Ibbetson was grey as the ice now, his eyelids were closed, his knuckles white on the oar. The black water rose and fell round his chest.
Dennis appeared at her side and eased himself with tentative slowness onto his knees. ‘Don’t move,’ he said.
‘He can’t last much longer.’ She whispered it, lest he hear.
‘Take hold of my ankles.’ The ice rocked as he lay down. She gasped.
He took hold of Ibbetson by the wrists. Ibbetson’s hands were welded to the oar. Ella pushed herself back on the ice inch by inch and grasped Dennis’s ankles. Her own hands were numb with cold, she did not know if she could hang on.
Dennis turned his head round to Ella and voiced her own thoughts, ‘If he lets go I might not be able to hold him. Help’s on its way.’
Behind them there were the shouts of a group of watermen approaching from the bank upriver. She glanced briefly in their direction, to see them dragging a ladder and a plank between them. Ella concentrated on holding the stiff wool round Dennis’s ankles. The ice was burning her chest, her teeth chattered uncontrollably.
A brief discussion in low voices between the men, followed by: ‘Careful now, it might not bear more weight.’ A voice from behind them.
‘Pass us the ladder, Jake.’
The noise of wood scraping the ice and a ladder slid out next to them.
‘It’s all right, milady, you can let go, we have him.’ Two pairs of hands grasped Dennis firmly by the calves.
Ella sat up and rubbed at her hands, but there was no feeling in them, they were like dead things. Dennis was rigid, holding tight to Ibbetson’s wrists. Ibbetson did not move, his eyes were closed, his lace jabot floated round his neck. His hands still clasped the oar but Ella feared he was already dead. The other boatmen were standing on the shore on the firmer ice, shouting instructions. The top rung of the ladder was right next to Ibbetson now, but he made no move to take it.
‘Sir, take hold of the ladder,’ Dennis said.
Ibbetson half opened his eyes. Dennis tried to pull his hands free so he could grab the ladder but Ibbetson would not let go of the oar.
‘You’ve got to let go, take hold of the ladder,’ Dennis said. He turned to Ella. ‘He won’t let go.’
‘Mr Ibbetson,’ Ella said, almost weeping with cold, ‘please take hold. We can’t pull you free else.’
Ibbetson’s face did not move.
‘You’ve got to help yourself. Take hold, in God’s name,’ she said. ‘Do it for Thomas.’
He opened his eyes then, screwed up his face and lurched through the water making a grab for the ladder. His hands latched on.
‘Now kick!’ shouted Ella, ‘kick for all you’re worth! You need to swim out.’
Ibbetson began to feebly move his legs.
‘More. Kick harder.’ His legs gradually came up to the surface. She could see the dark of his breeches beneath the grey sludge.
‘Pull!’ shouted Dennis, and the watermen heaved the ladder back over the ice, dragging Ibbetson with it. As he came free of the water Ella looked to the bank; she could see Sadie was still there, the yellow of her dress shone out. She was surrounded by the constable’s men.
Ibbetson lay like a beached seal on the grey surface, unable to speak, but moaning. A waterman helped lug him on a sled and they towed him over to the bank. The sled scraped on the ice. Pockets of black water oozed up under it. Dennis followed, leading Ella the long way round, past the cracked and shifting surface to the edge. When the sled reached the bank, the constable leaned over Ibbetson; she saw him speak, but could not hear his words. By the time she arrived the watermen’s wives were clustered around him, with earthen flasks of hot ale. Someone had stripped off his wet clothes and given him a dry shirt. He looked vulnerable without his coat, like a baby, a sheepskin pulled up to his chin. A man laid a blanket over her shoulders and escorted her to solid ground, but as she neared the shore she shook him off and ran towards the waiting figure of Sadie on the bank. Sadie’s eyes searched hers.
‘You’re safe, God be praised,’ Sadie said, and she threw her arms about Ella’s neck. They stood for a while just holding each other, before Ella pulled away. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘Nothing to be sorry for,’ Sadie said. ‘Is he all right?’ She nodded her head towards the gaggle of people surrounding the sled.
‘I think so.’ She hooked Sadie’s arm through hers and pulled her over to the crowd. They stood a little apart until Dennis beckoned them through.
