Watery Grave Page 28

  When at last we arrived at Bow Street, there was naught For Sir John but to rush inside and call his court to order. He had, however, given me my instructions as we drew close m the hackney, and immediately I had seen him inside the door at Number 4, I set off to the house and court of Mr. Saunders Welch. I knew the way well, having gone there but a few short days before. And on this occasion, as on that one, I was bearing a request from Sir John that Mr. Welch might hear Sir John’s cases two days hence. He felt assured that his request would be granted, for after all, the tally was still uneven.

  As it developed, Mr. Saunders Welch, Magistrate of the Hanover Street Court, objected less to the content of the request than to the form in which it was sent.

  He, having heard his cases for the day, allowed me to be admitted to his chambers. This setting differed greatly from that rough and dusty place in which Sir John drank his beer most afternoons following his court session. Mr. Welch’s quarters were well lit; there were pictures upon the wall, a rug upon the floor, a good many stout chairs about, and a heavy oaken desk behind which he sat. He was engaged in counting money, his collection in fines levied that day. It was said that near any offense but murder could be settled by means of a fine in the Hanover Street Court; and there were rumors that even an occasional homicide might be forgiven as accidental death wqth the offer of a fine large enough to suit Mr. Welch.

  As I entered the room, he held his hand up to keep me silent at the door. Then, finishing his count of shillings, he entered a number in a ledger and beckoned to me, and I came forward.

  “You’re the boy from Bow Street, are you not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What have you for me?”

  “A message from Sir John Fielding, sir.”

  He extended his hand across the desk.” Give it me, ” said he.

  “It is a message by word of mouth, sir.”

  He frowned at me quizzically.” His word? Your mouth?” he then asked, in a manner somewhat exasperated.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Silence. Then: “I am not sure I like this at all. It does not seem right to me that the business of the Magistrate’s Courts of London be entrusted to the memory of a street urchin like yourself.”

  I took this ill, reader, as indeed you would also have done it you had washed as careful as I had that morning and put on your best duds to meet the admiral. Street urchin indeed! I thought myself a proper young gentleman, at least in appearance.

  “Why did he not send a written message, as is his usual?”

  “He had not time, sir.”

  “Ah, well, indeed. No time, is it? It’s true that our duties do oft press hard upon us, but surely he could have found time to dictate a letter and sign it with that blind man’s scrawl of his.”

  Now I was truly offended. He could say what he liked about me, and I would hold my tongue, but to mention Sir John’s affliction in a manner so crude and callous seemed to demand some retort from me.

  “Since it is to me he dictates his letters, more often than not,” said I, with all the dignity I could muster, “he no doubt trusted my memory in so small a matter as the message he gave me for you.”

  “All right,” said Mr. Welch, “I’ll hear the message, then judge myself if it be a small matter.”

  “Well and good,” said I.” Sir John asked me to go and seek you out and ask if you would take his cases on the day after the morrow. Mr. Marsden will deliver the docket. And the prisoners will be brought by Mr. Fuller of the Runners.”

  “What he proposes will mean twice the work, twice the time for me! I took his docket but a few days ago. Who but an ignorant boy would call this a small matter?”

  “Why, you would, sir,” said I, most innocent.” If I may quote in part your letter to Sir John of last May …” I cleared my throat and began: ” ‘And if you will oblige me in this J mall matter, I should be back from Bath in a week’s time more fit than ever for my duties and always ready to fill for you if and when you should ask.’”

  (In truth, I know not whether I quoted his words exactly, yet I had read the letter aloud to Sir John and taken his dictation on the one in response, and I knew that in Mr. Welch’s was a promise to do the same for Sir John whenever called upon. And so I recited what I remembered firmly and confidently, as if it was of such import that I had committed it to memory.)

  Mr. Saunders Welch stared at me long and hard without a word spoken. I began to wonder if perhaps I had not gone too far, and if it might not be proper to offer an apology at this very moment. I was, in fact, framing one in my head when Mr. Welch began to laugh. He laughed, in fact, long and quite uproariously in the way of a man who had just heard a great joke. At last he contained himself sufficient to speak.

