Murder in Grub Street (17 page)

“You have someone with you, Jeremy. Is it Moll Caulfield?”

“No, Sir John, it is one named Jimmie Bunkins, who was given a letter by her for you yesterevening not long after six.”

“Well, then, let him come forward and give it me.”

Bunkins did so, quaking at every step. He laid it, wrinkled and folded as it was, upon the table just at Sir John’s fingertips, then stepped quickly back.

“Have you read it, Mr. Bunkins?”

“No …” He tested his voice. It was much too weak, and so he tried again. “No, sir, I got no letters.”

“I see. Perhaps then you could tell me just how this letter fell into your hands.”

And that he did, in about the same words he had used before, describing the event and his relation to Moll Caulfield, though in a tone not near so bold as he had when relating it to me. Indeed, Jimmie Bunkins seemed quite in awe of Sir John Fielding, as well he might have been, judging his situation. Sir John listened with interest, nodding, encouraging him to continue. When at last Bunkins had done, there was silence between them for a spell.

Then Sir John asked: “Master Bunkins, would you say that Moll Caulfield was being held against her will?”

“A prisoner like? That I cannot say for sure, sir. All as I saw was that she went in line with the rest and was most careful to put the letter in my hand without nobody seein’ — all folded up, it was.”

“But she was seen?”

“Yes, sir, and I got chased. I distanced them like they was constables. I know the streets.”

“How, if you have no letters, did you know that what she gave you was intended for me? Did she dare speak to you?”

“No, sir, but she made the sign.”

“The sign?”

“Like this, sir. Oh, but you can’t see, can you, sir?”

“No, but describe it, please. I’m interested.”

“Well, you put your finger so, and make a kind of bird’s beak of your nose. See, old Moll, she wasn’t no thief herself, but she knew the flash and all the signs of the street. That one’s your sign, or the sign for one of your Beak-runners — same thing. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you, but that’s the way of it.”

“You did not then go to a Runner?”

“Uh, no, sir, I keeps my distance from such.”

“But you approached Jeremy.”

“Uh, yes, sir. Him and me, we had a tussle, but he seemed a right rum joe.”

“Then 1 thank you for coming forward, with Jeremy, and delivering the letter. Perhaps you hoped for some reward?”

“Well, I …”

“All I can offer you is this. You have given a strong hint that you are a thief. Jeremy suspected you, and that, I believe, was what occasioned your fray. Let me ask you this: Have you parents? Father or mother?”

“No, sir.”

“No trade, no other means of earning your bread?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I strongly advise you to give up thieving, but I realize this may be difficult in your situation. So what I can offer is this. When you appear before me as magistrate, as you surely will if you persist, I shall take this service you have performed in consideration in judging you. Does that satisfy you in the way of reward?”

Bunkins nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, sir, it does right rum.”

“Agreed, then. Jeremy? Will you show Master Bunkins out, and return so that we may examine the contents of Moll Caulfield’s letter?”

“Yes, Sir John,” said I.

With that, I touched my young companion on the arm, lor he had continued to stare dumbly at the magistrate. The spell thus broken, he consented to go. We were as far as the door when Sir John called after us.

“Master Bunkins,” said he, “one thing more I would say to you.

1 3 0 B R. U C E A L K X A N D E R

I have the means of sending boys in your state to sea — either in His Majesty’s Navy or the merchant navy. Had you ever considered such a lite?”

“No, sir, I ain’t.”

“Well, give it some thought. Please do. If you wish to discuss it more with me, you have but to seek out Jeremy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you, Master Bunkins.”

And so we left together. Jimmie Bunkins said not a word to me until we reached the door to the street. I opened it, and he stepped out absently, as if thinking of other things — as indeed at that moment he must have been.

Then, of a sudden, he burst out: “What a rum cove he is! I ain’t never met such a joe, and I don’t never hope to. I could be sent to crap by such as him and thank him for it.”

He grabbed my hand and pumped it hard. “Keep your glims open. I’ll be seeing you soon, old chum. ‘Twas a good meeting.”

