Bruce Alexander - The Price of Murder

“All right, sir,” said I. After clearing my throat, I began: “I, Jonathan Partridge Marsden, being of sound mind, et cetera-”

“That ‘et cetera’ was mine,” said Sir John, interrupting. “Neither of us could think what it was followed ‘sound mind.’ That’s the important phrase, anyway. But continue, lad. I shouldn’t interject in such a way. Forgive me.”

“As you say.” After again clearing my throat, “. . sound mind, et cetera, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament.”

We went on in just such a way-I reading ahead, and he interrupting after every sentence or two (it seemed) with comments of his own and explanations. (Just as if any were needed.) The burden of it was that after Mr. Marsden’s possessions had been sold by his landlord, all the rest in money and coin was to go to me. His approximate wealth he estimated at a little more than thirty pounds-and most of it was mine. This did quite astonish me.

“It should have been more, I know,” Mr. Marsden had written, “but I was never very good at holding on to money, and I’ve enjoyed myself a fair amount. I have left twenty pounds in the hands of Sir John. There should be ten more coming from the sale of furniture, clothing, et cetera. It is the custom, I am told, to split the proceeds of the sale with him who does the selling-in this case, my landlord. He has been made aware of my wishes and has agreed to them.”

At this point, Sir John interrupted and assured me that he had the twenty pounds locked away and that I might have it whenever I wished. “As for the sale of his goods and furniture,” he added, “that is scheduled to proceed Saturday next. You may or may not attend, as you see fit.”

Then came a brief section that to me was most interesting of all. Sir John told me that in its intention, it had all come from Mr. Marsden. “My only part in it,” said he, “was to approve what was said and in a few places suggest more forceful wording that it might resist challenge from some distant and unknown relative.”

Having heard this much, I hastened to read the remainder, for I was deeply curious. I cleared my throat, lowered my voice half an octave or so, and began reading:

“I never married and therefore have I no legitimate children. As for the other sort, there are none known and none likely. Indeed, I have no known kin, having come to London as a babe with my parents so many years back. I have no recollection of my parents’ home, which was said to be Bristol. I have no ties to that city, nor do I know of any aunt, uncle, or cousin living there, or anywhere else on this earth.

“For this reason, and for a few others that shall be made plain, I have chosen to pass on my little fortune to Jeremy Proctor. He is, as I am, an orphan. He was in his thirteenth year when I first came to know him, and so I have seen him grow in mind and body into the sort of lad I should be proud to call a son. This small amount that I leave him may in some way help him along in the career that he has chosen for himself in the law. If that be so, then I am grateful, particularly in that it was once my chosen career, as well. Godspeed to him in pursuit of that which I was never able to achieve.

“Thus do I give this as my wish and mine alone. May Jeremy Proctor prosper in life, then shall I rest ever easy into eternity.”

Below that he had signed his full name with a grand flourish. It occurred to me then that I had never known that his middle name was Partridge. Was it a family name? His mother’s, perhaps? There were so many things I had not known about Mr. Marsden. I found myself wishing greatly that I had known him better, that I had taken more time with him instead of rushing round the great city on errands of varying importance. Then did I think upon my only visit to his room in Long Acre-the sense of solitude I perceived there, the coldness, the stale smell. Only then did I discover that I was weeping.

I had not seen Mr. Deuteronomy Plummer since that day upon which Pegasus dealt so cruelly with Lord Lamford. Nor, in a sense, did I expect to. I had not quite believed Deuteronomy when he rode away upon the horse, declaring that he would see to destroying Pegasus. Nor, apparently, did Sir John, for after a day or two, I was sent by Sir John to the Hay Market Coffee House to inquire after horse and rider.

Just to be sure, I rapped loudly upon the door above the coffee house, waited, and rapped again even more loudly than before. I called out his name a couple of times. Getting no response, I trudged down the stairs and, entering the place, I sought out the chief and was directed by one of the servers to a man in the rear of the establishment. He sat at a desk, tallying sums. When I impatiently sought to draw him away from his figures, he held up a hand to silence me. But a moment or two later, when he had reached the sum at the bottom of the column, he smiled and gave me his attention.

“How can I serve you, young sir?”

I explained that I had been sent by Sir John Fielding of the Bow Street Court to inquire after Deuteronomy Plummer.

“Ah yes, Mr. Deuteronomy,” said he with a smile.

“Has he been seen by you?”

“Seen? Yes, oh yes, and I bade farewell to him, as well.”

“Then he is gone? Did he say where to?”

“No, but if your name happens to be Jeremy Proctor, I have a letter for you.”

“That is indeed my name. May I see the letter?”

“Not quite so fast, young sir. He said that Jeremy Proctor would know the odds that were paid on Pegasus to win this year’s King’s Plate race at Newmarket.” He ended that with a look sharp enough to stop any pretender.

“Pegasus paid bettors-and there were not many-at the rate of thirty to one.”

“Excellent,” said he, “and here”-he opened the top drawer of the desk-“you have your letter.” He presented it to me.

Wasting no time, I tore it open rather roughly and took off a corner of it as I did. Still, I had done no real damage to the body of the message, for it was short and quickly read:

“My dear Jeremy,” he greeted me, and then continued: “I have decided that Pegasus deserves far better than to be destroyed for killing that great, fat lump of midden, Lamford, and so we have gone off where we cannot be easily found. Don’t bother to search for us, for Britain is a large island-and we may not even be here. Little good has come of this whole nasty experience. Yet I am glad to have had the chance to meet you and Sir John. Tell him that, and bless you both.” It was then signed, “Your friend, Deuteronomy.”

During all of this, Clarissa had attended to all of my tales from the trial of Mrs. Jeffers and rejoiced with me when William Ogden’s masterly defense of the woman brought a not-guilty verdict from the jury for his client. She was particularly interested in my explanation of why the barrister had put to Elizabeth that curious question, “Are you pregnant?”

“Do you suppose he knew that she was?” Clarissa asked.

“I don’t think so,” said I, “though it’s possible. Yet when such questions are asked, it is often the case that even if denied, and even when the jury is told by the judge to disregard, the idea has nevertheless been planted in the minds of the jurymen that this might be so: she might be pregnant, in which case her testimony is compromised in their eyes.”

Her eyes narrowed as she gave thought to what I had just said. “Hmmm,” said she, perhaps in imitation of Sir John, “interesting.”

And indeed I thought her interest quite interesting-specially when, a week or two later, she rose to her feet and addressed the three of us who remained at the dinner table.

“I have an announcement to make,” said she, as all eyes turned toward her. “I am pregnant.”