The Masters of Bow Street (39 page)

‘Do you have any advice for me?’ James asked Benedict Sly.

‘Since you ask, I dare offer it! Yes, Jamey. Come and live in London, near Bow Street. Offer your services as a man of the law to poor defendants and others who need legal help but can afford only a little for it. Develop some other business - if you must, as Henry with his writing and John with his Universal Register Office. But first and foremost, prove to the court that you are truly familiar with the extent of crime in London and are aware of the need that many have for protection from both crime and the law. You will probably not make a fortune but you will prepare the way for becoming a very rare bird.’

‘Rare in what way?’ demanded James.

‘A well-liked, well-respected thief-taker once the Fieldings called on you!’

Both men laughed but James’s smile faded as he started out, then picked up the main highway to the northwest and St. Giles. Rain was falling steadily now and the road was greasy, while mud was beginning to collect in the treacherous ditches at the sides of the road. Most of the traffic was agricultural or commercial. Two herds of cattle caused hopeless tangles as their drovers tried to keep the animals on the road and out of the ditches and unprotected fields. A carriage-and-pair which had been caught in a large flock of sheep got clear and the young driver, obviously furious at the delay, whipped his horses to greater speed, making the carriage tear past James and everyone on the road. One of its wheels caught in a mud-and-rain-filled rut and the carriage went crashing to one side, pulling the horses with it and flinging the driver twenty feet away. As the horses screamed and struggled, they became entangled more and more in the harness.

The driver lay still; he was dead of a broken neck.

It was dark before James reached home, but a reddish glow from a flare at the gate guided him. Soon he had changed into dry clothes and was sitting in front of a huge log fire, telling his mother and Henrietta what had happened. Beth was with the Tenches again for some family celebration.

Neither his mother nor sister was surprised at Johnny’s escapade, although both were troubled.

At the same time they were overwhelmed by the news about the promised finance and annual support for the home, and it was a good time for James to ask, ‘What will you do, Henrietta?’

‘I shall stay here and work with Mamma,’ answered Henrietta promptly. ‘I would have gone to work with her in London, had that been necessary. What will you do, Jamey?’

He answered without a moment’s hesitation. ‘I shall take rooms in London, close to Bow Street, where I can both live and have a law office. I shall set up as a poor man’s legal adviser together with whatever other business finally attracts me. Also, I shall be available for Mr. Henry or Mr. John Fielding as a Bow Street man at any time.’

It was after dinner, while they were still at the table, that he asked, ‘What could Johnny do to upset Beth’s plans to marry Randolph Tench? If there is a real danger of that, I do believe that I should know.’

‘Sir Mortimer has always made it clear that if Johnny should get into any more trouble with the law it would compel him to withdraw his approval of the marriage,’ answered Henrietta. ‘And there have been times when I believed that Johnny would do some unlawful thing simply out of spite, for he hates Sir Mortimer Tench.’

‘I truly believe that Beth fears he will commit some outrageous, deed at the wedding,’ Ruth Furnival remarked in the lull which followed. ‘If he does, Beth will never forgive him, and I shall find forgiveness difficult.’

In the event, the wedding passed without disturbance. Beth was at her loveliest in her bridal gown; not only was the small church of St. Giles full but hundreds gathered outside in the sunshine and a huge table groaned with food and drink on the lawns of St. Giles Farm, where every villager was a welcome guest. Sir Mortimer Tench, an older and more mild-seeming man than James had expected, was very conscious of his duty to those who lived on his estate. Beth was radiant and her tall, somewhat too-elegant groom was obviously delighted with himself and his bride.

It was as if the wedding closed a door firmly on the past and opened another to a bright future.

In the odorous, dirty, overcrowded court, pleading for accused who were victims of circumstances or corruption, James Marshall learned more than he could have hoped to learn in any other way, with the help of David Winfrith and Benedict Sly. The Daily Clarion was the property of three young men, of whom Sly was one, dedicated to social reform. Much of its material was based on the Fieldings’ reports and opinions, so that the newspaper became an unofficial second means of attack. Moreover, its columns often printed advertisements at very low cost, asking victims of robberies to report their loss to Bow’ Street immediately.

