by John Creasey
James became aware of several voices speaking a name at the same time, some lighthearted, some undoubtedly touched deeply by respect. ‘Miss Hermina.’ ‘Miss Hermina.’ ‘This way, Miss Hermina.’ ‘Such and honour to have you here, Miss Hermina.’ Other sounds followed, footsteps, shuffling, rustling. It was exasperating that this should have happened at such a juncture, although in one way it saved James from attempting to put his feelings into words. He wished to concentrate his thoughts on the burden of Simon’s declaration, on the possibilities which dazzled him in much the same way that these young men were dazzled by the rare sight of a woman in a coffee house.
Being across the table from James on the side facing the door, they could see along the centre aisle and he could not. But suddenly two women and a man appeared in his line of vision, backing away from - no doubt - this Miss Hermina. The name was familiar but James could not think why.
The man was the manager of the coffee house.
The two women, James believed, were his assistants.
Simon Rattray-Furnival, until that moment dumb struck, swallowed hard, then forced himself to look away from the new arrival. He smiled faintly and said, ‘Your pardon, sir. I interrupted you.’
Richard, on the other hand, appeared transfixed; James had never seen or imagined that he could be so affected. It was as if he were hearing the voices of the Sirens. What a striking-looking young man he was! Slowly, he closed his mouth, and at the same moment the bowing and curtsying trio passed and ‘Miss Hermina’ appeared.
James saw her glance towards the two young men opposite him.
He felt a quick response of the heart - yes, he, James Marshall, now in his sixty-eighth year! For this young woman was most vividly alive. Her vivacity, an enormous capacity for life, showed in her eyes, in the way her lips were set, in the flare of interest she showed in Simon and Richard. The next moment she was past, a vision in powder blue with a wide-brimmed bonnet, the simplicity of her clothes a tribute to her taste and her dressmaker. Her dark hair made the blueness of her eyes even more startling.
She was gone.
‘I repeat, your pardon, sir,’ said Simon. ‘Such shameful behaviour. Eh, Richard?’
‘Eh? Oh. Shameful indeed! I - Damme, no,’ declared Richard, laughter sparking in his eyes. ‘There is nothing shameful about being mesmerised by beauty, is there, grandfather?’
‘If I know your grandfather he will retort that our sudden distraction gave him time to think, and thus he will make a virtue of our ill manners. But in truth, she is a most beautiful woman.’ As Simon spoke a waitress passed and he put out a hand and touched her arm. ‘Tell me, pray, who is Miss Hermina?’
‘Miss Hermina, sir? She is - well, she is Miss Hermina.’
‘So I have come to understand.’ Simon smiled into the child’s pretty face. ‘But Miss Hermina who?’
Before she could answer, James Marshall burst out, ‘Hermina Morgan!’
‘That’s right, sir! The daughter of Mr. Ebenezer Morgan, the Mr. Morgan.’
James slumped against the back of the booth, overcome by a wealth of memories. Why, this must be old Ebenezer Morgan’s granddaughter. Ebenezer Morgan & Sons . . . a small, hot, stuffy shop . . . a yoke across his shoulders, laden with parcels. . .
A voice penetrated his reverie. ‘Are you well, grandfather? Are you all right?’ It was Richard, now holding his arm.
Across the table Simon, too, seemed full of concern. What contrasts came out of the mists fading in his mind. Richard’s face, lean and narrow and sharp, an eagle’s face, capped with hair black as a raven’s wing and with grey eyes of compelling honesty; Simon’s round and blunt, yet boldly handsome, a lion’s face, with a lion’s tawny hair and John Furnival’s honey-coloured eyes.
‘You see, I was more affected by the sight of such beauty than either of you,’ James found himself saying. ‘Upon my soul, I don’t know what has come upon young men these days. To be so matter of fact!’ The others relaxed and Richard took his hand away. ‘So, Simon, you believe that the City would support Mr. Colquhoun’s scheme for the formation of a river police, in the beginning financed and controlled by the merchants in association instead of each merchant attempting to protect his own property with his own guards. And you conclude that the situation on the river is such that it would be only a matter of time before control, which means management, and finance, which means taxation, would fall into the hands of the government?’
