‘Pah! What do I care for curses?’ Foxe said.
‘She also wrote something on the back of the slate,’ Charlie went on. ‘It read, “No excuses! Come now! I mean it!!” That last bit was underlined three times.’
Foxe knew the boy was right. No one in their right mind would defy the Cunning Woman and hope to escape punishment. Foxe had known her since his earliest childhood. First as his father’s much-loved mistress after his mother had died. Then, after his father’s death, as his own trusted guide into manhood. It was Mistress Tabby who had taught him how to live well and manage his affairs. She was also the one who had introduced him to the ways of women, shown him how to give and receive pleasure — enriching her teaching with many practical examples. Even though they had drifted apart until recently, for him to defy her was unthinkable. Without more ado, therefore, he got up, called for Alfred to bring him his outdoor clothing and set out. Bart followed closely behind him.
Thirty minutes later, Foxe stood in front of Mistress Tabby, the Cunning Woman, hanging his head in anticipation of a sound scolding. He felt exactly as he had done as a lad of eleven or twelve, waiting to receive the just reward for his latest misdemeanour. Tabby let him stand there for a moment, then lent forward and cuffed him gently about the ears.
‘I’ve been wanting to do that for several weeks now,’ she said. ‘What an idiot you are, Ash! Going about with your chin dragging on the ground, for all the world as if you had suffered some major disaster. In fact, all you have suffered is a blow to your pride and a little embarrassment; both of them due to your own stupidity. I remember your father telling me, many years ago, that he had to give you a good hiding from time to time to stop you getting above yourself. You’re too big for me to do that now. Of course, I could always call Bart in to hold you down, then get my old carpet-beater and apply it to your backside — which is where you appear to keep what passes for your brains.’
She paused for breath. Foxe waited, knowing she had not yet finished. Truth be told, he was more than a little afraid that she would carry out her threat.
‘Listen to me, Ashmole Foxe, and listen carefully! Your lifestyle of continual bed-hopping doesn’t really suit you anymore, does it? I’m sure you get a great deal of short-term pleasure from all those pretty young women with their heads stuffed with dust and fluff. The trouble is, none of them are the kind of person you can talk with or hope might share your problems. When the Catt sisters were still in Norwich, you had the ideal arrangement. Young Kitty provided the glamour and excitement, she was easily kept sweet by vigorous bedding three or four times a week but her older sister, Gracie, listened to all your problems and gave you comfort — with a little bit of sex thrown in from time to time for good measure. When they left, you could find what Kitty had given you, but Gracie left a gap you haven’t been able to fill — until recently that is. What did you do then? You behaved like an idiot to Lady Cockerham and, when she wouldn’t listen to your nonsense, you stalked off in a huff. To make it even worse, since then you’ve been nursing your wounded pride and bringing misery on everyone about you.’
‘I did what I thought was the honourable thing,’ Foxe complained. ‘She laughed at me!’
‘I would have done the same thing in her place,’ Mistress Tabby said. ‘What on earth possessed you to think she would see you as an appropriate husband? Even if she wanted one, all she would have seen was a man prepared to go to bed with any pretty girl who crossed his path. Does that suggest suitable husband material to you? Grow up, Ash! If you want to persuade her to marry you, you’ll have to prove you’re worth it. That means behaving like a sensible and responsible person. One who isn’t led astray by every young actress who comes to the theatre here.’
‘That’s hardly fair, is it? I mean …’
‘No more! Of course, it’s fair! You know I’m right as well as I do! Why else have you been creeping around with a face like thunder, despite having solved all these baffling mysteries. You’re lonely, Ash, that’s your trouble. You’ve no one to talk to; no one to share your ideas with. Even your friend, Captain Brock, isn’t as available now he’s married and has responsibilities of his own elsewhere. Mrs Crombie will listen to you politely and make some helpful suggestions but even she’s shown the good sense to keep relations between you on a purely business footing. Who else is there? Don’t look at me! I’ve got many better things to do than wait around until you want me to soothe your fevered brow.’
