Foxe and the Path into Darkness

by William Savage

  ‘You make a most damning case against her, Foxe,’ Halloran said. ‘But could you prove any of it?’

  ‘Not a word,’ Foxe replied cheerfully. ‘If the mayor’s disappearance is due to a conspiracy, something like the one we have been imagining, the conspirators are safe. No one will even suggest Belton’s situation is other than they say it is. However, for the moment, all that I have been saying is nothing but conjecture. It may turn out to be total rubbish and the disappearance of the mayor due to some circumstance of an entirely different kind.’

  14

  True to his word, in the late afternoon Foxe walked the short distance to the Chapel Fields Pleasure Gardens and looked around for one of the gardeners. Once he’d located one, he questioned the man to find out if he had ever seen the missing mayor in the gardens.

  ‘Many times, y’r ‘onour,’ the gardener replied. ‘Often used to come ‘ere did Mr Belton, specially in the weeks afore ‘e disappeared like.’

  ‘What did he do?’ Foxe asked.

  ‘Jest walked about like. Nothing special. The only odd thing was as ‘ow ‘e kept a-talkin’ to ‘isself as ‘e walked. That an’ talkin’ to some o’ the trees as well. ‘Ad ‘is favourites, ‘e did. See that girt great elm over there? That was one o’ them. ‘E’d talk to that there elm for ages, wavin’ ‘is arms and gettin’ all excited like. Still, we gets all sorts in ‘ere, we does. ‘E didn’t do no ‘arm, so we left ‘im alone.’

  Foxe knew this was probably nothing more than the signs of a lonely man feeling the need to express his anger and frustrations to something, even a tree. Still, it could very easily have been represented as a sign of insanity.

  Going back to his home, he thought once again about the wretched life the mayor seemed to have led. A wife who despised him and was probably plotting to have him incarcerated as a lunatic, colleagues amongst the aldermen who branded him a fool and blocked everything he wanted to do and a business he disliked, but which was his only source of income. Not even any friends to confide in and help him face what looked to be an even more miserable future.

  Perhaps the mayor had committed suicide after all?

  THAT NIGHT, as the church clocks struck eleven, no one clock agreeing exactly with any of the others about precisely when that should be, Foxe was feeling cramped, stiff and cold. Fortunately, there was no rain or any of the strong winds that often plagued the city. Even so, the temperature was only tolerable if you could walk about briskly. Staying still soon became extremely unpleasant.

  He had been crouched in a shallow doorway almost opposite the entrance to Belton’s warehouse since half-past nine, a black kerchief drawn up over all of his face save for his eyes. His dark clothing blended, he hoped, with the shadows about him, for the cover was not really adequate for a grown man, let alone two.

  He was not alone in his hiding place. Bart was crouched beside him, completely silent and motionless, and two of the street children were somehow tucked in between them. The rest of the main group of street children were scattered along the narrow street, pressed into whatever hiding places they could find. Three of the largest and burliest of the boys were, Foxe hoped, waiting out of sight in the alleyway which led down to the river. The noise of any arrest would be bound to alert the wherryman of danger, allowing him to escape by pushing out into the current and poling downstream as fast as he could. Foxe was determined to take the entire gang, if possible, so these three lads had been told to wait until they saw the main part of the gang go past towards the warehouse, then hurry down to the wharf and secure the wherryman by whatever means they could.

  For a few moments, a gap in the clouds allowed a glimpse of the moon and illuminated the street with a dull, silvery light. The full moon could not be many days off. Foxe tensed and then relaxed again as another bank of cloud moved in to quench the unwanted light.

  Halloran had provided no less than eight people to help in the arrests: the sword bearer, six constables and one of the night watchmen who was younger and less witless than the others. Foxe split them into two groups. Four were well back in a convenient entrance towards the Magdalen Street end of the lane; the other four were about the same distance away in the opposite direction, sheltering in an archway that led to a more or less derelict jumble of abandoned buildings. All had been given strict instructions to stay quiet and hidden until they heard Foxe’s signal.