‘I have no doubt of it,’ Simon rejoined.
‘Then indeed I would like to raise this matter with Timothy. If you can tear yourselves away from thoughts of Miss Hermina.’
Hermina Morgan was talking to waiting friends and the bell-like clarity of her voice travelled clearly.
‘I have been to see Mrs. Hewson. She has some beautiful evening gowns from Paris, but I was greatly taken by one from Vienna, in green velvet; if you can believe if, embroidered with gold thread. . .’
Timothy did not seem to be a day older than when James had seen him at the first of these meetings. He was bronzed, handsome and distinguished, and had no spare flesh. The lines in his face, though sharp and clear, made him look weathered but not ageing. There was greater decisiveness in his manner, and he listened closely, giving his whole attention.
When James had finished, he said without hesitation, ‘Such a force on the river would have my support. What say you, Simon?’
‘It was Simon who put it in my mind,’ James said quietly.
‘No, I did not mean to take the credit—’ For once Simon appeared to be almost embarrassed.
‘Nor to have me know that you were in league with my old enemy,’ Timothy said dryly. He leaned back in his chair so that had he been a heavier man the back legs must surely have given way. ‘I think we have a new Machiavelli among us, James. Simon, will you obtain a set of Mr. Colquhoun’s proposals, for my earliest consideration?’
‘I will indeed, sir.’
‘And now I would like to discourse with Mr. Marshall,’ Timothy went on. ‘Perhaps you two young men could occupy yourselves usefully for an hour. Simon, you may like to take Richard onto the Oriana where there is a most fabulous collection of Chinese jade and ivory as well as Indian jewellery displayed for customs inspection.’
He waved his hand as the younger men rose at once to leave. Once they were out of earshot he shook his head and spoke very slowly.
‘I am nearly sure that Simon is the most remarkable man ever associated with the House of Furnival. In the year that he has been here he has lightened my work beyond all reason, and he anticipates my needs with uncanny accuracy. I will wager that he has a set of proposals for this river police already at hand, and after a decent interval he will produce them as if the need had not occurred to him until I asked. In nearly every way he has become like a son to me.’
‘I am very glad indeed,’ James said.
‘And like a son he offers problems as well as much satisfaction,’ went on Timothy. ‘It is time he thought seriously of marriage but he shows no sign of that yet. The longer a man remains a bachelor the more likely he is to choose his own path and to become - I nearly said, a tyrant.’ As if he did not wish James to dwell on that word he went on hastily: ‘Is Richard affianced yet?’
‘He appears to be as celibate as a monk.’
‘You have greater faith in monks than I! James, this river force of policemen could fill a great need. Did Simon tell you that sober estimates show that we have ten thousand thieves on the river, ranging from starving boys to modern-day pirates? I think there is little doubt that they can be overcome only by a strong body of men under a single control. With such a force we may well clear the Thames of crime.’
‘With such a force you could clear the whole of London of crime,’ James retorted. They both laughed, in the richness of friendship, before James went on: ‘I would like to talk to Mr. Colquhoun so that he is aware of your support.’
‘Then talk to him, by all means,’ Timothy agreed.
&nb
sp; Soon they strolled out onto the terrace and watched the never-ending movement on the Thames. A soft rain fell, pitting the calm surface of the water, as an adept oarsman, knowing the tides, passed his small craft swiftly beneath the bows of a customs vessel, which could have missed the boat by only two or three feet.
‘That is characteristic of Simon. He is utterly without fear,’ Timothy declared. ‘There are moments when I wonder whether he is utterly without feeling, also.’
‘I will tell you one thing,’ Simon said as he rowed so easily yet with such strength, ‘if the ships’ crews were paid better, not so many of them would take bribes or help dump cargo overboard for mudlarks to pick up. If you care to take a slip of paper from inside my jacket’ - he indicated where with a downward tilt of his chin - ‘you will see what I mean.’
