‘But you still haven’t told me what I’m to do,’ Betty protested. ‘What d’you want me and the street kids to help you with.’
‘So I haven’t. Very well. It’s quite simple, but it’s even more important after what you’ve just told me.’
Foxe explained the task carefully and Betty nodded to show she understood. As she turned to leave, Foxe gently called her back.
‘You don’t know how much you’ve helped me today, Betty,’ he said. ‘I know I’ve stopped you from earning anything for a while, so here are three shillings to make up for it.’
Betty’s eyes grew round at the sight of the coins in her hand. ‘Three whole shillings! My time here ain’t never worth that. I gets sixpence a fumble if I’m lucky. Nine pence for going the whole way. I’d have had to let six blokes have me to earn that much.’
‘You’re worth far more than mere shillings,’ Foxe said. ‘Remember what I told you. When you know what you want to do to escape your present existence, come to me and I will help you achieve it.’
After Betty had left, now convinced that Mr Foxe was the finest man she had ever encountered, Foxe went back to his library. Even so, he was unable to settle. What he wanted most was to hurry to Colegate to try to talk to Miss Lucy, though his chosen method of approach to her was still little more than a vague outline. He knew doing this would be likely to end in disaster and the destruction of what might be his only chance to re-establish friendly contact. Whatever else he did, he told himself angrily, he must keep well away from Colegate until his ideas were properly formulated and ready.
There was also another reason why going to Halloran’s house was to be avoided at all costs at this time. It was quite likely that Alderman Harris and his friends would be deeply alarmed, if they heard that Foxe had been to see Halloran that day. Foxe wasn’t supposed to know anything about their plans or the supposed demand for ransom. The fact that he felt almost certain that demand wasn’t genuine made no difference.
If it did happen, by some amazing chance, that the ransom note had been sent by a genuine kidnapper, he or his confederates would doubtlessly be keeping an eye on Foxe’s movements. All the city knew he had been asked to find the mayor. An unexpected visit to Halloran might indicate that Foxe knew too much, and the pickup of the money would instantly be abandoned. Clumsy and foolish as it was, Harris’s plan to capture whoever came that night might yet produce some useful information.
Foxe wished he could see the actual ransom note. It would tell him so much, whereas he doubted that Harris and his friends would see more than the raw message on the page. If it had been written in an uneducated hand and was full of bad spelling and worse grammar, it would prove the whole business was a crude hoax and should be ignored. If the writer was educated, that increased the chances that it was either the kidnapper or someone linked to him. The abduction of Mayor Belton, if that is what it was, was far too successfully done to be the work of some crude band of local felons. At least, that is how it seemed to Foxe. Only if the mayor’s body had been found floating in the River Wensum would he believe local felons might be responsible, probably taking vengeance for the mayor sending one of their number to the gallows.
In the end, tired of pacing up and down his library, Foxe decided it was still early enough to visit Mistress Tabby again; not, this time, to seek comfort and advice, but to find out what she could tell him about Robert Belton’s life and history.
6
Lucy waited impatiently all next morning for Susan to return and tell her what she had been able to discover. It was so irritating being confined to the house for so much of the time. Mr Foxe could walk about where and when he wished.
Eventually, soon after noon, Susan returned, bearing ribbon and buttons and a good haul of information.
‘Most people thinks as how it must have been the clerk who murdered the mayor,’ she told Lucy. ‘He was probably stealing money and Mr Belton caught him. Rather than face trial and the gallows, he killed the mayor, got rid of the body somehow and left Norwich as quick as he could. Others say this is nonsense. The clerk—his name is Mr Johnson—would never have stolen anything. He was an upright and religious man, very moral, and wouldn’t have considered breaking one of the commandments in such a way.’
‘It had already occurred to me that this clerk had killed the mayor,’ Lucy said. ‘The trouble is that no body has been found, as far as I know.’