Ibbetson held out his hand from under the rug, and Ella took it. His hand pressed hers. She looked into his eyes. Neither of them smiled.
He turned his head to the waiting men. ‘These are not the girls,’ he said with great effort.
Dennis beckoned the constable, who stepped up.
‘Tell him again,’ Dennis said.
‘Not these girls. Never seen them before in my life.’
The constable narrowed his eyes and looked from one to the other. He stared at Sadie clinging to Ella’s arm, and then back to Ibbetson. ‘Right enough, sir, if that’s what you say.’
Ella smiled then, and nodded, and found her eyes were glassy. She squeezed Mr Ibbetson’s hand tightly.
‘Has someone sent for a carriage?’ asked Dennis. ‘He lodges at the Blue Ball on Aldergate. Send ahead for a fire to be lit in his chamber.’
‘My Agnes has sent for a carriage,’ said the waterman, ‘and a physician’s on his way. The gentleman’ll need a draught to get rid of the excess cold and damp. Or he’ll take sickness, sure as I stand.’
A carriage arrived with the physician and they watched as Mr Ibbetson was carried up and bundled into the back. Someone offered Ella a hot draught, and she watched the running footmen close the door, and the carriage move away.
After they had taken warm ale with the watermen, they said their farewells. Dennis untied his black coat from round his waist and put it on.
‘You look different. I’ve never seen you look so smart, were you going . . . ?’ Sadie’s voice petered out. ‘Oh, Dennis, not Ma?’
Dennis looked down. ‘Yesterday. At my auntie’s. I guess she couldn’t hold on no more, she was that weak.’ He paused a moment, intent on some memory of his own. ‘’Tis a mercy, when I think on, but I’ll miss her that sore.’
‘I’m sad to hear it,’ Ella said. ‘You were a good son to her.’
‘I was just thinking earlier, Father’s been gone these six year, and now Ma. It feels awful strange, like I’m floating. I’ve got nobody now.’
‘You’ve got me,’ Sadie said shyly.
Dennis drew her into a big bear hug. ‘Dear Sadie, oh my little one.’ She smiled up at him, surprised, her face open as the sunrise. Ella looked away, embarrassed. A few moments later he tapped Ella on the shoulder. ‘Come on, the pair of you, let’s get you home,’ he said.
There was a stench of burning in the air, and now they neared the bank they could see that the snow and ice there was flecked with floating particles of charred debris. Over to their right an orange glow lit the sky. But Dennis did not stop. The three of them hurried onwards through the dark, arm in arm, back to the little house in Blackraven Alley.
Chapter 45
Sadie went down to Whitgift’s the next morning with Dennis and Ella. The thaw had set in and the air was damp, water dripped from all the eaves. On the Thames, streams of brownish melt-water trickled through the ice. Slabs had broken loose and were floating, making a clunking sound as they jostled downstream. Watermen, anxious to get their familiar trade back, hit at the ice slabs from the bank with oars and sticks to try to break them up and send them on their way. The three stopped a while to watch and marvel at the thickness of it, before moving on. Even before they turned into Friargate the sour smell of smoke caught the back of the throat.
Sadie looked through the gates at the ruins of Whitgift’s yard. What had been the Gilded Lily was now a gaping blackened wound. Wisps of smoke yet curled from the debris on the floor. Wooden buckets lay c
ast about, along with charred remains of chairs and broken bottles. The lead from the roof had melted and turned into a solid pool of grey lava, and embedded in it were blackened tea chests and a man’s scorched steeple hat along with other less identifiable objects. To the left, one of the warehouses had been pulled away to save what was left of the old stone monastery.
Dennis pointed to a jut of broken and charred timbers like a crow skeleton against the grey sky. ‘Not much left of Jay Whitgift’s office.’
‘I didn’t think it would be so bad,’ Ella said.
The three of them stepped through the gates, they were wide open now.
‘I can’t take it in,’ said Ella. ‘Seems only a few hours ago this place was full of fine ladies and gentlemen in sedans.’
