[Sir John Fielding 03] - Watery Grave by Bruce Alexander

Author:Bruce Alexander [Alexander, Bruce]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780399141553
Google: wLmGPwAACAAJ
Publisher: Putnam
Published: 1996-05-15T04:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

In which Sir John fails

to read the Riot Act

to the crew

Though there was much interest in the body of Lieutenant Grimsby by the crew members present there on the Thames bank, and much speculation as to the cause of death, none seemed to know quite what to do next. One suggested he be carried to the Navy Board and dumped on the doorstep of Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Redmond. Another thought the generous thing might be to hold a wake for him at the Ship Tavern.

The boatman showed his indifference to the matter by hauling out the dead officer from the bow and bumping him down in the river mud. He then pushed his boat into the water, jumped in and settled himself behind the oars. When last seen, he was out in the channel, dragging oars left and right, steering expertly on his way to his next landing.

“P’rhaps if we just left him here someone would be by and know just what should be done.”

There were a few grunts of assent to that suggestion. Feet shuffled. It was clear that they, too, meant to be quit of the corpus.

“You cannot do that,” said Tom most severely.” Leave him here in the sun, and he will bloat and stink something horrible in an hour or two. It ain’t the decent thing to do.”

“Tom’s right, ” said one, nodding sagaciously.

“Aye, ‘tis so.”

I cleared my throat and pushed my voice down to its deepest.

“If you will pardon me, gentlemen, ” said I, “there is but one way to treat this matter.”

I was eyed suspiciously by all but Tom.

“Who’reyou to tell us, lad?”

“I am assistant to Sir John Fielding, Magistrate of the Bow Street Court.”

“Aye! So he is, so he is. Remember, Bert? The boy with the blind man who made a fool of the captain.”

“Now I recalls. He’s the one knocked Mr. Boone down the stairs, ain’t he?”

“You’re awright with me, lad!”

“Aye, tell us what then. We’ll hear you out.”

I declared that he should be taken to the Raker, who was the keeper of all bodies found in curious circumstances such as these. I would then notify Sir John, who would then learn how Mr. Grimsby died and when and all sorts of other things a competent Doctor of Physick could tell him. (Alas, in truth, he knew only one such. Mr. Gabriel Donnelly, who was far away in the Tibbie Valley, wooing a reluctant widow.) I made every effort, in short, to create the impression that there was a proper manner in which to handle inconvenient matters such as this, and of course they would wish to do it properly.

They looked at one another and scratched their heads.

“How far is it? ” asked one at last.

“Not far,” said I, “just beyond London Bridge some.”

“Well… I suppose we could do that. They’s enough of us. We could share him out between us, two b two.”

There was a general murmur of agreement — but then came an objection:

“I don’t know, sounds like mighty dry work on a hot day like this.

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