An Experiment in Treason (3 page)

“Where is Sir John?” I asked her. “Up in that little room he calls his study?”

“Oh no,” said she, “he responded to a sudden call from Mr. Bilbo and went off to see him in the company of Mr. Bailey.” She hesitated. “Bailey’s his name, isn’t it? The great, tall man who is chief of the constables?”

I nodded, yet still was I puzzled: “Mr. Bilbo is usually at his gaming club at this hour of the evening.”

“Well, no longer, for it seems that he has sold it.”

“Ah, so it has happened at last just as I feared it might.”

“You know something about this?”

“I believe I met the buyer — a Mr. Slade.”

“I know not if he were the one. I heard Sir John say to Lady Fielding that there were a number who were interested in buying the club from Mr. Bilbo, but one who had an advantage over the rest.”

“And what was that?” I asked her.

“He had offered the most money”

“Indeed that sounds like the sort of remark Mr. Bilbo would make.” Then did I frown and puzzle away at a question which I finally did put into words: “But why sell now? I don’t understand.”

“You don’t? ” Clarissa asked with a knowing smile. “Then try this. Lord Mansfield sent word to Mr. Bilbo that the trial date for Lady Grenville has finally been fixed.”

“So the French ambassador was finally unable to bring her back to France?”

“It seems,” said she, “that our friend Marie-Helene must stand trial in an English court. All would have been well had she not bombarded English soil.”

“When must she surrender to the court?”

“I’ve no clear idea of that. In a day or two, perhaps. I should not be surprised if Mr. Bilbo asked Sir John to come and advise on what, if anything more, could be done to keep her out of court.”

And if she appeared in an English court, she — a native of France — would be convicted, as Clarissa and I both knew. Marie-Helene, Lady Grenville, had undeniably been engaged in the smuggling trade with her husband; thus much was known by all. The matter was complicated, however, by the fact that Sir John’s great friend, Black Jack Bilbo, had fallen quite hopelessly in love with her and, to keep her out of Newgate, had given his promise that he would deliver her up for trial when the magistrate required. Now, it seemed, he must keep his promise. I wished to ask Clarissa how Sir John was taking all this, but there our discussion ended, for Molly Sarton called me over to collect my bowl of mutton stew.

“Well, Jeremy,” said Molly, “you and Mr. Donnelly indeed had yourselves quite an adventure, did you not?”

“Mr. Donnelly has told you all, has he?”

At that she laughed. “Oh, I’m confident that he hasn’t. Still and all, from what I have heard, it sounds like the sort of lark my late husband used to love. ” She did lower her voice to add: “Though not near so dangerous.” Then did the smile fade from her face. “Ah, you men,” said she with a sad shake of her head.

But Mr. Donnelly would have none of that. He stepped forward, bowl in hand, for his dip into the stew pot. “Jeremy,” said he brightly, “you should have told me you’d an Irishwoman in your midst. Had you done, I should have been here in a trice to welcome her to London.”

I stammered out an excuse which was no excuse at all: “I … I … never knew that she was Irish.” And having said that, I was reminded that Sir John did hazard when first we met her that she seemed Irish.

“But how could you think otherwise?” said he. “Hair the color of fire … eyes of cornflower blue … freckles … Why, she’s the picture of Irish womanhood.”

“Mr. Donnelly, please, you’re makin’ me blush,” said Molly — and indeed she was blushing.

She giggled. I had never before, in the three months of our acquaintanceship, heard her giggle. Nor, for that matter, had I ever seen or heard Mr. Donnelly play the gallant. I was greatly puzzled by their actions. They seemed, ordinarily and separately, to be such sensible people. I carried my bowl of stew back to the table and settled in next to Clarissa. For her part, she seemed quite fascinated — and secretly amused — by their odd behavior. In response to my frown, she gave me a wry smile and a wink.

“Now, I believe,” cried Mr. Donnelly’ from the other end of the table, “that is the best mutton stew that I have ever in my life tasted!”

“Ah, now, please do stop,” said Molly to him, blushing still.

There was, it seemed, little could be done to halt him. Yet in a last effort to divert attention from herself, she cried out, “Clarissa!”

