Flynt rose early the following morning and proceeded to Wych Street, a thoroughfare which clung steadfastly to an earlier age, thanks to the land around it being untouched by the Great Fire of 1666. Stretching from the spire of St Clement Danes on the Strand to Drury Lane, it was narrow, with some buildings first erected in the time of Elizabeth still standing, the wooden jetties jutting over the heads of pedestrians acting as a sun shade. The ancient structures were each of three or four storeys, which meant that much of the street was in perpetual shadow even on the brightest of days, as it was this day, for the sun was strong and warm. Flynt walked under signboards projecting from above the doorways of shops and the workplaces of tradespeople, some signage so dangerously low that he felt the need to stoop slightly lest his hat brush the lowermost surface, before turning into a narrow entranceway announced by a handsome wooden indicator bearing the images of a mallet, chisel and plane. The passage led to a courtyard where was situated the carpentry workshop of the aptly named Wood, where Flynt knew, or rather hoped, he would find Jack Sheppard hard at work. Jack was a nimble lad, both in mind and fingers, for even at only fourteen he was easily the best foist Flynt had ever seen, despite the fact that it was a botched attempt to lift his purse that had introduced him to the lad in the first place. When he arrived those dexterous fingers were at work smoothing down a door which, given the quality of material and design, was destined for a fine house.
Owen Wood appeared from the rear of the shop and nodded his hello. He was not one for smiling, was Owen, but that didn’t mean Flynt was unwelcome. ‘I would have a moment with young Jack, if you can spare him.’
Owen knew that Flynt and his apprentice were acquaintances, it was he in fact who had obtained the position for the lad, so he nodded to Jack and said a few words that Flynt did not catch. Permission given, the boy set his plane to the side, wiped the shavings from his leather apron, and grinned as he walked round the bench. Flynt nodded his thanks to Owen, before leading the boy from the workshop and into the street. Jack leaned against a wall on Wych Street, his face raised to enjoy the warmth from a beam of light that had managed to traverse the roof of the building opposite. The boy was pale and slim and looked as if he needed the sun on his skin, for his lifestyle did not often lend itself to basking in daylight.
‘How you been, Mr Flynt? Them wounds all healed?’
Both the boy and Belle St Clair had visited him often, bringing him food, brandy on occasion, and the tittle-tattle from the streets. Belle’s proximity, on the occasions she called upon him alone, was often intoxicating enough without the brandy and he had struggled to maintain his distance. They had been intimate in the past, a business arrangement to be sure but he felt there was a connection beyond the mere exchange of silver for affections. Still, recognition that someone else resided in his heart and mind, someone who was many hundreds of miles away, had prevented him of late from any such dalliances. It was not easy, for the weakness of his flesh diluted the strength his resolve.
‘They have, Jack, thank you for asking.’
‘Now you is all healed and back to work?’
Flynt smiled, for the lad was sharp. ‘Aye, that’s the way of it.’
‘And what does you need from me?’
‘When did you last see Edgeworth Bess?’
Jack’s eyes lit up at the name. Bess was a few years older but he was entranced by her. ‘Been a while, it’s true. Ain’t had the bunce, see.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Not been on the foist these days, keeping myself on the low. Mr Wood, he’s been learning me his locksmithing skills. I reckons that be a more profitable way to progress.’ His expression turned to one of distaste. ‘That and the work what I does for Mr Wild keeps me off the streets and out of men’s pockets.’
Jonathan Wild was the Thieftaker General of London, a title he had adopted to set himself above the other thieftakers who plied their nefarious trade in the city. They caught thieves, certainly, but it was for reward and they were none too careful as to whether they had the correct culprit. Wild had built an organisation filled with rogues and cutthroats, all ostensibly working for the good of the populace but in reality only lining his pockets. They said there wasn’t a major crime in the city that didn’t have Wild’s hands all over it.
‘Does he still use you to root out information?’
Jack’s face crumpled again. ‘He do, now and then, and it don’t sit well, not well at all. Feels like peaching but if I don’t he’ll see to it that it’s the long walk to Tyburn and then the short drop. So I’ve been working hard for Mr Wood here and trying to stay on the straight and narrow as much as I can in the hope that he’ll forget about me. So, no extra bunce for Bess, if you know what I mean.’ A thought struck him and he chose his next words carefully. ‘Why does you need her, Mr Flynt? You ain’t in the mood for a tumble, is you? I thought she weren’t your type. I mean, no offence, Bess is a fine-looking girl but she ain’t no Miss St Clair.’
