The Regency Detective (29 page)

Kirby was fuming but did not show it. He took a manilla-coloured folder from one of the trays on his desk and opened it.

‘In the case of the first murder, Gregor-Smith’s residence is in very close proximity to the crime and …’

Swann shook his head in disbelief as Kirby continued.

‘… further to this, both murders are described in his unpublished manuscript.’

‘Those facts are merely circumstantial,’ retorted Swann.

The magistrate opened a drawer and retrieved an item from inside it.

‘Well, this was actually found on the body of the second murder victim,’ Kirby said. He held up a piece of jewellery that Swann saw was a small mauve amulet with a silver chain attached.

‘There is also an inscription engraved on it,’ continued Kirby. ‘It reads: “To Henry G-S, warmest love always, Lydia”. Very touching, I am sure you will agree, but also very incriminating.’

Swann was not impressed.

‘Gregor-Smith had already lost that amulet when I spoke with him yesterday,’ Swann told the magistrate.

‘Then I suggest it was located after you left his residence but he was careless enough to lose it again while murdering the clergyman. There is nothing I can do until he faces the charges he has been arrested for and Fitzpatrick would agree.’

‘I wish to see Gregor-Smith. Where are you holding him?’ said Swann.

‘That is impossible, I cannot allow it,’ replied Kirby.

‘He is an innocent man. I demand it.’

‘Again you demand it, sir,’ exclaimed Kirby, as he stood angrily at his desk. ‘Just remember where you are making this demand. You may have acquired a reputation in London and seem to be building one here, but in this city I have jurisdiction and what I decide is the law. Now, once more, good day to you, I have legal matters to attend to.’

Kirby strode over to the door and pulled it open. Swann remained by the desk for a moment before he left. He was not pleased at this turn of events but realised he had to bide his time. Nevertheless, as he went through the door, he said, ‘You have not heard the last of this, Kirby.’

An hour later Swann sat opposite Gregor-Smith in his cell. In his jacket pocket was the forged letter, hastily written on Kirby’s personal notepaper, which had allowed Swann access to the writer; the headed sheet requisitioned from Kirby’s office as the magistrate walked over to the door, while Swann remained at the desk for the briefest moment, the signature copied from a fleetingly observed one at the bottom of a letter that was also on the desk. Even this letter, however, could not guarantee a completely trouble-free journey and Swann had tried several places where he thought the writer might be held, before finally locating him within the Grove Street prison. It was a shrewd move by Kirby, Swann thought, as he had entered the prison, as ordinarily its inhabitants consisted purely of petty offenders and debtors, not double-murderers. Swann had been taken to the rear of the building, on being granted access, and found Gregor-Smith in a cell within the recently built block which, although only two years old, had been left inadequately damp and completely uninhabitable through the regular flooding of the building.

‘I will get you out of here,’ Swann told the writer, ‘do not concern yourself.’

‘That is most kind of you,’ replied a haggard-looking Gregor-Smith, ‘but I fear my fate has been cast. Once the journalists get hold of the story there will be no one in England who will believe my innocence.’

‘There will always be one person that believes it,’ replied Swann.

‘However well that is received by myself, I believe it may not be enough, as I doubt your powers to be such as to combat the entire press, the judicial system and the determination of the person carrying out these murders.’

‘Is there anyone who holds a grudge against you?’

‘I do not intentionally make enemies, Mr Swann. And although I do not quite understand why you are helping me, sir, I do appreciate it greatly,’ said Gregor-Smith.

‘I have my reasons,’ said Swann, ‘although the main one is that I know you to be innocent. It is now up to me to prove that and get you released from this filthy abomination of a prison before Kirby can make his next move.’

Swann now stood, little realising what the next forty-eight hours would bring.

‘Kirby is right I’m afraid, Swann,’ said Fitzpatrick, as they stood within the somewhat crowded art gallery in studious contemplation of a landscape painted by Mr Luchini. ‘However much you may believe him to twist justice to serve his own means, this time he does have the law on his side.’

‘I cannot believe how a man like that can hold office,’ replied Swann disdainfully.

‘Perhaps you may call me misguided, but I have always found Kirby to be a pleasant enough sort,’ responded Fitzpatrick, ‘not someone you would want at your side in the midst of battle possibly, but nevertheless a competent fellow in upholding the law and carrying out his duties.’

Swann did not answer.

‘This painting is most exquisite, do you not agree,’ enquired Fitzpatrick, tactfully changing the subject.

The landscape they had been viewing was one painted from the same spot on the top of Beechen Cliff where Swann had stood earlier that afternoon and along with several others, all of which looked down on the city from various locations on its surrounding hillsides, comprised
A Series of Bath Landscapes by Italian Master Visconti Luchini
.

‘Yes, Mr Luchini has certainly succeeded in capturing the city in its full glory,’ replied Swann.

As they continued their mutual admiration of the painting, Mary, accompanied by Lockhart, joined them.

‘Mary, your teacher is an excellent painter,’ said Fitzpatrick. ‘Perhaps one day we may view such a creation from you?’

‘I have given up landscape painting,’ replied Mary, matter-of-factly.

‘I do not understand,’ said the magistrate, genuinely puzzled.

‘The considered opinion, Henry, is that any artistic talent I may possess lies elsewhere.’

Before Fitzpatrick could respond, Swann’s attention was distracted by someone at the far end of the gallery.

