Edward Marston - The Laughing Hangman

They had been followed.

***

Anne Hendrik counted out the coins and handed them over.

‘There, Ambrose,’ she said with relief. ‘’Tis done!’

‘Thank you.’

‘My debt is cleared at last.’

‘There was no hurry to repay me,’ he said, putting the coins into his purse. ‘And I am far more in your debt than you in mine. No amount of money can ever discharge that obligation.’

‘I have done nothing.’

‘Is saving a man’s life nothing? Is giving him fresh hope nothing? You did all that for me and more.’

‘I think not.’

‘Every penny I have is yours for the asking.’

‘We can pay our own way again now.’

‘You must know how much you mean to me, Anne.’

She turned away and resumed her seat in order to avoid what she sensed might be an embarrassing declaration. They were in the parlour of her house in Bankside. The butcher stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, peeved that the settlement of her debt had deprived him of an excuse to call on a regular basis and searching for a means to secure a more permanent mooring in her affections.

‘I acted out of simple friendship,’ she said.

‘Is that all that it will remain?’

‘For the moment, Ambrose.’

‘And in time?’

‘Who knows what the future will hold?’

‘Who indeed?’ he agreed, shaking his head ruefully. ‘A year ago, I was the most contented of men. I had a happy marriage, a son I adored and a business that was thriving. What else could anyone ask? Then, suddenly…’ He clapped his hands together. ‘I lost it all. My dear wife died, my son was taken from me by deed of impressment, and I had no pleasure from my occupation. What was the point in struggling on?’

‘There is always a point, Ambrose.’

‘You taught me that.’

‘I, too, lost my dearest partner.’

‘But not your child as well.’

‘No,’ she conceded sadly. ‘Not my child. The joys of motherhood were denied me and that is a grievous loss in itself.’ She brightened. ‘Besides, your son has not left you for ever. Philip is still alive and like to return to you before too long. Nick will see to that.’

‘Will he?’

‘Put your trust in him.’

‘It is growing difficult to do so.’

‘Ambrose!’ she scolded.

‘You saw the way he rounded on me. He is supposed to be helping Philip, not accusing the boy’s father with such severity. I am sorry, Anne, but I begin to have serious doubts about Nick Bracewell.’

‘Then you do not know him as well as I.’

‘That is another cause of my discomfort.’

He moved away to hide the surly expression on his face. When he turned back to her, it was with a slow smile and a surge of ungainly affection.

‘I have written to Philip again today,’ he said.

‘Your letters will be a comfort to him.’

‘He is old enough to be told now. To understand.’

‘Understand?’

‘What an angel of mercy you have been. Without you to rescue me, I would have given in. Philip knows that. He always liked you, Anne. He always talked kindly of you. It will make such a difference to him. Philip was much closer to his mother than to me but that is only natural. It will make such a difference.’

‘I do not follow.’

‘A child needs a proper home, Anne.’

‘He has one.’

‘He has a house but something is missing from it.’

Anne realised what he was trying to say to her and steeled herself. In paying off her debt she had hoped to lighten the weight of his friendship, but she had merely given him the cue to translate it into a deeper relationship.

‘I know that I have little enough to offer,’ he began, planting himself before her. ‘Jacob Hendrik was a decent, God-fearing, conscientious man and I could never be the husband to you that he was. But I swear to you-’

‘That is enough,’ she interrupted. ‘I would prefer it if you said no more on that subject.’

Robinson was hurt. ‘Have I offended you?’

‘No, Ambrose.’

‘Do you find me so revolting, then?’

‘You are a good man with many qualities.’

‘But not good enough for you?’

‘That was not my meaning.’

‘Then why do you spurn me?’

‘I do not,’ she said, standing and crossing to the window. ‘I am just not ready to consider…what you wish to propose, that is all.’

‘Not ready now?’ he said, brightening. ‘But one day…’

‘I make no promises.’

‘One day…’

‘My life is happy enough as it is.’

‘A husband and a son will make it even happier.’

‘No,’ she said, turning to face him. ‘We are friends. I like to think that we are close friends. You helped me when others would not and I will always be grateful to you for that. It made me want to help you to bring Philip home.’

Robinson stared at her. A resentful note intruded.

‘It is him, is it not?’

‘Who?’

‘Your precious Nick Bracewell. He is the canker here.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It has all changed,’ he said bitterly. ‘Until he came back into your world, you had time for me and interest in my affairs. We talked together, supped together, even walked to church together on a Sunday. All golden times for me. Then this friend, this Nick Bracewell, appears again and my chances go begging.’

‘That is not true.’

‘He changed everything.’

‘No, Ambrose.’

‘But for him, you would have been mine. I know it.’

‘Nick changed nothing !’

The force of her rejection was like a slap in the face. His body tensed and his eyes blazed but he made no comment. Swinging on his heel, he went out of the house and slammed the door behind him.

***

Lawrence Firethorn was just about to climb into bed when he heard the thunderous knocking on his front door. Margery was already lying among the pillows in her nightgown with a smile of lustful anticipation on her face. Vincentio’s Revenge had sent them early to their bedchamber and they knew that nobody in the house would dare to interrupt them.

When more knocking came, Firethorn stamped a bare foot on the floor to signal to the servant below.

‘Whoever that is, send them on their way!’ he yelled.

‘Ignore them, Lawrence,’ purred his wife.

‘When you lie before me like that, my sweet, I would ignore the Last Judgement. Was ever a man so blessed in his wife? Was ever lover so well matched with lover?’ He moved in to bestow a first tender kiss on her lips. ‘Was ever an actor given such a fine role as this that I play now?’

He embraced her with fiery passion and buried his head between her generous breasts. Digging her fingers into his hair, she pulled him close and urged him on with cries of delight, groaning with even more pleasure when his hands slipped under her nightgown to explore her warm thighs. The bed soon began to creak rhythmically but a louder noise rose above it. Somebody was actually pounding on their door.

Ecstasy froze on the instant. Firethorn could not believe it. At a time when he and his wife most wanted to be alone, they were being rudely disturbed. It was unforgivable. Leaping from the bed half-naked, he stalked across the room, determined to castigate the servant in the roundest of terms before hurling her out into the street. When he snatched open the door, he fully expected the girl to be cowering in terror. Instead, he was met by the improbable sight of Edmund Hoode, hands on hips, standing there with his legs set firmly apart.

‘I have come to speak with you, Lawrence,’ he asserted.

‘ Now ? Must it be now? Must it be here?’ Firethorn stepped outside the bedchamber and pulled the door shut after him. ‘Do you know what you have just interrupted?’