An Experiment in Treason Read online

  “Perhaps so, sir, but you should at least consider the possibility that he shows one face to you and quite a different one to me.”

  “Oh, pish! Utter nonsense, say I. You perceive villainous intentions in all and sundry — as in this matter of the stolen letters.”

  “Not so, sir. I did in the beginning give some benefit of doubt to Dr. Franklin — and to some extent, I still do. ‘Twas Arthur Lee whom I now see as the moving force in the theft of the letters — and his flight to America proves it.”

  “And Benjamin Franklin his dupe? Come now, Jeremy, it seems to me that you are shifting your position to accommodate the latest developments. How can you do that? After all, his reason for owning up he gives as his desire to prevent a second duel from being fought and more blood from being shed. How nice! Franklin, the peacemaker. Yet will he confess any part in the actual burglary? No indeed! Franklin, the pure in heart. Did he even see the letters before I first interrogated him? Ah no, it was not till the day afterward that he was approached by one he will not name and was given the letters in question. Is that not convenient? Shall we then call him Franklin, the … what? Franklin, the fortunate, say I.”

  I wavered. There was a good deal of truth in what Sir John said. Nevertheless —

  “Do you two always argue in this manner?”

  It was none other than Lord Mansfield, who looked neither amused, nor disapproving, but rather puzzled. My back had been turned to him as he approached, and I heard nothing. Sir John, who usually hears all, had perhaps failed to hear on this occasion; or perhaps indeed he had heard but wished to have his say in spite of all.

  “We often do, Lord Mansfield,” said he, “I consider such arguments to be an important part of Jeremy’s legal education.”

  “Ah yes, I seem to remember now: He is reading law with you, is he not?”

  “Just as I read with my brother.”

  “Interesting. Well, come along, both of you.” With that, Lord Mansfield gave me a critical look, as if judging me somehow. “I’ve sent the butler off to make some coffee — enough for all.”

  He led us down the hall to the library, a room of Lord Mansfield’s in which I had been but once before. There was a book — one of hundreds in the room — out and open at Lord Mansfield’s place at a long table He gestured to the chairs on either side of his own. I guided Sir John to the one at the right of the Lord Chief Justice, and I took the one just beyond.

  “You have something to report. Sir John?”

  “Yes,” said the magistrate, “we do. But first may I ask you a question?”

  “Of course. Proceed.”

  “How well do you know this fellow, George Burkett?”

  “Burkett? Burkett? The name is familiar, but at the moment I cannot place him.”

  Sir John turned to me. “Are you sure it was Lord Mansfield’s signature at the bottom of that letter of introduction?”

  I was about to assure him that indeed I was certain of it, when Lord Mansfield cried out, “Oh, that fellow. Burkett was his name? Yes, yes of course it was. Now I have him in mind. What do you vvdsh to hear of him?”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “Why, not at all. Lord Hillsborough brought him round to me and said that he wanted this rather large fellow with him to have a letter of introduction to you. Sir John. He wished him to have your help and the benefit of what you have thus far discovered in this matter of the Hutchinson letters. And so I dashed off a letter to that effect and gave it to them.”

  “You knew nothing of his background?”

  “Well, I knew he was a colonial, I suppose. Thus much you could be told from his speech. But what more is there to know? I assume he was some sort of thief-taker.”

  “He was a slave-chaser,” said Sir John.

  “Ah well, not a very savory occupation, to be sure, but slavery is still a legal institution. And if slaves run from their masters, then they must be chased. Don’t you agree?”

  “Whether I do or I do not matters little. What Burkett has done is use the same despicable methods here in England that have become commonplace in America.”

  “Sir John, what has he done?”

  “Tell him, Jeremy.”

