The Price of Murder sjf-10

by Bruce Alexander

  “That ‘et cetera’ was mine,” said Sir John, interrupting. “Neither of us could think what it was followed ‘sound mind.’ That’s the important phrase, anyway. But continue, lad. I shouldn’t interject in such a way. Forgive me.”

  “As you say.” After again clearing my throat, “. . sound mind, et cetera, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament.”

  We went on in just such a way-I reading ahead, and he interrupting after every sentence or two (it seemed) with comments of his own and explanations. (Just as if any were needed.) The burden of it was that after Mr. Marsden’s possessions had been sold by his landlord, all the rest in money and coin was to go to me. His approximate wealth he estimated at a little more than thirty pounds-and most of it was mine. This did quite astonish me.

  “It should have been more, I know,” Mr. Marsden had written, “but I was never very good at holding on to money, and I’ve enjoyed myself a fair amount. I have left twenty pounds in the hands of Sir John. There should be ten more coming from the sale of furniture, clothing, et cetera. It is the custom, I am told, to split the proceeds of the sale with him who does the selling-in this case, my landlord. He has been made aware of my wishes and has agreed to them.”

  At this point, Sir John interrupted and assured me that he had the twenty pounds locked away and that I might have it whenever I wished. “As for the sale of his goods and furniture,” he added, “that is scheduled to proceed Saturday next. You may or may not attend, as you see fit.”

  Then came a brief section that to me was most interesting of all. Sir John told me that in its intention, it had all come from Mr. Marsden. “My only part in it,” said he, “was to approve what was said and in a few places suggest more forceful wording that it might resist challenge from some distant and unknown relative.”

  Having heard this much, I hastened to read the remainder, for I was deeply curious. I cleared my throat, lowered my voice half an octave or so, and began reading:

  “I never married and therefore have I no legitimate children. As for the other sort, there are none known and none likely. Indeed, I have no known kin, having come to London as a babe with my parents so many years back. I have no recollection of my parents’ home, which was said to be Bristol. I have no ties to that city, nor do I know of any aunt, uncle, or cousin living there, or anywhere else on this earth.

  “For this reason, and for a few others that shall be made plain, I have chosen to pass on my little fortune to Jeremy Proctor. He is, as I am, an orphan. He was in his thirteenth year when I first came to know him, and so I have seen him grow in mind and body into the sort of lad I should be proud to call a son. This small amount that I leave him may in some way help him along in the career that he has chosen for himself in the law. If that be so, then I am grateful, particularly in that it was once my chosen career, as well. Godspeed to him in pursuit of that which I was never able to achieve.

  “Thus do I give this as my wish and mine alone. May Jeremy Proctor prosper in life, then shall I rest ever easy into eternity.”

  Below that he had signed his full name with a grand flourish. It occurred to me then that I had never known that his middle name was Partridge. Was it a family name? His mother’s, perhaps? There were so many things I had not known about Mr. Marsden. I found myself wishing greatly that I had known him better, that I had taken more time with him instead of rushing round the great city on errands of varying importance. Then did I think upon my only visit to his room in Long Acre-the sense of solitude I perceived there, the coldness, the stale smell. Only then did I discover that I was weeping.

  I had not seen Mr. Deuteronomy Plummer since that day upon which Pegasus dealt so cruelly with Lord Lamford. Nor, in a sense, did I expect to. I had not quite believed Deuteronomy when he rode away upon the horse, declaring that he would see to destroying Pegasus. Nor, apparently, did Sir John, for after a day or two, I was sent by Sir John to the Hay Market Coffee House to inquire after horse and rider.

  Just to be sure, I rapped loudly upon the door above the coffee house, waited, and rapped again even more loudly than before. I called out his name a couple of times. Getting no response, I trudged down the stairs and, entering the place, I sought out the chief and was directed by one of the servers to a man in the rear of the establishment. He sat at a desk, tallying sums. When I impatiently sought to draw him away from his figures, he held up a hand to silence me. But a moment or two later, when he had reached the sum at the bottom of the column, he smiled and gave me his attention.

