little more than a whisper: “The only thing good Alice ever done was to have that daughter of hers. Have you seen her? Have you seen Maggie?”
“I have, yes.” I could say neither more nor less than that.
“Well, then you know.”
I feared he would begin to question me with regard to my “meeting,” as it were, with Maggie. And so I urged him onward to Bow Street and Sir John. I was not the one to inform him of the death of his favorite niece. I knew not how much of the story Sir John would tell him, yet ’twas best for him to do the telling. In any case, I got him moving again. And while he would not say a word more about his sister, he spent the whole distance to the magistrate’s court rhapsodizing about Maggie, praising her beauty, her sweetness, her every accomplishment.
Thus it was that we arrived. I showed him the way in and called out a greeting to Mr. Fuller, the day jailer, just to make sure that he was about. He answered in kind and stuck his head out to see what I might require, but then, when he caught sight of him who was beside me, his mouth twisted into a smirk, and his cheeks puffed in his effort to hold back laughter. (What a churl he was!)
“Is Sir John in his chambers?” I asked him.
He gave a hasty nod and retreated deep into his domain. Not a word was said in response—naught but an odd sound that may have been muffled sniggers.
“Down at the end of the hall,” said I to my companion.
I did a fast pace down the hall, intending to distance us from Mr. Fuller as quickly as might be possible.
I paused at the door, allowing Deuteronomy Plummer to catch up, then introduced the two men without much ado. Sir John came forward, his hand outstretched in welcome.
“Deuteronomy Plummer?” he repeated. “Do I not know that name from the world of racing?”
Obviously flattered, Mr. Plummer hemmed and hawed a bit, unable to find words of sufficient graciousness, and, at last, mumbled that he rode “a little.”
“Ah well, a good deal more than ‘a little,’ or so I’ve heard. What a pleasure to meet you.”
“An honor to meet you, sir.”
“Am I to assume from the coincidence of the two surnames that you are related by blood to the Alice Plummer whom we seek?” asked Sir John.
“I’m her brother, sir, and I seek her, too, as you might say. That’s how me and the young man here met. I was searchin’ her place in Seven Dials, just lookin’ for some hint where she went to and along he comes.”
“Young man?” Sir John repeated the phrase as if he could not suppose who might be meant. “Ah, you mean Jeremy, of course.” Then, turning more or less in my direction, he said, “Jeremy, are you still here? Have you not other duties to occupy yourself?”
“None that I can think of, sir,” said I.
“Come now. Are you forgetting Clarissa? She may need your protection. You cannot simply maroon her where you left her, now can you?”
“I suppose not,” said I.
“Then on your way, lad.”
On your way, said he. On my way, indeed! I was quite beside myself with indignation at Sir John’s treatment of me, in particular before a witness I had brought to him. How could he have behaved in such a way toward me? Was having Clarissa home to cook his dinner so important to him?
I stormed down Chandos Street in the general direction of Dawson’s Alley and the imposing building where I had left Clarissa some time before. She was with her friend, was she not? She would probably welcome an extra hour with her. But no, Sir John had instructed me to bring her back, and that is what I would do, no matter what her wishes in the matter. Thus was I prepared—oh, more than prepared—to grasp her by the wrist and pull her bodily from the house. I should then run with her at full speed for Bow Street that I might return in time to hear at least a bit of Sir John’s interrogation of Mr. Plummer.
I came quickly to Number 5 Dawson’s Alley and pounded upon the door with my fist. None
“I have, yes.” I could say neither more nor less than that.
“Well, then you know.”
I feared he would begin to question me with regard to my “meeting,” as it were, with Maggie. And so I urged him onward to Bow Street and Sir John. I was not the one to inform him of the death of his favorite niece. I knew not how much of the story Sir John would tell him, yet ’twas best for him to do the telling. In any case, I got him moving again. And while he would not say a word more about his sister, he spent the whole distance to the magistrate’s court rhapsodizing about Maggie, praising her beauty, her sweetness, her every accomplishment.
Thus it was that we arrived. I showed him the way in and called out a greeting to Mr. Fuller, the day jailer, just to make sure that he was about. He answered in kind and stuck his head out to see what I might require, but then, when he caught sight of him who was beside me, his mouth twisted into a smirk, and his cheeks puffed in his effort to hold back laughter. (What a churl he was!)
“Is Sir John in his chambers?” I asked him.
He gave a hasty nod and retreated deep into his domain. Not a word was said in response—naught but an odd sound that may have been muffled sniggers.
“Down at the end of the hall,” said I to my companion.
I did a fast pace down the hall, intending to distance us from Mr. Fuller as quickly as might be possible.
I paused at the door, allowing Deuteronomy Plummer to catch up, then introduced the two men without much ado. Sir John came forward, his hand outstretched in welcome.
“Deuteronomy Plummer?” he repeated. “Do I not know that name from the world of racing?”
Obviously flattered, Mr. Plummer hemmed and hawed a bit, unable to find words of sufficient graciousness, and, at last, mumbled that he rode “a little.”
“Ah well, a good deal more than ‘a little,’ or so I’ve heard. What a pleasure to meet you.”
“An honor to meet you, sir.”
“Am I to assume from the coincidence of the two surnames that you are related by blood to the Alice Plummer whom we seek?” asked Sir John.
“I’m her brother, sir, and I seek her, too, as you might say. That’s how me and the young man here met. I was searchin’ her place in Seven Dials, just lookin’ for some hint where she went to and along he comes.”
“Young man?” Sir John repeated the phrase as if he could not suppose who might be meant. “Ah, you mean Jeremy, of course.” Then, turning more or less in my direction, he said, “Jeremy, are you still here? Have you not other duties to occupy yourself?”
“None that I can think of, sir,” said I.
“Come now. Are you forgetting Clarissa? She may need your protection. You cannot simply maroon her where you left her, now can you?”
“I suppose not,” said I.
“Then on your way, lad.”
On your way, said he. On my way, indeed! I was quite beside myself with indignation at Sir John’s treatment of me, in particular before a witness I had brought to him. How could he have behaved in such a way toward me? Was having Clarissa home to cook his dinner so important to him?
I stormed down Chandos Street in the general direction of Dawson’s Alley and the imposing building where I had left Clarissa some time before. She was with her friend, was she not? She would probably welcome an extra hour with her. But no, Sir John had instructed me to bring her back, and that is what I would do, no matter what her wishes in the matter. Thus was I prepared—oh, more than prepared—to grasp her by the wrist and pull her bodily from the house. I should then run with her at full speed for Bow Street that I might return in time to hear at least a bit of Sir John’s interrogation of Mr. Plummer.
I came quickly to Number 5 Dawson’s Alley and pounded upon the door with my fist. None
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