Bruce Alexander - [Sir John Fielding 01] Read online

  Sir John, in fact, remarked on that to Boswell, mentioning only that he had expected to encounter the lexicographer. Was he expected?

  “Aye, indeed he was and is expected,” said Boswell. “He’ll not be long.”

  At last our dinner arrived. And shortly behind it, to my great surprise, came none other than Benjamin Bailey. I was barely three bites into my pie when his tall figure filled the doorway of the Chop Room. He ducked through and proceeded direcdy to our table.

  “Mr. Bailey,” I exclaimed, “why—”

  He touched me on the shoulder, perhaps with the intention of silencing me: In any case it had that effect. He then leaned over and spoke at some length in Sir John’s ear. I watched the magistrate’s expression change from one of shock to stern resolution. At the end of the whispered speech, he nodded and rose.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Boswell, but we must take leave of a sudden.”

  “What is it, Sir John?” Boswell’s interest had been whetted. “Riot? Wilkes?”

  “Nothing so grave. This errand is all in a night’s work for a poor magistrate.”

  With that we left, Mr. Bailey leading the way and Sir John close behind. I mumbled my goodbye to Boswell, who had given me no notice whatever, then grabbed up a few slices of bread from the table and ran to catch up with the others. I found them at the door. Sir John was just pushing past a stout, red-faced man with a large nose who greeted him by name and made attempt to open conversation with him.

  “No time now. Sorry,” blurted Sir John. “Something I wish to discuss with you later, though.”

  As we hurried into Fleet Street, I asked the identity of the man at the door.

  “Oh, that one,” said he. “That was Johnson.”

  “I’ve a hackney carriage waiting,” Mr. Bailey called from ahead.

  Waiting and open. He held the door at an attitude of attention. All that was lacking was the salute. As I, too, stepped up and in, I turned curiously and asked, “What is it, Mr. Bailey? What’s happened?”

  “Never you mind, lad. In with you now.”

  With a word to the driver, Bailey himself jumped inside, and we were under way.

  “I think we may as well tell Jeremy since he must accompany us,” said Sir John. And then to me: “There has been a shooting at Lord Goodhope’s residence. He himself is apparently the victim.”

  Chapter Three

  In which clean hands

  prove a man of quality

  We alighted from the carriage: I first, then Mr. Bailey, and Sir John last of all. Although no word had passed between them, I soon enough learned that the house at which we had stopped was situated on St. James Street, inside the precincts of Westminster, which was then the jurisdiction of Sir John.

  It was indeed a grand house from the last century and can be judged so today, for still it stands on that street, though now dwarfed by others even grander. Lately, while investigating the details of this matter to write its account, I ascertained what was then common knowledge: to wit, that although the Goodhope family had great holdings and a manor house in Lancashire, Lord Goodhope was known to spend most of his time in London, sometimes in the company of Lady Goodhope, though more often without it.

  For all our haste in getting to the place. Sir John showed no immediate hurry in proceeding to the door. As Mr. Bailey took a moment to instruct the carriage driver to wait, the magistrate simply stood on the walk before the house, his head tilted slightly upwards. As I observed this, it occurred to me that were it not for his affliction, I should have thought him to be staring at the Goodhope residence by the dim light of the street lamp.

  “Mr. Bailey!” he called out.

  The thief-taker hastened to his side. “At your service, Sir John,” said he.

  “Would you describe for me this house we are about to enter?”

  “Well, it’s a big ‘un. ‘S’ truth, it is.”

  ”How big, man?”

  “Three floors up,” said Bailey. “That’s counting the ground floor as one of the three. But wide, sir, wide.”

  Rather than ask how wide. Sir John c ailed me to witness: “Perhaps you can contribute something to this, Jeremy.”

  “I’ll try, sir.” And I did so, noting its brick construction, and the fact that its upper floors were Hve windows across, with the space of a yard between each, and a yard to each corner. The place of a window in the center of the ground floor was taken by a large double doorway to which three steps led.

