The Repentant Rake by Edward Marston Read Free Book Online Page A

will cure you of any ailments.'
        Lunn
sniggered. 'Though they may give you another disease in return.'
        Henry
shook his head. 'I'll forego that delight, gentlemen.'
        'Deny
your closest friends?'
        'I
fear so, Arthur.'
        They
continued to try to persuade him to join them for a night of revelry but Henry
was adamant. Nothing would make him stir outside the walls of his house. Lunn
and Wickens were mystified. When they finally adjourned to their coach, they
asked each other what could possibly be wrong with their friend. Rejection of
their company was akin to an act of betrayal. They were hurt as well as
baffled.
        Henry,
meanwhile, did not linger in the street. A servant was waiting to stable his
horse. Storming into the house, Henry tore off his hat, slapped it down on the
table in the hall then glowered at the man who came shuffling out to greet him.
        'Well?'
snapped Henry. 'Any word from my brother Christopher?'
        'None,
sir,' said the man.
        'Damnation!'
cried his master, stamping a foot. 'Where the devil can he be?'
     
           
        Tom
Warburton was slow but methodical. He questioned everyone who lived or worked in
the vicinity of Paul's Wharf and, when his enquiries proved fruitless, widened
his search to streets and taverns a little further away. It was all to no
avail. Three days after the discovery of the dead body, he had made no progress
whatsoever. Jonathan Bale found his colleague in Sermon Lane with his dog
trotting obediently at his heels.
        'Good
morrow, Tom.'
        Warburton
gave him a nod of greeting. Sam slipped away to do some foraging.
        'Any
luck?'
        'None,
Jonathan.'
        'Where
have you been?'
        'Everywhere.
Nobody can help.'
        'It's
understandable, I suppose,' said Jonathan. 'Anyone abroad at that time of night
would have been too drunk to notice anything or too frightened to come forward.
I hold to my earlier judgement. The poor wretch was killed elsewhere then
brought to Paul's Wharf to be hidden behind that warehouse.'
        'Why
not dump him in the river?'
        'Who
knows? Perhaps they wanted him to be found. Or perhaps they intended to throw
him into the water but saw someone by the wharf and simply abandoned the body.'
        'They?'
        'It
would have taken more than one man to drag him, Tom. Unless he was slung over
the back of a horse or brought in a cart.'
        'Nobody
mentioned a cart.'
        'It
would have made a lot of noise, rattling down Bennet's Hill. Someone would have
heard it. No,' said Jonathan, 'my guess is that the murder took place somewhere
else in the ward and the body was lugged to the wharf by a person or persons
unknown who had decided exactly where to hide it. Even in daylight, it would
not have been found easily. We have Sam to thank for that.'
        The
little terrier suddenly reappeared to collect his due share of the praise.
        'What
shall I do?' said Warburton.
        'Widen
the search still further, Tom.'
        'I've
other things on my plate as well.'
        'I
know,' said Jonathan, 'and so have I. A constable's work is never done. I've
already spent an hour at the magistrates' court and taken two offenders off to
gaol. Then there were half a dozen other chores before I could come and find
you.' He pulled the shoe from his pocket. 'I've finally got some time to
continue the search for the man who made this. It's handsome footwear, the work
of a craftsman. This wasn't made to walk through the filth of London. It's
worthy of being worn at Court.'
        'How
do you know it's the work of a shoemaker in the city?'
        'I
don't, Tom.'
        Warburton
was a pessimist. 'You could be wasting your time.'
        'I'll
give it one more day. I've already called on most of the cordwainers.' He gave
a chuckle. 'If I do much more walking, I'll need a new pair of shoes myself.'
        'And
if you