Watery Grave by Bruce Alexander Page B

been a suitor for her hand. Therefore, after her marriage to Sir John, she must have thought it more seemly and certainly less embarrassing to avoid his stall altogether. Thus, taught by her example and with a word or two to direct me elsewhere, she diverted my course from Mr. Tolliver’s place of business and sent me to his lesser competitors. When something special was wanted, such as that grand beef roast we had eaten at Tom’s homecoming and the next night, too, I was sent traipsing off to Smithfield Market. Yet not on this day. Why was it so? Even now, I can only guess that perhaps a matter of time was involved, or perhaps even quality, for his meat was equal to any I bought at Smithfield —as she must have known.
    In any case, it was to Mr. ToUiver I went on that warm day in July 1769, to seek “a side of lamb fit for roasting.” He was there at his post, serving a great swarm of buyers. I took a place in line, and as I waited I was recognized. He acknowledged me with a nod of his great head, and when my turn came, he waited not for me to speak but, blurting out a bit uncertainly, gave forth his greeting.
    “Well, Jeremy lad, it’s been a bit since I seen you, ain’t it? ” said he.
    “Yes sir, ” said I, “though I’m not quite sure why.”
    “Well, I’ve a good idea of it.”
    “I’ve been often to Smithfield.”
    “They’ve good meat there, though no better than mine, as I’ll be pleased to show. What will you have?”
    I told him, and he went off to the meat, uncovered a small carcass hanging apart from the rest, and with a few expert turns of his big knife cut it near in half—and then he remained to cut some more. He sent away the flies, wrapped the remains of the carcass in its cloth, and my meat in paper. This package he delivered to me.
    “This is true lamb, ” said he, “not young mutton. It makes a smaller piece than you might suppose, so I gave you a leg, as well, at no charge. Call it a gift to bring you back again.”
    “Well, thank you, sir.” I counted out his payment into his palm.
    “The fact is, I’d see you whether you bought from me or not. You’re a good, plucky boy, Jeremy. Remember that day we chased them black-suited devils away?”
    “Oh, I do, sir,” said I, most enthusiastic.
    “We showed them, didn’t we? ” He shook his head in thought, giving a most queer smile as if the memory he had called up gave him both pleasure and pain.” Remember me to your mistress. Next?”
    And I was pushed aside by a cook in a great hurry. The package of meat under my arm, and my other purchases filling my hands, I started back to Bow Street. I knew not altogether why, but I felt quite filled with emotion by the encounter. Could we, when young, but understand as well as we feel, how wise we would be.
    Arriving home, I found a stranger in our kitchen giving his attention to Sir John. He was a small man oi no particular distinction, perhaps the keeper oFa little shop, or a clerk. He held his tricorn tight in his two hands before him and gave me a quick, nervous smile as I went silently to the kitchen table and unloaded my packages. iMrs. Gredge was seated there, Fully dressed, in an attitude of waiting, looking no better nor worse than she had the day before. She threw me a glance, no more, then lowered her eyes as she continued to listen to Sir John.
    “… and since, in regard to her many long years of service in my household, I feel an obligation —nay, a duty —to provide for her in her declining years, I have decided to settle upon her an amount of one pound a month.”
    “Oh, but that is most generous, sir,” said the small man. He squeezed his tricorn even tighter. I feared he might crush it altogether.
    “You are married, are you not?”
    “I am, yes sir.”
    “And you have children?”
    “We been blessed with three.”
    “And a noisier trio of rascals you never heard,” squawked Mrs. Gredge in her inimitable jackdaw manner. Her tongue still seemed a bit large