short of money, living in a dingy abode with nothing more than a freakish servant for company and facing a bleak and lonely future. Jonathan could still not understand exactly how it had happened, but he did feel sorry for the man. The story had come out in fits and starts and it was only now that the constable was able to piece it together properly.
In his own estimation, Gow was a casualty of his wife's ruthless ambition. Since so much of it was activated by self- pity, Jonathan did not believe all that he had heard from the man. What interested him was Bartholomew Gow's ambivalent attitude towards his wife. Angry at her for the way she had treated him, he was genuinely concerned at the news of her abduction and fearful that she might be hurt in some way. Yet that concern was itself tempered by the feeling that justice may somehow have been done, that Harriet Gow was getting no more than she deserved for the way she had behaved. At one point, an almost complacent smile had touched Gow's lips.
Jonathan was baffled. His insight into a turbulent marriage upset him. He could not comprehend how two people who came together out of love and who took sacred vows at the altar could part with such enmity. Harriet Gow should certainly not take all of the blame herself. As he listened to the husband's meandering account of events, Jonathan saw the man's defects revealing themselves. Gow was spiteful, envious of his wife's talents, boastful about himself, mean- spirited, capable of bursts of temper and quite unable to accept that he had in any way been in the wrong. Though his visitor came to see how an outwardly personable man like Gow could have attracted an inexperienced girl to marry him, he also noted some of the shortcomings in the husband that must in time have irritated his spouse beyond measure.
When he turned into Addle Hill, he felt a surge of love for his own wife, a deep gratitude that he and Sarah had not bickered and battled with each other in the way that Bartholomew Gow and his wife clearly had. Jonathan and Sarah Bale had a different kind of partnership. It might lack the luxuries and the excitements that the other marriage had enjoyed at the start but it had endured. It was the core of Jonathan's life, the immoveable base from which he set out each day and to which he could return with the confident expectation of a warm smile and a loving welcome. A long conversation in Clerkenwell made him count his own blessings. He was not given to impulsive gestures as a rule, but when he let himself into the house and found Sarah in the kitchen, he wrapped her in his arms and gave her a resounding kiss.
'What have I done to deserve that?' she said, laughing.
'You're
'Well, of course I'm here. I've sheets to wash and clothes to mend and a dozen other chores to get through. I can't stir from the house until all that's done.'
'That wasn't what I meant, my love.'
'Then what did you mean?'
'Nothing,' he said.
The second kiss was brief but tender. Sarah busied herself with getting a meal for him. Eating times were irregular in the Bale household because she never knew when his duties would allow him to slip back to the house. She never carped about the fact. Though she might tease him at times, she rarely chided him about anything. What she had married was a good, honest, loving man who worked as a shipwright in their early years together. Her commitment was total. Sarah did not question his decision to become a constable even though it meant that less money would come into the house and that he would be exposing himself to constant physical danger. She was content to support him in whatever he chose to do.
'I hoped you might be back earlier,' she said, putting the food on the table. 'Where have you been?'
'Far afield.'
'Oh?'
'What about you, my love?'
'I've been far afield myself,' she joked. 'I went into the parlour, back into the kitchen, upstairs to clean the rooms, down again to start the washing in here then out to the garden to peg it on the line. You're not the only person who's travelled today, Jonathan Bale.'
He munched his slice of ham and smiled. She knew instinctively that he was engaged in a serious investigation but she did not press for details. Sarah would be told what was going on when her husband was ready to confide in her and not before. As she babbled on about the customers who had called at the house that morning, Jonathan felt sorry that he had to keep her in ignorance, but the case required absolute secrecy and there were some elements in it that he could never divulge. From the speed with which he gobbled his meal, Sarah could see how anxious he was to get back to his work. Collecting a kiss of thanks, she saw him to the door.
'When will you be back?' she asked.
'I've no idea, my love.'
'In time to read to the children?'
'I hope so.'
'They like to hear their father read,' she said. 'Though they did enjoy listening to Mr Redmayne, too. Oliver loved that story about Samson. Do tell that to Mr Redmayne, if you chance to see him again.'
'We may have other things to discuss,' Jonathan murmured.
He walked up Addle Hill towards Carter Lane, intending to resume his task by following up some of the lines of enquiry suggested to him by Bartholomew Gow. Since the husband could now be excluded from the list of suspects, attention had to centre on someone else. Jonathan did not get far before he realised that he was being followed. The man must have been lurking not far from his home, waiting for the constable to emerge before trailing him. Jonathan did not look round for fear of frightening the stalker away. If someone had a reason to dog his steps, he wanted to know what it was, regardless of the hazards that might be involved.
The pursuit was relentless. Though he led the man on a twisting route, he could not shake him off. Jonathan eventually walked into Ave Maria Lane, part of the area around St Paul's Cathedral that had been stricken by the Great Fire and rebuilt in accordance with the new specifications. The lane had been widened to eighteen feet and some of its character had been lost in the process but the change had been necessary. Having helped to fight the fire himself in the previous year, Jonathan recalled how destructive and undiscriminating it had been. Not even the towering magnificence of St Paul's had been spared. He had taken a close interest in the reconstruction and had an intimate knowledge of every inch of the district. That knowledge was now put to practical use.
Swinging right into Paternoster Row, he headed for a narrow passage that led off to a tavern. It would be an ideal place for an attack. If his shadow were waiting for his opportunity, this is where he would take it. Jonathan was ready for him. Ambling along with apparent unconcern, he turned calmly into the passage then flattened himself immediately into the first doorway. Footsteps quickened and a stocky man came running around the corner with a cudgel in his hand, ready to strike. With no quarry in sight, he came to a halt and gazed around in astonishment, unaware that the constable was directly behind him. Relaxing his grip on the weapon, he let it dangle by his side.
Jonathan was on him at once. Leaping out of his hiding place, he threw one arm around the man's neck and used the other hand to grab the wrist that held the cudgel. The man struggled fiercely and it was all that Jonathan could do to hold him. He managed to twist the cudgel from the man's grasp and it fell to the ground but his adversary was wily as well as strong. Unable to dislodge the constable, he gave a sudden heave backwards and slammed him against the wall of a house. The impact made Jonathan release his grip and the man wrenched himself free. He retrieved his cudgel and raised it to hit out but Jonathan parried the blow before it gained any real force.
They grappled, punched and lurched violently to and fro. Jonathan had to take a couple more painful blows from the cudgel but he was not deterred. The man in his arms was most probably one of the assailants who had beaten a coachman, assaulted Henry Redmayne and, worst of all, helped to murder a defenceless girl. The thought of Mary Hibbert lying on a slab put extra strength and urgency into the constable. Bringing a knee up sharply into the man's groin, he made him double up with agony. Jonathan seized him by the neck and swung him headfirst against the nearest wall, splitting open his skull and depriving him of all interest in continuing the brawl.
It was Jonathan's turn to hold the cudgel now. He hauled the man upright, pinned him roughly against the wall and held the weapon at both ends so that he could press it against his adversary's throat. Dazed and bleeding, the man spluttered helplessly. His eyes began to bulge. Jonathan applied more pressure on his windpipe.
'Who sent you?' he demanded.
