By this time I was near out the door. “I’ll not be long, sir.”
“Very good, Jeremy, but take with you the red file. I think it will prove a diversion from Sir Edward Coke — a bit of real life, something of the here and now.”
“As you say, Sir John.”
TWO
It must have been strange for one new to our part of London to view Sir John Fielding out a-walking of a day. Seeing him thus for the first time, the passerby might well wonder if the blind man he saw was indeed blind. True enough, there was a band of black silk tightly covering Sir Johns eyes — I for one seldom saw him without it — and out on the street he was never without his walking stick. Yet he moved at such a brisk pace as no blind man ever moved before, not timidly tapping before him with his stick but flailing out with it in bold half-circles — and let those within its range beware!
So did he make his way through those streets that bordered Covent Garden. At most hours of the day the Garden itself was far too well filled with buyers of fruits and vegetables to permit him passage in his usual reckless manner. Yet he knew the surrounding streets well from years of tromping them up and down, and those he made his own. He often went alone, even sometimes after dark, with no more than his reputation to protect him; indeed, it must have sufficed, for he had never been accosted upon his home ground. If he had enemies there — and he had a few among the denizens of Bedford Street, Half Moon Passage, and Angel Court — there were far more about at any time of the day or night who would, at risk to themselves, defend his person most vigorously. It was not Sir John’s constables kept him safe, but, rather, the ruffians and villains of the district who would have him as magistrate rather than another who would be less fair and less generous.
To see him make his way through our streets, a stout figure often in a greatcoat which served as protection against our foul London weather, caused little comment or excitement among his fellow pedestrians, for he was indeed a familiar figure in the district. Venturing beyond it, however, was quite another matter. He seemed to attract a good deal of attention on his longer rambles, and though much of it was of the favorable sort — respectful glances of recognition from some and polite greetings from others — not all of it was near so friendly: A lieutenant of horse took offense and became insulting when dealt a blow upon the ankle by Sir Johns wide-swinging stick; on another occasion, walking alone in the dock area on the other side of London Bridge, the magistrate was set upon by a gang of wild boys who knocked him down and stole whatever they found in his pockets. As a result of these and other incidents, he fell into the practice of enlisting my aid whenever he walked beyond the precinct where he was well known and that he well knew.
Thus it came about that I was to be his companion on the journey to the residence of the Lord Chief Justice in Bloomsbury Square, Sir John was well aware, of course, that I knew the way. He must have sent me there with messages and letters well over a hundred times since that day when, just turned thirteen, I was saved by him from a term in Newgate, made a ward of the court, and taken into his household. Ah, yes, how well I knew the path to Bloomsbury! So well, in fact, that I was able to listen, quite captivated, as he explained to me the reason for his visit, and at the same time steer him along my route with a touch at the elbow here and a slight tug at the forearm there — which was all he ever needed or wanted in the way of guidance.
It was my ever-insatiable curiosity that drew from him the purpose of the commission. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that an august company had been assembled to deal with a matter with which I myself had more than a passing acquaintance.
We were, as I recall, marching up Drury Lane, always packed with pedestrians at any time of the day or night, when I was informed by him. My astonished response was such that the moment I had made it, all heads on Drury Lane seemed to turn in our direction. “The Laningham fortune?” said I — and, reader, I fear I fairly shouted it out.
Sir John grasped me by the arm and jerked me to a halt.
“Jeremy, have you gone quite mad? These are confidential matters. They’re not to be blattered out so that the whole street may hear! “ He, by contrast, whispered, yet did so with such urgency and so dramatically that he managed to attract even greater attention from those nearby.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said I, quite contrite. “I simply did not give proper thought to it.”
“That much is obvious.”
Then did he hold me where we stood for near two minutes, forcing those who had stopped to move on around us up Drury Lane.
“Have the eavesdroppers passed us by?” he asked at last. When I responded in the positive, he nodded, and we moved on.
You may well wonder, reader, how the mention of a mere name would cause such notice in a crowd of ordinary Londoners. But only a few months past, that very name, Laningham, had been bruited all about the city. Our dear cook, Annie, who seemed to know every ballad sold and sung in Covent Garden, reported that one had been written to commemorate Lord Laningham’s demise, but it was such a poor piece she’d had no wish to learn it. Yet for a time the spectacular death of the elder Paltrow and the public passing of the younger did much concern the mob; and though the memory of the mob be short, the name Laningham, possessed by one and coveted by the other, was sufficiently well lodged that these months later it could halt traffic in Drury Lane.
Sir John stormed silently onward until, having ignored my warning at High Holbourn, he stepped boldly into the street and would have been trampled and run over by a coach and four had I not jerked him back to safety. The team rushed by near simultaneous with our sudden retreat.
“That was rather close, was it not?” He seemed a bit abashed.
“It was, Sir John.”
“Well, I thank you for saving my life on this occasion, as you have no doubt on others.”
“Think nothing of it, sir. “
“I shall think whatever I like of it, Jeremy. If I choose to be grateful, then that is my affMr.”
“Yes, Sir John.”
As we made our way across High Holbourn when at last it was safe to do so, I wondered what it was had put him in such a foul mood. Surely not my little offense in Drury Lane. I had often carelessly done worse and not been punished with such a long period of silence. Surely it was something greater. It took but a moment until I had my answer.
“I do not look forward with any enthusiasm to this meeting I must now attend,” said he without preamble.
“Oh?” said I. “And why is that, sir?”
“I have been warned that the nature, the very existence of this commission, is to be kept secret. I was gruff with you a short time ago, as I should not have been, for in truth I do not much like lending my presence and therefore my support to causes that dare not be named to the public. You saw the reaction of those in Drury Lane to that name, and I sensed it. To mention it in conjunction with the word ‘fortune’ is to set racing the mind of the common man, awakening fantasies of wealth and feelings of greed in him that are better left dormant. Or that, in any case, seems to be the feeling shared by those who have brought this commission into existence. They wish to keep it hid in what ample pocket the fortune — and it is a great fortune — will come to rest.”
“Why, it will all go to the King, will it not?”
“You know that because I told you so, but most do not. It is a custom which has the strength of law. There is no wish to call attention to it, because to do so could promote unrest among the people — and well it might, for it is a bad custom.”
“But if not to the King,” said I after no more than a moment’s consideration, “to whom should the wealth of a condemned criminal go!”