Don Gutteridge - The Bishop's Pawn

“So I came here not only to interrogateBrenner and Tallman but to talk to you about the man who bequeathedyour theatre two thousand dollars. I was certain that such abequest indicated much more than an interest in plays andplayhouses. You and Dick had to be friends.”

“We were,” she said, not bothering to brushaway the tears staining her face-powder. “Like brother and sister.He came backstage after one of my performances. We talked forhours, and we never stopped talking until the day they drove himaway – like a common felon.”

“That’s the day I want to know about,” Marcsaid, taking her hands in both of his, “if you can bear to talkabout it. I’m positive that someone or other here in New Yorkactually planned and incited Dick’s murder. I need to understandthe motive and who might be associated with it. And young Brodieneeds to know for his own sake.”

She smiled. “I only met Brodie and Celiaonce, shortly after Dick moved into their house on Broome Street.Dick kept his life carefully compartmentalized. I saw him in theevenings only, before or after a performance. I have a suite ofrooms in the hotel next door, and we would sit up in the wee hoursdiscussing all manner of things. That we were thought to be acouple scandalized his legal associates and amused us -vastly.”

The wry smile she gave him prompted him tosay, “Dennis Langford and Dick Dougherty were lovers, then?”

“Yes, but they were so much more than that,”she replied almost wistfully. “Dick and Dennis were parents toBrodie and Celia – devoted, protective, proud as punch.”

“Was this . . . ah, relationship . . . widelyknown?”

“They were very discreet. There werewhispers, of course, but Dick’s flamboyant success in the courtroomhere and the absolute privacy of his family life kept the whispersfrom growing into something ugly and dangerous.”

“But someone, who had a reason to envy orbegrudge Dick’s success, found out? And ruined him?”

She gave Marc a grim little smile. “If it hadbeen only that, Dick would have stayed and fought it out – and won.After all, Dennis was dead, and there was never a question ofanyone else. Even with Tammany Hall set against him he would haveprevailed. No, it wasn’t that; it was something much, muchworse.”

With a shudder, Marc recalled the “story” hehad heard at Brenner and Tallman’s that morning. He bracedhimself.

***

As it happened, Annemarie Thedford was the onlyperson in New York or elsewhere who knew the whole story. Dick cameto her in November of 1837, shortly after her return from UpperCanada, and confided to her that he had taken the most importantcase of his illustrious career. But it would not be fought out in acourtroom, at least not yet. It seemed that, against his betterjudgement, he had allowed himself to be taken to the ManhattanGentleman’s Club by a long-time colleague with whom he had justconcluded a complicated civil suit. When the colleague suggestedthat they celebrate further by taking advantage of the attachedbrothel, Dick had firmly declined. “Ah, but I’m not talking aboutyoung women ,” was the reply. Dick had registered his shock,and disbelief. “Come and have a peek, Dick. It won’t hurt to look.”Still sceptical and thinking that his colleague was more drunk thanhe appeared, Dick followed him into the back section of therambling house. A series of discreet and coded knocks opened doorsthat finally led them to a shuttered, dimly lit parlour. Dick had abrief impression of naked males – of various ages and body-shapes -draped across or wriggling in over-padded chairs and sofas. Momentslater, a horrified cry cut through the heavy, malodorous air of theroom. It came from one of the adjacent cubicles, out of whichstaggered a slim, pale-skinned male, who, properly attired, mighthave passed for a gentleman. He was covered in blood.

Other cries and shrieks – of horror, fear,command – soon filled the parlour, which had become within secondssheer bedlam. Flight seemed to be the primary response, as clotheswere flung over limbs and boots, and fleeing grandees tripped overone another and cursed, and tripped again. Dick’s colleaguevanished. Dick himself walked across to the cubicle and drew backthe crushed-velvet curtain. In the glow of a single candle, he sawthe naked, and very still, body on the bed, cooling in its ownblood. Around its neck was a spiked dog’s collar. It had somehowbecome twisted, in the contortions of lust, and one of its metalprotrusions had imbedded itself in the victim’s throat, puncturingthe jugular. Dick went over to the bed and peered at the face inits rictus of death. It was a boy. He could not have been more thanthirteen.

“What did Dick do?” Marc asked hismother.

Before he could do anything, she said, one ofthe toughs employed by the club manhandled him out of the parlourand pushed him into the street. There was nothing to do but gohome. The door of the club was slammed behind him. “Now, before youcondemn him, Marc, you must understand the politics of thiscity.”

“Brodie has given me an introductorylesson.”

Dick had realized that the crime, for that itwas several times over, would be hushed up. The victim wasundoubtedly some homeless urchin recruited for the vile purposes ofthat brothel. No-one would report him missing. Dick had recognizedseveral of the faces in there, and knew that they would come underthe protection of Tammany Hall. If he himself went to the police,he would be the sole witness to the crime. Nor could he identifythe fellow he had seen fleeing the death-chamber. Moreover, withthe whispers about town regarding his own eccentric sexuality, hewould quickly be discredited and, if push came to shove, more thanlikely incriminated. Nevertheless, he did send an anonymous note toone of the police justices. After which he heard no more about theevent.

However, Dick had other plans for thepedophile section of the Manhattan Club. He had one of his firm’s“operatives” watch the club and obtain information about the youthsseen frequenting the area or coming out of the house itself. Ittook more than a month, but Dick was able to locate four of theboy-whores, all of them under the age of fourteen. He visited thehovels they lived in, gained their confidence, and eventually gotthem to sign affidavits in return for a promise to stake them to anew and better life outside the city. Whether the lads fullycomprehended what they were doing was a moot question. Dick’spurpose in gathering evidence – dates, times, preferred sexualacts, names, the exchange of money – was to take it to theattorney-general in Albany, a Federalist with no love for TammanyHall, in an effort to have the operation shut down. He realizedthat he could not have the perpetrators prosecuted, but he wascertain that the probity of the evidence and the threat of itsexposure would be enough to frighten the “invulnerable” members ofthe club and its executive.

“But something went wrong,” Marc said.

“Yes. And nothing went right for himthereafter.”

While Dick was trying to work out just how heshould approach the attorney-general, events overtook him. One ofhis informants must have alerted the higher-ups, for Dick got anurgent message that Barney Wright wanted to see him. Barney was afourteen-year-old catamite who had run away from his home upstateand taken to prostitution to survive in the city. He was alsoDick’s most reliable witness. Barney lived in two rooms at the rearof a ramshackle tenement in the gritty Five Points district. WhenDick arrived, he discovered a very nervous youngster who was havingsecond thoughts about what he had signed his name to. Dick calmedhim down, reassured him that he would personally escort the ladback to his parents and help him rebuild his life with them. Theythen shared a pot of tea and some biscuits. Minutes later, Dickbegan to feel very drowsy, and that was his last thought before hewoke up to a pounding in his head and a louder pounding at thedoor. It burst open to reveal Thurlow Winship, the corrupt policejustice, flanked by two burly constables. Dick himself was naked.His clothes were neatly arranged on a nearby chair. Barney Wrightlay beside him on the bed, equally naked and not nearly asterrified as he should have been.