CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The Principal Officer

“Why do they shrink from straight-forward dealings and rather have recourse to crooked policy?”

 

Bury, Charlotte, The Diary of a Lady-in-Waiting

“If you please, Mr. Townsend,” said the page boy. “Sir David’s here.”

“Send him in at once,” Townsend told the page. He pushed himself heavily to his feet. He flattered himself he was still a strong and active man, but after so many years, London’s unforgiving stones played havoc on a man’s knees. He swept his glance around the office, making sure all was in order. He ran a rueful hand across his chin. He’d had no time to shave or indeed to go home. His stubble was at risk of growing into a beard, and Mrs. Townsend had begun sending him meals and strengthening cordials.

Someone had hung out a sign within sight of the Houses of Parliament declaring THE QUEEN FOREVER, THE KING IN THE RIVER! He had Lavender out trying to discover where it had come from, but he did not have much hope, and that weighed on him.

“Sir David.” Despite his exhaustion, Townsend greeted the coroner heartily. “How can I help you?” He gestured that the other man should sit and asked if he would care for coffee or brandy. Sir David declined both.

“I’ve got an ugly death on my hands, Townsend,” he said as he took one of the armchairs in front of Townsend’s desk. “Sensational too. The papers will be all over it by tomorrow.” His face turned sour. “I’m sorry to be bringing this to your door. I know that you’re stretched thin with the commotion around the queen’s return.”

Townsend sighed and settled himself back down behind his broad desk. “A man should not criticize his betters lightly, but I would have thought Her Majesty would have some decency of feeling—” He stopped himself. “Well, that is neither here nor there. Of course Bow Street is at your disposal, sir. What’s happened?”

“An attorney has been killed. One Josiah Poole.”

“Poole?” The name sent a jolt through Townsend, and he could tell that Sir David noticed immediately.

“You’ve heard of him?” Sir David asked.

“It’s possible . . .” Townsend steepled his fingers, as if thinking deeply. After a decent interval, he shook his head. “No, I cannot recall exactly. He may have had some business in the magistrate’s court recently.”

“Perhaps I’ll ask Sam Tauton,” said Sir David. “His memory ought to be considered a national treasure.”

“Yes, well, if he’s in. He’s been very busy with several matters. The queen’s arrival has brought out the mob, as you remarked just now, and there’ve been vandalizations and thefts. And several threats.” And banners and graffiti. “Our resources are being tested.”

Sir David nodded in sympathy.

“What happened to this Mr. Poole?”

“He was stabbed, thrown from a carriage, and left to die in the street.”

Townsend reached for his coffee and downed a gulp as if it were neat brandy. His stomach rebelled briefly. “Ugly, as you say.”

Sir David was watching him. Sir David was a careful man, and a perceptive one. He and Lady David had been to dine with Townsend and his wife several times, and, of course, Townsend made it his business to be on good terms with all the officers of the Crown who crossed his path. Bow Street was an important cog in the machinery of public order, but it was only one cog. It was vital that it mesh smoothly with all the others.

At the same time, he’d never quite been able to cultivate the friendship he would have liked with the coroner. Ordinarily, he shrugged this off. Some men were naturally diffident. Now, though, it worried him.

“It was Adam Harkness that found him,” Sir David said.

Townsend frowned before he could stop himself. “What was Harkness doing there?”

“He had business at the sponging house nearby. Been hired to deal with a matter of stolen property.”

“For that woman, I’ve no doubt,” Townsend said lightly. “Miss Thorne.”

“I believe Miss Thorne is connected with the matter.” Sir David’s expression, like his voice, remained studiously bland.

Townsend was, of course, aware that Sir David had engaged Miss Thorne and her infinite capacity for gossip to help tease out details for certain of his cases. He had no quarrel with this. The king held Sir David in esteem, and the magistrates relied on his professional acumen. However, with Harkness as his assistant, Sir David might easily become bamboozled by the woman and her clever banter. He should have taken precautions the moment he heard that Harkness was working directly for Sir David, but other matters had arisen, and he’d put it off.

