apprehended.
Pushing his mother aside, Patrick bullocked his way forward.
'Stop!' he yelled. 'Stop there right now!'
Like everyone else in the vicinity, the man with the side of beef over his shoulder turned to look in Patrick's direction. Then he noticed the woman who was trying to follow the youth and he realised who she was.
'Wait there!' shouted Patrick. 'I want a word with you, Mr Field!'
The man immediately took a defensive stance. As Patrick charged at him, he swung the side of beef so hard that it knocked his attacker to the ground. Flinging his cargo down on top of Patrick, he delivered several swift kicks to the youth's head to disable him. Then he fled at full speed into the crowd with a stream of abuse from Bridget McCoy filling his ears.
Chapter Nine
Crimes and disturbances did not obligingly cease in Baynard's Castle ward to allow Jonathan Bale to devote his whole time to the murder hunt. That morning, he and Tom Warburton were called to Great Carter Street to intervene in a violent quarrel. A customer had visited the barber-surgeon, who, among his many talents, was able to draw teeth. It was a painful exercise but less of a torment than the bad tooth that had infected the customer's whole mouth and made his cheek swell to twice its size. The extraction was swift and decisive. On only one small detail could the barber-surgeon be faulted. He had removed the wrong tooth.
When the constables arrived on the scene, the men were trading blows and roaring spectators were urging them on. Bale grabbed the barber, Warburton took hold of the customer, and they dragged the adversaries apart. Struggling for release, the two men continued the fight with robust language and dire threats. It was minutes before Bale was able to calm them down enough to hear the cause of their dispute. He was still trying to act as a mediator when he saw two people hurrying along the street towards him.
Bridget McCoy was flushed and agitated but it was her son who made the constable stare. A hideous bruise darkened one side of Patrick's face and there was an ugly swelling on his temple. One eye was almost closed. Even the disgruntled customer felt sorry for him. A lost tooth did not compare with a vicious beating. Leaving Warburton to sort out the argument, Bale detached himself to speak to the newcomers.
'What happened?' he said.
'We saw him,' replied Bridget. 'We saw that bastard again.'
'Where?'
'At the market.'
'Why did you not send word, Mrs McCoy?'
'It would have taken too long,' said Patrick. 'So I tried to arrest him myself. I tried to be like you, Mr Bale.'
Bridget indicated the wounds. 'You can see the result,' she said, rancorously. 'He almost kicked my son's head off. Wait till I catch up with the knave. I'll bite his balls off and spit them in the Thames.'
'Tell me exactly what happened, Mrs McCoy,' suggested Bale.
'I'll slice him into tiny bits and feed him to the dogs.'
'We have to apprehend him first, and we can't do that while you're railing against him. Now, then, let me hear the full story.'
Supported and sometimes contradicted by her son, Bridget gave a bitter description of events. The crowd had now abandoned the dental dispute and turned their attention to this new development. Given an audience, Bridget responded by introducing gruesome details, couched in the sort of language that most of them had never before heard coming from the lips of a woman. Bale seized on the salient details.
'He's a porter,' he concluded. 'Mr Field is a porter.'
Patrick rubbed his sore face. 'Mother says that's not his name.'
'I think that she's right, lad.'
'So we don't know who he really is.'
'But we know where he works.'
'Do we, Mr Bale?' said Bridget.
'Yes,' he told her. 'If he had a side of beef with him, he was delivering it to market. So we can guess where he took his name from.'
'Where?'
'Smithfield. He's a meat porter from Smithfield. Take out the Smith and what do you have left, Mrs McCoy?' 'Field.'
'I'll wager that's how he christened himself.'
'Let's catch him, Mr Bale,' urged Patrick. 'Let's go to Smithfield.'
'The only place you're going to is bed,' said his mother, tenderly. 'You must have a terrible headache. Wait until you see yourself in a mirror, Patrick. You shouldn't be abroad in a state like that.'
'I agree,' said Bale. 'Take him home. I have to tell someone else what you managed to find out. Then we'll need to speak to you again.'
'And to me,' insisted Patrick. 'I was there as well.'
'You need to rest, lad.' 'I only did what you'd have done, Mr Bale.'
'That was very brave of you.'
'He used our tavern for a murder. That was sinful.'
'It was a bloody disgrace!' asserted Bridget.
'Take him away, Mrs McCoy,' advised Bale. 'I think a doctor ought to look at those wounds of his. They were got honourably, Patrick,' he said, hoping to cheer him up. 'But it's time to step aside now, lad. Leave this fellow to us.'
'It's not a criticism, Brilliana,' said her husband. 'It's an observation.'
'Well, it's one that is quite uncalled for, Lancelot.'
'Do you deny that you paid excessive attention to Mr Henry Redmayne?'
'No, I do not.'
'Or that you praised his paintings?'
'I adored them,' said Brilliana.
'They were thoroughly indecent.'
'Nakedness can be beautiful in the hands of a skilful artist.'
'All I saw was filth and obscenity,' he argued, wrinkling his nose, 'and if that is an accurate reflection of the man's taste, I vote that we shun the society of Henry Redmayne forthwith.'
'Then you'll be cutting off your nose to spite your face.'
'In what way?'
'He can help you, Lancelot,' she said, kissing him softly on the cheek. 'That was the only reason I pandered to him. I did it for
'Really?'
'Is a wife not allowed to advance her husband's interests?'
'Of course.'
'Then you should give me thanks instead of berating me.'
They were in the garden of the Westminster house, seated on a bench that occupied a little arbour. It was a fine summer's day. Insects buzzed happily around them and the mingled scent of flowers filled the air. Lancelot Serle was so unaccustomed to offering his wife even the slightest reproach that it had taken him a long time to work up the courage to do so. She was quick to defend herself.
'Henry Redmayne is a means to an end,' she explained. 'That's why I chose to flatter him. He attends Court and is on familiar terms with anyone of note in parliament. We must cultivate him, Lancelot. He is your passport to greater things.'
'But he ignored me completely.'
'He'll not do so again.'
'Those lecherous eyes of his never strayed from you.'
