Watery Grave Page 17

  “Just here?” said he.

  “Just here,” said I.

  Then he banged upon it stoutly with his stick. I believe he enjoyed doing that. I had never known him to make use of an ordinary doorknocker. Just as he was about to repeat the summons, the door opened and a woman of some years and wide dimensions appeared. She seemed rather formidable.

  “Sir John Fielding,” said he, “to call upon the Reverend Mr. Andrew Eagleton.”

  “What is your business with him?” she asked most suspiciously.

  “That is of no concern to you, madam. Leave it that I am Magistrate of the Bow Street Court, as you no doubt know, and I wish to talk to him in my official capacity.”

  Still she held on stubbornly: “He has committed no crime.”

  “That’s as may be, madam, but he may have been witness to one, and that I can only determine by talking with him.”

  Though her hard face became no softer, she relented at last and swung the door wide.

  “All right,” said she, you may wait in the sitting room whilst I fetch him.”

  Together we moved inside. I ushered him through the next door to the left, which she had indicated with a sharp wave of her hand. Once in the sitting room with Sir John ensconced in a chair and I beside him, we heard the housekeeper’s heavy tread upward upon the stairway which I had glimpsed on my way in.

  “Why is it,” remarked Sir John, “that women are so much more difficult to intimidate than men?”

  For that I had no ansver and gave none.

  The room was empty but for us two and quite silent. The thick walls of the building and the well-fit glass of the windows kept out the hullabaloo of Covent Garden. Only the ticking of a clock upon the mantel could be heard until, through the sitting room door, came the sound of two descending sets of footsteps on the stairs.

  As they continued, Sir John said to me, “I want you to watch this fellow carefully, though not obviously. In my experience, preachers show a great talent for dissimulation.”

  “I shall, sir.”

  Then, only moments later, the door opened and a man in black entered, one of about the age of thirty, tall and fair. He seemed the very picture of what a young cleric should be. Sir John rose, introduced himself and me, and shook hands w ith the Reverend Mr. Eagleton. The latter pulled a chair near, and both men sat.

  “This,” said the young man, “is an unanticipated honor.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “Why, sir, as long ago as my time m Oxford your name was known to me. All Queen’s College was alive with talk of you and your Bow Street Runners. Now I have the opportunity to meet you, as it were, in the flesh. I count myself lucky and indeed honored, as well.”

  “Well, and I, Reverend Eagleton, find myself somewhat abashed. I’d no idea my modest reputation would reach so far. Oxford, you say?”

  “Certainly, sir, and even in the little country parish of Stanton Har-court, where I served for a time as curate, your name was heard, though not as oft as at the universit) —simple country folk, after all.”

  “Of course,” said Sir John, “yet they are the very salt of our English earth.”

  “Amen and amen. May God bless them all.”

  By this time, reader, you may be as dismayed by your reading of this exchange as I was in listening to it. On the part of Reverend Eagleton it seemed the most unctuous sort of flattery; while I can here but quote his words, I cannot convey the tone of voice in which they were uttered, which was honeyed but somehow solemn and boyishly eager all at the same time. Perhaps more surprising was Sir John’s response, for he seemed to consume these candied words and puff up upon them before my very eyes. Could his natural vanity be fed so easy on such sweet pap?

  “You say you were a curate, ” said Sir John, “but your title tells me you have been ordained to the priesthood. ‘

  “I have been, yes, and that but three years past. Though I come from modest stock, my dear father somehow found money enough to defray the expenses, may God bless him for it.”

  “Indeed,” said Sir John, “yet how did it happen that, newly ordained, you accepted a place as modest as chaplain on a Royal Navy frigate?”

  “Ah well, yes, that,” said he with a most serious smile.” For two reasons, chiefly. The first was that there was no vicarage open to me at the time. And you may not credit it, sir, but I craved a bit of adventure. I had lived so sheltered a life up to that point —and I thought that, after all, I might do some good among those rough seamen. In all modesty, I believe I did.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it,” said Sir John.” Are those the two reasons then —the lack of a suitable vicarage and a craving for adventure?”

