Free The Amorous Nightingale by Edward Marston

save her but I was outnumbered. Four of
them in all. One with a pistol and three with cudgels. They left their
trademark all over me, but no matter for that. Help me to find them, sirs, for
I have a score to settle with that quartet.'
        'A
score?' echoed Christopher.
        'Yes,'
vowed the other, bunching his fists. 'I mean to kill each one of them with my
bare hands. Slowly. Just for the pleasure of it.'
    ----
        

Chapter Five
        
        It
was an afternoon of mixed fortunes for Jonathan Bale. Though he cleverly
apprehended the thief who broke into unoccupied premises in Knightrider Street,
he failed to catch the man's accomplice, a nimble youth who got away with
appreciable takings. The constable went on to stop a fight between two irate
neighbours, adjudicate in a marital dispute over a dead cat and give evidence
before the magistrate in three separate cases. When a breathless Abraham
Datchett accosted him with the news that a corpse was bobbing about in the
river, Jonathan rushed down to the wharf, only to discover that the watchman's
failing eyesight had confused a piece of driftwood caught up in some tarpaulin
with human remains. There were further examples of success and failure during
his patrol of Baynard's Castle Ward. It was a typical day.
        When
his feet took him close to Addle Hill once more, he slipped home to see his
wife and to take some refreshment. Sarah Bale was in the kitchen as he let
himself into the house. Bare arms deep in water, she was washing some clothes
for regular clients. Among the jobs she took on in order to supplement their
finances was that of tubwoman, receiving filthy sheets and returning them with
an almost pristine whiteness. It was hard work but Sarah revelled in it,
singing to herself as she laboured and building up a steady rhythm in the tub.
        Jonathan
came up behind her to plant a kiss on her cheek.
        'Are
you still doing that, my love?' he said.
        'It
will keep me busy for a couple of hours yet.'
        'You
take on too much, Sarah.'
        'I
never refuse good, honest work.'
        'You
should.'
        'We
need the money, Jonathan.'
        'We'll
manage somehow.'
        'You
always say that.'
        'Only
because it's the truth.'
        She
broke off to dry her hands and to appraise her husband.
        'You
look tired,' she noted.
        'It's
been a tiring afternoon.'
        'Have
you called in here to moan about it?'
        'I
never do that, Sarah, and you know it,' he said solemnly. 'My work is left
behind the moment I step through that door. This is my refuge. My place of
sanctuary.'
        'I
wish I could say the same.'
        She
glanced at the washing with a wry smile. Sarah Bale was a plump woman with a
round face that was full of kindness and character. His wife was almost twice
the weight she had been when she married him but Jonathan was quite unaware of
the transformation that had taken place. The happiness of their union imposed a
benign form of blindness on him. Looking at her now, he marvelled yet again at
her comely features and her youthful vitality.
        Though
he resented the amount of work she accepted, Jonathan saw the practical
advantages. Apart from bringing a steady trickle of additional money into the
home, taking in washing, sewing or doing other chores gave Sarah an insight
into the lives of many families in the locality. Most of what she picked up was
idle gossip but some of the information was extremely useful to her husband.
Jonathan prided himself on the fact that he knew everyone in his parish by name
but it was his wife who often provided significant detail about some of the
people he nominally protected.
        Jonathan
poured himself a mug of beer to slake his thirst.
        'Whose
washing is that?' he asked, indicating the tub.
        'Mrs
Calcart of Thames Street.'
        'When
is her baby due?'
        'You're
behind the times, Jonathan,' she said,