Edward Marston - The Amorous Nightingale

Roland Trigg ran a purple tongue over his swollen lip.

'She was took, sirs,' he said with a mixture of sadness and anger. 'Stolen from me in broad daylight. I fought hard to save her but I was outnumbered. Four of them in all. One with a pistol and three with cudgels. They left their trademark all over me, but no matter for that. Help me to find them, sirs, for I have a score to settle with that quartet.'

'A score?' echoed Christopher.

'Yes,' vowed the other, bunching his fists. 'I mean to kill each one of them with my bare hands. Slowly. Just for the pleasure of it.'

It was an afternoon of mixed fortunes for Jonathan Bale. Though he cleverly apprehended the thief who broke into unoccupied premises in Knightrider Street, he failed to catch the man's accomplice, a nimble youth who got away with appreciable takings. The constable went on to stop a fight between two irate neighbours, adjudicate in a marital dispute over a dead cat and give evidence before the magistrate in three separate cases. When a breathless Abraham Datchett accosted him with the news that a corpse was bobbing about in the river, Jonathan rushed down to the wharf, only to discover that the watchman's failing eyesight had confused a piece of driftwood caught up in some tarpaulin with human remains. There were further examples of success and failure during his patrol of Baynard's Castle Ward. It was a typical day.

When his feet took him close to Addle Hill once more, he slipped home to see his wife and to take some refreshment. Sarah Bale was in the kitchen as he let himself into the house. Bare arms deep in water, she was washing some clothes for regular clients. Among the jobs she took on in order to supplement their finances was that of tubwoman, receiving filthy sheets and returning them with an almost pristine whiteness. It was hard work but Sarah revelled in it, singing to herself as she laboured and building up a steady rhythm in the tub.

Jonathan came up behind her to plant a kiss on her cheek.

'Are you still doing that, my love?' he said.

'It will keep me busy for a couple of hours yet.'

'You take on too much, Sarah.'

'I never refuse good, honest work.'

'You should.'

'We need the money, Jonathan.'

'We'll manage somehow.'

'You always say that.'

'Only because it's the truth.'

She broke off to dry her hands and to appraise her husband.

'You look tired,' she noted.

'It's been a tiring afternoon.'

'Have you called in here to moan about it?'

'I never do that, Sarah, and you know it,' he said solemnly. 'My work is left behind the moment I step through that door. This is my refuge. My place of sanctuary.'

'I wish I could say the same.'

She glanced at the washing with a wry smile. Sarah Bale was a plump woman with a round face that was full of kindness and character. His wife was almost twice the weight she had been when she married him but Jonathan was quite unaware of the transformation that had taken place. The happiness of their union imposed a benign form of blindness on him. Looking at her now, he marvelled yet again at her comely features and her youthful vitality.

Though he resented the amount of work she accepted, Jonathan saw the practical advantages. Apart from bringing a steady trickle of additional money into the home, taking in washing, sewing or doing other chores gave Sarah an insight into the lives of many families in the locality. Most of what she picked up was idle gossip but some of the information was extremely useful to her husband. Jonathan prided himself on the fact that he knew everyone in his parish by name but it was his wife who often provided significant detail about some of the people he nominally protected.

Jonathan poured himself a mug of beer to slake his thirst.

'Whose washing is that?' he asked, indicating the tub.

'Mrs Calcart of Thames Street.'

'When is her baby due?'

'You're behind the times, Jonathan,' she said, poking his ribs with an affectionate finger. 'She brought a lusty son into the world over a fortnight ago. There'll be even more work from Mrs Calcart from now on.'

'That sounds like bad news.'

'Not to me,' she said brightly. Sarah folded her arms and became serious. 'I've been thinking about what you said earlier.'

'Earlier?'

'That meeting you had with Mary Hibbert.'

'Yes,' he admitted, 'it's been preying on my mind as well.'

'Oh? Why?'

'Because I feel I was rather stern with her. Without cause. I tried to be friendly but my words were somehow tinged with disapproval. Why deceive myself?' he asked with a shrug. 'I do disapprove of what she's doing. There's no denying that. But it doesn't give me the right to condemn her.'

'That was my view as well.'

'I'm sorry I spoke out of turn to Mary.'

'She's still very young.'

'Young and vulnerable.'

'You should have been more considerate.'

'Should I?'

'More understanding.'

'About what?'

'Her situation. This position she managed to secure. Most people would think that Mary Hibbert has done very well for herself.'

'I'm not one of them, Sarah.'

'There you go again!' she teased. 'Running the girl down.'

'I'm worried about her, that's all. Deeply worried. Daniel Hibbert was a good friend of mine. Any child of his can call on me for help.'

'But that's not what Mary did.'

'More's the pity!'

'Aren't you forgetting something?' she said quietly. 'When the Plague ravaged the city, she lost two parents in a matter of weeks. Think on that, Jonathan. Yet she never complained or asked for sympathy. Mary and her younger brother kept struggling on. She did all she could to improve herself and her hard work finally paid off. Look what she's achieved. A place in the household of a famous actress.'

He was cynical. 'Famous or infamous?'

'Don't be so harsh.'

'I'm only being honest, Sarah. You think that Mary Hibbert has made something of herself but I shudder at what's happened. Her parents raised her to lead a life full of Christian endeavour, and where has it ended? In the playhouse! That veritable hell-hole. That public sewer called The King's Theatre.'

'Can it really be so bad?'

'Worse than I dare to describe.'

'But you said that Mary had not been corrupted.'

'Not as yet.'

'You told me how friendly and open she still was.'

'That's true,' he conceded. 'She had no airs and graces. Nor did I catch any hint of coarsening. It was a pleasure to talk to her.'

'It's a pity you didn't give her the same pleasure,' chided his wife, putting a gentle hand on his arm. 'You mean well, Jonathan, I know, but your strictures can be a little daunting at times.'

'Someone has to speak out.'

'There are voices enough to do that.'

'Mine will always be one of them.'

'Even when you're talking to an innocent girl? What harm has she done? What crime has she committed?' She watched him carefully. 'I'll warrant that Mary has kept her innocence, hasn't she? Did you find time to notice that about her?'

Jonathan pondered. 'Yes, Sarah,' he said at length. 'I did.'

'And?'

'Mary Hibbert has not been polluted.'

'Then why read her a sermon?'

'I've been feeling guilty about that ever since.'

'So you should.'

'Yet the girl needed to be warned.'

'Against what?'

'The dangers that surround her.'

Sarah gave him a hug. 'You spy dangers everywhere,' she said fondly. 'It comes from being a constable. You may claim that you never bring your work across that threshhold but it's not true. It follows you wherever you go. You're always on duty. You can't help being what you are, Jonathan, and I love you for it.'

'There's some consolation, then,' he said with a smile.

'You're a good man. Too good in some ways.'