The Price of Murder Read online

  “You are now deputized as a constable,” said he to me. “Arrest whomever I tell you to arrest.”

  Shouting back to the two girls in the hackney to stay where they were until they were summoned, he felt about for my arm. When at last he found it, he instructed me to take him forward.

  “Where to?” said I.

  “Into the fray,” said he rather dramatically.

  Indeed, the battle had begun, so to speak, for Mr. Turbott was leading his men forward, waving his sword most ferociously. The rank of armed men moved forward behind him; and behind them, not quite so bold, came the unarmed group.

  We marched through this latter group on our way across the road. They seemed more than willing to clear a way for us. We were just approaching the forward rank when I happened to notice one of the upstairs windows move. And, being unlatched, the window was then pushed open; it hit the wall of the house with a big BANG! Whereupon Turbott and all those with him threw themselves flat upon the ground, hoping to make smaller targets of themselves, for they supposed that they were being shot at. The woman responsible for that great noise stuck her head out the open window and, seeing a number of armed men in the front yard, let out a lusty scream.

  Sir John did not miss a step. We picked our way through the prone figures as Turbott began shouting slogans and battle cries at his men as he urged them onto their feet that they might storm the door.

  “Come along, Jeremy,” said Sir John, “right up to the door, if you please.”

  “As you will, Sir John.”

  When we reached it, he instructed me to give a good, loud knock upon it, which I did in a most commanding manner. Almost immediately, the door came open a crack—no more than two or three inches. Then, from inside, a female voice, fearful and in a mere whisper:

  “Who are you?”

  “Madame, I am Sir John Fielding of the Bow Street Court, and I have a need to question you and others in the house on a criminal matter.”

  “But who are those men with guns out there in the yard?”

  “Though it be difficult, I urge you to pay them no attention. They will cause no trouble so long as I am here. But doubtless you would find it easier to answer my questions without them looking on? May we discuss these matters inside?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Well, all right.”

  Then did the door open sufficient to allow us to pass inside, single file.

  The woman with whom Sir John had spoken closed the door after us. I knew that she must be the one called Mother Jeffers, for Elizabeth had remarked upon her ugliness, and, truth to tell, I had never seen a woman uglier than this one before us. She had a large, misshapen nose with a wart upon its end. Her upper jaw overhung her lower in such a way that she seemed to have no chin at all. But she had a very sweet voice, the sort that seemed to go not at all with her most unfortunate appearance.

  “What matter does this concern?” she asked Sir John.

  “ ’ Twould be easier, Madame, if I were to bring you together with the complainant that these matters be thrashed out between you. Would it be well with you if I were to bring her in?”

  “I suppose so,” she said, “but I’ve water on for tea. Perhaps we could talk in the kitchen?”

  “Of course. Jeremy, would you fetch Elizabeth and Clarissa from the coach? And if Mr. Turbott should insist upon coming along, you may tell him that he, and only he, may enter. He must leave his brigade outside—and that is on my explicit orders.”

  And so I took my leave and made straight for our hackney. I hurried the two girls out of the coach and bade them follow me. Just as our little group was starting for the house, the driver called down from his seat.

  “Say, lad, I see guns and suchlike carried by some. Will there be shooting?”

  “Oh no sir,” said I. “Not a chance of it, I’m sure.” A lie, of course.

  “Well, that’s good, ’cause if I hear any shots, I shall be out of here quicker than it takes to tell. Tell the blind gentleman that, will you?”

  I promised I would, then hurried Elizabeth and Clarissa to the front door. But alas, before reaching it, we were intercepted by Mr. Turbott, who left the group with whom he had been arguing but a moment before.

  “Where are you taking her?” he demanded.

  “Taking who?”

  “As if you didn’t know who I meant! Taking Elizabeth, of course.”

  “Sir John requested her presence,” said I. “He wishes to put accuser and accused together that they may thrash things out—so he said.”