  “No, I count them as but one and the same. The other reason, the greater reason, was this: I had had bubbling inside me during my last two years as a curate … a book!”

  “A book? Do tell.”

  “Oh, yes sir, with your kind permission I shall. I had taken many, many notes there in Stanton Harcourt, gone so far as to write out a prospectus strictly for my own use that I might better understand what ought to go into the book when I should have time enough to write it. And upon consideration of my options following ordination, which I confess were not many, I decided that on shipboard my opportunities would be much greater to write —and indeed they were!”

  “Bravo! And were you able to fmish?”

  “I was, yes. I brought my notes, my prospectus, and the necessary books along on the voyage, and the two and a half years we were away proved more than ample time.”

  “What is the nature of the work?” asked Sir John, leaning forward on his stick, as if truly eager to know.

  “Theological,” said Reverend Eagleton.” In style it is hortatory, and in content Latitudinarian.”

  “Ah,” said Sir John, “Latitudinarian —how exciting.”

  (I must remark here that I hadn’t the slightest notion what Reverend Eagleton meant by that — nor, do I believe, did Sir John. Yet the magistrate encouraged him by a smile and a nod of his head to continue; that, of course, was all that the cleric needed.)

  “I reach out on one side to pull in the Church of Rome,” said he, throwing out one arm, “and on the other to pull in the Methodists,” and out went the other arm. He drew his arms together in a kind of self-embrace. These gestures, though eloquent, were lost on Sir John, I fear.

  “For what have we all in common?” —resuming.” Why, the Holy Scriptures, of course!” He gestured with his left hand to an invisible Bible he held in his right.” I argue from the Scriptures against dogmatical intolerance, of which, going back to the last century and the one before, we were as guilty as they.”

  “I had not realized the Methodists had been around so long,” said Sir John.

  “Well, no, naturally not. Here I refer to the Church of Rome, but … well, you get my drift —a nautical term. I mean to say, you understand?”

  “Oh, indeed I do. It sounds a worthy work indeed. And you are in London to find a publisher for it?”

  “Yes,” said he, “with the right dedication to an influential patron, this book could win me preferment. I could secure a chaplaincy to a noble household, a prebendary!”

  “A bishopric,” suggested Sir John.

  A glint came into the eye of the cleric for just a moment —but then he laughed in a deprecating manner.” Oh,” said he, “I aim not so high so soon, yet who knows what the future might bring? I am no less worthy than others.”

  “I’m sure, I’m sure. But, you know, I have acquaintances within the world of publishing.”

  The Reverend JVlr. Eagleton nearly jumped from his chair, so eager was he.

  “Could you … well, would you consider putting in a word for me?”

  “I would consider it certainly, but let us talk of other things for a moment, shall we?”

  “Oh, yes, as you wish, sir.”

  “Let us talk of life aboard the HM.S. Adienture.”

  “Ah, the Adventure! Well, I admit I
was puzzled when the housekeeper told me that you thought I may have been witness to a crime. You referred, naturally, to that lamentable matter involving Lieutenant Landon. I know the man, of course, and respected him greatly. I was as astonished as any on board to learn of the accusation against him the night before we anchored. But as for being a witness to the crime he has been charged with, I’m afraid I can’t help you there. During that dreadful, dreadful storm I was belowdecks in my cabin the entire time, praying that we might survive. I don’t mind telling you, sir, that I have never been so frightened in my entire life. But no, Sir John, I saw nothing—absolutely nothing.”

  “I thought that might be the case,yet it was only proper of me to ask.”

  “Yes, but … well, I’m surprised that you are involved in this case. Is this not before the Admiralt) Court?”

  “Indeed, yet I am assisting, more or less in an advisory capacity.”

  “Assisting the prosecution or the defense?”

  “Would it matter? I’m for the truth. Reverend Eagleton. I always am.”