He ran from Number 4 Bow Street, showing me a bit of the fleetness with which he had kept clear of the law up to that moment. I wished him well but feared that it was, as Sir John said, only a matter of time until he fell afoul of it. That, however, was not the immediate problem. I hurried back to Sir John’s chambers that the matter at hand might then be treated.

“Ah, Jeremy,” said he, “come in, come in. Read this thing to me, please.”

Moll Caulfield’s letter was something of a disappointment. It gave no specific information regarding the Brethren of the Spirit, nor did it give any hint of where she might have taken herself. It read as follows: “Sir John: Things is not right here with these folk. I would tell you more if you could get me away. — Moll C.”

“Well, it is not much, is it?” said Sir John. “It does indicate, however, that she felt herself near a prisoner with them.” He paused a moment, then added, “I take it you had no success in your search for her.”

“No, sir.”

“Nor for her friend, Dotty?”

‘ No, sir. I was working my way through Covent Garden in my search when Jimmie Bunkins found me. I thought it best to bring him right to you.”

“You did well. An interesting boy. There are scores like him in Westminster alone — orphaned, penniless, without a trade. They can do nothing but steal. Amusing what he told about the sign Moll gave him — the sign for me and the Runners. Had you heard of that?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“I hope we can persuade him to leave the streets.”

He fell then into one of his long, musing silences. I knew enough not to trouble him during them. He simply thought what had to be thought during such times and often emerged from these deep waters at a point much distant from where he dove in. Many minutes passed.

“If it were not sacrilegious to say,” he declared, “I would call a damnation upon this ranting sect, these Brethren of the Spirit. They are disruptive; they are disturbers of the fragile peace we maintain here at Bow Street. I like them not, and least of all do I like that Brother Abraham.”

“There is something I would tell you about them, Sir John.”

“Oh? What is that?”

“I was minded of it in listening to Mr. Bilbo’s account of his meeting with the two of the sect in Maiden Lane.”

“Ah yes, perhaps I shouldn’t have fined him. I could have thus shown my displeasure at the way those two troubled him, thinking him a Jew. At least I fined Brother Isaac and Brother James equally today for their contempt of my court. But I go on. What was it came to you during the Bilbo matter?”

“It was this, sir: On that unhappy occasion when I delivered Moll Caulfield up to the Brethren of the Spirit, there in the Garden, I heard them sing one of their hymns, which was unlike any other I had ever heard. It seemed to prophesy the conversion of the Jews. And that, it was, was most on the minds of those two in Maiden Lane. There is a Jewish church there, you may remember.”

“But of course there is! That had slipped my mind completely. They cause so little trouble that they skip my notice. Strange Dutch Jews they are, who I’m told grow beards like Bilbo’s and dress as black as the Brethren of the Spirit. Isaac and James may have thought old Black Jack was going into or coming out of the synagogue.”

That was a term unfamiliar to me. It had a strange, foreign sound. “A synagogue, sir? Is that a Jewish church?”

“That is what they call it, yes.”

“I know little of Jews,” said I, “though my father spoke well of them — Spinoza and Maimonides, in particular. His favorite, Voltaire, spoke against them, but he said that he provided an instance to prove that one should never take a philosopher whole, but in pieces.”

“I wish I had known your father,” said Sir John. “He seems to have given you naught but wisdom.”

“I never knew a Jew,” said I.

“They are like all men,” said he, “most good, some bad. I have had a few of the bad before me in court. One was hanged, and justly so, for he had committed murder. But the rest go unnoticed, for they incur no blame upon them.”

He paused, thought but a moment, then returned to the subject: “This business of the conversion of the Jews was a matter much discussed, and was expected by some, in the last century. An age that could manage the execution of a king expected great wonders and portents to come of it. Since the preachers preached that Christ’s second coming could only happen with the conversion of the Jews, and a certain mathematical hocus-pocus had been done to prove that the second coming was near at hand, it was supposed that the Jews would do their part and become Christian, and Christ would descend from heaven and set foot first in England — there was never any doubt that London would be his New Jerusalem. Yet why he should ever wish to appear in such squalid surroundings as these, I cannot suppose. In any case, this worldwide conversion of Christ’s own people was supposed to begin sometime in the middle of the last century. Though I cannot recall the precise date, the date was most precise. I do, however, recall that the process was to be complete by 1699, making the way clear for the second coming, I suppose in 1700 — these biblical literalists are all very fond of such round numbers.

