Murder in Grub Street (10 page)

“But …” Then, rather than argue with her, I gave some thought to it and remembered something that Katherine Durham had told me a few days past. And of a sudden, my mind was made up.

“Is there anything you can claim as your own in there?” I asked.

“I would be afraid to try.”

“Then come with me, Moll Caulfield, and we shall see what can be done.”

We set off together toward Covent Garden. The wind, having done its worst, began to abate somewhat. By the time we reached the wide piazza, it blew only half as strong as before. Yet it now grew dark; the buyers were few, and the hucksters and merchants were closing their stalls. I knew it had grown late, far later than my expected time of arrival at Number 4 Bow Street. Yet I was determined to do what I could for this woman who had just lost everything she had.

I saw the group I sought at the far end of the Garden and together we walked to them. Dark-garbed as before and easily recognized, yet no longer engaging in their somewhat eerie practice of preaching in chorus, they now lifted their voices in song, singing together a hymn which was quite unfamiliar to me. At this late date, though I was to hear it sung again, I can recall but a bare few lines of it: Brethren of the Spirit, we Shall bring to all Good News And prophesy what sure must be: The conversion of the Jews.

It seemed to me then, and has ever after, a strange concern for Christians. Yet little I thought of it at that moment, for my mind was concentrated upon the problem at hand.

I waited respectfully until they finished, with the pathetic Moll at my side. Around us were just a few stragglers from the stalls, idlers, and skeptics who came, paused, and went, taking what was offered so earnestly by the six men in black and the two women in gray as mere entertainment.

At last the singers concluded their song and made ready to leave. I tugged the sleeve of him who was nearest me. He withdrew his arm so hasty that one might have thought I had done him injury.

Yet certain of my mission, I said what I intended: “Sir, are you the leader? And if not, could you direct me to him?”

He stammered something and seemed for some reason quite unable to speak. I had spoken up loud and clear. The others had heard. All eyes, it seemed to me, went to one man, the most arresting among them. Though smaller in stature than all but the women, his face was handsome in an ascetic manner. His eyes, a clear, near-colorless blue, seemed almost to shine, even in the fading light. He stepped forward and looked me up and down.

“We have no leader,” said he to me. “We are all brethren, equal in the sight of the Lord.”

“But perhaps you can speak for the rest,” I suggested.

The hint of a smile flickered on his face. “Perhaps I can,” said he.

In brief, I explained what had happened — the collapse of the building, Moll Caulfield’s escape, the loss of her pushcart and all else that she possessed.

Having listened, he turned to Moll. “Is all this true?” he asked her.

“Aye,” she said, “all of it, except he left out that it was him who took me from that place and made a brave try to save my cart. Took a nasty fall for it, he did.

Then he turned to me: “And what business had you there? Did you, too, live in that den of thieves and cutthroats upon which the Lord hath made his judgment? Oh, we heard the great crash as it came down and saw the rush of the crowd to get there, and we rejoiced, reckoning it an answer to our prayers that the Lord might aid us in the great cleansing of this foul city of London. Yea, but only the beginning of our mighty work. Are you, too, a thief?”

“No, sir, I am not,” said I, all indignant. “Nor is Moll Caulfield. I had come to deliver a letter to her.”

“Yet she lived with thieves.”

“And the Lord spared her. She is a good Christian.”

“You argue well,” said he. “Yet why do you come to us?”

“I had heard that you people in black kept a shelter for the very poor. Moll can work again as soon as she has a new cart. I had thought you might give her shelter till then. But evidently, sir, I thought wrong. Come along, Moll,” said I, taking her hand. “Let us look elsewhere.”

“Nay, go not so swift,” said he. “It is true we have such a place, and we should be happy to give food and a roof to your Moll whilst she may need it.”

“And where is this place?” I asked, made bold by my success.

“Why do you ask?”

“So that I might visit her.”

He hesitated a moment. “Oh, Half Moon Passage,” said he at last. You have but to ask there, for it is well known. But let me put a question to you, young man. You said you had come to deliver a letter to her. Who was the sender of that letter?”