  “You are an impudent boy,” said he to me, “but I know when I have been bested. Go now before I decide to be angry, and tell Sir John Fielding that I will certainly handle his docket along with my own two days from now. But remind him, his Mr. Marsden, and Mr. Fuller that my court begins at ten. Now, off withyou.”

  I made my way to the door at something between a rapid walk and a run.

  “Thank you, sir,” said I, as I swung the door wide.

  “Not another word!”

  And so, in less than a minute I was back on the street and glad to be, swearing to myself I would never again play so bold in matters that concerned Sir John. It was a promise which, in general, I kept.

  Having at that moment nothing urgent to attend to and knowing, too, that my route homeward might be bent in that direction, I decided to call upon the residence of Black Jack Bilbo and rid myself of the burden I carried in my coat pocket. That pistol with which he had entrusted me had stimulated much interest in Constable Perkins. I wondered at its origin. I wondered at much about Mr. Bilbo.

  The grand house in St. James Street, where I had spent some time and Annie Oakum a great deal more, rose up before me at the end of my long noonday walk. I knew the secrets of that house, or some of them, and perhaps my friend Jimmie Bunkins had learned them all by now. I saw little of Bunkins in those days —less and less since Mr. Bilbo had taken over his tutelage. He was learning discipline, right enough, from his “cove” and wished to please him, yet as was proven by poor Bunkins’s misadventure during our search for Tobias Trindle, he had yet to learn discipline of his self. It must be difficult, I thought, for him to give up a way of life he’d learned so well.

  Thus had I been thinking of him when my knock was answered and he opened the heavy door.

  “Hullo, pal,” said he, “enter and welcome.”

  He threw open the door, and I stepped over the threshold.

  “How’re you keeping. Master Bunkins?” I asked of him, entering somewhat into his free and easy style of speech.

  “Well and good, Master Proctor. You’ve come to return a barking iron, I’ll wager.”

  “So I have, so I have. Is the cove of the ken up and about?”

  “That man snoozes less than any I’ve knowed, he does. Tom—your brother or cuz or chum, whatever he may be to you —he has been by to see him on the very same errand as you. The fact is, you just missed him by a bit.”

  “A pity and a shame,” said I.

  “Tom said ‘twas you found the joe you two was nosin’ for.”

  “Found him dead,” said I.

  “He was sure someone snitched him over. Went off to Fleet Prison to talk to that someone, he did.” Jimmie Bunkins gave a great shiver of disgust.” Brrrr,” said he, “that strikes me as right queer —to step a foot inside a jail without bein’ pushed.”

  “Well, he has his suspicions, ” said I, “and welcome to them.”

  He gestured me to follow, and just as we started on our way down the long central hall, the door to what had once been Lady Goodhope’s sitting room flew open and a woman popped her head out —and quite a pretty head it was, with curls piled upon it and rouge applied upon cheeks and lips most artfully.

  ”Ah, Monsieur Jimmie,”,said she, wagg
ing a finger at him, “vous partez! Mais non, non! Revenez pour la lecon”

  Bunkins sighed and pulled a face.” This here is Madame Bertrand,” said he by way of introduction.” She’s a right rum blowen, but I’ll never learn her Frenchie talk.”

  She opened the door a bit wider and offered a most charming smile to me. She had won me altogether. I bowed waist deep, hand upon heart.

  “Enchante,” said I, knowing it to be the proper thing.

  Wherewith she loosed a torrent of French upon me, the like of which I had not before heard and the sense of which eluded me completely. Very sweetly it was said and very musical it sounded, however, to my untrained ear; yet I could do naught but bow once more and step away down the hall.

  “That’s right, chum,” said Bunkins to me. “Take yourself down to the cove. He’s where he always is —in that room with all the boats on the wall. You know it from before, ain’t I right? I got to continuer avec la lecon.”

