The Masters of Bow Street (54 page)

What was it? Some unsuspected danger from a feared creature; a rat, perhaps? Then he came to a spot on the stairs where he could see a ring of women and children with one small boy standing in the middle, black from head to foot. Behind him was a trail of black footprints. His face was so smeared that his eyes seemed abnormally bright.

‘How on earth did you do it?’ cried his mother, Esther, frantic at the sight.

Mary was kneeling in front of the lad, far more reassuring than the excitable mother, while James called out, making everyone turn around like so many puppets on the same string.

‘It is the price of progress,’ he declared. ‘There is some experimenting on tarred and macadamed roads nearby and - and - and’ - what was the child’s name? - ah! - ‘and Charles has obviously stumbled on one of the stretches where tar has been spread. Your sense of smell surely indicates that.’

‘But how are we going to get him clean?’

‘Grandmamma will wash me,’ small Charles declared, and a general laugh followed. Mary, who had sent a maid for an apron, wrapped this around herself and picked the child up.

‘What did you use to clean the boy?’ asked James later in the evening.

‘There is a new soap which lathers badly but cleans well,’ Mary replied. ‘Thank goodness I didn’t have to rub him raw.’

James, in high spirits, laughed with satisfaction at his wife’s skill. It did not take much to make him laugh that day.

The rapture of the day was soon lost, however, in anxiety and uncertainty. James did not understand what went on about the proposed bill during the next months. Secrecy was one thing but to hide what was happening from him was surely carrying secrecy too far. He was not summoned to the meetings which, he learned, were taking place between MacDonald and the Bow Street justices, and on the several occasions when he attempted to see the Solicitor General at Westminster he was rebuffed.

Distressed by the situation but not prepared to make any formal request for information, he buried himself in his other House of Commons duties. Whenever a plea for assistance was made from one of the parishes, he was summoned to advise. Whenever a new charitable institution was formed, one which should be free from all obligations of tax, he was placed on the investigating committee. He became so busy that at times he wondered whether this was done deliberately to prevent him from taking a deeper interest in the police bill. The idea was less absurd when, one day nearly a year after Pitt had made his great concession, and as James was just about to leave for Westminster by the river, a carriage appeared at the side of the house and a servant came hurrying after him.

‘It is a Mr. Sly, sir, who begs leave to see you.’

Benedict? wondered James. Or Nicholas? Had there been some distaster at the premises of ‘Mr. Londoner’ in the Strand? He turned back from the garden, where he had been walking on a rain-sodden path, towards the mist-shrouded river, and saw that it was Benedict. Benedict’s beard was as thick and close-cut as ever but instead of being jet-black it was now uniformly grey. They met in the red-tiled hall and James drew his old friend into the small room which he used as a study.

Benedict was seldom perturbed and as seldom showed his emotions but there was no doubt of his distress.

‘James, I now have an explanation of why you have not been consulted over the police bill for London,’ he stated without preamble. ‘The bill proposes to put all authority for the police and the maintenance of law into the hands of the three justices of Bow Street. The other magistrates in London will be under them, and will lose money by receiving salaries instead of fees. Can you be surprised that the magistrates, except those who now lord it over Bow Street, are cold towards you, since no doubt they believe you have inspired this?’

James, standing by the side of a big chair, felt as if all the blood in his veins had been chilled. Most certainly he needed no more explanation. From the days when his stepfather had first conceived the idea of a police force paid for by the State, it had been assumed that the administration of the police, as of justice, should be in the hands of those who were most closely associated with the processes of the law and had the methods necessary to apprehend criminals and to discourage them. In the manner now suggested, the apprehension of criminals and the administration of justice would be under the same control; but there was not a justice outside Bow Street who would not fight such a bill bitterly. James had no words with which to answer Benedict, but he raised a hand in a helpless gesture, as if the news were too much for him to bear.

Mary appeared in the doorway. She did not speak, not even to welcome Benedict, but her expression showed that she had heard enough to be deeply concerned. James glanced at her and forced a smile.