Sadie hooked her arm through Ella’s and squeezed her hand. Now there was just a hushed gaggle of folk staring, shaking their heads and pointing. Ella pulled her nearer to the Lily, at least what remained of it – the two walls still standing and the scarred earth. She went so close that she could see the charred wallcovering, the gold bamboo pattern blackened with the heat, the scaled varnish of the wainscot peeling away like bark.
‘That’s where the counter was,’ Ella said in a whisper.
‘Don’t go too close, Sadie, those timbers don’t look safe,’ Dennis said.
‘Aye, ’tis a sorry sight,’ Tindall’s voice cut over Dennis’s warning. ‘We could have done with more men. Too much ice in the river, we couldn’t get the pumps working.’
‘Sorry, Nat,’ Dennis said, ‘I had to go. Sadie needed me.’ He pulled her forward, and she smiled at Tindall. He doffed his hat, stared at her face. She returned his look with an open smile.
‘Any sign of Jay Whitgift?’ Tindall said. ‘Walt’s out of his mind thinking they’ve arrested him.’
‘He’s—’
‘No,’ Sadie said firmly, ‘no sign.’
Dennis shut his mouth.
Tindall looked at Sadie’s defiant face. ‘I can see there’s a tale hangs there, but one you are not for sharing. What shall I tell Walt?’
Dennis turned to him then and said, ‘I don’t know, Nat. But I’ll own you this – he’ll need a good friend right enough. One to stand by him, no matter what comes.’
‘There’s a deal of clearing to be done, and no way to pay wages whilst the business is closed,’ Tindall said. ‘It’s a disaster. I told him it was coming – in the stars you see. But thank the Lord at least some of the stock was out at the Frost Fair. Walt’s worried to death over his son, and he says there are all manner of debts, and people hammering on his door demanding payback for their loans, and then there’s the whole question of stolen goods. So you can see, there’ll be no work for you,’ he said to Ella. ‘Merciful heavens, just look at it.’
‘I know, sir,’ she said, ‘but I want none. I’m glad it’s gone. I don’t want to look on it again.’
‘Sadie!’ Corey hurtled out of the crowd. ‘And Ella too. Blimey, what a shiner!’ Ella brought her fingers to her eye where Allsop had hit her.
Corey cocked her head from one to the other, her hands on her hips, as if to gauge how the land lay. She turned to Sadie. ‘You found her then. Oh my word, am I glad to see you. I feared the worst when I heard the place was afire. I asked everywhere after you, but nobody knew nothing.’
Sadie embraced her and then said, ‘Corey, I don’t think you know Mr Gowper.’ Dennis’s face flared red with pleasure. Ella bowed her head, she seemed embarrassed to see Corey again, but Corey paid no mind, she was looking Dennis up and down with a broad grin.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Corey said, with a little bob. ‘Terrible, ain’t it. Such a shame. My mam’s told me to ask after her Sunday shoes. She hocked them last week. But I don’t hold much hope.’
‘I will take you to the office,’ Tindall said. ‘Dennis, maybe you would come with us. I’ll wager Walt will be glad to see another friendly face in amongst all this.’
Dennis set off with Tindall and Corey. Halfway across the yard he turned and waved at Sadie, as if to check she was still there. She lifted her hand in reply.
‘He’s smitten with you,’ Ella said.
‘I know,’ Sadie said, shy again, patting the lavender ribbon that tied back her hair.
‘You could do worse. It’s a good match.’
‘Oh, Ella.’ She put her arm around Ella’s waist and held her tight. ‘What will you do now, with no work?’
‘Don’t know. Maybes I’ll learn a trade.’
‘What, like weaving or baking?’
‘Perhaps.’ And then casually, ‘I was thinking I’ll maybes sign with a milliner, find out how to make fancy hats.’ Sadie opened her mouth and shut it again. She knew Ella had no patience with crafts. Ella must have sensed her wariness, for she said, ‘I want to master it. It’s a proper skill you know, one you need instruction in to do well. I’ll make you such a bonnet then, no one will have seen the like!’
Sadie laughed. ‘I’ll bet you can say that again.’ She squeezed Ella’s hand. Millinery would be a hard task for Ella, but she recognized that it might be the place for Ella to shine. Her sister could go her own way, make the life she chose for herself, just as she could make her own.