Though it was none of his affair, pride made me answer: “It was from Sir John Fielding, magistrate of the Bow Street Court.” Then I added, all puffed as a pouter pigeon, “I am a member of his household.”

“Ah,” said he, “and why did you not offer her John Fielding’s hospitality? Charity begins at home.”

I had a ready answer to that, for I had thought it through on the walk with Moll to Covent Garden. “I could not offer what was not mine to give,” said I. “I am a member of the household and not its head. But if you prefer, I shall take her to him.”

“Nay, nay, again well argued. These are unusual circumstances.

I wished only to understand them better.” And then to Moll Caulfield: “Are you ready, then? For we are set to leave.”

“As ready as I shall be,” said she.

They organized themselves, and I detained Moll a moment. “Are you content with this? Something will be done for you, I’m sure.”

She sighed. “At the moment I am a pauper, and paupers ain’t meant to be choosers.”

With that, she joined the procession, taking a place with the gray-clad women, who trailed a few feet behind the men in black as they set off toward Half Moon Passage. Just as she disappeared into the dark, she turned to give me a wave of her hand and called out something which was lost in the wind; it was, doubtless, her thanks.

Now even the twilight had faded. I fair ran for Bow Street, hoping that my tale would suffice, yet sure I had done the right thing.

Sir John seemed satisfied that indeed I had done so. Though Mrs. Gredge made a great to-do, squawking and screeching and scolding from the moment I stepped inside the door, he quietened her with a sharp word and listened judiciously, hand to chin, as I told him in detail of all that had happened from the moment I left the residence of Lord Mansfield. I did not dramatize, for there was no need, the events themselves being so grand that they needed no heightening. Even Mrs. Gredge was caught up in my account.

When he had heard me through, he considered for a moment and asked, “These people … these Brethren … they seemed like decent folk to you?”

“In general, yes,” said I, “but a little strange.”

“Oh? In what way?”

“Well, the one who spoke for them seemed to take great delight in the collapse of that old building, believing all who lived there to be thieves. I had to convince him that Moll Caulfield was not one of them.”

“He was right enough. The place does have a bad reputation. Or it did. What was his name, him who spoke for the rest?”

I was struck quite dumb for a moment, for I had not bothered to learn it. Though ashamed and embarrassed at my omission, I had no choice but to confess it: “I … I failed to get his name, Sir John. I’m sorry.”

“Details, Jeremy, details — don’t neglect them.”

“I did learn the place they reside and maintain the shelter for the poor, however. It is on Half Moon Passage.”

“Half Moon, is it?” He gave a grunt and considered for a moment. “Well, drop by there in a day or two and see how Moll is getting on. We should be able to raise a little money to help her. Assure her of that. Also, give me some estimation of the place they keep. I know not why the city of London cannot take better care of its indigent. Why must the greater part of such work be left to these half-mad zealots who are so sure of God’s will in all things? I have heard something of this new bunch. They have decided to save all London, but have set up particular to preach in Covent Garden, the Haymarket, and in various locations in East London. They are an odd sect, I am told — fond of speaking in chorus.”

“It does indeed have a strange effect,” said I.

“No doubt,” said he. “Ah, well, they should do to keep poor Moll together for as many days as it takes to get her back on her feet. The old girl wishes to work, which is more than can be said for most of the layabouts, beggars, and thieves in Westminster.”

With that, he turned and climbed up the stairs to his study, which I had come to think of as more in the nature of his thinking room.

Mrs. Gredge fed me well that night. Though the meat was cold, as were the vegetables, she produced a bit of bread, and for a sweet poured it all over with bee’s honey.

And so to the next day, which went at first as many had of late — letters taken in dictation, fair copies made and signed, and then delivered. Since the weather was not near as bad — only one brief shower, which I managed to avoid, and little wind to speak of—I hastened through those of my tasks with time to spare. Having hoped to spend the time saved in attendance at the Bow Street Court, as was my wont, I was somewhat disappointed to hear from Mrs. Gredge that a letter awaited Sir John at the coach post bureau. I was to claim it and bring it to him forthwith.

I set out, knowing the way, for I had already fetched letters from there, sent to him by his sister in Bath. I chose the common route, cutting diagonally across Covent Garden, mixing through the crowd yet moving purposefully along, for I was not one to dawdle on such an errand.

