Bruce Alexander - An Experiment in Treason

“And what was that?”

“You recall our traveling companion to Portsmouth, Arthur Lee?”

“How could I forget him — and all of the discomfort he caused you?”

“Well, Mr. Lee-”

“Dr. Lee,” I corrected him.

“I accept your amendment, Jeremy,” said he with a sly smile, then began again: “Our friend Mr. Lee called upon me quite early. I was not even properly dressed and had half my face covered with shaving lather. Thus was I in no state to greet a guest. Yet he pleaded so to be admitted, I could do naught but open the door to him — and so I did. Perhaps I thought perversely that this might be my opportunity to tell the fellow what I thought of him.”

“And did you?”

“Nothing of the kind, for the moment we were face-to-face he began apologizing in the most abject manner for what he called his ‘unforgivable gaffe’ in forcing us to find our way home by ourselves.”

“Is that how he put it?”

“More or less. I know not if I quote him exact. Yet he seemed to be implying that his great sin was depriving us of his company — and that did not sit well with me.”

“Naturally not,” said I.

“Yet he did then pull out his purse and ask what the experience had cost me out of pocket, and I — well, by God, I told him — and he paid up. He counted it out right there on the spot, full amount, right down to the last farthing, so to speak. Then did he explain that what had left him temporarily embarrassed was the failure of a new letter of credit to arrive from his bank in Virginia. Of a sudden, he was left penniless, or the next thing to it, and he was forced to resort to subterfuge. He continued to beg my pardon all the way down the stairs and out to the street — or so it seemed.”

“That is indeed quite a story.”

“It was indeed quite an event. He may not have behaved as a gentleman,” said Mr. Donnelly, “what colonial does, after all? Nevertheless I, who have endured straitened circumstances myself, can certainly understand his predicament. Which of us has not had such problems, eh Jeremy?”

And with that and a wave to me, he was off down Bow Street in the direction of Drury Lane. I watched him go, and then, remembering our conversation with Sir John, I called out and whistled shrilly to catch his attention. He heard, stopped, and turned round to me.

“Come early,” I shouted, “and I’ll ask Mr. Baker to show you the cosh.”

He laughed then, waved again and continued on his way.

When, an hour or two later. Sir John and I left his chambers to make our own preparations for the dinner, we were hailed by Mr. Perkins who, it seemed, had reported for duty a bit early that he might have a word with us.

“What will you, Mr. Perkins?” said the magistrate. “We’ve a bit of nonsense we must attend to, so …”

“I’ll make it fast, sir. It’s these two who I think might’ve done that burglary you’ve been working on.”

“Yes, what about them?”

“They’ve both just disappeared, nowhere in sight, not a word heard about them since the burglary.”

“Your snitch is no help?”

“None at all, but I remembered what you said about this being likely one of those for-hire jobs, and I was wondering would you like me to bring in one who’s been seen keeping company with the two of them right up to the night of the burglary. He looked out of place down there in the dives of Bedford Street. I feel like he’s involved in some way. He’s too much the gentleman, if you know what I mean.”

“Indeed I do, but I see no charge to be put against him — unless it be ‘associating with known criminals’ — which is no charge at all, really.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. But what I was thinking, sir, was that Jeremy here might be of some help in this.”

“Oh? How is that?”

“Jeremy’s been going out with you on all of your rnvestigations, hasn’t he?”

“All except the first of them. I had to rely on Clarissa on that occasion, for Jeremy was out of town. I don’t know how many we’ve talked to, however, who would be likely to appear in Bedford Street.”

“Well, like I say. Sir John, the one I’m talking about isn’t tikely to be found there, either. That’s why he stands out so.”

“All right, Mr. Perkins, you’ve made your point. What do you suggest with regard to Jeremy?”

“That he come with me and take a look. Maybe this cod who plays the gent will be there and maybe he won’t, but this way I’ll at least have satisfied my curiosity.”

Sir John turned in my direction. “What about it, Jeremy? Are you willing to leave the dinner table a little early?” Somewhat reluctantly, I said I would, and it was agreed that Mr. Perkins would come for me at eleven and have me back by midnight. Ordinarily, I would have been delighted at a chance to explore Bedford Street in the company of the constable. On this evening, however, our table might prove even more lively than the lowly dives of Bedford.

We were ranged round the table in exactly the order I had devised. Yet what had seemed a perfect plan for seating just a few hours before seemed much less so now. None of the opportunities for conversation which I had anticipated (one might even say planned) seemed to be working out at all. Mr. Donnelly and Molly, each of whom had requested to sit by the other, found themselves altogether monopolized by the table partner next to them on the opposite side.

Lady Fielding talked quite incessantly to Mr. Donnelly, and she seemed to end nearly every sentence with “is it not?” or “wouldn’tyou say so?” So, he had no choice but to respond; simply nodding and smiling would not do. When she began to discuss her mother’s tumor, I knew that she would be holding him prisoner for quite some time.

Molly Sarton was surprised to find herself the object of Benjamin Franklin’s profound concentration and scrutiny. Afterward, she confessed to me that she had no clear idea who he was, yet she had heard his name often enough to know that he was famous. Just as with Lady Fielding and Mr. Donnelly, he did nearly all the talking. It consisted, for the most part, of the most outrageous flattery and questions of the sort which could be answered with a word or two, perhaps three or four.

As an example, I can only offer the following, since what was said by him between them vanished ever so quickly from my mind. I recall Franklin leaning close yet speaking loud enough to make me wonder if he were not perhaps a bit deaf.

“But surely you are not jLut a cook?”

“Well, I …”

“Mind you, I mean that as no reflection upon this superb dinner. But you — you not only planned it, but actually cooked it with your two beautiful little hands?”

“Oh yes.”

“You seem so delicate for such work. Yet this beef chop, it’s quite the best I’ve ever eaten.”

“You’re very kind.”

“Whence came you?”

“To here? From Deal.”

“Down in Kent? I know it a little, a charming place.”

“I hated it.”

“Goodness! Such strong language. What is it makes you hate it so?”

“My husband’s death.”

“You a widow? And so young! Such a pity. And how did your husband die, pray tell?”

“He was murdered.”

“Oh dear! Oh my! Murdered, you say? One hears of that sort of thing here in London. But in Deal, of all places! It would seem there is no safe haven, would it not? But tell me, do please, what were the circumstances of his murder?”

To that she gave her longest response, yet with it, she did not more than beg off: “I fear I cannot oblige you, sir, for even to think of them vexes me so that I know I could not bear to tell them. I believe you would be far better advised to ask Sir John to relate them to you. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a kitchen matter to attend to.” And with that she rose from her chair and disappeared through the door.