Just then Tindall came hurrying across the yard with a lad at his side. ‘A messenger boy, for Miss Ella Appleby. I am sorry to presume, but I take it you are she?’
Ella stepped forward.
The boy recited the words in a gabble as if he had repeated them over and over to remember them. ‘Mr Ibbetson is very much better. He asks that you call on him at his inn, before sundown.’ He beamed, pleased with himself. ‘Oh yes, I’ve to give you this with the address. Blue Ball he said.’ The boy held out a piece of paper. Ella reached out her hand and took it.
‘Thank the gentleman for me,’ she said.
‘Is there any message?’
‘No. No message.’
Tindall pressed a coin into the lad’s hand, inclined his head and shepherded the boy back to the gate where he sped away without a backward glance. Ella did not even look at the paper. She tore it into small pieces and let them flutter from her fingers like snowflakes. She put her arm around Sadie’s shoulders and watched as the particles blew in amongst the ashes.
‘Why did you do that?’ Sadie said.
‘I can’t read.’
‘Maybes he wanted to thank you.’
‘He’s thanked me already. I don’t need him. We can manage fine by ourselves, isn’t that right?’
Sadie smiled at her.
‘You hungry?’ Ella said.
‘I thought you’d never ask,’ Sadie said.
Just then Dennis came trotting back across the yard, his black hat in his hand, his eyes fixed on Sadie.
‘Hey, Dennis, we’re going to treat ourselves, go get a hot pie,’ Ella said.
‘Sounds good to me. I’ve got a few hours before it’s time to catch the coach over to my auntie’s. Tell you what, I’m paying. You can tell me everything then, how you got that shiner, the whole bit and tackle.’
‘You’ll be needing something more than a bloody pie to sustain you then,’ Ella said, ‘and anyhows,’ she added, looking at Sadie, ‘I don’t know as we’re ready to tell it yet.’
‘I’m a good listener,’ he said, taking Sadie by the arm.
‘Aye,’ Sadie said, reaching out to link Ella’s arm in her own, ‘he is that.’ She smiled up at him. ‘And a tale’s naught without a good listener.’
Author’s Note
Those readers familiar with the Restoration period in England will already know that the Thames did not freeze in the winter of 1661. The worst winters of the decade were in the years of 1662 and 1666. I have taken the liberty of transposing the freeze of 1662 to 1661 in order for the novel’s timescale to fit as a companion volume to The Lady’s Slipper.
Mohun, Sedley and Buckhurst were real historical personages; all other characters who appear in the book are fictional.
The observant
reader will notice that several characters in The Gilded Lily believe different things about the fate of Alice Ibbetson. The truth of her story can be discovered in The Lady’s Slipper.
For those readers interested in exploring the history of this period or themes from The Gilded Lily, I suggest starting with the following books:
Restoration London: Everyday Life in the 1660s by Lisa Picard
Frost Fairs on the Frozen Thames by Nicholas Reed
The Illustrated Pepys edited by Robert Latham
Constant Delights: Rakes, Rogues and Scandal in Restoration England by Graham Hopkins
The Elizabethan Underworld by Gamini Salgado
Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century Fashion in Detail by Avril Hart and Susan North
The Artifice of Beauty: A History and Practical Guide to Perfumes and Cosmetics by Sally Pointer
And finally, I highly recommend the meditations of Helen Humphreys in her volume of vignettes, The Frozen Thames.
To discover more about my writing and research, please visit www.deborahswift.co.uk or contact me on Twitter @swiftstory.
Acknowledgements
I am grateful to all the people who helped bring this book to the bookshelves: my editor, Will Atkins; my agent, Annette Green, and the team at Pan Macmillan – they all worked enthusiastically on the book’s behalf behind the scenes. I would also like to thank fellow writers James Tippett, Jenny Yates and Peter Fisher, who were the first readers of The Gilded Lily and whose responses when I took my drafts to our monthly meetings helped guide my progress. And my thanks as always to my husband John for his unstinting support, and for Dennis’s story of the standard-bearer.
Also by Deborah Swift
The Lady’s Slipper
First published 2012 by Pan Books
This electronic edition published 2012 by Pan Books
The Gilded Lily Page 42