Blind Justice (14 page)

“But could it be,” asked Mr. Donnelly, “that Lady Goodhope is liable for such debts as this one?”

“Not she,” said Sir John, “but rather Lord Goodhope’s estate. If she wishes to keep it somewhat intact for her own comfort and the prospects of her son, then she must see that her late husband’s debts are paid: even those to which she may have some moral objections, such as this one.”

“Surely, Sir John—”

“That is the law, Lady Goodhope,” Sir John interrupted her sternly. “We cannot pick and choose among debts. We must pay them all. Again, I can only advise you to look into your late husband’s finances. Find his solicitor. It may well be that this lien held by Mr. Bilbo can be paid from other funds. You have, after all, until the end of the month: better than a week. Use that time.”

She also put a stern face to him. “To be frank,” said she, “I had been considering quite seriously the thought of selling this house. As I believe I told you previously, this has never been my home. That has always been in Lancashire. This was the place that my husband maintained his city life and, if you will pardon me, held his revels. To it he required me to come a few weeks out of the year, spring and autumn, and the rest of the time it was his. And so, you see, I have no sentiment attached to it. I would gladly sell it, but I’ll not see it given away to some gambler to whom my husband may have owed a few quid.”

“You count twenty thousand as a few?” asked Sir John, rather severely.

“That debt has yet to be verified,” said she.

With that, Sir John rose, dropped his head in a casual salute, and said to her: “Well, Lady Goodhope, I wish you good fortune. I sincerely hope that the matter of verification goes in your favor. But now I must get on with the criminal aspects of this matter. You have on your staff of servants two kitchen helpers by the names of Annie and Meg, family names unknown.”

“Do we?” She seemed quite ignorant of them. “I was unaware.”

“I wish to talk to them in that order: Annie first, and then Meg.”

She fluttered her hand from where she sat. “Let that be known to Potter, or perhaps better, since he is away, to Ebenezer.”

“Ah yes, Ebenezer Tepper. I wished to ask you about him. He is quite the stranger here, is he not?”

“Indeed he is.”

“How came he here, and when?”

“When? Oh, quite recently, only in the last few days.”

“And how did that come to pass?”

“Shortly after I arrived, but ten days past, one of the regular footmen turned up missing.”

“Missing?”

“Yes, he simply vanished. To fill the place, I suggested we send to Lancashire for Ebenezer. I make no secret that I am somewhat partial to him. He is a good lad generally, and a year ago he saved my son from bodily harm. My late husband had no objection, in fact seemed quite indifferent in the matter, and so it was done.”

Sir John stood silent for a long moment. “And why was I not apprised of the disappearance of the footman? What was his name?” he asked at last.

“I’ve no idea. Servants,” said she with a grand shrug, “they come

log and go. Do you think it may have some bearing on Lord Goodhope’s death?”

“It may.”

“Then it is good that it came out now, though I don’t see how it could matter.”

“That is my job, Lady Goodhope: to see how things matter.”

“As you say, Sir John.”

“I take my leave, then, and thank you.”

We started for the door accompanied by Mr. Donnelly, who had risen with Sir John and waited patiently for the leave-taking. We paused there as Mr. Donnelly stood, one hand on the knob of the door, and spoke earnestly to Sir John in a low voice.

“I thank you, sir,” said he, “for speaking reason to her. She has not the slightest notion of how her husband’s accounts stood. I understand from her that you offered names of reliable men who might make a survey of the late Lord Goodhope’s situation. If I could have them now, perhaps I could …”

“One name only can I supply here and now, that of Moses Martinez. He is a Jew and an honest man. He has a place of business just down from Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street. I do not recall the number, but he is well known thereabouts.”

“I shall find it.”

“Just one question, Mr. Donnelly. Where is the corpus in question?”

“Lord Goodhope’s? Why, at the embalmer’s. Lady Goodhope has decided to bury him at a cemetery near Grandhill—that is, near the estate in Lancashire. It seeemd appropriate to have him embalmed for the journey.”

“I see. Well, if she intends to follow soon after for the funeral, I may have to detain her.”

“I had suspected as much. Sir John. Mr. Martinez may well require her presence, as well.”

