Person or Persons Unknown (38 page)

Annie, who had been told of his imminent departure, looked at me with a question in her eyes — one I could not answer. Unable to do more, I simply shrugged; she returned the gesture.

So here was I with two mysteries to be solved. Nor could I have been likely to solve them on my own, for there were no hints dropped, and no help offered from other sources. There was naught to do but wait until Sir John himself chose to offer some explanation. That he did two evenings later as we sat together at dinner. He had called for wine to be served, which was rare for an ordinary meal with just

the four of us in the kitchen. It seemed likely to me that a toast was to be offered, as it soon was.

Before we had touched knife and fork to plate, he stood up from his chair and raised his glass high.

“My dear family,” said he, generously including Annie and me, “I give you the health of Mr. Gabriel Donnelly, for though he be absent from our table at this moment, we may look forward to his return to us many times in the future during what we anticipate to be his long and continued residence here in London.”

Then did we three rise and drink his health together with Sir John, saving our questions till we be seated. Then came they in abundance: Had he been persuaded to stay? Had the Navy rejected him? Had he found him a patron? Why was he not present? Sir John raised his hand, stilling us, and launched into his explanation.

“No amount of persuasion on my part could have kept him here,” said he, “for it was simple economic necessity which prompted him in his plan to return to the Navy, which, by the bye, would have taken him gladly, for I have learned he had a very distinguished record during his years of service. In a sense, yes, he has found a patron, as I shall make clear, since the announcement will be made tomorrow in Parliament.

“At last, by my continued urging, a new coroner has been chosen. He is Thomas Trezavant, a friend of the prime minister’s and, between us, no better qualified than his predecessor, though considerably younger. Yet he makes no pretense at competence, and in a meeting with him and the Lord Chief Justice, I managed to convince both that what was needed was a medical advisor to the coroner, one whose opinions could be relied upon absolutely. Naturally I put forward Mr. Donnelly for that position. There was, I admit, some opposition to my nomination because he is Irish and, they rightly assumed, Popish. I countered with his excellent record in His Majesty’s Navy and pointed out that his religion had been no impediment to him there. As for his reliability, I told them of his help to me in these terrible homicides that now, thank God, are behind us. I confessed to them that long before I was willing to recognize the possibihty, he had urged me that they were the work of two murderers and not one; and he had done so on purely medical evidence. They asked to meet him. Yesterday that meeting was accomplished. Mr. Donnelly, whom we all know to be a fine fellow, presented himself very well in a most unassuming gentlemanly manner, and he was accepted by them. Since he has the prime minister’s ear, Mr. Trezavant was able to persuade him to provide an annual stipend for the medical advisor — not much, to be sure, but sufficient to subsidize Mr. Donnelly’s continued practice in this city. This official recognition is sure to bring him patients aplenty.” He smiled broadly and gave a nod of affirmation. ”But come let us eat. Our mutton will grow cold.”

And so eat we did — and fine mutton chops they were, made finer still by the claret we drank with them. Yet one question remained in my mind.

“Sir John,” I asked, “why is Mr. Donnelly not with us? Why must we toast him in absentia?”

“Ah, Jeremy, well you may ask. He dines this evening with his new master, Mr. Trezavant. It is, of course, a social and professional obligation. Mr. Donnelly sends his regrets and his promise to join us to celebrate the rise in his fortunes at any time in the future.”

Having had one mystery solved, I was quite determined to get to the solution of the other. And so, after I had finished with the washing up, I made up my mind to approach Sir John and ask him direct. After all, had not Mr. Donnelly advised me to seek opportunities to speak with him? And perhaps if a discussion were opened, there might be a chance to talk to him of matters even more important to me. I knew indeed I would find him in that room above where he sat so often in the dark. It was to it that I went and tapped upon the open door.

“It is Jeremy, sir,” said I. “Perhaps you might answer a question for me.”

“I shall if I can, lad. Come in, sit down. Light a candle if you like.”

I entered and sat opposite him, yet allowed us to remain in the dark. It was his element.

Then did I explain how I had seen the Millhouse family enter all solemn on Sunday last and later did spy them larking across Covent Garden as jolly as could be. What, I asked, had raised their spirits so?

“Ah,” said he, “I blush that I had not told you before, since the matter concerns you. The truth is, Jeremy, I am somewhat obsessive by nature. I seem only to be able to think upon one matter at a time, and since Sunday Mr. Donnelly’s appointment has occupied me fully. But as you rightly perceived, Mr. and Mrs. Millhouse have also had a rise in their fortunes. And it is you, Jeremy, who are responsible.”

“I, sir? How is that?”

