Hearts of Darkness (29 page)

‘Withypoll’s little joke.’ Arlington’s voice echoed about the cellar walls. He nodded at the well. ‘He wanted to be here when you found her.’

I stared up at his charred features, unable to read the expression on his hairless face. I staggered to my feet, the cellar spinning about my head like a whirligig. Had I killed him in St Albans, none of this would have happened, which thought stabbed me in the heart once more. It was my fault Jane died. I reached out for his throat, watching his eyes open wide in fright.

‘It is not her!’ he yelled, lifting his arm with difficulty.

I stopped, trying to work out what the words meant. I swivelled on my heel and fell once more to stare through the lattice. I peered into
the water, but couldn’t see her face for hair. I tore the grate aside and threw it against the wall. Arlington edged closer to the door.

‘Hold him!’ I screamed at Dowling.

I reached into the well and found her chin. I lifted it gently upwards, uncertain if I could bear to look upon Jane’s beautiful dead face. But this woman’s face was rounder, her nose smaller.

I felt an immeasurable wave of relief course through my arteries, a wave of elation and joy. Then guilt. ‘Who is she?’ I croaked hoarse. Withypoll’s ‘little joke’.

Arlington wriggled from Dowling’s grip. ‘I have no idea. Nor do I care.’ He rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth. ‘Yet I do assure you that if you don’t return my letter by tomorrow morning, then I will place your housemaid in one well,’ he turned to Dowling, ‘and your wife in the other.’

Dowling twisted his shirt between his hands like he wished it was Arlington’s neck. I stepped forwards and poked a finger at Arlington’s head. ‘Then I would send a copy of your letter to every parliamentarian in England. They will hang you.’

‘I have thought on it,’ Arlington sneered. ‘The King will swear the letter is a forgery and none will dare argue otherwise. Memories of the last Republic are too recent.’

‘The King might avoid execution, but you wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘You would be his scapegoat.’

I met his gaze, stony eyes unflinching. So the lord decided not to be held ransom by the butcher and a clerk, whatever the cost. Dowling watched me too.

‘I can’t give you the letter,’ I replied, dry-mouthed.

Arlington shook his head. ‘Don’t say it, Lytle. Don’t make that mistake.’

‘The original is destroyed,’ I said. ‘I threw it in the river on the way to the Tower.’

His jaw dropped and his eyes narrowed. I met his stare easily, the hate in my soul providing me with all the strength in the world.

‘I will fetch you the copies,’ I said.

Arlington’s cheeks reddened. ‘The copies?’

‘Yes, your lordship.’ I glanced at Dowling, whose skin was grey as ash. ‘Which are in various places. I will fetch them all back to you tomorrow.’

‘Why did you make copies?’ Arlington asked.

‘You threatened several times to kill us,’ I replied.

‘How many copies?’ Arlington whispered.

‘Three,’ I lied, without thinking if three was better than two or four. ‘They are in a safe place. I will bring all three.’

‘You had better,’ Arlington said slow, brow furrowing. ‘How do I know how many copies you made? How do I know you don’t still have the original?’

I met his gaze, pressing all my fears down towards my toes. ‘As I said, your lordship. I will return all copies to you, tomorrow. I am your loyal subject.’

He sighed and his shoulders slumped. ‘You are much cleverer than I thought.’ Then his eyes flashed. ‘If you speak truth, I need have no fear. I might kill you without fear of reprisal, yet I would not
need
to kill you. If you speak false then you deserve to be killed, yet to kill you would be to sign my own death warrant.’ He cocked his head. ‘You pose me a riddle, and I cannot see the answer.’

‘I speak truth,’ I assured him.

His mouth smiled but his eyes did not. I fancied he would like nothing more than to see me floating face first upon the river.

I bid my soul be silent and hid my hatred. ‘I am sick of this whole business, your lordship. I just want to open an apothecary. I don’t want to work for you any more, nor have anything more to do with murder and treachery. We will give you the copies and walk away.’

Dowling held his breath.

Arlington rubbed a finger upon the new black plaster that bridged his nose. ‘I don’t think so, Lytle,’ he said slowly. ‘I would not be able to sleep at night for fear you forged an alliance with the King’s enemies, that you still kept a copy of the letter – the original, perhaps.’ He shook his head. ‘I will
not
be held to ransom by a butcher and a clerk.’

I failed, I realised. My hands trembled and hot tears gathered at the bottom of my eyes.

‘No,’ Arlington snapped. ‘I will keep you close, both of you.’ He looked to Dowling, giving me time to wipe the water from my cheek. ‘You want to be an apothecary, Lytle, then you will be a royal apothecary, an apothecary to the King. And you, Dowling, will be a royal butcher.’

‘What does that signify?’ I asked, a tremor in my voice.

‘It signifies that the King shall be your patron, and that every man shall know it.’ He smiled broadly, showing all his yellow teeth. ‘I shall be your patron, besides. You have no shop, Lytle, so the King will lend you money to establish your business, and again every man shall know it. You will attend Whitehall, and attend me, and I will be watching you. Every single day.’

