The Color of Death Read online

  “And what do you know of the murdered man, Mr. Collier?”

  “Very little,” said the butler. “Walter Travis had not been long on staff. I hired him three months past to replace a porter who’d fallen mortally ill with the pox. Lord Lilley didn’t want one who was ill in such a way under his roof. Travis brought with him a good character from his last employer. I have no notion why anyone should have been killed, nor why they chose him.”

  “Hmmm,” said Sir John, “it does indeed seem strange.” He mused a moment upon the matter, and then spoke up again. “You may go, Mr. Collier. By the bye, if Lord Lilley blames you, as you say he will, I should be happy to reason with him on the matter. I take it that he has been sent for?”

  “He has, yes sir. Oh, thank you, sir. I am greatly obliged to you, sir.”

  All the while the butler said this, he was backing away and bobbing his head like some puppet. I no longer pitied him as I had at first. He cared a bit too much for himself, it seemed to me, without caring much for others. What had happened, for example, to the poor fellow dying of the pox? Collier seemed not to care. Why did he say he would, under no circumstances, open the door of Lord Lilley’s residence to a black man at any hour, night or day? And why did he feel so unfairly deceived simply because one who proved to be black spoke as any white Londoner might speak? Had I not, that very morning at Dr. Johnson’s, met Frank Barber and heard him talk as any proper fellow from Fleet Street might? Not all those who look as Africans speak as Africans, after all.

  By then it seemed to me that Sir John had been entirely too gentle with the butler. I was just putting together a well-reasoned complaint to the magistrate when he rumbled something deep under his breath.

  “What was that, sir?”

  “I said, ‘I never dealt before with such a lickspittle.’ “

  “But … but … you encouraged him, Sir John. You were a good deal nicer to him than was necessary.”

  “I may need him a bit later.”

  Just then Constable Bailey appeared with a woman — hardly more than a girl — in tow. She had quite a saucy manner and seemed rather to enjoy the attention given her. She regarded the captain of the Bow Street Runners rather flirtatiously. For his part, Mr. Bailey’s attitude toward her was one of stony indifference. He delivered her to Sir John with a curt “Mary Pinkham, personal maid to Lady Lilley, sir. She may have something to say which you’d be interested in.” And having said that, he departed, returning to the task he had assigned himself.

  “Well, Mistress Pinkham,” said Sir John, “what is it you have to tell?”

  “Naught that would interest you, Your Magistrate, ‘cept — ”

  “You seem to have me confused with the king,” said Sir John. “And while that is most flattering, the proper form of address when speaking to me would simply be ‘sir.’ ‘

  “Yes sir,” said she, and gave a proper curtsey. “Well, as I was sayin’, sir, the onliest thing you might be interested in is that I was the last one caught.”

  ” ‘Caught’? I don’t quite understand.”

  “Simple enough, sir. When the robbers come in, they caught most of the servants below stairs where they’d just finished eatin’, and Mr. Collier they caught when they come in. I was the onliest one was upstairs. I was in her ladyship’s bedroom, straightening up for when she comes back, laying out her nightgown and all.”

  “I see,” said the magistrate, “and when were you aware that something was amiss downstairs?”

  “Oh, I could tell. There was of a sudden a terrible lot of shouting and noise, and I could tell there was something wrong. I didn’t want no part of it.”

  “And how did you react?”

  She looked at him blankly. Clearly, the word was not in her vocabulary. ” ‘React,’ sir?”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I hid myself in Lady Lilley’s closet, the one with all her frocks and all in it. She has so many clothes, sir. Really, you’ve no idea.”

  “I’m sure she has,” said Sir John, somewhat annoyed at her, “but let us stick to the matter at hand. Now, as you were hidden away in the closet amongst all those frocks, were you able to hear the robbers as they went from room to room?”

  “Oh, yes sir, I surely was, sir. They was yellin’ and shoutin’ about, goin’ all around the house. Why, they scared me half to death, they did.”

