Bruce Alexander - The Color of Death

“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. Bailey 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.