  “How can I serve you, young sir?”

  I explained that I had been sent by Sir John Fielding of the Bow Street Court to inquire after Deuteronomy Plummer.

  “Ah yes, Mr. Deuteronomy,” said he with a smile.

  “Has he been seen by you?”

  “Seen? Yes, oh yes, and I bade farewell to him, as well.”

  “Then he is gone? Did he say where to?”

  “No, but if your name happens to be Jeremy Proctor, I have a letter for you.”

  “That is indeed my name. May I see the letter?”

  “Not quite so fast, young sir. He said that Jeremy Proctor would know the odds that were paid on Pegasus to win this year’s King’s Plate race at Newmarket.” He ended that with a look sharp enough to stop any pretender.

  “Pegasus paid bettors-and there were not many-at the rate of thirty to one.”

  “Excellent,” said he, “and here”-he opened the top drawer of the desk-“you have your letter.” He presented it to me.

  Wasting no time, I tore it open rather roughly and took off a corner of it as I did. Still, I had done no real damage to the body of the message, for it was short and quickly read:

  “My dear Jeremy,” he greeted me, and then continued: “I have decided that Pegasus deserves far better than to be destroyed for killing that great, fat lump of midden, Lamford, and so we have gone off where we cannot be easily found. Don’t bother to search for us, for Britain is a large island-and we may not even be here. Little good has come of this whole nasty experience. Yet I am glad to have had the chance to meet you and Sir John. Tell him that, and bless you both.” It was then signed, “Your friend, Deuteronomy.”

  During all of this, Clarissa had attended to all of my tales from the trial of Mrs. Jeffers and rejoiced with me when William Ogden’s masterly defense of the woman brought a not-guilty verdict from the jury for his client. She was particularly interested in my explanation of why the barrister had put to Elizabeth that curious question, “Are you pregnant?”

  “Do you suppose he knew that she was?” Clarissa asked.

  “I don’t think so,” said I, “though it’s possible. Yet when such questions are asked, it is often the case that even if denied, and even when the jury is told by the judge to disregard, the idea has nevertheless been planted in the minds of the jurymen that this might be so: she might be pregnant, in which case her testimony is compromised in their eyes.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she gave thought to what I had just said. “Hmmm,” said she, perhaps in imitation of Sir John, “interesting.”

  And indeed I thought her interest quite interesting-specially when, a week or two later, she rose to her feet and addressed the three of us who remained at the dinner table.

  “I have an announcement to make,” said she, as all eyes turned toward her. “I am pregnant.”

  No three words could have caused a greater stir among the three who heard it. After a moment’s stunned silence, in which we did naught but gawk in amaze, we let forth a confused babble of comment, complaint, and questions.

  “Oh, Clarissa,” said Lady Fielding, “it cannot be! Tell us it is not so.”

  “What are you saying?” I wailed.

  “My dear girl,” said Sir John, “surely there’s some mistake!”

  But, tight-lipped and erect, she gave no hint that any mistake had been made.

  “Who is the father of your child?” Sir John demanded, turning in my direction. “I must have it fr
om you!”

  “Well, it’s certainly not my son, Tom! She’s not near big enough for that. How far along are you, Clarissa?” Then Lady F., too, turned to me.

  (It seemed, reader, that I stood accused without so much as an opportunity to defend myself. Surely you understand that I would not skip over such an event with no mention whatever. In short, reader, I knew I could not be the father of Clarissa’s coming event for the obvious reason. Though we had come close on a couple of occasions, one or the other of us two had shied at the last moment. Would she-could she-have found a lover bolder than I? Then what a wanton she was!)

  Thrusting out her jaw, Lady Fielding stared at me in a manner most severe. “Jeremy,” said she, “I am shocked. In truth, I had thought better of you.”

  “But,” said I, “but. . but-”

  “You’ve disappointed me, lad,” said Sir John in a deep and sorrowful tone. “Alas, I have little more to say to you than that.”

  Clasping her hands, Lady Fielding raised her eyes most dramatically, as if to the heavens above.

