Blind Justice by Bruce Alexander

learned that the house at which we had stopped was situated on St. James Street, inside the precincts of Westminster, which was then the jurisdiction of Sir John.
    It was indeed a grand house from the last century and can be judged so today, for still it stands on that street, though now dwarfed by others even grander. Lately, while investigating the details of this matter to write its account, I ascertained what was then common knowledge: to wit, that although the Goodhope family had great holdings and a manor house in Lancashire, Lord Goodhope was known to spend most of his time in London, sometimes in the company of Lady Goodhope, though more often without it.
    For all our haste in getting to the place. Sir John showed no immediate hurry in proceeding to the door. As Mr. Bailey took a moment to instruct the carriage driver to wait, the magistrate simply stood on the walk before the house, his head tilted slightly upwards. As I observed this, it occurred to me that were it not for his affliction, I should have thought him to be staring at the Goodhope residence by the dim light of the street lamp.
    “Mr. Bailey!” he called out.
    The thief-taker hastened to his side. “At your service, Sir John,” said he.
    “Would you describe for me this house we are about to enter?”
    “Well, it’s a big ‘un. ‘S’ truth, it is.”
    ”How big, man?”
    “Three floors up,” said Bailey. “That’s counting the ground floor as one of the three. But wide, sir, wide.”
    Rather than ask how wide. Sir John c ailed me to witness: “Perhaps you can contribute something to this, Jeremy.”
    “I’ll try, sir.” And I did so, noting its brick construction, and the fact that its upper floors were Hve windows across, with the space of a yard between each, and a yard to each corner. The place of a window in the center of the ground floor was taken by a large double doorway to which three steps led.
    “Very good,” said Sir John. “And which of the windows is lit?”
    “None, sir, that I can see. All the windows seem to be shuttered.”
    “Ah, well! They’re keeping old customs then.” With that, he plunged toward the house, his walking stick ahead of him slightly, seeking contact with the lowest step. “Mr. Bailey, give that double door a sound rap, and let them know we have arrived.”
    It was oak-upon-oak as Bailey beat thrice upon the door with his club. As we waited for admittance, he gave me a wink and a smile, as if to assure me that he bore no grudge that I had bettered his performance in description. He was a small man in neither size nor spirit.
    In less than a minute, the door opened a crack, and the face of a man was partially revealed.
    “John Fielding has come,” announced the magistrate, “to inquire into the calamity that has befallen this house.”
    Both doors were thrown wide, and we entered. The black-clad butler, dressed as a gentleman to my eyes, showed us immediately into a sitting room just off the spacious hall. There Lady Goodhope awaited us. She rose and walked directly to Sir John. Although the light from the single lit candle within the room was quite dim, I saw that she was well, though discreetly, dressed in the style of the day, a rather thin woman w ith a countenance not so much of great beauty, but rather one that displayed a certain purity. I also noted that her eyes were dry.
    “It was very kind of you to come. Sir John, and so promptly. I trust my call did not greatly interrupt you.”
    “Nothing that cannot keep.” He groped forward with his hand, found hers, squeezed it sympathetically, and brought it to his lips. “I am deeply shocked at what I’ve heard. I offer my condolences.”
    Lady Goodhope had given neither Mr. Bailey nor I so much as a glance. She did not inquire into our presence but stared at Sir John, waiting.
    Having waited a space himself, Sir John resumed: “We must view the remains, of course. Mr. Bailey here will assist me in that, due to my obvious deficiency.