Speculation ran rife. Suggestions on what had happened to them ranged from the ribald to the obvious. They had run away together. They had both been kidnapped. They had both been murdered. One had murdered the other, then fled; though which had been the killer was the topic of considerable, if ill-informed, debate.
Foxe had been spared from listening to this farrago of speculation and opinion by his single-minded focus on Lucy Halloran. However, his mind was now made up on his next step. All that remained was to go to Colegate and hope she would consent to see him.
However, while Foxe was finishing his breakfast that morning, the first indication of a fresh problem arose. Not concerning Lucy, thank God. His newly-won calm would hardly have coped with that. The news which was about to reach him was fairly and squarely to do with the missing mayor and nobody else, unless you counted the person to whom the message had been sent.
In contrast to the previous night, Foxe’s rest had been deep and largely untroubled. He was therefore completely unprepared for what was about to happen. That was why, when Molly knocked on the door and entered, he assumed she was bringing him more coffee. It soon became obvious she was not. Instead, she was hovering uncertainly at the edge of the table, waiting to catch her master’s eye.
‘What is it, Molly?’ Foxe asked. “Do you want to ask me something?’
‘No, sir. It’s Miss Benfield from the shop, Mrs Crombie’s cousin what acts as her assistant. She’s come through to ask you to go to see Mrs Crombie as soon as is convenient. She says as what it’s very urgent.’
Foxe now felt quite alarmed. He relied on Mrs Crombie, his junior partner in the bookshop, to keep it running smoothly and continue producing an exemplary profit. If she had a problem which needed his urgent intervention, it must be a serious one. She was not the kind of person who would panic under stress. Not by a long way.
‘Tell Miss Benfield I’ll come right away,’ Foxe said. ‘Take this coffee back to the kitchen and keep it warm. I’ll want it later. I shall be staying in this morning instead of taking my usual walk to the coffeehouse.’
With that, Foxe rose from the table, set aside his napkin and hurried through the hallway of his house to where an unobtrusive door gave a direct connection to his shop. He found Mrs Crombie waiting for him.
‘We’ll go into the stockroom, Mr Foxe,’ Mrs Crombie said in an undertone. ‘Too many flapping ears in here.’
Only when she had shut the stockroom door behind her did she explain why she wanted to speak to Foxe with such urgency.
‘Two people have come in this morning, full of a tale that a ransom has been demanded for the safe return of the mayor. I assumed you must have been asked to try to find him, so I thought you should know right away.’
‘Is this more than the typical mixture of speculation and guesswork that fuels most gossip, Mrs Crombie? I gather that has been rife for days. Do you think it’s genuine news?’
‘I do,’ she replied. ‘One of the customers who mentioned it to me—in strict confidence, so she said—is the wife of Alderman Harris. According to her, her husband mentioned it at breakfast. She’s an inveterate gossip but I wouldn’t dream of accusing her of spreading false rumours.’
‘Did she tell you any more about this ransom demand?’ Foxe asked.
‘A little. She believes her husband and one or two other aldermen are set on winning the limelight by returning the mayor unharmed. They’ve agreed to say nothing to any of the other aldermen but quietly pay the ransom demand themselves. At least that was her version. The other person to tell me the same basic story said that the aldermen planned to set a trap for the kidnapper and take him in the act of collecting his money.’
‘Oh dear,’ Foxe groaned. ‘What fools they must be. Do they really think this supposed kidnapper will be stupid enough to come in person? How much has been asked for, do you know?’
‘The sum of a hundred guineas in coin of the realm was mentioned to be paid by tonight. It is to be left by the water trough in the market place in a single bag.’
‘Double and triple fools then! Is the value of the mayor of the city of Norwich, whatever his personal flaws, to be set at such a paltry amount? A genuine kidnapper would demand ten times as much at least. He would also be well aware that even the city council could not raise such a sum in less than several days. It will be hard enough for anyone to carry a bag containing a hundred guineas, let alone a larger amount. Coins are very heavy. This is obviously some kind of hoax.’
