Blind Justice (eBook)

Bruce Alexander (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
180 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
9780001096776 (ISBN)

Infos

Falsely charged of theft in 1768 London, thirteen-year-old orphaned printer's apprentice Jeremy Proctor finds his only hope in the legendary Sir John Fielding. Fielding, founder of the Bow Street Runners police force, then recruits young Jeremy in his mission to fight London's most wicked crimes.

Textauszug

Chapter Two

In which I am taken in search of employment

What had he in mind? The word just spoken, “remanded,” quite unfamiliar to me, had to my young ears the sound of “command” and “demand,” both terms of coercion. Though I understood it little, I liked it not.

Not knowing what more to do nor where else to go, I simply held my place before the bench and waited. I stood gazing up at the blind man who had but moments before exposed my false accuser and saved me from gaol. What manner of man was this Sir John Fielding? By the set of his features, no less than by his actions, he appeared to be of a kindly nature. As he waited for the next case to be called from the docket, his face had an air of amused expectancy. One would have guessed by the tilt of his head that he was staring off at some distant point above the crowd.

His attitude altered not in the least as the clerk rose to read off the last matter of the day. Yet the small man-Mr. Marsden by name, as I was soon to learn-caught sight of me as he set to bellow forth, and so leaned over to remind Sir John of my presence before him. There was the pause of a moment as the magistrate considered; then he leaned down and spoke into Marsden’s ear. The clerk nodded and gestured grandly to the bank of seats behind me where he wished me to take a place. Room was made for me between two drabs. And so between them I sat, vaguely aware of their veiled glances of assessment, as I fixed my attention on Sir John and his court.

Marsden summoned to the bench one Moll Caulfield, street vendor, and her accuser, a Covent Garden greengrocer, one Isaiah Horton by name. It was a simple matter of money between them.

The facts were not in dispute. The widow Caulfield had been extended credit by her supplier, Horton, and through misfortune or mismanagement, had fallen somewhat in arrears in the discharge of her debt. Horton was now not only unwilling to extend her further credit, or to do business with her in cash, he was also demanding full payment of the debt or that she be sent off to debtors prison.

“And what is the size of the debt, sir?” Sir John asked Horton.

“Three shillings sixpence.”

“So little? And what is the advantage to you if she go to prison for it? She is not likely to find the opportunity to pay you there.”

“As an example, m’lord. I’ve carried her long enough. The rest who owe me must be made to know I am not to be trifled with.”

“Ah, an example! Our Mr. Slade-Sayer was also very keen on examples, as I recall. Tell me, Mr. Marsden, has the court still in its possession the purse of that Mr. Sayer who called himself Slade?”

“It has, m’lord.”

“And what was the amount left in it?”

The clerk hauled up the woolen bag from the floor and once more dipped in and counted. “Two shillings thrupence and a farthing.”

“Yes. That would come close to satisfying the debt, and since Mr. Sayer will have no immediate use for the amount, I rule that it be handed over to Moll Caulfield as an act of charity on Mr. Sayer’s part. We take this into consideration and reduce his sentence to thirty days. But this leaves her short by a bit. The court acknowledges this and …” He plunged his hand down into the voluminous pocket of his coat and came up with two coins which he handed over to the clerk, Marsden. “The court donates one and three to her cause. The farthing she may keep for her trouble.”

“May God bless you for this. Sir John,” Moll Caulfield wailed.

A smile wrinkled his sober mien. “I hope so, Moll. Truly I do.”

“And love apples for you as you like them from this day forth,” she promised.

He nodded. “And now, Mr. Marsden, divide the money. The debt is satisfied. The case is closed. This session is ended.” He slammed down the mallet once only but with great finality. Then he stood and descended from his perch with sure steps and disappeared through a door at the rear of the large room.

Satisfied, the spectators also stood and began milling toward the doors. Still I held my place. The drabs departed, bidding me farewell and good fortune. I watched the clerk hand over the three-and-six to Isaiah Horton, greengrocer, and award Moll Caulfield, street vendor, her farthing; then he beckoned me over.

“Sir John wishes to see you in his chambers,” said he to me, then turned and pointed. “Through that door, young sir, and across the hall.”

