The Ladder Dancer

by Roz Southey

  I stared. ‘You know?’

  She nodded, said in a small voice, ‘I saw him.’

  I waited for her to go on but she didn’t; I said, ‘You followed him all evening.’

  Her fingers crushed the grubby satin of her dress. ‘I knew he was going to get drunk. I thought I’d wait until he was so drunk he’d not remember anything, then we’d go back to the inn and I’d get in bed with him. When he woke up, I’d tell him he’d had me. And then I’d say I’d tell everyone I was a respectable girl but I’d keep quiet about him seducing me if he made me his apprentice.’ She cast me a sideways glance. ‘You made me think of it – you said he wouldn’t remember nothing in the morning.’

  So I had. ‘That would have been blackmail,’ I said, quelling an absurd inclination to applaud. Nightingale might have agreed to her terms; he couldn’t have afforded a scandal.

  ‘I saw him when he came out of that place in the Fleshmarket,’ she said, ‘and I followed him round half a dozen taverns. He can drink,’ she said admiringly. ‘He picked up a whore too, and they went into an alley and I had to wait till they came out.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Lots more taverns,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Till he could hardly walk. And he had his pocket picked on the way. He went down to the Key and then back up to the Turk’s Head in the Bigg Market, then off to the Castle Garth.’

  ‘Did he see you?’

  ‘Coupla times.’ She rubbed her arms against the cold. ‘Told me to get lost, so I made sure I kept out of his sight. He was reeling about and singing. Proper singing, not that stuff he usually does. He found himself another whore in the Garth,’ she said scornfully, ‘but he couldn’t do it – that was the drink talking. She wanted her money anyway and he wouldn’t give it her, because he said she’d done nothing for it. So she gave him a push and he sat down in horse shit and yelled at her.’

  Nightingale had had an eventful evening, I reflected. The stone doorstep was becoming uncomfortable; I shifted, leant back against the door behind me. ‘And after that?’

  ‘A watchman told him to go home, and he said he didn’t know how to so the watchman pointed him out the Stair down to the Sandhill. Only the watchman stood there to make sure he went and I didn’t want to follow in case he thought I was up to something.’ She added darkly, ‘Watchmen don’t like me. They always think I’m up to no good.’

  They were probably right. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I didn’t think it mattered – I knew he was going back to the Fleece so I sat down on a wall. I thought I’d wait a bit for him to get settled in bed. I know where his room is – he took me there once, the day he ordered the dress for me.’

  She stared at the hedge into which the fox had slipped.

  ‘Did you see anyone go down the Stair after him?’

  She frowned. ‘Two lasses and a lad. They didn’t go right down to the bottom though – I heard them laughing in one of the streets off the Stair.’

  ‘Anyone else?’

  She thought. ‘A man and his wife, old, both of them. And a young man on his own.’

  ‘How tall was the young man?’

  She shrugged. ‘’Bout like you.’

  ‘How old?’

  Another shrug. ‘Older than an apprentice.’

  Maybe early twenties then. ‘What was he wearing?’

  ‘Black.’

  ‘You mean mourning?’

  ‘Never asked him.’

  Black didn’t sound Cuthbert Ridley’s style. ‘Wearing a wig?’

  ‘Silly little one.’ That was more like Ridley.

  ‘Was he fat or thin?’

  ‘Thin,’ she said decisively.

  ‘And did he go all the way down the Stair?’

  She considered, staring out into the dark empty street. ‘The old man and woman went all the way down. She was trailing behind him, like she didn’t want to be there. And she had trouble going down the Stair. He just went striding off ahead. Typical man – no help at all! Then the young lad came.’ She screwed up her eyes. ‘Don’t remember what he did.’

  ‘Would you recognize any of them?’

  ‘Nah,’ she said. ‘Too dark. And I was across the other side of the Garth.’

  I hesitated. We were coming to what must inevitably distress her. I’d no doubt she’d seen plenty of unpleasant things in her time but she was still young, no matter how hardened she pretended to be. ‘So what happened then?’