Flynt sought to assuage the lad’s fears that he might have taken a fancy to the young woman. ‘Bess is a beauty, Jack, but that’s not why I need her. There is something in which she might be able to assist me and I need you to speak to her on my behalf.’
‘Why don’t you speak to her yourself?’
‘Bess and I don’t get along, Jack, you know that.’
The young woman had sought to profit from an incident she had witnessed which resulted in the death of four men at Flynt’s hand and, though he had bought her silence with cash, Bess was almost feral in her ability to seek advantage in a situation and so he had to follow up with threats to ensure her future silence. Even though she had been drunk at the time, she seemed never to have forgotten the interlude, for whenever their paths crossed her attitude towards him was decidedly antagonistic. Or perhaps it was as simple as irritation that Jack would drop anything, including her, to do Flynt’s bidding.
‘What exact does you need from her, Mr Flynt?’
‘Information. Ask her about a girl called Cheshire Sal.’
‘She from the north then?’
‘No, she works out of the Cheese off the Fleet.’
Jack understood immediately. The boy had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the city’s taverns. ‘What you need from her?’
‘I need to find her. It’s important.’
‘Why is this Sal so important then?’
Flynt’s blank look spoke volumes, making Jack grin. ‘I got you, Mr Flynt, if I needed to know you’d tell me.’
‘How soon can you see Bess?’
‘She’ll be sleeping last night off now so I could pay her a call at her lobkin.’
Jack was well-versed in the street slang of the criminal classes and lobkin was a term for lodging. ‘Is she still in St Giles?’
‘Aye, but she’s moved cribs, she has. She’s got a sky parlour now, an attic with a window in the ceiling, can you believe it? Pays a bit extra for a view of the heavens, but she’s doing all right for herself these days. Much in demand, she is.’
If Jack held any animosity towards the men who paid for Bess’s favours, it was not betrayed by his expression or tone. He either didn’t care or he was realistic enough to accept the way of it. Flynt suspected the latter.
‘It will take some bunce to loosen Bess’s tongue, you knows what she is like.’
Flynt had anticipated such a necessity and handed the boy a small purse. Jack weighed it expertly in his hand.
‘I could go sees her right away, if you wish, but you would need to square it with old Wood. I reckons he wouldn’t mind, as it’s you.’
‘I’ll speak with him for you.’ He nodded towards the entrance to another narrow courtyard hidden to the side. ‘You get off now, Jack, and I’ll meet you at the White Lion in two hours.’
Jack pulled the strap of his leather apron over his head and handed the garment to Flynt. ‘What will you do till then?’
Flynt draped the apron over his arm as he turned back towards Wood’s workshop. ‘I need to seek legal advice.’
Mr Lemuel Gribble was what some might describe as being conspicuously prosperous. Others, if they were of a charitable nature, might say that he was pleasantly plump. The less benevolent would say he was corpulent. Although his topcoat, breeches and stockings were all of the highest quality, albeit bearing stains from carelessly dropped food and drink, his expansive gut strained at the buttons of his waistcoat, threatening to send them flying should he feel the need for a sharp intake of breath. He sat at what was his usual table within Nando’s on the corner of Fleet Street and Inner Temple Lane, where the aroma of coffee permeated the air. From a side room came the sound of dice being shaken in a box and a voice declaring a mark at hazard, for gambling pleasures knew no clock. A waitress scurried to deliver a tray to four men at a corner table debating a legal argument. This was a favourite place of congregation for lawyers, judges and loungers to discuss the affairs of the day and it was here that Lemuel held court. He was a lawyer by profession and a gossip by predilection and if there was anything he did not know concerning those connected to the Inner and Middle Inns, where practitioners of the legal profession were trained and gathered, then it wasn’t worth knowing.
‘Be this Mr Jonas Flynt approaching, or do my eyes deceive me?’
The man’s voice was rich and deep, scarred by the tobacco smoke and the liquor that he imbibed to such an extent that it was said that should he ever give up that particular pleasure, at least three wine sellers within city limits would go immediately out of business.