  “Very good,” said Sir John. “And which of the windows is lit?”

  “None, sir, that I can see. All the windows seem to be shuttered.”

  “Ah, well! They’re keeping old customs then.” With that, he plunged toward the house, his walking stick ahead of him slightly, seeking contact with the lowest step. “Mr. Bailey, give that double door a sound rap, and let them know we have arrived.”

  It was oak-upon-oak as Bailey beat thrice upon the door with his club. As we waited for admittance, he gave me a wink and a smile, as if to assure me that he bore no grudge that I had bettered his performance in description. He was a small man in neither size nor spirit.

  In less than a minute, the door opened a crack, and the face of a man was partially revealed.

  “John Fielding has come,” announced the magistrate, “to inquire into the calamity that has befallen this house.”

  Both doors were thrown wide, and we entered. The black-clad butler, dressed as a gentleman to my eyes, showed us immediately into a sitting room just off the spacious hall. There Lady Goodhope awaited us. She rose and walked directly to Sir John. Although the light from the single lit candle within the room was quite dim, I saw that she was well, though discreetly, dressed in the style of the day, a rather thin woman w ith a countenance not so much of great beauty, but rather one that displayed a certain purity. I also noted that her eyes were dry.

  “It was very kind of you to come. Sir John, and so promptly. I trust my call did not greatly interrupt you.”

  “Nothing that cannot keep.” He groped forward with his hand, found hers, squeezed it sympathetically, and brought it to his lips. “I am deeply shocked at what I’ve heard. I offer my condolences.”

  Lady Goodhope had given neither Mr. Bailey nor I so much as a glance. She did not inquire into our presence but stared at Sir John, waiting.

  Having waited a space himself, Sir John resumed: “We must view the remains, of course. Mr. Bailey here will assist me in that, due to my obvious deficiency. And, if it is not too much to ask. Lady Goodhope, I should also like you to give me a statement as to how you became aware of the deed. That, however, can be put off until such time in the future as you may feel more capable.”

  “I am quite capable, thank you.”

  “Then you wish to speak?”

  “Yes,” said she bluntly. “Let’s be done with it.”

  Benjamin Bailey fetched a chair for Sir John, and after Lady Goodhope had taken her seat again, settled him down into it. They were not five feet apart, each facing the other.

  “When I heard the shot—”

  “I do sincerely beg your pardon,” said Sir John, “but it will be necessary for me to interrupt you from time to time to ascertain certain facts. I must do so now. At what time did you hear the shot? Where were you? How were you engaged at that moment? Be as detailed in your account as you can be.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, “I understand.”

  “Then proceed.”

  “It is difficult to be exact as to the hour,” she began once more. “There was no clock at hand, and I have not viewed one since. In all truth, I have no idea of the time at this moment.”

  “Mr. Bailey, you have your timepiece with you?”

  “I do, Sir John.” Mr. Bailey stepped forward to the candlelight, squeezed the egg-sized orb from a small pocket in his breeches, and announced, “It is just on eight o’clock, three minutes to the hour.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bailey. Now, Lady Goodhope, reckoning backward, how much tim
e would you say has elapsed since the fateful moment?”

  She was silent for a moment. “About an hour, I should judge. There were minutes of confusion, which I shall describe, but once I was sure what had happened, I sent a footman with the news to Bow Street.”

  “You did well. So let us fix the event at seven, past dark, in any case.”

  “Yes.”

  It was just about that time, I reflected, that the coxcomb Boswell had begun his recital at the Cheshire Cheese. Such a waste of time!

  “Very good. And where were you?”

  “I was above in my chambers, reading.”

  “You and Lord Goodhope maintained separate apartments?”

  She hesitated. “We do, yes. Or we did.”

  “Continue, pray.”