  Foxe longed to move. His legs were becoming numb and his eyes were tired from staring into the darkness opposite. This was about the time the children had said the gang came last night. Would they come at more or less the same time tonight? He had gambled a good deal on his belief that they would try to take full advantage of what little time was left before Mrs Belton’s changes would put an end to their easy pickings.

  There! What was that? He strained, but could hear nothing. There it was again. The noise of squeals and laughter from the top of the lane. That was the signal agreed with Betty and a few of the other tarts to indicate the men had arrived. The girls planned to make a fuss of them, supposedly trying to tempt them to leave off what they were doing and retreat into some convenient places to satisfy their lust. They felt sure the men would at least try to grope under their skimpy clothes. When they did, the girls were instructed to make as much noise as they could, squealing a mixture of protests and invitations to more. “Not without paying first”, came one especially loud protestation, closer this time. Presumably the girls had followed the men a little way into the alley to try to make sure Foxe heard their warning.

  Moments later, he caught the sound of wheels on the rough surface of the yard, accompanied by muffled laughter and whispering. There were eight of them tonight, not six, and they had two handcarts between them. He had been right! Their plan was to take as much as they could while it was still possible to do so. A lighter shape in the gateway to Belton’s yard showed that the nightwatchman had already opened the wicket gate and was waiting for assistance to push back one of the leaves of the main doors to let the men and carts move inside.

  Amongst Foxe’s companions, no one moved. He had explained to all that he planned to let the men do what they had come for and load up their carts to head off to the wherry. Only then would he give the signal for the constables to pounce from both directions to seize the thieves before they could escape. Taken with clear evidence of their crime, there would be no possibility that they could evade the punishment waiting for them.

  The men were inside for what seemed to be hours but must have been no more than forty minutes or so. With having two handcarts, it might be taking longer to fetch the rolls of cloth and load them. On the other hand, there were more of the thieves tonight to carry their prizes to the carts. How many rolls would two handcarts bear, Foxe wondered? Ten? Fifteen? The rolls were large and heavy, so it could hardly be more than that. Even with eight men giving a hand, it was going to be hard work dragging the laden handcarts up the modest slope towards Magdalen Street.

  At last, it was plain the gang were manoeuvring the laden carts through the part-open gate and turning them in the direction of the alley down to the wharf. Foxe waited to let them get clear of the entrance to the yard. He had no wish for any of them to dart back inside and try to hide in the buildings. He’d been right about the weight of the handcarts. He could see the nightwatchman had come into the lane to lend his assistance to start them moving. That was better than Foxe had hoped and he moved to take full advantage of the situation.

  He tottered forward; his legs almost too numb to obey his mind. He could only hope he would not be called upon to join in any mêlée that might ensue. He doubted if he would be able to keep his feet, let alone struggle with angry, frightened men. With agonising effort, he raised his arm and pointed the pistol he had brought with him into the sky.

  The noise of the discharge was deafening in the narrow space between the buildings, even though he had placed no ball in the barrel, only wadding and a double charge of powder. For a moment, none of the thieves moved, too
startled by the sudden din to get their thoughts together and try to escape. At the same moment, the sound of running feet from both directions indicated the approach of the constables. Four of the thieves, probably the older ones, made no attempt to run or resist. It was all over and they knew it. The other four tried to scatter, one towards Magdalen Street, two in the other direction and one, along with the nightwatchman, back towards the gate into the yard. They found the gate blocked by an enormous figure. Bart must have slipped in through the open gate while the men were struggling with the handcarts. A single blow from one of his mighty fists laid one of the men on the ground, unconscious. Another had doubled back and now tried to squeeze past him. That one was intercepted by the street children, one of whom placed a vicious kick in his groin which doubled him up in agony. Meanwhile, the nightwatchman had turned away and was trying to slip away into the shadows, only to find his way blocked by more of the children. Bart now came up behind him and pinned him to the wall with one hand while the other delivered a slap to his face that must have left his ears ringing for a week.

