Bruce Alexander - The Color of Death

Now, The Key was located hard by Covent Garden at Chandos Street and Half Moon Passage. Since much of Maude’s work in the kitchen was done in the small hours of the morning, and since she was at heart a rather adventurous sort of girl, she came to make it a habit to trip over to Tom King’s notorious coffee house in the Garden at the time most of those in the great city were arising. Most of them, let it be said, though not all — for the streets around Covent Garden were home to a great number of thieves, gamblers, whores, and villains of every sort; and Tom King’s coffee house was their last gathering place of an evening.

At first she came as a mere observer, and indeed there was much to observe. Though the show put on by the patrons was far more entertaining than many seen at Drury Lane, it was sure to be a bit bawdier than any that could be presented there. As she went to Tom King’s so often (and it became known that she was the cook who had changed the fortunes of The Key), she was soon drawn into their games and diversions, known as “Maudie, the girl from Sussex.” And, eventually, she met a young man there and formed an attachment of sorts. He did not properly court her, but he teased her in an affectionate way, told her jokes and wild tales, and took to accompanying her on her walks from the coffee house back to The Key. There were days and nights, sometimes whole weeks, when he disappeared without notice, but he would reappear without explanation; and each time she would welcome him back unquestioningly, for he brightened her dull life considerably.

Then, one day, it all ended quite without notice. During one of his periodic absences, a regular there at Tom King’s, a clever little thief, who had adopted the name Tollibon Lucy, offered her sympathy to Maudie. When asked why sympathy should be due her, it was explained that her Johnny Skylark, which was the name by which she knew the young man, had been apprehended by the “Beakrunners,” and would be going up that day before the “Blind Beak of Bow Street.” But why? What had he done? “Didn’t you know your Johnny-boy was a thief?” asked Lucy. “And he ain’t judt a thief, but a proper village hustler, a regular prince among thieves!”

That day, she left her assistant in charge of the kitchen and went off to the Bow Street Court, that she might be present at the appointed hour to see her Johnny-boy go before the solemn magistrate to be bound over for trial in the criminal court at Old Bailey. She learned a number of things about him that day. First of all, she heard his true name read out by the court clerk: It was John Abernathy. Then did she learn the extent of his known crimes: They were many, and varied, and included every sort of theft from burglary to highway robbery; most, however, were the sort in which Johnny Skylark would lead a band of armed men into the house of a rich man or a noble and steal all that could be quickly gathered up. There were, however, no charges of murder against him, and for that she was especially grateful. But finally, too, she found out that she was not the only one who had for him a special fondness: There was, in fact, a whole chorus of female sympathizers who wept bitterly to see him in chains and applauded him bravely when he was sent before the magistrate. Young Mr. Aber-nathy seemed, however, greatly angered at the poor blind magistrate, and seemed to blame him for all his troubles. In fact, he made some sort of threat when he was sent off to Newgate Gaol to await trial.

Maude Bleeker was quite devastated by the experience, for at heart, even with years in London, she was still a country girl, provincial, and rather simple. She returned to The Key and offered her notice; days later she went back to her mother at Squire Leonard’s great house outside Robertsbridge. She arrived just in time to take part in preparations for the wedding of Justine Leonard, the squire’s only child, to Thomas Trezavant. (It was a step up for Justine, for though not himself a noble, her groom had close ties to a noble family; Squire Leonard paid dearly for that rise — and would continue paying.) For the most part, Maude’s contribution to the grand occasion was in the form of a great outpouring of her famous scones and tarts. Mr. Trezavant, though not nearly so large as he became, was well on his way. The man had a sweet tooth, and he declared Maude’s baked sweets the best he had ever tasted. When he heard that she was presently at liberty and was given a fine character by the squire, he hired her instanter, and she followed the bride and groom to their new residence in Little Jermyn Street.

And so, some years after her first journey to London, Maude Bleeker got what she had previously sought: a position as cook in one of the great houses. This, of course, pleased her, but there was bitterness, too, in her return, for there would be no Johnny Skylark there to welcome her back. She was saddened by that, but at the same time she felt betrayed by him: the extent and nature of his known crimes shocked and frightened her; the women who had shouted their sympathy so loudly to him had intimidated her. Maude wanted only to put him out of her mind. She never went to Tom King’s coffee house to ask what had become of her Johnny Skylark. She assumed, quite reasonably, that he had been hanged at Tyburn, and was never given any reason to think differently until the night before.

“And among the robbers you recognized the man you knew as Johnny Skylark?” I interrupted, thinking to urge her forward.

But she was not to be hurried. She took a deep breath and continued her story, telling how upon that night she had, of a sudden, heard a great thunder of footsteps on the ground floor above and could not suppose what was happening above stairs. Then, starting up the steps to find out what she could, she was nearly knocked over by a half-dozen of the staff chased by two black men who prodded them down at cutlass-point. Her two kitchen slaveys were routed out of bed to join the rest. Then came another of the robbers from up above and delivered a little speech to all those who had been packed into the little kitchen, assuring them that all would be safe if they kept quiet and be patient “whilst me and my fellows go about our business.” If, on the other hand, any on the household staff attempted to resist or escape, they would surely be murdered on the spot.

“Wad that himl” I demanded — indeed, I fairly shouted.

“Who?”

“Why, Johnny Skylark — John Abernathy, whatever you wish to call him,” said I. “Its of him you’ve been talking the last quarter hour, is it not?”

“Course it is,” said she, “and course it was him. I just wanted you to know how I came to reco’nize him after all those years.”

“How many years was it?”

“Over ten. Was it so long?” She reflected, looking back upon her life, searching for milestones. “No, longer — it was close on twelve years past.”

“How did you recognize him? What was it convinced you?”

“Well, I b’lieve it was his voice,” said she. “I’ve a good memory for them, and when he first started speakin’, I was lookin’ off in some other direction, and when I heard the first word or two, I said to myself, ‘Here now, I know that voice.’ And just as anyone might, I turned to it to see who it belonged to. It took me a moment because of the way he had changed, but I’m sure it was him, for you see, I came to know him well.”

“The way he had changed?” I repeated. “In which way had he changed?”

“Well, course he was older, and that may account for all else. But he looked cold to me, cruel — and that was never him before. He was a warm person, a lovely, funny sort of man.”

“I see.” There was something specific I wished to hear from her, yet I knew not how to get it, short of putting words in her mouth. And I knew, having heard Sir John interrogate so many, that such would never do. As she had told her story, a number of approaches had occurred to me — but I had rejected all. At last, I decided to put it to her in the plainest manner possible: “Mistress Bleeker, would you tell me please if John Abernathy, who was known to you as Johnny Skylark, was a white man or a black man?”