Free Murder in Grub Street by Bruce Alexander Page A

to me, began hauling, one after another, a parade of the dead from the upstairs living quarters I had shared with my father. It was just as he had done in the Crabb house, though he made no jests and gave no leering smiles; and the unwrapped dead were not the same. The body of my mother and little brother, who perished of typhus in Lichfield, were first. They were followed by the wasted corpus of Lady Fielding, who had died of a tumor but weeks before. As she passed, I felt Sir John at my side and looked up to find him with his proper face, silk band in place and copious tears flowing from beneath it. Finally, carried between the Raker and his unknown helper, came the body of my father. His face was, as I had last seen it, half covered with ordure from his pelting in the stocks; yet it was he, unmistakably, and he was unmistakably dead. As he passed, I looked up at Sir John as he looked down at me, and then he placed his hand upon my shoulder. Strangely then, he began to shake it most briskly.
    And I came reluctantly awake, with the hand of Mrs. Gredge on my shoulder where I had dreamed Sir John’s to be. I was greatly relieved to be returned to the land of the living. So relieved, in fact, that I minded not Mrs. Gredge s screeching exhortation to be up and about and help her in the preparation of dinner. There were potatoes aplenty for me to peel and carrots to chop, as Sir John liked them.
    As it happened, Mrs. Gredge herself had been asleep most of the afternoon. She made no secret of it, complaining to me of the weariness she had felt of late. In truth the woman, who was then near seventy years of age, had quite exhausted herself in caring for Lady Fielding during the latter’s debilitating and protracted illness. I wonder, looking back, how she had managed it, along with her regular duties as housekeeper and cook.
    “I shall be sorry to see you go,” said she to me. (Yet she said it in such a grudging manner that I near doubted her words.)
    “I fear I have not been as much help to you as I might.”
    “More than you know,” said she. “These old bones don’t move around as they once did. Once down on the floor for a fair scrub, I doubt at times I shall ever be able to rise again. If for no more than that, I shall miss you, Jeremy. You’re a good scrubber.”
    I thanked her kindly, then called her attention to the fact that my departure had been somewhat delayed by the death of Ezekiel Crabb. I knew full well that the good woman paid no attention whatever to what went on in the court below, and even less to talk circulated on the streets of the city outside.
    “Yes,” said she. “Sir John told me of the death of him you had apprenticed to. Pity, I suppose.”
    And that was all she had to say about that.
    The preparation of dinner proceeded apace. Sir John arrived and chose to take his meal with us, as had lately become his custom. He had little to say during the meal; none of it pertained to the events of the afternoon or the night before. Upon finishing, he congratulated Mrs. Gredge on her preparation of the chop he had just downed right quickly. Then he rose and announced he was early for bed that night and made his way toward the steps to the upper floors. Yet he lingered there, as if struck by a thought.
    “Jeremy,” said he, “I have something to discuss with you.”
    “Yes, Sir John,” said I, jumping to my feet, ready to follow.
    “Yet let it wait a bit. Wash up for Mrs. Gredge. Do what she needs of you, then come to me in my study.”
    “As you will, sir.”
    With that, he left us, and I began clearing the table, eager to be done with my tasks so that I might get on to my appointment with Sir John.
    “Mind now,” spoke Mrs. Gredge from her place at the table, “not so fast. I’ll not have none of those dishes broke.”
    With her cautions, water to heat, and pans to wash, it was near half an hour before I was excused to climb the stairs to the smallish room that served Sir John for a study.