  It was all over.

  As the thieves were being manacled to be dragged off to the lock-up for the rest of the night, Foxe sought out the group of older men who had shown the good sense to surrender at once.

  ‘Why did you murder Johnson?’ he demanded roughly. ‘Was it because he discovered what you were doing? Did you kill the mayor as well?’

  ‘We never killed nobody,’ one of them replied in a sullen voice. ‘Never even saw anyone ‘sides the watchman in all the times we come ‘ere. Johnson didn’t know what we was doin’, I’ll swear to that. Nor did that dimwitted waste o’ space, Belton. Look, Mr Foxe. I knows who you is and I knows you’ve taken us, fair an’ square. We’re all headed for the gallows, I reckon, so it wouldn’t make no difference if we’d killed the bishop ‘isself. Only we never killed no one. I swear it. We may be thieves, but we sure as ‘ell ain’t murderers too, are we, lads?’

  The others all muttered their assent to this, several of them swearing by various objects, such as their mother’s grave or their own heads, that they had taken no part in Johnson’s killing, nor in anyone else’s.

  Foxe decided not to question them any further at that moment, since he wanted to see whether the wherryman had also been captured. He hurried up the lane, moving as quickly as he could in the poor light and turned left down the alleyway towards the river. It was even darker in that narrow space and he hadn’t thought to borrow a lantern from one of the constables. He was therefore forced to make his way along with extreme caution, keeping one hand on the nearest wall in case he stumbled over some obstacle. It was with great relief that he finally reached the wharf where a small amount of light was reflecting from the placid water of the River Wensum, providing just enough illumination to let him make his way amongst the coils of rope, barrels and discarded packages with a degree of confidence.

  He needn’t have worried about the wherryman. The children had him neatly bound in the belly of his own craft, lying on what looked to be the rolls of cloth stolen the night before. He had clearly decided to wait for a full load before making his way downstream to where wagons or a team of packhorses would be ready to take the cloth onwards.

  The boys were full of excitement and eager to tell Foxe in detail how they had surprised the man and overcome him with a furious barrage of blows and kicks. The rope with which he was now trussed had come from the bow of his own boat. They had placed him on the rolls of cloth as the simplest place to keep him out of sight, should any of the thieves escape and come to warn him.

  Foxe handed out pennies as promised and told the boys to stay on guard until some of the constables should come to take charge of their prisoner. Everything had gone exactly according to his plan, which was gratifying; but the best result of all had been that no one had suffered any serious injury. One of the thieves was going to find walking painful for several days and another had lost a few teeth from the blow Bart had given him, but these were minor matters.

  Leaving the wherry, Foxe hurried up to Magdalen Street where, as he hoped, Betty and the other girls were still waiting to find out whether the thieves had been captured. They clustered around Foxe, most more eager to be close to him than hear what he had to say. Seeing what they were doing, Betty drove them off, declaring that they must leave “poor Mr Foxe” in peace and not rub around him like she-cats in heat. Suitably abashed, they withdrew just a little, only to see Betty slide herself as close up against Foxe as she could.

  Much amused, Foxe praised them for their help that evening. Once again, he handed out pennies and sixpences and gave Betty a small bag of coins to distribute to the others who had taken part but were still back down the lane.

  That done, he set out for his home, complete with a small bodyguard of children, for he was suddenly overcome with a longing for his bed.

  As he toiled his way up the hill past the edge of the castle mound, a footpad, more foolish than most, stepped into his path brandishing a knife. He got no further than waving it to try to intimidate his victim before two of the children rushed forward, their hands filled with mud and dung from the roadway and rubbed it into his face and eyes. Then, while the intended robber was clawing frantically at himself to try to remove the foul stuff, one kicked him hard on the shin and the other skipped behind him and gave him a hefty shove in the back which sent him sprawling into yet more refuse and filthy water.

