Sir John, exactly where I had left him; the expression upon his face was such that I had no need to fear I had displeased him by my sudden entry. Yet there was displeasure aplenty written upon the face of his guest, who was no less than the Chief Customs Officer for eastern Kent-that is to say, Mr. George Eccles. Mr. Eccles had done little since last they met at Lord Mansfield’s to endear himself to Sir John; the scowl upon his face made that plain.
“Ah, Jeremy, is it you?” asked Sir John. ”You may recall our previous encounter with Mr. Eccles?” I bowed politely as Sir John continued: ”He has been telling me of the sad outcome of his dealings with the Chancellor of the Exchequer. And I had just explained to him why it is that I sit here, rather than the duly appointed magistrate to the town of Deal. And he, I must say, seemed to dismiss the death of Mr. Sarton as a matter of little importance.”
“Well, now,” said Mr. Eccles in that same sharp tone which recalled itself immediately to me, ”I did not say that exactly-no, I did not.”
“And what did you say, sir?”
“I believe I said that sad as it may be to hear of a life cut short as Mr. Sarton’s was, the town is no worse off for it. He was of little worth as a magistrate.”
“I think it remarkable you should have said that, Mr. Eccles, for Sir Simon Grenville said much the same thing only yesterday. Tell me, sir, have you discussed this matter with Sir Simon?”
“I may have,” said Mr. Eccles in a manner that could only be called hesitant. Then, in a more emphatic fashion: ”Well, yes I have-and what of it? Only yesterevening I dined with him and we discussed these matters thoroughly. He told me of your intemperate remarks at graveside. Naturally, I hope you succeed in your declared intention to find the murderer of Mr. Sarton, and as for your wish to wipe out the smuggling trade here in Deal, of course I’m for you there, too, though I doubt you’ll succeed. But let us be practical. Whether you do or don’t succeed, eventually you will leave here, Sir John, and return to London. Then it will fall to the leading citizens of Deal to choose a successor to the late Mr. Sarton. And when that time comes, there can be one and only one choice to be made for the office of magistrate.”
“And what choice is that?” asked Sir John.
“Why, Sir Simon himself, of course. He is the greatest landholder in this part of Kent. He can claim near a thousand acres. There are few in the county who have more.”
“You feel that this qualifies him as a magistrate?”
“Indeed I do. How much law, after all, must a magistrate know? With all due respect, Sir John, I believe you would admit that the answer to that would have to be …” Mr. Eccles paused for effect. ”Not a great deal.”
“I daresay you’re right there,” said Sir John with an amused chuckle. ”But do you feel that justice is best served when the rich sit in judgment upon the poor?”
“Why not? God has shown that he favors the rich by giving wealth to them. Why should he not also favor them with wisdom?”
“There are, I know, some who feel as you do in such matters.”
“Let me tell you, Sir Simon would have been magistrate here in Deal had not Lord Mansfield butted into the town’s affairs. It had all been arranged.”
“How interesting.”
“Then came a letter from Sir Simon’s friend, Lord Mansfield, asking his aid in securing that same appointment for a young fellow barely out of university. Of course he had no choice but-”
At just that moment, reader, came the not-too-distant sound of a bugle. The King’s Carabineers were now quite near. Had Sir John heard the call? Of course he had. The shadow of a smile flickered across his face. As for Mr. Eccles, however, there could be not the slightest doubt that he had heard it clear. He leapt up from his chair and looked first at Sir John and then at me, as if one of us two had been the source of that unexpected tooting.
“What was that?” he demanded. ”What was that sound?”
“Why, I be damned if it did not sound like a trumpet, sir. Now, who would be playing a trumpet here in Deal in the middle of the day? Have you any idea, Jeremy?”
“None at all, Sir John.” That seemed an appropriate answer under the circumstances.
“But forgive me, lad,” said he to me. ”What was your purpose in knocking upon the door? As I recall, I sent you off on an errand, did I not?” (He knew very well on what errand he had sent me.)
“Ah yes, you did sir. You said you had business with a Mr. Crawly and sent me off to fetch him.”
“And have you done as I asked?”
“I have, sir. Mr. Crawly awaits outside.”
“Well done,” said Sir John, rising from his chair. ”Let us go and meet with Mr. Crawly, shall we? I’m sure Mr. Eccles and I have concluded our talk, have we not, sir?”
“If that is your view, sir, then I daresay we have finished,” said Eccles in a manner rather sullen. ”I would not take up more of your valuable time.”
Sir John, who had learned the room with no difficulty, squeezed round the desk and made it across the room to the door. There I offered him my arm, and we two waited that Mr. Eccles might exit before us. In truth, he had little choice.
At the door to the street Clarissa awaited us, quite beside herself with excitement.
“You’ve no idea what’s out there,” said she to one and all. ”You’d not get it right with a hundred guesses.”
Sir John put a forefinger to his lips, asking for silence. Clarissa assented with a nod. Mr. Eccles, having heard thus much, sprang to the door and, unwilling to wait, threw it open and gasped at what he saw.
“Good God,” he cried aloud, ”they’re here! The Chancellor of the Exchequer granted my petition, after all!”
He was so transported by the congregation of horses and men just outside the door that for a moment or two all he could do was stand there in the doorway, his hands clasped before him, and gloat loudly, ”They’re mine, they’re mine.”
He did, in fact, speak so loudly that he attracted the attention of a group of soldiers nearby. One of them turned round and looked curiously at Mr. Eccles and Sir John. It was not, however, until he separated himself from the rest and started toward us that I saw that the man who approached was Lieutenant Tabor, who had played a role in the
“We are perhaps a little later than expected, sir. For that I beg your pardon most sincerely, but we-”
As this was said, Mr. Eccles began, subtly at first, to intrude himself into Lieutenant Tabor’s line of vision. By the time I did notice, he seemed truly to be attempting to elbow Sir John aside.
“Young man … uh, lieutenant,” said he, ”I believe you’ve made a mistake. It’s me you wish to address, if I’m not mistaken. My name-as you will see if you check your orders-is George Eccles. I am the Chief Customs Officer for eastern Kent.”
“Oh no, sir, I fear not, sir,” said Lieutenant Tabor. ”I know my orders well, and they direct me to Sir John Fielding at this house in Middle Street-Number Eighteen.”
“But-”
“And indeed I know Sir John well enough, for I assisted him in another matter quite recently, and so you see, sir, I have made no mistake.”
“Now, don’t be impertinent, young man.”
“I was not aware of any impertinence on my part, sir.”
“But you should be aware that I submitted a request to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, no less, for just such a mounted contingent as this one here. And so it stands to reason, does it not, that this must be
All through this wrangle, during which Mr. Eccles grew increasingly strident in his representations, Sir John had listened with an amused smile upon his face, saying nothing. Yet during this last speech the smile faded. What seemed to offend was Eccles’s assertion that because the lieutenant’s orders were not as he would have them, then the orders must be wrong. This was simply too much for Sir John. It was, of a sudden, time to lodge a protest.
