The Masters of Bow Street (36 page)

Soon after the barge returned to the steps at the side of Furnival Tower House, the Prince of Wales arrived, and the roaring of the crowd, which had a strong affection for the fledgling prince, grew deafening. Then the first of the merchantmen came into sight around the bend of the river at Wapping, and yet another wave of cheering began. Bands played on the decks of some of the larger ships, the men-of-wars’ bands struck up, and pipers who had been brought down from the Furnival offices in Glasgow and Edinburgh stirred everybody’s emotions with their swirling dirgelike tunes.

The cheering was now so wild it had become a kind of hysteria. As the last merchantman was tied alongside, three guns boomed in salute, and as the echoes died away, every band struck up the national anthem. Suddenly the voices of the multitude were raised in. singing ‘God Save the King’ as if this were the most popular king England had ever known, not just a thirteen-year-old princeling.

When the singing died away there were wet eyes everywhere until the bands swung into tunes known to be favourites with the Prince of Wales as well as with the crowds.

Darkness came early because of the overcast skies, but so far no rain had fallen. Flares began to dance on the sides of the ships as well as on the buildings, none brighter than those on the terrace at Furnival Tower House as first the Prince and then his companions stepped from the Royal Barge. Only when they had been received did the ships’ masters arrive from their proud vessels.

James could see all this perfectly, and he also saw John Furnival and Ruth, placed so that they were part of everything that went on. The reflected light from the flares turned John’s pallor into the flattering colour of his middle manhood. The music had stopped and the crowds were now silent.

The first of the sailors, a small man with a straggly black beard, carrying a leather box, reached the welcoming group, bowed low to the Prince of Wales, but somehow created an impression of impatience during the courtesies and said to William Furnival in a clear and penetrating voice, ‘It is my honour to place in your hands missives from members of your family and of your staff in India. It is my deep regret—’

The man behind called out, ‘Not now, Henry, not now!’

Already there was bewilderment and embarrassment that the master should speak while the formal welcome to the Prince was not yet finished.

William covered the awkwardness with a loud-pitched: ‘Captain Gamble, we shall be happy to see you for private discussions at the earliest moment. Captain Mortenson—’

He presented two more sailors and there was some formal exchange of compliments before a military band once again played ‘God Save the King’, and then William and Francis escorted the Prince down to the great hall below. Here, a huge circular table was piled high with dishes of every description, dozens of footmen, chefs and wine stewards standing discreetly by. Music from two string quartets was now being played, and while two of the Furnivals’ most attractive young women were presented to the Prince, James Marshall - at the balcony on the second floor - saw Francis and William leave the hall and go up the staircase to a room which led onto the terrace. Timothy’s hand was on James’s shoulder.

‘I know a short cut to the terrace,’ he declared. ‘I want to hear what that idiot Gamble has to say.’

One of the few guests remaining on the terrace, where it was much cooler than in the hall, was John Furnival, in his chair, with James’s mother and an elderly great-aunt sitting beside him. As the two young men came within earshot, Francis spoke in a sharper voice than James had yet heard from him.

‘Captain Gamble, what news is of such significance that you choose a formal occasion to relay it?’

‘I am sorry, sir.’ Despite his words there was nothing in Gamble’s voice to suggest that he felt distress, only a sense of injured pride. ‘I was charged both by our own representatives and by the East India Company on leaving Bombay with relaying this news at the earliest possible opportunity, and to have delayed would have been doing less than my duty.’

William answered in an unexpectedly conciliatory fashion. ‘Be sure we are aware of your attention to duty, Captain. Will you now be good enough to present us with the news?’

‘With no pleasure, sir, no pleasure at all and only with the deepest regret. Shortly before we set sail from Bombay we received a fully accredited messenger from the office in Calcutta. I have the message in the box, sir. It appears that Mr. Jason Gilroy was ill advised enough to travel by road with his wife and their son and daughter between Delhi and Calcutta. At dusk one evening, when they were approaching a village only a day’s journey from Calcutta, they were attacked by Pindari bandits, their guards were killed, they themselves were robbed and slaughtered.’

