Free The Painted Lady by Edward Marston Page A

there. Bale was fettered by mathematics. There were too many villains and too few constables.
    While one pickpocket was being arrested, others were plying their trade nearby. If he felt obliged to part one angry husband and wife, Bale knew that other married couples would be having similar squabbles behind closed doors. He could not be everywhere at the same time but he liked to think that his presence had some impact. The local inhabitants admired and respected him. Because he had won their trust, they were much more likely to report incidents to Bale than to any other constable. Some of the others who patrolled the streets were too old, too wayward or too inept to be of much use to anyone. They lacked Bale’s fierce civic pride and commitment. None of them – Tom Warburton, especially – had his stamina.
    ‘I’m thirsty, Jonathan,’ he said.
    ‘You always are at this time of the day, Tom.’
    ‘I think I’ll step into the Blue Dolphin.’
    ‘Off you go,’ said Bale, tolerantly. ‘You know where to find me.’
    ‘I won’t tarry.’
    Warburton hurried across the road to the tavern with his dog bounding along beside him. He was a tall, stringy, humourless man in his forties with a tendency to try to beat confessions out of supposed malefactors. In an affray, Warburton was a good man to have at one’s side but he was far too reckless at times and Bale had often had to restrain him, reminding him that they were appointed to quell violence and not to initiate it. Bale did not mind being left alone. It gave him the opportunity to meet up with an old friend.
    Following his established route, he went round the next corner and strode briskly along the street until he came to a large gap between two tall new houses. Under the supervision of their employer, workmen were busy digging on the plot of land.
    ‘Good morning, Mr Littlejohn,’ greeted the constable.
    ‘Mr Bale!’ rejoined the builder, turning to see him. ‘I was hoping that I might bump into you now that I’m back in your ward.’
    Bale sized him up. ‘You’ve put on weight.’
    ‘Blame my wife for that. She feeds me too well.’
    ‘You are keeping busy, I hope.’
    ‘Busier than ever, my friend.’
    The two men had been brought together when Christopher Redmayne had designed his first house. Since it was being built in Baynard’s Castle Ward, the constable noticed it when out on his rounds but he paid it no attention. It was simply one more house, rising out of the ashes. Dozens of others were being constructed in every street. The situation soon changed. When the murder had occurred on the site of the new house, Bale was drawn into the investigation and had therefore met Samuel Littlejohn. They had got on well together and their paths had crossed a few times since then.
    ‘I hear that we are partners,’ said Littlejohn, genially.
    ‘Partners?’
    ‘According to Mr Redmayne, you built a model for this house.’
    ‘I tried to,’ said Bale, unassumingly.
    ‘I’m told it was very good. If the architect and the client approved of it, it must have been. Mr Redmayne promised to show it to me when he gets it back from Mr Villemot.’
    ‘I hope you like it, Mr Littlejohn.’
    The builder grinned. ‘If I do, I might be offering you a job as a carpenter. Have you never thought of taking up your old trade?’
    ‘Never – I’m happy watching over the streets here.’
    ‘You’d earn a tidy wage from me.’
    ‘But I’d have to give up being a constable.’
    ‘Do you like the work that much?’
    Bale shrugged. ‘It suits me, Mr Littlejohn.’
    ‘Then I’ll not try to entice you away.’ He glanced around. ‘Things seem to be quite peaceful in this part of the city.’
    ‘Wait till this evening when the taverns start to fill up.’
    ‘Do you have a lot of trouble?’
    ‘Anyone who works near the river has trouble,’ explained Bale. ‘This part of the district is safe enough but there are some tough characters along Thames Street. Sailors,