Death at St. James's Palace Read Free Page B

magistrate - John saw that the old King’s mistress, Amalia Walmoden, Countess of Yarmouth, whose grounds were adjacent to the Duke’s, was sitting in a high-backed chair close to the fire. He turned to his father.
    “I had not expected anything quite like this.”
    “Mr. Fielding is always a big attraction,” Sir Gabriel answered cynically.
    And indeed it was perfectly true. The court at Bow Street was perpetually packed to the doors by those idle people with nothing better to do with their time; come to see a sightless man dispensing justice to the criminal classes.
    “But where is the great fellow?”
    Sir Gabriel raised his quizzer. “Not in the room, though I do spy Mrs. Fielding over there.”
    “Together with that bundle of trouble, Mary Ann.”
    “Yes,” said Samuel enthusiastically, revealing that his interest in the Magistrate’s sixteen year old adopted daughter had not waned since he had last seen her. John, who had known the girl since she was a child, gave his friend a slightly amused stare which Samuel stoically ignored. Yet it was certainly true that she had developed into a stunning beauty for all her mischievous ways and the trouble in which she had been involved in the past. And she was presently surrounded by men of all ages, gazing at her midnight hair and sparkling eyes.
    “Oh for heaven’s sake go and talk to her,” said John, bursting into laughter, “your tongue is hanging clean out your mouth.”
    “What a hideous description. But I shall not do so. I know you think I am far too old for her.”
    “A touch mature, perhaps. But, my dear friend, I cannot tell you how to conduct your life. She is now of an age. If you wish to pay court to her, you must do so.”
    Samuel, his cheeks rathered reddened, opened his mouth to reply, but the entrance of the Blind Beak into the room brought about a sudden hush. John, who had been his friend for so many years, stood in silent admiration, reappraising the man whom he respected nearly as much as his own father.
    John Fielding, soon to be Sir John, stood a vast six feet in height, tallness being a characteristic shared with his famous half-brother, Henry. And not only was he tall but broad, a big powerful lion of a man at the height of his powers. His long wig flowed to his shoulders, his handsome face with its prominent nose seemed to personify strength. Only his eyes, hidden from the world by the black bandage that he always wore, revealed the flaw in the diamond, the one thing that made this colossus vulnerable. Yet he strode in with dignity, his clerk, Joe Jago, barely seeming to touch his elbow as he guided him.
    Elizabeth Chudleigh hurried forward. “My dear Sir, there are more friends arrived to greet you.”
    Sir Gabriel led his party towards the Magistrate but before he could speak Mr. Fielding said, Mr. Rawlings is here I believe.”
    He had done it before, many times, but still John marvelled at the uncanniness of it. It was just as if the man could see.
    “My essence?” he said.
    “Just so. People have their own particular perfume; yours is quite distinctive.”
    John laughed. “I trust it is not of the kind that you would go out of your way to avoid.”
    A melodious rumble came from the Magistrate’s chest. “Not at all. Those are the sort that confront me each day in court.”
    Miss Chudleigh interrupted and it occurred to John that she was not the sort who would remain silent a moment longer than she had to. “Is it true, Sir, that you can recognise over two thousand villains by their voices alone?”
    “I believe claims of such a nature are made about me. Though the accounts do differ.”
    “In what way?”
    “Why, Madam, sometimes it is one thousand, sometimes three.”
    “And which is true?”
    Mr. Fielding smiled, his full, rather sensual, mouth curving. “I have no idea. Miss Chudleigh. I have never kept a record. You would have to ask Mr. Jago.”
    Elizabeth turned a ravishing smile on the Magistrate’s clerk, that