  “I heard a sharp report, though somewhat muffled. I was not immediately aware of its nature, for I have no familiarity with firearms. I thought perhaps something had fallen below, and so I laid aside my book and went to investigate. Halfway down the stairs, I was met by Potter.”

  “Potter?” queried Sir John.

  “The butler. He met you at the door.” Then she continued: “Potter was in a greatly agitated state. He had quite rightly recognized the sound I had heard as a gunshot and wished my permission to enter the library.”

  “From which the sound had emanated?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why should it have been necessary to seek your permission? I should think in such a state of alarm, he would have entered immediately.”

  “He asked my permission because it was necessary to break down the door. I of course gave it, and—”

  “Lord Goodhope had locked it from the inside?” Sir John seemed a bit perplexed by this.

  “He had, yes.”

  “Was this his custom?”

  “Perhaps not his custom, but he did so frequently.” She stopped and sighed. “Lord Goodhope was … somewhat secretive in his habits.”

  “I see. And so you gave permission, and the butler sought to force the door.”

  “It was not an easy task,” said she. “This was the period of confusion I mentioned earlier. I stood by, waiting, quite beside myself with fear, as first Potter, then Ebenezer, the footman, attempted it with no success. At last, they thought to use a log of wood from the hall hearth. With that, they at last broke the lock, and the door swung open.”

  “That was when you viewed your husband’s corpus.”

  “That was when I … had a glimpse of it.”

  “You did not enter the room?”

  “I stepped just inside, saw what I saw, then leapt back.”

  “And what was it you saw?”

  “I saw the figure of a man. There was a great deal of blood, and I had an impression of terrible disfigurement. The posture of the body was such that he could only have been dead. That was when I sent Ebenezer to Bow Street.”

  “Then you, yourself, have not looked upon the corpus in such a way as to be certain it is your husband?”

  “I could not,” she said. “I cannot. In any case, Potter made certain identification, and Ebenezer has confirmed it.”

  “I see,” said Sir John. “And having sent the footman off, what did you then do?”

  “Then I came to this room and waited for you. Here I have been since.”

  “You sent word to no one else?”

  She seemed quite puzzled at that. At last she asked, “To whom?”

  “Oh, to friends, those as might give you bolster in such an hour.”

  “I have no friends in London,” she said simply. “Richard’s friends—Lord Goodhope’s—were not mine.”

  With that, Sir John nodded and rose to his feet. “Naturally,” he said to her, “I’ll not ask that you reenter the library.”

  “Potter will show you inside.”

  “That will be most suitable. I do ask, though, that you remain here until we have finished our inspection. There may be further questions. We take our leave then temporarily with thanks to you for your assistance in this painful matter.”

  He turned then and made straight for the door, we trailing behind. Behind us. Lady Goodhope called out the butler’s name in a voice that seemed almost unseemly loud. Yet there was little need to summon him. Potter was there at the door to the sitting room, his appearance so silent and swift that it seemed likely he had been eavesdropping.

  “At your command, Sir John.”

  “Potter?”

  “The same, sir.”

  He was a stout man of a little more than average height. Bowing, clasping his hands, he was the very picture of servility.

  “You will take us to the scene, please.”

  “Gladly, Sir John. This way.”

  The butler then cupped his hand at his elbow, thinking to conduct him thus down the long hall. But Sir John shook off his hand, just as he had mine earlier while walking in the street. He pointed forward with his walking stick and said, “You lead. We’ll follow.”

  Potter looked questioningly at Mr. Bailey, who answered with a firm nod, then he set off, looking back solicitously and often until he himself bumped into a chair along the way.

  “Careful,” said Sir John.

  “Uh, yes, quite.”

  A few steps bevond his mishap, the butler stopped at the last door off the hall. It gaped open, leaning slightlv, half off its upper hinge.

  “Just here. Sir John, to your left.”

  Hesitatingjust slightlv, the butler stepped inside and waited. But the magistrate delayed, examining the splintered wood at the doorpost and then the broken lock on the door.

