikes surprises. Perhaps this is because I, more than most, had suffered at life’s vagaries. At bottom, I suppose, I was even then a rather settled sort.

  Having arrived in Haymarket, I went direct to the coffee house and jog-trotted up the stairs to the upper floor. I banged mightily upon the door and waited. There was no response. Twice more I repeated this, with the same result. I put my ear to the door but heard nothing. Well, there was still much time before it would be seven, and so I took myself down the stairs to the coffee house, and there did I spend the better part of an hour, reading and sipping that most hearty of blends. It did move me to further action and sent me up to the top of the stairs once again to knock upon the door. Yet again and again did I knock, to no avail. But then a sudden thought came to me. I had in my pocket a pad of paper, which I had lately taken to carrying about, as well as a pencil. Putting the two to use, I wrote out a note to Mr. Deuteronomy. In it, I said that we had waited for Mr. Bennett at Bow Street, and then I had come to Haymarket in search of Mr. Deuteronomy. Though I had waited, I had missed him, too. “I shall come early tomorrow to discover what has happened,” I wrote. “Sir John is worried, and I, as well.”

  Having written that, I felt that I had done all I could under these awkward circumstances. It was now certainly time to return to Bow Street. I folded the note and slipped it under the door so that it was just visible from the outside. I saw that the street lamps were now lit, and only a bit of light could be seen in the west. It was now well past six and time to hurry home.

  Coming in as I did, I spied Mr. Donnelly-doctor, surgeon, medical examiner for Westminster, and friend to us all. He was just entering Sir John’s chambers at the end of the hall, and that (I told myself) must mean that there is to be some special guest of honor. He was always present at such occasions, lending his own wit and good humor to the dinner conversation. Upon entering the kitchen, I saw that Clarissa, rather than Molly, was serving as cook this evening. That gave me a bit of a surprise, for though she had often cooked dinner before, and had proven her worth again and again, she had never done so for one of Sir John’s guest-of-honor affairs. I wondered where Molly was and what she was about. Clarissa looked up at me and smiled.

  “Ah, it’s you, Jeremy. Quickly with you now, get upstairs and change into your best. This is a grand occasion.”

  “But what-What is the occasion?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you can guess. Go, go, go! Out of the kitchen, if you please.”

  Thus was I driven out and up the stairs where I did hastily change into my better suit of clothes (I had but two)-really quite ordinary-looking; yet the shirt, recently washed and crisply clean, seemed to work a sort of magic upon the attendant parts. I was indeed ready to present myself to whoever was to be the guest of honor.

  When I descended into the kitchen, I did so with as much grace and dignity as I could muster. Therefore, I was somewhat taken aback when, no sooner had I made my appearance than I was given a great platter containing ribs of beef by Clarissa and told to bring them to the dining-room table.

  “You must carve them, as well,” she did call after me.

  Was this why I had dressed myself so handsomely? Was I to be a mere server? Yet Clarissa, who was herself excellently decked out in her finest, and prettier than I had ever before seen her, followed me closely with the Yorkshire pudding. The sauce, as she pointed out, was already on the table.

  But where was the guest of honor? As I carved the lovely beef, I kept throwing anxious glances at the door, wondering what personage might come through it and excite us one and all. Then, however, did I note that there were but six places set at the table. Where would he sit?

  Finally, as I sat down beside Clarissa, it came to me at last that there would be no others at the table, and that the guests of honor were already with us, sitting across from us, touching fingers upon the table, beaming smiles, each at the other. Mr. Gabriel Donnelly and the widow Molly Sarton were about to announce their engagement. Yet, it seemed, they would have to wait a bit.

  Sir John called down to his lady: “Kate, my dear, what is proper form here? Do we toast them before or after we eat? I know how it’s usually done, but are there special rules for this special occasion?”

  “None that I know of, Jack. Do it as you like.”

  “Well then, I always think that toasts are best drunk on a full belly, and so I
say to you all, fill your bellies!”

  There was laughter round the table at that as we fell to the dinner-and what a dinner it was! Could this truly have been cooked by Clarissa? Though of course it could, for had I not always said that she had only to put that considerable mind of hers to cooking and she would soon be the best cook in all of England? Perhaps she was not yet quite so good as all that. Nevertheless, as we cut into our meat, and the juice ran forth, we must each have had the thought that we had never eaten better before. Thus the table fell silent as all continued to eat, and, of all compliments paid to a cook, that sort of silence is the most profound.

