Bruce Alexander - An Experiment in Treason

I did as he said, and so shocked was I that I actually found it necessary to take a step back, feeling a pressure upon my chest as if I had been given a push.

The point of all this is that each arm had been cut off — nay, chopped off — at the elbow. Where forearm and hand should have been, there was naught but … sinew, stanched blood, and ligament. It was quite the most ghastly sight I had put my eyes upon in all of my years with Sir John Fielding.

“There’s your cause of death,” said Mr. Donnelly, pointing at the mutilated arm. “That alone would have killed him, no doubt.”

“Truly so?”

“Certainly. The shock to the body, the loss of blood. In the Navy, I saw men who were so affected by the loss of a limb that they simply keeled over and within minutes did die. Think of it. How would you feel if you knew that the leg lying on the deck was your leg?”

“I should be greatly affrighted, ” said I.

“Oh, indeed you would — at leojt that. Tell me, was this man tortured for information? I see no other lethal wounds on his body.”

“Yes, well, I suppose he was tortured.”

“Well, what we see there would be sufficient to wring answers from even the most stubborn.” He paused, then asked: “But why were 60th arms hacked off? “

“I believe I know the answer to that, but I must discuss this with Sir John before …”

“I understand,”

“Yet tell me, when would you place the time of death?”

“Oh, a day and a half to two days ago, I suppose. The skin, the face are still in good shape. If he had been in the water much longer.

there would have been a general breakdown, a kind of melting of the flesh. Do you understand?”

“Oh yes, I understand. But now I must hasten to inform Sir John of all this.”

He held up a hand. “Ah,” said he, “wait, Jeremy. I must have your help in carrying this poor, armless creature into the backroom. What do you suppose my patients would think if they found this fellow on the table when they come in to tell me of their fainting spells?”

I told Sir John quite directly of what Mr. Donnelly and I had discovered upon unwrapping the body of Isaac Kidd. Even he, who seemed to take the most gruesome tales with equanimity, registered mild shock at this one. Yet when told of the angry threat directed by Burkett at Mr. Perkins, he seemed most deeply disturbed.

“You should have told me of this before,” said he to me.

“Well, it was Mr. Perkins’s matter — or so I told myself — and so I felt it was not up to me to tell you. I believe he would have resented it.”

No doubt he would have, but what’s a little resentment if his life is in the balance?”

Do you feel that it is?”

I’m not sure, just as you were not when you failed to notify me,” said Sir John. “But I mean to be on the safe side and protect him as well as I can. Just how I shall accomplish that is the question that I must now consider. But it is time for you to make preparations for my court session. Mr. Fuller has a number of prisoners — five, I think. Interview them. Get what you can from them for me. In the meantime, I shall consider what shall be done regarding Mr. Perkins. Oh, and it may be that a letter to the Lord Chief Justice is in order to let him know what sort of villain Burkett is, or perhaps something more than a letter, eh?”

And so it was, reader. The session of his court was handled without difficulty or complication. Though there were five prisoners, each was charged with a misdemeanor — and only that. There was a dispute to be settled between two greengrocers of Covent Garden, yet it was a dispute between two reasonable men, and it was settled by Sir John with a reasonable compromise. All left the courtroom fairly happy: Quite an ideal day in court it was, according to Sir John.

As for the letter, he dictated that to me as per usual. In it, he made plain his dismay that one hired by Lord Hillsborough should turn out to be naught but a hired killer. Care was taken, I noted, not to blame the Lord Chief Justice directly.

“We may need his help before this is done, ” said Sir John.

He also surprised me by declaring that he would accompany me to the home of Lord Mansfield.

“Do you feel the need for a bit of exercise?”

“I always feel the need. It is finding the will to act upon it where I fall down.”

It is true that he had fallen down a bit, neglecting his usual habit of touring Covent Garden whenever he pleased. He now restricted himself to a morning walk of not much more than a mile. The truth was, as he confided to me once, that he was troubled by arthritis in his left hip, and he now leaned heavily upon the walking stick which he had heretofore used as little more than decoration. Nevertheless, once we were out and on the street, he seemed as quick as ever upon his feet. Though his hand rested upon my arm in such a way that I seemed to be helping him along, the truth was, I had to press myself and keep a fast pace in order to match his own.

Thus it seemed to take little time to reach Lord Mansfield’s house in Bloomsbury Square. Along the way, he had explained that his reason for accompanying me was that he hoped to present himself, uninvited, and ask for an audience with Lord Mansfield. If the Lord Chief Justice were absent, or if he were conferring with another, or could not otherwise be disturbed, then we would leave the letter and return posthaste to Number 4 Bow Street. And so, inevitably, we came face-to-face with Lord Mansfield’s butler, the keeper of the gate.

“Yes, what will you — oh, it is you. Sir John. How may I help you?” He was never so polite to me; and there was even a touch of unaccustomed warmth in his voice.

“Well,” said Sir John, “something has come up, you see, and I wish to inform the Lord Chief Justice of it, and perhaps discuss it, if need be. Is he in? Can he see me? Offer my apologies for disturbing him.”

“Certainly. In the meantime, won’t you and your assistant step inside? Sit down on the bench, if you like.”

Having, said that, he threw the door wide, and we took our places inside.

The butler then closed the door behind us, and, promising to be no more than a minute, he set off to inform Lord Mansfield of our unexpected visit. Neither of us showed any wish to sit down.

“Jeremy, I cannot suppose why you so frequently clash with that butler of Lord Mansfield’s. It’s a thankless job at best, and he seems to do it as well as any.”

“Perhaps so, sir, but you should at least consider the possibility that he shows one face to you and quite a different one to me.”

“Oh, pish! Utter nonsense, say I. You perceive villainous intentions in all and sundry — as in this matter of the stolen letters.”

“Not so, sir. I did in the beginning give some benefit of doubt to Dr. Franklin — and to some extent, I still do. ‘Twas Arthur Lee whom I now see as the moving force in the theft of the letters — and his flight to America proves it.”

“And Benjamin Franklin his dupe? Come now, Jeremy, it seems to me that you are shifting your position to accommodate the latest developments. How can you do that? After all, his reason for owning up he gives as his desire to prevent a second duel from being fought and more blood from being shed. How nice! Franklin, the peacemaker. Yet will he confess any part in the actual burglary? No indeed! Franklin, the pure in heart. Did he even see the letters before I first interrogated him? Ah no, it was not till the day afterward that he was approached by one he will not name and was given the letters in question. Is that not convenient? Shall we then call him Franklin, the … what? Franklin, the fortunate, say I.”

I wavered. There was a good deal of truth in what Sir John said. Nevertheless -