Blind Justice (27 page)

“Not as yet, ma’am, no. He’s been terrible busy on an inquiry.”

“Ah, the Goodhope matter, of course. They talk of nothing else in the streets.”

“And then,” said I, blurting more than I should, “there is Lady Fielding, as well.”

“Oh? What is the trouble there?”

“I fear she is dying.”

Though I immediately realized it was wrong of me to have said so much of concerns personal to Sir John, the look of consternation and genuine sympathy that appeared upon her face assured me that at least I had not told them to the wrong person.

“I had no idea,” said she. “The poor, generous, good man—he is then truly beset, is he not? Well, young Jeremy, since I have heard nothing of it from the gossips and prattlers, I shall treat what you told me as a confidence. I’ll not repeat it.”

“I’d be grateful,” said I. “In all truth, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Not a word.” Then, gesturing at our like baskets, she said: “You buy for the household. You have their trust.”

“I hope I’ve done well. Only the meat remains to be bought.”

“Would you like some help with that?”

“Oh, indeed I would. I fear I might buy what’s old or spoiled. My eye is not the best for meat.”

“Then come along,” said she. “We shall do our buying together.”

And off we went to that corner of the Garden where the butchers’ stalls and the vendors of sausages and poultry were set and the early-season flies assembled in number. The hucksters sang their songs—

Mutton chops to marrow bones!

Pork loins and flitches and meaty stewing bones!

—and the buyers gathered. It seemed that those who bellowed the loudest drew the greatest number.

Buy a young chicken fat and plump, Or take two for a shilling? Come buy if you are willing!

But Katherine Durham led me past the mob and on to a stall which, though doing a good trade, did not resort to cries and calls. We took a place to wait for service by one of two young lads who busied themselves behind the board, offering and selling, weighing and wrapping. But as we waited there, we two were spied by the proprietor of the stall, himself a proper butcher for he wore a bloody apron; he left his post at the rear of the stall and beckoned us to him.

“Ho there, Mrs. Durham,” said he. (He was a big man with a big voice.) “And how be you this excellent morning?”

“Oh, very good, Mr. Tolliver, and I have brought to you this fine lad, whose name is Jeremy, and he is come here to the Garden to buy for the household of Sir John Fielding.”

He smiled a great wide smile at me, giving me the opportunity to puff a bit. “Well,” said he, “Sir John, is it? We all wish to stay on the right side of him. What would you be needing today, Master Jeremy?”

“Stew meat,” said I, consulting my list, “off the bone.”

“Well, come over here, both of you, and have a look. I think you’ll find this to your likin’.”

So saying, he led us to a great pot at the far end of the board, which was covered over with a cloth. Unlike the meat put out at neighboring stalls, his was thus covered until showed and sold. Mr. Tolliver pulled off the cloth that we might view the contents.

“Mutton?” asked Mrs. Durham.

“Indeed, mutton it is, and very young mutton at that—near lamb, it is.”

I looked at it with my unpracticed eye. It was filled with meat of a relatively light hue cut in good-sized chunks. Nearly all, it seemed, had morsels of fat appended. I commented on this, asking if this was usual.

“It’s as you would want it, young sir,” said Mr. Tolliver. “The fat gives body to the stew. The cook will know to skim it off the top as it simmers.”

I looked over at Mrs. Durham, and she gave me a wise nod of agreement.

“Well and good,” said I. “I’ll take a pound.”

“And I but half that,” said she.

“All’s right for both of you,” said he, as he doled out our separate quantities. “Will that be all, then?”

Mrs. Durham indicated so and paid up. I asked for three joints of beef.

“Three, no less?”

“Sir John likes his beef.”

“As any good Englishman would!” said he. “But I must go back and carve those from the side in the stall. It will be but a blink.”

He left us then to attend to the matter, and Katherine Durham extended her hand to me, taking her leave. I clasped her hand eagerly and expressed my thanks, exclaiming at my good luck in meeting her thus by chance.

