Bruce Alexander - An Experiment in Treason

“Ah, you two,” said she to us. “I know, indeed I do, that she’s won you over, as well. She’s a charmer, she is, and no getting around it. But just remember what I’ve said, will you?”

I nodded soberly, but Clarissa simply said, “I will.”

Then did we, all three, fall silent, and in that silence I heard stirring in that room at the top of the stairs wherein Sir John and his Lady slept. I wondered, would they emerge in the next moment or two and save us from this awkward moment.

But then Clarissa did rouse herself and announce — to me, in particular:

“I did not have the opportunity to finish my story last night.”

“Ah,” said I, “so you did not. What more have you to tell?”

“Simply this,” said she. “I told Sir John when we left the grand residence in Whitehall that, in my judgment, Lord Hillsborough had not said a single word of truth all the time we had him before us.”

“And how did Sir John react to that statement?” asked I.

“Oh, he jested with me. ‘Not a single word?’ said he. ‘Surely something. Not even — oh, what do they call them? — the articles and the conjunctions?’ Yet I stuck by what I said, even though I was forced to admit that Lord Hillsborough had neither sweated nor gone shifty-eyed.”

“What then did you tell Sir John made you so sure?”

“It was his arrogance,” said Clarissa. “He is that rare sort of liar who is so well-practiced at it that he tells lies as readily as the rest of us tell the truth. He feels neither worry nor guilt as we might. Yet, I must confess, I base this on naught but my feminine intuition. So I told him.”

“And what was Sir John’s reaction to that?” I asked her.

“Oh, again he jested, yet more in earnest than before, I believe. ‘Tells lies readily? Feels neither worry nor guilt?’ said Sir John, ‘why, I believe you’ve found him out for what he is — a. poUtLclan!’ And at that he laughed in quite the most jolly manner.”

By then I, too, was laughing — though a bit loud and lusty, I fear.

Next we knew, a knock came upon the door, hard and insistent, like that of one of the constables — and so it turned out to be. The laughter all of a sudden died in my throat, and I jumped up from my place at the table to open the door. It was none but Mr. Baker, jailer and armorer of the Bow Street Runners.

“Ah, Jeremy,” said he. “The Lord Chief Justice, so I am told, requested the presence of Sir John and does so most urgently — so urgently that he’s sent his coach-and-four to get him there quick.”

“When will it be here?” I asked. “I’m not certain that he’s yet awake.”

“When? Well, it’s down there in Bow Street right this minute, so you’d better get him up and let him know.”

Having delivered his message, he gave me a wave and descended the stairs. I eased the door shut and called out, “Better make another pot of tea.” Then did I rush up the stairs and pound upon the door to Sir John’s bedroom.

The Lord Chief Justice was William Murray, Lord Mansfield. As such, he was nominally in charge of the administration of justice throughout the realm. This often put him in direct contact with Sir John, who as the magistrate of the Bow Street Court, settled disputes, sat in judgment upon lesser crimes and misdemeanors, and, after weighing evidence, bound over for trial in the higher court those charged with high crimes and felonies. Sir John’s abihties and his reputation did exceed his office, and therefore Lord Mansfield often sought him out for advice and counsel and to undertake special missions for the Court. Thus had I traveled hither and thither throughout England in his company, visiting cities as far afield as Bath. Though naturally I said nothing of it, it was my hope that this sudden summons from Lord Mansfield would entail a trip of some sort to distant parts; for, reader, I must confess that I did greatly enjoy travel.

I wore my best. Once I had made Sir John presentable, I hied up quickly to my room and changed into the breeches and coat which Lady Fielding had just bought for me (complaining that if I would just stop growing, I would not need my store of clothes to be constantly replenished). Why did I feel it necessary to dress my best when I would more likely than not be given no notice whatever by Lord Mansfield? Well, there were sometimes men of distinction there — and one of them might sometime give me notice. I hoped to find emplo3mnent as a law clerk eventually.

And then, of course, there was that nasty butler of Lord Mansfield’s. He had been quite the bane of my life since the time I first arrived at Number 4 Bow Street and began delivering letters and messages to the Lord Chief Justice at his residence in Blooms-bury Square. I would never be denied entrance in the company of Sir John Fielding, but, at least, there would be no question that I properly belonged if I wore my best. In later years, I realized that the butler whom I so disliked had taught me the importance of proper dress.

Upon this occasion, I received not so much as a frown from Lord Mansfield’s butler. Indeed it was quite the contrary. When he threw open the door and stepped back that we might enter, he gave an appraising look to my attire (which he had not seen before) and nodded his approval. Then did he lead us down the great hall to a door which I knew did open into the study of the Lord Chief Justice. He opened it. We stepped inside.

“Ah, there you are. Sir John. Do sit down. I’ve something to discuss with you.”

“I’m gratified to hear it. I had hoped that we would not be pulled from our beds thus early only to sit here in silence.”

I helped Sir John into his seat and then sat down in the chair beside him.

“Sorry about that,” said Lord Mansfield. “But I must off to court in a short time, and this was best talked about in the morning, for there is a meeting in a short time that I wish you to attend.”

“Oh? What sort of meeting?”

“I’ll get to that in due course.”

“That also is gratifying — but do continue.”

“Night before last,” Lord Mansfield began, as if about to tell a long story, “you visited the residence of Lord Hillsborough to investigate a burglary which had taken place there that very night.”

“Indeed, I did. It was a rather extraordinary burglary in a number of ways. First of all, the burglars made their entry by way of the front door. Secondly, when they were detected inside the house by a footman, they were surprised by him in the act of searching through his master’s desk. Or, rather, one of them was surprised, while the other dealt the footman such a blow upon the back of his head that he was knocked senseless — and dead. And, finally, it was an even more unusual burglary in that the victim, Lord Hillsborough, seemed not to know, nor even care what might have been stolen. He was, in any case, very reluctant to say, or even to guess, what was missing.”

“I take it, ” said Lord Mansfield, “that you wish to solve this case?”

“Of course I do. Such a question.”

“Well, I can help you in that, I believe, for I have persuaded Lord Hillsborough that if he truly desires to have restored to him that which was stolen, that he must give greater cooperation to you. You and your — what is it you call that force of constables you keep?”

“The Bow Street Runners.”

“Yes. Well, I told him that you and they represent the only real chance he has of getting it back, whatever it is.”

“Indeed I am pleased that you think so,” said Sir John. “But I have a question for you. Lord Mansfield.”

“And what is that?”

“You referred to the stolen object as ‘whatever it is.’ Don’t you know what it is?”

“No,” said he. “After all, I have no need to know.”