He found Gabriel in Mr Lintot’s shop, leafing through a book of John Donne poems. The rotund proprietor himself was at a table, a pile of volumes before him as he put quill to ledger to note their titles. He gave Flynt a nod when he entered, for he was a regular customer, his aunt’s kindling of a love of reading in the child still burning within the man.
When he saw him, Gabriel flicked back a few pages of the tome he held. ‘Listen to this, Jonas, Mr Donne on a broken heart.’ He began to read.
‘Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
Nor any place be empty quite;
Therefore I think my breast hath all
Those pieces still, though they be not unite;
And now, as broken glasses show
A hundred lesser faces, so
My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
But after one such love, can love no more.’
He laid the book down on another table and gave Flynt an oblique look, his tone mischievous. ‘Do those words resonate at all, Jonas?’
They did, and well Flynt knew them, but he was in no mood to discuss matters of the heart, broken or otherwise. What Lemuel had told him of the man who had made inquiry regarding Templeton had disturbed him. It was possible, of course, that it was another blond-haired individual in dark clothing but Flynt suspected that to be unlikely and, notwithstanding Gabriel’s earlier impassioned assertion of the bonds of friendship, his suspicion of his motives had been revived. It had seemed fortunate at the time that Gabriel had reappeared when he did, for he had proved most useful the night before, but it occurred to Flynt, and it had niggled him since he had heard of Romulus Trask’s death, that the resurfacing was not so much propitious as engineered. He didn’t know with any certainty that Gabriel was playing a duplicitous game but the odds did appear stacked in its favour. However, Flynt maintained an impassive mien, even though he still reeled from the shock of it. It saddened him, hurt him, but he was best to have knowledge of it, for that way he could strive to protect those rags of his heart.
Sensing that no comment on the verse would be forthcoming, Gabriel set the book down. ‘Did that fellow possess the knowledge we require?’
Flynt touched the brim of his hat to Mr Lintot, still scratching at the paper, and turned to the door. ‘He did not.’
Gabriel followed him onto Fleet Street, where carriages and chairmen and courtesans mingled with those citizens who would utilise their various services. There was noise and stench and life and at that moment all three were just what Flynt needed. He needed to have such activity around him for his mind was filled with thoughts of betrayal. His pace was brisk as he strode towards Temple Bar.
Gabriel quickened his own pace to keep up. ‘What did the fellow say?’
Despite his need to appear normal, Flynt’s voice was edgy. ‘He has no inkling of where Templeton is, simple as that.’
‘Damn, I felt sure he would. Why would Templeton say in his note that he did?’
‘I have no idea.’
Gabriel slowed, touching Flynt on the arm. ‘In that case we must return and further question the girl.’
Flynt continued moving. ‘She knows nothing, I feel it. Templeton has been most clever. He has told nobody of his hiding place because if nobody knows, nobody can peach.’
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed in thought. ‘Then what is our next step?’
‘For me the game is over. I have nowhere else to go.’
‘Giving up? That doesn’t sound like the Jonas Flynt I know.’
Flynt halted with such suddenness that Gabriel had carried on a pace or two before he realised. Flynt knew rage was colouring his voice but he couldn’t help it. ‘I’m at the end of a blind alley with no doorways. The man has vanished and he’s done it right expertly. All I can do now is inform the person who hired me that my involvement is at an end.’
Gabriel soaked in the barely concealed anger. He let Flynt’s words hang between them for a moment before he thinned his lips in acceptance. ‘Aye, I see the sense of it. There’s no finding someone who doesn’t want to be found and has taken precautions to ensure such.’
Flynt began walking again.
Gabriel moved with him. ‘You will see your employer immediate?’
‘I will.’
‘How will he take it?’
‘He will not be pleased. He’s not a man who brooks failure.’
They were now walking under Mr Wren’s ornate arched gateway of Portland stone spanning the roadway where once stood the old gates, the bars, delineating the western jurisdiction of the ancient city. Beyond the baroque edifice, with its walkways running parallel on either side of the wider arch utilised by street traffic, they entered the Strand.
‘You will speak with him alone, I take it,’ Gabriel said.
‘He’s most jealous of his privacy.’
Gabriel accepted that. ‘Then here I’ll leave you, old friend, for there are matters to which I too must attend. We’ll meet later, a meal perhaps, say at eight of the clock in the Black Lion?’
‘Aye,’ said Flynt, coming to a standstill again as Gabriel held out his hand. Flynt grasped it and Gabriel’s other hand clasped him by the arm.
‘It’s right glad I am that we’re together again, Jonas. Old friends are like fine wine and faithful spouses, we must savour them for they are all too rare. Do you agree?’
Flynt was aware that his faltering trust was becoming overly apparent, so contrived as warm a smile as he could. ‘And you would know about the faithful wives, Gabriel.’
