Person or Persons Unknown (9 page)
Read Person or Persons Unknown Online
Authors: Bruce Alexander
“I have but one question for you — or perhaps two,” said Sir John. “Are you a surgeon’s helper in the Grenadier Guards?”
“No, sir, a simple foot soldier.”
“Were you ever apprenticed to a surgeon?”
“No, sir.”
“Well and good. You may return to your seat.”
And that he did, moving swifter and more confident than before, having now made his confession.
“Sergeant Tupper? If you will again stand and keep your place?”
The sergeant shot up to his feet, allowing his scabbard to clang against the chair. And, taken by surprise, he sang out the military “5a/i.’”
“I sent you on an errand earlier today to search through the personal effects of both brothers Sperling to see if either owned a knife. What did you find?”
“Nothing of the kind for either of them, sir.”
“I also asked that Private Sperling’s bayonet be taken along in evidence. Did you bring it?”
“I did, sir, and handed it over to the surgeon, as you asked.”
“Very good. You may sit down. Mr. Donnelly?”
He rose in a more leisurely manner. “Yes, Sir John?”
“You have had opportunity to examine Private Sperling’s bayonet?”
“I have, sir.”
“Were there any traces of blood upon it?”
“None, sir. It was glistening clean, as one might expect from a Grenadier Guard.”
“Well and good. In the absence of any sort of knife, could the bayonet have inflicted the wound you described in Teresa O’Reilly?”
“No, sir, it could not. Had it been pushed to the depth to do the damage I described, it would have left a wider, slightly crescent-shaped wound, and that was not the wound I found in her body. From what I found, the wound came from a long, flat, narrow blade — what might be described as a stiletto.”
“Thank you. That, I’m sure, will be all I need from you. But you. Mistress Pratt, will you stand at your place, please?”
She did, somewhat reluctantly, looking a bit put-upon.
“Sir?”
“You have, if you listened closely, become aware of the difficulty regarding time to which I referred. You said you saw the soldier, whom Private Sperling admits to have been himself, with the deceased ‘just before’ the body was found. And Mr. Donnelly, the surgeon, has told us that if the body was still warm at a bit after six, the earliest that Teresa O’Reilly might have been killed was half an hour before, let us place it at five thirty, at the very earliest. But even so, according to Corporal Tigger, Private Sperling arrived at the post-coach house at a quarter past five and thus could not have inflicted the mortal wound. And so, I must say to you I think you a good witness as to identification, for you have proved that. But I think you a poor witness as to time. Do you still insist you saw Private Sperling but a short time before the body was found?”
“I do,” she said most emphatic. “It were not far from that yard, if you go by the alley, which they was near. I saw him there plain, right in the daylight.”
“Did you say ‘in the daylight’?”
“I did, sir.”
Sir John leaned over and held a brief conference with Mr. Marsden, at the end of which he nodded and returned his attention to Mistress Pratt.
“In that case,” said he, “I must reject your testimony, for Mr. Marsden informs me that clear daylight lasts this time of year a bit past five. That from that time on it is well into the dusking hour. I can therefore only judge that you spent far longer in Shakespeare’s Head than you realized. You may be seated. Mistress Pratt.”
“But I — ”
“Be seated, please.”
Even more reluctantly than she had risen, did she sink back down in her chair.
“And now, you men of the jury,” said Sir John, turning and facing in their general direction, “will the one of your number who has been appointed foreman please identify himself?”
Then rose a tall man, a bit older than the rest. “Yes, sir,” said he to Sir John, “that would be me.”
“I fear you and your eleven fellows may be disappointed in your part in this, for I must now direct a verdict to you. There can be no doubt that murder was committed. Teresa O’Reilly did not die of natural causes — that much is obvious. Nor could she have committed suicide, removed the knife from her heart, disposed of it, then hidden herself where she was found. It was proved, even by the testimony of Mistress Pratt herself, that Private Sperling, whom she had seen in conversation with the deceased, could not have been involved in her demise. He accounted for his time.
Corporal Tigger confirmed the hour and minute of his arrival at the Coach House Inn.
“Therefore, I direct you, in the matter of the death of Teresa O’Reilly, to a finding of ‘willful murder by person or persons unknown.’ You must concur in this by an acclamation of ‘aye.’ Do you so concur?”
A ragged “aye” went up from the twelve.
“Then it shall stand. The verdict is ‘willful murder by person or persons unknown.’ ” He banged solidly once with his mallet upon the table. “The jury is dismissed with thanks.”
I, who was sitting quite close to the men in the front benches, heard one remark to another: ” ‘Twas the easiest shilling I ever come by!”
“That’s as may be,” replied the second juror, “but it was enlightenin’, very enlightenin’.”
In Which Another Victim
Is Discovered and
Identified
The passing days brought Sir John no closer to solving the puzzle. Who was this person, who were these persons unknown, who had taken the life of Teresa O’Reilly? And for what purpose? There had been, in fact, eight shillings found in that purse about her waist which the larcenous couple were eager to make off with. Murders have been committed, and are committed still, for far less; theft was clearly not the motive. Revenge? Who could say? None but Maggie Pratt had come forward to tell us details of the Irishwoman’s life. Bills had been posted round Cov-ent Garden announcing the murder and asking for information — yet to no avail. Had she been killed in a fit of rage by a rejected client? What Mrs. Crewton had told seemed to support that, yet the well-calculated placement of that single thrust to the heart seemed to deny it. Could there be murder without motive?
