Peter Ackroyd - Hawksmoor

Walter rose to go, but Hawksmoor put up his hand to detain him.

'Murderers don't disappear. Murders aren't unsolveable. Imagine the chaos if that happened. Who would feel the need to restrain himself then?' And for a moment Hawksmoor saw his job as that of rubbing away the grease and detritus which obscured the real picture of the world, in the way that a blackened church must be cleaned before the true texture of its stone can be seen.

Walter was impatient to be gone. 'And so what do we do next?'

'We do nothing. Think of it like a story: even if the beginning has not been understood, we have to go on reading it. Just to see what happens next.'

'So it seems that we've lost him, sir.'

'I don't mind losing him for the moment. He'll do it again. They always do it again. Trust me on that.'

'But we have to stop him before then, don't we?'

'All in good time, Walter, all in good time.' Walter glanced at him curiously, and he hesitated. 'Of course I want to stop him. But I may not have to find him -he may find me.' And then he paused. 'What time is it now?'

WHAT A Clock is it, dear Mr Dyer? I have let my Watch run down.

It is almost six o'clock, I replied as I took off my dark Kersey-coat and placed it upon a Pin by the doorway. Mrs Best gasps at this and, looking down on me from the Stair-head as I entered the street Door, puts a Hand up to her Breast. And this Thought ran around in my Head for a Moment: you damn'd confounded pocky Whore.

The time goes so swiftly, says she, I wish I were able to Recover it a little and that, Mr Dyer, in more ways than One.

Time cannot be restored, Mrs Best, unless it be in the Imagination.

Ah the Poets, the Poets, Mr Dyer. Then she looks on me again and says sighingly: I would have no need for the Memory of Things past if that which were Present were more agreeable. She put her hand upon the Rail as she spoke and then cried out: more Dust, and I cleaned here only yesterday!

It was my Desire to make my self pleasing to her at this Point, for in the wide World who was there to trust besides? Are you Sick, I asked her.

I am I know not how, she replies as she comes down the Stairs to me, but I sicken for want of Company: I must entertain my self with my little Dogge and Catte; I am a poor Widow, as you see, Mr Dyer, and in this antient House there are so many Noises to Disturb me. Then she laugh'd giving me a little Push, and I smelt the Liquor upon her Breath.

Well Mrs Best, they say these old Houses have as many ghostly Tenents as a Mossoleum, so you will not starve from want of chitchat.

It is not Words but Deeds I require, she replied, and you know, Mr Dyer, I do not have a bit of Nun's flesh about me.

At this I stepped back from her and was at a Loss what to say, but even then Nat Eliot came from my Closet and I called up to him, Nat you Rogue, come down to the Kitchin and employ your self about my Supper. And Mrs Best said to him also: tell Mr Dyer about the Gentleman, Nat.

Which Gentleman, I asked.

He left no Name is that not right, Nat?

And no message neither, added Nat.

And this Image was drawn in my Mind: Mr Hayes, the maggot-headed Rogue and no good Surveyour and writer of Letters that threaten me, had come to the Door of my Lodgings when he knows that I am not withinne, so that he might Disturb me and Confound me and Perplex me. I have watched him these last Seven days, since I left my own Note to him. And I beleeve that he follows me where he may.

Mrs Best was talking above my Thoughts, and I could hear her latest Noises like the tolling of a Bell: Nothing, says she, is to be heard of but Disputes about Elections do I say right Mr Dyer? (You are right, adds Nat furiously) I saw Mrs Wanley in the street -she has the House by the Corner (I know that House! cries Nat) -and her Conversation was a little Surprizing to me, for this Politicking is a Fever even the Women seem to catch (What can be done about it? asks Nat confounded at the News). Well, she continu'd laughing at Nat who had sat himself down upon the bottom Stair, a little Opera may drive away that Sicknesse, am I not right again, Mr Dyer? And then she sang out: Tho' the Years sail away on a Wherry, Be merry, my friends, be merry.

And tho' Time may spill from the Cup,

Drink it up, my friends, drink it up.

I will eat now, says I putting on a cheerful Air to fitt her Catch, for if I go to Bed hungry I will rise in the Night.

Oh, says she, be sure to wear your Night-gown and I will be obliged to you.

Nat enters the Kitchin and I climb the Stairs of Eternity to my Chamber, expecting a Moment when one small Thrust shall plunge me into the Pitte. Mr Hayes, Mr Hayes, what do you know and what can I do? I am so far from finding an End to my Work as never to be able to hope for any End: when I enter'd my Closet, I wer. t to Stool at once and the vast Outpouring caused me Torment.

And then, on the next Day, another Stroke fell upon me. I knew how to guard my Thoughts in the Office, and even with Walter Payne I was more private than before tho' I knew not how this affected him.

The villain Hayes still watch'd me and on this morning he happened to be examining some Draughts in my Chamber as I worked there with Walter. Do I understand this right, says he, that in the new church of St Mary Woolnoth you wish the wooden Cornice to be continu'd round, the Ceiling plain without pannells, and the steps in the Cupola to be of Portland stone?

That is how I have fashion'd it, Mr Hayes.

And there is to be no Pinnacle?

There is no Necessity for a Pinnacle: those express'd in the first Désignes were much too Slender.

Well, well, says he, you are the Architect. And then he goes on: does Sir Chris, know of this, and of the long Delay?

I gave him a Report on the Pinnacle long before this, I replied keeping down my Bile, and as for the Delay Sir Chris, knows that the death of the Mason stopp'd our Work. He knows also, I continu'd, that I will complete my Church withinne the Time granted to me even tho' the originall Building was in so bad a Condition. (To give this Fact another Turn: the death of his son, Thomas, by falling from the Tower of the Spittle-Fields Church, work'd strangely upon the Mason, Mr Hill. He died suddenly in his Chamber for, when taken with an apoplectical Fitt, he fell upon his Hearth where the Coles lay lighted, and his Back and Side were so grievously Burnt that there was no Hope for him.)

Well Mr Dyer, says the Serpent Hayes once more, it is all within your Hands to make or to mar. And with this he left my Chamber, smiling upon Walter.

The Smile enraged me and I could no more restrain my self: It is the work of Providence, I said to Walter, that most Men are not able to foretel their own Fate, for there was one in this Room who must surely die.

We all must Die, murmur'A Walter looking strangely upon me.

Yes, I replied, but it is hard to say who is Sick and who is Well.

I left the Office at Six and when the Rogue Hayes parted from me in the Passage I returned his Bow but coldly. It was a misty Evening, but it was not so obscure that the little Hawks-eyed creature could not follow me: so I walked with all speed up Whitehall and turned into the Strand, and for all this space I could hear the sound of Heels following me. I looked back once but the Villain hid himself from me: well, well, says I to my self, I will lead you a Dance for one day you must learn how to lead Apes in Hell. I quicken'd my Pace towards the Seven Dials and did not trouble to turn my Head, for I knew that he would not wish to lose me; but yet when I came to St Giles I crossed over with all Speed and the Run of the Coaches must have kept him on the other Side.

Then I hasten'd thro' Grape Court and turned into the Red Gates at the half-paved Entry there. Here I let the Mist leave me as I Stood by the Door: I walk'd in bravely enough but, when I saw the Letter by the Counter, I was close to sinking down upon the Floor. It was address'd, To Mr Dyer to be left for him at the Red Gates by Grape Court: With Care. But who could prophesy where I was to be, and who could calculate upon my Arrival on this Day? I open'd the Letter with trembling Hands and read what could not be indur'd: This his to lett you know that you shul be spoken about, so betid you flee the Office by Monda next or you may expect the worse as suer as ever you was born.