Flynt smiled as he took off his hat and seated himself. Lemuel always made him smile, he was that kind of man. Beckoning to the serving girl, Flynt ordered himself a coffee and another for the lawyer.
‘Inordinately kind of you, my friend. It has been some considerable time since these eyes have rested upon you.’ Lemuel dropped his voice but not nearly enough for what he was about to say. ‘I would have believed you be a blossom of the Tyburn tree but your name never appeared in the lists. You have not taken to the life of an honest man, have you?’
Even though he would rather the words had not been heard by all around, Flynt couldn’t help but broaden his grin. It had been Lemuel he had consulted some years before when Old Tom, the man who tutored him in the art of picking locks, had been accused of carrying out a crack lay on a grand house in Hackney. Lemuel proffered advice concerning the evidence of a known felon who had turned queen’s evidence in order to escape justice himself. The verbal ammunition the lawyer provided allowed Tom to attack the man in court. He also assisted in preparing a variety of witnesses, including Flynt himself, who would swear that on the night of the burglary, Tom was in the Black Lion tavern, supping ale and, later, tupping a lady of the night known as Drury Lane Tess in her lodgings. The jury was sufficiently impressed and found him innocent of the crime. To Lemuel’s amusement, Tom later asked if that meant he could now fence the silver plate and jewellery he had taken from the house.
‘I’ve left the flash life behind me, Lemuel.’
The lawyer affected a stricken expression. ‘That is most distressing to hear, my friend, for those such as I thrive upon the activities of gentlemen such as yourself.’ His sigh was theatrical. ‘But no matter, for it is fortunate that I live and work in the most lawless city in the land and there is a surfeit of rogues from which to profit.’
The girl returned with the coffee. Lemuel leaned closer to her to say, ‘Be this my special sweetened brew, my dear?’
She gave him a secretive little smile. ‘It is, Mr Gribble. We knows what you likes well enough, even though this be on the gentleman’s ordering.’
Lemuel smiled. ‘Capital, my dear, capital. I am much obliged for your solicitude towards my tastes.’
As she moved on to serve another customer, Lemuel sipped at his coffee and smacked his lips in pleasure. Flynt did not comment on the exchange, as he knew that the beverage had been sweetened, as Lemuel had called it, with brandy, a special service extended to very few of Nando’s patrons.
Setting the cup down again, Lemuel asked, ‘So, my friend Jonas, what brings you to seek my counsel?’
‘I could not simply have chanced upon you here?’
He gave Flynt a look suggesting that in the realms of likelihood, that ranked alongside the existence of fairies and fair play in the court of law. ‘You know that I am in the habit of enjoying a midmorning tightener – or indeed two – in this very coffee house and you, my friend, do not simply chance upon anyone. You came here to see me, I believe, so out with it.’
Flynt enjoyed talking with this man. In manner he reminded him of a judge he had known all too briefly. They both shared what might at first glance seem a jaded view of English law but each was dedicated to upholding it, the judge from the bench, considering evidence and handing down sentences, Lemuel constantly testing the quality of prosecutions and offering advice to the accused on how they could defend their innocence, or deflect their guilt, in court. Thoughts of the judge caused a moment’s sadness but Flynt took some satisfaction in knowing that he had watched his murderer die.
‘I seek a lawyer named Christopher Templeton.’
Lemuel’s eyebrows raised. ‘Aha! The mysteriously absent Mr Templeton. May I ask why you are on such a quest?’
‘It is work I do.’
‘You are a seeker of men now?’
‘And other lost things.’
Lemuel’s eyes narrowed. ‘A nasty suspicion grows in my mind and I would be remiss if I did not dispel it on the instant.’
‘And what is that nasty suspicion?’
‘Please tell me you do not act in this matter for either of those rapscallions Wild or one of the other thieftakers who infest our city.’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Whenever inquiry is made into the whereabouts of an individual, often it is those self-proclaimed guardians of the law who are the guiding force.’
‘I assure you I do not act for them.’
The lawyer scrutinised Flynt’s words and his face. ‘But you do act for someone.’
‘I do,’ Flynt said, ‘but I am not at liberty to reveal the identity of the principal in this matter.’