I had my own, rather baseless, suspicions in the matter. They were focused upon him I had dubbed the “bully-boy.” True enough, I had seen him leave Maggie Pratt’s place — the room she had shared day by night with Teresa O’Reilly. There could be no doubt he was known to Mistress Pratt, for she had indeed addressed him in crudely familiar terms; that did not mean, however, that he had been equally well known to O’Reilly. For that matter, if he had murdered the woman, could he have carried her to that spot beneath the stairs where she had been so crudely hidden away? To myself, I admitted that was doubtful. At twelve-stone or more, she had been a proper load for the two of us, Mr. Donnelly and myself, when we had hauled her body from the Raker’s barn. I, who was about the same size and strength as the fellow in question, could not have managed her alone — or only with great difficulty; I doubted that he could have done much better. Still and all, I did not like him, and it is easiest to attribute black deeds to those whom we dislike. If anyone of my acquaintance were to hang for the murder of Teresa O’Reilly, I should like it to be him. I decided to learn more about him.
On my daily errands about the district surrounding Cov-ent Garden I looked for my “bully-boy,” thinking I might have time to follow him at a distance and unobserved, and thus discover something of his haunts and walks. Yet look as I might, I found him not. Had he suddenly disappeared? Left London altogether? No, I decided, his sort would be more likely to be about at night.
By chance, however, I happened to meet Maggie Pratt one morning in Covent Garden whilst I was doing the day’s buying. She recognized me right enough but looked at me with distrust as she attempted to push past.
“Please, Mistress Pratt,” said I, “might I have a word with you?”
“What manner of word would you have?”
“A few questions — ^just a few questions.”
“It seems to me I gave all the answers I have to your master.”
“These are a bit different from his. Perhaps we could move over there, a bit out of the crowd’s way.”
Merely to stop there in the piazza was to risk being bumped and buffeted by the milling crowd. She consented to be led off to one side and out of the flow of humantide.
“Awright now, what is it?” she challenged me, eager to be off.
“When I came to fetch you in Angel Court, you recall that a young man left your place there and you called after him most angrily.”
She looked at me sharply. “I remembers well enough.”
“Who was he?”
‘That’s my affair and none of yours.”
“Was he the same as came often asking after Teresa O’Reilly? You said he was something of my size and shape.”
“But I said it plain it weren’t you.”
“Indeed you did. But that is not the question. Was that the same fellow I saw in Angel Court?”
“If he was or wasn’t has got nothin’ to do with Teresa. Now, if you’ll step aside, I’ll be on my way.”
“But what was his name?”
Lips pursed, she made to push me aside. I had no authority to detain her, and so I stepped back and let her pass. As she bustled on her way, she threw one look back at me over her shoulder — not so much a look of fear, as I somehow expected, but one of annoyance. With a sigh, I turned back and resumed my way to the stall of Mr. Tolliver, the butcher.
There was, obviously, one other who knew something of the fellow in question. Yet I blush to tell that I was reluctant to question Mariah about him for fear of angering her. There was also no little difficulty, I had found, in managing to talk with her at all. She was less dependably to be found at her regular post in New Broad Court. Where she wandered and how far I could not say, for I seldom had time to go searching for her as I dashed about bearing letters and requests for Sir John to all parts of Westminster and the City. On those few occasions on which I did spy her, she was in conversation with one or another, and I had no wish to wait about until the discussion ended and she were free — or else had marched off arm in arm (as I once witnessed) with her companion in conversation.
I did at last find her alone towards the latter part of one afternoon, and I determined to put a few discreet questions to her. I greeted her politely and with a smile, and offered her a shilling.
She smiled sweetly and said to me, “Ah no, young sir, I see how rich you dress! Is not possible to come to me in your old coat and pantaloni and make a bargain to me. I say two shillings before. That is my price. I go no more for one shilling.”
“I want only to talk to you,” said I. “For that I would pay a shilling.”
“Like before?” She laughed quite merrily at that. “You pay me. We talk.”
I placed a shilling in her hand. Again she dropped it down her blouse to her bodice; again I felt that twinge of envy. Yet I was not so taken with her on this occasion that I would be swayed from my purpose and talk mere pleasantries to her. Nor would I try to win her with my fantasies of escape.
“Do you recall,” said I, “that earlier, when I was dressed as I am now and thought to talk with you, you became annoyed and fled down Drury Lane without speaking to me?”
“But you pardon me, yes? I was not gentle that time. I tell you before I am sorry.”
“Oh, I accepted your apology then, and I bear no ill feelings toward you now. But you sent a young man to speak to me, to send me away. I was wondering, what is his relation to you?”
“Relation?” She sounded the word out carefully; there seemed a hint of suspicion in her tone.
“Yes, what I mean to say, is he your friend? How do you know him?”
She set her face, considering, and found it quite impossible to lie: “He is not my friend, no. I owe him money. I must pay.”
I had in no wise expected such an answer. How could she owe him money? How much could it be?
“I don’t understand,” said I “Did you sign a contract of some sort? Is this why you work as you do?”
“I think you go now. We talk another time. Perhaps.”
“But …” I felt quite baffled, knowing not what to say or do. “At least tell me his name?”
“Why you want to know?”
“Well … I have seen him since. I would like to know … so I may greet him by name should I see him on the street again.”
“Ha! You leam to lie better, or you tell the truth. Here …”
And with that, she dove her hand down into her bosom and found my shilling, or one just like it.
“Take this,” she resumed. “No more talk. Don’ come back unless you pay two shillings and come with me. Now
go!
Indeed I went, but I left her holding the shilling. I could not take it from her, of course. In my fantasies, at least, I was her rescuer. How could one who pretended to such a role take back money freely given?
I stumbled on, attempting to master what I had just learned, forgetting for a bit that I had a specific destination — yet perhaps not forgetting entirely, for somehow I made the proper turn up Drury Lane and continued along the route I had been given by Constable Perkins to reach his place of lodging.