‘I suppose you may be correct, Tabby,’ Foxe admitted. ‘Maybe I did see in Lady Cockerham someone whom I could make an intimate friend. Then I spoiled it all by snatching at what I wanted without a moment’s thought. Dammit! You’re right, as usual. I know I’m capable of being a loving and reasonably faithful husband, even though my recent history is against me. At least, I think I know I could be faithful. To be honest, I’ve never tried it. There are so many beautiful women about to tempt me. It’s probably hopeless. I don’t expect I’m capable of changing.’
‘By God, Ash, what on earth does it take to make you stop whining and moping? Perhaps I really do need to call Bart and beat some sense into you. You know what you have to do, so get on and do it! Swallow your pride. Go and see Lady Cockerham and beg her to forgive you — on your knees, if necessary. If you don’t do it, I wash my hands of you and will never speak to you again! I mean it! You know I never threaten things unless I’m willing to carry them out.’
Foxe was horrified. What she said was perfectly true. The Cunning Woman was not the kind of person to make an idle threat, however much she might regret turning away from him for good. Foxe had already spent several years ignoring Mistress Tabby, in the mistaken belief that he didn’t need her anymore, then lived to regret it. That time, she had been willing to forgive him. If he upset her again, there’s no knowing what she would do. Whatever it was, he knew instantly that he didn’t dare risk finding out.
‘I promise I’ll go and apologise to her,’ he said at once. ‘She’ll probably turn me away, and I wouldn’t blame her, but I’ll still do it. On my knees, if I have to.’
‘You know I’ll hold you to that promise, Ash. I’ll tell dear Bella Cockerham to expect you then. Soon, I mean! Now come here, give me a kiss and let us be friends again. It’s time you told me all about how you finally solved the mystery surrounding George Valmar and what you intend to do next. Oh, by the way,’ she added. ‘Expect an important visitor in the next day or so.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Never you mind. Just pay attention. Your mysteries aren’t quite finished yet. There’s more to come in at least two cases. Now, tell me what you’ve discovered since we saw each other last.’
The next morning, Foxe rose early and set about preparing himself to make his promised visit to Lady Cockerham. He had slept badly. Now he picked at his breakfast, all the while dreading what lay before him. Setting his coffee aside, he went slowly to his dressing room, where he called Alfred to help him decide what he should wear.
If he dressed in his best clothes, he risked appearing proud and arrogant. If he wore more workaday garb, the lady might come to the conclusion he was not taking this visit with sufficient seriousness. He had dressed and undressed three times; Alfred’s patience was nearly exhausted with fetching clothes and putting them away again when Molly knocked at the door to tell him he had a visitor.
She found him dressed for the fourth time in his second-best plum-coloured suit with the gold and silver embroidery down the front. Now he was standing considering himself in the long mirror and trying to decide whether he had at last found the right balance between penitence and elegance.
‘A Mr Anthony Smith is downstairs, Master, asking to see you,’ the maid said. ‘He says it is a matter of great importance, so I’ve asked him to wait for you in the library. I hope that’s right.’
‘Please tell him I will be with him shortly,’ Foxe replied. His curiosity was thoroughly aroused by this visit. Despite being on the brink of leaving for Po
ttergate, there was no way he was going to turn the man away. Besides, it offered an excellent excuse for him to delay his visit to Lady Cockerham a little further.
When he entered the library, Foxe found Mr Smith examining some of the books. Hearing him enter, the man turned around at once, full of embarrassment at having been discovered satisfying his curiosity in that way. They shook hands, each trying to decide how best to proceed. Smith took the lead at last, full of smiles and congratulations. He was, he said, eager to thank Foxe for finding the book that he had been looking for, despite its great rarity. Then, to Foxe’s amazement, he put his hand into the pocket of his coat and drew out a small volume, handing it over for Foxe to examine.
‘But . . . Isn’t this . . . I mean . . . This is the book you asked me to find,’ Foxe stammered. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘It’s a long and sad story,’ Smith said. ‘Perhaps we might both be seated. Then I will tell you all that has taken place since my last visit.’
