Bruce Alexander - An Experiment in Treason

“Really, Jeremy!”

“No, truly, sir, I’d like to know just why that oddment from the butler has excited you so.”

“Well, how may I put this?” said Sir John. “First of all, it’s physical evidence, and physical evidence is worth something — well, a good deal more than all those evasions and suspicions put forward by Lord Hillsborough. What did he tell us, after all? Only that a packet of letters was stolen — not who wrote them, who received them, nor what they concerned — simply a packet of letters.”

Proceeding, he lowered his voice. As it happened, we were just entering the Strand from Charing Cross Road and were now part of a great crowd. Sir John must have felt that great gang of people milling about, and hoped to keep the matter quite between us.

“Yet consider,” said he, “what we have just learned from that man, Carruthers. It could mean that the burglary was accomplished with the help of a confederate inside the house — that this ally had prepared the door in the manner described by the.butler, in effect, leaving it unlocked for the burglars to enter whenever they might choose.”

“But you do not think that, do you, Sir John?” “I think it may be so, and it may well be worth explaining, but if it is not true, there remains the likelihood that the burglars themselves did this, either for a reason we do not yet understand, or as a sort of signature. I shall try to find if that signature has been left elsewhere on other occasions. And if we know that, we may know who they are. Now, let us make haste to Bow Street, for when we arrive, I have an onerous task to assign you. I dislike putting it upon you, but it is far too much for me.”

He would say no more than that then, no matter how I plagued him to tell.

There were lesser tasks to perform before I came round to Sir John.

And when I did, he was in the company of his clerk, Mr. Mars-den, going over the docket in preparation for the noon session of his Bo-w Street Court. I waited till he was done.

“You said you had a task for me, sir.”

“Indeed I do. Take me to a quiet corner.”

I did as he bade me, guiding him to a place secluded from the noise and unruly behavior of the prisoners in the strong room.

“Yes, this is much better, thank-you, Jeremy,” said he. “I should like you to go cross the town to St. James’s Street and deliver the news we received from the Lord Chief Justice this morn. You recall it, of course.”

“Oh yes, certainly. Marie-Helene is to be tried upon Friday in Old Bailey, which means she must appear before you on Thursday.”

“That is correct,” said he. “But do not, I caution you, deliver this news in a manner so — well … so offhand.”

“Oh no, indeed no, sir.”

“And while you are about it, offer my apologies and my regrets that I was unable to deliver the information myself. Tell him … oh, tell him that I received the word from Lord Mansfield only this morning, that I had to attend at my court session, and so I sent you that he might have the news without delay. Do you have that, Jeremy?”

I assured him that I did.

“Well then, on your way — Oh, but there is this, too. Deliver the message only to Mr. Bilbo — not to your friend Bunkins, and certainly not to Marie-Helene.”

“But only to Black Jack,” said I.

“Only to him.”

I bade him good-bye and slipped out of the door as a great many from the street poured past me and through the opposite door into Sir John’s courtroom.

Reader, if I have left you somewhat in the dark with this discussion of smuggling, Marie-Helene, Black Jack Bilbo, and Sir John, then let me take a moment to explain.

It all dates back to a time a couple of months earlier that same year of 1773. Sir John had been dispatched by the Lord Chief Justice to the coastal town of Deal to look into sensitive matters of the magistracy, but he had soon become involved there in action against the local smugglers. Digging a bit, he had discovered that our host in Deal, Sir Simon Grenville, was himself deeply involved in the trade in contraband. Sir Simon had made an alliance with a family on the French side with a long tradition of what was known in Deal as the “owling trade.” The alliance with Sir Simon was sealed by them with the marriage of Marie-Helene to Sir Simon.

Now, there can be no doubt that Marie-Helene, the Lady Grenville, participated most willingly in her husband’s smuggling enterprise. After all, her father had been a smuggler, as had her grandfather and great-grandfather before him, all the way back to Roman times, no doubt. And, significantly, her four brothers were also in the trade. She, a tomboy from the time she escaped the cradle, took enthusiastically to their instruction. By the time she was offered to Sir Simon in marriage, she could handle a cutter, or a brig, or a sloop, as well as any of her brothers; she could heave a cutlass better than most; all she lacked was the size and strength of a full-grown man in the best physical condition.

All this came to a climax that night at Goodwin Sands, where Sir John trapped Sir Simon and his gang as they began to unload the brig which Marie-Helene had sailed over, filled with goods from France. She joined in the battle that ensued, ordering the brig’s small-bore cannon fired in support of the smugglers on the beach. But then Black Jack Bilbo’s armed sloop appeared, outgunning her two to one. The crew of the sloop boarded the brig. Only Marie-Helene offered any resistance, but she was soon overcome by Mr. Bilbo. On the voyage back to Lxjndon, he fell in love as he had never before — according to my old chum, Jimmie Bunkins; and notwithstanding Molly Sarton’s opinion to the contrary, Marie-Helene was quite as enamored of our friend Black Jack.

To spare her the horrors of Newgate Gaol, Black Jack persuaded Sir John to put Marie-Helene in his charge, giving his notice. The crew of her brig was returned to France, where the investigating judge dismissed one and all for “lack of evidence.” Sir Simon Grenville was tried on a charge of smuggling and sentenced to three years in prison.

Now, time had come for Marie-Helene’s trial. Since there was little doubt that she, no less than her husband, had engaged in contraband trade, she was sure to draw a term of no less than three years. Yet she had also ordered the discharge of cannon at English targets on English soil with lethal intent. There was no telling what punishment might be meted out for such an offense.

Thus did I consider all this and more in the course of my journey to Mr. Bilbo’s residence in St. James Street. As I neared it, I found myself fair trudging along under the burden of my thoughts. I arrived and ascended the three low steps to the door, and I raised my hand to knock upon the door. But then, of a sudden, was I unable to follow through. My hand hung in the air as if struck by palsy. Did I really wish to deliver such a message? Those inside were my friends, no less than Sir John’s. Yet a few days’ notice had been promised them, and if I failed to tell them, they would be deprived opportunity to prepare for the ordeal, however one might manage that. No, indeed I had to tell them.

No sooner had I come to that decision, when the door opened wide, revealing my chum, Jimmie Bunkins. He looked at me queerly.

“What you doin’ with your daddle up in the air like so?” Embarrassed, I lowered my hand. “I was about to knock upon the door,” said I.

“How long does it take you to decide? When I first spotted you through the windowyou was Uke that.”

“Well, I’ve got a message from the Beak to your cove. I’m not sure I want to deliver it, but I’ve no choice.”

“Oh,” said he most glum, “I think I knows what it is, but I s’pose it must be delivered, no matter what. Come on in, and we can talk about it.”