  And tell him I did. I made what I judged to be an unusually strong presentation, one definitely prosecutorial in tone and worthy of comparison to any I had heard from the lips of the Lord Chief Justice himself. This time I did not omit the hostile incident which occurred between Burkett and Constable Perkins and had such dreadful consequences. On the contrary, I dramatized it a bit and pronounced Burkett s threat in a deep tone which mimicked Burkett’s own. And, finally, when I described the condition of Isaac Kidd’s body when Mr. Donnelly and I unwrapped it in his surgery, I did not hesitate to supply colorful details — sinew, bits of ligament and protruding bone, all of that.

  Through it all Lord Mansfield gave me his full attention. His eyes widened at appropriate places along the way, and as I finished, he could not hold back a shudder. Then did he fall silent.

  “Both his arms?” said he at last.

  “Both arms indeed,” said I, “which was surely meant as a message to Mr. Perkins.”

  “Good God,” said Lord Mansfield, his voice cracking slightly. Then, recovering, he looked from me to Sir John and cleared his throat that he might address the matter at hand with greater authority. “Still, you know, bad as it sounds, what I have heard just now would not convict him. There are no witnesses and no material evidence.”

  “Come now,” said Sir John, “I have heard you send men off to the gallows with far less against them.”

  “I’ll not respond to that,” said the Lord Chief Justice, “for it is not worthy of you.”

  “I withdraw it in any case. But you will admit, surely, that this monster, Burkett, must be stopped.”

  “Certainly I do.”

  “And that Lord Hillsborough is responsible and must call off this … this …”

  “That we cannot say with certainty, for we know not what Lord Hillsborough’s instructions were to this fellow, Burkett. I shall speak to him myself, for what he has done reflects upon me far worse than upon you.”

  Sir John jumped abruptly to his feet. “I can only ask that you do so quickly, for I should like to save Constable Perkins’s remaining arm. Come along, Jeremy.”

  I had already risen to my feet and extended my own arm that he might grasp it. Thus we left the room. Lord Mansfield stared after us, yet he made no move, and uttered no cry, to halt us.

  Moving swiftly as we were, we did nearly collide with the butler, who appeared from the direction of the kitchen. Yet I guided the magistrate round him with a certain skill, and we moved on.

  “I have your coffee here. Sir John,” said he — and indeed he carried a tray which supported an entire coffee service. It gave off a delicious odor. I should have dearly liked to carry a cup with me to Bow Street.

  “We’ll not be needing it,” he replied.

  “If you wait a moment, I’ll see you out.”

  “We’ll see ourselves out,” I called out to the butler.

  And so we did.

  As we entered Number 4 Bow Street, opening the door to the backstage area, we passed two men sitting upon the bench. One of them rose, but Sir John was not stopping. He moved on, no longer in the least dependent upon me, as Mr. Fuller came forth to discuss a matter.

  “Sir John,” said he, “there’s a man to see you. Some sort of lawyer, as I understand it.”

  “Where is he? In my chambers?”

  “No sir, he’s right behind you now.”

  Sir John whirled about to face the man who had sought him out.

  “Good day to you, sir,” said he. “What is it you wish?”

  “To talk with you upon a private matter, sir.”

  I studied the fellow. He was of medium height and size, and in no wise remarkable. Of his face there was naught to say, except that his brown eyes (almost black) were of an unusual intensity. He seemed to sta
re at Sir John.

  “Well, you may do so,” said Sir John, “but you must admit my assistant, Jeremy Proctor, into your confidence, for I have no secrets from him.”

  “That is your sole condition?” It IS, yes.

  “Then I accept it.”

  Sir John nodded and pointed with his stick down the hall.

  “This way,” said he.

  Once we were seated and settled in Sir John’s chambers, the visitor leaned forward and without preamble said, “I am Jonas Hastings. I am a qualified solicitor, acting on behalf of my client, Mr. Thomas Skinner, whom I believe you seek.”

  “We have sought him, you are correct, Mr. Hastings. We also seek his partner, Mr. Edward Ferguson. Do you have dealings with him, as well?”

  “Only through Mr. Skinner.”

  His reply struck me as rather ambiguous.