“It was you found Poll Tarkin’s treasure, the proceeds of her career as a pickpocket and sneak thief. When at last I had had the burden of these Covent Garden murders lifted from me, my mind turned to that little family in Half Moon Passage — the father a drinker and prey to temptations of the flesh, them condemned to life in a single room with a baby of the bawling, squalling age. And it seemed to me they deserved something better. I learned, too, that his position with Mr. Hoole necessitated Mr. Millhouse to rise early each mom and walk clear to Clerkenwell, for it is there the work of translating Ariosto is done. To make it short, I saw there was every reason to get them out of this unhealthy environment and into something better, so I summoned them to appear Sunday last. Since they had missed a payment on the fine I had put on Mr. Millhouse, they may have thought I had brought them in to chastise them — hence, their solemn faces. When they heard that, on the contrary, I had decided to award them the bag of money which you had discovered ‘neath the floor of Poll Tarkin’s room, they were quite overjoyed. Though it was ill-gotten, I said, it could be put to good use by them. Yet I put a proviso upon how it was to be spent. I told them they were to move out of Covent Garden and into Clerkenwcll, or near it, to a bigger and more comfortable location. And that Mr. Millhouse was not to take a single shilling of it to celebrate their good fortune. He took an oath that he would not, before his wife. I believe she held him to it, for they have found a place already and will move to it on Saturday. What say you to that, Jeremy?”

“Were it not that I might disturb Lady Fielding, I should give out a loud huzzah.”

“I thought you would be pleased.”

“How much was there in the bag?”

“Near forty guineas. I had Mr. Marsden count it out — guineas, sovereigns, and shillings — and that was roughly the amount.”

“It will change their lives.”

“For the better, certainly.”

I waited. Since no more was immediately said, I started to rise and take my leave.

“Stay,” said he then. “Now that you are here, perhaps we should speak further.” He hesitated, then: “Because of my ob.sessive state in the past weeks, we have had little opportunity to talk as we once did. I want you to know, first of all, that your help was appreciated in the matter of the homicides, more than appreciated. I still blame myself for putting you in danger in that charade by which the Raker was finally apprehended, yet you carried it through admirably and rightly deserved the reward you got. Though I said to you that your tramp through the sewer was ‘brave and foolish,’ it was far more brave than it was foolish. And I give you credit, too, Jeremy, you proved me wrong about Mr. Tolliver. You may not believe this, but ultimately I like being proven wrong from time to lime.

“Mr. Donnelly told me of how you spent your reward money, some of it, and that, too, I thought admirable. I confess, however, that I was concerned that you may have had carnal relations with that poor girl. He assured mc you had not. Is that the case?”

“I had none. Sir John.”

“Good. The pox is rampant in London. You have seen

in Amos Carr the possible result. You may see other examples in the streets — cripples and drooling idiots. It is a dreadful disease. Yet I find it altogether too easy to forget most of the time how it was with me when I was your age and a little older. The same desires bumed within me, the same passion for adventure and risk-taking. If I had been less eager to take risks, I might have my eyesight today, it’s true, yet I would not have had the life I have led; and on the whole, I think it a good one. Fate does ever present us with these queer trades. Yet on the whole, too, I think it good for you to consider potential dangers, Jeremy. Look before you leap.”

Now I did suppose he was truly done. We had gone so far, however, that I thought it might be possible to go a bit further.

^‘Sir John?”

“Yes, lad, what is it?”

How to say this? “Well, sir, I wanted only to renew my intention to read the law with you, if that be also your wish.”

“Have I forgotten your intention or my promise? Is that the question? No, though we have not discussed it for quite some time, I have not forgotten. You are just now a bit too young to begin. But it is a long process, I warn you, and a rather tedious one, too. Let us wait a bit, perhaps a year. Let us wait until you are sixteen. You may hold me to that.”

As Christmas approached in that year of 1770, I was avid to buy gifts for all. Since I had all but two shillings left from that store given me by Jimmie Bunkins, I at last had the wherewithal to indulge my good wishes to all who were close to me. To Bunkins himself I gave a copy of Robinson Crusoe, which I was sure he would be able to read in the coming year; to Mr. Perkins, a chain for his timepiece; to Annie, a cameo on a silk ribbon; to Lady Fielding, a brush for her hair; and to Sir John, a new razor (I, who was needful of one, inherited his old one). In truth, I also spent two guineas of the reward.

Though I need not here give a list of all that I received in return on Christmas Day, I must mention that which I received from Sir John and Lady Fielding. It was a package presented me by my Lady, large in size and heavy in weight. As I unwrapped it in front of all, I had no idea what it might contain, nor could I have guessed, save for the fact that it had the general configuration of a great pile of books. And books it was — four in number, which comprised that great work by Sir Edward Coke, the great jurist of the previous century, Institutes of the Law of England.

Quite overcome, I thanked them both.

“What we have given you,” said Sir John, “is a great lot of work, Jeremy. For my instruction to you is to read this work through, all four volumes. It is well written, and that should not prove such a task. But then I wish you to read it through a second time and take notes of all the questions which come to you. If you do a good job of it, two readings together should take a year. Then the real work will begin, for we shall then read it through together, discuss it, and answer all your questions. After that, we shall get on to other things. Reading the law is, as I warned, a long and tedious process — but ultimately beneficial.”