He would pay me to become an apothecary?

‘What say you, Lytle?’ his voice echoed loud about the walls.

He asked for my soul. ‘Very well.’

He smiled, flaking lips cracking on his blackened face. He rubbed
his hands together and gazed upon me like I was his favourite dog. ‘Then I will think on it, for I have not yet made up my mind.’

‘Tell us when you
have
made up your mind,’ I replied, voice flat.

The light in his eyes dulled a fraction and he seemed puzzled a moment. He turned to leave, footsteps marking his passage back out into the evening sunshine.

‘I will take his money,’ I said, lowly. ‘Until I punish him for the evil he has committed.’ Damn Arlington’s soul. I dared look back to the well. The dead woman gazed up with unblinking stare. I knelt down and we pulled her out.

‘You cannot play games with him, Harry,’ Dowling said quietly, laying her straight upon the stone floor.

I pushed the hair off her face and stood back to look at her. She wore a plain cloth dress, lying heavy upon her body. I took one of her hands and held it gently, turning it over so I saw her red rough palm. ‘I couldn’t think what else to say,’ I answered. ‘He left, didn’t he?’

Dowling scrabbled in the folds of the sodden material afore extracting a short blade. ‘God save us,’ he exclaimed. ‘Withypoll stabbed her in the side.’ He looked up, mouth curled in angry dismay. ‘Such a wound would not have killed her.’

I stared into her face again, light freckles on white skin. Her blue lips rested slightly open, eyes wide. ‘She drowned?’

Dowling nodded, resting on his knees. He placed the knife on the floor. I picked it up.

‘We must go,’ I said, thinking of Jane. ‘I don’t trust Arlington. We will tell the soldiers at the gate about this woman, whoever she may be.’

I helped Dowling to his feet and took one last look about the square cellar. The woman lay motionless upon her back, staring at the
ceiling. Dowling climbed the stairs slow, like he carried his wounded soul upon his shoulders, and I followed.

The wooden door swung in the breeze, banging against the frame.

I prodded him in the back. ‘Make haste.’

Just as he turned to remonstrate the door crashed open, smashing against the stone. There was a flurry of movement, a flash of steel, then Dowling’s face staring over my shoulder, mouth open wide. He stood crouched, clutching at his belly, then fell backwards out onto the cobbles. Behind him stood Arlington, short dagger dripping Dowling’s blood.

‘You haven’t made
any
copies,’ he snarled. ‘You made it up while you were talking.’

I stepped backwards. He blocked the way like a short fat demon, burning eyes and yellow teeth standing out against his blackened skin.

‘I made three copies,’ I said, only in a whisper. I lied and he knew it.

He kicked Dowling’s prone body to one side and filled the doorway. ‘But you will make copies, won’t you Lytle? If I let you go.’ He took another step closer to me, dagger pointing at my throat.

I took another step back. ‘I told you, I am sick of this whole business. I want nothing more to do with it, only to be left alone.’

Arlington smiled, his lashless eyes blinking furiously. ‘I
will
leave you alone, Lytle, alone at the bottom of one of those wells.’

He leapt at me from above, blade headed straight to my chest. I twisted to my right so his blade hit the stone and grasped at the hand which grabbed my shirt. He stabbed at me again with savage strength, cutting the skin below my ear. I deflected the next blow with my elbow, then twisted again, sending him sprawling down the stone staircase. Yet he clung onto me with his left hand while he scrambled
to his feet. Then he let go, pushing his left hand against the wall to steady himself. He crouched, breathing shallow, pure hatred shining in his black eyes. Stepping up with his right leg, he readied to launch himself again. I watched him coil like a cat preparing to leap at a bird. As he sprang I withdrew Withypoll’s knife from inside my jacket and aimed it at his shoulder.

I found them on Tower Hill, Jane holding hands with Lucy, both of them peering anxiously through the crowd. When Jane saw me, her face exploded with delight. She opened her mouth wide and gazed with bright green eyes, waddling towards me with one arm across her little belly.

Lucy brushed the hair from her forehead, half smiling, half afraid. ‘Where’s Davy?’

‘He’s been hurt,’ I told her. ‘Arlington stabbed him in the belly. I fetched him outside the Bulwark Gate, but dared not make him walk further.’

Jane pushed me backwards. ‘You made him walk?’

‘It wasn’t safe to leave him,’ I protested, hurrying back the way I came.

Jane followed as quick as she could, while Lucy ran ahead.

‘What happened?’ Jane demanded, poking me in the ribs. ‘Why did he get stabbed and not you?’

I felt my temper beginning to simmer. ‘He got stabbed because he was at the top of the stairs when Arlington ambushed us. We didn’t know he was there.’

She pulled at my sleeve. ‘And what did you do about it?’ she asked, scornful.