  “To be sure, to be sure. Of course it does not matter.”

  “I believe that in addition to serving as chaplain on the Adventure, you were also schoolmaster to the midshipmen. Is that correct?”

  “Well, yes, it is not unusual for the chaplain to hold the position of teacher also —or so I was told.”

  “How many were in our class of midshipmen?”

  “There were four, but about a year into the voyage one of the boys was killed — an accident, fell from the top rigging onto his head and died immediately. Terribly sad. I preached a lovely sermon at his funeral. Though short, it was one of my best, I believe. I wrung a few tears from those hardened old seamen.”

  “Jeremy and I have met but two of the remaining three —Midshipman Boone, who is a bully and not liked by the crew.”

  “Poor Boone!” said the cleric.” He is so pitifully inept at maths that navigation is simply beyond him. I fear he will never pass his lieutenant’s examination. Perhaps he takes out his frustration on his inleri-ors —not commendable, of course, but understandable.”

  “And we also met Midshipman Templeton, who is a sneak.”

  “Goodness, Sir John, you do judge them harshly. They are but boys, after all.”

  “That I grant you. Now tell me, who was the third surviving member of your class?”

  Reverend Eagleton did not like the turn taken in the interrogation. The questions and comments were harder-edged and now put to him with increasing rapidit He responded by pouting.

  “Midshipman Fowler, and he is a perfectly fme young man. ‘

  “While you were their teacher, you were also their spiritual adviser, were you not?”

  “As chaplain, I was spiritual adviser to all aboard the Adventure.”

  “Yet since the midshipmen were presumably the youngest aboard, did you not feel a special responsibility toward their spiritual welfare?”

  “I suppose so, yes.”

  “Did any of the midshipmen ever come to you with complaints, asking for advice, or moral guidance?”

  “Well, they must have done. Yes, over two and a half years, of course I’m sure they did.”

  “Of what nature?”

  By this time Reverend Egleton sat most uncomfortable in his chair. Beads of sweat stood out upon his domed brow. His lips were pursed in a tight line.

  “I’m afraid I cannot answer that.”

  “And why not, sir?”

  “Because what is said to me in my capacity’ as spiritual adviser should not be repeated. Don’t you see? It is much the same as the seal of the confessional in the Church of Rome.”

  “Is it now? But you are not a Roman priest.”

  “The principle is the same.”

  “There are bishops and theologians who would argue with you on that point, I’m sure. Yet you are a clever fellow. I’m sure you could hold up your end of the debate. But let me press the question, being more specific. Let me put it to you thus: Did the boy who fell to his death — What was his name, by the by?”

  “Midshipman Sample.”

  “Did Midshipman Sample ever come to you alleging unnatural conduct against him by one of the officers? ‘

  “I cannot answer that because it was discussed in confidence.”

  “Then it wcu* discussed.”

  “I cannot answer that.’

  “What about your Midshipman Fowler, whom we have not met but you say is a fine boy? Did he ever come to you with a tale of unnatural liberties taken against him?”

  “I cannot answer that.”

  “Boone? No, not Boone. He is so much the pet that he must never have complained.” Sir John sighed.” I tell you. Reverend Eagleton, you disappoint me. I should think you would have shouted to the high heavens. I should think you would have gone to that officer and faced him down, called on the Almighty to strike him down. But no,you remained in your cabin and wrote that book of yours, did you not?”

  With that, Sir John rose swiftly from his chair and just as swiftly I was at his side to start him toward the door. Yet he held back, not yet ready to leave.

  “I did not lie to you, sir. I do have acquaintances in the world of publishing. And I will gladly put in a word for you and your book if you will stand up in Admiralty Court and answer the questions you have refused to answer me. Nay, I will do more than that. It you will name the acts and name the name of the perpetrator, I will see that the book is published, whatever its quality, even if I have to pay the costs myself. Those are my terms — quid pro quo. Nothing more or less. What say you to that, sir?”