“Indeed.”

Then, just as Mr. Donnelly made to open the door to ease us into the hall, a knock came upon it. The surgeon swung it wide and revealed Potter standing rigid and erect but somewhat out of breath, as if he had just run a great distance.

“I have a report for Lady Goodhope,” he announced loudly in a manner most important.

It seemed to be me who was blocking his way. He frowned me out of his path, and strode to the center of the sitting room.

“You may deliver your report. Potter,” said she.“There is nothing to hide from these gentlemen.”

“As you wish, your ladyship. But I fear I bear bad news. I have viewed the document in question, and I must vouch for the signature. It is indeed Lord Goodhope’s. Mr. Bilbo was most cooperative. He also showed me the individual promissory bills. They also bore m’lord’s signature, often not legible and merely scrawled, but indeed they seemed to bear his scrawl.”

“We shall see,” said she, making of her face a mask without expression.

“Indeed, your ladvship. There is one more thing, however.”

“And what is that?”

“While at the establishment of Mr. Bilbo I chanced to meet Mr. Charles Clairmont, who is known to vou. He was distressed at having just heard of his brother’s death and wishes permission to call on you.”

“That he may not have,” said she with great certainty. “That Mr. Clairmont may never have.”

Having heard what I have quoted, Sir John turned from the room and stalked down the hall wdth me in hot pursuit. Catching him up, I found him in a sudden dark temper. He stopped suddenly, growling to himself in a tone I had not heard from him before. I could but wonder at his sudden change. I hesitated, torn between my fear of disturbing him in such a state and my wish to help.

At last I made bold to offer: “May I do something for you, sir?”

He turned to me, seething with anger, though not (I was relieved to note) at me. “Jeremv,” said he, “do you recall those intemperate remarks I made but two nights past on the defects of womankind?”

“Yes sir, I do,” said I.

“I may have later given the impression that I repented them. / do not! They all obtain!” He slammed his stick down upon the carpet. “W’hat now do we find as addenda to Lady Goodhope’s reluctant account? A missing servant and a materialized brotherl Not one but two surprisesi Well, I tell vou, my bov, I’ve had my fill of surprises. Do you see that pompous ass of a majordomo about?”

“You mean Potter, sir?”

“I do indeed. Bring him here.”

In fact, I did see Potter, for at just that moment he was showing Mr. Donnelly out. I hurried to him and, just as he shut the door, informed him that Sir John wished to talk with him at once. He greeted this with a rather pained expression, but accompanied me halfway down the hall to the point where Sir John had taken his position.

For the most part, I think you will agree from the samples offered thus far that Sir John Fielding tended to be a rather gentle interrogator. He was not gentle with Potter. He demanded to know the history of Charles Clairmont. Potter exhibited reluctance, pleading discretion in a family matter, but Sir John would have none of that; shaking his stick at him, he threatened him with a charge of impeding a criminal investigation. The butler quailed at that and gave in summary a history of the man in question.

Charles Clairmont was indeed the brother of the late Lord Good-hope, though a half-brother only. There was no question of him inheriting the title, for a bar sinister separated him from succession. Clairmont, approximately the same age as the late lord, was the son of their father’s London mistress, acknowledged, brought up in good circumstances, with a comfortable fortune settled upon him at the time of his majority. An ambitious man, he subsequently took that fortune with him to the West Indies where he engaged in commerce with great success. He had returned to London many times since, on each visit exhibiting evidence of his growing riches in the purchases that he made of costly goods for transport back to the Caribbean.

“And why such hostility between Lady Goodhope and Mr. Clairmont?” demanded Sir John.

A look passed over Potter’s face which indicated he was about to tell Sir John to ask her ladyship herself about that. But then he thought better of it: “It stems, I believe, from the fact that he attended their wedding uninvited. And because uninvited, he took the occasion to make a drunken commotion that was in no wise seemly. Rather ugly, really. Nevertheless, he and Lord Goodhope had continued to maintain relations over the years of a more or less cordial nature. Mr. Clairmont never failed to call on him during his visits to England, though always in London and never when Lady Goodhope was in residence.”

“And you chanced to see him at the Bilbo establishment this very morning?”

