The Masters of Bow Street (17 page)

‘Is there anything you want?’ asked Furnival, climbing into the carriage. He pulled himself up by the top of the metal-banded wheel, which was cold on his palm, and sat down with slow deliberation.

‘Nothing of urgency,’ Fairweather replied. ‘What is it, man?’

‘I’ve a message from the Reverend Sebastian Smith,’ Fairweather replied. ‘He would regard it as an honour if he could wait on you this evening.’

‘Do you know what he wants?’

‘He did not confide in me, sir.’

‘If it’s money he’s after I may find a little. If he wants to save my soul tell him it’s a waste of time. If it doesn’t interrupt his prayers, eight o’clock tonight.’

‘I am sure he will be here, sir,’ Fairweather answered. ‘He was most anxious.’

Furnival nodded, and Godden, taking his cue, made the reins ripple along the horse’s back, so that it started off gently. As they approached a street which led down to the Strand, Godden spoke without turning his head.

‘Have you decided where to go, sir?’

‘Does Eve Milharvey still live in Jackson’s place?’

‘Yes, sir. In Loxley Yard, close by Gray’s Inn.’

‘Then that’s where we’ll go, by the Strand and Fleet Street to make sure we are not followed.’

Godden started to speak but checked himself and turned left at a narrow lane and left again before he responded, and then he seemed to be reluctant, perhaps even fearful. The clatter of a wagon full of sheeps’ hides drowned his words, the long, low-slung cart drawn by six horses and going too fast for safety. Behind it, perhaps explaining the driver’s impatience, was a herd of cows, holding up all traffic despite the desperate efforts of a drover and a boy.

‘What do you want to say?’ demanded Furnival. ‘Speak up, man!’

Now, two open carriages and a coach rumbled and clattered by, two sedan chairs passed, the iron tips on the boots of their liveried carriers making sharp sounds on the cobbles. Ahead of them lay St. Paul’s. The great dome was like a monstrous canopy. Godden turned left before reaching the cathedral. No one had followed.

‘All is not as it was at the house in Loxley Yard,’ Godden reported.

‘How has it changed in a few days?’

‘There are always men loitering - they say they are protecting the woman.’

‘And who threatens Eve?’ demanded Furnival.

‘Fact I can’t give you, sir. Rumour I can.’

‘I’ll not pass judgment on your accuracy, man!’

‘It is said that Peter Nicholson wishes to marry her and she is reluctant. Since the boy James’s kidnapping, Nicholson has been much bolder. He surrounds the place with men he says are enemies of Fred Jackson who want only to avenge themselves on her.’

After a few moments, Furnival asked, ‘Is this Peter Nicholson as evil as he sounds?’

‘Worse, sir. Before, the evil was overshadowed by Jackson, who dominated the man.’

‘And now that Jarkson is dead he has become his tyrannical self,’ Furnival mused.

‘Do you still wish to go there alone, sir?’

‘No. I desire you with me.’

Godden’s massive shoulders shook as if in silent laughter. He turned the carriage along several narrow lanes and across a cesspit so rank that one could imagine the noxious gases that rose from it were visible to the eye. Close by were dead dogs and cats and rats, skeleton thin, but just beyond was a break in the houses which showed a square, almost as magnificent as the Covent Garden piazza at its best, where children played and lovers and old people walked. At another pit, fed by the foul sewers which led towards the Fleet River, a pale-faced, gaunt-looking woman stood with a child clutched in her arms. The child did not move and the woman stared yet seemed to be aware of nothing.

Two more turns and the carriage was in Loxley Yard, and at Jackson’s house.

Five or six men, with perhaps more lurking, watched from corners and open doorways. Most of the brickwork was concealed by wooden huts or lean-tos, offering plenty of scope for hiding.

Furnival ignored them as Godden helped him down from the carriage but said in a clear, carrying voice, ‘You left word where we were coming, didn’t you?’

‘Everyone at Bow Street knows, sir,’ Godden answered, as clearly.

‘Good.’ Furnival turned and strode into the doorway leading to Jackson’s old apartment. Two men were at the foot of the staircase, each as villainous-looking as Bolson, the head jailer; the reek of one man’s foul breath was like the stench from a drain. But as he went up the stairs Furnival became aware of cleanliness and fresh air and the odour of wood polish as well as of a log fire.