  “Hal” said Sir John. “You did well to get it open at all, Mr. Potter. This is a verv stout bolt. bu were aided in this … ?”

  “By one of the footmen, Ebenezer Tepper.”

  “Is he about?”

  “He should be, certainly. Shall I summon him?”

  “Not now. Perhaps later.”

  The butler, just inside the room, looked uneasily to his left. Something like a shudder passed through him. He turned quickly away, a look of pained distaste on his face. There had to be the body of Lord Goodhope, just out of our view.

  “At what time did you hear the shot fired?”

  “Just at seven,” said he with great certainty.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I have a timepiece.”

  “And you consulted it immediatelv? That seems passing strange. I should have thought your first concern would have been to get this door open to see what might be done to help your master.”

  “Oh, it was!”

  “But you delayed to check the time?”

  “Now I remember I” The man was quite flustered by now. “When Ebenezer and I went to fetch the log from the fireplace near the front door, I noticed the time on the clock on the mantel.”

  “And it said seven?”

  “Uh, no, just after. It indicated just after the hour.”

  “So you merely calculate that the shot was fired at seven.”

  “Just so. sir,” said he. deflated.

  “And with Ebenezer Tepper’s help, how long would you say it took you to break through the door, using the log as a battering ram?”

  “A verv short time, sir.”

  “And where is the log you used?”

  “Just here, on the floor. We threw it aside as we rushed into the room.”

  “And the corpus is exactly as you found it?”

  “Exactly, sir.”

  “Very good. Potter. That will be all.”

  “Sir?”

  “We have concluded,” said Sir John. “Thank you. Be gone from here.”

  “I thought …” He hesitated. “Yes, sir. As you wish, sir.”

  With a look of embarrassment at Sir John and then at Mr. Bailey and myself, he slipped past us and walked swiftly down the hall.

  “I shall no doubt have questions for you later,” Sir John called after him.

  The butler merely half-turned and nodded as he continued on hi
s way.

  “All right, Mr. Bailey, let’s inside and be on with it. Jeremy, you may wait, if you choose, or enter. You’ll no doubt see worse sights if you remain in London.” He then stepped through the door and into the room.

  Mr. Bailey followed him inside. “Watch the log, sir. It’s just ahead.”

  Sir John touched it with his walking stick and nodded. “As he said.”

  “Very harsh you were on that Potter, sir.”

  “Oh, I suppose so, but the man had obviously been listening at the door earlier and had decided to give precise witness to what his mistress merely reckoned. He had no better idea than she what time the event occurred, timepiece or no. Put a bit of a scare into him because I didn’t want him about, neither with us nor just outside the door.”

  “He’ll not come back.”

  “No. Well, come along, Mr. Bailey. Describe the room for me.”

  And the two of them left the doorway and my sight as I held back, still standing in the hall. I was strangely filled with trepidation. As I look back on my state of mind at the time, I believe it was my father’s recent death that restrained me. That, and perhaps also the look on the butler’s face when he glanced into the depths of the room. In any case, I soon mastered my unease, squared my shoulders, and marched into the library.

  In all, we three must have been there on that visit to the room for nearly half an hour. Sir John, early on, took a chair put for him by Mr. Bailey in the exact center of the place and began ordering us about and throwing out questions as to the dimensions of the room. (It was large: nearly a rod square.) Sir John wished to know if it were a proper library. Were there bookshelves? Of what dimensions? Were they filled with books? A few or many? Was there a fireplace? Of what size? What about the room’s furnishings? What were they and where were they placed?

  He demanded exactitude and detail from us of the same sort he would have asked of any witness: or more perhaps. Deploring Mr. Bailey’s tendency to generalize, he chided him on a pair of occasions, and asked him to reckon in hands and fingers if he was not sure of feet and inches. I, too, was put to work, climbing about the room to examine the windows. All of them, I found, were shut and locked.