‘I said much the same thing to several people, Miss Lucy, and they had a simple answer. Belton’s warehouse is right by the river. One side of the yard behind it forms a kind of wharf where wherries can tie up, or so these folk claims. It would be easy for the clerk to take the body and throw it in the river.’
‘Don’t dead bodies float, or at least rise to the surface after a while?’ Lucy objected. ‘It’s not as sensible an answer to the problem of the missing body as it may appear. It would also mean the murder, if murder there was, must have taken place after dark. The Wensum carries a good deal of boat traffic during the day. Someone would have been bound to see and hear something heavy like a body being thrown in. It’s very confusing, isn’t it?’
‘Beyond me anyway,’ Susan replied. ‘’Course, if Mr Foxe was ‘ere, he’d ‘ave the answer in a jiffy.’
‘Don’t be so sure of that, Susan,’ Lucy said, annoyed that her efforts were being dismissed in comparison with the brains of the wonderful Mr Foxe. ‘But let that be. Tell me more about those who say Johnson would never have committed theft, let alone murder. What were they able to tell you about him?’
‘Not much, Miss. Seems Mr Johnson is—was—a very private person. Quite pious, like I said, but not given to letting others know anything about his life beyond what they could see for themselves. I did find out as how he lives with his mother. She’s old and very sick, I was told. Quite likely to die soon, one person said. Her son cares for her himself most of the time. When he’s at ‘is work, he pays a local woman to see to her needs and sit with her for company part of the day.’
‘It doesn’t sound much like the sort of person who’d steal from his employer, kill him when he was found out, then run off to save his life. What would become of his mother, if he wasn’t there to look after her?’
‘She’d be put in the workhouse, like as not, Miss. That’s a right terrible place to end up, let alone ‘ave to die there.’
‘If Johnson really was such a devoted son,’ Lucy said firmly, ‘he’d never run off and leave his mother to such a fate. You have indeed discovered a good deal of information, Susan, and I’m grateful to you for doing so. Sadly, some of it is totally contradictory. Was this Johnson a religious and moral man, devoted to an elderly and aged parent, or was he an embezzler, who would commit murder to save himself and throw his employer’s body in the river? I shall have to mull it all over as best I can.’
‘Mr Foxe—’
‘If you mention that man again, I shall be quite angry with you, Susan. This is my problem and I don’t need Mr Foxe, or any other man, to sort it out for me. Be off with you and get about your duties!’
MISTRESS TABBY’S house lay by the river some quarter of a mile upstream of Belton’s warehouse. Too far for wherries and other boats to reach either, due to a low bridge carrying traffic over the water to the area on the other side frequented by many of the city’s weavers and spinners. Her garden was bounded on one side by the water, on two others by hedges between her garden and the dwellings on either side and on the fourth by her house and the street beyond. Considering how close it was to the centre of Norwich, it was surprisingly rural. Then Norwich was like that. “A city in a garden or a garden in a city” one writer had described it. Open ground, gardens, stands of trees and places to walk amongst flowering bushes and other plants ran through the city, much as veins ran through a leaf.
When Foxe arrived, Mistress Tabby was working in her garden and not very keen on stopping what she was doing to speak with him. With obvious reluctance, she told Bart to continue without her
and took Foxe into her kitchen as usual.
‘Well?’ she said crossly. ‘What’s so important that it must take me from my herbs? You look better than you did the other day, I must say. I hope that means you haven’t come here to cry all over me again.’
‘I haven’t, I assure you,’ Foxe replied. ‘You’ll know I’ve been asked to try to unravel what’s going on over the disappearance of the mayor.’
‘The whole city knows that, Ashmole.’
‘I’m convinced this is no simple kidnapping or anything like that. The answer, if it can be found, must lie in Belton’s character and thinking. I need to understand as much as I can about him. You know so many people in this place I hoped you may be able to help me.’
‘Not as much as you think, Ash. I hardly knew the man. Few people did. However, I knew people who worked for him and they told me a few things which may be helpful. You are welcome to those.’