At last he said, ‘So all but the Bow Street justices are to be reduced in authority?’

‘Yes. And the most bitter opponent is Sir Douglas Rackham,’ answered Benedict. ‘It is said he will resign the magistracy of Westminster Courthouse and go to the House of Commons to fight what he calls these iniquities.’

James did not know Rackham well. He was a distant relative of Jacob Rackham but that could hardly be held against him. His reputation was that of a decisive man without sentiment, who applied the law strictly to the letter and with little regard for circumstances. It was not surprising that he would fight against being passed over, for Sir Sampson Wright and Sir William Aldington, now at Bow Street, were not men of great stature, and Thomas Gilbert was even less impressive.

‘The concept is that the other justices should administer justice, not control the police or any form of police, such as the parish constables or the Bow Street Runners; the police would be controlled, as I have said, by three salaried commissioners. The whole of the metropolitan area of London would be divided into nine divisions, each with its own chief constable, and? - Benedict paused and drew a deep breath, as if fully aware that he was about to deliver his next bombshell - ‘the City would be one of these divisions. All its present powers would be withdrawn, its effective system of law enforcement would be destroyed, and the City itself would have no say in the administration of the force or of the numbers of constables employed or—’

‘But this is madness!’ exploded James. ‘The City will be up in arms the moment it learns of those last provisions. No one with any awareness of the opinions of City bankers and merchants would contemplate such a force. Why, the City must have as many constables and peace officers as the rest of the metropolis put together! To reduce such an organisation to the status of one-ninth, and that ninth without any real authority, is - I tell you there is but one word for it: madness!’

‘I will go along with that,’ Benedict agreed. He began to pace the room, continuing to talk as he did so; speaking with great vehemence. ‘It is now abundantly clear why MacDonald gave you a wide berth. He knew you would try to prevent this, for you are known to be related by marriage to the Furnivals, suspected of having one foot in the City and the other in Westminster. You know what has really inspired this - this—’

‘Wickedness,’ Mary put in very quietly. It was the first word she had uttered, but both tone and expression reflected her anger. ‘Wickedness, mixed with folly and ignorance. And largely born out of the hatred Westminster has for the City.’

‘You could not be more right!’ Benedict spoke warmly, paused as he looked at her, and for the first time since he had arrived his expression softened. ‘Mary, how clearly you get to the heart of the matter! I am not sure we should not turn you loose on Mr. Pitt and his colleagues! How can a man of such wisdom in some affairs be so blind in others?’

‘Because he does not give such matters as this sufficient thought,’ James answered, and he too was calmer although still deeply troubled. ‘How did you find these things out, Ben?’

‘I have seen a copy of the bill,’ Benedict replied. ‘It is still a matter for shame how many Members of Parliament, indeed, Ministers of the Crown, will betray their oaths of secrecy for a sum of money. James, I wonder if you see the dangers which go even beyond what we have discussed.’

‘I think I do,’ replied James. ‘Once this bill is published the City will blame me for the hostile provisions in it. I shall have few friends in either camp.’ He gave a half laugh. ‘One thing is now clear. I must see Timothy and tell him of this before he hears it from some other source. And I shall tell the Prime Minister that I now feel released from my oath of silence - if oath it was. Ben’ - James held both hands towards his friend - ‘I cannot tell you how grateful I am. Had my first intimation been at the reading of the bill in the House of Commons I could never have repaired the damage.’ He gripped Benedict’s hands tightly.

And Mary said quietly, ‘God bless you, Ben.’

‘Enough sentiment!’ Benedict tried to sound gruff but could not prevent his voice from cracking. ‘Are you coming to the City with me, Jamey?’

‘Without losing a moment,’ James said.

Since William’s death, Timothy McCampbell had taken his place as chairman of the companies of the House of Furnival, a slender, youthful-looking man for one who was now in his late fifties. His hair, although greying, had much of its original fair colour and his complexion was fresh and pleasing.

Known now as Timothy McCampbell-Furnival, he advanced across the landing to welcome James, ushered the other into his office, motioned to a chair, and, as he himself sat down, remarked soberly, ‘I can see you come on heavy business, Jamey.’

