So it was that all who had been invited to this meeting assembled within the space of a few minutes. George Hemmings, solicitor and an expert in matters of property, was the next to beat upon the door. And last came Mr. Hubert Dalrymple, a most successful barrister. (Absent in body, though present through the participation of Mr. Dalrymple, was Sir Patrick Spenser, Solicitor-General, who had called the commission into being.)
As I had done before, I took a more active role than usual by recording the minutes of the meeting. It was a burdensome task, for while I was made keenly aware of what was said in the course of the meeting (since I was obliged to quote or paraphrase every last bit of it), I was unable to study the unspoken reactions of the listeners, Sir John had taught me that what is said with the eyes, face, and body is often more eloquent than that which is spoken.
It began with Lord Mansfield’s brief recapitulation of the proceedings of the previous meeting. Then did he call upon Mr. George Hemmings to deliver a report upon his survey of the Laningham estate. He had a way of deprecating his efforts while at the same time persuading his listeners that his “casual estimate’’ was probably accurate to within 100 pounds. He gave the figure as £650,000, but then he added that a truly accurate and detailed figure would take some months to prepare. “I have done as well as time allowed,” he concluded, ‘yet I believe that this figure reached by different methods and from information gleaned from different sources should stand reasonably well.”
Then did the Lord Chief Justice read to the group the letter which Sir John had dictated to me upon our return from Bath, and which I had delivered to this house only a few days past. It dealt not only with Sir John’s interview with Margaret Paltrow, but also with her subsequent death. It was plain from Sir John’s report that he believed that the woman had been murdered. This indeed caused a great stir among members of the commission. They grew rowdy of a sudden, demanding to know more.
“On what do you base this opinion, Sir John?” Mr. Daliymple demanded. “This seems a rather reckless conclusion.”
And Mr. Hemmings wished to know just why she should have been murdered. “I see no sense to it,” said he.
Lord Mansfield sought to calm them by explaining that he intended to bring the matter up personally with the Magistrate of Bath. “Let us put off further questioning on this matter until I have heard from him.”
That seemed to suit all present. Nevertheless, it did not ultimately bring calm. Mr. Trezavant declared that he had that very day been in conversation with the Member of Parliament for Laningham, who informed him of “certain irregularities” in the methods employed by the claimant in gathering signed statements. “I propose Sir John go out and look into this matter.”
Mr. Dalrymple scoffed at this. “He would be recognized in a trice,” said he. “He is probably the best-known blind man in London!”
“But I doubt the claimant would recognize Jeremy here,” countered Sir John, pointing in my general direction.
“Are you proposing that we send this lad out alone?”
“By no means,” said Sir John. “I propose that he and I journey out together in pursuit of the claimant. Where is he now? “
“He is in Oxford,” declared Lord Mansfield. “I happen to know that he is seeking affidavits from Lawrence Paltrows old teachers.”
“Why, m’lord, I do believe you’re having the fellow watched, “ said Sir John.
“You may believe what you like, but depend on it that he is now in Oxford.”
“Then Jeremy and I shall make Oxford our destination. I shall seek out those teachers, and Jeremy shall follow the claimant about town, and we shall see if the report Mr. Trezavant has been given is true.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Trezavant, “I have heard he is a great one for setting up at an inn with that fellow who travels with him. They buy statements with gin and ale — or so it is said.”
“And that is where Jeremy may prove to be of help,” said Sir John. “If the claimant pays for statements with coin of alcohol, then we shall know it. Such practice would disqualify him as a claimant, surely.”
“It would certainly count strongly against him,” said Lord Mansfield.
“Then its agreed?” said Sir John. “Jeremy and I shall take ourselves to Oxford, search out the claimant, and keep him under observation.”
“Agreed! agreed!” shouted Lord Mansfield, the Lord Chief Justice.
Whether less enthusiastic, or simply confused by the suddenness of it all, the other members of the commission said nothing.
SEVEN
One of the travelers on the post coach had made an arrangement with the driver to stop before we reached the City of Oxford that he might alight from the coach and make his way to his home nearby. Yet the traveler in question was a rather elderly sort, and since I sat nearest the door, I thought it best to step down myself to give him a hand. Thus it was that I was afoot at the side of the road as the old gentleman’s portmanteau was lifted down to him. I stared into the distance, taking in the view of Oxford ahead. It was a place of spires and towers, all of which seemed to gleam in the setting sun; it seemed quite magical in such a light.
“And so, young sir,” the driver called down to me, “what think you of this view of the city from Bear’s Hill? “
“I think it quite grand,” said I.
“Aye, so it is, but you’d best — “
His advice to me was blotted out by the sudden intrusion of a score of bells and clocks as they announced the evening hour. Yet I perceived quite rightly that he wished me to climb back into the coach, which I did right swiftly, settling in beside Sir John. The wheels beneath us began to turn once again. We should soon reach our destination.
We had been on the road from London all through the afternoon. The distance to Oxford was not great, yet there were many stops made to drop off quantities of mail at villages and towns along the way. Because the Lord Chief Justice had insisted Sir John leave the next day it had been necessary for us to accept bookings upon the afternoon post route, for all the earlier (and swifter) coaches had been filled. If Sir John were displeased by this, he did not show it. He rode, as he always did, so silent and so indifferent to what was said around him, he might well have been sleeping. Yet only I, of the five other passengers within the coach, could be certain he was not.
He had been visited earlier that day by Lord Mansfield. I would not have known had I not discovered that grand coach and four of the Lord Chief Justice awaiting him when I returned from the post coach house with our tickets to Oxford town. As it was, I heard nothing of their conversation, for as I was going in, Lord Mansfield was coming out. I stood aside politely and raised my hat to him as he passed by; he mumbled something, perhaps to me or perhaps to himself, which I failed to understand. But then of a sudden he stopped, turned round, and caught me with his eye, perhaps recognizing me for the first time.
“Here, you, boy, come here.”
Indeed I came, hastening to him across the few feet which separated us. “Yes, m’lord. What was it you wished? “
“You’re Sir John’s lad, are you not? “
“Well, uh, yes, m’lord, I suppose I am.”
“Suppose? Don’t you know?’
How could I repair the damage I had done with my slightly ambiguous reply? Obviously, only an emphatic affirmative or negative would do for him. “Oh, I do know, and I certainly am Sir John’s lad. I hesitated only because your question seemed to imply that I might be his son. That I am not, though I should be proud to be.” He seemed mildly annoyed by what I had just told him. “Oh? You’re sure, are you? “ said he with a frown. “I’d always assumed you were his natural child. Why, I believe I heard it so from someone or other. “