by Smith, Skye
Everyone in the kitchen observed a shocked silence. Was this the same girl who had screamed obscenities about this same match-making just this morning, and had stomped away for the entire day?
"Are you sure?" Robert asked. "You will like Thomas. He is old compared to you. Almost as old as me. He held off choosing a wife until he had built up his business to where it can support a family in comfort. Fill his home with little Thomas's and your happiness will be assured. The other girls of this town would trade places with you in an instant just for the chance of living so well and in London."
"I will see her safely to London,” Daniel offered. "I must go back to the Fens soon, and London is not much of a detour. If you give me a letter of authority, I will stand beside her at the wedding and give her away on your behalf."
"Why can't this all wait until after our mother's funeral?" asked brother Nick. "Alice, if you leave now you will not be at her bedside. We will have to postpone the burial until you come from London."
"I have more faith in our mother than that,” Alice replied. "I think she will bound back to health and live for a few more years. You'll see. In the meantime, I want to get pregnant, and that means I must marry Thomas, and that means I must go to London. And if a brother cannot give me away, then who better than the man who just brought me back from the dead?"
Bridget slammed the pot she had just filled with water down on the hearth with a crash. "And who will help me around this house, with all the men home expecting a funeral?"
"I will hire a girl in to take on Alice's work,” Robert offered.
"Well, that will cost all of tu’pence a month,” Bridget hissed. Then she stopped and breathed out in a rush. "That was cruel of me. I am so sorry, Alice. I am just so upset that we came so close to losing you, and now we are to lose you in any case. And Daniel. I have been rude to you ever since you came. I feared that you were a bad influence on my brothers. I was wrong, and you have proven me wrong in the most wonderful of ways. You have brought Alice back to us."
* * * * *
* * * * *
THE PISTOLEER - HellBurner by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14
Chapter 8 - Taking Alice to London in December 1638
Later that night, after Alice was bathed and salzed and put to bed with a glass of aquavitae, Daniel was put through the same. The last thing he did before going to bed was to sit on the stoop of the cottage he shared with Sam and try to clean and dry his boots. The river clay, when wet, was slick and gooey, but when dry it was like mortar.
As he worked at it with a stick, Bridget walked across the yard and sat down on the bench beside him. She was ready for bed, or had just left her bed, for she wore just her night dress under her cloak. "Please don't treat me like just another stupid woman as my brothers do. This thing with Alice. It was all about Thomas Wyndham, wasn't it?"
"I thought his name was Thomas Smythes, a London goldsmith."
"Don't play the fool, Daniel. Do you think I don't know that Alice has been following Wyndham around like a puppy. I saw them together at the play."
"Romeo and Julia. Yes, she told me that the players were acting out her life."
"So it was Wyndham. Is she carrying his child?" She looked nervously around. "Wait. Is Sam inside?"
"No, he is still out buying rounds of ale for the men who were helping with the search." Daniel lowered his voice to a whisper. "She may be carrying his child. It is far too soon to say."
"So she threw herself into the river." She waited for an answer. "You can tell me. I would never tell any of this to my brothers. That would start a feud. Men would die. My men would die."
"Yes, she threw herself in,” he whispered.
"That devil Wyndham. He has ruined more girls in this town. So rich, so charming, so handsome. Girls follow him around and he preys on them. Sometimes I wonder if his father does not pay him to procure new harlots for his whorehouses."
"So who then is the devil? The father or the son?"
"Both. No. The father is unscrupulous, immoral even. The son is truly evil because he pretends to be so loving and innocent."
"Yep, that's how I think about it. The father is an immoral businessman, an immoral lord. The son is a deceiver, as if there is something not quite right in his head. In Holland they call them poseurs. Posers. Always posing as something they are not, like a player in your theatre, except that they think it is real."
She crossed herself against the thoughts of demons. "How soon can you start out for London?"
"As soon as we are sure she does not come down with a fever."
"Good answer. Can I trust you with her? She is very pretty, very vulnerable. No, don't answer that. It doesn't matter. You have a right to her. Besides, what does it matter if this hurried marriage covers up one tryst or two?"
"She will be safe enough with me,” he replied. "I prefer her sister. A real woman, not a silly girl."
"Don't say that. I am happily married,” she scolded.
"Now who is being taken for a fool. Is your dissatisfaction with your husband, or with his trade, or with life in a tiny village?"
"It will be better once I bear him children. Without children I have too much time on my hands."
"Well, you won't be making any children with you away taking care of your mother in a different town." He paused before asking in a whisper, "You did come to me to seduce me, to reward me, isn't that right? The seduction would be justified because you feel you owe me." He knew he was right because her cheeks were on fire.
"Do you want to?" she whispered.
"Absolutely. But not here and not now. Some other place where there is no chance of being caught out. Some other time when we can lie in each other's arms for hours or days and make joyous love." He couldn't tell if the look she gave him was disappointment or relief. Probably a bit of both.
* * * * *
Without making her suspicious, Daniel had found out from Alice the way to Thomas Wyndham's trysting cottage. It was on the banks of the river, well downstream from the castle near where the foundations for the new warehouses were being built. Wyndham would be going there tonight to meet Alice. Alice was at home in bed fighting a fever.
The river bank below the castle was every bit as slippery as the river bank where Alice had jumped in. The quays were bigger, however, as were the floats, so there were no small boats or punts. There were two ships tied up, but the only men aboard the empty, high riding vessels were the watch. Even the warehouse building sites were empty of men. The alehouses would be doing a roaring business tonight.