  So saying, he surrendered himself to Madame Bertrand. She took him in hand and, with a pleasant nod to me, swept inside her classroom. I believe I envied him.

  I gave a stout knock upon Bilbo’s door but waited to enter until an invitation was called to me from inside. He seemed happy enough to see me and urged me to a chair opposite him. Before seating myself I drew his pistol from my pocket and laid it carefully upon the desk whereat he sat.

  “I understand that it has been fired,” said Mr. Bilbo.

  “Yes, it has, sir.”

  “It was an unavoidable circumstance, was it?”

  I sighed.” Yes, sir. I called, Stop or I’ll shoot!’ And the constable I was with ordered me to shoot ahead. ‘

  “Who was the constable?”

  “Mr. Perkins. ‘

  “The one-armed fellow? He’s a sensible man. And did you hit your target?”

  “I think not, sir. I aimed low so as to wound. Constable Perkins also shot from the light of my muzzle flash. It was his opinion that neither of us had hit our mark. It was very dark.”

  “Just as well you missed. You can do terrible damage at short range with this thing.”

  “Constable Perkins thought it a most fearsome weapon.”

  “Did y’tell him whence it came?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good boy,” said he. Then, picking it up from his desk, he hefted it, examined it, tugged back the hammer, and, pointing it down at the floor, pulled the trigger; the hammer snapped sharply forward.” Always best to be sure. Now, since it has been fired, it must be cleaned and reloaded. Stay and we shall talk a bit whilst I attend to it.”

  He then rolled up the sleeves of his handsome shirt and took from a drawer in his desk tools and materials he would need for the task and spread them out before him. He went at it with a practiced hand, working swift and efficient. Breaking the pistol down into its parts, he went at them one by one.

  “It is not the usual to clean a pistol so thorough as I clean this,” said he, “but it needs a good going over.”

  I nodded and merely continued to watch, most fascinated.

  “So you found your witness a dead man? That is what Tom told me. He had a tale of betrayal he recited to me — dark suspicions it was — how one fella had sold Sir John’s witness to another.”

  “Tom is more certain of that than I. This is, in truth, a most troubling case. I … I would say that it is not going well.”

  “What troubles you about it, Jeremy?”

  “Well,” said I, “for one thing, I do not understand it wholly.”

  “Continue.” All the while he went on with his task.

  “Sir John and others involved in it refer again and again to what they call ‘unnatural practices’ and ‘unnatural propensities.’ It looms large in the case. I asked Sir John to explain to me what was meant, and he put me off. In truth, he seemed somewhat embarrassed by my question. ‘

  Black Jack Bilbo nodded. He rubbed his beard as he considered the matter for a moment.

  ‘Tis a matter that may cause embarrassment to some, ” said he, “and reasonably so, I allow. No blame to Sir John in that. Yet before we delve into this matter of unnatural practices, tell me, Jeremy, what do you know of natural ones?”

  “Sir?”

  “What do y’know of what takes place between a man and a woman, of what makes babies and so on?”

  He put it to me so calm and direct that I felt no need to lie or exaggerate my knowledge.

  “I know some, ” said I, “but not all. I know there are diseases may come of it —the pox and the like —and I know that babies come of it, too. But I don’t know what it is.”

  He nodded.” Well and good, ” said he.” You are of an age when you should know these things, so I shall tell you. And perhaps Sir John will tell you later. But if he does, do not stop him, saying, ‘I have heard it all from John Bilbo.’ This will be between us. Is that agreed?”

  “Agreed, sir.”

  “Have you ever looked upon a woman naked?”

  “Uh, once, sir.”

  “Then you must have noticed that there was something missing on her body that you have and I have and all men have.”

  “Yes, sir,” said I.

  “Well, here,” said Mr. Bilbo.

  And quicker than I could tell it, he had the pistol reassembled, but still unloaded, and had pulled a holster from another drawer. He held both up, one in each hand. Then, with a swift, sure motion, he plunged the pistol into the holster. The barrel disappeared right up to the trigger guard.