With increasing admiration James began to understand how the Fieldings worked and saw that progress was being made with the recovery of stolen property and the arrest and committal of thieves.

‘But until there is official support, progress will be slow,’ Winfrith declared.

There seemed no doubt that he was right.

By September 1753, two years almost to the day since he had returned to London, Beth had had her first child and seemed thoroughly happy; the work of converting St. Giles farmhouse was long since finished, and the first foundlings had already been taken there; and since his outbreak at the time of the river pageant, Johnny had behaved in exemplary fashion.

Moreover, James’s own affairs prospered. His presentation of case after case was so skilful that news spread of it throughout London, and people who had grievances or believed they had been wrongly accused came to him frequently, able and ready to pay a reasonable fee for his help. These fees he gave to the poor or to help with Bow Street expenses. While the legal side of his business expanded considerably faster than he had anticipated, another venture also prospered. He did not really know how it had started, except that Benedict Sly had convinced him that he should be able to turn his exhaustive knowledge of London and her environs to account.

‘You should place an advertisement in The Daily Clarion, Jamey. Now let me think. How would it be if you were to declare yourself an expert on all matters pertaining to London?’

‘Expert is much too strong,’ James had protested.

‘Very well, then. How about this: “Whatever you require in London Town ‘Mr. Londoner’ knows where to find it.”?’

After pondering, James had replied, ‘But who would want to pay me for such a service?’

‘Let us strike a bargain,’ Benedict had suggested. ‘I will insert the advertisement in our columns without charge daily for two weeks, and you will pay only if it brings you results.’

On the day following the first advertisement a man had come by to find out if ‘Mr. Londoner’ knew where to obtain a certain kind of French pomade, two women had requested his assistance in buying Spanish mantillas, and an elderly man from the North American colonies had wanted to know if the place of his birth still existed.

‘I dare not traipse about London looking for the place where I was born,’ the man deplored. ‘It frightens me even to look at the rush and tear on the roads. The name of the place I can remember - Skelton Yard, near Saint Paul’s Cathedral.’

‘There are but a few houses left there,’ James was able to tell him. ‘Take a sedan chair. . .’

He knew, also, of a shop in Covent Garden where Spanish and Portuguese as well as some Indian bric-a-brac was sold, and recommended a French hairdresser in the growing suburb of Knightsbridge as one likely to know where the pomade could be found. He made no charge for the information, asking only for a fair fee should his guidance bring results. Within two hours the man from the North American colonies was back, overjoyed; he had found the cottage and a cousin and now requested help to find other relatives.

‘I don’t care what it costs,’ he said grandly, placing two guinea pieces on the table where James sat. ‘There are plenty more where those came from, Mr. Londoner!’

More and more inquiries came, from the advertisements, mostly from recommendations by word of mouth. At the doorway leading to his rooms, one of Benedict’s printers did a nameboard with the words ‘Mr. Londoner’ written across wash drawings of St. Paul’s and the Monument. James was seldom unable to answer questions.

His own knowledge of the City and of Westminster grew even more extensive and he was so busy that he had little time to brood about what could be improved and what could be different. Now and again he saw Mary Smith, who had settled into the Weygalls’ household and, although looking thinner, was comfortably dressed and outwardly at least content. Sight of her never failed to stir him but he still had a sense of needing time before committing himself in marriage. All this time he waited for a summons from John Fielding. He had learned much about the way his men worked and of their unswerving loyalty, and he was grieved that despite their efforts the early part of that winter of 1753 showed crime had risen to fantastic heights. A few highwaymen began to work regularly close to the turnpikes, and some holdups were actually staged within the City of London. Reports claimed that these were mostly the work of one bold gang of ruthless thieves known as the Twelves, one of them having boasted that if he were taken, eleven men would come rushing to his rescue.

