Page 217 of The Armor of Light

Both parliamentary candidates were aldermen and present at the meeting. Spade was struck by the contrast between them. Amos was not yet forty and Hornbeam was pushing sixty, but it was not just age that separated them. Amos seemed comfortable with who he was and what he was, but Hornbeam had the face of a manwhose life has been continual conflict. He bent his head and looked out from under his bushy eyebrows as if ready to take on all challengers.

The election was the main topic. Parliament had ordered it to be held between 5 October and 10 November – the exact date was up to the local authority. The council decided to have hustings in the market square on St Adolphus’s Day and voting the day after in the Guild Hall. Two nominations had been received and both were in perfect order. The count would be supervised by the clerk to the justices, Luke McCullough. The arrangements were not controversial and Spade spent the time planning his conversation with Hornbeam.

As soon as the meeting broke up he went straight to Hornbeam and said: ‘A word, Alderman, if I may.’

Hornbeam looked aloof and said: ‘I’m pressed for time.’

Spade changed his tone. ‘You’ve got time for this, Joey, if you know what’s good for you.’

Hornbeam was too startled to reply.

‘Step aside with me for a moment.’ Spade steered Hornbeam to a corner. ‘That old rumour about Amos and Hal Northwood has been exhumed.’

Hornbeam regained his customary hauteur. ‘I hope you don’t imagine that I go around the town spreading salacious gossip.’

‘You’re responsible for what your friends and supporters say. Don’t pretend they’re out of your control. They do what you tell them, and when you say stop they stop. Now you have to order them to hold their tongues about Hal Northwood.’

Hornbeam raised his voice. ‘Even if I believed what you’re saying, why should I obey you?’ One or two men looked over at them.

Spade replied equally loudly. ‘Because people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.’

Hornbeam lowered his voice. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he said, but his manner contradicted his words.

Spade spoke quietly but insistently. ‘You force me to say it. You’re illegitimate yourself.’

‘Nonsense!’ Hornbeam’s breath was coming in short gasps and he was struggling to control it.

‘You have always said that your mother died during an epidemic of smallpox in London.’

‘That is perfectly true.’

‘You can’t have forgotten Matt Carver.’

Hornbeam grunted as if he had been punched in the belly. His face paled and he struggled to breathe. He seemed unable to speak.

‘I met Matt Carver,’ Spade said. ‘He remembers you well.’

Hornbeam recovered the power of speech. ‘I don’t know anyone of that name.’

‘Matt stood beside you at the scaffold while you watched your mother die.’ It was cruel, but he had to make sure Hornbeam understood that he knew everything.

Hornbeam managed to say: ‘You devil.’

Spade shook his head. ‘I’m not a devil, and I’m not going to destroy your reputation. You don’t deserve sympathy, but elections should not be won and lost on malicious gossip. I’ve known about your past for seven years, and I haven’t told anyone – not even Arabella. And I won’t – provided the talk about Amos and Hal stops.’

Hornbeam gasped: ‘I’ll see to it.’

‘Good,’ said Spade, and he walked away. Hornbeam would never f0rgive him for this, but they had been enemies for years, so Spade had lost nothing.

Back at home, supper was on the dining-room table. Spade took some cabbage soup and cut two slices of cold beef. Arabella sipped wine, and he sensed that she had something to say. When he had finished eating he pushed his plate away and said: ‘Come on, out with it.’

She smiled. ‘You always know when I’m worried about something.’

‘Go on.’

‘We’re very happy in this house, you and me and Abe.’

‘Praise the Lord and thanks to you.’