  “Doy’see how neat this pistol fits into the holster?”

  Thus with that demonstration began my instruction in that information which all men and women must gain by whatever means. I had questions. He answered them. At last, having satisfied me and said all he had to say on the matter oi natural practices, he went on to the unnatural and quite astounded me.

  “Now, in my experience,” said he, concluding that part of his lecture, “a man will not turn to what is called unnatural acts so long as there is a woman available to him — though some say different. Some say it is in the nature of certain ones. But where it’s known most common is when men and only men are close together for long stretches of time — such as in prison or on shipboard. It is better known on shipboard than most would know or care to admit.”

  There seemed to be an opening there for me to put a question to him. But how might I put it without telling too much? Perhaps in the form of a supposition.

  “Mr. Bilbo,” said I, “let us suppose —only suppose —that one in high authority, the highest authority say, upon a ship, were to force others in … unnatural practices, and that these others were much younger, boys only, uh, midshipmen. What then?”

  I realized I had phrased it so clumsily and plain that he would see through my “supposition” with no difficulty. But just as he trusted me, I trusted him. He made no deeper inquiry into the matter but answered my question forthwith.

  “That would be a very grave offense for two reasons.” Mr. Bilbo did not usually make use of such terms, nor did he often talk so solemn.” First of all, if forced or not, boys the age of midshipmen have not the age and experience to say yea or nay, so any sort of act done with them would be forced in that way. And second, it would be a terrible use of authority on the part of the captain — let us call him the captain — a misuse, it would be. For boys of that age are given to the captain in trust. They are his responsibility. It would be for him like the breaking of a most solemn vow.”

  “Would such be a hanging offense?” I asked.

  “Why, that I couldn’t say, Jeremy. I am as ignorant of the law as the next man, perhaps more ignorant than most. I know only that I would not care to die with such an offense upon my conscience.”

  He gave a wink of his eye to me then and a sad sort of smile and a shrug of his great shoulders.

  “Here,” said he, “we have talked a long while of these great matters— and they are great, have no doubt of it. More foolishness, meanness, and p
lain nastiness have been done in the service of natural and unnatural practices than anyone but God will ever know. Yet, or so I’ve been told, love comes of it too. And even such an old sinner as I am looks for that and hopes one day to find it. As you grow to be a man, Jeremy, I hope it does not escape you altogether, as it has me.”

  This bold, fierce-looking man whose dark history had inspired so many rumors and so much conjecture could not have said anything that would have surprised me more than this, had he told me that he wished to grow -wings so that he might fly. (In a sense, I suppose, that is what he did tell me.)

  “But you must go now. I’ve kept you far too long as it is. Sir John will have things for you to do, I’m sure. But do not stay away, Jeremy. You’re a good lad to talk to, and Jimmie Bunkins needs you more than you know.”

  The next day was a busy one for Sir John Fielding. There was much going and coming. Visits were made to him. An air of secrecy hung over these proceedings that I was unable to penetrate. He left early in the morning with Constable Perkins and did not return until shortly before his court session began. Waiting for him then was the petty officer who served as footman to Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Redmond; he had a letter in hand which I thought surely to be from the admiral. Yet Sir John did not ask me to read it to him. He simply tucked it away and sent the fellow off empty-handed.

  Then, later in the afternoon, Mr. Marsden entered his chambers, stayed for some time, and upon leaving, directed me inside. They had prepared a letter between them which I was to deliver.

  “Will there be an answer? ‘ I asked Sir John.

  “None that I expect,” said he, as he offered it to me.

  I looked at the letter and saw it was addressed to the admiral.

  “Take it there by foot,” said he.” Return at your leisure. But give it to no one but Bobbie, certainly not to Lieutenant Byner. If you must wait for the admiral, then wait, but put the letter in his hand only. If you cannot do that, then return with it.”

  He was seldom so explicit. Naturally, I wondered at the letter’s contents. Yet asking no question, I said my goodbje and turned for the door.