  “What brings you here, sir?”

  “Mr. Skinner would like to surrender to you.”

  “Well,” said Sir John, “this is indeed a surprise. There is not yet a warrant out for his arrest, though he is suspicioned for the murder of Albert Calder, a footman in the household of Lord Hillsborough.”

  “There are conditions, however.”

  “I am not surprised to hear it.”

  “First of all, Mr. Skinner would like it understood that while he admits to killing Albert Calder, death was unintended. In effect, he is willing to plead guilty to manslaughter.”

  Sir John did not respond immediately. Clearly, he was giving the question some consideration. “Let us say, I am willing to accept the homicide as unintentional if he is able to convince me.”

  It was Jonas Hastings’s turn to sit silent and consider. “I shall present that to him,” said he at last. “There is another condition, however, though it is related to the first. It is that no matter the charge at Old Bailey, you will recommend transportation, rather than death by hanging.”

  “If he convinces me, and I send him on to the Central Criminal Court with a charge of manslaughter, he would naturally receive a sentence of transportation and penal servitude. Even if found guilty of murder, he might receive such a sentence. I sometimes recommend such, and until very recently my recommendations were always followed.”

  “And what happened then?”

  “My recommendation on sentencing was ignored.”

  “How many times, over the years, were your recommendations followed?”

  “Oh, perhaps a hundred.”

  “I shall take that to him, too.”

  Mr. Hastings rose, thanked Sir John, and turned to go.

  “One more thing,” said Sir John just then. “It will count greatly in his favor if he surrenders.”

  “That is understood,” said Mr. Hastings.

  And so saying, he left. As soon as he was out of the room, I posed the question of what more might be learned from Tommy Skinner once he had surrendered. That is to say, I started to pose such a question; but Sir John cut me off in midsentence with a finger to his lips and a shake of his head. Thereafter we sat in silence for a long space of time. I must have become notably restless, for at last Sir John spoke.

  “It should not be long,” he whispered. “Be patient.”

  Shortly afterward, we heard footsteps in the hall again. One could tell in an instant that there were two men, for besides Hastings’s light, quick step, there was another, slower and heavier, which simply had to be Tommy Skinner.

  The footsteps stopped just outside the door. Jonas Hastings stepped into the room. “May I present my client, Mr. Thomas Skinner,” said he in a peculiarly dramatic manner.

  When Skinner followed him in, he turned out to be near as big as George Burkett himself. He was the man who had shared the bench with Mr. Hastings.

  “Tommy and I have already met, is that not so, Tommy? “

  “I never thought you’d remember, no, I never.”

  “Let me see, it must be a good five years ago that you appeared before me for … what was it?”

  “Drunkenness, I fear.” He bowed his big head in shame.

  “Ah, so it was, so it was. You were but a lad then, your great size notwithstanding. I remember fining you a half crown and urging you to use your strength in gainful employment.”

  “Yes sir, you was generous to me then, so I thought I’d try you once more.”

  “There’s a bit of a gamble involved here, you know.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Jeremy,” said Sir John, turning in my direction. “Bring this Bible to Mr. Skinner, that he may take an oath upon it.” Saying thus, he pushed the Bible across the desk toward me.

  I took it and brought it over to Skinner. He placed his right hand upon it, and his left he held over his heart. Then did he swear, as God was his witness, that what he was about to tell was “the absolute and honest truth.” And he added his wish to burn in hell if it wasn’t. I took the Bible then and returned it to Sir John’s desk. Skinner remained standing throughout his recitation, and his voice remained steady and calm.