‘There is worse to come, Mr Foxe.’
‘Tell me.’
‘A few moments ago, while I was waiting for Cousin Eleanor to fetch you, Charlie hurried in on his way to his work at the bookbinders. He said that two of the street children had told him that “some rich blokes”, those were the words they used, had tried to offer them money to come up with a tale to keep you out of the way until tomorrow, and especially during tonight. They’d taken the money, naturally, then run as fast as they could to bring the word to you. Someone, they say, is trying to pull the wool over your eyes about something.’
‘Did they know who these rich blokes were?’
‘Not precisely, but Charlie said they’d described the one who spoke to them and he thought it might have been Alderman Harris. The man’s a distinctive figure about the city, mostly because he’s so fat and red in the face.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Crombie,’ Foxe said. ‘You did right to warn me so quickly. These proud aldermen are trying to win glory by solving the mystery of the mayor’s disappearance on their own. All they’re going to do is hold themselves up to ridicule. They want me out of the way in case I stumble on what is happening and reach the goal before them. Very well, I shall be conveniently absent, engaged on other matters. I believe there is a performance of a new play being staged at the Grand Concert Hall tonight. I will attend and sit in my usual box where I am in plain view. Afterwards, I will return home by the most direct route and retire for the night. However, before then I have several matters to set in hand. I always used to be able to rely on Charlie to take messages to the street children for me. With him busy elsewhere, I am unsure how to contact them.’
‘How about asking young Florence from your kitchen. Didn’t she used to be one of their number?’
‘You’re quite right, Mrs Crombie, as so often. She was once “Quick Fingers Flo”, the most successful pick-pocket in Norwich. She may well have kept some contacts amongst her former friends. Their leader used to be Kate Sulyard, one of the young streetwalkers, but I got her a respectable new career on the stage. Well, fairly respectable at least.’ Foxe was well aware of the number of young would-be actresses who had eagerly shared his bed in return for his patronage. He even had the grace to blush.
‘I’ll speak to Florence at once,’ he said quickly. ‘Thank you again, Mrs Crombie. This information has spoiled all my plans for today, but I would not have missed it for the world.’
LUCY WAS STILL THINKING about the chief clerk who had disappeared at the same time as the mayor. There was something odd about that whole matter. Of course, it was typical of the grandees at the guildhall that none of them had given any thought to a mere paid employee.
What if both the mayor and his chief clerk were involved in some plot to steal from the business? Might they have taken what they could and left before anyone could be alerted to the theft? That was surely nonsense. Mr Belton owned the business. You can’t steal from yourself. If it came down to embezzlement, the clerk would have to be the thief. Suppose Mr Belton found what he was doing, wouldn’t he have taken him at once to a magistrate and charged him with theft? In fact, as she recalled, each mayor was a magistrate in his own right, by virtue of his office. As the chief magistrate of the city, Mr Belton could have had the clerk thrown into prison immediately, then brought him before the next petty sessions or the assizes for punishment.
Murder? The clerk had been confronted by Belton and killed him to avoid being charged with theft. That was a neat and tidy soluti
on. The only problem was the lack of a body. Was it hidden somewhere? In the river perhaps? Without a body, murder could be assumed, but it could not be proved.
Kidnapping? If someone had come to kidnap the mayor, why take the clerk too? What possible use could he be to a kidnapper? If the man had died trying to defend his master, where was his body? Shouldn’t it be somewhere in plain view, a mute testament to the man’s bravery and loyalty?
None of it made any sense.
Of course, as a well-brought-up young lady in a wealthy household, it was impossible for her to set out on her own to investigate any further. Society’s norms prevented her from seeking those who might have known the clerk and questioning them to find out what manner of man he was. How frustrating the rules of polite society could be; were indeed most of the time! There were all too many occasions, in Lucy’s view, when being a proper lady was like being a pampered dog on a lead, able to go only where others took her.
At that point, a thought came to her. Even Mr Foxe often used other people, such as servants or the street children, to find out things for him. Why couldn’t she do the same?