That might now prove to be a mistake.

However, it was Townsend’s policy not to waste time on regrets. The problem was before him. He must work with what he had.

“It’s a shame, Sir David, to see such a man as Harkness . . . such a mind, and an officer second to none . . . I looked to him as my protégé. I even thought he might take over this office.” Townsend gestured to the space around them, which was filled with tokens of appreciation from the highest in the land, given to him personally. “But instead, he’s allowed himself to be put in leading strings by an eccentric spinster.”

“Miss Thorne has been very helpful to my office,” Sir David remarked.

Townsend smiled. “To be sure, to be sure. Eccentrics have their uses for us, as well. And she is admitted into the drawing rooms of some of our finest hostesses. The gossip of ladies can be very enlightening. And I must say, she has done Bow Street a considerable favor by keeping the more . . . susceptible sort of woman from writing to us to find their lost lapdog or missing earbobs. I should remember to thank her for that.

“But we must be careful.” Townsend leaned back in his chair. “She’s being encouraged by some radical and mischievous persons. They have given her the idea that she can do our work, the work of solid professional men. I’m afraid that sooner or later, this must run her into serious trouble. Even danger.” It was seldom a mistake, Townsend found, to appeal to a gentleman’s sense of chivalry.

Sir David’s own smile was sharp, and his eyes sparkled. “You do not, I hope, include me among your radical and mischievous persons?”

Townsend laughed. “No, no, of course not, Sir David. In fact, His Majesty spoke of you the other day, when I was with him to discuss arrangements for Caroline of Brunswick’s arrival and, of course, the upcoming trial. He said that he was fortunate in being so well served by his officers, beginning with the coroner.”

The king had said no such thing. Indeed, Townsend had barely exchanged three words with His Majesty in recent months. Not that it signified, of course. He could not expect to enjoy as much of the king’s time and confidence as he did the prince regent’s. He must wait and be patient and serve humbly.

“If opportunity arises, you may tell His Majesty I am deeply sensible of his trust in me,” Sir David was saying.

“As are we all,” replied Townsend, hauling himself out of his own thoughts with a certain difficulty.

“I suppose I should tell you, Townsend, that I’ve put Harkness to work on this matter of Poole’s murder. Is that going to cause any problem?”

Townsend spread his hands. “I will not say I am comfortable with the man doing any sensitive work these days. I know you have taken him under your wing, Sir David, but I still worry about his radical tendencies. Who knows where they will lead him?”

“Well, today I hope it will lead him to finding out who killed our man.” Sir David gave Townsend a small flicker of a smile as he got to his feet. “Willful murder by person or persons unknown is not a verdict I care to hand down. For now, if you can spare me a runner, I’d be grateful. My clerk will forward you a draft for the fees. I’ll write you as soon as we schedule the inquest. Hopefully, it will be in two or three days.”

“Very good, Sir David.” Townsend also rose. “I’ll have a man for you as soon as you send word.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Where is Harkness now?”

“He’s gone to speak with Poole’s family and search the house for possible reasons behind his murder. After that, I expect he’ll return to the White Swan public house in Carter Street. Poole kept a room there, along with a large number of his papers. Harkness said it had been tossed, possibly by the murderer.”

This news caused Townsend’s jaw to clench.

“Then perhaps what you need is one of Stafford’s clerks,” said Townsend as soon as he could trust himself to speak normally. “He can sift the papers while Harkness is out interviewing this man Poole’s associates and neighbors.”

“A good thought. Let’s put it into action. Thank you, Townsend.”

Townsend shook Sir David’s hand and opened the door for him. He stood back and watched as the coroner walked briskly through the wardroom.

Once Sir David was out of sight, Townsend turned to the page boy on his stool beside the door.

“Find Stafford,” he growled. “Now.”