I stopped, turned, and grabbed both her wrists. ‘I stabbed Arlington in the heart, Jane, and left him to die,’ I spluttered, holding her hands too tight. Her mouth formed a little ‘o’ and I released my grip. ‘I was aiming at his shoulder, but I missed.’

She took a step away from me while I reflected on how miserable I felt.

‘Where were you, anyway?’ I asked.

‘Locked up at Fleet Prison,’ she replied, tears pricking her eyes. ‘By a great oaf who said he saw me stealing.’ She rolled up her sleeve to reveal an ugly, green bruise upon her arm. ‘He said his name was Withypoll and that he was a friend of yours.’

‘He’s no friend of mine,’ I sighed. ‘Anyway, he’s dead as well.’ I turned to follow Lucy.

‘How many men
have
you killed?’ Jane exclaimed, trotting after me like an angry goose.

‘Just one,’ I replied. Unless Dowling died. I prayed God had other plans and ran to the Tower wall where Lucy knelt at Dowling’s side. He leant against the flint wall where I had left him, gazing about with head still. He attempted to smile when he saw Jane.

Lucy tore at his shirt and exposed the wound for all to see. It was only a small hole, but ugly; purple and swollen.

‘How do you fare?’ I asked, kneeling next to Lucy.

He sighed and nodded. ‘I will be fine,’ he said. ‘I have a belly like a boulder. God knows it takes more than a prick to kill David Dowling.’

Did he call me a prick? ‘It wasn’t my fault, you know.’

Jane snorted, and Dowling’s eyes widened.

‘Of course it wasn’t your fault,’ he whispered. ‘I knew Arlington before you did. If anything, ’tis I who is to blame.’

‘Be quiet, Davy,’ Lucy scolded.

Jane clicked her tongue and scowled. ‘It
is
your fault,’ she hissed into my ear.

‘How is it my fault?’ I hissed back, keen not to disturb Dowling.

‘You had a good job at the Tower,’ she said. ‘Then you gave it all up to go gallivanting about England trying to solve murders.’

‘Solving murders cannot be a bad thing.’

‘How can it be anything
but
a bad thing?’ Jane retorted. ‘How many men have you brought back to life? When a man is murdered it is because someone murdered him. You go sticking your great nose into other men’s business and what do you expect will happen?’ She let loose a great sigh of exasperation and edged closer to Lucy, studying carefully what she did in tending to Dowling’s belly.

I sighed too. How had I ever thought of marrying this woman? I might as well cut off my balls and soak them in vinegar.

‘We can take him to my aunt’s house,’ Jane said to Lucy. ‘She lives on the bridge. She will not mind us staying there a while.’

Lucy reached out a hand and brushed Jane’s cheek. ‘Thank you, my dear,’ she said. ‘Can we take him there now?’

‘Of course,’ Jane replied, licking her top lip with her tongue.

Lucy smiled gratefully. ‘God watches over us.’

‘Watches and wonders,’ said Jane, casting me another poisonous stare.

Dowling coughed and cleared his throat. ‘Harry saved my life, Jane. I thought God forsook us, but instead he worked through Harry. We travelled to Hell and back, men and women falling dead at our feet even as we walked. Ask yourself how it is we return, unharmed. There can be only one explanation.’ He closed his eyes and grimaced.

Lucy dabbed at his brow and cast me a quick smile, while Jane sat there stunned. It was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said about me, however fanciful the sentiment. I felt my irritation subside.

‘Help me, Harry,’ said Lucy, and we pulled the great butcher up onto his feet.

It wasn’t a long walk, but the crowds would be thick and impatient. ‘Can you manage, Davy?’ I asked.

‘That I would walk worthy of God, who hath called me unto his kingdom and glory,’ Dowling replied, lifting his chin. ‘As I said, ’twas but a prick.’

Lucy and I struggled to support him towards the entrance to Thames Street. It would be a long, slow haul.

‘Your house burnt down,’ said Jane.

‘I know,’ I nodded. ‘We will have to build a new one.’

‘We?’ she raised an eyebrow. ‘What makes you think I will be housemaid to a pauper?’

‘I am not a pauper,’ I replied. ‘I will find my money when it is safe to go back into the City, and I
had
thought you might want to live with me as my wife. Seems I was wrong.’

She pursed her lips. ‘You still plan to become an apothecary?’

‘Yes,’ I replied through gritted teeth, waiting for her to ridicule me again.

Instead she slipped her arm into my spare arm and brushed her cheek against my shoulder.

‘Jane,’ I said. ‘You know I …’

She reached up to touch my lips and smiled. ‘We can talk later,’ she said. ‘It’ll be many months before you can build a new home. Meantime we can get married at my aunt’s house.’

Her aunt’s house had but three rooms. ‘I think we can do better than that.’

‘Don’t argue, Harry.’ She pinched my wrist. ‘Your life is about to change for the better.’

She smiled happily and I wondered what I had let myself in for. I looked up to Dowling for Godly wisdom, but he bit his lip and struggled to keep walking. At first I thought he was in pain until I realised he was laughing.