A girl in her middle teens appeared and asked clearly, but with obvious nervousness, ‘Is there something you require, sir?’

‘Yes. To see your mistress,’ Furnival said.

‘She is resting, sir.’

‘Tell her that if she doesn’t make herself at home to John Furnival she may find herself resting in the women’s side at Newgate.’

‘John Furnival!’ The girl gasped and backed away as if she had seen an apparition; then turned and fled into the room from which the wood smoke was coming. A door slammed but Furnival could hear the excited voice although not that of Jackson’s mistress. He looked down the stairs and saw only one of the men there. Traffic noises filtered in but as if from a long way off. Then the door creaked open and the girl reappeared.

‘Will you - will you please come this way, your honour?’

He was taken into a large room where a fire burned and a spit with a leg of lamb turned, the fat dripping into a pewter pan beneath it. At one side, the flames reflecting on her bony face and scraggy arms, on her old dress and her sparse grey hair, sat an old crone. She did not look up and gave no sign that she knew he had come into the room. From a door set in the other side of the fireplace wall came Eve Milharvey, her dark hair freshly brushed, cheeks pinched to give them colour, lips pale as his. She gave a mock curtsy and motioned to a chair.

‘Will you be seated, your honour?’ And when he sat down in a chair that he guessed had been built for Jackson by the finest carpenter and upholsterer, she went on in the same tone of mocking: ‘And to what do I owe the honour of this visit?’

Furnival stared at her for so long that her smile became set, but she did not look away. Suddenly he spoke with an emphasis the greater because his voice was quiet.

‘I don’t want to have to send you to Newgate or to Tyburn. But if I have to I will.’

‘A very gallant gentleman,’ she sneered.

‘A very softhearted woman who would rob another of her son and have the harmless boy flung into jail and hanged. Let’s not play with words, Eve Milharvey. Don’t attempt to harm that boy again. Don’t attempt to harm his mother or her other children. If you do either, I shall provide sufficient evidence to condemn you.’ He gave her time to retort, but she did not; in fact for the first time since he had arrived she seemed truly frightened. ‘And even though you’re carrying Jackson’s child, it won’t keep you out of Newgate and will only postpone the hanging.’

She drew in a sharp breath, as if suddenly hurt.

‘You know that.’

‘I know that,’ confirmed Furnival. ‘And I understand that Nicholson has been showing his claws since the devil’s work with Marshall, and you don’t know how to fend him off. Is this true?’

He looked at her as he had once looked at Ruth, as he often eyed criminals in the dock.

More sensitive because of her child, perhaps, or else because Nicholson had truly frightened her, she answered, ‘Yes, it’s true enough. He thinks he can blackmail me into taking him to my bed.’

‘And you don’t want him?’

‘I would as soon have a pig!’

‘Then I will tell you a way to deal with him,’ Furnival promised.

She had leaned back in her chair, shoulders touching the high back, and the firelight shone on her hair and her eyes, putting lights in them; there was fear in her and in that moment, perhaps, hope had been born.

‘What possible way is there?’ she demanded.

‘Threaten Nicholson that you will tell me of his past crimes if he doesn’t leave you alone,’ Furnival said. ‘Tell him you’ve lodged a list of these crimes at a bank, to be opened at your death. I could have taken him now, but if I judge the man aright, he has many criminal friends and will lead me to them if he’s watched. If what I advise fails, I’ll have him charged. I’ve evidence enough. But you will be in no danger from me if you attempt no harm to the Marshall family.’

Eve looked at him as if she could not really believe what he was saying, and in an unsteady voice she asked, ‘What if he endeavours to harm them?’

‘Why should he, except to win you?’ demanded Furnival.

She did not answer.

He stood up slowly, using the arm of the chair as support, then bowed and moved to the door. He could not be absolutely sure that no man stood outside in the passage in menace, for there might be another way in, but he was certain that Godden would have found a way to warn him if more had come into the yard and were ganging up with the others to attack him.

Still inside the room he turned and went on: ‘You can tell Nicholson you gave me the sealed letter and I am to place it in a bank - not necessarily my own family’s.’

She did not answer.

The old crone stared into the glowing fire.

