Hearts of Darkness (28 page)

A boat and three more soldiers waited for us at the river. A crowd of angry citizens shouted and threw stones, desperate to cross to the south bank, for now the bridge was inaccessible.

The soldiers bundled us through the crowd, clearing a path without decorum, shoving and waving their swords. A tall man with wild eyes and red cheeks thrust his face towards us, and the soldier stabbed him just beneath the ribs. He stumbled forwards, grasping for my arm, just as I fell into the bottom of the skiff.

I lay there prone while the boat lurched out to the middle of the river. When I looked up, heavy-headed, I saw the whole terrible glory of it all. The entire City blazed, from west wall almost to the Tower, flames pushed left by the swirling gale. Plumes of poisonous smoke blanketed the sky, high as a man could see. Boats covered the
water, small and large, many sinking dangerously deep into the river, overburdened with the possessions of those that fled.

I sat frozen, entranced by the sight of it, bewildered by the notion that Arlington could possibly still be alive. How else could he have escaped other than down Ludgate Hill? Yet flames engulfed the hill just minutes after we ran through the gate.

‘Have you seen Arlington yourself?’ I asked one of the soldiers.

He threw back his head and brayed like a donkey. ‘Aye, I saw him. Stood there smoking, shirt and his breeches still smouldering. An angrier man I have not seen in my life.’ He laughed again. ‘Angry with you, I’ll be bound.’

‘Are you sure it was him?’

‘You will see him yourself, soon enough,’ the man replied, smile fading as we neared the Tower.

We rode the current fast through the starlings, past the bridge and out onto stiller waters the other side, before the boat lurched left for the Tower. More soldiers waited at Tower Wharf. As we neared the quay I thought of the Spanish donkey. Today would be the day I rode her, I wagered, unless God affected some unlikely intervention. I pictured Arlington piling up the weights in anticipation of our arrival. My bowels loosened, and I sought Dowling’s attention. He frowned so hard I could barely see his eyes.

They dragged us through the Tower Gate and out along the high-walled passage leading to the ruins of the Develin Tower. As we climbed the stone stairs I listened acutely for any sound from above, but all was quiet. What was God thinking, I thought, to save Arlington of all people?

The soldiers in front of us pushed open the door. One burly fellow stepped forward, grim-faced and sombre, but the others hung back.

‘At last,’ hissed a familiar voice from the far end of the room.

Something flew past my nose, crashing against the stone wall behind my head. Arlington’s short stocky frame emerged from the shadow, bristled face foremost, skull covered in a thin layer of tiny, frazzled hairs. The scar upon his nose stood out in an angry, purple welt, black plaster gone. His skin was dull black, as if permanently singed. Patches of angry, red flesh stood out like beacons, weeping upon his cheek. Without eyebrows or eyelashes, yellow teeth bared in fury, he resembled some strange monster climbed from the depths of the Thames.

‘Did you find the letter?’ he demanded, rounding the frayed head of the Spanish donkey, stood menacingly in the middle of the room.

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘Show me it.’

I shook my head. ‘No.’

‘Prove you have it.’

I recited what I could remember from the letter. ‘
As a consequence, we hath allowed others to establish an unnatural presence that serves neither of us well
.’

‘Give it to me.’

‘We don’t have it with us,’ I replied. ‘If we had it, you would kill us.’

‘Take off your clothes,’ Arlington demanded. ‘We will see if you speak truth.’

I glanced over my shoulder at the big man, stood stony-faced at the door, arms folded. I took off my jacket, loosened my breeches, peeled off my shirt and lowered my drawers. Dowling followed suit, eyeing me sideways, brow furrowed. We stood naked with our hands covering our yards while the big man rummaged through our clothes.

Arlington kicked our clothes with the tip of his boot, body trembling with rage. ‘Tell me where the letter is or I will hang you from the donkey.’

I attempted to look disdainful, my every fibre screaming out in terror. ‘You think we didn’t predict this event?’