  She looked down at her hands. ‘I got worried. What if he forgot where he was going and went off somewhere else? Picked up another whore, maybe? Took her to his bed? So I went after him. And—’ Her voice cracked. ‘I found him. Lying on his back at the foot of the Stair with blood everywhere.’

  ‘Did you examine him?’

  She shook her head violently. ‘Couldn’t bear to. Didn’t need to. Not with all that blood. He’s dead, ain’t he?’

  ‘Not yet,’ I said noncommittally. By her own account, Kate had found Nightingale only minutes after he’d been attacked; if she’d called for help, he would not have lain so long bleeding and, who knows, might have been saved. I didn’t intend ever to tell her so.

  ‘So you ran off?’

  She stared at the fence where the fox had disappeared. There was something she was hiding, I was sure of it. ‘Came here,’ she said, indicating the street, meaning this world. ‘I was scared. Thought they’d say I’d done it.’ She added defiantly, ‘I didn’t!’

  I looked at her; she stared back. ‘Did you see anyone near the body? Running away, maybe?’

  ‘Nah,’ she said. ‘Didn’t see no one running away.’ Another pause. In a low voice, she said, ‘You think that gent did it, don’t you? The one who’s always rude – the one as hit Mr Nightingale at the dinner party.’

  ‘He’s top of my list at the moment,’ I admitted.

  ‘Why are you so interested?’ she demanded. ‘Why don’t you just go home and forget about it?’

  ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I won’t. And talking of home, I want you to come back with me. You can have something to eat and something clean to wear.’

  She hesitated. I got that sense again of something she was concealing; she said begrudgingly, ‘You’re going to get killed, you are, and then what will I do?’

  ‘Kate,’ I said carefully, ‘if you’re still thinking about that apprenticeship, you saw yesterday how everyone reacted to the idea of you playing in the concert . . .’

  ‘Don’t care!’ she said defiantly. ‘I won’t go back to my ma, I won’t! I want something better. I deserve it!’

  ‘We can find something else for you to do.’

  ‘You mean, you’ll make me a servant. I don’t want to be a servant. I want to play the fiddle.’

  I sighed and decided there was no point in pressing the matter at the moment. ‘I promise you,’ I said, ‘that I’ll think about it. And I won’t do anything without your full agreement.’

  She stared at me. ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  Begrudgingly, she said, ‘All right.’

  I stood up. ‘Let’s go back then. I hope we haven’t been missed.’

  ‘I won’t have been,’ she said, with a distinct lack of self-pity. ‘No one ever misses me.’

  ‘Can we go back to just after I left?’ I asked. I wanted to test the abilities she boasted of, but she looked at me blankly.

  ‘How do I know when you left?’

  I laughed. ‘True. Come on then.’

  I got up off the doorstep, feeling stiff, and a trifle chilled. Kate put her small hand in mine; it was very cold. We took a step forward and the blackness washed over us. Then I saw the flicker of stars and a thin curve of moon over rooftops.

  We were standing by the same doorstep on Westgate and it looked much the same time of night.

  ‘Do you think he’s dead now?’ Kate asked.

  I stared around. There was not the slightest clue as to what day this was. ‘I think we’ll go and visit a friend who lives near here,’ I
said. ‘He’ll be able to tell us if anything’s happened.’

  Twenty-Nine

  Evil deeds multiply.

  [A Gentleman’s Companion, October 1735]

  I knew Hugh would not enjoy being woken – the snores I heard from behind the door of his attic room were too loud and energetic. It took three bouts of banging on the door to wake him, by which time the widow from the floor below was calling up the stairs in protest. When Hugh did come to the door, it was evident he’d had a hard night of it; he’d collapsed on his bed in breeches, shirt and stockinged feet. Kate took one look at his hair sticking up, and cackled loudly.

  Sighing, Hugh let us in, rubbing at his injured arm as if it ached. Behind him, one candle gleamed. ‘Wake up the widow below, did you?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You know what she’ll think.’

  ‘I’m no whore,’ Kate said indignantly, and turned for the door again. ‘I’ll tell her!’

  I grabbed her arm. ‘You will not! Hugh, is that piece of pie going spare?’

  He looked at the pie on the table and almost turned green. ‘Don’t talk about food.’