  They would have handed out more kicks and punches but Foxe prevented it, saying he was in a hurry to get to his house and quite sure the footpad would have learned enough of a lesson to stay well away from him in future. Nearly all the regular thieves and robbers in the city already knew that Foxe was to be avoided at all costs, should they happen to encounter him. This particular one was either a stranger or someone who had only turned to street crime very recently. Either way, the need for sleep in a warm bed triumphed in Foxe’s mind over the demands of justice, at least on this occasion.

  FOXE ROSE EARLY the next morning, feeling remarkably energetic and alert considering the excitements of the night before and the late hour at which he had finally reached his bed. He took a swift breakfast, then left his house and headed for the Bridewell, which was where he assumed the prisoners would be lodged. His questioning of them the previous night had been superficial. Now he wished to probe further to discover what they might know that could have some bearing on the mayor’s disappearance and Johnson’s death.

  He found the prisoners present, as he had expected, and asked the gaoler how they had spent the night.

  ‘Real quiet and subdued, sir,’ the man told him. ‘Gave no trouble at all, though I doubt as if they slept much. I seen many a criminal in ‘ere in my time. Some is rowdy and belligerent like; some acts like being in prison is nothin’ to be concerned about and sleeps easy; some, like these, is nervous and afraid. I reckons none of them ever thought about what they’d face if they was caught in their thievery. They’ll be goin’ afore the magistrates in an hour or so charged with theft. He’ll remand them in custody to await trial at the next assize, and they’ll be took to the castle gaol to await their fate. D’you want to talk to ‘em?’

  Foxe said he did and was let into the large cell where they were all being held. However, despite his best efforts for more than an hour, he learned nothing new. All persisted in saying they’d never seen anyone during their nocturnal thievery, save for the night watchman. They were also sure that neither the mayor nor Johnson had any idea what they were doing, so they had no reason to harm either of them. What tempted them was the casual way the stock was handled and accounted for, plus the sight of some bales lying so long in the warehouse that they were covered in dust and mould.

  ‘Why let them go to waste?’ one of them said. ‘If Belton weren’t interested in them and what they was worth, we decided ‘e would never notice the loss if we ‘elped ourselves.’

  As he left the Bridewell to walk the short distance to Colegate, Foxe felt con
vinced they were telling the truth. These weren’t real criminals. Just men who were not too bright. Men who saw what they thought was an opportunity to make a useful amount of money and never thought about the consequences. All he could do now was hope the judge would recommend their death sentences be commuted to periods of transportation to the Americas. Once there, they might yet find ways to live useful lives and stay clear of more trouble.

  Admitting Foxe to Alderman Halloran’s house, Perkins, the butler, said his master had been expecting a visit and was amusing himself in his library until Mr Foxe should appear. He should go in to join the alderman and Perkins would bring fresh coffee.

  Doing as he had been bidden, Foxe found Halloran in a decidedly jovial mood, clearly elated by the capture of the gang of thieves at Belton’s warehouse the night before. He congratulated Foxe warmly and said he hoped they might at last be on their way to solving the mystery of the mayor’s disappearance.

  Before Foxe could reply, Perkins arrived with both a tray of coffee and Miss Lucy.

  ‘Told Perkins to fetch Lucy as soon as you came, Foxe,’ Halloran said. ‘Hope you don’t mind, only I thought it would mean you needed to tell your story only the once.’

  How could Foxe possibly mind? As he greeted Lucy with suitable formality, and she replied in a similar vein, he thought he had never seen her look so enticing. The last time they had met she had been dressed with high formality, on her way with her aunt and sister to take tea with the bishop and his wife. Today, in contrast, she wore but a simple, woollen day-dress in deepest maroon, lightly embroidered with sprigs of flowers, and set off by cream lace on the cuffs and around the neckline. Her hair was arranged under a matching lace cap and allowed to fall in curls and ringlets about her cheeks. Foxe was entranced.

  Emboldened by her uncle’s presence, he ventured further than he might have done had the two of them been alone.