The Masters of Bow Street (60 page)

‘The son of Simon Rattray,’ Timothy said, as if he could not believe he was uttering the name. ‘And John Furnival’s grandson! How old is he, James?’

‘About the same age as my grandson, I believe,’ James replied. ‘Twenty-two or three. Richard has come to mean more to me than any of my children or other grandchildren, and I have learned to respect his judgment. He has formed a high opinion of this Simon.’

‘James,’ said Timothy, with a glimpse of his youthful heartiness, ‘I will gladly see him, and it may help if I were to see Richard, also. How soon can it be arranged?’

‘If you wish, this very day,’ answered James. ‘I came with them and they are at this moment walking in the grounds of the Tower. If they have taken the route which I recommended they should soon be by the cannon on the ramparts overlooking the river.’

Five minutes later, when the two young men appeared, walking slowly and taking in all there was to see, Timothy rang for Abbott and sent him hurrying to fetch them.

‘What I require above all else is a young man to serve as my personal assistant and for the time being I have no more to offer but that. If you ask James Marshall here he will no doubt explain that I mean a lackey. The man for me should be a second pair of eyes and a second pair of ears, a second pair of hands and arms and a second pair of legs. He should consider my interests his own and remember that all interests are the interests of the House of Furnival. What knowledge he has of banking, shipping, the British Empire and, indeed, the rest of the world, of politics, of history - all of these things are unimportant save that he uses them to perform his single-minded task: to serve me. What he knows now is of less significance than what he will learn. Ignorance is no bar, but refusal, reluctance, or inability to acquire knowledge would be the greatest barrier of all. Do you think you could fill such a position, Simon Rattray?’

‘Yes, sir,’ answered Simon.

Richard saw the smile in his grandfather’s eyes and felt a desire to laugh aloud, for that answer, uttered with such a ring of confidence, might have come with the same assurance - and with sound reason - from Johnny himself.

They had not touched upon this subject early during the meal, which was laid in a small annex to the terrace, in full view of the river and so of the shipping. Since Timothy had swung to the matter, however, none other had been discussed. First he had outlined his problems, his needs in general, and indeed his disappointment at the twists, of nature which had left so few Furnivals taking an active part in the affairs of this mammoth concern. Then he had touched upon its wide-spread interests. No one could have drawn a clearer picture, and when it was done, Timothy had made it clear that he and only he was fully cognisant of the activities of the House of Furnival, and that while others had both knowledge and virtual control of specific areas, he must be consulted on all decisions of major significance.

‘So I must be fully informed,’ he had finished. ‘My sources are many and my servants are loyal, but what I require above all else is a young man to serve as my personal assistant, an ever-present
aide-de-camp.
Do you think that you could fill such a position, Simon Rattray-Furnival?’ he asked again.

‘I do,’ said Simon.

‘And will you, as I have done, add the name of Furnival to that already yours?’

‘I would be proud to, sir.’

‘James,’ said Timothy in a strangely husky voice, ‘I do not know whether in this young man you have brought me my salvation or my damnation. But if he proves to be as valuable as I hope to God he will, the House of Furnival will find a way of making the politicians give you your police force!’

Each year after that first meeting in 1796 Timothy McCampbell-Furnival invited James and Richard to dine with him and Simon Rattray-Furnival at the great business house by the Thames. From the beginning it was evident that Simon was likely to make a success of the position which had been thrust upon him with such little warning. Just as Richard was in rapport with his grandfather, so Simon was in rapport with his father’s cousin. His mind was as quick and sharp as Johnny’s had been but he appeared to be completely free both from Johnny’s sadistic streak and Johnny’s bitter prejudices. Most people took to him. He did not presume upon his new position or his employer and very quickly gained the good graces of the other relatives and chiefs of departments. Given two rooms at Great Furnival Square in an apartment of the main house, he was always at hand should Timothy need him, yet had plenty of time to study the history of the group. Timothy made no formal attempt to train him, so he trained himself until, even after one year, he knew more about the intricacies of the House of Furnival than all but the most senior of its leading members and staff.