  There were seconds asked for and quickly consumed. Clarissa’s Yorkshire pudding was near as much in demand as the roast of beef. Many is the trip I made round the table with bottles of claret in hand. It was quite the finest and most festive meal we had ever eaten. Our bellies were full. It was now time for toasts to be offered. I made sure that all glasses were filled. Sir John rose and raised his glass.

  “I shall not make this a long oration, though the Good Lord knows that I could. There is so much to tell of Gabriel Donnelly that I’m quite sure that I could fill the rest of the evening with it. It was in 1768 that we met, and immediately we did, we found a basis for friendship, and it was as a friend that I rejoiced when, but a year ago, he came to me and declared his interest in Molly Sarton, who had come to us from her home in Deal where she had been recently widowed. She agreed to fill in for us as cook for a time-we never thought for a moment that we could hold on long to one as talented and experienced as she. In any case, her time with us has not been wasted, for here in Bow Street she met Mr. Donnelly, and that has led to a most favorable situation for both. They are here to announce their engagement, and we are here to celebrate it.”

  Then did we raise our glasses and, standing, drink a toast to the two of them. As we resumed our seats, Mr. Donnelly remained upon his feet and, looking slowly round the table at each of us, he smiled and began his own brief oration.

  “I bless the day that I met Sir John Fielding, and I have any number of good reasons for doing so. First of all, I met in him one of the brightest and deepest minds in London. And through him I met the second-brightest and second-deepest mind in London-” He paused, and then, with a grand gesture-“Clarissa Roundtree!”

  The entire table exploded in laughter at that-and I louder and longer than all the rest. I had, just prior, fixed a rather complacent look upon my face, one I thought suitable for accepting a grand compliment. It must indeed have been comical to see my face drop so quickly.

  “And oh yes,” continued Mr. Donnelly, “it was by my friendship with Sir John that I met my lovely wife-to-be, Molly. I was not along on that fateful trip to Deal. I have often wished that I had been, for I would likely have met Albert Sarton, a man whose measure I hope to live up to. Marriage, any marriage, is a journey into the unknown. Partners often need all the help they can get. Yet from all that I have heard from Molly about Mr. Sarton, I think we may well have him as our guide and helper in the years to come. And so, all, I propose a toast. Ladies and gentlemen, to the memory of Albert Sarton.”

  There was, round the table, a chorus of “Hear, hears.” We drank, and Mr. Donnelly turned to Molly before seating himself.

  “Will you have something to say?” he asked.

  “I will,” said she, “but I shall make it short.”

  “As long as you like, my dear.”

  “In our time it does not often happen to a woman that she falls in love. They write poems about it and romances-and I’m sure you’ll add to the number, Clarissa. But still, it does not happen often, as in our hearts we all know. Yet I, of all women, have been doubly blessed, for I thought my world had ended when Albert died, but no, God has given me a second love, as strong or stronger than the first. I can only thank God and his blessed angel, Gabriel. And God bless you all-and thank you a hundred times over. I offer a toast to you all, my family.”

  We drank the toast, such as it was, seated ourselves once again, and then, all of a sudden, was the table all abuzz with their plans. It was a complicated matter for two Catholics to marry in a Protestant country-so complicated, indeed, that they had decided to do all that needed to be done in Ireland: the bride-to-be would meet his family; banns would be posted; and they would at last be married. The entire process would take some weeks, of course, but they felt they had little choice in the matter. They would leave for Dublin in two days’ time.

  On and on we talked, for it was a joyous occasion. Sir John sent me off to the kitchen for a bottle of the French brandy. He and Mr. Donnelly each had a taste of it; yet I, knowing that I would be out early in search of Mr. Deuteronomy, declined respectfully. I explained to Sir John.

  “You were unable to see him?”

  “Yes sir, I waited for over an hour without result, and then left him a note promising to be back very early in the morning.”

  “No one could have done more,” said Sir John. “Wait for him all day, if need be. And don’t forget, you’re still my deputy in this matter. Arm yourself before you go.”

