Smuggler's Moon

Sir John Fielding was silent for a long-oh, an interminably long-moment. But when he spoke again, his voice was strong and certain.

“You will have my letter of resignation on your desk in the morning.”

Lord Mansfield was evidently shocked. This was not the outcome he had foreseen. ”If I do receive such a letter from you, I shall tear it up immediately,” he declared. ”Let me put it plain: I shall not accept your resignation under any circumstances.”

“Then you must put Sir Simon Grenville to trial and allow my witness to testify against him if he so chooses. My recommendation for leniency will stand. I shall let Potter know that it may not be honored. You cannot, in other words, have both Sir Simon and me. You must choose between us.”

“Must you vex me so, sir?” Lord Mansfield fair wailed forth his response.

“Yes, I must,” said Sir John forthrightly, ”for if our positions were reversed, you would do the same.”

“Oooooh.” It was a strange sound, something between a moan and a growl. And when Lord Mansfield spoke, it was as if it were a great strain to speak above a whisper: ”If you but knew how close I was to his late father at Oxford-and after. Oh, for many years afterward. Why, I held Sir Simon as a baby. How can he be tried now for murder?” He stood, panting, clearing his throat repeatedly, then struggled to speak: ”Now go, please. I do not wish to be seen weeping.”

Sir John nodded at me and groped for my arm. When he had found it, I led him out of the room, down the hall, and to the door. There the butler appeared and, saying nothing, swung open the door. Once outside, we set off in the direction of Southampton Street, where we might find a hackney waiting. And it was then yet a bit till Sir John spoke.

“I do not envy Lord Mansfield,” said he then. ”By God, I do not.”

I shall not dwell long upon the remaining events of that day. They included a visit to Newgate, then only the second time I had been inside that foul and frightening place; it had not improved since the first; and today it is worse still.

There, after some difficulty in establishing his whereabouts in that overcrowded rat’s nest, Sir John held an interview with Edward Potter through the bars of the great holding cell wherein all from Deal, except Sir Simon, had been jailed. There is no privacy in Newgate, no place set aside for conversations between those awaiting trial and representatives of the law; and so, with Potter’s fellow prisoners crowding about, openly attempting to listen in, it was necessary for Sir John to speak in hints and generalities.

Potter, an unpleasant-looking little fellow no older than I, was a stable boy from Sir Simon’s household staff. I had seen him about during those few days that we had stayed at the manor house but had formed no high opinion of his character or his intelligence. He had, Sir John later told me, come forward with what he described as ”something you want to know,” but had made it clear that it would only be made available if he were promised, quid pro quo, something in return. The deal was made in private. Thus, Sir John’s appearance was greeted by him with some alarm: he could only be bringing Potter bad news. When at last he came forward to the bars, he looked at the two of us with great suspicion in his eyes.

“What you doin’ here?” he whispered to Sir John. ”What you want from me?”

“Only your attention. You recall the recommendation I made in your behalf?”

“‘Course I do. We made a deal.”

“Well, I’ve come to tell you that my recommendation may be rejected. It’s unfortunate, but you deserve to know.”

“That an’t fair,” said Potter, forgetting to whisper, ”not by half, it an’t. You said they always do what you tell them to.”

Sir John sighed. ”I said they’ve always accepted my recommendation in the past. That is true. This is the first time in seventeen years there has been some doubt. But if you choose to, you may still …” He left the sentence unfinished.

“Forget that! They’ll get naught from me. The deal is off. I’ll take what everyone else gets.”

Having said that, he turned and pushed his way through the little crowd that had gathered round him. Two or three turned, frowning suspiciously, and watched him go.

“Let us be out of here, Jeremy,” said Sir John, and fast as we could go with only one pair of eyes between us, we left Newgate behind.

Returning to Number 4 Bow Street, Sir John gave a perfunctory greeting to Mr. Fuller and Mr. Baker, for it was that time when day turns into night, and the Bow Street Runners report one by one to go off upon their separate assignments. It was also that time, or near it, when supper was served in the kitchen above.

We ascended the stairs and stepped into the kitchen. I believe that Sir John and I were both surprised to find Lady Fielding had returned, and even more surprised to find all three women (Lady Kate, Clarissa, and Molly) in the kitchen together-and not a word being said. I know not your experience, reader, but in mine, three women in a room together over a period of time nearly always find something to talk about. Yet into the kitchen we came, and there we did see Lady Kate in the middle of the room, her arms folded before her, a frown upon her forehead, and her lips pursed; Molly was bent over the stove, pulling from it five sizzling mutton chops; and Clarissa between them, looking unhappily from one to the other.

Lady Fielding was the first to rouse. ”Jack! You’re back!”

“Indeed I am,” said he. ”And I trust your mother is well, safely through her spell?”

“Oh yes,” said she. Then, sotto voce into his ear: ”Who is this woman?”

Then he, just as quiet: ”She is our new cook.”

”But-”

He interrupted: ”Come upstairs, and we shall discuss the matter between us.”

And so they went, he leading the way and she following. The door to their bedroom closed behind them. The three of us then breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief.

“I was afraid something like this would happen,” said Molly.

“Well, I tried to explain all to her,” said Clarissa.

“I know, I know,” said Molly. ”That was when I went off to Covent Garden to buy for dinner. I skipped right out, thinking it best if you and the lady had a bit of time together so that you might make things clear.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” said I, waving my hand dismissively (in a gesture I had copied from Sir John), ”all will be made right. You’ll see.”

“Well, what would you think,” said Molly, ”if you found a strange woman in your kitchen?”

“From what she said, it wasn’t so much that,” said Clarissa, ”as not being consulted, not having any say in the matter.”

“I can understand that,” said I.

“So can I,” said Clarissa.

“Oh dear,” said Molly.

Voices were raised behind the door to their room above. Clarissa set the table rather hurriedly, and Molly put out the food. I waited-but not for long. It seemed but a moment or two until they returned. Happily, Lady Fielding went straight to Molly and offered her hand.

“Please forgive me for my failure to welcome you,” said she. ”It was simply surprise which made me forget momentarily to tell you that we are very happy to have you in our household.” With that, she looked round and smiled modestly. ”Well then, shall we eat?”

We four took our usual places at the kitchen table, leaving Annie’s old chair to Molly Sarton, who seemed to be waiting for the rest of us to begin. Lady Fielding cut into the mutton chop and took a bite. Her face brightened immediately.

“This is really quite wonderful,” said she. ”How did you manage?”

With that, Clarissa and I exchanged relieved glances. A crisis, it seemed, had been averted-or at least delayed.

Quite early the next morning, when I was the only one up and about, Mr. Baker came up the stairs and informed me that a message had come from Newgate for Sir John. He asked me to summon him. Answering my knock, Sir John appeared in his nightshirt, and not bothering to dress further, went down directly to Mr. Baker and received the news that Edward Potter had been murdered during the night, his throat cut, his body cold and rigid when it was discovered during the early morning. All those in the big holding cell naturally proclaimed their