Susan had been assigned to Lucy on her return from France to act as a personal maid. She wasn’t a proper lady’s maid, of course. Just one of the female servants with a particularly cheerful and willing demeanour and an interest in ways of adding to her experience. For most purposes, she was entirely sufficient for Lucy’s needs. Only when it came to dressing her mistresses’ hair did she fall short. At such times, Lucy had to call on the services of her aunt’s maid who had been trained in Paris.
Summoning Susan, Lucy explained what she needed and asked if the girl would be willing to help.
‘Is this to help Mr Foxe?’ Susan asked. ‘I know your uncle asked him to look into the mayor’s disappearance.’
‘Would that make a difference?’ Lucy asked her.
‘Oh yes, Miss. Mr Foxe is a real gentleman and so handsome with it. I’d do it anyway but knowing it might help Mr Foxe makes it something special.’
Lucy smothered her feelings at this show of blatant partiality from her maid and hurried on.
‘I imagine I shall tell him whatever you have found the next time I see him,’ she said carelessly. ‘He’s a very busy man, Susan. You’ll have to make do with acting for me for the time being. Now listen carefully, please.’
Lucy explained how, the next time she left the house and met any of the servants from neighbouring properties, she was to see what she could find out about the clerk who had disappeared from Belton’s Worsteds at the same time as the mayor. Anything at all might be of great use in solving this mystery.’
‘But I have no reason to leave the house at present,’ Susan wailed. ‘Your aunt doesn’t approve of servants leaving their duties just to meet with others.’
‘She’s quite correct too,’ Lucy said, ‘but you won’t have to neglect any of your duties to do as I ask. Suppose I send you to the marketplace to purchase some green ribbon for my sack-back dress from France, along with some better buttons to go on the linen jacket I wear about the house. That should allow you ample time and excuse to move about the market, seeking the right colour and the best price. All the time, you can keep your ears open. If you meet any servants you know, try to exchange a few words with them about Mr Belton’s chief clerk. I’ll give you five shillings, which should be more than enough to purchase what I require. Make sure you bring me back the change.’
Susan was delighted with this commission and promised to leave next morning, as soon as she had completed her basic morning duties. That would be the best time to go. There would be fewer townspeople about and the shopkeepers would be more inclined to take the time to gossip.
‘Promise me you’ll make it good with the housekeeper, Miss Lucy. She’s very strict. I don’t want to lose my place.’
‘Don’t worry, Susan,’ Lucy said. ‘I’ll explain that you’ve gone at my bidding. You’ll be quite safe from being punished. I’ll also tell her you’ve been instructed to find ribbon of a very particular shade so you’ll probably need to go to several haberdashers before you find it. That should allow you enough time. I won’t mind if you return to say that you hadn’t been able to find exactly what I wanted.’
WHEN FOXE SPOKE TO HER, Florence was able to explain that the new leader of the street children was a certain Betty Furniss. A “right saucy little trollop” she called her. Once these words were out of her mouth, she blushed furiously and apologised for using such language to the master. Foxe, totally unperturbed, waved her apologies aside and said that, if that was what this Betty was, there was no shame in telling him so. Then he sent Florence out into the street to look for a street child. Some were always lurking close by his house. She was to ask him or her to get a message to Betty Furniss to call on Mr Foxe at her earliest convenience.
The poor child to whom Florence spoke had no idea what this phrase meant, but he did manage to grasp that Mr Foxe wanted Betty to come to talk with him right away.
Betty herself arrived at the back door about three quarters of an hour later, dressed in the typical gaudy way of streetwalkers. What she wore was cheap and flimsy but that was no detriment to her trade, especially since they quite failed to conceal her unusually voluptuous figure considering that she could not be older than fourteen or so. However, despite Florence’s description, when Foxe spoke with her, she seemed more terrified than inclined to be cheeky.
Foxe was careful to take her no further inside the house than the scullery, which Florence had left hastily when her master appeared. His housekeeper, Mrs Dobbins, had been scandalised when he had once invited Kate Sulyard into his library. She had once led the street children and earned her living as a streetwalker as Betty did now. Kate’s presence in the house was considered totally improper by the rather strait-laced housekeeper.
