Bruce Alexander - Watery Grave

“Oh, you do it, Alother. Make it right with him. I must collect my pay and my leave ticket.” x’Vnd with that, he left us and took his place in the pay line.

If I was not a servant, then what indeed was I? I seldom gave thought to my station in the household of Sir John Fielding, Magistrate of the Bow Street Court, so glad was I to be included in it. He had been master and friend to me ever since that day only a little more than a year before when I, Jeremy Proctor, had appeared before him falsely accused of theft. Though blind, he had seen through the Knng devices of those who had perjured against me, and then kept me, an orphan, as a helper in his house and court and occasionally as an assistant who served as his e’es in criminal inquiries.

For the most part he treated me as an adopted son. The first Lady Fielding had expressed the hope from her deathbed that I would be a good son to him. Kate Durham, whom I had known and loved as a friend before her marriage to Sir John, was less maternal to me. But as the second Lady Fielding, she gave me good counsel, friendship, and had a continuing interest in my welfare. She it was who suggested that it might be proper to send me off to school. In his opinion, there was no need for it, so long as I kept reading as voraciously as I had done hitherto. Yet she took charge of my reading, directing it, questioning me on the contents of each book I finished, requiring me to write essays upon diverse subjects. I daresay she was as exacting as any schoolmaster or tutor.

As for my duties about the house, it seemed only right that I should help Mrs. Gredge, for in the past year she had grown more infirm — and more crotchety, as well. And I found it a joy to do whatever Sir John required of me in his official capacity. There were errands to run, letters to take and deliver, and a myriad of other tasks too varied to mention. I was, as he had once dubbed me, in a jocular mood, his “man Friday.” Having read Defoe’s Robuuion Criuoe more than once even at that young age, I took that gratefully, for I knew Friday to be a willing and resourceful worker.

So there I was, something less than a son, something more than a servant. The order given me by Tom Durham and his mother’s quick response had served to remind me of my ill-defined state. I did not wait for Lady Fielding to make it right with me, as he had asked her, but with a smile picked up the case, which was neither heavy nor bulky, and set off down the wharf toward Tower Hill.

“I shall sort it out with Tom, ” Lady Fielding called after me.

I turned, again smiling, and waved in response. And as I did so, it occurred to me to hope that when she had sorted it out with her son she might also make it all clear to me.

The Magistrate of the Bow Street Court had had a most eventful twelvemonth past. Not only had he sprung a trap on the perpetrators of the “great massacre in Grub Street, ” as it was known in the broadsheets and gazettes, he had also wedded the widow Durham at St. Paul’s, Covent Garden. Their lives together in the ensuing months had been peaceful and quiet, marred neither by rancor nor by discord. They smiled often, and always to one another, and were given to long evening talks in Sir John’s darkened study. Not many came to visit; those who did not were not missed.

The only difficulties that had arisen were caused by Mrs. Gredge, the cook. I have said she had grown more infirm and crotchety. Tetchy might be the better word. She would sulk for long periods of time, then give vent to an outburst of anger — usually directed at me, which caused no hurt, for I was accustomed to her ways. But twice or thrice she lashed out at Lady Fielding; on these occasions there was little that could be done to mollify her. She seemed to resent any changes that were made in the conduct of the household, even when they were made to benefit her. Sir John was perplexed by her and confided in me that he believed she harbored some hostility toward the second Lady Fielding out of loyalty to the first. It seemed to me that there was very little could be done about that.

Yet Mrs. Gredge was barely mentioned when, as was my wont, I visited him that day of Tom’s arrival in his chambers after his court session. In answer to my knock he called me to enter. I found him as he was usually at such times, waistcoat unbuttoned, wig off and placed upon the table before him, and both feet up on a chair nearby.

“Well, Jeremy,” said he, “is it you who come, looking for tasks?”

“It is, sir, and I am.”

“You are quit with Mrs. Gredge for the day?”

“Oh, indeed,” said I.” She chased me from the kitchen, so taken up is she with preparations for dinner.”

“So soon? We’ll not eat, surely, for three or four hours.”

“It seems she has much baking to do before she even thinks of cooking the meal. Or so she said before she pushed me out.”

“Ah,” said Sir John, “the mjsteries of the kitchen. And what of mother and son? Their reunion goes well?”

“Oh, yes, they are deep in discussion in the sitting room.”

“And things went well at Tower Wharf?”

“Oh, yes sir. A band played, and a speech of welcome was made by one who must have been an admiral, at very least. Oh, a grand ceremony it was, in truth.”

“And what was this admiral’s name, Jeremy?”

“That I could not say, sir. He did not give it.”

Sir John laughed at that.” No, I suppose he did not. But tell me, boy, did he have anything to say that struck you as odd or unusual?”

How could he have known that?

“Well… yes, or it struck me as odd at the time. There was something that was known to him and to the crew — but not to the rest of us. He spoke of dissension in the upper ranks and a violent attack. He asked any who had information on this to step forward. When none did, he told them that his office would be open to them and … and that anything said to him in private would be kept in confidence.”

“Until the court-martial, of course.” He said it as if to himself.

“How was that, Sir John?”

“Oh … nothing.” Sitting in silence for a moment, he turned neither right nor left but lifted down his feet and seemed to lean slightly to the front, where I stood before him. Then: “You used a certain phrase a moment or two ago that struck me as having some particular meaning. You said that Kate and her son were ‘deep in discussion.’ Have you anv idea as to the nature of that discussion?”

“But Sir John, the sitting room door was closed. I would not eavesdrop.”

“Of course not. I would not havejou do so. But was anything said, let us say, prior to the time the door was closed, said openly in your presence, that might give indication of what was discussed?”

“Well…”

I was made a bit uncomfortable by this. It seemed like spying to me — or the thing next to it.

“What you tell me in private will be held in confidence,” said he.

“Until the court-martial?” I asked, perhaps somewhat impudently.

At that he laughed again.” Oh ho! You did hear what I muttered, did you? Well, I assure you, Jeremy, there will be no court-martial. I have good and sufficient reason to ask. It is not base curiosity that prompts me in this.”

I accepted what he said, of course. And so, not unwillingly but without much enthusiasm, I told him of a conversation that had taken place in the hackney coach during our return to Bow Street: of Lady Fielding’s offer to buy Tom a proper suit of clothes and his firm negative response. I quoted Tom — “A seaman is what I am and proud to be ” — and told Sir John that Lady Fielding had ended things by telling her son that they would talk about it later.

Sir John took all this as he might have in court, with no noticeable change in expression and with a moment of reflection after I had ended. Then he slammed down the palm of his hand on the table with such force that his periwig was made to jump.