  “Now, Mistress Pinkham, I ask you to give some thought to this next question.” He paused to give weight to what followed: “Would you say that these men who came to rob the house knew their way around it? Would you think it likely that they had a map of the interior to show them where things were located?”

  She did give the matter some thought, but her answer, when it came, may have disappointed Sir John. “No sir,” said she, “I don’t think they was ever in the house before, and I don’t think they had a map. The reason is, when they come upstairs, I could hear them very plain, and they were saying, ‘Where is it?’ and, ‘Which is the room where the duchess sleeps?’ They were searchin’ through the whole upstairs for the room where I was hidin’.”

  “And eventually they found it,” he put in.

  “They did, sir, but it took them a while, and if they’d had a map of the house, or as you say, known their way around, then they coulda gone right to it.”

  Sir John sighed. “I see your point, and I must admit it has a certain validity.”

  “Sir?”

  “Oh, never mind. Of course all this searching about was not done in an effort to find you.”

  “No, sir. They just opened the closet door, and there I was.”

  “They were after something quite different.”

  “They was, sir, and it was m’lady’s jewels.”

  “And they found them.”

  “Yes sir, I told the robbers where they was hid.” Neither in her face nor in her voice was there any hint of shame or embarrassment as she made her confession. She even wore a slight smile as one might while engaged in any sort of polite conversation.

  “Told them, did you?” He seemed more amused than shocked at her audacious revelation.

  “I did, sir, and you would, too, if you’d had a knife stickin’ up your nose. They offered to slit it proper if I didn’t tell.” She shrugged, as if the choice she’d made had been the only reasonable one. “And so I told them.”

  Sir John laughed out loud at that. “Your logic,” he said, “is altogether unassailable. I mean to say, you may be certain that you did the right thing. However,” — and here he lowered his voice — “I would not tell it to your Lord or Lady Lilley as you told it to me. Tell them that you fought and screamed and so on, and that one of the robbers happened upon the jewels just as they were about to begin torturing you in earnest. Now, doesn’t that sound better?”

  “Oh, much, sir, I’ll practice it, I will.”

  “You do that, Mistress Pinkham.” And having said that, he dismissed her. But then did a second thought persuade him to call her back again. “I have but one more matter to mention to you, and that has to do with the manner of speech used by the robbers.”

  “Sir?”

  “The way they talked. I have been told that all were black men — Africans. Is that correct?”

  “All I seen were.”

  “And did they talk as black men would talk? “

  “That I wouldn’t know, sir. I never talked to no black man before. They just sounded regular.”

  “Thank you, that will be all.”

  And off she went, pausing only to curtsey and blurt out a thank-you.

  “Well, Jeremy,” said Sir John, turning in my general direction, “what did you think of her? “

  “I would say, sir, that what she lacked in valor she made up in good sense.”

  “Well put,” said he, “but tell me, is Mr. Bailey about? Now that I’ve talked to a couple of them, I feel as though I’d like to talk to more — just getting into the spirit of it, so to speak.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Bail
ey is just across the room.” In fact he had been talking for quite some time with a man nearly as large as he.

  “Beckon him here, will you?”

  That I did, and Mr. Bailey came, bringing the big man along with him. “Sir John,” said he, “I’ve someone with me here who can tell you a bit about the murdered man.”

  “Ah, at last,” said Sir John. “I was hoping you’d find one such. The butler hired him but claims to know nothing about him.”

  “Well, I know something, don’t know all,” said the newcomer.

  “Your something will be most welcome, Mr… . Mr… . What is your name, sir?”

  “Burley,” said he. “Tom Burley in full. Walter Travis and me were porters together. We did all the furniture moving, the heavy lifting and loading — just the two of us.”

  “Then you must have been well-acquainted with the man.”

  Tom Burley sighed and shook his head. “Nobody got too well-acquainted with him. He was a hard man to get to know.”

  “Well, there are those, of course. But perhaps you could tell me, Mr. Burley, something of his background. Where was he from, for instance?”

