Bruce Alexander - An Experiment in Treason

“Do you two always argue in this manner?”

It was none other than Lord Mansfield, who looked neither amused, nor disapproving, but rather puzzled. My back had been turned to him as he approached, and I heard nothing. Sir John, who usually hears all, had perhaps failed to hear on this occasion; or perhaps indeed he had heard but wished to have his say in spite of all.

“We often do, Lord Mansfield,” said he, “I consider such arguments to be an important part of Jeremy’s legal education.”

“Ah yes, I seem to remember now: He is reading law with you, is he not?”

“Just as I read with my brother.”

“Interesting. Well, come along, both of you.” With that, Lord Mansfield gave me a critical look, as if judging me somehow. “I’ve sent the butler off to make some coffee — enough for all.”

He led us down the hall to the library, a room of Lord Mansfield’s in which I had been but once before. There was a book — one of hundreds in the room — out and open at Lord Mansfield’s place at a long table He gestured to the chairs on either side of his own. I guided Sir John to the one at the right of the Lord Chief Justice, and I took the one just beyond.

“You have something to report. Sir John?”

“Yes,” said the magistrate, “we do. But first may I ask you a question?”

“Of course. Proceed.”

“How well do you know this fellow, George Burkett?”

“Burkett? Burkett? The name is familiar, but at the moment I cannot place him.”

Sir John turned to me. “Are you sure it was Lord Mansfield’s signature at the bottom of that letter of introduction?”

I was about to assure him that indeed I was certain of it, when Lord Mansfield cried out, “Oh, that fellow. Burkett was his name? Yes, yes of course it was. Now I have him in mind. What do you vvdsh to hear of him?”

“How well do you know him?”

“Why, not at all. Lord Hillsborough brought him round to me and said that he wanted this rather large fellow with him to have a letter of introduction to you. Sir John. He wished him to have your help and the benefit of what you have thus far discovered in this matter of the Hutchinson letters. And so I dashed off a letter to that effect and gave it to them.”

“You knew nothing of his background?”

“Well, I knew he was a colonial, I suppose. Thus much you could be told from his speech. But what more is there to know? I assume he was some sort of thief-taker.”

“He was a slave-chaser,” said Sir John.

“Ah well, not a very savory occupation, to be sure, but slavery is still a legal institution. And if slaves run from their masters, then they must be chased. Don’t you agree?”

“Whether I do or I do not matters little. What Burkett has done is use the same despicable methods here in England that have become commonplace in America.”

“Sir John, what has he done?”

“Tell him, Jeremy.”

And tell him I did. I made what I judged to be an unusually strong presentation, one definitely prosecutorial in tone and worthy of comparison to any I had heard from the lips of the Lord Chief Justice himself. This time I did not omit the hostile incident which occurred between Burkett and Constable Perkins and had such dreadful consequences. On the contrary, I dramatized it a bit and pronounced Burkett s threat in a deep tone which mimicked Burkett’s own. And, finally, when I described the condition of Isaac Kidd’s body when Mr. Donnelly and I unwrapped it in his surgery, I did not hesitate to supply colorful details — sinew, bits of ligament and protruding bone, all of that.

Through it all Lord Mansfield gave me his full attention. His eyes widened at appropriate places along the way, and as I finished, he could not hold back a shudder. Then did he fall silent.

“ Both his arms?” said he at last.

“Both arms indeed,” said I, “which was surely meant as a message to Mr. Perkins.”

“Good God,” said Lord Mansfield, his voice cracking slightly. Then, recovering, he looked from me to Sir John and cleared his throat that he might address the matter at hand with greater authority. “Still, you know, bad as it sounds, what I have heard just now would not convict him. There are no witnesses and no material evidence.”

“Come now,” said Sir John, “I have heard you send men off to the gallows with far less against them.”

“I’ll not respond to that,” said the Lord Chief Justice, “for it is not worthy of you.”

“I withdraw it in any case. But you will admit, surely, that this monster, Burkett, must be stopped.”

“Certainly I do.”

“And that Lord Hillsborough is responsible and must call off this … this …”

“That we cannot say with certainty, for we know not what Lord Hillsborough’s instructions were to this fellow, Burkett. I shall speak to him myself, for what he has done reflects upon me far worse than upon you.”

Sir John jumped abruptly to his feet. “I can only ask that you do so quickly, for I should like to save Constable Perkins’s remaining arm. Come along, Jeremy.”

I had already risen to my feet and extended my own arm that he might grasp it. Thus we left the room. Lord Mansfield stared after us, yet he made no move, and uttered no cry, to halt us.

Moving swiftly as we were, we did nearly collide with the butler, who appeared from the direction of the kitchen. Yet I guided the magistrate round him with a certain skill, and we moved on.

“I have your coffee here. Sir John,” said he — and indeed he carried a tray which supported an entire coffee service. It gave off a delicious odor. I should have dearly liked to carry a cup with me to Bow Street.

“We’ll not be needing it,” he replied.

“If you wait a moment, I’ll see you out.”

“We’ll see ourselves out,” I called out to the butler.

And so we did.

As we entered Number 4 Bow Street, opening the door to the backstage area, we passed two men sitting upon the bench. One of them rose, but Sir John was not stopping. He moved on, no longer in the least dependent upon me, as Mr. Fuller came forth to discuss a matter.

“Sir John,” said he, “there’s a man to see you. Some sort of lawyer, as I understand it.”

“Where is he? In my chambers?”

“No sir, he’s right behind you now.”

Sir John whirled about to face the man who had sought him out.

“Good day to you, sir,” said he. “What is it you wish?”

“To talk with you upon a private matter, sir.”

I studied the fellow. He was of medium height and size, and in no wise remarkable. Of his face there was naught to say, except that his brown eyes (almost black) were of an unusual intensity. He seemed to stare at Sir John.

“Well, you may do so,” said Sir John, “but you must admit my assistant, Jeremy Proctor, into your confidence, for I have no secrets from him.”

“That is your sole condition?” It IS, yes.

“Then I accept it.”

Sir John nodded and pointed with his stick down the hall.

“This way,” said he.

Once we were seated and settled in Sir John’s chambers, the visitor leaned forward and without preamble said, “I am Jonas Hastings. I am a qualified solicitor, acting on behalf of my client, Mr. Thomas Skinner, whom I believe you seek.”

“We have sought him, you are correct, Mr. Hastings. We also seek his partner, Mr. Edward Ferguson. Do you have dealings with him, as well?”

“Only through Mr. Skinner.”

His reply struck me as rather ambiguous.

“What brings you here, sir?”

“Mr. Skinner would like to surrender to you.”

“Well,” said Sir John, “this is indeed a surprise. There is not yet a warrant out for his arrest, though he is suspicioned for the murder of Albert Calder, a footman in the household of Lord Hillsborough.”