  “Oh? He did, did he? Well, there’s no need for that. Once we get inside, we’ll have them all pleading with us to listen to their stories. We’ll get the truth out of them!”

  “Sir John asked me to tell you that you and you alone may enter—and none of the rest. Any who try to follow you inside will be arrested. I may add, sir, that if you make so bold as to urge and abet any else to enter, then you, too, will be arrested.”

  “On what charge?”

  “Oh, home invasion would do. And one thing more. You must leave your sword outside. Do you accept the terms?”

  To which he replied with a sigh so deep it might well have been a growl. And then: “Yes.”

  When I turned back to the two girls after the brief negotiation, I found Clarissa all a-giggle and Elizabeth appearing most concerned.

  We were admitted by one scarce older than myself, pretty enough and plump. She curtsied near as well as Elizabeth herself, then led us down a hall to the kitchen. On the way, Clarissa whispered into my ear.

  “I thought you quite wonderful with that man, Turbott,” said she. “Wouldn’t give an inch, would you?”

  It was not the sort of question that called for a response—a statement, rather. Yet as I glanced at her at that moment, I saw something in her eyes that I had never before seen: Clarissa seemed truly admiring of me. It was as if in the past few minutes I had grown near a foot in her estimation. I had never been given such a look before. It was the sort that one had to live up to.

  Just then we did hear something that must have disturbed Turbott and Elizabeth. From the kitchen came the sound of laughter—Sir John’s booming baritone and, mingled with it, a light soprano; the latter was surely that of Mother Jeffers. Yet, if we heard them, they also heard us, and the laughter halted soon as ever it had begun.

  Ugly though she may have been, Mother Jeffers proved an adequate hostess. She had only to nod at the pot of tea and the cups surrounding it, and the girl who had opened the door to us set about serving up the promised tea. In another minute or two, there was tea and buttered bread before us all.

  “Now,” said Sir John, “we meet here that accuser and accused might have the opportunity to confront each other direct, to defend themselves, if need be, to make the other prove her innocence.”

  He stopped at that point to clear his throat. It was in the nature of punctuation. He wanted it made clear that, beyond this point, he was speaking ex officio. He began:

  “Elizabeth Hooker, here on my left, has given it to me that on the evening of Easter Sunday, two young men, promising to see her home, set off instead for this place, where they might show her to you, Mrs. Jeffers, and get for their trouble some amount of money from you.”

  “What were their names?” asked Mother Jeffers.

  “Dick and Bobby,” said Elizabeth.

  “I must think upon that,” said the old woman, “but just now I can think of nine or more I know by those names. You have only the first names?”

  “I am near certain that is the case,” said Sir John, “but let us move on, shall we? You were, as she has given it, sitting in this very kitchen when the two brought her to you.” Then did Sir John turn to Elizabeth and ask her most direct, “Is this the woman who spoke to you and asked if you were willing to join her company?”

  “Is this the woman? Yes, indeed it is. This is the one who asked me, would I join them.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “How
could I forget a face such as hers?”

  “If you will pardon me,” said Sir John, “it seems to me that what you just said was unnecessarily rude.”

  “So be it,” said Elizabeth.

  “And you, Mrs. Jeffers, what defense have you against this accusation?”

  “I have none,” said she almost proudly.

  “None?”

  “I have never seen this girl before in my life,” said she.

  There matters seemed to hang. It was not so much the denial as the manner in which it was given that put things at a halt. It was so coldly complete that I, for one, felt that there was nothing more to say. Yet impeded though he was, Sir John pressed on.

  “May I, then,” said he, “take Mistress Hooker through your house and visit such of it as she remembers? Note that I ask your permission in this, for you would be within your rights to demand that you see a search warrant before allowing us the run of your house.”

  “I understand,” said she. “But yes, you have my permission to go anywhere within this house.” And then, emphasizing each word, she said: “I have nothing to hide.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My daughter will show you round.”