  ‘Too much to drink?’ I passed the pie across to Kate who fell on it as if she hadn’t eaten for months.

  ‘In your cause,’ Hugh said, poking me in the ribs, ‘I must have visited every tavern in this town after you ran off last night.’

  Well, that relieved one of my anxieties at any rate – we’d not lost too many hours in that other world. ‘Did you find anything?’

  He grinned. ‘Lots! Pour me beer and I’ll tell you.’

  There was a jug of beer on the table; it was probably past its best by now but I poured two tankards and handed one to Hugh. I stared down Kate’s indignant protests, then relented enough to allow her a gulp or two from my tankard. In the glittering candlelight, Hugh sat on the bed to tell his tale, I perched on the edge of the table and Kate wandered about, eating the pie and scattering crumbs across the floor.

  ‘You could have told me what you were going to do, Charles,’ Hugh grumbled. ‘One minute you’re there, the next you’re off like a frightened hare and there’s no chance of catching you. Still, I shall abstain from complaining. I shan’t point out how difficult it is for me to get out of my shirt one-handed without the help of a friend—’

  ‘Hugh—’

  ‘But I understand you’ve other interests now.’ He gave Kate a glowering look. ‘Now you’re married.’

  ‘Hey!’ Kate said. ‘Told you. I ain’t a whore.’

  Hugh looked at me over the top of his tankard. ‘Not what people would say. Out all night, turns up at dawn with a girl no better than she should be—’

  ‘I will be,’ Kate scowled. ‘If folks’ll let me.’

  ‘Can we get to the point?’ I said. ‘What did you find? Where did Nightingale go after the Old Man Inn?’

  ‘I can tell you exactly which taverns he went to,’ Hugh said. ‘Eight of them. Eight, Charles! And he wasn’t above trying to wheedle free ale out of the company. Once he even gave a recital in the hope of getting a few pennies, but I don’t think he could have been at his best because all he got was three farthings.’

  ‘I hope Jenison doesn’t hear of that,’ I said. ‘His concert soloist demeaning himself by singing in taverns!’

  ‘Had his pocket picked,’ Kate said with immoderate glee.

  ‘Was it only drinking,’ I asked, ‘or did something else happen?’

  Hugh gulped down beer, put a hand on his head and winced. ‘Someone was following him.’

  ‘Kate was following him.’

  ‘Yes I know,’ Hugh said, sighing. ‘No one missed her, not in those yellow petticoats.’

  ‘I like yellow,’ Kate said defiantly.

  ‘There was a man following him too. It all ended in a fracas in the Turk’s Head in the Bigg Market. Some time around ten.’

  I looked at Kate; she said, ‘Told you he went in there. Didn’t see what happened though.’

  ‘Nightingale was on edge when he came in,’ Hugh said, yawning. ‘Glancing over his shoulder every five minutes. He was pretty drunk by this time. About ten minutes after he’d come in, another fellow arrived and they started yelling at each other. Nightingale made some pretty wild accusations, evidently, something about London but the other fellow just grinned.’

  ‘Is there a description of this other man?’

  ‘Young, fashionable, very full of himself. New to the town, no one there acquainted with him.’

  ‘Cuthbert Ridley.’

  Hugh nodded. ‘They nearly came to blows, apparently. But the landlord came down hard on them. In the end, Nightingale stumbled out in high dudgeon.’

  ‘Did Ridley follow?’

  ‘Not for a while.’

  ‘How long’s that?’

  ‘Half an hour maybe.’

  The girl at the Old Man had said that Nightingale and Ridley were both in that night but not at the same time. Had Ridley followed Nightingale up to the Turk’s Head? And had he followed him further?

  ‘I could see if I can find out anything more,’ Hugh said, rubbing his eyes. ‘But, unlike some, I have work to do. I have to put an advertisement in the paper to say I’m back in town, and I want to speak to the Steward of the Assembly Rooms about a date for my ball. And a little sleep wouldn’t come amiss. If my so-called friends wouldn’t mind not interrupting me!’

  Kate yawned, a huge, jaw-cracking gape. She was leaning back against the wall and I fancied her eyelids were drooping.