“What then, Molly?”

“You must show these two we have our adventures, as well. Tell them how you spent last night, child.”

Now was it Clarissa’s time to wriggle uncomfortably in her chair. She seemed not so much embarrassed as discomforted. This was clearly something she would prefer not to go into just at that moment.

“Oh, let it go,” said Clarissa. “They’ll hear about it soon enough — Jeremy will, anyway.”

“Do please tell, Clarissa,” urged Mr. Donnelly, then added, “I hope you were put in no danger.”

“Oh no, nothing like that.” She threw an uneasy glance at me. “It’s the sort of thing that Jeremy attends to every week — or every day, for all I know.”

“Well now,” said I, “you must tell us.” Though just at that moment I had no idea of what her “adventure” might have been, I would soon find out, for she seemed to take what I had just said as permission to proceed, and she did then begin to tell her tale.

I take the liberty here of retelling it in my own words, rather than attempt a verbatim account, for on this occasion, as on so many others in those days, she missed no opportunity to digress, diverting her own attention, as well as that of her listeners, to unimportant details and parenthetical events.

But now to her story: Clarissa was wakened in the middle of the night by Lady Fielding, who told her that she was needed by Sir John to accompany him to the residence of Lord Hillsborough where a burglary had taken place. Dressing hurriedly, Clarissa was ready to depart with him, and following the manner he suggested, she led the way down the stairs and out into the street with his hand placed upon her shoulder. Outside, in Bow Street, a hackney coach awaited them. Benjamin Bailey, the first of the Bow Street Runners, stood by and threw open the door to the hackney. He whisked them inside and jumped in after them.

As the coach moved them on toward their destination. Sir John did carefully explain to her the part she would play in the action that lay ahead. (Here I quote him, as she conveyed his words to us there at the table.) “Clarissa,” said he, “as you know, I am blind. I manage to do the work of one with sight only with help, which is customarily provided by Jeremy. In his absence, I shall depend upon you to provide that help. In short, I ask you to serve as my eyes. When we arrive, I shall require you to describe to me all that you see at the scene of the crime. I shall prompt you and ask you questions. I shall ask you to be by my side when I interrogate any and all who may have information to give. I am capable of sniffing out all but the visible signs of lying. The smell of fear, the unsteady voice, the sound of the throat that must consistently be cleared, shortness of breath — all of these I can readily detect. But I shall depend upon you to tell me if there is overmuch sweating, or if there is an unconscious refusal to focus direct upon me whilst I ask the questions. Is all of that clear, Clarissa?”

Indeed it was. She must have done a remarkably good job of describing the place to Sir John, for she did a proper job of describing it to us — until she lost her way in a digression which took us to Bloomsbury Square for purposes of comparing its imposing facades with that of Lord Hillsborough’s grand house in — or just outside — Whitehall.

(Clarissa said that she believed Lord Hillsborough’s residence to be one of those by Inigo Jones. Molly wished to know who then was Inigo Jones and why he had such an odd name. It took me a bit of pleading to get matters back on track.)

The reason why she did concern herself with such matters was that the burglars had actually managed to enter by way of the front door. One of them (there were apparently only two in all) had been most adept with a picklock. As the night watchman made his rounds, timed roughly at five-minute intervals, the burglar worked upon the lock. It could not have taken long to gain entry, for there was no evidence of them having taken cover behind the shrubbery in the front of the house. Probably they were inside the house within five minutes — and probably a good deal less than that. Sir John had commented that such a bold entry by the front door was quite unusual. Oddly, none of the house dogs had barked.

Once inside, they did not have to roam about, looking for the right room. One of the two, no telling which, had acquired a bit of mud on the bottoms of his shoes, and it was possible for Clarissa to follow his track from the front door to their goal, Lord Hillsborough’s study. It seemed certain that the burglars either knew the house well, or else had a detailed diagram of it.