“It has been my great pleasure,” said she quite graciously. “Now, Jeremy, it would be wrong of me to ask you to give to Sir John my sympathy with regard to Lady Fielding, because as you said, it is a personal matter and was probably better left untold. But nevertheless he does have my deepest sympathy. Simply tell him that you met Katherine Durham. She sends her sincerest greetings and hopes that he may one morning find time to visit at Number Three Berry Lane. Can you remember that address? It is the floor above with a separate entrance.”

“I can remember it, yes, and I will tell him.”

“Goodbye then, and good fortune to you.”

I stood, watching after her as she made her way through the multitude, for I was quite taken by her beauty and gentle manner. Then, sensing the butcher nearby, I turned and found him holding the big, raw slabs of meat out for my inspection. I decided they would look better cooked than they did at that moment. But I nodded my satisfaction, and he wrapped them.

As he took my money, he glanced off in the direction in which Mrs. Durham had disappeared. “A fine woman,” said he—and only that.

Before I gained entrance to Number 4 Bow Street, a coach pulled up at the door, and four men descended. Sir John led the way; the prisoner was third between the two constables. Even at some distance I could tell that Dick Dillon was much the worse for his ordeal. He walked slowly, though without leg irons, and his head was bowed. I held back, not wishing to impede them on their way, but also to better observe them. Stopping briefly at the door that led to the rear, Sir John turned and instructed the others in some manner. I had not noticed before, though I saw it in him afterward, that on certain occasions he took on something of a military air—giving brief commands and curt directions. Most of his hours he spent as a judge, with proper judicial demeanor, yet there were times when it suited him best to play commander to his constables.

They entered. Sir John last of all, and I hastened to the door to get another look. Inside, I caught the heavy tread of the party far down the hall; near running the length of it, I spied the four disappear into the magistrate’s chambers. How I should have liked to accompany them! But of course I could not intrude, no matter how keen my wish to hear Dillon’s testimony. And so, with a sigh of resignation, I turned away and climbed the stairs to the kitchen, basket in hand.

Mrs. Gredge was much pleased by my purchases, doubly so when she heard that I had bought the unlisted spices and leeks from my own small store of cash. And though she made no offer to reimburse me, she gave me time to myself that I might spend as I pleased. I went up to my attic room, suddenly weary, and though I took down a book to read, I soon found the lines of type swimming before my eyes. The lack of sleep I had suffered the night before won out over my resolve, and before I knew it I had fallen into a deep slumber.

Mrs. Gredge woke me a bit more gently than was her usual. She instructed me that I was wanted down in Sir John’s chambers. I needed little more than that to bring me to a keen state of alertness. I had been abed near two hours.

I pulled on my shoes and made for the ground floor at once. I was surprised, on the way to my destination, to see Dick Dillon in the strong room eating hungrily of bread and cheese. But I had no call to linger and gape, so I went straight to the magistrate’s door and banged on it loudly. Just as loudly I called my name, and Sir John bade me enter.

“Ah, Jeremy,” said he as I approached, “I have two most important errands for you to run.”

“Whatever you like, sir, it will be done.”

“Good boy.” He took two letters from his desk, each with the Bow Street seal, and offered them to me. “You have here separate letters to be delivered directly to the hands of those whose names appear on the outer face—and only to their hands. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” said I, taking them, “completely.”

“There is a deal of distance between the two addresses and it makes no matter to which you go first. Find Mr. Bailey, Mr. Baker, or Mr. Marsden, and get directions from them. One of them should help.”

“Is there an hour by which I should return?”

“Well, by dark, certainly. But it should not take so long, even if they ask you to wait for a reply. One or both may do that. In any case, you and I must have time to dine before going off to the Goodhope residence.”

I could not but smile broadly at that. “Then I’m to accompany you?”

“Oh, yes. You shall have a part to play. But on your way now.”

I bade him goodbye then and left to search out one of the three he had named. As it happened, I was fortunate to find Mr, Marsden, for he, the court clerk, not only gave me clear instructions to each destination, but also wrote them down for me.

Therefore, making haste into the city through a good many streets I had never walked before, I consulted my written instructions but once. I came quickly enough to Lloyd’s Coffee House, a place where Mr. Marsden had told me much business was done besides that of coffee drinking.