Richard took the paper, which listed the seamen’s salaries from commander down to the lowest carpenter, and after reading it carefully he replaced it in Simon’s jacket, but did not comment until they were within easy reach of the Oriana. Then he said, ‘That is one of our most difficult problems - to create conditions which will remove the temptation to be dishonest. Some men will always be lawbreakers, but such conditions breed criminals out of decent folk.’
Soon he and Simon were clambering aboard the Oriana, a vessel of eight hundred tons which plied to and from the East Indies and the Far East, carrying a crew of more than one hundred. On the deck were a dozen men in Furnival livery, all with muskets, all ex-soldiers, well paid, and ready to risk their lives in defence of the treasures now being examined by a grey-haired inspector of customs and two assistants: ivory carvings of long-dead emperors and their consorts, jewelled swords and daggers, necklaces and rings. One necklace of diamonds and sapphires had surprising beauty, and Simon stooped down and picked it up, holding it in front of Richard.
‘Do you think that would sit well on Miss Hermina?’
‘I cannot think of any jewel which would not.’
‘Which is a tribute to your gallantry but not to your sensitivity to ladies and the jewels they should wear,’ replied Simon. ‘This would be wasted on some women just as pearls would be wasted on Hermina. Richard, there is to be a ball at Great Furnival Square to celebrate Mr. Timothy’s birthday. Will you come? I can safely promise you the widest selection of attractive young women in London, with comments, if you wish, on their delectability and the degree of persuasion they need for compliance in the bedchamber.’
‘If you have no objection,’ Richard replied, ‘I would rather find that last out for myself.’
‘But you will come?’
‘I will come happily,’ Richard assured him, surveying his friend with amused interest. ‘I wonder what the odds are that you will have Hermina Morgan there, also.’
‘No man but a fool ever guessed what a woman might do,’ Simon rejoined. ‘But I shall reserve that necklace for her. What is it I once heard your grandfather say? Nothing beats trying but doing!’
On the morning following her visit to the coffee house, Hermina Morgan was looking at herself in her dressing-table mirror and applying a little of the face powder which Mr. Pitt,, in his wisdom, had recently taxed when her maid came bursting in with a bunch of dark-red roses so huge that she had to hold her head on one side in order to see her mistress.
‘Miss Hermina, you have a new admirer!’ she declared.
‘Indeed, Chloe, I did not think you had brought me roses as a gift,’ said Hermina. ‘And who is the gallant gentleman?’
‘He gives no name and leaves no card.’
‘Does he not?’ remarked Hermina. ‘Then put the roses in a corner where they will not hide those of less reticent admirers!’
On the next day, more red roses came, again without card or message, and on the third and fourth day, also, and at the end of the week Hermina was sufficiently intrigued to begin to wonder who was sending them. Then came a single rose fastened by a narrow silk ribbon to an expensive parchmentlike envelope on the back of which was a crest and beneath it the words, ‘No Man Shall Be Afraid’.
Slowly, and under the eagle eye of her maid, Hermina drew out the missive. It was a card bearing the same crest, and with a printed invitation.
Timothy McCampbell-Furnival hopes for
the pleasure of your company at
A BALL
to be held at Great Furnival Square in
Northwest London
On Friday, October 17, 1797
Your carriage will be welcome at
any time after 5 p.m.>
‘But he is an old man!’ cried Chloe in anguished protest. ‘He must be very old. I am disappointed for you, Miss Hermina.’.
‘An old man may have sons or grandsons,’ Hermina replied thoughtfully.
‘You mean that you will attend?’
‘I most certainly shall,’ replied Hermina Morgan. ‘And I shall go tomorrow to Mrs. Hewson. . .’
On the night of the ball the hall at Great Furnival Square was as magnificent as any palace. The huge chandelier spread a light, strengthened by a thousand candles in the wall fittings, which shimmered on colourful dresses and jewellery, much of which was beyond price, and it shone on the elegance of men whose colours were only a little less subdued and whose powdered wigs and faces gave them added romanticism. A string quartet played on each side of the gallery, whilst in the library, where once old John had made his great speech, was given over to those men who wished to smoke or take a spell on their own. The passage to the dining room was lined with flowers and flunkeys guided the guests into the room where a dozen tables groaned under the weight of such food as was seldom seen. At several tables chefs wearing tall white hats carved turkeys, hams, beef and sucking-pigs, pies of a dozen varieties were served piping hot, and there was no delicacy imaginable which could not be found.
