Watery Grave Read Free Page B

again, that once the lad had had a taste of salt water he would never willingly return to life on shore. But being his mother, she would see it onK-her way, talked of the advantages he would have here, supposed he might return to Westminster like a proper little schoolboy. Nonsense! The lad’s sixteen years old, near a man —more a man, by God, than any clerk or secretary in the City. What do you think of him, Jeremy?”
    “Pardon, sir?”
    “What do you think of Tom Durham? What sort is he? ‘
    “Oh . . , well, a good sort.”
    “Is he manly?”
    “He’s good-sized.’
    “Well, yes, of course, he would be at that age, but what about his manner? His voice? His bearing?”
    “He’s deep-voiced, sir.” Of that I was painfully aware, for mine was at that time still a bit unreliable; I was never quite certain which octave would sound when I opened my mouth to speak.
    “Has he an attitude of command? ‘
    I thought of the ease with which he ordered me to take his things to the waiting hackney.” Yes sir,” said I, “I would say he does.” Then, hesitating: “And … indeed he has the speech of a young gentleman in which is mixed all manner of seaman’s terms. He talks rough, but as a gentleman might.”
    “Ah,” said Sir John, “excellent, excellent.”
    He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking hard upon some matter which obviously concerned Tom Durham, his face quite animated. Had it not been for the black silk band that covered his eyes, I fancied I would have seen them shining with excitement. Clearly, he had a plan.
    “You’ll be going to meet him soon? ” I asked.
    “Not for some time, no. I think it proper that I let them have their talk and bring it to a close. Then perhaps Kate will be willing to listen to my plan.” Feeling about the tabletop, he found a bulky letter —sealed and ready for delivery.” What I have here is for the Lord Chief Justice. You know the way to Bloomsbury Square, of course.”
    I took the letter from him. Indeed I did know the way. I made the trip to the Earl of Mansfield’s impressive Bloomsbury residence once or twice a week.” Will an answer be required?” I asked.
    “No, none.” And at that point he delved into the voluminous pocket of his coat, brought up some coins, and felt them to assess their worth. He offered me the whole handful.” Take these,” said he, “and take the rest of the afternoon for yourself. Go to Grub Street and buy a book or two. Do whatever you like, Jeremy.”
    He urged them toward me, and I took them.” Thankyou. Sir John,” said I.” I believe I’ll do just so.”
    “We simply must get you onto some regular system of payment. Remind me, please.”
    “Oh, I shall. Sir John.”
    “Go now, but be back early for dinner.”
    So it was that I returned not much after Five and found Mrs. Gredge quite in a state. She was running about the kitchen aimlessly, wiping her hands on her apron.
    “Oh, Jeremy, where was you, boy? I needed you so!”
    “But you told me to leave! Pushed me out, you did.”
    She sighed. “Oh, I may have,’ said she. “Yet when I need you, I need you.”
    “What is it that you want, Mrs. Gredge?”
    “You must put the roast in the oven for me,” said she.” I built the fire up hot. It’s all ready to go, but I’m fearful I may not have the strength for it.”
    “Just open the oven doors, Mrs. Gredge, and I shall do what needs be done.”
    She scurried to the oven and, using a good, thick rag, did as I asked. The oven fire was indeed hot —I hoped not too hot to cook the roast proper. As for the roast itself, I knew it was not near so heavy as she had made it out to be. I had bought it from Mr. Tolliver myself and carried it home. I knew well she could lift it, iron pan, potatoes, and all; I had lately seen her lift heavier loads. I wondered at her game.
    Yet I did not challenge her. I simply asked why she had not sought the help of Tom Durham in my absence.
    Her answer struck me as queer: “Oh,