Jack, Knave and Fool (24 page)

Then, catching us by surprise, came the sound of footsteps upon the staircase. They mounted in a steady, plodding rhythm; there was no urgency to be heard in them. .Annie and I looked at each other and shrugged. She rose from her chair at the table and was there for the anticipated knock. When it came, she threw open the door, revealing Mr. Donnelly, who looked slightly disheveled and certainly tired.

He greeted us both, smiled wanly, and asked if he might speak with Sir John. “The autopsy is done,” said he, “and the body is on its way back to the great house in St. James Square. I have a brief report to present to Sir John.

“I am here,” came that deep voice from behind us. Sir John descended the stairs and, in his manner, took charge. “Do you wish to do this in private?”

“Not necessary, sir. What I have to say can be put briefly —and I must be back to my surgery- so that I may write it out.

“Then let us hear what you have to saw

“Absent any certain test for arsenic, which is the poison I suspect —

“You do suspect poison, then?”

“I do now, for there were lesions and ulcers all through her digestive tract. To put it more descriptively, her esophagus and stomach lining had been burned raw, and there was much damage to her kidneys, as well.”

“That, I take it, would be consistent with a death by poisoning?”

“Completely consistent.”

“And you suspect arsenic was used?

“I do, yes.”

“And why that, in particular?”

“Because it is readily available, and because now that I have had a chance to do a bit of studying, I find that its effect is completely consistent with the violent symptoms displayed by Lord and Lady Laningham — heavy vomiting, the vomiting or blood, and diarrhea with blood in the case or Lady Laningham. It may have been so with Lord Laningham as well. I had no opportunity to examine him at the time of his death.”

“And you intend to put all this in your repo

“Yes, and in my testimony, as well—as you shall hear. Mr. Trezavant has scheduled a coroner’s inquest into the death of Lady Laningham tomorrow at ten. He has asked, since you evidently offered to acquaint him with the procedures, that you be by his side to instruct him. And to facilitate that, he would like to hold the inquest in your courtroom. Unless he hears from you to the contrary, he will, he told me, be here promptly at ten.”

Sir John remained silent for a moment. “Well,” said he, “it is true that in some foolish fit of generosity I offered to help him through his first formal inquests. That, I suppose, is the price that I must pay for him calling an inquest at all. I shall do my duty, seeing that he does his.”

“I shall see you at ten tomorrow then, Sir John.”

“Ten it is. Is there anything that you have not said that you wish to add?”

Thinking on that but a moment, Mr. Donnelly said: “Only this: Whatever misgivings I may have had about the shortcomings of the medical knowledge of Dr. Isaac Diller, who with me performed the autopsy, were insufficient ten times over. The fellow knows nothing of the inner workings of the human body. I do not believe he had ever until now seen inside one.”

“And will Dr. Diller be present to give evidence tomorrow?”

“Why, of course, Sir John. Need you ask?”

Because Lady Fielding saw the need to complete not only the list of prospective donors but also the model letter from which I was to write to each, we were somewhat late in setting off on our return visit to Half-Moon Passage. In truth, I felt somewhat ambivalent about making the trip with her. I realized, of course, that she could not comfortably make the trip alone, and I certainly saw the need for communication of some sort with the girl; nevertheless, I should have liked to have the opportunity to witness Mr. Trezavant’s inquest into the death of Lady Laningham; almost, I admit, would I have preferred it.

At last she did sweep into the room, dressed for the day, the completed list and exemplar in hand. She dropped the sheaf of papers down upon the kitchen table and blurted the briefest of instructions: “Write the letters complete but for my signature.”

“Yes, mum.”

“Now, Jeremy, let us be off to that den of iniquity.”

I trailed in her wake. Once under way at such urgent moments as this one, she seemed to cut through space like some proud, swift ship through water. There was no stopping her; only a fool would try.

And thus did she fly down the stairs at a perilous speed and sail down the long hall to the door, and out onto Bow Street.

“Jeremy,” she cried, as I caught up with her, “you must find us a hackney, for after I have made my visit to this girl, Clarissa, I will be off to the Magdalene. Make it clear to the driver that he must wait for me.”

What might have been an impossible task an hour or two earlier proved no trouble at all now that the morning was somewhat advanced. Standing idle the coach was, and the driver beside it. When I put to him Lady bidding’s requirements, he made clear his own.

“I charges extra for waiting,” said he.

“Fair enough,” said I, “but how much?”

“A penny for a short time and tuppence for a long one.”

“And who’s to judge whether it be short or long?”

“Why, I am, of course.”

There was no arguing that, and after all, the fellow wad available, so I beckoned him forward to where Lady Fielding waited at Number 4, while I ran on ahead to her.