In another part of London, Todhunter Mason was sitting in the cellar of the Black Swan, an alehouse near London Bridge, putting the finishing touches to his plans for the next few hours. A man of slight build and narrow features, with pinched-in nostrils, he dressed in sombre-coloured clothes made by a good tailor from Savile Row.
No one could doubt that a hundred times more jewellery would be exposed on feminine hands and heads and bosoms that night than on any ordinary night in any one place in London, and being at Great Furnival Square made the lure even more attractive, for Mason had heard of the House of Furnival’s support for a river police and was determined to make its formation impossible. Now a man in his early thirties, wealthy as a result of his share of half the robberies in London, exquisitely tailored, he ruled with a tight rein. His organising ability was both thorough and brilliant, and his spies and informers were everywhere. Through a servant at Great Furnival Square, he had been one of the first to know of the magnitude and splendour of this occasion, and he was fully prepared to raid when the ball was at its height.
He had drawn men from every part of London, armed them, and told them all to concentrate on Great Furnival Square. Promising to send up a flare bright enough to dazzle the coachmen, guards and Charlies waiting near the big house for the inevitable charity of food and ale, he estimated that within five minutes he and his men would have possession of the house and within fifteen minutes every woman would be stripped of her jewels. As he saw it, the greatest danger was that too many of his force would be excited by the beautiful women and there was likely to be wholesale rape, so he had to make sure the jewellery was collected by himself and other reliable and less impressionable men before the mob was let loose among the guests.
Sex did not greatly attract him.
Money and jewels fascinated him beyond all thought. They gave him a sense of power.
Seldom if ever could there have been such magnificence as there was that night. Seldom had a greater number of beautiful women gathered in one place. When the dances were at their height the ballroom looked like a glittering sea, each wave touched by a rainbow.
Just as the food and general arrangements were as nearl
y perfect as they could be, so were the comfort and pleasure of the guests. A dozen young Furnival men and women made sure that no one was alone for long, that introductions were made quickly and gracefully, that any embarrassing situations were avoided; and if a young man began to show himself the worse for drink someone was at hand to make sure he did not become offensive. Outside in the great square and in the streets leading to it were massed the coaches and carriages of the guests, and while the coachmen were eating and drinking in the places provided for them, Furnival guards, strengthened by older watchmen and four Bow Street Runners, took care that nothing was stolen.
Even for those who were used to such affairs, this was a triumph.
To Hermina Morgan, it was a breathless round of young and handsome men, any of whom might be her mysterious admirer. She had been introduced to Simon and had recognised him, and she had also been introduced to Richard. Of the two, Simon was infinitely the finer dancer and conversationalist; for a while Richard had been almost incoherent. But she was used to young men being tongue-tied in her presence and coaxed him to talk until one of the young men acting as an escort came to them, a thickset, strong-faced man with greying hair at his side.
‘Miss Morgan, may I have the pleasure of introducing Mr. Patrick Colquhoun?’ he asked.
‘My pleasure is much the greater,’ Colquhoun said in an attractive Scottish accent.
Colquhoun, Richard thought in surprise; he had not dreamed that the magistrate would be here. Later he saw him talking to Timothy and had little doubt that they were discussing the river police. He knew that his grandfather had spent several hours with the justice, no doubt offering some advice on those things which might lead to hostility within the City of London.
Quite suddenly, he wanted to leave this place. It had been exciting, fascinating, unforgettable - but he did not really belong. Simon did, but not he. Simon was now on his own on the staircase, surveying the multitude. Suddenly he moved and a few moments later Richard saw him with Hermina Morgan; if one had to say who was the most beautiful woman present, virtually all would have named her. Richard went out, past two footmen who were constantly opening the door, past the mass of carriages and men, who were laughing and talking in subdued tones. Soon he had left Great Furnival Square behind him. As he reached a corner a tiny figure darted out from beneath a carriage, hands outstretched in supplication.