‘Business I wish were nonexistent,’ James replied, ‘and business which is for the moment highly confidential. I came because I do not want you to believe that I have taken leave of my senses or have developed some bitter animosity towards the City.’

‘I am vastly intrigued,’ Timothy said. ‘Can you give me a hint of what the business is?’

‘I shall give you much more than a hint. Timothy, has rumour reached you of the preparation at Westminster of a bill which, if passed, will establish a police force for the whole metropolis of London, including the City?’

‘Rumour, yes - with your name attached.’

‘As I feared.’ James sighed. ‘That is what I am most anxious to make you understand. I am doubtless responsible - or partly responsible - for the principle of the forthcoming bill and that will hardly surprise you. Until today, however, I had no intimation of its provisions.’

Timothy raised both hands in obvious amazement. ‘You mean that Pitt and his Minister did not consult you in the drafting of the bill?’ he asked, leaning forward and thumping his desk, his voice rising. ‘It is a monstrous insult, Jamey. I did not expect to lose my respect for Pitt but such an act as this could only be done by a poltroon! What on earth could have possessed him?’

Heartened by Timothy’s anger, James began to tell his story. The effect on Timothy was much the same as that of Benedict’s recital on James only two hours earlier, although Timothy continually interrupted with exclamations of disgust and indignation. Yet when the whole story was told he was bereft of words. After a while he rose from his chair and strode to a window, threw it open, and stared out over the panorama of the City. James, understanding what was in his mind, left him there for a minute or two and then joined him.

Timothy’s whole body tensed and his voice was unsteady when he said, ‘You know I will have to fight this with all my power, don’t you, James?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the other bankers, merchants, aldermen, everyone who lives in the City, will fight it, if necessary with their lives.’

‘I don’t think it need come to warfare,’ James said, and to his surprise and relief he actually laughed.

‘It is not a laughing matter,’ Timothy rebuked. ‘This is why all my family and friends have opposed the very thought of such a force, why it is anathema to us. Not only would the politicians ride roughshod over the City’s ancient rights and privileges, but they would weaken us so that we would never again be able to stand against them. You do not realise how much you owe to the City, James. You—’

‘I know the City could not possibly permit this,’ James interrupted. ‘And if the bill were to be presented to the House in its present form I should have to vote against it.’ With a twisted smile which did not conceal the hurt he felt, he went on: ‘So I wish you good fortune in making sure that the bill is not debated!’

‘I shall make the task my first, and that in spite of the fact that I scarce know which way to turn for work. You would be surprised how often I wish you had decided to come into Furnival’s! We need men of stature on whom we can rely. It had never occurred to me that being in command of such an organisation would carry with it such responsibility.’

When he left, James was calmer in his mind and much more reflective than he might have expected. Timothy’s last cry had unquestionably risen from the heart.

For three weeks the bill came under remorseless pressure from the City, from the Middlesex and Surrey justices, and from every newspaper of substance in London. It was damned on all sides until finally Pitt, admitting a technical error in the originating and presentation of the bill, withdrew it before the House had opportunity to debate it.

‘I don’t know how deep the hurt will go,’ Benedict Sly said to Mary on the day the bill was withdrawn. ‘James knows, and many others must know, that had he been allowed to draw up the bill based on the detailed proposals of the Fieldings it might have had some success, certainly a debate strong enough to register deeply on the public mind. But this wipes out the very thought for a generation, perhaps for generations, to come.’

‘The hurt will go so deep that he will grow busier than ever to heal the wound quickly,’ Mary replied. ‘Ben, I can understand the folly, I can understand the long-standing jealousy between the City and Westminster, but I cannot understand men like Sir Douglas Rackham. Why should such men fight a measure which their intelligence and experience must tell them will be of great value?’

‘It will be of much less value to them,’ James said, coming in quietly. ‘The most difficult task will be to overcome the few who profit out of things as they are. Wherever there are rich and powerful criminals, there will be those corrupt enough to be bought by them.’