A Maggot - John Fowles (14 page)

The very small, frail and bewigged man in black, who
reads behind a round table in a far corner of the room does not look
up from whatever he reads. The man in the doorway glances round; but
whoever conducted him to this point has mysteriously disappeared. He
therefore clears his throat, in the practised manner of one who has
no phlegm to lose, but a laggard attention to draw. At last the
figure at the table looks up. He is evidently a few years his
visitor's senior, although physically his marked inferior, of the
puny build of a Pope or a Voltaire. The man in the door raises his
hat with a hint of a polite flourish, and slightly inclines.

'I have the honour to address Mr Ayscough? Mr Francis
Lacy at your command, sir.'

Most strangely the little lawyer does not offer any
courtesy in exchange, but merely lays down his papers and leans back
a little in his armed and highbacked chair, which almost dwarfs him,
and folds his arms; then slightly tilts his head, like a robin alert
to prey. There is a quizzical, almost glistening fixity in the gaze
of his grey eyes. Mr Francis Lacy shows himself somewhat at a loss at
this reception. He assumes a forgetfulness in the man of law, a
temporary inability to place, and speaks again.

'The Thespian, sir. I attend to meet your client, as
requested.'

At last the lawyer speaks. 'Be seated.'

'Sir.'

And the actor advances towards a chair on the
opposite side of the table, with regained aplomb. Before he reaches
and can sit on it, the sound of the door behind being firmly closed
makes him turn. A tall and silent clerk, also in black, like a heron
turned crow, stands with his back to the door, a leatherbound quarto
book in one hand. His stare is as intent as his master's, though
markedly more sardonic. Lacy looks back down at the diminutive
lawyer, who repeats his previous phrase.

'Be seated.'

Lacy parts his coat-tails and sits. There is a
silence, and still the lawyer will not leave the actor with his eyes.
Ill at ease, the latter feels in his waistcoat pocket and produces a
silver snuffbox. He opens, then extends it.

'Do you partake, sir? It is best Devizes.' Ayscough
shakes his head. 'Then by your leave.'

Lacy places two pinches on the snuff cushion of his
left hand and sniffs them in; then snaps close and replaces the box
in his pocket; at the same time extracting a lace handkerchief, with
which he dabs his nostrils.

'Your client has a dramatic effusion upon which he
seeks my advice?'

'He does.'

'He has chosen well, sir, though I say it with
modesty. Few can rival my experience, even my critics do me the
honour of granting that.' He waits for some polite agreement, but the
cue is not taken. 'May I ask if his muse is laughing Thalia, or
rather grave Melpomene?'

'His muse is Terpsichore.'

'Sir?'

'Is she not the muse of dance?'

'I am no dancing-master, sir. I fear you mistake. For
the pantomime you must seek my friend, Mr Rich.'

'No mistake.'

Lacy draws himself up a little. 'I am an actor, sir.
My talents are familiar to all the cognoscenti of this city.'

The lawyer, who has not unfolded his arms, shows a
humourless smile.

'And shall soon be as familiar to the cognoscenti of
Tyburn. My client has written a piece for you, my friend. It is
called The Steps and the String, or Twang-dang-dillo-dee. In which
you shall jig upon the scaffold, at the end of Jack Ketch's rope.'

There is a moment's shock on Lacy's face, then he
sits bolt upright, his cane held to one side.

'Is this an impertinent jest, sir?'

The little lawyer stands, his hands on the table, and
leans a fraction towards his victim.

'No jest ... Mr Brown. By Heavens, no jest, you
impudent rogue.'

The actor stares back at the fierce eyes, as if he
cannot credit their sudden sternness, or his own ears.

'My name is -'

'Four months since in the county of Devon you passed
as Brown. Do you dare to deny it?'

The actor looks abruptly away.

'You extravagate, sir. I take my leave.'

He stands and turns to march towards the door. The
clerk, who still waits there, and no longer has any smile, does not
shift. He simply lifts the book he holds in front of him, against his
breast, holding it there with both hands, and exhibiting the cross
stamped on its leather cover. The lawyer's voice speaks sharply.

'You are smoked out, sirrah!' Lacy glances back, and
draws himself up. 'And do not try your hollow airs upon me. It is not
so long since that your kind were publicly flogged for their pains. I
advise you to put your buskins by. This is a chamber of the law. No
playhouse, where you can strut in a tawdry crown and awe a crowd of
gaping dolts with your rodomontadoes. Do I make myself plain?'

Once again the actor looks away from those eyes,
through the nearest window and at the green leaves, as if he wished
himself among them. There is a small silence. At last his eyes turn
back.

'I would have your authority to address me thus.'

The lawyer extends a small hand and, not leaving the
actor's eyes, begins counting his authority on his fingers.

'Item, I have inquired and you were not in London at
the time in question. Item, I have been where you were, I have
marched in your mendacious footsteps. Item, I have sworn affidavits
as to your exact appearance, down to that very growth I perceive upon
your right nostril. Item, my clerk behind you has spoken with one who
called on some matter at your lodging at the said time and was told
you was upon private business in the West Country. And by whom, pray?
None other than your wife, forsooth. Would you have her so great a
liar as yourself?'

'I will not deny I chanced to be in Exeter.'

'You lie.'

'It may be proven no lie. Ask at the Ship, beside the
Cathedral, where I lay.'

'On what business?'

'Upon promise of an engagement ... which came to
nothing.'

'I'll not discuss with you, Lacy. I have not done
with other items. For servant you had one Farthing, a Welsh fellow
not worth his name. You also carried with you one who passed as a
maidservant, one Louise. Well may you cast your eyes down, sir. For
there is worse yet. You had one other with you, a servant both deaf
and dumb, to your supposed nephew, Mr Bartholomew. That servant is
not disappeared, sir. But found dead, under great suspicion of
further foul murder done by persons hitherto unknown - but now known,
sir, and here before me!'