  “Right here in London, as near as I can tell. He never talked about anyplace else, anyways. Certain things he said made me think he’d put in some time in prison.’

  “Debtors prison? The Fleet? Bridewell?”

  “No, I think he’d seen the inside of Newgate. I don’t know for what, or for how long, but he got to talking about it once, told of the nasty little tricks played by the warders on the inmates, and he told it in such a way, it seemed pretty certain to me he knew from experience.”

  “Hmmm,” said Sir John, musing for a moment, “yet he was hired. The butler said he’d been given a good character by his last employer.”

  “Aw, that meant nothing, sir. He counterfeited it, made it all up his-self, then handed it over to a scrivener to get it Englished proper and make it look as such should look.”

  “You know this for certain, Mr. Burley?”

  “I know he told me that’s what he did. And if you’re wondering why I didn’t snitch, I’d have to say it ain’t my nature to do so. As long as he did his share of the work — and he did — I’ll keep mum on the matter.”

  “Why do you suppose he was singled out to be killed? Was it done as a warning to the rest of you there in the kitchen — a threat? “

  “Oh, perhaps something of that sort. Something was said. A threat was made. It was just when they were getting ready to leave, they took him along. But that wasn’t the reason — not to my mind.”

  “Then why was he taken? Why was he killed? “

  “I’ve something in mind about that,” said Burley. “I think it might be he was in on the sacking of the house — told them when to come and what was where, and so he expected to leave with them. He didn’t seem overly worried when he went up those steps. Shoot him down, and you’ve got one less when you divvy the whack.”

  Sir John nodded thoughtfully, considering at length what had been said. “Did you view the body?” he asked at last.

  “Oh yes. We’d all heard the shot fired out back, so we had a pretty good idea where to look. Travis was shot in the back of the head — by surprise, I’d say. Poor cull never knew what hit him.”

  “I wonder if you — “

  “Beg pardon, Sir John.” It was Constable Bailey. Usually a model of well-mannered propriety, he would not think of interrupting his chief unless there were a matter of some urgency.

  “Yes, Mr. Bailey, what is it?”

  “Constable Patley has just returned with Mr. Donnelly and Mr. Donnelly would like to know where is the body? “

  “Show him, won’t you, Mr. Bailey? Or if you don’t know, take Burley here with you. He can show you.”

  “As you say, Sir John.” This was delivered with a salute. He did a quick turn and went off to fetch Mr. Donnelly.

  “All of which leaves us,” said Sir John to me, “without Mr. Patley. Do you see him about?”

  I looked round the room — but looked in vain. He was nowhere to be seen. “No sir,” said I. “Shall I check outside with Constable Brede?”

  “No … well, perhaps. But first let me try this. Constable Patley!” he bellowed. “Come at once. ” At that all heads in the great entry hall (and most of the household staff were there, milling about) turned his way, surprised at his intemperate shouting. I, too, was surprised, for I had never known him to employ such methods before. Ah well, he was full of surprises.

  “Tell me, Jeremy,” said he mildly, “do you see him now?”

  “I’m afraid not, Sir John.” Ah, but I had spoken a bit too early, for there he was, pulling himself away from the flirtatious Mistress Pinkham. They had just stepped from behind the wide, winding staircase which so dominated the room; they had thus been hidden from view. “No, I was wrong, sir. I see him now. He’s coming this way.”

  Constable Patley presented himself at attention and brought a stiff hand to his brow in a military salute. (He was said to have been a soldier in the colonies.) “Here I am, sir!”

  “Constable Patley, is it?”

  “Yes sir!”

  “I have a few questions for you.”

  “And I am pleased to answer them, sir.”

  “That is gratifying,” said Sir John. “Now tell me, Mr. Patley, where were you when you were notified of this felonious invasion of the Lilley residence?”

  “Quite close by, sir, walking the Pall Mall, I was.”

  “And who was it approached you? Which of the servants?”