‘There’s no need to be afraid of me,’ Foxe said gently. ‘I will do you no harm, nor try to impose myself on you. All I want is the help of the children whom you now lead, I believe. I know the way you earn your bread and doubt if you do it for any other reason than necessity. Now, listen carefully while I explain what I need you to arrange tonight.’
‘I knows how kind you are, Mr Foxe,’ Betty said, her voice surprisingly deep and displaying a trace of a former life very different from her present one. ‘How you’ve helped people like Kate Sulyard and “Quick-Fingers Flo” to leave the streets for proper work. I suppose I’m nervous ‘cause I’m ashamed. My father died and my mother married again. The man she chose was a right ba—. Sorry, sir, for the language. He started to beat her and, as soon as I began to gain a figure, decided I was there for his personal use. I could see what my life was going to be like so I left one night and ain’t never been back since. You’ll tell me I let men use me now, but at least they pay.’
‘Never be ashamed of who you are or the blows life has dealt you, Betty. And don’t think for a moment that I will judge you in any way. If I can, I’ll help you to move on to a better way of life. Think about it. Whatever it is, it must be your choice.’
By this time, Betty was looking at him with an expression that hovered somewhere between amazement and rapt adoration.
‘Just tell me what you wants and I’ll see it gets done,’ she said earnestly. ‘Promise and cross me ‘eart.’ You’re a true gent, Mr Foxe, not like that bloke everyone is going on about, the one what’s disappeared. He’s a sh—. Sorry, slipped out.’
‘Robert Belton?’ Foxe said. ‘Do you really mean Alderman Belton, the mayor?’ His mind was still reeling from the shock that she even knew who the mayor was, let alone felt that way about him. How have you encountered Mr Belton?’
‘The way you’d expect, of course. He approached me once but I wasn’t to his taste. Too womanly, he said. He prefers the youngest, skinniest, most flat-chested girls. Them poor chicks as is always hungry and cold. Not that he cares about how they feel. He’ll walk off without paying, if he thinks he can get away with it. That’s not fair i
s it, Mr Foxe? I calls it being downright mean. They needs every penny they can earn, just to stay alive.’
‘It’s despicable,’ Foxe said angrily.
‘He also thinks we don’t know who he is,’ Betty continued. ‘Dresses in shabby clothes and pretends he’s an ordinary working man. Most of us run the other way if we see him coming along.’
‘We are talking about Mr Belton, the current mayor?’ Foxe said in amazement. ‘I don’t doubt your word, Betty, but I’m having trouble taking all this in.’
‘It’s him, right enough. He ain’t the only one either. Several toffs comes to us, some real regular like. Either they can’t get it at home or they’re afraid of taking a mistress—or too mean to keep one. They’ve maybe encountered someone who recognised them going into one of them fancy whorehouses they calls bordellos. A quick fumble and the rest with one of us in a dark alley, up against a convenient wall, and they slip away, certain no one knows what they’ve been up to. That’s beside those like Belton who gets a special thrill from screwing a girl who’s barely old enough to have breasts. Not that that applies to me,’ she added, turning sideways and pushing up her breasts under her shift for Foxe to see for himself.
Foxe was still trying to get to grips with the idea that Robert Belton had frequented the marketplace for the purpose of enjoying the favours—if you could call such a clear monetary transaction that—of the youngest girls he could find. This had to throw a new light on his disappearance. Who else knew of this dreadful habit? Who might have threatened to let the world know that their mayor was spending time with child prostitutes? Who might have decided to put an end, once and for all, to his antics? This required a great deal of thought; much more than he had time for at present.
‘Look, Betty,’ he said. ‘I need to speak with you about this at much greater length and hear what you can tell me. It might help explain Mayor Belton’s disappearance. But not now. I’ll send for you some other time. Now I need to be on my way elsewhere.’
Foxe and the Path into Darkness Page 5
