I remain, Sir, your most obedient humble servant,
M.B.
South Moulton Street
There was no mention of the price of the girl, but Mr. Fowler hardly cared. His private parts were now swollen and extremely tender, so much so, in fact, that he could think of nothing else as he sat at his desk and tried to conduct the business of the day. He looked again at the letter and again felt reassured by the excellent impression it made. In every aspect, it smacked of the utmost reliability, and that was important. Fowler knew that many virgins were nothing of the sort, but rather young girls initiated a score of times over, with their “demure state” freshly renewed by the application of a small seamstress’s stitch in a strategic place.
He also knew that intercourse with a virgin was not uniformly accepted as a cure for venereal disease. Many men swore the experience produced a cure; others rejected the idea. It was often argued that the failures resulted from the fact that the girl was not genuinely fresh. Thus Mr. Fowler looked at the stationery and the penmanship, and found there the reassurance he hoped to find. He sent off a quick note of vague thanks to his friend Pierce for his assistance in this matter.
Chapter 18
The Carriage Fakement
On the same day that Mr. Fowler was writing a letter of thanks to Mr. Pierce, Mr. Pierce was preparing to crack the mansion of Mr. Trent. Involved in this plan were five people: Pierce, who had some inside knowledge of the layout of the house; Agar, who would make the wax impression of the key; Agar’s woman, who would act as “crow,” or lookout; and Barlow who would be a “stall,” providing diversion.
There was also the mysterious Miss Miriam. She was essential to the planned housebreak, for she would carry out what was called “the carriage fakement” This was one of the most clever methods of breaking into a house. For its effect, the carriage fakement relied upon a solid social custom of the day— the tipping of servants.
In Victorian England, roughly 10 percent of the entire population was “in service,” and nearly all were poorly paid. The poorest paid were those whose tasks brought them in contact with visitors and house guests: the butler and the hall porter relied on tips for most of their annual income. Thus the notorious disdain of the porter for insubstantial callers— and thus, too, the “carriage fakement ”
By nine o’clock on the evening of November 12, 1854, Pierce had his confederates in their places. The crow, Agar’s woman, lounged across the street from the Trent mansion. Barlow, the stall, had slipped down the alley toward the tradesman’s entrance and the dog pens at the back of the house. Pierce and Agar were concealed in shrubbery right next to the front door. When all was in readiness, an elegant closed carriage drew up to the curb in front of the house, and the bell was rung.
The Trent household’s hall porter heard the ring, and opened the door. He saw the carriage drawn up at the curb. Dignified and conscious of tips, the porter was certainly not going to stand in the doorway and shout into the night to inquire what was wanted. When, after a moment, no one emerged from the carriage, he went down the steps to the curb to see if he could be of service.
Inside the carriage he saw a handsome, refined woman who asked if this was the residence of Mr. Robert Jenkins. The porter said it was not, but he knew of Mr. Jenkins; the house was around the corner, and he gave directions.
While this was happening, Pierce and Agar slipped into the house through the open front door. They proceeded directly to the cellar door. This door was locked, but Agar employed a twirl, or picklock, and had it open in a moment. The two men were inside the cellar, with the door closed behind them, by the time the porter received his shilling from the lady in the carriage. The porter tossed the coin in the air, caught it, walked back to the house, and locked up the door once more, never suspecting he had been tricked.