It was true that nothing Mistress Tabby told Foxe that afternoon was of any direct help in his quest, but he still left well satisfied. There were several pieces of information that gave him pause for thought, especially the news that the mayor had been raised in an exceedingly strict household and had a father who was far more ready to criticise and punish than offer encouragement, let alone love.
Before he left, Foxe asked Tabby if she knew about Mayor Belton’s dealings with child prostitutes. She did not and was torn between horror and revulsion at the idea.
‘I know that those poor girls do what they do only to survive,’ she said, ‘and I would never judge them harshly. The men who go to them, especially rich ones like Belton, are quite another matter. As mayor of this city, Robert Belton should be seeking ways to remove the need for children to resort to theft and prostitution, not making use of their desperation to satisfy his own lust.’
Foxe agreed wholeheartedly.
‘I suggest you say nothing of this to anyone, Tabby. I’ve asked the street children to keep quiet as well. If this gets out and becomes public knowledge, it’s bound to cause Mrs Belton considerable embarrassment—assuming she doesn’t know already.’
True to his earlier resolution to give no sign of knowing anything about a ransom being demanded for the mayor, Foxe walked straight home from seeing Mistress Tabby. There he ate a hearty, but early, dinner and took himself to the theatre afterwards, where he sat in full view of everyone. The play proved to be mediocre at best but he still found the evening enjoyable. Truth to tell, he liked the whole atmosphere of the theatre and could nearly always find some aspect of the acting or the staging to enjoy. He returned straight home after the performance ended, stopping only for a brief word with the manager and to send a message to young Kate Sulyard in appreciation of her part in the production, small though it was.
If anything else was happening with regard to the payment of the supposed ransom, Foxe was quite certain the street children would bring him word next morning.
FOXE HAD BARELY STARTED his breakfast when Florence knocked and came into the dining room, her face like thunder. Foxe had rarely seen her looking so annoyed. He wondered what could have caused it, for she was normally a placid and sweet-tempered girl.
‘That trollop, Betty Furniss, is here again at the back door asking for you, master,’ she said. ‘I told her to wait outside. I was just giving poor Charlie a bite to eat afore he goes to his work with the bookbinder.’
Foxe looked at skinny, flat-chested Florence. It was clear that something more than outrage at someone like Betty coming to Mr Foxe’s home had fuelled her anger. He could imagine young Charlie’s expression if he caught sight of Betty. Florence had been viewing Charlie as her personal possession for a good time now and would not want him tempted away by some voluptuous siren. Better not tell Florence to ask Betty to wait in the kitchen then. That would do no good for the harmonious atmosphere he so much treasured in his house.
‘Ask Betty to go to the stable and wait for me there,’ he said. ‘Point it out to her across the yard then she can find her own way. It’ll be warm in there. Just warn her not to get too close to the horse, in case it takes a dislike to her.’
‘Sensible animal,’ Florence muttered.
‘I’ll be along shortly, tell her. I’d like to finish the bulk of my breakfast before I go. Molly can bring me fresh coffee later, if I’m away longer than I expect.’
Foxe found Betty sitting on a bale of straw and staring, starry eyed at the horse. Despite Foxe’s fear, it looked as if the horse had taken to her as readily as she had fallen for it.
‘Please, Mr Foxe,’ she said. ‘Can I stroke him? I never got this close to a horse before, except one passing in the street. Isn’t he a beautiful creature?’
‘It’s a mare, actually,’ Foxe replied. ‘Her name is Sunrise. Yes, you can stroke her. Just go up to her slowly and give her the chance to decide whether she’s willing to let you touch her.’
Moments later, Betty was stroking Sunrise’s neck and then rubbing her face against it. The horse, meanwhile, showed every sign of pleasure, turning her head towards Betty and gently putting its lips up against the girl’s face.
‘She’s kissing me!’ Betty said, careful to keep her voice low. ‘She’s really kissing me. Oh, you darling creature!’
Foxe allowed these expressions of affection between horse and girl to continue a few moments longer, then reminded Betty she had come to tell him something.
