Foxe and the Path into Darkness

by William Savage

  ‘Yet he became mayor,’ Foxe said. ‘Many men would see that as a major achievement in its own right.’

  ‘I almost forced him to enter politics,’ Mrs Belton replied, ‘largely in the hope that it might stir him from his perpetual languor and enable him to make useful contacts among the elite of the business community. Of course, all he did was hide in the shadows and earn himself more disparagement. He became mayor entirely by accident. The members of the common council, unable to find a reason to get rid of him, conspired to remove him from their midst by having him elected as an alderman. I’m sure you will know that, by custom, each alderman holds the office of mayor in rotation and the order is linked to the length of time since each joined the ranks of that body. It so happened that deaths and resignations unexpectedly moved my husband to the head of the list. Lacking a suitable reason to deny him the honour, the others followed the custom and elected him mayor. I’m sure they expected him to be no more than a titular leader. Sadly, he thought this was his chance to show the world his true worth.’

  ‘Did he upset people?’

  ‘Whom did he not upset? The idea of consulting others or winning them over to his way of thinking were entirely foreign to him. He had grown up under a despot and believed that was how a proper leader behaved. As far as I can tell, he tried to introduce change after change and was blocked every time.’

  ‘He must have become very frustrated.’

  ‘Look, Mr Foxe,’ Mrs Belton said. ‘You are a very easy man to talk to, while I am prone to talking a great deal, given the chance. However, I really am extremely busy at present trying to discover the full extent of my husband’s neglect of this business. Perhaps we can continue this on another day, when I can give you better attention. For today, I fear I must bring this meeting to a close. I will send Comiston in to speak with you.’

  Recognising that trying to change the lady’s mind might render her less willing to talk to him on other occasions, Foxe thanked her politely for her time and waited for Comiston to appear.

  Sadly, the meeting with Comiston was not to be. Mrs Belton had clearly omitted to warn the bookkeeper that speaking with him was the true object of Foxe’s visit. She soon returned, clearly embarrassed, to inform her visitor that Comiston seemed to have stepped out and no one knew quite where he had gone.

  Foxe declined the offer to stay where he was until the man returned and departed to return home.

  As Foxe sat in his carriage, he wondered whether anything he had learned from Mrs Belton suggested a fresh direction in which he might take his investigation. Overall, the answer had to be “no”. She had undoubtedly deepened and extended his picture of the missing mayor, yet added little or nothing that was new.

  He was back where he had been at the start.

  9

  Foxe had rarely been so much at a loss for what to do next in any of his previous investigations. Every direction he had followed so far had petered out into nothingness. The lack of a genuine ransom demand after almost a week, seemed to rule out kidnapping as a profitable area to explore. Suicide was either unbelievable or impossible to prove. Murder remained something which had yet to be considered. A murderer might well have taken care to hide the evidence for what he had done.

  Belton’s body might have been thrown in the river. Yet, if so, it would surely have risen to the surface before now. The murderer might have weighted it down sufficiently to prevent that happening. That left the question of how the body, presumably wrapped in chains, had been taken to the river and thrown in without anyone noticing. It would have to be done at night. During the day, the Wensum was alive with small boats and wherries. Even at night there were houses not far off, whose occupants might have been awakened and made suspicious by the sound of a heavy object being deposited into the river. Two men might just have managed to slip it in quietly, provided they had a boat. Any number of men couldn’t have done so if working from the bank. The only way to try to prevent early discovery would be to drop it well out from the bank. Even then, the wherrymen pushing themselves up and down the river using their punting quants must have soon encountered any large object lying on the riverbed where no such object should be.

  Was Robert Belton resting somewhere in a hastily-dug grave? If so, his body was unlikely to remain hidden much longer. Besides, the sight of someone digging a large hole in a piece of unused land, even at night, would attract as much attention as a loud splash. Norwich was a well-populated city. You never knew who would be about after dark, given all the thieves, footpads and other criminals it held, to say nothing of the scores of tarts.