  The Reverend Mr. Andrew Eagleton had nothing to say to that. He sat with his face averted, his eyes on the window, concentrating on some distant object.

  “I thought not,” said Sir John.” But should you change your mind, you will find me at Number Four Bow Street nearby. Good day to you.”

  And he was off for the door at a quick step. It was all I could do to catch up and get it open before he crashed through it.

  Outside in the piazza, he continued his swift pace, making it difficult for me to keep up. He threw his stick before him in reckless arcs, shouting, “Make way! Make way!” He seemed not to wish my assistance at all. Yet when he had bumped once or twice, he slowed a bit so that I might catch him up.

  “Guide me through this, Jeremy,” said he.” My rage is spent, though my anger persists.”

  I took him by the elbow, guiding him this way and that, saving him from at least one collision. Thus we proceeded at a more reasonable pace, threading our way through the clusters of buyers and idlers.

  “I take it, sir, you will need no report Irom me on his reaction to your questions,” said I.

  “Oh no, I read him well enough —a flatterer, ayoung man filled with himself and his ambitions, a moral coward. Not a rare combination oi: qualities, certainly, but seldom are they advertised so plain. He must learn dissimulation. And he will.”

  “You baited the hook cleverly,” said I.” He must choose between losing your assistance in getting his book published and standing up in court to give testimony.”

  “Jeremy, he would never give testimony willingly in Admiralty Court or any other — not on the matter we discussed. To do so, he must needs reveal himself as the craven wretch he -was at the crisis. But I shall give his name to that dunce Byner. Perhaps a subpoena can be issued.” He paused abruptly, then asked himself, “Does the Admiralty Court even have the power to summon to witness those no longer attached to the Royal Navy? Good God, I must find out. Don’t let me forget, lad.”

  “I promise, Sir John.”

  We walked on, by now nearly to Russell Street and out of the Garden. The flow of the crowd had eased to the point where I thought it a good time to put to him a question that troubled me.

  “Sir John?”

  “Yes, Jeremy, what is it?”

  “There is something I should like to know. I understand that serving both as chaplain and schoolmaster to
the midshipmen, the Reverend Eagleton had a special responsibility to the boys. They were in a sense his charges.”

  “That is correct.”

  “I understand, too, that when some special harm was done to one or more of them, he evidently sinned by omission in failing to confront the doer of the harm and defending his charges.”

  “Yes, by doing nothing he tolerated it, even accommodated it.”

  “But what I don’t understand is the specific harm done to them. What is unnatural conduct? What are unnatural liberties?”

  He said nothing for a goodly number of steps, then he made an uncertain beginning —clearing his throat, uttering an “uh,” then clearing his throat again.

  “Ah, well, yes, ” said he at last, “unnatural conduct is . . , uh … conduct that is not natural. That is to say, well, the Lascar seaman you talked to put it simply but rather well. He said …”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Well, you remember what he said. You told me in the hackney coach.”

  “Yes sir, but you did not explain it to me.”

  “True, Jeremy, I did not, but I shall … in due time. Yes, I will explain it all in due time.”

  “Well, is it that —”

  “But not now.”

  “As you say. Sir John.”

  So it was with Sir John Fielding. Some explanations came easily and readily from him. Others came late, if at all. Still others did no more than obscure what they sought to illuminate. I was indeed not hopeful of learning more from him.

  Turning from Russell Street onto Bow Street, we walked at a good pace, he having shaken off my hand at his elbow and I once again challenged to keep up with him. We had not gone far until Number 4 was vell within view, and I spied before it a coach-and-four. A little closer and, identifying driver and footman from our journey to Portsmouth, I realized that this was the conveyance of Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Redmond. Of this I informed Sir John, and he gave a deep grunt of satisfaction, though little more in response. Yet when we came abreast of the coach, he seemed to be aware and paused.

  “Good day to you, gentlemen,” said he to the coachmen.

  They greeted him in kind most respectfully.

  “And where is your master? Inside the coach?”