Clarissa, too, had noticed the sudden silence and the sense of anticipation all around her. She was made uneasy by it but bravely (if a bit foolishly) attempted to continue.
“And another thing. . Sir John. . we know not the financial circumstances of the woman in the case, do we? She may be. . that is. . she may be a widow. . She may be. .”
And there, having noted the reaction of the crowd and feeling greatly oppressed by it, she, at last, sputtered to a halt. For the better part of a minute, she said nothing-nor, for that matter, did anyone else speak up. But then, addressing Sir John, she spoke up in a much smaller and less confident sort of voice.
“I’m making a fool of myself,” said she, “am I not?”
He sighed and nodded. “I fear so.”
Even from my place in the last row I could see tears glistening in her eyes.
I do believe that at that moment she might have jumped up and run from the place had Sir John not restrained her with his hand upon her own.
“Please forgive me,” said she.
“You are forgiven.”
Then, once again, the unexpected: quite spontaneously, the entire court burst into applause. Sir John, certain that he wanted such demonstrations never again repeated, simply ignored this one. He picked up his gavel and beat thrice upon the tabletop.
“The court is dismissed,” said he.
And so they waited, he and Clarissa, until their audience had filed out in ones, twos, and threes, and at their own pace. Once again, Sir John restrained her with a hand upon hers. But once the crowd had gone, and he removed the restraint, she was up and away in a matter of seconds. She quite flew through the door that led to the “backstage” area, and, through it, to the stairs to our kitchen above. Indeed, even before she was out the large room and into the hall, she had a kerchief in hand and had begun weeping.
“Come ahead, Jeremy,” Sir John called out, rising. “Let’s go to my back room and talk of your morning.”
“How did you know I was here?” I responded.
“I not only knew you were here, I knew also when you arrived. Just at the beginning of that sorrowful mess with Mrs. Penney, was it not?”
“It was, but how could you tell?”
“A certain step you have-a certain squeak in the shoes perhaps. I know not what it is, but it is enough to tell me when you enter a room.”
We left the courtroom by way of the door through which Clarissa had exited a minute or two before. I knew not quite what to do with regard to her. I was, first of all, quite proud of her for admitting her mistake and asking Sir John’s forgiveness before all, as she had done; and a good part of me wished to go, find her, and comfort her. Yet I did naught, for, on the other hand, I owed a greater debt to Sir John; and he had, with little difficulty, convinced me that all our efforts must be concentrated upon finding the killer of Margaret Plummer.
“I’m sure you perceived what had happened,” said Sir John as we entered his chambers. “Mr. Marsden fell ill not long after you left to meet that Plummer fellow. A coughing fit it was, yet I have never known one quite so violent and long-lasting. I fear for the man, in truth I do. I was about to send Clarissa to bring you back. But then she prevailed upon me to allow her to fill in for the clerk. It is not a demanding job, certainly. The real work of it is in the record-keeping and filing done afterward, so I thought, why not? I gave her a bit of instruction and sent Marsden home. The poor fellow had no voice left, or next to none. But it was a light day. There were two cases of public drunkenness and another of pissing in the street, and one other dispute besides the one to which you were witness-just the sort of easy day to try her out. What could have possessed the girl? Ordinarily, she is quite polite-but strongheaded and willful, there can be no doubt. What could have possessed her?”
What indeed? I decided that Sir John’s question should be answered.
“Perhaps, sir,” said I, “she supposed herself at table with us in the kitchen where all speak their minds and give their opinions as they will.”
“Perhaps. . but how could she be taken in by that Magdalene Penney? That woman has boasted she will own all of Covent Garden in five years.”
“Does Clarissa know that?”
“Well. . no. . I suppose she doesn’t. Still, that’s no justification for arguing one of my decisions with me.”
“No, certainly not, Sir John.”
“I must talk to her about that.” He sighed-unhappily, as it seemed to me; perhaps he was thinking of what he might say to her. But then did he rouse himself to say: “Do tell me what you accomplished this morning. I’ve a feeling you did well. Now, don’t tell me that I’m wrong.”
And I certainly did not: I told him all, and he seemed well satisfied by my report. He applauded my threat to Mr. Deuteronomy, saying that a year in Newgate seemed justified in such a case as this one. He also thought it justifiable to allow Deuteronomy to “borrow” the pistol in its case, so long as we knew where to find him and get it back. Yet Sir John became most excited when he learned that Deuteronomy would be riding at Newmarket on Sunday and that he thought there was some chance his sister would also be there.
“He said that, did he?” asked Sir John. “Do you feel that he was serious about this?”
“Oh, I do,” I assured him, “for he told me that once when she had been drinking she told him that she had met Maggie’s father there at Newmarket. She’s a simple soul, sir. She probably believes it will all happen again just as before.”
“Perhaps,” said he, “yes indeed, perhaps.” He seemed troubled; nevertheless, I knew not what seemed wrong with what I had just told him. Yet he explained: “The trouble is with the magistrate of Newmarket, you see. It could be difficult to arrest Alice Plummer, or even to remove her to London for questioning. The magistrate seems to feel that unless a crime be committed in Newmarket, it is no true crime at all. I have had dealings with him before, but each time matters had to be negotiated. Oh, he can be-”
Sir John halted at that point, for a voice, a very familiar one, intruded. From the sound of Clarissa’s voice and her hastening footsteps, I could tell she was most agitated.
“Sir John! Jeremy! I’ve news for you!”
The magistrate, now risen from his chair, seemed perturbed, unhappy with the interruption. “What is it, child?”
“Elizabeth is missing.”
FIVE
It became clear, after a few moments of awkward sputtering, that Sir John had no notion of just who Elizabeth might be. Clarissa and I set about to explain it to him, yet, between us, I feared that we may only have made things a bit worse.
“Now, please, both of you,” said he, “let me see if I have this properly now. Elizabeth is a girl whom you knew back in Lichfield,” now addressing Clarissa. “Yet about the time you came here, so did she. Is that correct?”
Of course, it was. Nevertheless, he took us painstakingly through all the information that we had heaped upon him, getting confirmation for each bit and fact until it became evident to me that he had used this as a device to slow things down a bit.
“And you say that she has now gone missing?”
“Indeed she has,” answered Clarissa. “Her mother brought this distressing news just now.”
“Is she here?”
“Oh, indeed sir-and terribly distressed.”
“Well, bring her here, child, bring her here.”
Needing no further encouragement, she set off down the hall at a dizzying clip. When she returned, she had with her a woman of no great age, yet one who bore a face that was lined and careworn; it was plain that the woman had been crying.
Sir John rose, bidding her to sit down. Once he had resettled himself behind his desk, he leaned forward and asked her name.
“Jenny Hooker,” said she.