  Though murder could be suspected—should be, perhaps—there would have to be some clearer pointer to it before it would be worth exploring more fully. Waiting in the hope that a body would turn up would be tantamount to entrusting the investigation completely to chance.

  Had Robert Belton run away of his own accord? He had failed to make his mark as mayor so must have been expecting to suffer yet more derision as a result. Would this be sufficient to induce him to disappear? Even if it was enough to make him run away, he had apparently done so without funds to support himself. He hadn’t even any clothes, save those he was wearing at the time. Where would he go? How would he get there, other than on his own two feet?

  Like several of the other explanations for his absence, it couldn’t be entirely ruled out, yet seemed too fantastic to take seriously. Belton was said to be a lazy man. If he had fled, he would be forced to earn enough to live through some menial employment. How would that suit a man who had spent his life until now living in a grand house, with servants at his beck and call? Once again, common sense seemed to rule it out.

  Foxe went to his bed that night feeling both frustrated and despondent. As a result, he slept indifferently and awoke in much the same state of mind. Still, he had to do something, so he decided to seek out Halloran and report on his progress—or lack of it. That made him think of Lucy. Would she be willing to see him again and continue their conversation, as she had promised? There was only one way to find out.

  EARLY IN THE MORNING, Foxe sent his coachman, Henry, to Colegate to ask if it would be convenient for his master to visit both the alderman and his niece, Lucy, that day. On his return, he reported that, according to Perkins the butler, the alderman would be away from home for most of the day but Miss Lucy would be pleased to see Mr Foxe at any time. Foxe hoped those might have been Lucy’s actual words, especially the “pleased” part. However, it was much more likely that the butler had taken care to phrase her actual response, whatever it was, in a suitably polite way.

  This time, Foxe was shown into the drawing room and told that Miss Lucy would join him shortly. He felt too apprehensive to sit down so he wandered to the window and stood looking across the street at the fine new octagonal chapel built there for some wealthy sect of non-conformists. It was a most handsome building and Foxe wondered idly where the congregation had raised the money for such an expensive home.

  Hearing a noise behind him, Foxe turned swiftly to see Lucy entering the room, followed by her maid, Susan, who was carrying a tray with cups and a coffee pot. The aroma of fresh coffee, Foxe hoped, signalled some thaw in relations. On his last visit, he had been offered nothing whatsoever in the way of refreshment.

  Sticking to the correct protocol, Foxe bowed to his hostess and wished her good day; she replied with a slight inclination of the head before asking him to take a seat and enjoy a cup of coffee. Susan poured for him so Foxe took the opportunity to greet her warmly.

  ‘Good morning, Susan,’ he said, smiling. ‘You are looking even prettier today than you did on the last occasion I saw you. Is that a new dress, perhaps?’

  ‘Oh no, sir,’ the maid stammered, her face flaming red. ‘I’ve had this dress for ever such a long time.’

  ‘Well, it is most becoming,’ was Foxe’s reply.

  This exchange was interrupted by an ostentatious clearing of the throat from Lucy.

  ‘When you hav
e finished exercising your charm on my maidservant, Mr Foxe,’ she said coolly, ‘I understand there is something you wish to say to me.’

  Foxe drew breath to reply but Lucy continued to speak.

  ‘Before you do,’ she said, ‘I must tell you that I have given much thought to what you told me at our last meeting about your dealings with the street children. I can see that I made a grave mistake in simply accepting the general view of those unfortunates. I ought to use my own judgement and not accept the general viewpoint. I should also have taken the trouble to discover the truth about their circumstances. You have put me to shame, sir, but I thank you for it. I shall not make a similar mistake again, I assure you.’