  “I admit,” said she, “that I had thought that perhaps someday in the distant future, you, Jeremy, and you, Clarissa, might marry. I had even hoped as much, for after all, you have so much in common. But this. . now. . why, you are both children. There is so much that you lack.”

  At that, my pride prompted me to rebel. I would not allow her to dismiss me, nor for that matter, dismiss Clarissa, as a proper candidate for marriage. I knew well that children of the gentry and the nobility married even younger when money or land was concerned. And whatever had passed between Clarissa and her secret lover was something that would be settled between her and me. So I, too, rose and, standing cross the table from my intended, responded to Lady Fielding.

  “You say that there is much that we lack,” said I to her. “What is it that you mean by that? What do we lack?”

  “What indeed! You lack all. You have no experience of life.”

  “I daresay that, between us, Clarissa and I have greater experience of life than any others our age who are not locked away in Newgate, or not actively engaged in lives of crime or-” gesturing across the table-“harlotry.”

  “Be careful, young man, you had best not suggest such things with regard to her. Show a little respect.”

  “Respect? I have naught but respect for her. She can at this moment cook near as well as Annie. You remarked but minutes ago on the excellent quality of the meal just eaten. She is intelligent, clever, able to do sums with the best. From the very beginning she proved invaluable to you as your secretary. You have often said you could not do without her there at the Magdalene Home. And she-”

  “Enough!” said Lady Fielding, interrupting with a wave of her hand. “Let us talk plain, Jeremy. And the plain truth is that you simply have not money enough to keep her-much less her and a child.”

  I was ready for that and expecting it. Yet as I opened my mouth to respond, Clarissa leaped in, so to speak, and spoke in my defense.

  “Ah, Lady Fielding,” said she, “so he would have said himself-and did, less than a month ago. He reasoned with me. When I brought marriage up to him, he argued just as you have and said he would not have money enough to marry until he had years of practice as a barrister behind him.”

  “Exactly!” shouted Lady Fielding.

  “But since he spoke thus, two things have happened,” Clarissa continued. “First, a fortunate wager made by him at Newmarket brought him one hundred fifty-one pounds and thirteen shillings. Do I have the amount correct, Jeremy?”

  “To the shilling,” said I.

  “A hundred and. . Jack, what do you know of this?” said she to Sir John.

  A sigh. “It seems to be true.”

  “In addition,” Clarissa went on, “we discovered after Mr. Marsden had died that he left behind a will. In it, he left a sum of twenty pounds to Jeremy and the likelihood that five more will be coming to him when Mr. Marsden’s possessions are sold. Not near so impressive as his winnings at Newmarket but it brings the total close to two hundred pounds, you see. Many marry with far less.”

  Lady Fielding turned once again to Sir John. “Jack?”

  “True, Kate.”

  It was her turn to sigh. “Clarissa, you know that I want only good for you, but, truly, two hundred pounds may seem a great deal, but it isn’t. We must marry you off, however. That much is certain.”

  “Ah,” said Clarissa, “but I have a plan, and it should cost no more to execute than what is presently spent.” She explained that she and I would marry and occupy the large bedroom at the end of the hall, which she had shared first with Annie and then with Molly. Clarissa would continue to cook and, in exchange, would be given board and room for herself and for me. (This was essentially the present arrangement.) But I would assume all responsibilities that had previously been Mr. Marsden’s, and for that would be paid his salary.

  “But what about the baby?” Lady Fielding wailed.

  “Ah yes, the baby. When he or she arrives, we shall have prepared Jeremy’s old room atop all the rest for him. Now, how does that sound?”

  “Rather complicated,” said Lady F. “Will you be working no more at the Magdalene Home?”

  “I’ll work there as needed.”

  “Well. . what do you think, Jack?”

  “It does seem fair, don’t you think, Kate? After all, Jeremy does deserve something if he is to do old Marsden’s job.”

  “But he’s only a boy. To pay him the same seems wrong. Mr. Marsden worked for years as your clerk.”