Thus was I perhaps not paying sufficient attention as I passed near the corner of the Garden which the Brethren of the Spirit had made their own, for though I was quite near, I did not even look their way until the commotion began. There was sudden laughter and a few cries of indignation from their spectators and a repeated unison chant from the Brethren: “Jezebel! Jezebel! Jezebel!” I pushed through the bystanders and beheld a woman being most fearfully abused by them. She was not one of their number but far more gaudily dressed — but fashionably so. Her back was to me, as I saw them push her between them to and fro to the rhythm of their chant — “Jezebel! Jezebel!” And then the poor woman fell and tried to scramble away, much to the amusement of the crowd, and I saw she was none other than Katherine Durham. As the men in black bent to pummel her, I dove to help the poor woman to her feet. I interposed my thin body between them and her, and in the course of that, took a few cuffs on my back — though nothing of great moment. But then, suddenly, they stopped, and I heard a great shuffling retreat behind me. Heaving the Widow Durham up, I found she could bare stand on her left foot. I managed to look about then, and saw that the Brethren had been driven back by a large and powerful man in a bloody apron who brandished a meat cleaver. It was our butcher, Mr. Tolliver. He had rescued us both.

Tears coursed down her cheeks, spoiling her rouge. Her hair was in a tumble. Her dress was muddied, and in one place ripped. She seemed quite beside herself, yet she recognized me. “Oh, Jeremy,” said she, “thank you.” “It is us both who should thank Mr. Tolliver.” I pointed. She looked and nodded as he came back to us. “Ah, Katherine,” said he, “how be ye?” “I will survive, Mr. Tolliver. We are in your debt.” “He’s a good lad, he is, how he jumped in to help.” Though I was not indifferent to his praise, I was at that moment scanning that black-clad group, looking for the man to whom I had talked the day before. I found him absent. In some vague way, I found that reassuring. Surely he would not be responsible for such behavior. Yet I was quite taken aback to see Moll Caulfield among the women dressed in gray. She looked wide-eyed, near as frighted as I had seen her in the door of her little room, when our eyes met. She pointed to herself, then shook her head vigorously, signaling to me that she had had no part in what had happened. I nodded my understanding.

“Jeremy,” said Mr. Tolliver, “can you get Mrs. Durham home? I cannot leave my stall.”

“I shall have to lean on you,” said she to me, “for I fear my ankle is quite destroyed.”

“I should be happy to help,” said I.

And so we started forth. The mob, seeing that their entertainment was done, had drifted away. The Brethren, too, had organized themselves for an early departure. Saying our grateful goodbye to Mr. Tolliver, Katherme Durham and I set out in the direction of Berry Lane, as she advised me.

She leaned heavily upon me. I circled her shoulder with my arm. Together, as some three-legged beast, we made our way slowly but steadily up King Street toward Bedford. We attracted a bit of attention. Though I paid no mind to the gawkers, they seemed to worry her a bit.

“I’m distressed that you should have witnessed that,” said she, “but glad you came along.”

“And Mr. Tolliver.”

“Indeed Mr. Tolliver.”

We limped along together for a bit in silence.

Then, thinking to explain my tardy effort to help, I said to her, “I did not arrive until just when they knocked you down.”

“Then you were not there when I fell to shouting at them? Oh, I attacked them proper, asked them who they were to judge, demanded to know what a poor woman was to do when she had no trade, no means. Do they think we would choose this?”

Though I did not fully understand, her anger stirred me greatly. I wished that I had had Mr. Tolliver’s meat cleaver with which to threaten them. I wished that I had hit back. Most of all, I wished I had not entrusted Moll Caulfield to their care.

Thus we came to her little place on Berry Lane, not far from Benjamin Bailey’s residence with the Widow Plunkett. Along the way, Mrs. Durham gave it as her opinion that her ankle was not broken but merely sprained. She swore that it was beginning to loosen up a bit, though I do not think she could have managed the ascent of the stairs without my help. Yet manage it she did, and stood on one foot to unlock her door, as well.

Making to leave, I told her, “I shall see Sir John knows of this.”