The first anniversary luncheon was, to James, a joy. He had never seen Timothy more free of troubles, or been so sure of a young man as he was of Simon. If he had any regret it was only that old Simon Rattray had not lived to see that day.

Richard, now a frequent visitor to The House by the River, came to collect his grandfather, driving the same open carriage, although Mary protested because it was spitting rain. Satisfying, or at least mollifying, her by taking an extra cloak, they started off, Richard, who had arrived earlier than expected, explaining that they were first to meet Simon at Morgan’s Coffee House. Arriving at Morgan’s, James saw Simon already sitting at the booth which had the carving of the Fieldings. Simon was obviously delighted not only to see them but with himself, and Richard appeared to be in a very good mood. Was that because they had planned this encounter? James wondered.

He asked no questions but could not repress his own high spirits, until after ten minutes or so Richard said, ‘If I did not know you better, sir, I would think you had put brandy in your coffee!’

‘My spirits always come from within,’ James retorted.

The younger men laughed, and Richard raised both hands from his coffee mug, saying, ‘Time to tell him, Simon, or he will be in so gay a mood he will not be able to understand.’

‘Tell me? Tell me what?’ demanded James. ‘If you two have come to make a fool of me—’

‘Neither of us would attempt the impossible, sir,’ Simon Rattray-Furnival responded gallantly. ‘On the contrary, I hope to be able to make a prophet out of you.’ He paused long enough to allow James to speak, but when the old man simply waited, he went on: ‘You once intimated to Mr. Benedict Sly that you needed to find a way to establish a police force which would not bring upon you the opposition of the City of London. Mr. Sly confided in Richard about this and Richard confided in me, on my promise to find out if there was a way of achieving such a purpose without being disloyal to the House of Furnival.’

James felt his heart begin to thump painfully, for this young man would not treat the matter lightly, and most certainly Richard would not. He felt his throat very tight as he responded, ‘And what success have you, Simon?’

‘Considerable, sir, I do believe.’

Now James’s blood began to drum in his ears and he thought that concern leaped into the eyes of the others as they faced him across the table. He made no attempt to speak. Simon’s voice seemed to come from a long distance off, yet every syllable was precise and clear.

‘It has been increasingly evident, not only to the House of Furnival but to every merchant who uses the River Thames, that every merchant vessel which comes from the estuary to London, every coaling vessel which comes from the northeast coast, and every passenger ship wherever it is from suffers from the depredations of the mudlarks. It is reliably estimated that at least ten thousand of these river thieves prey upon the river’s traffic. Nothing is safe. Naked boys climb aboard in dead of night, thieves work amongst honest dock labourers, warehousemen are under constant threat from cut-throats. Of an estimated thousand watermen, one quarter is regarded as dishonest, living on the edge of poverty as they do. There is greater terror on the river than there ever was on the highway between the City and Westminster. And the City suffers most, sir, either in direct loss, by meeting insurance claims, or by having prices on the Exchange affected after a particularly daring robbery. I repeat, Mr. Marshall, the City suffers where it hurts most. In its pocket.’

Now fully recovered, James murmured softly, ‘Yes. Yes, indeed.’ His voice gained strength and he leaned forward. ‘No doubt you have heard of Mr. Patrick Colquhoun, my boy, one of the Middlesex justices and a man for whom I have the greatest respect. Mr. Colquhoun went into great detail on this matter of a river police in his treatise published last year.’

“The proposals have been closely studied and the prospects have been examined,’ Simon replied. ‘It is not possible to police the river with ordinary patrols, only with experts, and these would have to be well paid so as to avoid risk of corruption. I have little doubt that the merchants who most use the Port of London would contribute handsomely towards a Marine Police Force, as Mr. Colquhoun describes it, under one commander - under single control, that is. I do not believe a voice of substance would be raised against it. And since the bonded warehouses are within the region and the customs houses suffer great losses by smuggling, which such a force could restrict, I am of the opinion that the force would soon be taken over by the authorities. A
river
police force, sir - and one which could hardly fail to be successful since it would have everyone’s support - would be a perfect example for the land areas to follow.’

‘Simon, you may well be right,’ said James quietly. ‘Have you discussed this with Timothy?’