Everyone who knew Henry Fielding realised that the burden of his work, his long hours in court and his constant fight for official assistance were making him ill. He-suffered, among other sicknesses, from dropsy, and his brother and friends, including Saunders Welch, persuaded him to go to Bath to take the waters. He was about to leave when an urgent message reached him from the Secretary of State, the Duke of Newcastle. At last the government had been stirred to anxiety and demanded of Henry Fielding a detailed plan to fight crime in the coming winter.

Fielding cancelled his visit to Bath and spent four days working on a plan which he submitted to the Duke. In his report, Fielding revealed the existence of his volunteers and pleaded for six hundred pounds to buy horses so that the men could move faster and for funds with which to pay messengers and buy information. Now the government knew exactly what Henry was doing.

The waiting began again until finally George II said in a speech from the throne: ‘It is with utmost regret that I observe that the horrid crimes of murder and robbery are increased . . . I urge that everybody should contribute their best endeavours against the criminals.’

The following day The Daily Clarion and other newspapers quoted the speech.

James, going into the smelly, crowded court a few days later, saw Winfrith beckoning, him.

As soon as he drew within earshot, Winfrith whispered, ‘There is to be an official allowance of two hundred pounds a year, Jamey.’

James gasped, ‘Two hundred! Not two thousand?’

‘It is a start,’ Winfrith said with a sigh. ‘It is a start.’

Out of the blue one morning at the end of November a summons came for James to wait upon John Fielding at Bow Street. This was the first time for several years that he had been in the private office, behind the court: a room once used for very unofficial purposes.

‘Mr. Marshall, I am keenly aware of your eagerness to assist us at Bow Street in our pursuits,’ the magistrate said. ‘But your father was killed in such service and your stepfather made great sacrifices also. I have been reluctant to subject you to the dangers involved. However, one grievous problem preoccupies us - in which your special knowledge of London and of this particular district might be of help.’

‘I am wholly at your service, sir.’

‘Thank you. You will have heard of the activities of a gang known as the Twelves. We have received some intelligence that members of this gang live in the Covent Garden area, venturing out at night and riding their horses to attack our respectable citizens with the utmost violence. No one is safe.’

‘If I can help put an end to it I will be greatly rewarded,’ James declared.

‘I am aware of it. My proposal is that you use your knowledge of the topography of the area to discover exactly where these blackguards live and where they hide or dispose of their ill-gotten gains. You will be alone in your early endeavours unless you can think of one other who, not being an associate at Bow Street, would have the courage to accompany you. Should good fortune attend you, then every available man will be used to crush the Twelves.’

‘I will exert myself in every way,’ James promised, fighting down his increasing excitement. ‘It might be of assistance, sir, if I could study the record of the depredations of the Twelves to ascertain where they have struck, whom they have attacked, what valuables they have stolen, and on what nights they have been active.’

‘Such a record has been prepared. Mr. Winfrith will put it into your hands.’

‘You are very kind,’ James said.

He left the house in Bow Street, still eager and yet becoming slightly apprehensive. He carried a leather case containing the information Winfrith had given him and went straight to his rooms and studied the documents for three hours. Dizzy with the concentrated effort of reading he walked to an alley in Fleet Street in which there was an eating house where the food was good, plentiful and cheap. He had been there for only ten minutes when Benedict came in, still wearing an apron smeared with printer’s ink. In the latter part of the day he set up in type the stories he had garnered during the earlier hours. His eyes had the bright glitter of a man who was tired.

‘I was told you were here and came to take a glass of ale with you - I must not stay long or there will be no Clarion tomorrow!’

‘I have been taken by an idea,’ James said suddenly. ‘Although it wasn’t in my head a minute ago, I offer it to you eagerly. Will you join me in risking life and limb in an endeavour’ - he lowered his voice and leaned across the scrubbed wooden table - ‘to catch the Twelves and put them in jail? This is a secret matter, mind you.’

‘Fleet Street is the right place to bring secrets,’ Benedict said dryly. ‘Are you serious about this, Jamey?’