Bruce Alexander - Blind Justice

But well toward midday I heard a great symphony of sounds from the floor below-hawking, wheezing, spitting, groaning, followed bv a loud, long splashing in the chamber pot. At last he had risen to meet the world. I found such noises reassuring with regard to Lady Fielding’s condition. More time passed during which I heard the voices of Mrs. Gredge from the first floor, then later, from the floor below me, the muffled, gentler tones of a woman in quiet discussion with Sir John. Visitors came and went, one of them unmistakably Benjamin Bailey. At last toward the end of the day, I was summoned to the study.

The magistrate of the Bow Street Court sat comfortably at a desk which was quite clear of paper. As I entered the open door, he turned to me, immediately aware of my presence. “Ah, Jeremy,” said he, “well rested and well fed, I trust.”

“Yes, Sir John. Thank you.”

“No need. Mrs. Gredge informs me of your willingness to work about the house. For that I thank you. Let us say that you earned your keep. Her only objection, which I recall being voiced loudly early this morning, was that you had fallen asleep and allowed the candle to burn down. I count that not at all objectionable. The price of a candle is nothing to the education of a mind. You discovered what little is left of my brother’s store of books above, I take it.”

I started at that. Had I done wrong to help myself? “Why, yes, I hope that-”

“In all truth, Jeremy, I’m pleased to have you put them to use. I know my brother, were he with us, would be delighted. My own library, as you see, is much more modest and has to do with the practice of law. Some of these were also his. He was a remarkable man-an excellent barrister, a superb magistrate, and a marvelous and entertaining creator of romances and plays.”

“What was his name. Sir John?”

“Henry. Henry Fielding. In point of fact, he was my half-brother. His mother was not my own. Had you heard of him?”

“My father had a book of his, which he read with great delight but forbade me to open.”

Sir John laughed heartily at that. “That would have been Tom Jones, I venture.”

“It was, sir. The story of a foundling.”

“More or less, Jeremy, more or less.”

“He … he must have been a man of great wit and learning.”

“Henry? Oh, indeed he was. But he was something more-something altogether rarer. He was a good man. He was a fine husband to two wives-not simultaneously, let me assure you-a good father, and the best brother a man could want. I read law with him.” With that, Sir John hesitated, then added, “He gave me my life.”

He had turned from me, and I had the feeling that his last words were addressed not to me but to himself. He was silent for a moment, as though lost in thought, but then he roused himself from his musings and said to me, “Well, enough of that. We’ve a dinner to eat, we two, and a man to seek out in your behalf. And I had thought to show you a bit of London before the sun goes down.”

And so, after Sir John had taken time to say his goodbye upstairs and warned Mrs. Gredge that we might be late, we set out on our excursion. He started us off on Bow Street in the direction opposite the one from which I had come the night before in the company of Mr. Bailey. There was more to London than I had dreamed, and my guide to it all was to be a blind man. Although in retrospect this may strike me strange, as indeed it may you, there seemed nothing odd about it as I set out with him, for he went not as a blind man but as one alive to all the sights of the great city. He carried a walking stick but for the most part used it as any man would, moving along at a swift pace with sure step. He did, however, slow somewhat at street crossings, reaching out and testing the way before him, tapping at the cobblestones and listening at the curb for horse traffic, of which there was plenty even then.

At the first crossing to which we came, I touched Sir John’s elbow to indicate that the way was clear, thinking merely to be helpful. Yet he shook his head firmly at me and said, “No, Jeremy, please. I should prefer to make my way alone. Short of saving me from certain death before a team of horses, or great embarrassment from a patch of dung, you must resist the temptation to help. Now, are we ready?” With that, he stepped boldly onto the cobblestones and led me across the street.

People who passed seemed to take no special notice of him, not out of callous indifference, though some simply hurried by intent on their own affairs, but rather because most seemed to be accustomed to seeing him moving about in their midst. In the streets nearby he received many respectful greetings from passersby and shopkeepers which he returned in friendly fashion, almost invariably by name.

“… And a good day to you, as well, dame Margaret.”

“Ah, Joseph! Business going well, I hope.”

Et cetera.

We continued on our way, then turned onto the Haymarket, which surprised me by its great size and what I judged to be the modishness of its strollers. The women who walked there were powdered and painted and, to my young eye, quite pretty; they were decked out in the gaudiest raiment that ever I beheld. They offered smiles quite readily.

Sir John must somehow have perceived my interest. “You have observed the plenitude of unaccompanied females hereabouts?”

“I have. Sir John. Who are they?”

“Unfortunates,” said he, and hurried me on.

Although that seemed not a suitable description of their state, I offered no word of contradiction. However, I noted that he seemed quite well acquainted with several. In fact, one, whom I detected to be a bit senior to the rest, halted him with a hand to his arm and after exchanging a few pleasantries and being introduced to me, lowered her voice and said in an earnest tone, “I would only say to you, Sir John, that I received a letter from Tom-all the way from India. He asked to be remembered to you.”

“Ah, Kate! How good to hear it. And how is the boy?”

“Quite well, I think. He claims to have grown three inches in the year he’s been gone-though I can hardly credit it.”

“Oh, quite possible. At his age they sprout just so.”

She inclined her head in my direction. “Is he for the Navy, too?”

“Jeremy? No, I think not. The lad has a trade, and I should like to see him pursue it.”

She addressed me directly: “And what might that be, Jeremy?”

“Printing, ma’am.”

“Well, you’ve a fine man to look after your interests in Sir John. None better.”

“I know that, ma’am.”

“You’re too kind, Kate,” said he to her.

“Don’t talk to me about kindness, John Fielding. Why, the way you dealt with Tom was more than I could …” Her voice trembled. Through all her paint I saw her on the verge of tears.

He seemed slightly abashed at the display of emotion he sensed. His feet shuffled, and he beat the walk with his stick. Clearly, he wished to be on. “He’ll make you proud of him, Kate.”

“I believe it. I do. Well … oh, just one more thing.”

“And what is that, Kate?”

“I’ve moved to a more respectable location at Number Three Berry Lane. There is a side entrance that is quite discreet. I should be pleased-honored-to have you come for tea some weekday afternoon. Only as a friend,” she added, “to show my gratitude.”

“Very kind of you. By all means I shall try to accept your invitation.”

And then with a goodbye and a God-bless-you she hurried away. Without a word to me, he started off suddenly, and I ran to catch him up. He said not a word for quite some space, and I wondered that he even knew I was by his side. But at last he addressed me: “You may have wondered, Jeremy, that I characterized these women of the Haymarket as unfortunates. I offer Katherine Durham as an example-a widow of intelligence and breeding forced to pursue this life on the street. It is a sad matter indeed.”