It was well marked and well lit (for it had many windows). As I entered, I encountered a great hubbub in the house. There were tables all around, at which one or sometimes two men sat, conversing loudly with those at tables nearby. Yet their attention was divided, for many seemed to return again and again to a large slate at one corner of the place upon which a fellow in an apron made entries and notations. Some shouted at him. Others seemed to ignore him completely. While all the while other fellows in aprons passed among them, distributing pots and collecting cups.

I tapped one of these servers politely on the arm as he passed by and asked him to identify Mr. Alfred Humber, as read the name on the envelope which I held. He directed me to a gentleman of a settled look, corpulent, and somewhat senior to the rest. He sat in the midst of the throng with a young man not much older than myself at his side. As I approached, he appeared to be dozing, and I wondered should I wake him. Yet upon my arrival at his table his eyes snapped open of a sudden, like those of a cat. And though he made not a move with his body, fingers still folded over his bulging belly, he fixed me with a close look.

“What is it, boy?” said he, not rudely but indulgently.

“If you are Mr. Alfred Humber,” said 1, “I have a letter for you from Sir John Fielding, magistrate of the Bow Street Court.”

“I am your man, so you may give it me.”

At last he bestirred himself, put forth his hand for the letter, and found a pair of spectacles in his waistcoat pocket with which to read it. He tore the seal with indifference and put the letter before him for studv.

Having done so, he frowned at me. “He wants not only the owners, but also the plan of its last voyage and its next?”

“Sorry, sir, I know not the contents of the letter.”

“I see, of course.” He turned to the young fellow at his side, who had quite openly read the letter over his shoulder, and handed it over to him. “George, my lad,” said he to him, “take this about— oh, first to Timmons and then to Craik. One of the two has this account, I’m sure. Have them write the information on the bottom of the page.”

Without a word, the assistant (if that was indeed his position) was off to the far corner of the large room.

“Would you like a cup?” Mr. Humber asked me. “Sit down here.”

“A cup, sir?”

“A cup of coffee.”

He signaled to one of the servers, who brought cups and a fresh pot, poured the black-brown brew, and was away the next moment.

“I’ve never had it before,” said I. “Will it make me drunk?”

“Oh no. The contrary is true. It will revive you, if you need reviving, as I do. And if you do not, it will for a short space give you strength you had no idea you possessed.”

“A magic potion?” said I.

“An elixir,” said he.

I tasted it and found it warm though not hot, slightly bitter though not unpleasant to the taste. And so I drank deep of it, liking it better with each draught.

“Thank you, Mr. Humber. It suits me well.”

“I warn you, though, boy. Drink it careful, for it could become a habit. The dear Lord knows it has become so with me.”

Just then Mr. Humber’s George returned from his ramble about the room, tossing down the letter on the table, and seating himself once again.

“Craik’s it was, sir,” said he. ” ‘E’s askin’ what it’s all about.”

“That’s for Sir John to tell, and I know him well enough to say he will not tell till he is ready.”

Mr. Humber picked up the letter and glanced at the information appended to the bottom of it. He passed it on to me.

“There you are,” said he. “Give my best to him.”

I jumped to my feet and drank to the bottom of the cup.

“Thank you, Mr. Humber, and thank you for bringing coffee to my acquaintance.”

“Mind it doesn’t become a habit.”

With a wave, I left him and departed the coffeehouse. Then, consulting Mr. Marsden’s directions and traversing the city, I made for the East India Company in Leadenhall Street. It stood, a mighty edifice, hard by the houses of government. There was no difficulty in locating the place, but once inside and passed on at the entrance, I found it to be a perfect maze of stairs and corridors. Through opened doors I glimpsed great halls of clerks laboring at their separate desks with quill and ink. Where could I find the man I sought?

At last, climbing to yet another floor, asking one met along the way, I came to the door I sought—that of Sir Percival Peeper, who I have since learned was then a proprietor of that great enterprise. I knocked, and the door was opened by a man in usher’s livery. He seemed quite unimpressed by my person.

“Yes, boy, what is it?” This in the tone of one permanently exasperated.