The Color of Death by Bruce Alexander Read Free Book Online Page A

upon Sir John’s condition, and Annie to her daily reading lesson with Mr. Burnham. (Our cook had now had near two years of instruction in letters; and as she was bright and eager to learn, she could now read and comprehend all but texts so dense they would give a challenge to all but Oxford scholars.) And I? Well, I would naturally do whatever Sir John asked of me to help keep alive the investigation begun the night before. He would also surely want me to take a letter asking that for the foreseeable future all cases ordinarily tried by the Bow Street Court be brought instead before the magistrate for Outer London and its environs, Saunders Welch. Mr. Welch might complain bitterly, but I could see no other way to handle it.
    Breakfast was quite generous, though not as leisurely, as the day before. Even so, it was near nine before Lady Fielding and the other “ladies” (as she called them) had reached that stage of readiness when a hackney might be summoned and set to wait at the door for them. And so it fell to me to go down to fetch the coach.
    Yet it happened that I was stopped on my way by Mr. Marsden, the court clerk, who sought to know something of Sir John’s condition. I spoke reassuringly and again quoted Mr. Donnelly — serious but not mortal.
    “Constable Brede brought the news,” said Mr. Marsden. “I was quite overcome, I was, when I heard the news. I been workin’ for the gent near twenty years now, and I’ve seen him in some tight places, but he never took a bullet before.”
    To hear such made me most uncomfortable. After all, had I not been Sir John’s guardian? Was he not my responsibility?
    “I … I’m afraid I hadn’t my pistol out quick enough. I was armed, you know. Constable Baker saw to that.”
    “Oh, think not upon it, Jeremy,” said Mr. Marsden. “From what I heard from Mr. Brede, you acquitted yourself right well. Tried to push Sir John out of the line of fire, you did, and returned fire.”
    “And missed!” That, reader, came not from me but from just behind me in a deeper voice which was most familiar. “Or so I heard.”
    I turned round and faced him. “You heard correct, Mr. Fuller. And when I sought to pull my second pistol from its holster, he turned and ran from me.”
    “As well he might. Even a blackie’s got more sense than to stand there and let you have another shot at him. He was a blackie, wasn’t he?”
    “As I remember it,” said I, “yes he was.”
    At that Mr. Marsden gave a long whistle. “You don’t mean it,” said he in wonder. “I’d not heard that.”
    “Well, now you have,” said Mr. Fuller as he turned sharply on his heel and walked away.
    Mr. Marsden stared after him, perplexed, for a long moment. Then, coming to himself, he said, “Ah, Jeremy, I almost forgot. I’ve something here for you.”
    “What is that, sir?”
    “It was left with me by the new fellow, Constable Patley. He’d heard about Sir John, so he thought I should give it to you instead.” So saying, he pulled a folded and somewhat wrinkled sheet of paper from his coat pocket and offered it to me. “He says it’s his report on the robbery at Lord Lilley’s residence.”
    I took it from him and glanced at it. There seemed little for me there, and so I tucked it away. “I’ll look at it later,” said I.
    “I got little from it for the file,” said Mr. Marsden. “A name, and not much more.”
    “I’ll read it to Sir John when he’s ready for it. But right now I’d better find a hackney. We’re off to see him at Black Jack Bilbo’s.”
    Then, with a wave, I left him and proceeded out the door to Bow Street.
    It was Mr. Burnham who answered my knock upon the door to Mr. Bilbo’s residence. My first glimpse of him told me that though he had been up quite as late as I, he appeared to be far better rested. Smiling, he threw the door wide and beheld the four of us standing on the porch. When his eye fixed upon Lady Fielding, the smile vanished from his face and