Bruce Alexander - Person or Persons Unknown

Reader, as you might suppose, if I seethed before, I was now at my boiling point. It was all I could do at that moment to control my anger. My hands trembled; I clasped them behind me so that he might not see. The very idea of offering another human being, a woman, for sale would have made me shudder uncontrollably under different circumstances, yet I would not show to him such a sign of revulsion, for he would sure take it as proof of weakness. Striving for the same control over my voice, I attempted a reply to his huckster’s pitch.

“And what would I do with her then?”

“That’s up to you, chum. Keep her out on the street, if you like. Dorse with her in your own little love nest. Marry her, if that’s your mind.’

“I will say this: I have not ten guineas to my name, nor anything like it. Yet if I did, I should pay it quite immediate, if only to get her away from you and that terrible life you have forced her into.”

“Nothing would suit me better, chum, believe me.” Then he stepped close and whispered: “You say you ain’t got the wack, and I believe you, but listen to me. You’re in a good position to get it. There’s a good lot of bit flows into Bow Street — fines, swag lifted from scamps, and that. It’s not like the Beak would miss it if you helped yourself, maybe a little at a time. It’d be” — and then he let loose that hideous giggle again — “it’d be like stealin’ money from a blind man.”

That was when I left him where he stood. I’d heard enough. In fact, reader, I’d heard far too much.

Sir John had insisted upon cutting across Covent Garden, even though he had often warned me against venturing there at night. When I had reminded him of this, he had then said, “You’ve a brace of pistols by your side, have you not?” It was then I told him I had but one, for I had given the second to Constable Langford that he might use it to summon help. After a grunt and a long silence, he had muttered, “Very sensible.”

After taking him from the dinner table — he had but just finished his meal — I had waited while Annie fetched his hat and coat. During this brief space of time, it was Lady Fielding — and not Sir John — who had directed a great volley of questions at me. Was it truly Mr. Tolliver who had found the girl’s body? she asked. Why was he being detained? Does Constable Bailey suspect him? How could he? And so on.

Sir John, who had stood aside in silence during the interrogation, then stepped forward and waved his hand to end further questioning.

“Enough, Kate, please. Mr. Bailey was acting in a reasonable way when he held him for my arrival. He knew that I would want to question him myself.”

“But, Jack, Mr. Tolliver is such a good man! He would never…”

“And a wonderful butcher, as well, as I can attest. And of course he would never — but he found the body, and I must ask him about that.”

Somewhat mollified, she waited until Annie had him properly tucked into his coat. Then did Lady Fielding step forward, squared his hat upon his head, and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“I’m sure you’ll do what’s right. Jack.”

With that, we left, going by way of Russell Street — I hoping to catch no glimpse of the evil fellow who had laid that evil proposition before me, and mercifully having my hope fulfilled. As we tramped along Russell, I found myself looking among the imposing structures for the one which housed Mrs. Gould’s notorious bagnio. I had been there once to deliver a letter. I remember thinking it a great joke to be among all the ladies walking about in their shifts. I no longer thought it so funny. What might I have thought then had I heard Mariah’s screams resounding through the place? All that I knew now of her life in London burdened me greatly.

Entering Covent Garden, I urged him to the left that we might walk its perimeter, rather than attempt to traverse it. There was a bit of light from the windows in the surrounding buildings, and the moon was out. Nevertheless, I was glad to have the lantern Mr. Baker had given me. I held it high with one hand, and the other I had fixed round the butt of the pistol on my hip.

Sir John moved with me, step for step, his left hand upon my right shoulder. He had little to say, which surprised me somewhat. I thought perhaps to volunteer my views on the matter of this latest homicide, yet decided against burdening him with them, for he seemed deep in thought. At one point, after we had turned right in the direction of Henrietta Street, I heard the murmur of voices from the stalls. Sir John must have felt me tense in response, for he spoke to ease my apprehension.

“Women and men together,” said he. ”I doubt there’s much to fear from them.”

“As you say, sir.”

“How many will be there when we arrive?”

I named them all, including Mr. Tolliver.

“You’ve neglected one,” said he.

“Oh? Who is that. Sir John?”

“The corpus. Let us hope she has a thing or two to tell us.”

Thus we came to Henrietta Street with the passage now well within sight. There I saw an unmistakably familiar wagon and team.

“There’s a surprise,” said I.

“What do you mean, Jeremy?”

“Just ahead on Henrietta, by the passage — the Raker’s arrived. I see his wagon.”

“No doubt he was called to some house nearby,” said Sir John. “He’s rather an unfortunate creature, is he not?”

I considered that a moment. “I suppose that he is. Yet he seems to like his work, repulsive though it may seem to us. He has his own little kingdom there in that barn of his,” said I, again echoing Mr. Donnelly. “He rules his house of the dead.”

“Would you not call such a one an unfortunate creature?”

“I see your point, sir.”

All except Mr. Cowley were gathered at the entrance to the passage. He, I learned, had been sent up the passage with his lantern to search for the murder weapon. There was a great quarrel in progress between the Raker and Mr. Donnelly as we approached. Remembering their previous meeting, I was not in the least surprised.

“Ah, there you are, Sir John,” called out Mr. Donnelly. “Perhaps you will settle this for us.”

“I will if you gentlemen will let me.”

“Aye, you’re the man to do it, sir. I was tellin’ this gent here, this phy-si-cian, that the way it was always done before was, you’d look at a body, say it was murder or wasn’t, and I’d haul it away. They ain’t no need for him to grab this one, take her away, and go messin’ up her inwards. That’s insultin’ to the body. It don’t show respect.”

“You are correct as to your account of how things were done in the past,” said Sir John. “But you will recall that up to five or six years ago, Sir Thomas Cox would convene his coroner’s inquests and often required you to deliver a corpus to one medico or another that he might give testimony at the inquest.”

“Aye, so it was.”

“Well, we are back once again to that.”

“And who is the new coroner?”

“I am — until a proper one be appointed.”

“So this here phy-si-cian gets the body?”

“I fear that is the case, sir.”

“Well, then, if that be so, I reckon I’ll just be on my way with the old party I collected up Half Moon Passage — no marks on him, and his landlord said he was at his bedside when he passed.”

“But that is what we argued about!” said Mr. Donnelly. “He said he would wait about only so long as it took you to decide who had claim to the body. He now refuses to wait the few minutes more it will take me to communicate my preliminary findings to you. He has a wagon standing by that is near empty. If he takes it away, we shall have to rent a wagon and team from a stable, or Jeremy and I must carry her body through the streets to my surgery.”