'I believe so.'
'You know so, Christopher. The girl is enthralled by you.' 'Hardly,' said the other, trying to brush an embarrassing subject aside. 'We have hardly spoken two words to each other.'
'She worships you in silence,' said Northcott with a grin. 'I saw her at the site yesterday. Those big eyes of hers never left you for a second. Her father tells me that she was taken with you from the start. Since your exploits with those thieves, she adores you.' He gave his companion a sly nudge. 'What do you intend to do about it?'
'Do about it, Sir Ambrose?'
'Margaret is an attractive creature.'
'Nobody would gainsay that.'
'Then what is holding you back?'
'From what?' Christopher saw the candid lechery in his eye. 'Oh, no, Sir Ambrose. There can be no question of that.'
'Why not? You are young, unmarried and virile.'
'I am wedded to my work.'
'Every man needs to season his labours with pleasure.'
'You begin to sound like my brother.'
'Henry would not hesitate in such a case as this.'
'I am afraid that he would not, Sir Ambrose.'
'So why must you?' pressed the other. 'Margaret Littlejohn is patently entranced by you. Requite her love.' Another nudge. 'Take pity on her, Christopher. Give the young lady what she so earnestly craves.'
'That would be unwise and unfair.'
'Would it?'
Christopher weighed his words carefully before speaking. His first impression of Margaret Littlejohn had proved correct. She was a potential danger. Her admiration of him was now so blatant that he tried to avoid her eye lest even a greeting nod from him be mistaken as a form of encouragement. Christopher had known infatuation himself in his younger days and he understood the lengths to which it could drive a person. His fear was that the builder's daughter would become so enamoured of him that she would discard all propriety and blurt out a declaration of love. That was something which he wished to avoid at all costs.
'Answer me,' insisted Northcott. 'Unwise and unfair, you say?'
'Yes, Sir Ambrose,' explained Christopher. 'It would be unwise for me to become involved with any woman at this time because it would prove a serious distraction. And it would be especially unwise of me to engage the affections of a young lady whose father works alongside me.'
'But the fellow approves of the match.'
'It is not a match. That is the crucial point. Margaret Littlejohn is a charming young lady but I could never requite her love,' he admitted, 'and it would be unfair both to her and her father to pretend that I could. As for the other course of action, it would be quite monstrous of me to take my pleasure then cast her aside when I tired of her. What purpose would be served by that?'
'Ask your brother.'
'Henry and I view these things differently.'
'I am more inclined to side with him.'
'Would you do so if you were involved in a similar situation?'
'What do you mean?'
'Only this, Sir Ambrose,' said Christopher. 'Henry told me that you have a daughter who is little above Margaret Littlejohn's age. Were she to become hopelessly entranced by a young man, would you advise him to take full advantage of her?'
'Leave my daughter out of this!' said Northcott testily.
'I only sought to draw a parallel.'
'It is an offensive one. Let us forget the whole matter.'
'Gladly, Sir Ambrose.'
'My daughter, Penelope, is engaged to be married.'
'Henry omitted to mention that.'
'I will tax him on the subject when I meet him this evening.'
'Please accept my apology. No offence was intended.'
'Enough, man! I will hear no more!'
There was an awkward pause. Another bottle of wine arrived and their glasses were refilled. Christopher waited until his host had taken a long sip before he resumed the conversation.
'I have made enquiries about an artist,' he said quietly.
'Artist?' grunted the other.
'You wanted a portrait painted, Sir Ambrose. To hang in the hall of the new house. You stressed that the artist had to be worthy of such a commission. I have found two men, either of whom would suit you.'
'Who are they?'
Christopher described the two men and praised their work in equal measure. Northcott's interest was engaged once more and his ruffled feathers were gradually smoothed. He insisted on seeing the work of both artists before reaching a decision between them. Talk of the portrait led on to a discussion of furnishings for the house and an hour slipped pleasurably past. The architect was glad that Margaret Littlejohn had faded completely out of their discourse. Northcott had obviously forgotten all about her. Christopher took great care to make no further reference to his host's daughter. He did not wish to provoke more ire.
Northcott regained his buoyant mood. When they parted company, he shook Christopher's hand warmly and thanked him once again for the bravery he had shown in confronting the thieves. Sir Ambrose Northcott was expansive, promising that no expense would be spared on the house and assuring the young architect that he would be among the first guests invited to dine there. Christopher was honoured. The prospect of owning a beautiful new home seemed to rejuvenate Northcott. He walked away with a jauntiness in his gait.
Christopher was struck by the extraordinary vitality of the older man. Sir Ambrose Northcott truly defied his years. He had an inner zest which somehow made light of the passage of time. Though no longer entirely uncritical of his employer, Christopher could not but admire his bounding energy.
As he watched the man go, it did not occur to him for a second that he would never see Sir Ambrose Northcott alive again.
Chapter Six
Sarah Bale was never quite able to relax completely but her load was considerably lightened once she had put the children to bed. Oliver and Richard were boisterous lads who needed a watchful eye kept on them and, in the course of a normal day, their mother was frequently called upon to prise them apart, act as a peacemaker, adjudicate, discipline, amuse, threaten or read to them. Just fifteen months separated the six-year-old Oliver from his younger sibling and the fact that Richard was slightly bigger than him sharpened the edge of his competitiveness but Sarah's mixture of firm action and warm maternalism usually kept the two boys under control and it was only on rare occasions that their father was brought in to impose his authority. Jonathan was proud of his sons and equally proud of the way in which his wife was bringing them up. Though he took his turn at reading to them from the Bible or telling them stories, it was Sarah who bore the brunt of their education in the home.
The constable was a busy man and the Great Fire increased both his professional responsibilities and his domestic commitments. When not attending to his duties, his main priority was to reconstruct the house in Addle Hill. It was noisy work.
'How much longer will you be, Jonathan?' asked Sarah.
'I am almost finished, my love.'
'The children are in bed at last but they will never sleep while you hammer away like that. Could you not stop now, please?'
'One last nail, then.'
