Bruce Alexander - An Experiment in Treason

Though my head was concussed, I was not seriously hurt — or so Gabriel Donnelly informed me when I was taken round to him. True, I was briefly unconscious, yet Mr. Perkins told me that Samson himself would have fallen with that first blow delivered me by Burkett.

The wonder was, said Mr. Bailey, that having been knocked out once, I managed to rise again and attack that huge villain from the rear.

“It’s like you put off fainting for fair till after you’d laid him low with your cosh,” said he. “Wouldn’t stop beating on his head till you’d got him proper.”

I had killed George Burkett. I was in no wise sure how I felt about that, nor would I know for years to come. Mr. Donnelly had called it to my attention that the wounds I had inflicted were quite like those suffered by Albert Calder at the hands of Tommy Skinner. “You quite thoroughly destroyed the back of his head, you know,” said he. “I never knewyou had it in you.”

He prescribed two days bedrest for my concussion. ‘Twas lucky for me that Mr. Marsden chose that as the proper time to return to his post as clerk of the Bow Street Court, for I confess now (though I protested otherwise to Sir John) that I was in no condition to perform the clerk’s duties, as I had been doing in his stead. Had he not resumed, Clarissa would probably have stepped forward and satisfied Sir John that she would make a better clerk than either Mr. Marsden or I.

That, in any case, was the impression with which I was left when she came to visit me in my attic room.

“I was fully prepared,” she told me, “to step in and take your place.” Yet that was not all she had to say.

I recall that she entered the room very quietly, evidently fearful of waking me. But I was not asleep, and if I appeared so to her, I could only have been dozing, for my eyes flickered open the moment she came close.

“Ah,” said she, “you’re awake.”

“Yes, it’s dark out now. What time is it? Any idea?”

“Not exact, no. But Molly is preparing dinner. It must be round six.”

“I should get dressed for dinner.”

“You’re not to come down,” said she quite firmly.

“But I’m quite famished!”

“Have no fear. It will be brought to you — on a tray, by me.”

“Indeed? I have not been treated so well since we visited Mrs. Keen’s tearoom in Deal and were served a plate of her ‘best.’”

I thought that might at least coax a smile from her — but it did nothing of the kind. She stared down at me in a manner most severe. It was then, as I recall, that she reported to me that Mr. Mars-den had returned to his duties, and added that had there been any need, she would have taken the role of Sir John’s clerk for as long as might have been necessary. When I said nothing to that, she lashed out angrily.

“Do you doubt I could have done it?”

“Of course I do not, but … but … what in the world has made you so ill-tempered?”

“All right, all right, I shall tell you. I have heard Mr. Perkins’s account of what you did today, and I think two things about all that.”

The girl was trembling with fury — or upset of some sort. I could not tell which.

“I think, first of all,” said she, continuing, “that it was terribly brave of you. But I also think it was very foo — ” Her chin trembled so that she could hardly speak. “It was very fool … ish of you.” Then did she give in to the tears she had held back all through the last speech. She s-wept down upon me, and she began covering my face with kisses, “Oh, Jeremy,” she wailed, “how could ‘ou? You might have been killed!”

I comforted her as best I could from my prone position, returning her kisses, hugging her to me. I struggled to rise in bed, but she would have none of that.

“No, no, you mustn’t. Mr. Donnelly’ has said that you must rest.”

“Well, I’ll have to sit up in bed to eat, won’t I? ‘

“Oh, I suppose so, but for now, you will stay in bed, won’t you? I promise I’ll behave better next time. I’ll … I’ll be back.”

So saying, she left me.

Though Clarissa was the first to visit me during that evening and the next day or two, she was but the first of many. Mr. Donnelly appeared twice to assure me that I was responding well to his ministrations. Sir John also looked in on me twice, as did Constable Perkins. Molly made sure that I had plenty to eat, and Lady Fielding came to display proudly the new coat which she had bought me to replace the one quite ruined in my tussle with George Burkett.

Mr. Perkins brought news of great import, which Sir John confirmed: The constable had decided to take the job offered him by Peter Hollaby, magistrate of Robertsbridge. Not only that, but he explained that the move would make it possible for him to marry Bess, with whom he had been living, it seemed, for months — the two of them together above the stables.

Once I had heard the news, Sir John told how negotiations had taken place, more or less behind the scenes. Mr. Perkins had come to him and told all and made the point that the move was tied to his marriage plans. Sir John was glad to hear of it, so glad, in fact, that he offered to write the magistrate of Robertsbridge and “explain” the situation to him. In the letter, which he dictated to Clarissa, he commended Mr. Perkins to him as one of the finest, if not the finest of the Bow Street Runners. He declared that he would go to great lengths to keep him, yet he had heard from the constable of his desire to marry, and Robertsbridge offered much more suitable surroundings in which to begin married life and start a family. “I know, sir, that you are correct in saying that money would go farther in Robertsbridge,” Sir John said in the letter. “Nevertheless, he is particularly eager to find a suitable place for him and his bride to live. Could you, in some manner, guaranty this?”

Mr. Hollaby rose to the challenge with grace and ingenuity. He admitted that he could not pay more than his original offer to meet Mr. Perkins’s London pay. Still, he understood perfectly the difficulties faced by those beginning married life, and he wished to help in whatever way he could. As it happened, he had a small cottage on his property in which his son and his bride lived during the first years of their marriage. “All that it would need would be a bit of fixing up for it to be made comfortable,” wrote the Robertsbridge magistrate. “This cottage can be his rent-free for as long as he wishes it.”

Thus it was settled. Wedding plans were made. Banns were posted. And Oliver Perkins and his Bess were married at the earliest opportunity at a side chapel in St. Paul’s, Covent Garden. ‘Twas a joyous occasion attended by nearly all in Bow Street, including those constables whose duties permitted.

During Sir John’s second visit, the matter of Benjamin Franklin came up. He asked if I had received a visit from him. I said I had not.

“No, I thought not,” said he. “A letter? A note?”

“Nothing of the kind.”

“Ah well, I hoped for better, but I can’t say that I expected it. He owes you a good deal, Jeremy. You saved his life, you know.”

At that I could not help but give an embarrassed chuckle. “That sounds strange to me.”

“That you saved his life? Why should that strike you as strange? You’ve saved mine often enough. Never quite so spectacularly, however. In fairness to him, I will say that he was quite solicitous for your welfare, tut-tutting and insisting that you be taken direct to Mr. Donnelly in the rented coach. You came to your senses bouncing about upon the cobblestones.”

“And what happened to Dr. Franklin? Don’t tell me he took a hackney coach — surely not! “