‘Of course you didn’t,’ snapped Arlington. ‘You thought I was dead.’

‘If not you, then another of the King’s lackeys,’ I replied. ‘You hurt either of us, then the letter will be sent to half a dozen parliamentarians. If they don’t kill you, the King will.’

‘Liar,’ Arlington cried. ‘You have not had time.’

I prayed his spies weren’t with us at Bride’s. ‘We had all night,’ I answered. ‘The letter is safely in the hands of someone who knows not what it contains together with a note that tells where Edward Josselin’s body may be found. The body with your strange blade still protruding from its chest.’

Arlington leered. ‘I know where you hid Edward Josselin’s body, and my spies will find this note.’

I kept my face stiff, determined not to betray my shock. How had he found the body so quick?

‘Good luck,’ I replied. ‘You hurt us or kill us, then the box will be opened and the contents passed to a list of parliamentarians, men who will not hesitate from stringing you up and slicing your guts in front of your face.’

He stared into my face, eyes searching for the truth. His skin smelt like roast pork and his naked burns glistened. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Once we read the letter, we realised what danger we were in. What did you think we would do?’

‘Run to Clarendon,’ replied Arlington. ‘Which is where my men found you.’

‘This morning,’ I pointed out. ‘And as you have discovered, neither of us has the letter upon our person.’

Arlington turned his attention to Dowling, moving stiffly. ‘What about you, butcher? You’ve worked for me the longest. Give me the letter and I will ensure your safety. Refuse me and I will destroy you and your family. Starting with Lytle.’ He waved a hand in the air, wincing, whereupon the big man lifted me by the arms and placed me once again upon the donkey. I took my weight upon my wrists.

‘Torture him,’ Dowling said, voice choking. ‘You will torture him anyway. We will not give you the letter under any circumstance. To do so would be to sign our own death warrants.’

Arlington threw back his head and roared in frustration, eyes protruding, thick skin upon his head rolling back in a series of fleshy waves. Spittle coated his lips and dripped upon his chin.

‘Very well,’ he said at last, voice trembling.

He pointed a shaking finger at Dowling’s nose. ‘You refuse me. What brave fellows you think you are. How would you resolve this situation?’

‘Release us,’ I replied. ‘That’s all.’

‘I release you and what happens to the letter if you are struck by lightning, or plague, or dropsy, or
old age
?’

‘It’s unlikely we will die together,’ I said, calm. ‘While one of us lives, we shall honour our pledge.’

Arlington clenched his fists and stared like he would tear me apart with his hands. ‘I must give that letter back to the King.’

‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘You can tell him you destroyed it because you feared its existence.’

Arlington screamed, unleashing his fury upon the donkey’s head, knocking its snout askew. ‘If the King finds out you have it he will kill you. You know that?’

‘We must trust each other, then,’ I said. ‘Do you not think?’

His mouth smiled but his eyes did not. ‘Shall a lord be held to ransom by a butcher and a clerk?’ he mused. ‘I think not.’

‘We want nothing from you, your lordship,’ I said quietly. ‘Only to be left alone.’

‘And you will keep this pact?’ he whispered, stepping close. ‘No matter what happens?’

I nodded.

He eyed Dowling. ‘Remember your loved ones.’

He swept out of the room, footsteps clattering down the stairs, issuing terse instruction to the soldiers who followed. Then all was quiet.

Dowling stared at me like I was a lunatic. ‘Where is the letter?’

‘In the river,’ I said. ‘I screwed it up and threw it in the water on the way here.’

‘Then we have nothing,’ he exclaimed, craggy face aghast.

‘Which means Arlington can never find it.’

Dowling shook his head, despondent. ‘What if we must produce it?’

‘If I hadn’t thrown it away we would be dead already,’ I replied, impatient. ‘How is that not obvious to you?’

Dowling folded his arms. ‘You might have asked my opinion.’