At the word 'dead' the actor has looked up, and for
the first time without semblance of artifice.

'How ... dead?'

The lawyer slowly sits back down in his chair. He is
silent a moment, sizing his man. Then he poises his fingertips
together and speaks in a less peremptory voice.

'Well, sir. And what's that to you? Were you not in
Exeter at the time - upon promise of an engagement?' The actor stands
silent. 'Did you not play a main part in an impudent new satire, this
last March and April, until the non-week? A piece called Pasquin by
an arrant rogue, one Fielding, at the Haymarket little theatre?'

'It is well known. All London saw it.'

'You were Fustian, were you not - a large part?'

'Yes.'

'A great success, I am told, like everything else in
these sacrilegious times that has the effrontery to mock the
constitution. How long had it run, when the Easter week came - April
17th, was it not, that you stopped?'

'Some thirty performances. I forget.'

'No, sir. Thirty-five. The longest run since its
equal in impertinence, The Beggar's Opera, was it not?'

'It is possible.'

'What, you don't know? Were you not also in that
piece, these seven or eight years past?'

'I took a small part, to please Mr Gay. We were
friends, I had that honour.'

'Honour, indeed! Is that honour, to take a part that
made a footpad and felon of the most eminent commoner in this nation,
its chief minister besides? Were you not that most wicked and
scurrilous travesty of Sir Robert Walpole, named Robin of Bagshot?
And your wife no better - was she not in that same piece Dolly Trull,
a shameless trollop, that I doubt she found it trouble to
impersonate?'

'Sir, I most indignantly protest your last aspersion.
My wife -'

'A fig for your wife. I know you, sir, and far better
than you suppose. As I know what happened when they return to resume
with Pasquin on the 26th of April last. You are mysteriously not
there, sir, your fine part is played by someone else, one Topham, is
it not so? And I know the lying excuse you gave, sir, I have
witnesses to it, for breaking your engagement. Am I to believe that
you forsook the triumph of the season, in which you had a handsome
share, to go to Exeter upon promise of an engagement? You were bought
away, Lacy, and I know by whom.'

The actor has stood at an oblique angle, listening to
this, his head slightly down. Now he looks back at the lawyer, a
simpler man, without pretence.

'I have committed no crime, I know nothing of ...
what you tell me. I will swear to that.'

'You will not deny you were bought to accompany a
person called Mr Bartholomew on his journey west, in the last week of
this April past?'

'I have a right to know what bears upon my answer to
that.'

The little lawyer is silent for a moment. 'I will
tell you your right. Deny me still and I will have you straight from
this room to Newgate, then in chains to Devon, for the next assize.
Admit you are who I say, tell all under oath, and we may see. He for
whom I proceed shall decide.' He raises a stern finger. 'But I warn
you, I'll have all - not one tittle omitted. Or he and I will have
you broken into as many shards as a china pot. He has but to nod, and
you are dust. You shall curse the day that you were born.'

The actor returns to his chair and sits heavily. He
shakes his head, and looks to the floor.

'Well, sir?'

'I was deceived, sir, grossly deceived. I believed it
a harmless subterfuge in pursuit of a worthy and pitiable end.' He
looks up. 'You will not credit me, but you see an honest man before
you. That I was guilty of credulity, foolishness in what happened,
alas I cannot deny. But not of evil intent or action. I must pray you
to believe that.'

'Plea me no pleas, sir. I give no credit, except upon
facts.'

'To the estimable Mrs Lacy you are unjust. She had no
part whatsoever in this.'

'I shall determine that.'

'You may ask of me, sir. I am well known in my
profession. I knew Mr Gay well, his friend the Duchess of Queensberry
too, and her most august husband. I had the honour of General Charles
Churchill's friendship, I met him most often at Grosvenor Street,
before Mrs Oldfield died. I know Mr Rich of Goodman's Fields. Mr
Cibber the poet laureate, Mr Quin, the virtuous Mrs Bracegirdle. All
will speak for me, that I am no Thomas Walker, no shame to my
profession.' The lawyer says nothing, watching him. 'I have offended
some great person?' Still the lawyer says nothing, his gaze intent.
'I feared it might be so. If I had known at the beginning what I came
to know finally .. .' Again he is not answered. 'What am I to do?'

'Make oath and tell, without omission. And from the
beginning.'

Historical Chronicle August 1736

The Examination and Deposition of
Francis Lacy
the which doth
attest upon his sworn
oath, this three and
twentieth day ,
of August in the tenth year
of the
reign of our sovereign Lord George the
second, by the grace of God King of Great
Britain and of England, &c.
*
* *

MY name is Francis
Lacy. I dwell at Hart Street near the Garden, two houses above the
Flying Angel. I am fifty-one years of age. I was born in London, in
the parish of St Giles. I am an actor, grandson to John Lacy, whom
King Charles favoured.

* * *

Q. Before all else you shall answer me this. Knew you
Mr Bartholomew was under false name?

A. I did.

Q. Knew you who he truly was?

A. I did not, and do not, to this day.

Q. On what occasion did you last see him?

A. The first of May last.

Q. Do you know where he is now?

A. I do not.

Q. You are upon oath.

A. So do I speak, sir.

Q. You swear that since that first day of May you
have neither seen, nor held communication with him, nor had news
whatsoever of him through any other party?

A. I most solemnly swear. Would to God that I did
know.

Q. Now I ask the same of your other two companions -
your man and the maid. What of them?