“Well, the Jews did not cooperate. They stuck to their Old Testament and conducted themselves as they had for the last four thousand years, give or take. This was of no great moment in England, for these precise calculations and prophecies were the concern of preachers and theologians only. And a good thing that was, too, for had they excited the populace to their expectations, there might have been reprisals against the Jews as are seen in those benighted, so-called Christian nations in the east of Europe. We’ll have none of that here, I pray.”

He had ended at that point. And so I spoke up as follows: “But now come these Brethren of the Spirit. This seems to be part of their plan, does it not?”

“Who knows what mischief they are up to? Damnation! They-”

A stout knock sounded upon Sir John’s door.

“Attend to that, will you, Jeremy?”

I went to the door, opened it, and found two men there — Mr. Marsden, whom I knew quite well, and another whom I’d never before seen. The second man, who wore a short, neat-trimmed beard and a good suit of clothes, hung back most polite, yet showed an urgency in his manner that he could bare restrain.

“Mr. Moses Martinez wishes to speak with Sir John,” said Mr. Marsden.

“Who is there, Jeremy?”

“Mr. Moses Martinez, sir.”

“Well, show him in, show him in.”

Mr. Marsden and I stepped aside, and the guest whisked past us and up to Sir John. He shook the hand that was extended to him. Although new to my sight, I knew him by his good reputation. It was he who had set Lady Goodhope’s financial affairs in order. I recalled that in commending him, Sir John had described him as “a Jew and an honest man.” So now, it seemed, I looked upon my first Jew. In truth, I was somewhat disappointed. Except for the beard, which was not the fashion, he looked as other men, though better-dressed.

Mr. Marsden had disappeared. Quite curious as to the nature of this visit, I eased the door shut and remained. I had not, after all, been asked to go.

“Sir John, I would not trouble you so,” said Mr. Martinez, “but I have just been made aware of a distressing matter that I feel must be brought to your attention.”

He spoke as other men, too.

“Sit down then, sir, and tell me,” said Sir John. “Unburden your legs and your heart.”

Mr. Martinez took the chair, yet he was in such an agitated state that he held back a moment to calm himself. Then he began: “You are aware of the synagogue on Maiden Lane?”

“Indeed. I’ve just been reminded of it.”

“They are good people there. They may appear a bit odd to their neighbors for their dress and the length of their beards, but they keep to themselves and cause no trouble to anyone.”

“Dutch Jews, are they not?”

“So they are called, though in truth they are from the Ukraine and Poland, where they were much oppressed and suffered greatly. By the distinction we accept, they are Ashkenazi Jews.”

“And you are …”

“Sephardic.”

“Would this be like unto Catholic and Protestant?”

“No, Sir John. There is no real dispute between us. We are simply Jews of differing histories. No need to go into those histories now.”

“As you say, Mr. Martinez.” He waved him to continue.

“But at this synagogue on Maiden Lane, yesterevening, the Sabbath services were interrupted by a group of men in a most threatening manner. These men were well known to the congregation, for most had been accosted on the street by them in a rude manner and preached at most aggressively.”

“The Brethren of the Spirit,” put in Sir John.

“Ah! You know them.”

“All too well, Mr. Martinez, all to well. But tell me, do, what have they now done to disturb the peace and anger me further?”

“As I say, sir, they interrupted the Sabbath services, blocked the exits, and forced the congregation to listen to a … well, a sermon by one of their number.”

“Brother Abraham, I’ll wager.”

“That may be. I was not present.”

“How came you to hear of this, then?”

“One who was present reported it to me. He is a man, however, whom I know, and I trust his account.”

“Did he say how they blocked the exits? Were these men armed?”

“He did not say.”

“Did he give some idea of the content of this sermon that was preached to this captive congregation?”

“That he did, yes. He said it was a most impassioned and angry bid — nay, demand — for the conversion of the congregation to.the Christian faith.”