passed. I struggled to slow my breath, anxiety impeding my capacity to concentrate on fleeting images of Josselin dancing through the shadows. That anxiety increased when he suddenly stepped out into the street and appeared to stare straight at us. Then he darted across to our side of the hill and disappeared up Cloak Lane, a narrow street shrouded in darkness beneath the imposing presence of St John Baptist.
‘Do we follow?’ I whispered, for it was a strange route. Assuming Josselin still followed Arlington, why did Arlington travel north-west? Why did he not proceed north up Sopar Lane, broader and better lit?
‘Follow not that which is evil, but that which is good,’ Dowling answered, staring into the black hole. ‘Every fibre of my soul tells me to let them go. Some drama is about to unfold. Yet if we are not witness to it, I don’t know how we save ourselves.’
‘Now I feel much better,’ I grumbled, striding to the mouth of the alley. ‘Nothing to see,’ I whispered, listening hard. The wind blew like a typhoon down the narrow passageway.
Dowling squeezed my shoulder. ‘May God grant you courage.’
I resisted the temptation to slap him about the chops and stepped into the darkness. The gale whistled and screeched. No need to tread softly, so I scuttled forwards, keen to catch a glimpse of Josselin’s breeches, feeling with my hands. A curtain flapped furiously out of an open window wrapping itself about my face. I saw something move at the mouth of a tiny alley next to the churchyard of St Thomas Apostle, a crumbling church, bereft of bells. A tiny light shone in the distance. My heart pounded blood through the back of my throat.
I shook my head. ‘Why should Arlington come here?’
Dowling said nothing but stepped into the entrance of the alley and out of the wind. I squeezed after him and we edged forwards, eyes fixed
upon the light ahead. It was impossible to tell how big it was, or how far the distance.
Behind the wall to our left lay a churchyard. A pale glow marked a break in the brickwork. An iron gate hung crooked upon its hinges, almost closed, swinging gently backwards and forwards. Gravestones glimmered beneath the thinnest sliver of a moon. The light seemed close now, square, like a window.
We resumed our slow shuffle, the window looming afore us. A narrow house emerged from the darkness at the top of the alley, a mean structure with two low storeys and a sagging roof. The alley walls ran into the front of the house, offering no means of escape.
‘This is a trap,’ I whispered, a growing conviction slowing my feet.
‘Aye, so it is,’ a bright voice sounded loud from behind us. ‘Though it was not you we hoped to snare.’
I swivelled sharp to see Withypoll, rattling a cane against the graveyard wall. ‘Keep walking,’ he commanded.
There were more shadows behind him, and now a low shuffling and the sound of several men breathing at once.
The door to the house stood ajar. Lord Arlington leant back in a chair, smoking a pipe, legs crossed. His eyes glinted above the black plaster on his nose.
‘Well, well,’ he said, not troubling to smile. ‘My loyal subjects come to pay their respects.’ He jerked the pipe at two boxes on the floor. ‘Hang them.’
Withypoll grabbed me by the throat. Someone tied my hands, another my ankles, and a rope fell around my neck. Withypoll picked me up by the scruff of the neck and hauled me onto one of the boxes. I heard the rope swish through the air, and the noose jerked tight.
Arlington adjusted his chair so he sat opposite us both. I could see
Dowling out the corner of my eye. If I stood on tiptoe I could just about swallow without choking. Arlington sucked his pipe and blew smoke up at the low wooden ceiling. ‘I was hoping for Josselin,’ he said. ‘Perhaps he will join us later. Meantime you might tell me who you spoke to at Clarendon’s house, and what you spoke about.’
‘I wanted to know if Josselin was in there,’ I croaked, dry-mouthed, watching Withypoll prick the blade of his long knife against his thumb. ‘They told us he was spotted in the City.’
Withypoll leered, eyes hungry. Arlington stared through my eyes and into the back of my head, sombre and steel-jawed.
‘I told you to watch for Josselin and you sought audience with Clarendon.’ He tapped the bowl of the pipe against his knee. ‘Then you smuggled yourselves into the City without telling me what you spoke about.’ He waved a hand. ‘What am I to suppose?’
‘That we are endeavouring to find Josselin for you, by whatever means,’ I replied.
‘No.’ Arlington pointed the stem of his pipe at my forehead. ‘I am to suppose I cannot trust you.’ He grimaced and pulled his coat about his shoulders, like he was cold. ‘Something about you both rankles with me. I don’t know what it is, but I cannot endure it any longer.’ He blew more blue smoke. ‘It is time for you to die.’
Withypoll grinned so hard I thought his face would break. The rope tightened about my throat, and my face swelled up.
Arlington smiled briefly, showing yellow teeth. ‘I promised you the Spanish donkey, Lytle, and I thought to hang the butcher from a meathook by his chin, but this is simpler.’ He brushed at his trousers with one hand and stared expectantly, as if awaiting famous last words.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. ‘We have been loyal to you,
done everything you asked of us and tried to do more. It is true Josselin escaped us, but we returned to London as fast as we could, to bring him to justice.’ I forced the air into my lungs, my eyes stinging. ‘And we have not finished yet. I don’t understand why you plan to kill us when still you don’t have Josselin, nor what he withholds from you.’
Arlington blinked. ‘You found Josselin in the City, then?’ He licked his lips. ‘What more did he tell you?’
‘We found Josselin at Red Rose Lane.’
Arlington frowned. ‘Pudding Lane, you mean?’
‘Aye, Pudding Lane,’ I tried to nod. ‘It was he who poisoned your soldiers when he saw how they despoiled his house and frightened his family. We saw him there and followed.’
Arlington leant forwards. ‘Did he tell you what of mine he possesses?’
‘No,’ I said quickly, fearful of the look in his eye. ‘He told us only it was a letter of some sort, that he possessed it and wanted to meet with you to discuss it. You won’t catch him, for he is cleverer than us.’
Arlington leant back, eyes hooded.
‘You don’t believe me,’ I exclaimed. ‘I told you before he wanted to talk to you. How else will you get your letter back? Who else will obtain it for you?’ I looked to Withypoll. ‘He won’t catch him.’
Withypoll glowered, like he plotted to dispense the most pain it was possible to inflict on another human being. His eyes turned a darker shade of black and he stepped close enough to kick away the box beneath my feet.
‘We found him at Shyam, we found him at Duke’s Place, and we followed him here,’ I continued.
Arlington looked to the door. ‘Josselin is here?’
‘He trailed you from Thames Street. His sole objective is to find
you. We saw him enter Cloak Lane, then lost him in our own attempt to remain undetected.’
‘Why so?’ demanded Arlington. ‘Why did you not call ahead? We could have trapped him.’
‘Because we know that Withypoll wants to see us dead, your lordship,’ I exclaimed. ‘Every step we take, he tells us he will see us dead. He seeks revenge and will not forgive us.’
‘Nor would I, Lytle,’ Arlington said, softly. ‘How could any man trust you?’
‘We do not leave everyone we find,’ I reminded him.
Withypoll pulled a thin-bladed knife from his jacket. ‘Enough,’ he slurred, crimson-cheeked.
‘Hold,’ Arlington commanded, holding up one hand. ‘You speak well, Lytle. Why then do I not trust you?’
I raised my brow at Withypoll. ‘Because this fellow speaks in your ear? And because I saved your life and you don’t trust us not to tell anyone.’