‘Yes, yes,’ Betty said, ‘but can I come again to be with Sunrise? Please, Mr Foxe!’
‘You may,’ Foxe told her. ‘I will speak to Henry, my groom, and tell him to allow you to spend a little time with her on occasion. But you must only enter the stable when either he or I are present. Promise me that.’
‘I promise, cross me heart.’
‘Now, what did you come to tell me?’
The tale Betty related was a simple one. Several of the street children, at her direction, had concealed themselves around the spot in the market place where she’d been told the ransom money was to be left. Sure enough, a man had come, soon after the clock of St Peter Mancroft had struck eleven, and left a heavy bag in the spot which had been specified.
For a while after that, all was quiet. It wasn’t until some minutes after midnight had struck that another man appeared and went to pick up the bag. As soon as he did, two constables rushed out from behind a market stall and grabbed him. According to the watchers, they treated their prisoner very roughly, obviously trying to force him to tell them something.
‘Who had sent him, I imagine,’ Foxe said drily. ‘At least they realised it wasn’t the supposed kidnapper in person.’
They dragged the prisoner off, Betty said, probably to the Bridewell, and there the affair ended. The children stayed watching for a while afterwards, in case anyone else appeared, but there was no one.
Foxe thanked Betty and handed over two shillings in sixpences for her to share amongst those who had been watchers. He would have given her sixpence as well, for coming so promptly to tell him what had happened, but she refused any money.
‘You gave me too much yesterday,’ she said. ‘I doesn’t deserve no more. Besides, I wouldn’t have missed these few minutes with Sunrise for the world.’
With that, Foxe returned to his breakfast and Betty went out through the back gate to resume her life on the streets. As he walked across the yard, Foxe reflected on how surprising people could be and how stupid it was to judge them on a single aspect of their lives. He almost told Florence what had taken place in the stable when he passed her in the scullery but decided that the less said to her about Betty Furniss, the better.
Sitting down to drink the fresh coffee Molly had brought, Foxe fell to wondering what, if anything, Alderman Harris would tell his colleagues about the events of the night before. Given that it had been something of a farce, Foxe imagined he might well try to keep very quiet. That wouldn’t work, of course. The man the constables had captured wouldn’t know the identity of whoever paid him but he might have sa
id something useful under questioning; at least if those louts of constables had not rendered him speechless by the beating they probably gave him. Foxe had an extremely low opinion of the men who served as constables. Most were useful only to arrest drunks and break up fights. Violence was second nature to them. He didn’t imagine they’d have tried more subtle methods than fists and feet to find out what their prisoner knew.
There and then, he decided to visit Halloran at once and stir him up to tackle Alderman Harris to make sure he learned whatever could be gleaned from this supposed ransoming.
Foxe found Halloran in his library, which was where he spent most of his time when not attending to his civic duties or enjoying the warmth and comfort of his family.
‘You’re early, Foxe,’ Halloran said to him. ‘Have you got some news for me already?’
‘I have,’ Foxe said, ‘but let me first ask you a question. Did you know of the supposed ransom demand for the mayor and Alderman Harris’s response to it?’
‘I most certainly did not,’ Halloran said, already going rather red in the face. ‘What did it have to do with Alderman Harris anyway? If he had any information about the mayor, he should at once have brought it to the rest of us. I think I told you that a small sub-committee of aldermen are meeting daily to monitor events. I’ll be on my way there myself in a few moments. You only just caught me.’
Foxe explained about the ransom note Harris had received and his decision, taken with a few of his closest associates, to deal with it himself. All the time, Halloran was muttering that Harris had no right to act in such a way and he, Halloran, would soon bring him to heel. By the end of Foxe’s tale, his anger had almost reached boiling point.
‘What was this ransom which was demanded, Foxe? Do you know?’
‘I was told a hundred guineas.’
‘It had to be a hoax!’ Halloran cried. ‘An obvious hoax too, yet that puffed-up fool Harris was taken in.’
Foxe and the Path into Darkness Page 6