Captain Gamble paused as if to make sure that the full significance of the news was understood, and then went on.

‘My instructions were to advise you to notify His Majesty’s Government at the first opportunity and to request that they make urgent representation to the Maharajah of Gwada to heed the East India Company’s request for the immediate apprehension and punishment of the murderers. The outrage was committed in the Maharajah’s province.’

For a moment there was complete silence, until Timothy said in a broken whisper, ‘Aunt Anne!’

Then William spoke in a strange, taut voice. ‘Is there no doubt at all about this, Captain Gamble? No possibility of error or mistaken identity?’

‘None whatsoever, sir. The envoy was in fact Mr. Gilroy’s most trusted Indian servant and guide, who escaped during the attack and went back to the scene of the crime after the bandits had gone. He saw that each member of the family had been slain in the most despicable fashion. Moreover, sir, two smaller and faster vessels out of Karachi passed my ship and signalled the news to me.’

No one spoke until Francis said, ‘Anne, dear Anne.’

Someone out of sight exclaimed, ‘What a day for such news to come!’

‘I cannot be blamed for the circumstances, gentlemen,’ Captain Gamble said aggressively.

‘No one is attempting to blame you,’ Francis assured him, ‘but this is grievous news to pass on at such an occasion. If there were time to stop the fireworks—’

Almost on the instant a great crack of sound came from across the river and a rocket burst high above the crowds, spreading white, blue and pink stars against the dark sky. In a moment there came another, then another, and suddenly the terrace was crowded as the guests from below came to see the display. Finally, there was a tremendous explosion and, high above the roofs of the new warehouses, one word and one word only burned as bright as day:
FURNIVAL

Whilst on the terrace, head lolling, body slack, Sir John Furnival lay back in his wheelchair: dead.

John Furnival was buried in the churchyard at St. Giles only two days later, attended by his brothers, surviving sisters, and some other close relatives and friends. Among those not of the family who came to the simple funeral ceremony was John Fielding, who brought condolences and deep regret from his brother. Tom Harris came, too, and old Sam Fairweather, so crippled with arthritis that each step caused pain. Benedict Sly was also present, and the Reverend Sebastian Smith, who had journeyed with friends across London and had then taken the stagecoach from the Hyde Park Turnpike.

When it was over, the members of John Furnival’s family departed from St. Giles except for Francis and his wife, Deborah, who were to stay the night. Beth and Henrietta stayed with the Tenches, and only Francis and Deborah, Ruth and James, were together at the farmhouse dinner of roast beef and batter pudding.

‘Ruth, this may not be the night to talk about the future, but I would like you to be sure of two things,’ Francis said. ‘For as long as you wish to stay at St. Giles, it is yours, and if there is ever anything you need that we at the House of Furnival can provide, that is yours also.’

Ruth had said very little since her husband’s death, the only indications of her grief being pallor and a redness at her eyes. Now she looked at Francis with thoughtful intentness.

‘You are very kind,’ she replied. ‘I believe I know what I must do.’

‘You see, Francis,’ Deborah said, ‘I told you so.’

It was seldom that Deborah spoke when in the company of those not part of her immediate family, so her intervention made James and Ruth look at her in surprise, but no greater surprise than that of Francis. Deborah was a short, broad woman, with not particularly, attractive features; at moments, when on horseback or out walking, she could be taken for a man. There were those who wondered whether her masculinity had appealed to Francis because of the contrast between them: his delicacy, her solidness; his almost feminine good looks, her plainness; his beautifully shaped fingers, her broad, flat-tipped ones. She wore few adornments and this evening looked even more sombre than usual in her unrelieved black dress. Only her eyes, pale grey, gave her any brightness.

‘What did you tell Francis?’ Ruth inquired mildly.

‘That you would know what you desired to do, and would be as stubborn as—’ Deborah broke off, perhaps because of the expression on Francis’ face.

‘As my husband,’ Ruth finished for her.

‘Deborah did not mean—’ began Francis.

‘Francis, perhaps Deborah would always speak more freely if you did not talk for her,’ Ruth interrupted, and James was astonished that she should speak in tones of rebuke. But Francis laughed, and his laughter brought a smile of relaxation from Ruth.