That provoked the grin that had charmed women and men across England. Flynt saw it now as a cover for something else, yet he knew not what, so for the present he resolved to continue displaying another face to this old friend.
‘Until tonight then,’ Gabriel said. ‘Good fortune with this mysterious employer of yours, and I pray he’ll understand the folly of further pursuit.’
‘Whether he understands or not, I’m done with it.’
They parted, Flynt continuing along the Strand where he knew he would find a messenger, Gabriel cutting up towards Covent Garden. Flynt looked back to watch him go, and when his figure vanished behind a stream of vehicles, the anger evaporated until only sadness remained.
Flynt had the messenger take his own coded missive to an address in Whitehall from whence it would then be passed along to Colonel Charters. It would take time, he knew, so he found himself with some much-needed leisure to enjoy a walk in St James’, where he had suggested they rendezvous. He seldom came to the park, though he enjoyed it when he did, it being an oasis of peace in the rough and tumble of city life and a salve to his troubled mind. Looking at it now he found it hard to believe that it had once been wetlands soaked by the River Tyburn, until over a hundred years before the land was drained on orders of King James who had it utilised to house a variety of exotic animals. Now only cattle grazed on the grass and Flynt stood in the shade of a tall tree watching milkmaids approach to drive them to be milked. These women paid a fee to pasture the beasts on the royal parkland and every morning the milk was sold to eager Londoners at the park’s Lactarian. The more fashionable in society partook of a syllabub, a meld of milk and wine, which Flynt had tried once but, like oysters, he found the mixture’s taste unpleasant. He could drink wine and he could drink milk but not the two together. It was served to him by a lady who told him that her family had been trading in the Lactarian for almost a hundred years, the licence for which was passed on through the female line, from mother to daughter. It was honest work and Flynt wondered, not for the first time, if he should be seeking a profession that did not require him to walk alleys, climb stairways and forever carry loaded pistols about his person. Returning to a life on the road and the high toby that he had shared for a time with Gabriel was out of the question. He also no longer had appetite for the crack lay, though he could still gain access to any property thanks to the skills taught him by old Tom. Honest work didn’t appeal. He couldn’t envisage himself as a shop assistant or a clerk. He gambled excessively well and made more than a decent living gaming, so much so that there were those who thought his expertise at the tables either verged on the supernatural or he was amazingly adroit at sharp practice. He could, he knew, live tolerably well on the back of his skills. But luck, like love, could be fickle. It could kiss you one day and then desert you the next.
He recognised these musings as nothing but fantasy, for he knew in his heart that the only time he would be free of those alleys and stairways was when he was dead. Colonel Charters held his life in his hands and he wouldn’t relinquish that hold until it suited his purpose.
As if he had somehow sensed his thoughts, Charters manifested himself with his customary stealth and for a moment stood in silence at Flynt’s side to watch the women prodding the cows together. It was a peaceful, pastoral scene and the sunshine slanting through the trees and greening the grass suggested a peace that Flynt himself did not feel.
Charters spoke at last. ‘Contemplating the mysteries of life, Serjeant?’
‘There is no mystery to life, Colonel. We live, we die, that is all.’
‘Ah, but death, surely that is the greatest mystery of all?’
Flynt shot Charters a quick glance, not for the first time wondering whether the man really had added the reading of minds to his list of accomplishments. ‘Not one I am keen to investigate.’
‘None of us are, Serjeant.’ Charters began to walk leisurely along the pathway, his long cane tapping on the pathway, expecting – knowing – Flynt would follow. ‘And what of our mystery, you have news, I gather?’
Flynt quietly told him what he had learned, omitting again any mention of Gabriel’s involvement, pausing only when a gentleman and his lady approached. Charters bowed politely to them as they passed, surreptitiously ensuring they were well out of earshot before he said, ‘So, Mr Templeton has gone furth of the city. A fine word of your countrymen, Flynt. Furth. Has a texture to it, has it not? Nevertheless, though his decision to do so is an understandable reaction to his predicament, he must surely be aware that the Fellowship’s reach extends beyond the boundaries of London.’ He took another few paces. ‘We will have to show him that ours extends just as far.’
‘I take it that means I am heading to the north.’
‘It does indeed.’
Flynt had expected that and, in fact, welcomed it. He needed to get away from London for a period. He had been considering it before Charters had set him upon this mission, and the business regarding Gabriel had only strengthened the desire. ‘I’ll leave at first light.’
Charters nodded his agreement. ‘Sound idea. You will require funds, I assume?’
‘Naturally.’ Flynt had money but he never admitted that to Charters.
‘I will have an adequacy delivered to your lodgings by morning. Make haste, Flynt, and given recent events I need not remind you to maintain a weather eye on your flank. There always appears to be someone who wishes you ill, but in this year past it has become something of an epidemic.’
‘You are concerned for my wellbeing, Colonel?’
‘A good commander is forever concerned for the wellbeing of his troops.’ He smiled. ‘Even the surly ones.’