Fat splashed and the leg of lamb gave off a sudden spitting and hissing.

As Furnival stepped outside he saw four men, two at the head of the stairs, two at the far end of this passage. They were too far off to have heard what he had said but there was no doubting their menace, for two held pistols, one a long knife, and the fourth a flail with enough spikes on its head to cut a man’s face to pieces with a few blows.

He thought with a flash of fear: They must have overpowered Godden or they wouldn’t be here.

At the prison Furnival had been acutely aware of the danger but as sure as he could be that he could overcome it by his presence and his authority as a justice of the peace. But he had no such sense of certainty here. No words would stop these men from attacking him, and with such weapons as they carried they were not likely to leave him alive.

At least none of them moved, but one called out: ‘Close the door on him, Eve.’

If she obeyed, then he would have no chance at all.

He heard a rustle of movement behind him, and at the same moment the two men with pistols drew nearer.

The rustling drew nearer.

He said in a casual voice, ‘How much will each of you get from Peter Nicholson for your part in this?’

The man at the head of the stairs took another step forward, pistol levelled at Furnival’s breast. If he had a ghost of a chance it was to spring backward into the room and slam the door, for it had not closed behind him yet.

‘Because I’ll see that each of my constables who takes part in capturing you will get double.’

Eve Milharvey, so close behind him that he could hear her breathing, moved swiftly past, pushing him to one side, and although the man fired and the shot roared, the bullet went high. Furnival entered the room on the half-turn and footsteps thundered. Eve’s voice sounded strident and angry and she pulled at the door, slamming it behind her. As the reverberations sounded and died away, her voice came clearly.

‘There will be no murder in this house!’

‘Let us pass, Eve.’

‘Go away, I tell you!’

‘What does he mean to you, you bitch!’ one of the other men rasped. ‘Why should you defend him?’

‘Stand aside, Eve,’ a man growled.

Furnival looked about him for a weapon. And there, over by the fire, were fire irons, including a massive poker. He crossed and picked it up; it was hot enough on one side to sting.

He went back to the door as Eve Milharvey said in her high-pitched voice, ‘Isn’t there a man among you with any sense? If the leading justice is murdered here, every man at Bow Street and a thousand paid guards from the House of Furnival will join in the search for his killers. He’s not going to be murdered in my house. Go away!’ she cried. ‘Go away before his men come for him.’

A man whose voice Furnival had not heard before said, ‘Perhaps she’s right.’

‘We ought to go,’ said another uneasily.

‘We must wait for Peter,’ declared a third, and after this, silence followed until footsteps began to sound noisily on the uneven boards and soon down the stairs.

At last, these stopped; and only when there was silence did Eve Milharvey open the door. She started at the sight of Furnival with the poker, and was baffled when he went past her and opened a door on the other side of the passage. There he saw a small window with diamond-shaped leaded panes which overlooked Loxley Yard. The room was an office or library, with richly coloured rugs on the floor, some oil paintings hanging on the panels, books stretching from floor to ceiling on two walls. He took all this in as he crossed to the window and peered out. Godden was there, standing by the horse!

And as Furnival watched, two other Bow Street men, one being Sam Fairweather, clattered into the yard on horseback. Godden had contrived to send a messenger to Bow Street for help! Furnival was smiling as he turned around, and almost bumped into Eve, who had come silently across the rug-covered floor.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘The man who was with me,’ said Furnival. ‘He’s sent for others. Your friends will respect your wishes in future!’ He moved aside so that she could see the two new arrivals, and when she turned she raised her hands to the height of her breast. For the first time he saw her free from tension and bewilderment.

‘Fred always said you had eyes that could see through a man’s skull and ears, that you could hear a penny drop when muskets were roaring. Can you also command your men by talking to them across a mile of London town?’

Furnival laughed, well pleased.

‘I can rely on them to do the sensible things,’ he said, and as they both sobered, he became aware of her now simply as a desirable woman, and he knew that a few weeks ago he might have relaxed, dallying, and perhaps doing much to rid her of remembered hatred. The temptation to exert the magnetism he undoubtedly possessed over women was very strong. He thought of her being with child but there was little fullness at her belly. He thought of the hatred she bore him and the love she had had for Jackson, and he subdued the stirring of desire.