Watery Grave Read Free

leave ticket.” x’Vnd with that, he left us and took his place in the pay line.
    If I was not a servant, then what indeed was I? I seldom gave thought to my station in the household of Sir John Fielding, Magistrate of the Bow Street Court, so glad was I to be included in it. He had been master and friend to me ever since that day only a little more than a year before when I, Jeremy Proctor, had appeared before him falsely accused of theft. Though blind, he had seen through the Knng devices of those who had perjured against me, and then kept me, an orphan, as a helper in his house and court and occasionally as an assistant who served as his e’es in criminal inquiries.
    For the most part he treated me as an adopted son. The first Lady Fielding had expressed the hope from her deathbed that I would be a good son to him. Kate Durham, whom I had known and loved as a friend before her marriage to Sir John, was less maternal to me. But as the second Lady Fielding, she gave me good counsel, friendship, and had a continuing interest in my welfare. She it was who suggested that it might be proper to send me off to school. In his opinion, there was no need for it, so long as I kept reading as voraciously as I had done hitherto. Yet she took charge of my reading, directing it, questioning me on the contents of each book I finished, requiring me to write essays upon diverse subjects. I daresay she was as exacting as any schoolmaster or tutor.
    As for my duties about the house, it seemed only right that I should help Mrs. Gredge, for in the past year she had grown more infirm — and more crotchety, as well. And I found it a joy to do whatever Sir John required of me in his official capacity. There were errands to run, letters to take and deliver, and a myriad of other tasks too varied to mention. I was, as he had once dubbed me, in a jocular mood, his “man Friday.” Having read Defoe’s Robuuion Criuoe more than once even at that young age, I took that gratefully, for I knew Friday to be a willing and resourceful worker.
    So there I was, something less than a son, something more than a servant. The order given me by Tom Durham and his mother’s quick response had served to remind me of my ill-defined state. I did not wait for Lady Fielding to make it right with me, as he had asked her, but with a smile picked up the case, which was neither heavy nor bulky, and set off down the wharf toward Tower Hill.
    “I shall sort it out with Tom, ” Lady Fielding called after me.
    I turned, again smiling, and waved in response. And as I did so, it occurred to me to hope that when she had sorted it out with her son she might also make it all clear to me.
    The Magistrate of the Bow Street Court had had a most eventful twelvemonth past. Not only had he sprung a trap on the perpetrators of the “great massacre in Grub Street, ” as it was known in the broadsheets and gazettes, he had also wedded the widow Durham at St. Paul’s, Covent Garden. Their lives together in the ensuing months had been peaceful and quiet, marred neither by rancor nor by discord. They smiled often, and always to one another, and were given to long evening talks in Sir John’s darkened study. Not many came to visit; those who did not were not missed.
    The only difficulties that had arisen were caused by Mrs. Gredge, the cook. I have said she had grown more infirm and crotchety. Tetchy might be the better word. She would sulk for long periods of time, then give vent to an outburst of anger —usually directed at me, which caused no hurt, for I was accustomed to her ways. But twice or thrice she lashed out at Lady Fielding; on these occasions there was little that could be done to mollify her. She seemed to resent any changes that were made in the conduct of the household, even when they were made to benefit her. Sir John was perplexed by her and confided in me that he believed she harbored some hostility toward the second Lady Fielding out of loyalty to the first. It