The Masters of Bow Street (49 page)

Two factors persuaded James to seek a house which had some open land about it, and where the air was cleaner than in the heart of the City. Not only were the rooms in the Strand now too few to house the family comfortably, but the business of ‘Mr. Londoner’ was expanding so fast under Nicholas Sly’s handling that it would have to take over more space or move elsewhere. Having the two shops and the rooms above them for a rent of only sixty pounds a year, with nine years of a lease from the Duke of Bedford still to run, it was clearly advantageous to stay.

James considered Southwark and beyond. Of the places he liked, however, Chelsea stood out as the most suitable. It was only ten or fifteen minutes from Chelsea Steps to Westminster by waterman’s barge, and it was possible to walk to the House when he had reasonable time. The broad expanse of the river, the meadows sweeping down on the other side broken by tiny villages, pleased both James and Mary, and at last they found a house only a hundred yards from the riverbank with an uninterrupted view over fields where cattle grazed, and where fresh milk, butter and eggs were freely available. Moreover, there was a dame school nearby, attended by children of the Chelsea pottery workers as well as other families that had moved from the crush of London itself. The house was of red brick, only twenty years old, and available on a long lease for forty pounds a year from the ducal estate.

Built on two floors, it had rare spaciousness, with one huge room stretching the width of the building, and mullioned windows which provided plenty of air and light. The main entrance was at one side, a wide carriageway in front, and brick columns supported a porch. The big room had three doors: one leading to the dining room and, beyond, the kitchen and outhouses; one, to the hall, with its fine oak staircase; and one to a suite of small rooms, one of which was to be James’s study. On the floor above were eight main bedrooms and three washrooms, while a second, narrower staircase led to ample accommodation for servants.

The front and sides of the house, which was referred to as The House by the River, had lawns and some formal gardens, but at the back was open pasture and a fine walled orchard, with the stables beyond. And beyond the stables were two small hothouses, one with a promising young vine.

Both Mary and James fell in love with The House by the River at first sight, early in September of the year 1762.

Mary’s one doubt was whether James could afford it, but he assured her that even if it were reasonably staffed they would still be able to live within their means. The business of ‘Mr. Londoner’ now flourished so much that considerable sales were made by post, and goods were shipped as far afield as the colonies of America, Hong Kong and India, where the growing British population cherished mementos from England. It would prove, James fervently hoped, their one and only home, large enough for great numbers of grandchildren.

With the birth of her fourth child Mary had recovered much of her old spirit and liveliness and, as always, she showed a shrewd interest in what was going on. Able to play in an orchard of apple, plum and pear trees, the children thrived. Paul Weygalls’ oldest daughter, Betsy, who now spent more time with the Marshalls than with her own parents, helped to look after the children, and Mary had four living-in servants. It was a comfortable household, and both James and Mary blessed the day they had first seen The House by the River.

Then, out of the blue, came a triumph for Sir John Fielding. The government at last replied to his recommendations, rejecting his proposal for detachments of troops near the turnpikes but authorising a civilian horse patrol of eight men, with an inspector, and allowing Fielding six hundred pounds for this patrol, just enough to pay each man four shillings a day for the six winter months. Never had James seen Fielding more jubilant. Within days the success of the plan seemed assured. Lurking highwaymen actually ran away at sight of the Bow Street Horse Patrol!

All who had supported Fielding were deeply pleased.

In his domestic life James was as content as a man could hope to be.

From time to time, however, a hideous memory would flash into his mind, of Jacob Rackham wielding his long knife, of the fire, of the pressure of the noose beneath his jaw. And occasionally a voice would come out of nowhere, sharp and incisive: ‘Cut him down, Jacob.’ Could it be possible that Johnny had been that speaker? Johnny now held a roving commission on the continent of Europe, crossing the English Channel frequently to visit customers and associates of the House of Furnival. There was no way that he, James, could be sure that he had been in England that night.

