Paul Lawrence - Hearts of Darkness

We did as we were told and then looked back to Ludgate. Soldiers stood against apprentices, squaring their shoulders and trying to look calm, poking at the apprentices with swords, or waving muskets, unconvincing. The apprentices danced upon their toes, taunting the older men, daring them to attack, some swinging their blue aprons about their heads, trying to flick the soldiers upon the nose or ear.

‘What’s new?’ I asked the driver, jumping to the ground.

‘Apprentices don’t like being told what to do,’ he replied. ‘Soldiers won’t let them through.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because if James Josselin escapes the City, the man who lets him pass will be strung from a gibbet by the balls,’ the driver replied. ‘They’re not letting anyone out.’ He clambered back onto the cart, jerked the reins and headed north up Ave Maria Lane.

‘Where did this wind come from?’ I complained, clutching my jacket about my chest. It wasn’t supposed to blow a gale when the sky was blue.

‘The wind hath bound him up in her wings,’ Dowling replied, thoughtful, still staring at the growing crowd. ‘If Josselin wanted to get to Whitehall, this is the way he would come.’

‘Or else he would take a boat,’ I said. Did soldiers guard the docks too?

The square broken tower of St Paul’s soared high above us, the west-side portico just to our right, tall columns standing like prison bars. A steady stream of folk flowed in and out its mouth, oblivious. Two men leant against the Bishop’s Palace, watching us intent, long brown coats hiding what they wore beneath. Lazy men with nothing better to do? If Arlington was after Josselin, there would be more than soldiers at the gates; the City would be swarming with spies.

I slapped Dowling on the back. ‘I will see you at my house.’

‘With horse and wagon,’ Dowling nodded, heading north.

I headed east, girding my loins for a mighty battle.

I stood in the middle of the road again.

‘Cocksmouth!’ Jane exclaimed, arms across her belly, face reddening. ‘We have only just come back from Cocksmouth. What makes you think I would consider returning to that stinking sty?’

‘It’s safe,’ I whispered. ‘No one knows I have relatives at Cocksmouth.’ Save those neighbours now listening at their windows.

‘Safe from what?’ Jane clenched her fists in front of her cheeks like she planned to punch me. ‘Safe from you, that’s true, and you from me.’ The yellow flecks in her eyes sparked like gold.

‘Lord Arlington has set his men upon us,’ I replied, glum. ‘I’m not sure what we’re going to do about it, but we must make sure you and the baby are safe, else Arlington will come after you as well as I.’

‘Why should Lord Arlington come after me?’ Jane blinked. ‘I’m a servant. What have you told him?’

‘Nothing,’ I protested. ‘He doesn’t need me to tell him anything. He has an army of spies that do that for him. Believe me, he …’ I found myself frozen, mouth half open, leaning forwards, arms extended. How could I help her understand the enormity of the threat without frightening her out of her wits?

Jane narrowed her eyes and breathed deeply. ‘What have you done?’ she asked, suddenly quiet.

‘I told you he sent us to Shyam to find James Josselin,’ I reminded her, bracing myself. ‘Well, we found him, but didn’t capture him, for there is a good chance he is innocent. Arlington told us to watch for

Josselin outside Holland House but I went inside to see if the Earl of Clarendon might help.’

Jane folded her arms.

‘It was a trap. Arlington’s men were watching us all the time.’

‘Then he will dismiss you,’ Jane nodded calmly, ‘and not pay you the money he has never paid you anyway.’

I shook my head. ‘No. He will cut us in half upon an instrument of torture he calls a Spanish donkey.’

Jane’s pale face turned whiter.

I held up my hands. ‘Before you ask, I don’t know how I got myself involved, but now I am and so are you.’

‘What will you do?’ she asked, eyes brimming.

‘Find James Josselin,’ I replied, meeting her gaze. ‘We know where he is. We’ll talk to him and all will become clear.’

My assurances provoked more tears, but the pool soon emptied and she wiped her nose upon her sleeve.

‘Cocksmouth,’ she said again, glowering. ‘You have no relatives other than your mother?’

‘Thank the Lord my mother doesn’t live in Shyam,’ I replied, sensing her rage simmering once more.

She shook her head. ‘You expect me to go to Cocksmouth, by myself, with child.’

‘If I come with you it will solve nothing,’ I protested. ‘We have to find a way of placating Arlington.’ Or killing him, I thought, surprising myself. ‘Besides, you will not be going by yourself.’

Her fingers tightened about her dress. ‘Who?’

‘Lucy Dowling,’ I tried to smile. ‘She is a nice woman.’ Attractive too, for her age. Much more attractive than her husband. ‘They will be here soon to pick you up. You are leaving in an hour.’

‘An hour!’ she snorted. ‘I cannot leave without saying goodbye to my family.’

‘You can,’ I said, firmly. ‘Your family mustn’t know. If they know then they will talk.’ For all her family chatted like sparrows. ‘I will tell them you will be back soon.’

She shook her head again, angry. ‘You are such a liar.’

‘Aye.’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘You are right. But we will be back afore ye know it. Perchance you won’t even reach Cocksmouth before we catch you up and bring you back home.’

Her eyes brimmed again. ‘I don’t want to have my baby in Cocksmouth.’

‘Nor do I,’ I agreed, heartily. ‘We’ll be back in London long before that.’

She clenched her fist and pointed it at me. ‘You promise me, Harry Lytle.’

‘I promise,’ I said. ‘Now I must go. Next time I see you I will have sorted everything out.’ I waved a hand with more confidence than I felt and strode purposefully back towards Newgate.

That went well, I congratulated myself, though my soul felt wooden.

Now all we had to do was find James Josselin.

I had experienced many types of different wind, from the light and fluffy, to the heavy and strong, but never such a wind as this. It blew the heat of the day into men’s faces, drying the eyes and throat, carrying a fine mist of dust through the air.

Dowling walked sullen. He hadn’t mentioned God for almost an hour, which was some relief, but I worried he saw nothing beyond the end of his nose, so sunk in misery he seemed. We headed west, away from Red Rose Lane. We spent the best part of two hours searching for Josselin, without success.

I attempted to rouse the shaggy beast. ‘He’ll show up later,’ I said. ‘No doubt he has errands to run.’

‘Who knows what he is plotting?’ Dowling replied. ‘We both know Josselin is a little mad.’

A small procession turned out of Swithin Lane ahead of us, four soldiers struggling to keep up with a tall, blond man wearing a silly hat.

‘Withypoll,’ I gasped, flinging myself backwards against the wall of the nearest house, my feet sinking into the teeming gutter. They didn’t even glance in our direction, marching with such purpose I wondered if they had trapped Josselin.

‘We ought to follow,’ I said, though the prospect chilled me.

More lines appeared on Dowling’s forehead.

I shook his arm, and extracted a foot from the stinking mess seeping into my shoes. ‘Come on.’