Lemuel again analysed this. ‘Then I will take you at your word, Jonas Flynt, for though you be rogue, I know you to be a man of some honour, peculiar and capricious though that honour sometimes may be. But I also know you to be a man of violence when such is needed. One more query – do you mean Mr Templeton ill?’
‘I do not, quite the opposite in fact.’ Flynt believed he could trust this man, so added, ‘He may have found himself in some considerable jeopardy.’
Understanding spread across the lawyer’s face. ‘Hence his sudden and quite uncharacteristic disappearance from these environs. What do you wish from me?’
‘I would know a little of him. In learning more of his character I may be able to plan a way forward.’
‘I knew him, of that you are aware, elsewise you would not be bearding me here at this very moment…’
‘Let’s say that I gambled.’
‘And, from what I hear, you do that tolerably well. It is not one of my vices, however. Good food, good wine, an accommodating wench who will overlook the girth of my belly and appreciate the heft of my purse, these are my pleasures, apart from besting my fellow attorneys and confounding spurious prosecutions, of course.’
‘Christopher Templeton,’ Flynt urged, for another of Lemuel’s pleasures was the timbre of his own voice.
The lawyer laughed. It was throaty and seemed to rumble up from his gut. ‘To the business at hand, friend Flynt, quite right. He is a promising boy, well thought of, although there was a time just a few years ago when he displayed a somewhat wild side.’
‘In what way?’
‘You will be acquainted with the gentlemen who called themselves Mohocks, named after the wild natives of the American colonies?’
Flynt had encountered the drunken noblemen a few years before when they had run amok in the streets, attacking and stabbing people at random, and during the previous winter had dealings with an arrogant fop who had formerly been of their number. ‘I had some brief experience of them, yes.’
‘And I feel certain that they regretted crossing your path. Given your knowledge of them, you may also be aware that it was in this very establishment that they liked to gather, liquor themselves into a frenzy before they set off on their nocturnal depredations – or partake of the cannabis. Have you ever imbibed the substance?’
Flynt shook his head. He seldom overindulged in alcohol, let alone anything else.
‘I tried it once,’ Lemuel continued. ‘Bought me it from a sea captain who sat at that very table over yonder when he found himself beached in the city for a time. He called it bhang and he had it from the sub-continent. Believe this or believe this not, my boy, but it rendered me quite unable to speak a single word of any sense whatsoever. I remember little of the experience to be sure, but I am informed that I became most merry indeed, though still able to perambulate. I even danced a jig, which if true is not something of which I am proud. It eventually made me decidedly fatigued and I slept most soundly, though when I woke I found my myself exceeding sharp set.’ He patted his ample belly. ‘Though that circumstance is one with which I am most familiar. That was how it affected me, but the Mohocks, it would seem, found that it worked them into some sort of frenzy.’
‘And Templeton was one of them?’
‘Most of them were students of law, as you may know. He was a touch older than the others but obviously had a great deal of energy to expel.’
‘Was he charged?’
Lemuel sipped his drink. ‘Indeed he was, along with some of the others. And fined, but that afforded no obstruction to his career, as you probably know. The others also found their reputations unbridled by the scandal.’
Flynt had no love for the Mohocks and the fact that Templeton had run with them did not make him look favourably upon him. ‘So he has violence in him?’
Lemuel waved a beefy hand in dismissal. ‘Oh, I don’t think Christopher is the type to harm anyone.’
‘The Mohocks left people wounded and disfigured.’
‘I am aware of that, but I do not believe Christopher would have participated in that particular element of their activities. Damage to property, perhaps, but not to person. Although I do believe he is quite the swordsman. Learned his skills from John Duck in Little White’s Alley, off Chancery Lane, who is a very good master of the small sword and he tutors many of the gentlemen in the Inns of Court in the noble art of self-defence.’
Flynt filed that away, thinking Mr Duck might be a useful person to speak to, and Chancery Lane was not far from Nando’s.
‘So, if Templeton was a Mohock, he comes from a well-to-do family?’
‘He does indeed. Not nobility but certainly more than comfortable. Not that it matters in places such as this, for all a man needs here is a clean shirt and a few pennies in his purse and he can talk as loud as any nobleman.’
‘He had no family, I’m told.’