It immediately became clear that while the burglars knew their way through the house, they had no notion of where to look for what they sought — nor perhaps did they even know exactly what they sought. Papers littered the floor; files were emptied; drawers were thrown about. All this could not have been done silently. Noise enough was made by them to bring one of the servants, a footman, from his station in the house. Though called a footman, he seemed also to have the responsibilities of a guard within the house, for he was well-armed. He was found upon the floor of the study with a pistol in his hand and another tucked into his belt. The back of his head was crushed. Sir John commented that he must have died instantly. He added that this, too, was highly unusual for burglars: They much prefer to enter and leave, their presence undetected and, if at all possible, their theft unnoticed. These were men in a hurry, so reckless in their haste that they were forced to kill in order to continue their search. And yet Sir John declared that he thought them experienced in their trade. “If nothing more,” said he, “their entry through the front door proved that they were daring and resourceful — but desperate.”

What could have been worth so much that they would dare to be so incautious? It was to the answer of that question that he had sought out Lord Hillsborough. But the nobleman was of no help at all. He appeared before Sir John in the study, wearing a dressing gown of lustrous black silk and an icy look of contempt. That expression turned to disgust as he stood in the middle of the room and surveyed the chaos upon the floor round his desk. Though he had been forced to step over the body of the footman in order to gain the center of the room, he gave the poor fellow little attention and no sympathy: What was left of him was now simply in the way.

“What will you, Sir John?” he asked. “There is but little of the night left, and I should like to use it to sleep.”

“This should not take long,” said the magistrate.

“Well, let’s get on with it.”

Nevertheless, Sir John was not to be rushed. Yet finally did he speak up: “This room has been described to me as being in a great state of confusion. Have you any notion who might have visited this upon you?”

“None at all. But then I have not many burglars or suchlike criminals in my circle of acquaintances.”

“I suppose you do not. But you might have one or two who were so eager to have something of yours that they would hire men of that sort to get it for them. Now, I realize that it will take you quite some time to go through the contents of this desk — which, as I am told, are littered over the floor. Nevertheless, you may be aware of something in your keeping which is important to keep secret. You may have gone immediately to the place where it was hid just to see if it were still there.”

“There was no such secret document or documents,” said Lord Hillsborough, “and therefore no hiding place.”

“Nothing of a personal nature?”

“No, nothing.”

“Nothing that might be used to embarrass you? Or extort money from you? “

“Nothing at all, I tell you!”

“Well and good, well and good,” said Sir John in the manner of a peacemaker.

“There is another matter, however. I know that you are a member of His Majesty’s government.”

“That is correct.”

“I fear, however, that I know not which position you hold. Could you perhaps inform me in that matter?”

“I am secretary of state for the American colonies.”

“Is that it indeed? Why, you must be kept busy these days, what with all of the trouble caused by the more quarrelsome of those colonists.”

“That is so,” said Lord Hillsborough.

“Could you then have had something in your possession to do with these colonial matters? Something, that is, which might invite a burglary such as this?”

“For the last time, I know of nothing that is missing. If, in making my inventory of the contents of the desk, I discover something missing, I shall notify you immediately.”

“Please do. And Lord Hillsborough?”

A deep sigh, then: “Yes? What is it?”

“One last question: How did you learn of the burglary? I take it you were asleep?”

“Yes, I was. The butler, Carruthers, woke me to tell me.”

“And how did he learn of it?”

“That you will have to ask him.”

“Thank-you. That will be all I require of you for the time being.”

And at that, Lord Hillsborough stamped out the door of the study, making no effort to disguise his annoyance at Sir John’s rather direct interrogation.

Mr. Benjamin Bailey, as chief constable, had visited many such scenes as this one in the company of Sir John. And, having made his own investigations and asked a few questions, was ready and waiting with the butler, Carruthers, who had admitted the party from Bow Street; there was also another man, big and burly, who looked to be a footman, as well as he on the floor in the study.

Sir John and Clarissa went into the hall to talk with these men, and at that time the magistrate requested that the study be closed until the body therein could be delivered to the medical examiner for the City of Westminster (i.e., Gabriel Donnelly). The butler told them that he had learned of the burglary and the murder from the second footman, whose name was Will Lambert, waiting to be interviewed. It was the butler who sent word to Number A Bow Street to report the matter to Sir John. But that was about all that the butler told them. He had behaved well in an emergency, and he had done what needed to be done.