Foxe, recalled to his manners, invited his visitor to take a seat. He also rang the bell on his desk to call Molly to bring them some suitable refreshment. She had anticipated his request and entered the room almost at once, carrying a tray with a pot of fresh coffee, two cups and a plate of some of Mrs Whitbread’s fresh-baked biscuits. All this time, though Foxe was still holding the book in his hand, he had failed to open it. When he did, he suffered such a shock he was unable to do more than stare at Mr Smith with his mouth open.
‘You have seen the bookplate,’ Smith said. ‘Yes, that is indeed the book stolen from Dr Danson’s library, exactly as you explained in your letter to me. I have come here today to explain and ask you to return it to the man’s widow. The theft was not of our doing, Mr Foxe, I assure you. Nor are we willing to keep what has been obtained in such an illegal and underhanded manner.’
‘So was Mr Cornelius Wake one of your number?’ Foxe asked. ‘Who is he? How did he know that Danson had a copy? Why did he come to Norwich after you had already asked me to look for it?’
‘I said it was a long story, so let me start from the beginning,’ Smith replied. ‘Mr Cornelius Wake is a Dutchman. At least, his native tongue is Dutch. I believe he was actually born in Ghent. According to his own account, he was apprenticed to an apothecary there. When he had served his time, he moved on to Antwerp, where he established a similar business in his own right. All this time, his interest in alchemy and groups like the Rosicrucians was growing. He sought out information on them wherever he could find it. That was how he came to the notice of the local authorities.’
‘Is he of the Roman persuasion in terms of religion?’ Foxe asked. ‘I believe that is prevalent in those areas of the Low Countries, is it not?’
‘It has had a most troubled history, Mr Foxe, split between two Christian persuasions antagonistic to one another. Mr Wake claims to have been born a Christian and a protestant. He remained a protestant outwardly. Of his true beliefs, I cannot tell you much. His interest in so-called hidden knowledge affected all parts of his life. All I know for certain is that he became a Freemason. For the rest, he alone could explain what he believed in.
‘That was his problem, I understand. His strange beliefs and his unwillingness to continue to hide them, finally resulted in a decision to leave that place. He says it was to seek a more tolerant society in England. Some of us believe the real reason was that he had lost interest in the trade of an apothecary. Instead, he had decided to take up the wandering life of a seller of magical cures and nostrums.’
‘I thought he was still a young man,’ Foxe said.
‘He is. Still barely thirty years of age. It is a great deal to pack into such a short existence on this earth, is it not? You have put your finger on another one of the man’s many difficulties. He is both restless and impatient. Nothing satisfies him for long.’
‘How did you come into contact with him? I cannot imagine a man like yourself taking some seller of fake medicines seriously.’
‘We knew nothing of that side of his life until much later, Mr Foxe. I hope you will believe me when I tell you Mr Wake is a most plausible fellow. He has the gift of discovering what kind of person you would like him to be, then adopting that guise in a moment. As to how we came to let him join our group, the answer lies here, with this little volume.
‘The number of people, collectors I mean, with a serious interest in books of this type is small, as I’m sure you understand. From time to time, rumours circulate about titles thought to be especially desirable, like this one. We had already heard a suggestion that a copy might be found in Norwich, though we did not know precisely where. That was why I came to see you. It was in the hope that you might be able to discover where it was through your contacts and acquire it on our behalf.
‘Mr Wake was still new to our group. Indeed, the rest of us had not yet decided whether or not to admit him as a full member. On the one hand, what he told us about himself suggested that he would have useful knowledge. According to his first account, he had been an apothecary at shops in Antwerp, then in the city of Utrecht. It was in Utrecht that he had developed a keen interest in alchemy and the writings of those who had practised that eccentric art in the past. Unfortunately, so he said, his interest had become known. The townsfolk became suspicious of him and accused him of dabbling in witchcraft and magic. When the ecclesiastical authorities threatened to charge him, he fled to England. Finally, he made his way to Cambridge. There, somehow, he heard about our group and approached one of our members in the hope of joining it. As you can see, it was a clever mixture of truths, half-truths and outright lies.’