  ‘My dear Miss Lucy’ (the words were out before Foxe could stop them) ‘I assure you that I had no intention of criticising you in any way. If I seemed to do so, I apologise sincerely. You will have had little opportunity to encounter the street children yourself. I too began with the usual prejudices against them. It was when, one evening, I found one of them close to death in the gutter from cold and starvation that I was brought to change my mind. Sadly, that child was already beyond human help, but I made sure he had a decent burial and vowed, there and then, that I would do what I could to prevent such needless waste of human life in the future. I have kept that vow and been more than amply repaid. That is all there is to it.’

  ‘Not at all. There is much more kindness behind your actions than you are prepared to admit. However, that is a discussion for another time. Today, there is another matter to tell you. I have decided to give you such help as I can in solving the mystery of the mayor’s disappearance. My uncle is greatly disturbed by what has taken place and it is causing him to have to undertake a good deal of extra activity. It is plainly my duty to do what I can to clear up the situation, if only for his sake. However, my agreement comes with two conditions.’

  ‘Name them.’

  ‘Firstly, that during our discussions you stick firmly to the subject in hand and avoid any digression into topics of a more personal nature. I need you to accept that this is more like a business arrangement and not an excuse to try to raise other matters. Do you agree?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Very well. The second is equally simple. If I am to be your partner in this investigation, you must share with me every piece of information you obtain and do so openly and fully. I will not tolerate being patronised as merely a woman and, thus, unable to face up to the full rigours of reality. Tell me all or tell me nothing.’

  Foxe hesitated. Lucy’s requirement was likely to involve more than she imagined. He felt, in all honesty, he should make that clear.

  ‘I have to warn you,’ he began carefully, ‘that I have already discovered one matter at least which would not be thought suitable for me to mention to any well-brought up young lady. Probably not to any lady at all. I am willing to accept your condition, make no mistake on that, but it may well force me to share matters of a most unpleasant and upsetting nature.’

  ‘Have no fear on that account, Mr Foxe. I do not believe in shutting my eyes to reality, however unpleasant it may prove to be. I am not immune to being shocked or upset by the many dreadful things that take place in the world, but avoiding them by claiming “female sensitivity” I would find demeaning in the extreme. Even if they give me nightmares, I must face the worst of the world if I wish to delight in the best.’

  ‘One last point,’ Foxe said. ‘Some matters are bound to be of a most confidential nature. Do you really want your servant to hear them as well as you?’

  ‘Susan will not repeat anything she hears outside this room, I assure you. Were she to do so, I would see her dismissed on the spot without a character.’

  ‘You won’t repeat things will you, Susan, however tempting you find it?’ Foxe said to the girl. ‘Especially not in the servant’s quarters or to visiting tradesmen?’

  ‘Oh no, sir. I swear it. I promise that most earnestly and will never break a promise made to you.’

  ‘Good girl. I knew I could rely on you.’

  When he turned back to Lucy, he found her staring at him.

  ‘I see my maid owes you more obedience than she does to me,’ she said.

  ‘Not at all,’ Foxe replied. ‘It’s just that I have found that appealing to someone’s loyalty and affection is a better way to ensure they do what you wish than issuing threats. Susan would have done as you said anyway, I’m sure of that.’

  ‘Once again you teach me a painful but necessary lesson, Mr Foxe. You are indeed full of surprises. I have known you for more than six years, ever since my sister and I came to Norwich. Yet now I realise that, in the most important ways, I have scarcely known you at all. Susan, you may leave us. I assure you that I trust your promise but I see no reason to inflict any upset on you, if Mr Foxe must talk of seriously unpleasant matters.’

  She waited until the girl had left before speaking again.

  ‘Now, Mr Foxe, do you accept my conditions?’

  ‘I do wholeheartedly.’

  ‘Then we are partners. Let us shake hands on our agreement as my uncle does when he concludes a deal with someone else.’

  Foxe dearly wished to hold onto her hand for as long as she might allow it, but he was careful to do no more than grasp it for the brief moment such a business handshake demanded. He couldn’t help noticing, however, that her hand was cool and well-shaped and that her grip was surprisingly firm for a woman, let alone one of her tender years.