  And with that, the girl who had spied us from the floor above showed us the way, and we followed her on a room-by-room tour of the entire house. That she was the daughter of Mother Jeffers surprised me—and I’m sure others, as well—but that was not the only surprise that awaited us.

  We had visited every room but one and routed two women out of their beds. Elizabeth would search all for her stolen frock; we then started up the narrow stairway to the garret room. There it was that Elizabeth had spent all the time of her imprisonment. She had described it well enough so that I had a fair idea of its look. Once inside, however, we found this garret room was altogether different from the one she had described. Where she had told of sleeping on a pile of straw with naught but a thin blanket to keep her warm, what we saw was a comfortable-looking bed with a comforter that would, it seemed, have kept anyone warm. There was a chair and a table, curtained windows that were held by latches alone. And, in one corner, a wardrobe.

  “They’ve changed it all,” said Elizabeth. “They’ve changed it completely!”

  “Nothing has been altered,” said Mrs. Jeffers’s daughter. “And I should know, for this is my room here.”

  Elizabeth gave her a killing look, then hastened to the wardrobe.

  “This proves she lies, and I alone tell the truth,” said she, “for here—look! This is mine! This is the frock taken from me when I arrived at this place.”

  She held it up proudly, but it was obvious to me, as it was also to Clarissa, that the frock had been made for one much more corpulent than Elizabeth—indeed, it had been made for Jeffers’s daughter.

  “I shall not fight you for it,” said she, “for my mother would not have that. But it should be plain to all who see you with it now that it was not made for you.”

  The matter of the dress, as well as much else, was held in abeyance—undecided till we reached Bow Street. Sir John took with us Mother Jeffers and gave Elizabeth in exchange. (“Well rid of her!” said Clarissa, who had soured completely on her old friend.) I confess, reader, that I slept through our entire return journey, rocking back and forth, bouncing up and down, just as Elizabeth had done on the voyage out. According to Clarissa, Jeffers was quite entertaining, though she declared it pained her to leave her daughter in the house. Sir John did not say that he was officially detaining her; he said simply that he had further questions for her to answer in his office in Bow Street. He wished to ask them after he had held his court session. Again, all this was reported to me later by Clarissa, for I was all of a sudden so exhausted that I heard nothing, said nothing, and was totally unable to recall anything of the drive to Bow Street. The night I had spent, awake on the road in the post coach, had at last caught up with me.

  Upon our arrival, Sir John ordered me upstairs and to my bed. ’Twas not me who carried out his orders, however. Rather ’twas Clarissa who both guiding and supporting me, got me upstairs and into my bed.

  And it was she, too, who woke me, five or six hours on. I heard her footsteps on the stairs moments before she appeared, and so I was at least sitting up in bed when she appeared in the doorway.

  “You’re much in demand,” said she.

  Still half-asleep, I grunted a reply of some sort, then rose to my feet and staggered to the wash basin, poured a bit of water into it, and splashed water upon my face. Only then did I feel I could communicate.

  “By whom am I wanted?”

  “First by Mr. Patley, who must see you before he goes out this evening to make his rounds. Second, by all the rest of us who respectfully request your presence at the dinner table, and third, by Sir John who, after dinner, wishes to have your report on the trip to Newmarket.” She looked at me closely to make sure that I was fully awake and would not collapse into bed the moment she left. “There,” said she. “I can trust you to rise, can’t I?”

  “You can trust me. Where’s Mr. Patley?”

  “Downstairs, waiting by the door to Bow Street.”

  Satisfied at last, she left as I hurriedly ran a comb through my hair and descended to meet Mr. Patley. He was there, in the dark, waiting for me just at the door.

  “Ah there you are,” said he. “I’ve news for you. Bad news, I fear—but it’s important.”

  “Let me hear it, by all means.”

  “Well, it’s this way. As you may know, Mr. Bailey covered for me whilst we was in Newmarket. He made the circuit for me, talked to all my snitches, and so on. But he wasn’t actually on hand when it happened.”