  “Yes sir,” said I.

  “What, pray tell, is this about?” Mr. Donnelly inquired.

  “A matter which Jeremy will clear up in no time. I have every confidence in him.”

  ELEVEN

  In which it is fate that dispenses final justice

  Mr. Deuteronomy had kept silent ever since we had left Bermondsey, utterly exhausted by his effort to tell all. In truth, the nature of what it was he had to tell must also have weighed heavily upon him.

  He had been awake and waiting for me when I tramped up the stairs to the floor above the Haymarket Coffee House. Nor had I arrived late: I was certain, in fact, that I should have to waken him, for it was just a bit past five-thirty when I made myself known. He opened the door so swiftly when I did that it seemed to me that he must have been holding the handle when my knock came.

  “Right on time,” said he to me.

  “If not early.”

  “Well, let’s not argue about it. Come along with me to the stable. I’ve much to tell you.”

  But he would not be telling it immediately. He led me round the corner to Burnaby’s in Market Street, and there he ordered up a wagon and a team of two.

  “What will we be needing the wagon for?” I asked.

  “You’ll find out soon as we get under way.”

  I contented myself with that, though it was not much of an answer, for in truth the night ostler, a young lad no older than I, worked so swiftly that it was but a few minutes till all was ready. We were soon moving right along in a westerly direction, following the river. It was not yet six. There were few hackneys to be seen along the way, nor were there many dray wagons. It was simply too early. The hooves of the horses echoed hollowly through the streets of the dark city. I waited for Mr. Deuteronomy to begin. It was not long before he did.

  “Most of this I got from the stable boys, so I can’t vouch for it exactly, but when I got there yesterday morning, it was all just about as they said, so I’m inclined to believe them, in all the details.”

  “About what?” I was growing impatient with him.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d let me tell it my way.”

  “All right, as you will then.”

  “Anyway,” said Deuteronomy, “it was late, getting on toward midnight, when Bennett came back from my place. It shouldn’t have taken him that long, so it’s plain he stopped off somewhere between here and there, most likely for a little Dutch courage, if I know my man Bennett.

  “Now, you know how the stable and the sleeping quarters are laid out, the one is attached to the other, so there’s really only a wall between them. So what the stable boys heard through that wall was Bennett coming home. He made a good deal of noise, the way he always does when he’s had too much to drink, and this time he was heard by Lord Lamford, who came out to talk to him.

  “This was unusual, very unusual. The master seldom
bothered himself with what went on in the stable, and never, so far as I know, with what went on there late at night. And so, it seems to me that he must have been up and waiting on Bennett. He must have had something special to talk to him about. And I think I know what it was.”

  “And what was that?” I asked.

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  “Tell me now.”

  “Oh, all right, Lord Lamford wants to have his picture painted with Pegasus.”

  I was properly puzzled by this. “And Bennett paints pictures?” That seemed unlikely.

  “No, ’course not! He-” Mr. Deuteronomy fumed a bit as he sought the right words. “Let me come back to it. It makes more sense that way.”

  I sighed. “Do it your way.” The man was quite impossible.

  “As I was saying-and it don’t matter much what brought Lamford down to the stable-the point is, he came down, and right away the two of them started arguing. Not like he came to argue, understand, but they fell to it just minutes after he arrived. All this is according to the two stable boys who got wakened by it all.”

  “What were the two of them-Lord Lamford and Bennett-arguing about?” I asked.

  “The stable boys said they couldn’t tell. It was just the sound of their angry voices till they heard their master yell loud and plain at Bennett, ‘You dare to judge me?’ And it couldn’t have been much later that they heard the shot.”

  “The shot?”

  “That’s what I said, ain’t it?” He looked at me fiercely.

  “You mean he. .” Confused, I began again. “Who was it was shot?”

  “Bennett,” said he. “Shot dead, right through the head. But that ain’t the question.”

  “What is the question?”

  “The question is, who pulled the trigger? The pistol-which was the same one you gave to him night before last-was the weapon that killed him. ’Twas found in his hand. Lord Lamford admits to being there, and he says the two of them was arguing about Pegasus-whether ’twould be possible for Lamford to sit astride Pegasus to have his picture painted.”