“I did, sir, yes.”

“And what was his business there?”

“I cannot rightly say. He was not there for gaming. The tables had not opened yet. His business was with the proprietor. It was from him he had learned of Lord Goodhope’s death. He said he had just arrived from the islands.”

“Where?”

“He did not say, sir.”

“Ah, well.” Sir John took but a moment to ruminate over the matter. “If he sought permission to call on Lady Goodhope, he must have given you an address where he might be reached.”

“Uh, yes, he did, sir: a lodging house of good repute on the Strand. I have it here.”

The butler began fumbling through his coat.

“Keep it,” said Sir John. “Send one of the footmen, or go yourself, and convey Lady Goodhope’s harsh message. Tell him, too, that his presence is required in my chambers at Bow Street Court promptly at five o’clock. Mind you, Potter, the word is required. Is that understood?”

“Understood, yes, sir.” He began shuffling his feet, as if making ready to go.

But Sir John had not yet finished with him. “Now,” said he, “we come to the matter of the vanished footman. When did he disappear?”

“Ten days past—or eleven now, I suppose.”

“Which is it, man,” said Sir John harshly, “ten or eleven?”

Shaken somewhat. Potter spoke quickly, his words came all in a rush: “A bit difficult to say, sir. The man vanished overnight with his clothes and possessions. He had wages coming, too!”

“You count this as passing strange?”

“Oh, I do, sir, yes! Yes, I do!”

“And what was his name? What was his appearance? How long had he been in employ?”

Now was Potter truly rattled. He looked right and left, as if he were seeking the answers elsewhere. Not finding them, he faced up to Sir John at last: “He had been on the house staff about a year, no more. He was a large man, strongly built, whose strength made him useful moving heavy loads about the house.”

“Good, good. And his name?”

“Richard, sir, same as the master’s.”

“Is that how he was called about the house?”

“Uh, no, sir. That might have caused some confusion. About the house he was called Dick.”

“I take it, ” said Sir John, “that he had a family name. Even the least of us is granted one.”

“I’m sure he had one, sir, but it slips my mind at the moment.”

Then, to my surprise, Sir John, who had been most severe in his tone up to that point, chose to soften it. Yet in his words there was lodged a dark threat.

“Well, think upon it,” said he to Potter. “It must surely be hsted in the household records for the past year. Search it out as you continue to hunt for the house plan I directed you to bring me. But think upon that footman’s family name, and whilst you do, think also upon that charge of impeding a criminal investigation with which I threatened you. It was not an idle threat, nor is it a charge to be taken lightly. Conviction could lead to months, even years in prison, depending upon the circumstances. But though serious, it is not half so grave as complicity in a capital crime. That, as you may know, is punishable by hanging. Now with all this in mind, would you like to make one last effort at recollection?”

Sweat stood forth on Potter’s face. The proposition put to him by Sir John could not have inspired the fear there, were he as innocently ignorant as he pretended to be. Perhaps he feared his interrogator less than some other not then present.

He struggled apoplectically to speak, and finally, after taking a deep breath, managed to form the words he sought.

“It has just come to me, sir—I mean, the footman’s surname. It was … Dillon.”

“His name then is Dick Dillon?”

Quite deflated, he managed a nod, then added quietly, “Yes, sir.”

“Well, perhaps I have good news for you then. Potter. You have exhibited signs of mortal dread that, if I may say so, even a blind man could read. If Dick Dillon has frighted you so, and he is doubtless to be feared, then you may rest easy. He is now in custody at Newgate, awaiting trial on a capital crime.”

Far from resting easy. Potter then exhibited the greatest confusion. Yet he managed to present this to Sir John: “I am relieved somewhat. He left a note, threatening any who sought to follow.”

“Ah, you neglected to mention that.”

“So I did.”

“Do you have the note here in the house?”

“No, sir. I showed it to the master, and he destroyed it.”

“A pity. Now, if you will be so good, please send word to the kitchen that I wish to speak to the cook’s helpers, Annie and Meg, in the library. And do look into notifying Mr. Charles Clairmont of my demand to see him at five in Bow Street.”

Sir John nodded pleasandy then, and added, “Thank you, Potter. That will be all.”