Lemuel’s eyes saddened. ‘’Tis true, most tragic. Mother and father both taken by enteric fever. He was but a lad, but he inherited the fortune his father had built – a draper, he was, over on Cheapside. Family friends helped raise him, kindly they were by his account, but the drapery business did not inspire him so he decided on the law as a profession. He studied well, found a place in the Inns of Court, though he did not lodge in either the Inner or Middle Temples. Had him rooms down off Fleet Street, I believe…’
‘Crane Court.’
‘Quite so. Built himself a decent little portfolio of clients, eschewed criminal justice for mercantile.’ Lemuel shuddered. ‘Can’t think of anything more horrendous, to be truthful, than poring over contracts and agreements. Give me the drama, the humanity, of the criminal world.’
Charters had said he had only one client, but given the nature of that client it was understandable that Templeton would hide them behind a fictional portfolio. ‘So you know little of those who sought his expertise?’
‘Absolutely nothing, dear boy. I dined with him once or twice and he did not discuss his work.’
That was not surprising either. ‘Would you say he was an honourable man?’
Humour twitched at Lemuel’s lips. ‘As honourable as any lawyer can be. He did profess regret over his involvement with the Mohocks, if that raises him in any way in your eyes. Yes, I saw the disapproval in your face, do not deny it.’
‘They preyed on the weak and the innocent for no other reason than enjoyment and because they could, and effectively escaped punishment because their families had influence. I disapprove of that, most certainly.’
‘Ah, my boy, which of us have unblemished histories? Have we not all done things of which we are ashamed? Even you, eh? Do not some of the crimes of which you have gone unpunished torment you in dead of night?’
Lemuel’s gaze was steady but accusatory and Flynt felt some shame at his own hypocrisy.
‘Christopher felt shame over what he had done, I could tell that just as I discern it in you,’ said Lemuel. ‘It is my belief that if amends could be made for his wrongdoings, he would have done.’
If that was true, then it could explain his desire to expose the Fellowship. ‘Would he break the confidence of clients if he felt they were guilty of wrongdoing?’
‘Legal professional privilege is one rule that no lawyer worth his fee should break. It is a protection for both client and attorney and is part of common law. If Christopher were to breach such an oath then he would have to be compelled by some force or other, whether external or internal.’
‘His conscience, which you said was already pained?’
Lemuel sat back in his chair. ‘It be true that he was subdued the last time he and I met. I put it down not so much to a troubled mind but more to his emotional state.’
‘His emotional state?’
‘Women, dear boy, women. They do so prick at a man’s heart most severe.’
Even though Flynt already knew where this was headed, he asked, ‘He was in love?’
‘Love? Who can say what that is. He was most certainly in lust, for we men know what that is. Young Christopher may have been learning the art of the small sword under Mr Duck, but he was already accomplished as a swordsman in another way.’
‘Was it a lady who goes by the name Cheshire Sal?’
Gribble’s eyes widened a little. ‘You know of her, then? A doxy, my boy, a comely one to be sure and from a good family, but still a doxy, though I gather she wielded great influence over him. And I suppose on some level he was smitten. I thought perhaps his mental unease was caused by the fact that he could not come to terms with the plain fact of her means of making a living.’
Flynt thought of his own stabs of jealousy when he thought of Belle with other men. More hypocrisy on his part, for he had no right to feel that way given his yearning for a love he lost through his own indifference. ‘Did he give you any indication if she perhaps felt the same way?’
‘Does anyone know what lies in a woman’s heart? They can be most mysterious, can they not? We men are but open books; a pretty face, a fine body, and we are lost. But women can seek more. As I said, she influenced him and he hinted that his shame over the Mohock involvement had been prompted by her. A doxy, I said, but thanks to her upbringing a doxy with a knowledge of right and wrong. I am sure that is also something you can understand, eh?’
Flynt had not realised how well Lemuel seemed to know him. They had never discussed Flynt’s life, their acquaintance had never been personal and he was not in the habit of discussing his past, or even his present. And yet, the lawyer had his measure. Again, he was reminded of the judge, who had done the same within minutes of meeting.
‘You wouldn’t know where I could find this Sal?’
‘Sally, he called her, and Sally is how I know her.’
‘You know her?’
‘By sight, just as I know her brother.’
‘And who would that be?’
Lemuel smiled. ‘I have already mentioned the gentleman. Mr John Duck, the sword master.’