I thanked him and made straightaway for it. Knocking, I was bade to enter and did so. Truth to tell, it was quite a plain room. A few law books were crammed into a case. The walls were bare of pictures or further ornamentation. Sir John I found much altered in appearance. He had doffed both tricorn and periwig and sat fuzzy-headed close by a table, his stockinged feet propped up on a chair before him. On the table stood no more than a bottle of strong, dark beer. The first sound he emitted in greeting was a considerable belch. Yet it was immediately followed by this salutation: “Ah, Master Proctor, is it? Come, come, sit down here.”

He gave the chair a gentle kick and dropped his feet to the floor. I took the place he had made for me and sought to express my gratitude for his generous disposition of my case. But he halted me halfway through my little speech with a wave of his hand.

“Quite unnecessary, quite unnecessary,” said he. “Our man Bledsoe was the prime mover in this affair. I’m put on my guard whenever he appears before me. Mark my words, I’ll have him in gaol soon.”

“Yes, Sir John.”

“But he is no longer your worry. You must give some thought to your future.” He paused a moment to consider, and as an aid to his cogitation, availed himself of a mouthful of beer from the bottle. “What are we to do with you, young man?”

“Sir?”

“With your father dead, you’ve no kin, I take it.”

“None that I know of.”

“I’m sure you’ve no wish to return to Stoke Poges.”

“Oh, none, sir,” said I, earnestly. “Why, the very thought that I might-”

Again, he silenced me. “You’ve no worry there, believe me, boy. But you simply cannot remain alone and on your own here in London. It is a dangerous city. Master Proctor. You have appeared before me today in all innocence accused of thievery. Left on your own here, you might appear here again in six months time, yet not so innocent as before.”

In my ignorance, I was shocked at what I judged to be his low opinion of me. Thus I sought to convince him: “Sir John, I should never stoop to thievery. I’d indeed rather starve first!”

“Ah, Jeremy Proctor, let me offer to you some advice. If you remember it well and carefully examine its implications, you may find yourself well on the way to wisdom. My advice is simply this: Never say never. You cannot possibly know the circumstances in which fortune may thrust you, nor can you be certain of how you will react to any given set of circumstances.” In the course of this peroration, he leaned forward earnestly so that his face was only inches from mine. In spite of the band of black silk covering his face from the bridge of his nose to his eyebrows, I had the distinct feeling, as I often did on occasions afterward, that he was staring directly into my eyes. But then he pushed back suddenly and grabbed up the bottle, treating himself to yet another deep draught. Having drunk his fill, he raised the bottle in my direction and admonished me once more with it: “Mark my words,” said he. “Never say never.”

I liked not the notion that my fate was so much in another’s hands, yet had it to be so, there was none I could imagine whose hands I would trust better than Sir John’s.

By and by, his considerable head, which had sunk slightly with the weight of thought, elevated itself, and he spoke to me as though inspired by a fancy: “Have you ever wished to go to sea?”

“Why… why, no,” I stammered out my reply.

He sighed audibly. “I thought not. When I was your age I thought and dreamed of nothing more. And indeed I went to sea in time, and … Ah, but that is another story-and a very old one at that.”

I thought that passing strange. He seemed so complete in what he was-a magistrate, a blind man-that I could not conceive of him being otherwise.

“I have sent boys in your predicament to sea,” he continued. “Though some, I allow, were older than you and were keen for the life. I have no wish to send a boy where he has no wish to go.”

“Perhaps I would custom myself to it,” I offered.

“Perhaps.”

I hesitated then, not knowing the propriety of what I wished to suggest. But finally: “Is there some way I could be of use to you? I’m good with sums. I can read, sir, and write a good hand. And I even know some French.”

“Ho! French, is it?”

“And I can set type.”

That gave him pause. “There we may be on to something. Of course, your father, the unfortunate printer, would have taught you, would he not?”

“He did, sir.”

“Well, Jeremy, in all truth, I pride myself that I need no special help from anyone-man or boy-to get me through my daily round. In short, I must decline the generous offer of your personal service-though not, I confess, without some hesitation. No, I sincerely believe work as apprentice to a printer would fit your talents and background better.”

I felt it only right to inform Sir John that even as I had my unfortunate meeting with Bledsoe, I was seeking a print shop in order to inquire after employment. “My father told me I was as fast with a stick as...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 4.11.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror
• ISBN-13: 9780001096776 / 9780001096776