Bruce Alexander - Blind Justice

”Not the night watchman,” he corrected her, “but Bailey of the Bow Street Runners.” I could tell from the glint of anger in his eye that he wished to say more.

“As you wish, as you wish,” she said in a manner of dismissal. And then, directing a finger at me, “Who is he?”

“His name is Jeremy Proctor, and a fine lad he is,” said Bailey directly. “Sir John directs you to prepare a bed for him, for he will be your guest this night.”

She opened the door a bit wider, though not in welcome. Her purpose was to get a better look at me. It was evident she liked not what she saw. Her lips pursed and her nose wrinkled as she regarded me. “He’s dirty,” she said at last.

“Be it as it might, madam,” said Mr. Bailey with great finality, “he is your guest for the night.” With one last clasp to my shoulder, he smiled down at me, turned, and briskly descended the stairs.

She watched him for a moment, then finally turned her eyes back to me. “Well …” she said at last, “come in.” Never, it seemed, was entry granted more reluctantly.

Once inside, she slammed the door after me and marched me down the short hall to a point where a candelabrum burned brightly. There she made a closer inspection. She removed my hat and rubbed through my hair. Iwisting my head this way and that, she looked sharply at my ears and neck, then tugged at my collar to view what lay beneath. At last the ordeal of buffeting and pulling was ended. She stepped back, frowning, and said, “You’ve slept in those clothes.”

It was true. I had. “Yes, Mrs….”

“The name is Mrs. Gredge. You may call me ma’am.” Then she added sharply, “And only that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Take them off.”

“Take them off, ma’am? My clothes?”

“Yes, Jeremy. I’ll warm water for a bath. I’ll not have you crawling between clean sheets as filthy as you are. Now do as I say.”

“But-”

“No but’s. Get on with it. I’ll not see anything I’ve not seen before. I raised three boys of my own.” She looked at me crossly and then at last relented. “Oh, all right, I’ll hang a blanket out for you in the kitchen if it is of such moment. Though mark you, I’ll be in to see you get yourself clean. Your ears and neck are filthy. Indeed I shudder to think what the rest of you looks like.” Indeed I had no wish to show her.

There was no choice but to do as she directed. After eating some cold mutton and a few crusts of bread, I undressed in the pantry while she filled the tub. I handed out my clothes, which she accepted, making no effort to hide her distaste. Then, waiting until she had vacated the kitchen, I plunged into the tub.

My father had not been overly concerned with cleanliness. His shop he kept neat as a pin, and our living quarters were tolerably well swept, yet he did not bathe often and saw no need for me to. And so, though not as well practiced as I might have been, I gave myself to the job at hand with great zeal. I must have made good work of it, too, for when I presented myself to Mrs. Gredge, the blanket clutched about my middle, she passed me with reluctance.

“Well,” she said, “you’ll do. Sir John does not often send home stray cats such as yourself, and when I set eyes upon you, I wondered at his wisdom this time. Yet now I see you clean, I suppose you’ll do. Come along.”

She led the way up two more flights of stairs, a candle in her hand and a finger to her lips. We went to the very top of the house, past the fourth floor and then up a narrow way that led to a small eyrie that was barely visible from the street below. The height of the room was such that it permitted both myself and Mrs. Gredge, who was nearly my size then, to stand erect. Yet a man the stature of Mr. Bailey would have been forced to bend double. It held a bed and a table, a few odds and ends of broken-backed furniture pushed into a corner, an old chest, and against one wall a great pile of books. The presence of these last seemed curious to me. “Are they Sir John’s?” I asked, and wondered that a blind man would have so many books about.

“They belonged to his late brother. He had more books than Dictionary Johnson himself-more than was good for him, you may be certain. For if the man had not spent all his time away from the law in reading and writing and had attended to healthier pursuits, he might be alive today.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She lit a candle on the table by the bed. “1 doubt you’ll need another blanket tonight,” she said, “but if you do, take the one you’re wearing.” Speaking not another word, she turned and left me standing alone there. I heard her steps descending.

Without a moment’s hesitation I went to the books. Although a bit dusty, they were in good condition with no trace of mildew or rot. I ran my hands over their spines, twisting my head to and fro to read their titles. They were of all sorts-histories, geographies, personal narratives of distant voyages, romances, books of verse and all manner of science. It might have suggested to me then, had I but known the identity and fame of Sir John’s late brother, the extent and interest of his wide-ranging intelligence. A man can be known by his library better than by his house or dress.

Choosing one at random, an account of life in the American colonies; I took it with me to the bed and settled in between the muslin sheets, a luxury I had all but forgotten since my mother’s demise; and warm beneath the blanket, I began to read. I was interested in what the book had to offer, yet nearly a week of hard traveling and a day so full I could scarce contain it in my mind, had left me wearier than I knew. I had gone but a few pages in the text when I fell fast asleep.

I came awake with a start. Although the morning light streaming in through the narrow windows half-blinded me, it was rather the racket in my ears that brought me abruptly to my senses. “Just look at vou, bov, look what vou’ve done! Fallen asleep reading, have vou? And let the candle burn down to nothing at alll For shamel Tallow candles as Sir John buvs are ever so dear-and vou’ve wasted one. Just look!”

And look I did-from Mrs. Gredge, who was of course the source of these accusations, to the table bv the bed. And indeed it was so. There stood what was left of the candle, guttered down to the merest stub, the holder now a crusted cone of white rivulets.

‘Has no one taught you that-’

”Mrs. Gredge!’ There thundered a voice from below that was recognizably Sir John’s.

She turned from me. this scolding corbie of a woman, now suddenly meek as a wren. ‘Yes … Sir John?”’

“Leave the bov in peace. You have wakened me and my poor wife with your wrath. Desist at once.”

“As you wish. Sir John.” She turned back to me then, just as cross as before but now much quieter: “Well, you’ve done wrong, and I’ve told you. Here. I’ve brought you your things.” She hefted an armful of clothes which she then dumped on the bed. I had failed even to notice them before, so overwhelmed was I bv her vehement indictment. “Get vourself dressed, and you may have breakfast.” With that, she left Just as quickly as she had the night before.

I crawled out of bed and examined my clothes. All that could have been washed had been washed. The rest-coat and pants- had been so well brushed that most would have judged them clean. I dressed quickly and with the promise of breakfast hurried downstairs.

Afterwards, having eaten my fill of bread and butter. Mrs. Gredge put me to various tasks about the house, sweeping and scrubbing up, at which I satisfied her. But soon she exhausted her fund of work, and I was left free to resettle mvself in my garret room and return to my book. Mrs. Gredge shuffled quietly about downstairs. Indeed there was a stillness in the house through most of the morning that evidenced illness within its walls. I recalled such quiet from my mother’s last davs in Lichfield and wondered at the gravitv of Lady Fielding’s maladv.