  “What happened? What have you to tell?”

  “It was last night whilst we were on the road back. Who should come walking into the King’s Favorite around eleven o’clock at night but Alice Plummer. She comes up behind one of the local drinkers, Walter Hogg by name, and she says, ‘Walter, I’ve got something for you.’ Then, quick as anything, she whips out a razor and, just as quick, she cuts his throat from ear to ear. It all happened so fast that those at the table could do naught but gape. Nor could they do more when she then took that selfsame razor and cuts her own throat with it. All this in less time than it takes to tell. Mr. Bailey said that when he got there just a little time later, there were two dead and more blood on the table and floor than he would have supposed that two bodies could hold.”

  There he stopped. I knew not what to say to him.

  “I just thought you ought to know,” said Patley. And, having spoken his piece, he opened the door and disappeared into the night.

  TEN

  In which I hear a startling confession from an odd source

  The news that I had heard from Mr. Patley was such that during dinner I had constantly to hold myself in check lest I take it upon myself to tell all or part of it to Sir John. We had long been in unspoken agreement not to discuss matters of the court at the table. Generally, he thought it best that Lady Fielding not hear of such matters, for she was easily distressed and would worry for his safety. I, on the other hand, had lately become more and more open with Clarissa. Still, much of that was between us two, and I trusted her not to repeat it. In any case, I held my tongue all through dinner, but soon as ever I had finished the washing up afterward, I hied myself up to see Sir John in the darkened room he called his study.

  “Jeremy? Is it you?”

  “Indeed it is, sir. And though it be a sorry tale, I’ve come to tell you of all that came to pass in Newmarket.”

  Which I did, more or less, though I admit that I held back a bit. I said nothing of the good fortune Mr. Patley and I had had in wagering what we had on Pegasus and Mr. Deuteronomy to win. Sir John must have guessed that something was missing from the story I told, for at about the time I had done with Newmarket, he stopped me with a question or two that were directly to the point.

  “What I do not quite understand,” said he, having heard
me through, “is why, when Alice Plummer was in hand, you and Patley did not simply take her immediately to the nearest post coach and bring her here to London that I might question her.”

  “Uh, yes, well, had we done that, Sir John, we should have missed the King’s Plate race.”

  “Ah!” said he, as if he had made a considerable discovery.

  “We felt the least we could do for Deuteronomy Plummer was to see how he and Pegasus fared in the big race. After all, he had given us the tip that had enabled us to find her.”

  “Oh yes, of course, I recall well enough—the stable and the fellow named Stephen, all of that.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “But you stayed for the race, did you? Then tell me, how did it come out? That is, who won? Charade was the favorite, as I believe I heard from Mr. Baker. Was Charade the winner?”

  “Uh, no sir, Pegasus was the winner.”

  (I had the distinct feeling that Sir John was once again toying with me.)

  “You don’t say so,” said he. “Truly? How nice for Mr. Deuteronomy, winning such an important race on a horse running his first race.”

  “Second.”

  “All right, second. All the same, quite an accomplishment, eh? You didn’t happen to have something wagered on Pegasus, did you?”

  “Oh, a little something, a few shillings, not much more.”

  “Hmm, interesting.”

  And that, reader, was the extent of his comments. He left it all hanging in the air, for then I told him of what I had just learned from Mr. Patley. Sir John was most truly disturbed by the news.

  “Good God,” said he, cursing in dismay, “was that Alice Plummer who was involved in that nasty attack in Bedford Street? Mr. Bailey told me about it in his report this morning, yet at the time he knew only the name of the man. Walter Hogg, wasn’t it?”

  “It was, and when I heard that, I understood what earlier had eluded me. You’ll recall, sir, that when Katy Tiddle was dying she called for water so insistently that I ran out and brought some to her and, I then thought, missed her dying words. Well, ’twas not so at all. She named her murderer to me—not water; you see, but Walter.”