The streets surrounding Covent Garden were so crowded and narrow that our trip to Half-Moon Passage in the hackney could then likely have been made much faster afoot. Nevertheless, it was another chill morning, and we rode warmer than we could have walked. Expecting further instructions from her regarding the task she had put me to, I was surprised to receive none. Insofar as I remember, Lady Fielding said nothing the entire length of our journey. I supposed that she was thinking ahead to what might and might not be said to Clarissa Roundtree. I had wondered about that myself.

Half-Moon Passage was at its far end — near to the Strand — little more than a walkway. Since he could not drive us through and turning round was near impossible, the driver halted at Bedford Street, banged on the roof of the coach, and shouted down to us that he would wait here and we must go the rest of the way on foot. That we did, though Lady Fielding was set grumbling that we had no assurance the hackney would be there when we returned. I calmed her as best I could, pointing out that the driver had not yet been paid and would likely wait till afternoon, if need be, to get his money. Thus we came to the ramshackle lodging house, now quite familiar to me, went through its littered and foul-smelling courtyard, up its rickety stairs, and down its shadowy hall, then finally to the door of the Roundtree room.

“Give it a good stout knock, Jeremy,” said she.

I tried, but with the first blow delivered by my doubled fist the door flew open. Lady Fielding looked at me curiously, a question in her eyes. I thought perhaps Clarissa was out on some errand. Nevertheless, I was sufficiently wary that I preceded Lady Fielding through the door, stepping just inside the room to survey it. What I saw quite shocked me.

Off to the left, on which side stood the bed, Clarissa Roundtree lay on her long, low trundle bed before the fireplace, wherein a bright fire blazed. A woman tending her had turned at our intrusion and wore upon her face a look of consternation and alarm.

Lady Fielding pushed past me and went swiftly to them. I followed, quite bewildered at this sudden turn. We looked down upon Clarissa. Her face was sickly pale and her eyes were closed; she shivered beneath a blanket and the cape, which had been thrown over her. I could not tell if she was conscious.

“How long has she been so?” asked Lady Fielding.

“It come on her gradual two days past,” said the woman who knelt beside the girl. “She got worse, coughin’ and the like, yesterday. Only today has she been so bad. She shivers and then she sweats. She’s terrible sick.” “Oh, I can see that. What has she? Has a doctor seen her?” “No, mum, we ain’t got a doctor here, but it seem like some sort of ague to me.”

The woman looked familiar to me —in her twenties, blunt and square in her frock, with something of the farm girl about her. Could she have been the “nekkid woman” I glimpsed who had propelled the whoremonger out into the hall? She looked strong enough and capable of it.

“Well, my girl,” said Lady Fielding, as she took charge of matters, “I believe we must take Clarissa with us if she’s to get well.”

It seemed to me that she spoke no more than the plain truth. The girl on the pallet bed looked nearer to death than to life.

“I don’t know as I can let you do that, mum,” said the woman, courteous even in her obstinacy.

Lady Fielding knelt beside her, yet gave her attention to Clarissa. She placed her palm to the girl’s forehead.

“Good God,” said she, “the child is burning with fever!”

“I know,” wailed her putative nurse. “There ain’t nothin’ I can do to bring it down!”

“Bless you, you’ve tried, haven’t you? But don’t you see? She must see a doctor, and we have for her the best doctor in London.”

“Truly so? But where‘11 you be takin’ her to?”

“To Bow Street.”

“To the court? She ain’t done nothin’.”

“No, no, no, not to the court —up above it, where we live.”

“Ah, you’re the lady come visited her, gave her the cape and all.”

“Yes, I am. I should have introduced myself. I am Lady Katherine Fielding. My husband is Magistrate of the Bow Street Court.”

“The Blind Beak?”

“So they call him.”

“Well …” The woman hesitated in an anguish of indecision. “She spoke well of you, and she is terrible sick, so I … I … suppose you takin’ her out of here is for the best. But what‘11 I tell her pa?”

“Tell him we took her to save her life. If he loves her as much as she loves him, then he will understand.” She waited an instant —only long enough to get an assenting nod —then said, “Let us bundle her up. We have a hackney, but she must be kept warm on the journey. Jeremy? We shall need your help.”

I gave a good deal of it. Once the two women had wrapped Clarissa’s nearly lifeless form in the blanket and cape that covered her, I knelt down and lifted her bodily from her narrow bed. Once on my feet, I hefted her weight and judged her to be not all that much heavier than a good-sized sack of potatoes, something less than a hundredweight, I should have supposed. As I made my way to the open door, Lady Fielding remained behind a moment. “You’re a good sort, I can tell,” said she in a low voice. “If you ever decide to reform your life and learn a respectable trade, you have only to see me at the Magdalene Home. We’ll find room for you.”

What the woman responded I know not, for I was through the door by the time her answer came and down the hall a bit when Lady Fielding emerged and hurried after me. As I hit the chill of the outside air and started down the steps, Clarissa roused slightly from her stuporous state. Her eyelids fluttered, yet she shivered more violently and breathed with exertion, wheezing as some old man might as she inhaled. Her lips moved. She sought to speak. I inclined my ear to her that I might hear her better. “Where … we going?”