  ‘Tell me what fresh information you have obtained,’ Lucy said. ‘You are able to go out and about, seeking things, while I am confined by what is deemed acceptable for women. It is most irritating.’

  Foxe told her. He left nothing out, though he felt uneasy at telling her about the mayor’s perverted taste in sexual partners.

  ‘Are you quite sure this is true?’ she said, pulling a face in her disgust at what he had told her.

  ‘Quite sure. I heard it from one of the young prostitutes directly. He had approached her, she said, but found her figure too womanly for his taste. However, she knew several skinnier and younger girls whom he had patronised repeatedly—at least until they learned to run away as he approached. It seems he is both rough and prone to leave them without paying what he owes, though it is only a few pence.’

  ‘Odious man!’ Lucy declared angrily. ‘I almost wish you had not agreed to try to find him and that I had not agreed to help you. Have you told my uncle what Mr Belton was doing?’

  ‘No, I have not. Indeed, I intend to keep the whole, sorry business confidential, unless it becomes essential to tell others for some pressing reason. Mrs Belton would be sorely hurt and embarrassed by such a revelation about her husband. I see no reason to cause her extra pain. She is not at fault. I have told you now, because of my promise, and because I know I can trust you to remain silent.’

  ‘Once again, I find I have underestimated you, Mr Foxe,’ Lucy said. ‘I thought unravelling mysteries as you do was merely some kind of intellectual challenge that gave you pleasure. It never occurred to me that you would need to face ethical demands of this nature. I stand corrected. Naturally, I will say nothing of this matter to anyone, including my uncle.’

  ‘If it is not against the spirit of our agreement,’ Foxe said, ‘let me say that I feel most uneasy at laying burdens like this upon you. Few women of your age and social background will ever have to cope with such situations. For them, life is mostly a round of social engagements, shopping and searching for a suitable husband. It grieves me that I should be the cause of you confronting so much evil at such an early age.’

  ‘Your wish to protect me is laudable,’ Lucy replied, ‘but it is both misguided and unnecessary. Still, I thank you for your concern for me. Now, let us continue.’

  At this point, there was a knock on the door and Perkins entered, his habitual calm less absolute than normal.

  ‘Forgive me for interrupting you, Miss Lucy, but there is an extremely dirty and disreputable chil
d at the door demanding to speak to Mr Foxe. I have tried shooing him away, but the urchin refuses to leave.’

  ‘Thank you, Perkins,’ Foxe said. ‘I’ll come at once. It must be something urgent for the child to have run all the way from the marketplace to find me.’

  The boy at the door was certainly very dirty. Not at all the kind of person the rich people of Colegate would expect to see banging on the front door of any of the houses there.

  ‘Here I am,’ Foxe began. ‘Ah, Sidney, it’s you, is it? What’s so urgent for you to seek me out like this?’

  ‘I got a message for you from Betty,’ the boy said, his local accent so thick that many people would have found it hard to make out what he was saying. ‘She’s says there’s bin a body found in the yard at the back of Belton’s warehouse. You’re to go there quick as you can.’

  ‘Very well,’ Foxe said. ‘When you see her next, thank her for letting me know. Here is tuppence for your trouble. It’s a long way from the marketplace.’

  ‘I runned all the way,’ the boy said, snatching the coins greedily. ‘I did, ‘onest.’

  ‘I’m sure you did, Sidney. Now, you don’t need to run back. Take your time, especially going up the hill beside the castle mound. Remember to thank Betty, won’t you?’

  ‘I will, Mr Foxe. I won’t fergit.’

  With that, the boy was gone.

  Foxe turned back from the door to find that Lucy was standing right behind him.

  ‘Now I have seen the usefulness of the street children for myself,’ she said. ‘They are your eyes and ears. Without them, it would have taken some hours for this news to reach you. How did the boy know where to find you? Do you know all their names?’