Blind Justice by Bruce Alexander Read Free Book Online Page B

Yet I anticipate somewhat. I cannot pretend that my first estimate was as fully formed as this nor as prejudiced. He seemed to me then only a tedious and long-winded man, one so keen to make a good impression on Sir John that he would continually solicit the opinion of the magistrate, and before it was half-stated rush in with his own.
    It was thus they discussed a range of topics, chiefly the then notorious John Wilkes, the Parliamentarian who had previously been jailed for fomenting riot. When Boswell noted to Sir John that Wilkes had recently been returned to Parliament in absentia, he then swore the fellow should be clapped in the stocks forthwith, but it soon turned out his objection to the riotous Wilkes was due chiefly to the latter’s abusive pronouncements against the Scots.
    “Is it true that he went to you to recover the blasphemous papers His Majesty’s Government had seized?”
    “Why, yes,” said Sir John, “he—”
    “He had the gall, had he? Why, if you were to ask me, I …”
    Et cetera.
    They went from Wilkes to the French and on to Boswell’s book on Corsica, which he advertised shamelessly to the magistrate; they spent over an hour on the voyage. I was by this time quite famished. Sir John must have perceived this, for he managed to silence Boswell long enough to order a steak and kidney pie for me and a joint of beef for himself. By that time the place was quite packed, but there was no sign of Dr. Johnson.
    Sir John, in fact, remarked on that to Boswell, mentioning only that he had expected to encounter the lexicographer. Was he expected?
    “Aye, indeed he was and is expected,” said Boswell. “He’ll not be long.”
    At last our dinner arrived. And shortly behind it, to my great surprise, came none other than Benjamin Bailey. I was barely three bites into my pie when his tall figure filled the doorway of the Chop Room. He ducked through and proceeded direcdy to our table.
    “Mr. Bailey,” I exclaimed, “why—”
    He touched me on the shoulder, perhaps with the intention of silencing me: In any case it had that effect. He then leaned over and spoke at some length in Sir John’s ear. I watched the magistrate’s expression change from one of shock to stern resolution. At the end of the whispered speech, he nodded and rose.
    “Forgive me, Mr. Boswell, but we must take leave of a sudden.”
    “What is it, Sir John?” Boswell’s interest had been whetted. “Riot? Wilkes?”
    “Nothing so grave. This errand is all in a night’s work for a poor magistrate.”
    With that we left, Mr. Bailey leading the way and Sir John close behind. I mumbled my goodbye to Boswell, who had given me no notice whatever, then grabbed up a few slices of bread from the table and ran to catch up with the others. I found them at the door. Sir John was just pushing past a stout, red-faced man with a large nose who greeted him by name and made attempt to open conversation with him.
    “No time now. Sorry,” blurted Sir John. “Something I wish to discuss with you later, though.”
    As we hurried into Fleet Street, I asked the identity of the man at the door.
    “Oh, that one,” said he. “That was Johnson.”
    “I’ve a hackney carriage waiting,” Mr. Bailey called from ahead.
    Waiting and open. He held the door at an attitude of attention. All that was lacking was the salute. As I, too, stepped up and in, I turned curiously and asked, “What is it, Mr. Bailey? What’s happened?”
    “Never you mind, lad. In with you now.”
    With a word to the driver, Bailey himself jumped inside, and we were under way.
    “I think we may as well tell Jeremy since he must accompany us,” said Sir John. And then to me: “There has been a shooting at Lord Goodhope’s residence. He himself is apparently the victim.”

Chapter Three
In which clean hands
prove a man of quality
    We alighted from the carriage: I first, then Mr. Bailey, and Sir John last of all. Although no word had passed between them, I soon enough