I thought to say something reassuring. “Where you might be made well.” Lady Fielding came up behind, asking what Clarissa had said. Having been informed, she kept up a steady stream of encouragement to the girl through the courtyard and back down Half-Moon Passage as we made our return to the waiting hackney coach. I know not whether Clarissa truly understood, yet she seemed to take heart somehow as she bumped along in my arms.

Those who passed us by seemed to give us a wide berth. They shrank back, stared, muttered to one another. There was then in London even greater fear than today of sickness of any sort. Therefore I was not much surprised when, upon our arrival at the hackney, the driver protested strongly against accepting Clarissa in her state as a passenger. Yet I was somewhat taken aback by the fierceness with which Lady Fielding met his protests. She threatened him with the power of the magistrate; she threatened him with the Bow Street Runners; she assured him that it was more than likely he would never again be permitted to drive a hackney coach in Westminster or the City if he did not return us now —and quickly —to Number 4 Bow Street.

Cowed, intimidated, all but brought to his knees (speaking figuratively, of course), the poor fellow gave in with a single question.

“She ain’t got the plague or some such horrible disease, has she?” “Certainly she has not!” said Lady Fielding most emphatically. (I found myself wondering just how she could be so sure.) “Awright, then,” said the driver, “put her aboard, and let’s get it over with.” That was easier said than done. Coach doors are none too wide, and to work Clarissa and myself through one could not be accomplished without a struggle and a bit of bumping. Still, it was done, and when I had the girl upright on the facing seat, I found her eyes open and her mouth twisted in a smile; she seemed to be coughing — but then, only then, did I realize that she was laughing at me.

“Well, Miss Pooh, I’m glad to see you’re not so ill that you can’t have a bit of fun at my expense. I apologize for the bumps. I did the best I could.”

Then did Lady Fielding enter the coach, pull the door shut, and take a seat beside her.

“What’s this? What’s this? Having a conversation, are you? You shouldn’t tire her if she’s awake. Here, child, lean on me. It won’t be long until we have you warm, and in a proper bed.” Then did she halt, quite suddenly aghast. “Oh, but Jeremy! Where shall we put her?”

The answer to that, as I had foreseen, was in my bed. Sir John and Lady Fielding’s was out of the question. Annie’s, which was wide enough, could not be shared with one so ill. Mine alone would do, and so I offered it, volunteering to sleep in the kitchen on a pallet before the fireplace. My offer was accepted.

Getting her out of the coach was not near so difficult as getting her in. Lady Fielding aided, and Clarissa, now fully conscious, was also able to be of some help. Nevertheless, it was I who carried her into Number 4 and would have taken her alone all the way upstairs were it not for the help of Mr. Fuller, which was offered along the way. He and I ascended quite slowly, careful of the load we carried between us. Such concentration called for quiet, and in our silence above I heard voices rise from the courtroom below. One of them I recognized as Mr. Donnelly’s. I knew that I must fetch him from the inquest ere he left for his surgery.

Thus it was that when at last we eased her down upon my bed high in the little room above them all, I left Lady Fielding to arrange things properly and returned downstairs with Mr. Fuller. There I entered the courtroom and stood by the door, searching the room for Mr. Donnelly.

He was not hard to locate —except he had his back to me. Standing before Mr. Trezavant, he was just concluding his testimony: “… and so, in summary, I would say that the ulcerated areas of her esophagus and stomach, the blisters upon her tongue, and the damage to her kidneys are of the sort that one might indeed expect to find in a case of arsenic poisoning.” (Perhaps there was more and greater detail, reader, but having no medical knowledge to speak of, I commit here to paper only that which I can recall with some degree of exactitude.) Having made his statement, he kept his silence as Mr. Trezavant took a moment to confer with Sir John, who sat beside him at the table.

Concluding, Mr. Trezavant dismissed Mr. Donnelly and summoned Dr. Isaac Diller. As Mr. Donnelly turned round to take his seat once again among the witnesses, I waved at him, caught his attention, and beckoned him to I Indoor. He came, frowning.

“What is it, Jeremy? Can’t it wait?”

“I don’t think so, sir. Lady Fielding has brought in a patient, a girl of about twelve. Could you look at her? She seems quite ill —fever, difficulty breathing, all of that.”

“Well … all right. Just let me get my bag.”

As he went to fetch it, I surveyed the room once more and noted that among those witnesses present were Arthur Paltrow, the new Lord Laningham, and Maggie, the deceased lady’s maid. The coroner’s jury was in no wise impressive; most had probably been bribed off the streets to take part in the proceedings. As Mr. Donnelly returned, bag and hat in hand, Mr. Diller began to hold forth in rotund tones upon his qualifications and honors. From the sound of him he would be at it ten minutes or more before getting on to the true subject of the inquiry.