Bruce Alexander - An Experiment in Treason

“There are conditions, however.”

“I am not surprised to hear it.”

“First of all, Mr. Skinner would like it understood that while he admits to killing Albert Calder, death was unintended. In effect, he is willing to plead guilty to manslaughter.”

Sir John did not respond immediately. Clearly, he was giving the question some consideration. “Let us say, I am willing to accept the homicide as unintentional if he is able to convince me.”

It was Jonas Hastings’s turn to sit silent and consider. “I shall present that to him,” said he at last. “There is another condition, however, though it is related to the first. It is that no matter the charge at Old Bailey, you will recommend transportation, rather than death by hanging.”

“If he convinces me, and I send him on to the Central Criminal Court with a charge of manslaughter, he would naturally receive a sentence of transportation and penal servitude. Even if found guilty of murder, he might receive such a sentence. I sometimes recommend such, and until very recently my recommendations were always followed.”

“And what happened then?”

“My recommendation on sentencing was ignored.”

“How many times, over the years, were your recommendations followed?”

“Oh, perhaps a hundred.”

“I shall take that to him, too.”

Mr. Hastings rose, thanked Sir John, and turned to go.

“One more thing,” said Sir John just then. “It will count greatly in his favor if he surrenders.”

“That is understood,” said Mr. Hastings.

And so saying, he left. As soon as he was out of the room, I posed the question of what more might be learned from Tommy Skinner once he had surrendered. That is to say, I started to pose such a question; but Sir John cut me off in midsentence with a finger to his lips and a shake of his head. Thereafter we sat in silence for a long space of time. I must have become notably restless, for at last Sir John spoke.

“It should not be long,” he whispered. “Be patient.”

Shortly afterward, we heard footsteps in the hall again. One could tell in an instant that there were two men, for besides Hastings’s light, quick step, there was another, slower and heavier, which simply had to be Tommy Skinner.

The footsteps stopped just outside the door. Jonas Hastings stepped into the room. “May I present my client, Mr. Thomas Skinner,” said he in a peculiarly dramatic manner.

When Skinner followed him in, he turned out to be near as big as George Burkett himself. He was the man who had shared the bench with Mr. Hastings.

“Tommy and I have already met, is that not so, Tommy? “

“I never thought you’d remember, no, I never.”

“Let me see, it must be a good five years ago that you appeared before me for … what was it?”

“Drunkenness, I fear.” He bowed his big head in shame.

“Ah, so it was, so it was. You were but a lad then, your great size notwithstanding. I remember fining you a half crown and urging you to use your strength in gainful employment.”

“Yes sir, you was generous to me then, so I thought I’d try you once more.”

“There’s a bit of a gamble involved here, you know.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Jeremy,” said Sir John, turning in my direction. “Bring this Bible to Mr. Skinner, that he may take an oath upon it.” Saying thus, he pushed the Bible across the desk toward me.

I took it and brought it over to Skinner. He placed his right hand upon it, and his left he held over his heart. Then did he swear, as God was his witness, that what he was about to tell was “the absolute and honest truth.” And he added his wish to burn in hell if it wasn’t. I took the Bible then and returned it to Sir John’s desk. Skinner remained standing throughout his recitation, and his voice remained steady and calm.

The tale he told was essentially the one Sir John had put together from visits to the crime scene, my talks with witnesses, et cetera. He confirmed that Isaac Kidd had served as a kind of broker for the burglary, hiring Skinner and Ned Ferguson to do the burglary for a very high price indeed. He also arranged for them to be given a diagram of the ground floor of Lord Hillsborough’s residence, which one of the footmen had drawn, showing the probable location of the letters they were to take. They were also warned that they must make their entry at a specific time, for the footmen were guarding the place against housebreakers, and Skinner and Ferguson were to wait to go in when the inside man was making his rounds. Now, to prevent him from getting blamed for the burglary, it had been arranged that the footman would lay down upon the floor, and Skinner would give him a tap with his cosh — not enough to do permanent damage, just enough to put him under and bloody his head.

“And the truth of it is,” said he to Sir John, “I just hit him too hard. I popped him on the back of his head, and the blood just ran. He tried to hft himself up a bit, and then he fell back to the floor and stopped breathing.”

Tears coursed down his cheeks. “I never killed nobody before, and I hope never to do it again. ‘Scuse me now whilst I blow my nose.” That he did, most thunderously loud.

I, for one, was convinced and hoped that Sir John was, as well. There was something childish about the big fellow, was there not? How could such an overgrown child be punished in the same way that a practiced killer might be — one such as, say, George Burkett?

“I have some questions for you,” said Sir John, “though not many.”

“Well and good. I’ll do my best to answer them.”

“What happened afterward?”

“Not much of anything. Ned had some trouble finding the letters we were supposed to take, but he located them at last. He said they had something to do with the North American colonies. I guess we left the place in kind of a mess.”

“You did indeed. But tell me, is that all you remember of the aftermath?”

“Well, we were a day or two late getting our money, and we didn’t like that, but we got paid in full eventually.”

“Do you have the weapon with you, the cosh with which you dispatched Albert Calder?”

“Was that the fella’s name? Yes, it’s right here in my pocket.”

“Surrender it to Mr. Proctor, please — that, and any other weapons you might have on your person.”

He did as he was told, stepping over to me and handing over the leather-covered club. It weighed heavy in my hand. Indeed, it could have cracked Calder’s skull, or mine, or any other. I dropped it in my pocket.

“Tell me. Tommy, what led you to surrender and confess your crime?”

“Well, sir, you treated me right before and gave me good advice I wish to God I’d taken. I committed a terrible sin, but to be honest with you, I don’t want to get my arms chopped off for it.”

“Ah, you’ve heard about that, have you?”

“I have,” said Skinner, “and he’s been following me all round London, asking after me.”

“And what about your partner, Ned Ferguson?”

“For his own good, I think you better arrest him, sir. He bought himself a little farm just north of Robertsbridge in Sussex with his cut of the wack. I told you we got paid right rum for the job.”

The word was out in Bedford Street that the body of Isaac Kidd had been horribly mangled. Whether before or after death seemed to matter little to those who heard the story and passed it on. What caught the fancy of the mob was the manner of mutilation. Jokes were made about the missing forearms; bets were placed on where they might turn up. There were those who insisted that such bizarre brutality was doubtless the work of the Devil; and there were others who speculated that, considering Kidd’s known background in the slave trade, he was no doubt the victim of some revenge plot of the blacks in London.