  The tale he told was essentially the one Sir John had put together from visits to the crime scene, my talks with witnesses, et cetera. He confirmed that Isaac Kidd had served as a kind of broker for the burglary, hiring Skinner and Ned Ferguson to do the burglary for a very high price indeed. He also arranged for them to be given a diagram of the ground floor of Lord Hillsborough’s residence, which one of the footmen had drawn, showing the probable location of the letters they were to take. They were also warned that they must make their entry at a specific time, for the footmen were guarding the place against housebreakers, and Skinner and Ferguson were to wait to go in when the inside man was making his rounds. Now, to prevent him from getting blamed for the burglary, it had been arranged that the footman would lay down upon the floor, and Skinner would give him a tap with his cosh — not enough to do permanent damage, just enough to put him under and bloody his head.

  “And the truth of it is,” said he to Sir John, “I just hit him too hard. I popped him on the back of his head, and the blood just ran. He tried to hft himself up a bit, and then he fell back to the floor and stopped breathing.”

  Tears coursed down his cheeks. “I never killed nobody before, and I hope never to do it again. ‘Scuse me now whilst I blow my nose.” That he did, most thunderously loud.

  I, for one, was convinced and hoped that Sir John was, as well. There was something childish about the big fellow, was there not? How could such an overgrown child be punished in the same way that a practiced killer might be — one such as, say, George Burkett?

  “I have some questions for you,” said Sir John, “though not many.”

  “Well and good. I’ll do my best to answer them.”

  “What happened afterward?”

  “Not much of anything. Ned had some trouble finding the letters we were supposed to take, but he located them at last. He said they had something to do with the North American colonies. I guess we left the place in kind of a mess.”

  “You did indeed. But tell me, is that all you remember of the aftermath?”

  “Well, we were a day or two late getting our money, and we didn’t like that, but we got paid in full eventually.”

  “Do you have the weapon with you, the cosh with which you dispatched Albert Calder?”

  “Was that the fella’s name? Yes, it’s right here in my pocket.”

  “Surrender it to Mr. Proctor, please — that, and any other weapons you might have on your person.”

  He did as he was told, stepping over to me and handing over the leather-covered club. It weighed heavy in my hand. Indeed, it could have cracked Calder’s skull, or mine, or any other. I dropped it in my pocket.

  “Tell me. Tommy, what led you to surrender and confess your crime?”

  “Well, sir, you treated me right before and gave me good advice I wish to God I’d taken. I committed a terrible sin, but to be honest with you, I don’t want to get my arms chopped off for it.”

  “Ah, y
ou’ve heard about that, have you?”

  “I have,” said Skinner, “and he’s been following me all round London, asking after me.”

  “And what about your partner, Ned Ferguson?”

  “For his own good, I think you better arrest him, sir. He bought himself a little farm just north of Robertsbridge in Sussex with his cut of the wack. I told you we got paid right rum for the job.”

  ELEVEN

  In which Burkett

  strikes again as more

  history is made

  The word was out in Bedford Street that the body of Isaac Kidd had been horribly mangled. Whether before or after death seemed to matter little to those who heard the story and passed it on. What caught the fancy of the mob was the manner of mutilation. Jokes were made about the missing forearms; bets were placed on where they might turn up. There were those who insisted that such bizarre brutality was doubtless the work of the Devil; and there were others who speculated that, considering Kidd’s known background in the slave trade, he was no doubt the victim of some revenge plot of the blacks in London.

  There were but a few of us who knew the truth and two of that small number were riding in the post coach next morning, completing the journey to Robertsbridge. I was one, as was Mr. Perkins. Because the town (hardly more than a village) had few visitors, we had the coach to ourselves by the time we made the last leg of the journey. That gave us an opportunity to talk freely of the matter which concerned us both so deeply. I sought from him an answer to a question that plagued me.

  “What I, for one, cannot understand is how the grisly condition of Isaac Kidd’s body became general knowledge so quickly,” said I. “I know that I told nothing to anyone but Sir John. Mr. Donnelly would not have divulged such matter. It must have been the waterman who discovered the body who spread the news.”

  “No, it was known before ever he found it,” said the constable.

  “But how?”

  “Burkett, just as bold as brass, let it be known on the street that he had a body to be rid of, and that he’d pay well to them who attended to it.”