The darkness of this lurking shadow became less intense as the months passed, and from his seat in the House of Commons in the Palace of Westminster, a hall so small and crowded he could hardly believe that so much history had been fashioned there, he watched the many-coloured pageant of the future in the making.

Two more moves were made to follow the suggestions of Sir John Fielding, but no credit was given to the magistrate himself, whose proposals had been pigeonholed for so long. The first and simplest was a great improvement in street lighting, a responsibility which was now accepted by the government. The second was likely to be by far the most far-reaching.

Following the well-tried example in the City of London, five new ‘public offices’, or magistrates’ courts, were to be set up, one near Bow Street and the others widespread.

But James was acutely aware of the folly of the King and the oligarchy he placed at the head of the nation’s affairs. All the time working to find supporters for the rest of Sir John Fielding’s police plan, James nonetheless was drawn into the vortex of passionate debate on matters not directly concerned with his closest interests.

One factor loomed larger in James’s mind all the time: the vast gap between information given to the House and the wild rumours which spread outside. No member of the press was able to attend parliamentary sittings, so no truthful reporting was possible, since Members who were bribed for information either wilfully or unwittingly misled the press.

All James and a dozen or so Members could do about the many inequities was to protest. Never had he so hated party politics, the double-dealing, the secret pacts, the support given to the King by those members whose families received titles, honours or substantial pensions in return. The power of the King was absolute although it was exercised under the cloak of representation of the people. Only a few honourable men stood out against the system.

It was the anniversary of the opening of Furnival Docks. Across the room at Furnival Tower House, James saw Johnny.

Francis was present, looking old and parchment-faced. William had a fine bold presence. Sarah retained much of her ebullience. Timothy, at James’s side, remained irrepressible and unstinting in his support for James. Jeremy Siddle and Martin Montmorency had been dead for some years, and now other, younger men were the unofficial representatives of the House of Furnival within the House of Commons.

When he had agreed to come James had wondered whether he would meet his half brother. Now Johnny was watching him from across the room. He had with him a young, elegant and beautiful Italian woman, with whom he was known to have established a permanent liaison; he had not yet married, but the capitals of Europe were said to be littered with a trail of his neglected mistresses. This woman had changed her religion to please Johnny, James knew, and was now a member of the Church of England. Timothy, also still a bachelor, was obviously glad to escort her to the buffet while Johnny made his way towards James, who went forward to meet him, and as if of one mind they moved towards the terrace. It was a fine October evening, and still warm. The river was congested with boats of all sizes and they could see the new outline of London Bridge, denuded of its shops and houses since a barge had rammed one of the piles and made so much weight unsafe for the old structure to carry. Otherwise the scene had hardly changed.

‘Well, half brother,’ Johnny said in a jeering tone, ‘I told you you were a fool and would be wasting your time.’

‘No minute has been wasted,’ James retorted. ‘Every minute, everything you do is a waste,’ Johnny declared. ‘We will never have rule by the mob here, and the time will arrive when the King’s rule will be absolute. When that day comes be careful they do not have you executed for a damned rebel.’

‘Or hanged, drawn and quartered.’

‘Even that,’ agreed Johnny, but his eyes were aglow, as if touched by some demon’s humour. ‘There is still time to become a King’s man, half brother.’

‘I am England’s man.’

‘Fine sentiment from one who consorts with the mob that wants to bring the nation to its knees. I am warning you again. Remember the day.’ Johnny shrugged and looked over the river for a moment before changing his tone and asking, ‘How is Mary?’

‘She is well.’

‘And our delightful mother?’

‘Well and happy, but neglected by her youngest son.’

‘She wants none of me; I am not cut off the right block. Better I neglect her than cause her distress whenever I reveal how different I am from my father. You are much more in his mould though not of the same blood.’

‘You are the image of him in appearance,’ James said quietly.

‘Aye, in appearance but in no other way. Have you heard it said that he left at least a dozen bastards when he died, farming them out on families that needed the money he would pay?’ When James did not comment the younger brother went on: ‘That’s another way I am not like him, half brother. I’ve never met the woman yet who could bear me a child. . . Isn’t that a relief to you? When I die my like will die with me.’