‘I have taken soundings, if I may use the phrase, and believe he would give full support to the forming of such a force. Moreover, Mr. Colquhoun’s proposals set out an excellent plan which no doubt he would consider in even greater detail, knowing of the prospects of success. But I would like you to propose that Mr. Colquhoun be consulted. Mr. Timothy is mindful of his promise to you on the day when you first brought us together.’

Into the brief silence that followed, Richard said almost apologetically, ‘This is why we wanted to see you before meeting Mr. Timothy for luncheon.’

‘That was most considerate of you,’ James replied, his heart beginning to thump again. He was looking into Simon’s eyes - into Johnny’s eyes - but did not know what he wanted to say to this young man. It was so much more than ‘Thank you’. It was as if in some miraculous way Simon had wiped out the stains left behind by Johnny, as if he were the man everyone had prayed Johnny would become.

Perhaps because of the intensity of the older man’s gaze, Simon looked away.

There was much to surprise the others in the sudden change which came over his expression. It was as if Simon had seen some vision which drove thought of everything else from his mind, even what he had just said with such controlled vehemence to James Marshall. Richard’s glance followed Simon’s - and immediately something like the same metamorphosis came upon him.

James became aware of several voices speaking a name at the same time, some lighthearted, some undoubtedly touched deeply by respect. ‘Miss Hermina.’ ‘Miss Hermina.’ ‘This way, Miss Hermina.’ ‘Such and honour to have you here, Miss Hermina.’ Other sounds followed, footsteps, shuffling, rustling. It was exasperating that this should have happened at such a juncture, although in one way it saved James from attempting to put his feelings into words. He wished to concentrate his thoughts on the burden of Simon’s declaration, on the possibilities which dazzled him in much the same way that these young men were dazzled by the rare sight of a woman in a coffee house.

Being across the table from James on the side facing the door, they could see along the centre aisle and he could not. But suddenly two women and a man appeared in his line of vision, backing away from - no doubt - this Miss Hermina. The name was familiar but James could not think why.

The man was the manager of the coffee house.

The two women, James believed, were his assistants.

Simon Rattray-Furnival, until that moment dumb struck, swallowed hard, then forced himself to look away from the new arrival. He smiled faintly and said, ‘Your pardon, sir. I interrupted you.’

Richard, on the other hand, appeared transfixed; James had never seen or imagined that he could be so affected. It was as if he were hearing the voices of the Sirens. What a striking-looking young man he was! Slowly, he closed his mouth, and at the same moment the bowing and curtsying trio passed and ‘Miss Hermina’ appeared.

James saw her glance towards the two young men opposite him.

He felt a quick response of the heart - yes, he, James Marshall, now in his sixty-eighth year! For this young woman was most vividly
alive.
Her vivacity, an enormous capacity for life, showed in her eyes, in the way her lips were set, in the flare of interest she showed in Simon and Richard. The next moment she was past, a vision in powder blue with a wide-brimmed bonnet, the simplicity of her clothes a tribute to her taste and her dressmaker. Her dark hair made the blueness of her eyes even more startling.

She was gone.

‘I repeat, your pardon, sir,’ said Simon. ‘Such shameful behaviour. Eh, Richard?’

‘Eh? Oh. Shameful indeed! I - Damme,
no,’
declared Richard, laughter sparking in his eyes. ‘There is nothing shameful about being mesmerised by beauty, is there, grandfather?’

‘If I know your grandfather he will retort that our sudden distraction gave him time to think, and thus he will make a virtue of our ill manners. But in truth, she is a most beautiful woman.’ As Simon spoke a waitress passed and he put out a hand and touched her arm. ‘Tell me, pray, who is Miss Hermina?’

‘Miss Hermina, sir? She is - well, she is Miss
Hermina.’

‘So I have come to understand.’ Simon smiled into the child’s pretty face. ‘But Miss Hermina who?’

Before she could answer, James Marshall burst out, ‘Hermina
Morgan
!’

‘That’s right, sir! The daughter of Mr. Ebenezer Morgan,
the
Mr. Morgan.’