Paul Lawrence - Hearts of Darkness

She bowed her head, an elegant profile with crooked back. ‘I was not with him.’ Then she wailed, great waves of misery surging from her throat, choking her.

‘Don’t,’ I heard myself protest, unable to bear the grief she exhaled.

She turned with hands clasped, her face awash. ‘You were with him to the last?’ she asked. ‘I think how lonely he must have been. No one to understand him as I understood him. No one to hear.’

I couldn’t imagine the two of them together, Josselin the wild spirit and this strange creature.

‘I was with him at the end,’ I assured her. ‘I heard his last words.’

The air froze, and I knew I had said something immeasurably stupid.

‘Repeat them,’ she pleaded in heartbroken tone. ‘I need his words to live with.’

I licked my lips and felt a trickle of sweat meander down my spine.

‘The last word he uttered,’ I said, slow, ‘was your name.’

I prayed she didn’t ask me to repeat it, for my mind was a blank and I couldn’t remember what her name was.

She sighed lightly then smiled. ‘I knew it.’ Then she turned around and drifted from the room like a ghost, blown gently by a thin breeze.

Enough. Time to go to Cocksmouth.

We took refuge on Tower Hill. I thanked God for the coins the King had tossed upon the street and prayed I would find my little chest again, buried in the garden at Bread Street. Else I was destitute. Culpepper’s shop was destroyed besides.

Once we found a spot, Dowling headed off to Cripplegate to find a horse and wagon. Good luck, I reckoned, yet we couldn’t walk to Cocksmouth. We needed some form of transport.

When the King rode by at noon, I hid in the crowd. Ne’erless it was a relief he came, for a vile poison infected the masses, a fermenting hatred for all things foreign, incited by rumours of an impending army of Dutchmen and Frenchmen marching upon the City. The King told them the fire was the work of God, which wouldn’t have cheered Dowling much. Then he said he would defend England from all its enemies and that we citizens remained safe under his protection.

A loud explosion silenced everyone. New flames of yellow erupted over the top of the wall, a deafening blast in front of the main fire. Word quickly spread they used gunpowder to save the Navy Office, at last blowing up buildings to prevent the fire spreading east, should the wind change. Too little too late for the thousands clustered on the grass bank. When Dowling returned, he found me staring into space, wondering how long it took to rebuild a city.

‘Harry,’ he gasped, face flushed.

Lucy stood behind him, eyes wide, lips parted, staring. She was supposed to be on her way to Cocksmouth with Jane.

I leapt up. ‘Where is she?’

‘Davy told me to go to your house to fetch her, but there was no one there,’ Lucy replied, wringing her hands. ‘I thought she must have gone somewhere else.’

‘No one there?’ Where would she have gone without telling me? Or did she leave a message at the house before it burnt? I breathed deeply. She wasn’t stupid. Once she knew Bread Street was destroyed Jane would know I worried. But how to find her among the fifty thousand displaced, swarming around the walls?

‘Did you go inside?’ I asked Lucy.

She nodded. ‘The door was open. I thought she might be preparing to leave. She left two bags packed by the door, but she wasn’t there. I waited an hour.’

My mouth felt dry. ‘Did you find anything to tell where she went?’

She shook her head, eyes red, pressing her lips together. ‘I looked, Harry. I looked everywhere.’

‘What about the neighbours?’ I asked. ‘Did they see anything?’

She shook her head. ‘I came back in the evening. They said soldiers were there, said you were there too.’

Panic clutched my heart. ‘That was hours later. Where would she have gone?’

Something was wrong. Even if Jane decided not to go to Cocksmouth, she wouldn’t have left Lucy wondering, nor would she have left her bags.

I scanned the crowds surrounding us on all sides. Why would she flee? I thought of Withypoll, but he couldn’t have taken her, else why would he have been at our house with soldiers later in the day?

‘God help me,’ I croaked, realising. ‘What if Withypoll came for us, and only for us?’ Dowling and Lucy avoided my gaze. They worked it out already.

‘Arlington.’ It struck me. ‘

No matter what happens , he said.’

I gazed into the flames, high above our heads. What destruction did it signify?

‘I’m going to the Well, Davy,’ I said, blood pounding at the back of my eyes. ‘Will you come?’

He laid an arm across my back and said something to Lucy I couldn’t hear. She turned and disappeared into the throng.

‘You still have the King’s credentials?’ I asked. ‘We won’t get into the Tower without them.’

He pulled the battered document from inside his coat. I watched him out the corner of my eye, saw him bite his lip, felt his fingers dig into my shoulder.

Soldiers swarmed behind the Bulwark Gate, scurrying in all directions, fetching gunpowder from deep within the Tower and piling kegs against the wall. Inside the menagerie the lions roared, unsettled

by the noise of soldiers yelling and the far off roar of occasional explosion. We hurried across the short bridge spanning the dry moat and dashed across the cobbles towards the Well Tower.

‘How did Arlington discover the body so quick?’ I fretted, heart pumping.

‘Just because he told us to dispose of the body doesn’t mean he didn’t leave spies to make sure we did it,’ Dowling muttered. ‘Obvious when you think on it.’

We stood just twenty paces or so east of the Records Office, where I’d toiled all those dreadful tedious years under the employ of William Prynne. How excited I’d been to escape the mind-numbing boredom. What I wouldn’t give to turn back the clock.

They boarded up the Well Tower years ago. Originally built to protect against invasion from the Thames and to supply water by means of the two shafts leading from the base of it down to the river, it fell into disuse. It was the first place I’d thought of when Arlington told us to get rid of Edward Josselin’s corpse. Conveniently close to the site of the murder, easy to retrieve the body if ever we were able to inform on Arlington. But Arlington anticipated us.

‘I’m sure I nailed those boards back,’ I said, watching the door swing gently in the dying wind.

‘You did,’ Dowling growled, pushing it open. ‘Someone has been here.’

The round, narrow room was dark and stuffy. Green moss climbed the walls, thriving in the damp air, disappearing up into the blackness of the winding staircase. A smaller staircase led downwards, into the depths where we fetched Edward Josselin. I stood rooted to the floor.

‘She’ll be safe, Harry,’ Dowling assured me. ‘You told her we were in danger. We’ll find her.’

‘We need a torch,’ I said. ‘A flame shouldn’t be hard to find.’

Back out in the passage a torch burnt bright above the Records Office, illuminating the locked door. I strode to fetch it, praying to the God in whom I had so little faith. Just this one time, I prayed, and I will attend church every day. I will renew my studies and spread the word to all parts of England.

As we entered the Tower I heard a steady drip from down below. The stairs led down to a cellar from which led the two shafts, each with a metal grille at the top and at the bottom. We had worked one of the grilles loose and weighted Josselin’s body so it sunk down to the second grille, out of sight to the casual observer. A clever hiding place, so I’d thought.