‘Johnny, what has hardened you so?’ asked James.

‘Hardened?’ Johnny replied, the jeering note still in his voice. ‘I’m the same as I always was, half brother. I was born with different qualities in me, and it is against my nature to conform. Every now and again I become sentimental, but I’m a hard nut, Jamey. Don’t waste your time trying to reform me.’ He threw back his head and roared with laughter so that a few people who were sauntering back from the bigger rooms looked across at them in surprise. ‘The truth is that God and the devil merged in John Furnival’s nature, and I’m from the devil’s side.’

‘No side of your father was a fool,’ James retorted.

‘Touche! Only a lunatic would behave as I sometimes do. All right, half brother! But rather a fool than a tool of the papists.’

The switch in conversation was so sudden that James was taken completely off his balance and echoed, ‘Papists? Where do they concern us?’

‘They concern everyone,’ declared Johnny, a harsh note springing to his voice. ‘The devils are everywhere, plotting against the Church and the State. Why do you think France and Spain hate us so? And even Ireland! We’re victims of a papist plot, Jamey, and anyone who is not against them is for them. Just as’ - gripping James’s arm so tightly that the pressure hurt, he lowered his voice so that only James could catch the words - ‘anyone who is against the King is for the papists. Open your eyes, half brother! See what goes on about you instead of wearing your heart on your sleeve for the mob.’

Turning on his heel, he strode off, rejoining the beautiful young Italian, now talking to a tall youth whom James recognised but could not immediately place. James was still puzzling over Johnny’s words when Timothy caught his elbow.

‘Cousin, if I didn’t know you better I would say you were trying to avoid me,’ Timothy declared. ‘It isn’t like you to go sneaking off with Johnny or anyone else on these occasions. How is Mary? And Little Seb?’

‘They are both well,’ James assured him, still looking across the crowded room and the host of beautifully dressed people. ‘Who is that with Johnny? Do you know?’

‘Shame on you! Are your thoughts turning from Mary at last? That is Isabella—’.

‘I mean the youth.’

‘Oh, how unromantic,’ protested Timothy. ‘I thought I had found your Achilles’ heel at last. That is Lord George Gordon. Johnny has been seeing much of his family lately. But let us consider Johnny’s plight. Could his companionship with that young fop explain his reported failure as a man? One hundred mistresses and nor a single babe!’ Then, seeing the shadow cast over James’s face, his tone changed. ‘Oh, fie, Jamey! May I not joke?’

‘I was feeling sorry for Johnny,’ James remarked, ‘and I did not expect ever to feel like that about him.’

He walked away, still remembering the sudden cry that had saved him: ‘Cut him down, Jacob. Cut him down, I say.’ Even over the years there seemed no doubt whose voice it had been.

Three weeks later James was faced with what he considered a crushing blow.

Just at the time when most people were beginning to feel that the metropolitan area had been cleared of the worst criminal elements, the government refused Fielding’s request to make the patrols permanent. It agreed that they were successful and that the people did not object to the use of troops, but insisted that the cost was too great.

‘A thousand pounds a year too much for the security of the whole metropolitan area!’ James exclaimed angrily in the House of Commons. ‘This is the most senseless and penny-pinching decision I have ever heard!’

But despite a chorus of ‘Hear! Hear!’ from both sides of the House, the government was adamant.

By now the condition of the watchmen in the parishes was so bad that many citizens joined together to employ other, stronger men, and at last the government agreed to a committee of inquiry, to which James was appointed. Fielding presented the case for more and younger watchmen who should be better paid. But one by one the main proposals were dropped by the nation’s leaders.

Sir John put as many of them into practice as he could afford, one being the keeping of a register of all crimes reported to the office.

‘It is a disgrace that the government will not pay for the register,’ James told Mary as he sat with her after a long day at Bow Street, ‘but it must be prepared. That register leads to more arrests than anyone would guess.’