  “Still, he does the job better than Mr. Marsden ever did.”

  “Oh.” She said nothing more for a time. “Well,” said she at last, “let the banns be published then. We may as well do this right. Clarissa, when do you think the baby. .?”

  “Not for quite some time.”

  “That’s good. There’s something rather vulgar about those weddings where the bride is in her eighth or ninth month. If you’ll excuse me now, I’ll go upstairs. I’ve a lot to plan for.”

  We sat down and watched her go, saying not a word one to the other. Sir John listened carefully to his wife’s footsteps ascending the stairs and waited till he heard the door to their bedroom close. Then did he lean forward.

  “It went perfectly,” he whispered to us. “And by the bye, if you need more ammunition, just ask her when she was first married.” He paused for emphasis. “Just past her sixteenth birthday, as I understand it.” Then did he wave his good evening and himself start for the stairs.

  I was much confused by his behavior. He had at first seemed darkly disapproving of me. But now his manner was secretive, even (one might say) conspiratorial. I was equally confused by Clarissa. She grasped both my hands in hers of a sudden and squeezed them for all she was worth.

  “Oh, Jeremy,” said she, “you were quite wonderful. You stood up to her so beautifully. How was it you put it? ‘Respect? I have naught but respect for her’-and then setting out to name my achievements. I fear I blushed as never before, but none seemed to notice.”

  “That is all well and good, Clarissa,” said I. “But you must now account to me for your condition. I mean how did you. . that is to say, we never. . tell me then, who is the father?”

  She then gave me a puzzled look that ended in laughter.

  “You goose,” she whispered, “there is no father. My ‘condition,’ as you put it, is what it has always been.”

  “Then you’re not pregnant?”

  “Shh, no, of course not.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad.” And truly, reader, I was glad. I felt as if a great weight had been lifted from me.

  Clarissa said naught for a short space of time. And then: “Jeremy, you’ve no idea how proud I am of you and your praise of me when you did not even know that I was lying.”

  “Well, I was not completely convinced-just, well, alarmed. But I thought that whatever happened, we would work it out between us. We always will, you know.”

  �
�Oh, Jeremy, I’ll make a good wife for you. You may be sure of it. Sir John says so himself. He was in on this right from the start. It was his idea to keep you in the dark.”

  “It was? But why?”

  “He thought that you would react more emphatically- and you certainly did react in just such a way. It was all done, you see, to deal with Lady Fielding.”

  “I don’t quite understand,” said I.

  “Well, you said yourself that Mr. Ogden had asked Elizabeth a question of that sort to plant in the minds of the jurymen that indeed she might be pregnant. I wished to plant in the mind of Lady F that though I may not now be pregnant, I might soon be so, if we two remained living under the same roof and within easy kissing distance.”

  Whereupon, having spoken thus, she jumped up, ran round the table, and kissed me soundly upon the lips.

  “And when will you tell Lady Fielding of your mistake?” I asked.

  “Oh, eventually,” said she, “eventually.”

  Now, having all but ended this tale, I offer but two post scripts. The first, relating in a manner to what I have just written, concerns Elizabeth Hooker.

  Seven months or a bit less after denying to Mr. Ogden that she was pregnant, she delivered a healthy eight-pound baby boy. Though efforts were made to keep the birth secret, it was not long before the matter was made known to the public by word of mouth. It also became known to the law, and Elizabeth was brought to trial on the charge of perjury. It was all handled very quickly. She might claim-and indeed she did-that she had simply been mistaken in most of what she had said from the witness box-but to be two months pregnant and nevertheless be ignorant of it was more than this jury chose to believe. She was sentenced to five years transportation to the colony of Connecticut, where she was taken into the home of a Methodist minister and worked her time as a servant. Her child was adopted into the Turbott family. Her former employer thus had the son he had long hoped for.

  Finally, my second post script is little but a rumor. I heard from Mr. Patley that far up in Yorkshire someone very like Mr. Deuteronomy by description had founded a stud farm. He was happy up there in the north. Pegasus, it was said, was even happier.