  “Why, I don’t remember his name, but he come running up to me, and he said there’d been a terrible robbery and murder at Lord Lilley’s. I sent him on to Bow Street and come here myself. Did I do right?”

  “You did right enough, but I wanted to talk with whomever it was brought word to Bow Street. Do you see him here?”

  Mr. Patley, a reasonably tall fellow to begin with, went up on his tiptoes to survey the faces of those in the room. There must have been more than a dozen there in the entry hall, but most of them were women — upstairs maids, downstairs maids, cooks, kitchen slaveys, et cetera. After studying them carefully, he came down to our level, shaking his head in a negative manner.

  “No sir,” said he, “I don’t see him anywheres.”

  “Well, next time, when such a crime is committed, you must at least get the name of him who reports it.”

  “I promise to do it that way in the future,” said Mr. Patley.

  “See that you do, sir, for you will need names and facts for the report that you must write.”

  “Report, sir? What report?”

  “The one that you will write and give to Mr. Marsden, the court clerk, in the morning. Didn’t Mr. Bailey tell you that when you are first on the scene of any serious crime, then you must write a report on it?”

  “He said something about that, sir.”

  “Well, it seems your turn has come, does it not?”

  “As you say, sir.”

  “Oh, and by the bye, you must have in it some estimate of the value of the goods stolen. It need not be absolutely accurate; it can later be raised or lowered. That you can probably get from the butler, Mr. Collier. If not, then tell him I said that we must have it. Is all that understood?”

  Constable Will Patley sighed a deep, unhappy sigh. “All understood, sir,” said he.

  “Is there some part of this you wish to discuss?”

  “No sir, it’s just … I didn’t realize there’d be such a lot of pen work to be done. I ain’t very good with a pen.”

  “Well, do as well as you can. Mr. Marsden will evaluate it in the morning.”

  “Just like school, sir?” There seemed to me to be a bit more than a hint of impudence in that.

  “No, not quite.” Sir John paused and rubbed his chin in thought before proceeding: “Mr. Patley, you have not been with us long. You are not yet accustomed to our procedures, but once you are, I believe you will understand t
heir usefulness.” Then, with a nod: “That will be all.”

  The constable saluted in the same military fashion as before and barked out a “Yes sir” before turning and marching off, more sober-faced than when he had come. He attracted a good deal of attention to himself with these exaggerated movements. Mistress Pinkham, for one, stared with such intensity at him that she seemed almost to consume him with her eyes. Only then did it occur to me that women, especially young women like her, would no doubt find him quite handsome — “a rum cod,” as Jimmie Bunkins would have it — “dashing,” as you might say.

  Then did Sir John bend toward me and whisper: “Did he salute me again I

  “Twice, sir,” said I, “once at arrival and once at departure.”

  “I wish he wouldn’t do that. Perhaps you could mention it to him. Tell him that something more … oh, I don’t know … informal might be better.”

  “Well,” said I, “I’ll try.”

  “Jeremy …”

  “Yes, Sir John?”

  “Let us leave here. I am suddenly grown weary.”

  “Did you not wish to wait for Lord Lilley?”

  “No, there is no telling when he will return. He is, as I have heard, socially timid, and he might consider it too great an insult to the Dutch ambassador if he and Lady Lilley were to leave early. He may be prepared to wait, no matter what disaster may befall his house.”

  “Then by all means, let’s be gone,” said I.

  “By all means, let’s,” said he.

  Sir John left word with Mr. Brede, nevertheless, that when Lord and Lady Lilley were to return, he was to tell them that Sir John would come tomorrow in the morning that he might discuss with them details of the crimes committed in their home. In the meantime, Sir John requested that none of the household staff be discharged or penalized, for he had not finished his examination of them. As we left, the constable instructed us to walk to Pall Mall if we wished to engage a hackney.

  “A hackney,” said Sir John, “by all means.”

  And so we set out, the two of us, at an easy pace for Pall Mall. Though visible to me down at the end of the street, it was, as I well knew, some considerable distance away; I offered to run down to the corner and bring back a hackney coach.