‘If you will excuse me temporarily,’ said Swann, ‘there is an old acquaintance I wish to converse with.’ He now crossed the art gallery floor and greeted a rotund man with a flush-red face.

‘Jack Swann! If my eyes do not deceive me,’ exclaimed a somewhat surprised but nevertheless overtly pleased Richard Huntley. ‘What are you doing here in Bath, Jack? I cannot believe it is for the
Season
!’

‘Your belief remains intact, my friend. It is my work which keeps me here at present. And yourself?’

‘I have been ordered out of the capital by an overzealous physician and advised to take the waters here.’

‘You are staying in the city?’ enquired Swann.

‘Good lord no,’ replied Richard. ‘I have taken up residence just outside it, in Bathford, if you know the place. As you may be aware, I always prefer to be on the periphery and in that way one is able to attain a better perspective of how things are. Rather than being in the centre looking out, therefore, I am on the outside looking in.’

Swann smiled. ‘Yes, that sounds like the Richard Huntley I know. But how is your stay affecting your business, a top literary agent not based in London?’

‘Even this far from my domain I am aware of everything that goes on within that world. This very evening, for example, after this preview, I am entertaining several influential people from the publishing world. You should come along, Jack.’

‘I would sincerely enjoy your invitation, but I have a matter which consumes my attention and so I believe I would not make for very good company. You are aware of Gregor-Smith’s arrest?’

The literary agent nodded solemnly.

‘I have taken it upon myself to prove his innocence.’

‘And what is the basis of your conviction?’ asked Richard.

‘Well, from the conversations I have had with Gregor-Smith …’

‘You have spoken with him?’ interjected Huntley.

‘Yes, on two occasions,’ replied Swann.

‘Then I absolutely insist you must attend tonight. Mr Gregor-Smith is a most renowned recluse and there will be many people at my dinner table who would be equally interested to learn what he is like.’

‘I appreciate your offer and ordinarily would accept it without hesitation but I cannot tonight,’ said Swann. ‘Perhaps, though, I could ask a favour of you.’

Meanwhile, standing in the same place where Swann had left them, Fitzpatrick was engaged in conversation with Mary and Lockhart.

‘I cannot understand why your brother is so convinced the writer is innocent,’ said Lockhart.

‘Well Edmund, have you not heard of a kindred spirit? My brother believes Mr Gregor-Smith to be wrongly accused. And that being the case, then he must do everything he can to prove his innocence. It was the same when we were growing up. When my brother was fifteen, there was an incident in which a servant from a nearby house was found with stolen goods in his bedroom. He was to be flogged and transported before Jack intervened. He proved the servant was innocent.’

‘How did he achieve this?’ asked Fitzpatrick.

‘As my brother recalls it, he first had to find a reason why someone would do such a thing and so he looked around for the person to benefit most from the servant’s transportation. With my brother’s ability to converse with the servants on their level, he was able to gain their trust and glean the fact that the servant had a secret tryst with a domestic girl from an adjoining household. It was all very innocent and they were very much in love but their relationship had to be kept secret, as the two masters of the households did not like each other.’

‘A domestic Romeo and Juliet,’ interjected Lockhart, smiling at Mary.

‘That’s right, Edmund,’ replied Mary, smiling back. ‘So once my brother had this information, it was a case of finding out who had the most to gain from the broken relationship. He learnt there was another servant in the same household as the girl, who lusted after her, so with this information Jack was able to trap the real perpetrator of the theft.’

‘So what did he do?’ asked Fitzpatrick.

‘He waited for the guilty servant to go out for the evening and then did the same to
him
. He confessed and the innocent servant was taken off the boat in Bristol, just before they sailed for Botany Bay.’

‘A close call then, I would suggest,’ said Lockhart.

‘As my brother said at the time, it is better to free a man the moment before the hangman’s trapdoor is opened, than the moment afterwards.’

As Fitzpatrick smiled, a man approached who he recognised as one of his night-watchmen. The man whispered in Fitzpatrick’s ear and the magistrate nodded.

‘Mary, Edmund, would you please also excuse me for a moment,’ Fitzpatrick said and then crossed the room to where Swann remained talking with Richard Huntley.

‘Gentlemen, I am sorry to interrupt your conversation,’ said Fitzpatrick, before he addressed Swann directly, ‘but Johnson has been found.’

Swann and Fitzpatrick entered the building where the suspect, Johnson, was being held and sat down in the sparsely furnished room, opposite the visibly shaken man.

‘Do you know why you have been brought here, Mr Johnson?’ asked Swann.

‘No sirs, I returned to my lodgings not half an hour ago this evening and the next thing I knew, I was overpowered and brought here.’

‘You have been brought here,’ said Fitzpatrick, ‘because of the murd …’

‘Fitzpatrick,’ interrupted Swann. ‘I realise you have the jurisdiction here, but may I question Mr Johnson in my own way?’

‘Of course. Please go ahead Swann.’

‘Thank you.’ Swann turned back to the suspect. ‘So, Mr Johnson, can you think of any reason why you should be here?’

‘None sir. I am an honest man and have committed no crime I am aware of.’

‘And can you tell me your employ?’

‘Yes sir. At present I work as a senior typesetter at Tozer Printing, which is on the Bristol Road.’

‘And who else works there?’ asked Swann.

‘Mr Tozer employs several people in his firm sir, each with different jobs, from typesetters down to the printer’s devils.’