“Sir, let me assure that I am not in the least possessive in the matter of homicide. And let me also reject the notion, implicit in your statement, that London or any other large city has a monopoly on murder.” With that, he put out his hand, groping for my arm. “Come along, Jeremy,” said he. “I believe Lady Fielding may require our presence.”
I took Sir Johns elbow and was about to lead him away, when he signaled to me that he had not done with the Bath magistrate. We halted.
“I said, sir, that I had found naught to interest you upstairs in Mr. Paltrow’s rooms. Probably true. Yet I would carry a bad conscience away with me from Bath if I did not advise you that I learned a great deal from talking below with Mrs. Eakins, the landlady. Since she has not been interviewed, I advise you also to talk to her. There is much to learn from that woman.” Then, with a sharp bob of his head to Mr. Bester, he took his leave, wishing him a good evening. And then to me the call to action: “Jeremy!”
I guided him through the crowd, round about the large room, looking this way and that for some sign of Lady Fielding and Clarissa. It was a grand hall, well lit, with candles burning from holders set in the wall and a great chandelier hanging above the dance floor in the exact center of the room. Beneath it, the dancers ranged wide across the space in a stately minuet. And while there were many thus engaged, there were even more encircling them, filling the corners, congregating at the doors which opened out into the garden. Male and female, they chattered and laughed so loudly that at certain places about the room it was near impossible to hear the music. How were we to find Lady Fielding in such chaos?
In fact, reader, she found us. Whilst I was anxiously looking left and right, I felt a rapid tap-tap upon my shoulder, turned, and found Clarissa had been beating upon it with her fan. (Ah, yes, her mistress had decked her out in full costume for the occasion, complete with accessories such as fan and gloves.) Lady Fielding had spied us from her place near the door and sent Clarissa to fetch us.
“Jack,” said Lady Fielding when he came to her, “it has grown so warm here inside. I wonder, would you take me out into the garden so that I might breathe a bit of that cool night air? I am quite desperate for relief.”
“Why, of course, my dear,” said he. “Yet if you are, as you say, ‘desperate,’ why did you not take yourself out for a breath of air?”
“But. . really. . a woman unaccompanied out there in the darkness? What would people say?”
“Kate, you go about London at all hours attending to emergencies at the Magdalene Home, why should you hesitate? I truly don’t understand.”
“Of course — but that is London, and this is Bath. There are dukes and duchesses, barons and baronesses, present here this evening!”
“Do you honestly believe that such as they would bring with them a higher standard of conduct? On the contrary, in my experience the nobility, so-called, tend to propagate misconduct wherever they go. They are bad masters and poor examples.”
“Even William Murray, Earl of Mansfield?”
“There are exceptions, of course, to that rule as to any other.” He extended his arm to her. “But let us not bicker over such matters. I should be happy to accompany you into the garden.”
She took his arm quite proudly and moved the two of them to the door. “We should not be long,” she called back to us.
“Take as much time as you like,” Clarissa called back as we watched them disappear into the darkened garden. Then did she turn upon me and fix me with a keen stare. “Jeremy …,” said she in a manner most conspiratorial.
“Yes?” I could tell she was up to no good.
“I should like you to do something for me.”
“And what is that, pray tell?”
“I should like you to dance with me.”
“Ah!” said I. “Then I fear I must disappoint you, for I do not dance. I do not know how.”
“Then it is high time you learned.”
“Perhaps, but this does not seem the proper place,” said I. “And besides, the musicians have stopped playing. Perhaps the ball is ended.”
“It is no such thing. The musicians are merely resting. Now — listen! — now comes an announcement.”
Indeed it was so. The leader of the musicians had stepped forward, his violin tucked under his arm. He waited a moment for some semblance of quiet, which remarkably enough he was granted. Then did he call forth to all and sundry: “We shall now play a sampling of country dances.” At that point, his announcement was interrupted by applause and cheers, which swelled to a considerable commotion as he shouted out: “Hunt the Squirrel will be followed by Moll Patley.” Then did he turn back to rejoin his fellows, and the dance floor began to fill with noisy young people, partners who congregated into larger groups to perform the lively dances.
“Come along, Jeremy!”
Clarissa grasped my hand and tugged me along, showing surprising strength. In truth, I did not resist greatly, for though I had said truly enough that I had not learned to dance, I meant that I knew nothing of performing such formal steps as those of the minuet. Country dances I had watched from the time I was a very young child; as partner to my mother, I had even played often at Hunt the Squirrel, which I would then call “the chasing dance.” And so we formed up into a square with the other couples, and Clarissa instructed me simply to keep my eye upon them and do what they did. Yet when the music began, and I heard that bouncing rhythm once again, all came back to me quite effortlessly, and I was soon hopping about to the music as one well practiced. When it came my turn to chase Clarissa round the square, I did so with a skipping shuffle I had learned from my mother, which had been quite admired at the time.
Clarissa, all flushed and happy, called to me as the dance came to an end: “A fine sort you are, Jeremy. You lied!”
“I did what?”
“Why, you lied, just as plain as can be. You dance well — for a boy.”
“Ah, well, I do not count this as dancing. I learned it as a child as a kind of game or sport.”
“Just as I did,” said she.
We had lined up again for Moll Patley, and were just taking our bows and curtsies when, looking beyond Clarissa, I spied Lady Fielding hurrying toward us, her face set in an angry expression. Why should she be so distressed, so upset? She had never before objected to dancing; it was she, after all, who had wished to visit the Friday ball. And while she may have been a bit annoyed to find, upon her and Sir John’s return, that we were dancing, surely the extent of her displeasure was not such that she would grasp Clarissa by the shoulder and drag her bodily from the floor, as she was doing, and command me to follow. I saw from my partner’s face that she was as confused as I.
Only minutes later, our little company, so hastily organized by Lady Fielding, was moving at quick-march down King Street in the general direction of the Bear Tavern. Clarissa and I led the way, since we knew it better than Lady Fielding and Sir John, who knew it not at all. We tramped along no more than a few paces ahead, unwilling for a while to say a word lest we draw the wrath of our mistress upon our heads. What was most puzzling, however, was the fact that in spite of Lady Fielding’s anger (perhaps even because of it), Sir John seemed much amused. The truth was that he had hardly ceased chuckling to himself since we had left the ball.
There was a sudden jerk at my sleeve. As was intended, it brought my attention to Clarissa, who, by soundless lip movements and a bit of miming, managed to communicate a question: “Is Lady Fielding angry at you and me?” I gave that some serious thought and at last shook my head, indicating the negative.
Then, shrugging, palms up, in an exaggerated manner, she signaled her own confusion. Thus we could but plunge onward, listening to Lady Fielding clucking in disapproval and to Sir Johns barely suppressed sounds of merriment.