  ‘We’ll talk about this again tomorrow, Hugh. I mean, later today.’ I took hold of Kate’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s get back home.’

  ‘Charles,’ Hugh said, stifling a yawn, ‘mind what I say – take care. Don’t want Mrs P getting the wrong idea.’

  ‘Thank you for your advice, Hugh. I think Esther isn’t prone to wrong ideas. Go back to sleep.’

  ‘Could help a fellow change his shirt,’ he said, easing back against his pillows.

  ‘I’ll come back later.’ I suspected he was asleep before I closed the door.

  Kate staggered as we stepped out of the stairwell into the chill night air, yawned again, belched. ‘That pie was good.’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t make yourself sick, eating so quickly.’ We crossed the street; she stumbled on the cobbles but righted herself with another tremendous yawn. As we came to the street that led to Caroline Square, I said, ‘Can I trust you to get yourself to bed if I let you in the house?’

  ‘Why? Where’re you going?’

  ‘I want to see if Nightingale’s still alive.’

  ‘Ask a spirit.’

  ‘I’d rather do it myself.’ Truth to tell, I wanted another look at that alley and, unlike Kate, I was still wide awake. In my own experience, it was still only late afternoon.

  ‘It’s late,’ Kate said, yawning again. ‘There’ll be thieves about.’

  ‘I don’t intend to go into any dark alleys.’

  ‘They’ll get you,’ she said. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘You’re going to bed.’

  She yawned again and her jaw cracked.

  The spirit in the central gardens was singing quietly to himself as we walked across Caroline Square; as far as I can tell, spirits don’t sleep. I fished my key out of my pocket.

  The front door was of course bolted on the inside.

  I saw little option but to call for George and get him to wake Tom – but that, of course, would cause all sorts of dissension amongst the servants and draw undesirable attention to Kate. As I was hesitating, Kate said, ‘Don’t fuss yourself. I’ll shift to the other world then come back inside the house.’

  I sighed. That pang of envy again. ‘I wish I knew how you stepped through so accurately.’

  She wrinkled up her nose and grinned. ‘I’ll tell you how – when you make me your apprentice!’

  And with a mock curtsey of her soiled yellow skirts – and another great yawn – she winked out of existence. A shiver of inte
nse cold passed over me, so strong I slapped at my arms to warm them. Then both Kate and the cold were gone.

  I began to perceive Kate was a problem without an easy solution.

  Alone again, I walked down the steep slope of the Side where the torches had reduced themselves to mere glowing embers. The town was nearly deserted; I saw only a handful of miners stumbling sleepily back home from work. The clock of St Nicholas’s church struck two.

  The Golden Fleece was not entirely quiet; horses shifted in their stables, hooves clinking on hard floors, breath snorting. Two of the torches in the yard had gone out, the others were guttering. The door to the kitchen passageway was wide open; candles burned on a table, showing me the lad, Joseph, comfortably asleep on a chair.

  ‘Keeping watch, Joseph?’ I asked loudly.

  He jerked awake, grabbed the chair as he almost fell off it. His anxious expression suggested he thought I was the landlord; when he realized I wasn’t, he grinned. ‘Doing my best, sir, but one beer too many.’ The tankard was at his feet. ‘Besides, no late travellers tonight. And if one did come, the horses’ hooves on the cobbles would wake me. Want to see the old gent? He’s hanging on still.’

  I mounted the three steps to Nightingale’s room, reflecting he would have hated to be called old. The door of his room was ajar; I pushed it open and he lay there almost as I’d seen him last time, his breathing stentorian, his face streaked with sweat. There was the acrid smell of urine.

  He was alone.

  I went back down into the passageway. ‘Joseph, do you know why no one’s sitting with him?’

  He looked surprised. ‘Mally was with him. Maybe she’s gone to the kitchen for something.’

  I resisted the temptation to point out that if he’d been awake he would have seen or heard Mally as she walked down the passageway behind him and know exactly where she was.

  In the darkness at the other end of the passage, a pool of light spilled through an open door. I walked down there to find Mally in the kitchen, enjoying the company of two of her fellow servants. Two male servants. They were playing cards and flirting ferociously. To judge by the pile of coins in front of Mally, she was winning.