‘In front of Arlington’s men, aye.’ As I recovered some peace in my soul, my thoughts turned to others. ‘Now we must tell Josselin’s mother her son is dead.’

Then we could ride to Cocksmouth and fetch back Lucy and Jane. Our nightmare was over.

Still Aldgate escaped the fire. We grabbed buckets at the Postern and threaded our way through the throng, a long chain of grim men, sweat pouring from their brows as they fought to save their homes. I dropped my bucket outside the front of Katharine Cree.

Ash coated the house from rooftop to street, a thick blanket of evil, black flakes that fell from the eaves to disintegrate upon our clothes, leaving stains that could never be washed away. The gargoyles peered out from beneath the grime, squinting foul-tempered.

Josselin’s betrothed opened the door as before, dressed all in black, pale-headed. As soon as she set eyes on me, she seized both my hands in hers and stared, beseeching. I was suddenly conscious I stank worse than a tannery, but she seemed not to notice.

‘We waited for you,’ she said in fractured voice, eyes watering.

Thin lines circled her eyes and an ashy halo surrounded her black
hair, hanging in the air. Her wide eyes shone, innocent of guile and full of trust. Her hands were warm and I wished I had assigned this task to Dowling, but he stood behind me, silent.

‘Where is he?’ she asked.

I grimaced, my shoulders slouching, and she saw he was dead.

‘You knew him well,’ she said soft, as if he was
my
betrothed.

I saw the effort she made to remain composed, lower lip stuck out almost to the tip of her nose, hands gripping mine harder than she realised.

‘We got to know each other,’ I confessed, grudgingly.

‘And you admired him,’ she said. ‘It was impossible to know him and not to admire him. Wasn’t it?’

‘He was a unique man,’ I said, uneasily. No other man had burnt down London all by himself.

She stared at my lips, opening her own lips so the shape of her mouth matched mine. I felt compelled to continue. ‘It was impossible not to …’

‘Love him,’ she finished eagerly. ‘Everyone loved him, but I knew him best.’

Yet he never mentioned her.

She squeezed my hands harder. ‘You were his friend. You must feel it too. He cannot have died without some sign, else his life is sacrificed for nothing.’ Her eyes studied every inch of my face. ‘Something must remain. His words, at least.’

I wasn’t sure what she meant. ‘His words remain, aye.’ I nodded sincerely, tugging at my hands.

‘And his example,’ she whispered, as if to herself.

‘True,’ I said. ‘His example too.’

‘Where does he lie?’ she asked, tears streaming down her face.

‘At St Paul’s,’ I answered awkwardly. ‘I’m afraid his body is burnt.’

She let my hands slip away, turned and wandered into the house, walking in a crooked line. ‘I will never see him again, never, never, never.’

I followed her, Dowling at my side.

‘He died as he lived,’ she said, low.

How did she know? ‘His end was worthy of his life,’ I said, desperate to be gone.

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.

The grille lay crooked, displaced from its mountings and carelessly replaced. I knelt upon the stone flagstones and held the flame to the surface. I peered into the water, desperate to find Josselin’s grey head, else nothing at all.

‘What do you see?’ whispered Dowling over my shoulder.

At first just blackness, as my eyes accustomed to the dark surrounds. Then something long and thick, dancing in the weak current. I pushed the torch down against the grille, and felt my heart break.

A woman’s red hair drifting softly up, reaching out, then falling away. I stared, unbelieving, unable to think. Dowling wailed, yet I barely heard his voice above the sound of blood pounding in my ears. Time slowed, as I watched, transfixed, the thick, red strands of Jane’s beautiful hair dancing in the still waters. Then a great fist squeezed my heart unbearably hard, sending waves of pain up through my chest and out of my eyes and nose.

Jane was dead. The baby too.

I let my head fall against the grate and fumbled with my fingers, pushing them through the grille, trying to touch the water. I felt Dowling’s arm fall across my shoulder pushing me down, felt his wet cheek against my neck.

The end of the world. God’s verdict upon my useless soul.