‘Indeed you may be right,’ Francis agreed pleasantly.

‘Well, he was as stubborn as a mule,’ declared Deborah.

‘As an ox would perhaps be better,’ countered Francis.

‘As a man who had great faith in what he was trying to do.’ Ruth put in equably. ‘Yes, he was stubborn, thank God! And he began changes in the thinking of men and women that will one day come to fruition. Francis, you have always been kind and affectionate towards John, and I would not reward you if I were to tell half-truths or pretend what I do not feel. I am grateful for your reassurance and it would not be surprising if one day I came to you for help. You know that John took all his inheritance and sold his shares in the House of Furnival so that he could spend freely on his chosen task. Yet he left me a goodly competence. Notwithstanding that, I cannot live here or for that matter anywhere else and do nothing. My life was full in every minute with John, and while I could serve him I was content. Now James is more than old enough to fend for himself, Beth is soon to be married, and Henrietta is an independent young woman who will decide her own future. I shall return to London and seek a post in one of the foundling hospitals for which I shall need no salary. I shall be dealing with those too young to have become incurably contaminated by the evils of the world.’ She paused a few moments, then asked, ‘Does that shock you?’

‘It doesn’t surprise me,’ declared Deborah.

‘I am not shocked but I am surprised,’ Francis replied. ‘I believed you loved this place.’

‘John came to love it.’

‘And you loved it only because of that? Ruth,’ Francis went on, getting up and drawing close to his sister-in-law, ‘you are a most unusual woman, but reasonable also. Will you ponder your decision at least long enough for us to sleep on it?’

‘You’ll never bribe her to change her mind,’ Deborah declared. ‘That’s a thing you’ve never learned, Francis - the good are the most stubborn people on earth. Did you ever hear of a martyr in a bad cause?’

Quite suddenly James began to laugh, and his mother followed; soon all of them were laughing.

James spent a few minutes in his mother’s room before going to his own, staying long enough to assure her that whatever decision she made he would support her. In fact, the only anxiety he felt was about Henrietta, but even that did not weigh enough to prevent the best night’s sleep he had had for some days. Yet the next morning he was up before the others, striding through the grounds - until suddenly he realised with a shock that he had forgotten Johnny.

But his mother could not have forgotten her youngest child. Had some arrangements been made for Johnny’s future? Or did she expect to be able to keep him bv her when she laboured? Utterly confused, James stood by the little stream watching the early-morning mist rising almost invisibly before he hurried back to the house. Soon, they were all at breakfast in a pleasant room overlooking the hillside. Dust was already rising as the first stagecoach of the day from London approached at what seemed even from there a wild speed. That was a sight which, a few years before, Johnny had loved to see. He would rush down towards the stagecoach, pointing a wooden gun and crying in his unmistakable voice, ‘Stand and deliver! Stand and deliver or I shoot!’

‘No, Jamey,’ his mother said, ‘I had not forgotten Johnny.’ There was a strange expression on her face.

‘Then what is to happen to him?’

‘His father and I did not attempt to deceive ourselves,’ Ruth Furnival replied. ‘We knew that our time together would be limited, and we discussed my need to serve. We agreed that Johnny should be cared for by one of his uncles or aunts. Because John had left the House of Furnival there is no reason to deprive Johnny of its benefits. That is one reason why he was sent so early to school. Had there been more time to talk, my son, you would have been told of this.’

‘It is not important whether I knew,’ James replied, and yet he had a sense of hurt. His mother could have written to him while he had been away; he had a right to know what was happening to members of his family, especially to Johnny of whom he was inordinately fond. It was on the tip of his tongue to make some comment when he reminded himself that his mother had suffered too great a loss to be harassed because of his stung pride. Lightly he substituted, ‘But it would be interesting to know what else my absence has kept from me.’

To his surprise his mother looked away, and he saw Francis draw his brows together as if at some distasteful prospect. Had his remark been so sharp as to earn their disapproval? Only Deborah, who was slicing a large steak on her platter, appeared oblivious of any undercurrents.