Smith’s story continued with Wake seeking to ingratiate himself by using his knowledge of alchemy to assist the group in their studies. He also suggested several books which he thought might be useful additions to their small library. That was how he heard about the group’s decision to send Smith to Norwich to try to obtain a particularly rare volume.
‘It was after I had left Cambridge that Wake claimed to have discovered exactly where the book was to be found. He already knew we were prepared to offer a significant price …’
‘How much were you going to offer?’ Foxe said, interrupting. The gentle flow of Smith’s narrative was becoming too slow for him.
‘We were willing to pay up to ten pounds,’ Smith replied.
Foxe whistled softly. ‘An extraordinarily generous amount,’ he said, ‘and much more than I imagine the book is actually worth.’
‘We did not think we should have to pay even half as much. The amount was chosen so that my hands would not be tied in negotiation. It would have taken too long to go back and forth to Cambridge to get permission to exceed a lower limit.’
Foxe nodded. Even so, to pay anywhere near ten pounds for a single volume struck him as foolish.
‘Very few copies have survived,’ Smith explained. ‘As far as we know, the original printing produced only a hundred copies, only available by subscription. Unfortunately, barely a dozen people subscribed. The printer therefore decided to use the remaining, unbound copies to feed the stove in his workshop during an unusually cold winter. However, I must not be led aside, fascinating though the history of this book has proved to be. I was telling you about Wake.’
Wake, it appeared, had left for Norwich himself without telling anyone and without waiting for Smith to return. Nothing was seen of him again until several days after Smith had come back to Cambridge. Wake then presented himself at the next meeting of the group. He was holding the book and telling them that he had, with great difficulty, been able to persuade the owner, whose name he did not mention, to part with it. At first, they were overjoyed. Then they became suspicious. Especially when Wake told them he had been obliged to offer not ten pounds, but fifteen.
‘That is a truly monstrous sum!’ Foxe said, interrupting again. ‘Was your group willing to give him the extra money to make up for what he said he had paid to obtain the book? I can scarcely believe it.’
‘
We were not, Mr Foxe. Not at once, anyway. As I said, our suspicions were aroused. Wake told us that the owner had allowed him to return with the book only on the promise that he would obtain the additional five pounds. Then he was to return at once to Norwich to complete the sale. Like you, we found this tale hard to believe. We told Mr Wake it would take us several days to collect the remaining money together. Then, after he had left, we quickly decided to refuse the book altogether. For a start, Wake carried out his transaction without our permission. Then we were unable to believe that a refugee, as he told us he was, would have ten pounds available to make the partial payment.’
It was in the period between Wake leaving and his return in the hope of claiming fifteen pounds, that Foxe’s letter reached Mr Smith. As soon he had read it, he called the other members of the group together. Furious, they determined to confront Mr Wake with the charge of theft and murder, then hand him over to the university authorities. Within the area of the city occupied by the various colleges, Smith explained to Foxe, the university managed its own affairs. That included the preservation of law and order and the primary administration of justice.
‘As you can imagine, Mr Foxe,’ Smith continued, ‘Cornelius Wake was horrified to discover we knew how he had obtained the book and were ready to hand him over to face justice. The theft alone would have sent him to the gallows. Committing murder would make his execution doubly certain. He fell on his knees before us, sobbing and pleading for mercy. Thus, it was that the true story came out. How he had discovered where the book was, he never told us. All he would say was that he had visited Dr Danson, exactly as you told me in your letter. There he hoped to purchase the book for a far lesser amount than we had said we were willing to pay. He planned to return, claiming to have paid the full ten pounds. The balance he would keep for his own use. On the way back to Cambridge, his greed got the better of him. He decided to ask for a still larger sum.’
A Sickness in the Soul Page 24