He was crouched sitting on a heavy staff that he had angled down between his legs to bear his weight. He could patiently sit like this for hours. It was the hunter in him. When you hunted fish with a spear in the Fens streams, any movement would scare them away. It was the same hunting men.
A lone figure was walking along the path along the river bank. When it came even with the bush where Daniel was hiding, Daniel stood and walked over to him.
"Are you Thomas Wyndham?" he asked. "If so, I have a message for you from a young lady."
At first the man had jumped back and had turned to run, but on hearing the words he stopped and then approached the messenger. "I am he. What is the message?"
"This,” said Daniel, as he pushed the man hard backwards towards the edge of the river bank. Wyndham stood there with his arms flailing trying to keep his balance, his footing, his grip, but just for a few seconds and then he was gone and sliding down the slippery clay and into the water. Daniel peered over to see if he had landed in deep water. The tide was in but ebbing quickly. The river was in full torrent. If Alice had jumped in an hour earlier yesterday, he would not have been able to save her, not with this current.
Wyndham's head broke the surface once, then again, and each time he breathed in water. A third time up but then he was swept under the first float of the first downstream quay. After that there was no sign of him. Daniel turned and walked at right angles away from the river. He would keep
to that tack for two streets and then make his way through the center of town and back home. Thomas Wyndham would not be missed until the morning.
That night Bridget visited him again at his cottage. Again she wore nothing under her cloak save her nightdress. Again she found him cleaning sticky mud from his boots. They sat together and listened to the night sounds for a long time. She leaned forward and put his arm around her so that she could snuggle into him. "Been walking along the river bank again?" she asked just to fill the empty space.
"Yes, but no one must know, especially not Alice. You will understand tomorrow." She kissed his neck, but he stopped her with the warning that, "Samuel is asleep inside."
* * * * *
Alice didn't mention the accidental drowning of her lover until they were beyond Bath and she was on the London coach. Although Daniel had both of his horses, and although Alice knew how to ride, she was still not well enough to ride. Once more Daniel had been hired on as an outrider and rode behind the coach, while Alice lurched along inside it. It was just as well, because she had packed along everything that belonged to her, her entire trousseau. Heavy trunks and saddles are not a good mix.
She mentioned Wyndham's demise while riding Daniel's second horse, as a break from being jostled by the coach. They rode just far enough behind the coach so that they did not eat its dust. "It is a sign from God,” she told him.
"What?" he said coming alert, thinking he must have missed something while daydreaming in the saddle. His left hand had instinctively lifted his Dragon from its holster.
"Thomas dying in the same way that I would have died had you not saved me,” she said while looking at alarm at the size of the pistol now in the man's hand. She said no more until he had put it away. "It was like in Romeo and Juliet, you know, the tragic end. But I must live and start a new life. God has made this clear to me."
Daniel shook his head in wonder at the superstitions of these Christians. Whether Protestant or Papist they always seemed to attribute the works of man to be the works of their desert god. "Do you still love him?"
"Oh, of course,” she replied dreamily. "And that is another sign from God. He has arranged a husband for me with the same name as my lover, so that if I cry out his name in the throws of passion, it will still be the right name. Umm... tonight when we stop, will you be wanting to share my bed?"
"You mean if the coach inn is crowded?"
"No, I mean that since you saved my life, you have a right to me. Will you be claiming that right?"
He took a hard look at the girl. Was that eagerness in her face? Was she mentioning this out of duty or out of lust? She gave him the slow eye. Lust. Her husband-to-be Smythes was a lucky man, because this young girl was going to ravage him. "I will collect that debt at some other time, when you are healthier."
Her winsome, seductive smile turned into a frown. Time to change the subject.
"I suppose I should get back in the coach at the next stop. This fresh air has been nice. The women I share my seat with have some new thing from the continent. It is a mix of Aquavitae and the oils of spices and flowers, and they splash it all over themselves to cover up any bad smells. It is quite pungent and pleasant, but I would prefer it if instead they would just wash more often."
Daniel was now paying full attention. The Freisburn was a small ship, a very small ship, so his preferred and most profitable cargoes were small things of great value, such as Genever. If this was a new use for aquavitae, he would find out about it and try carrying it on his next trip over from the continent. So, accompanying this girl to London was not a waste of his time after all.
As it happened, that night the coach inn was full, and they did decide to share a bed, though the room was also shared with other couples. The alternative was her sharing a bed with one of the perfumed ladies, while he shared a bed with a farting, snoring fat gent from Bristol. He allowed her to caress him between his legs, because that always felt so good, but did not return the favour, and absolutely refused her attempts to wriggle onto him.
It took them four long and tiring days of riding, and three frustrating nights of not riding to reach London. Once in the city they still had to make their way across town to Saint Paul’s and then along Cheapside looking for the shop. Smythes' shop was close to Saint Paul’s, because the man made his living by selling gold and silver religious jewelry to the pilgrims who still visited the old cathedral even though it was yet again under construction. Some builder named Inigo was spending a lot of money trying to make the great church look older than it was.
The only goldsmiths that Daniel had ever met were in Amsterdam, and they had all been Jewish, because the Republic welcomed any skilled peoples who were fleeing the Papists. The work of gold smithing physically changed the looks of those who did the work. And not just the squint from ever working in minute detail on small things. They also purified or blended precious metals, which meant they worked with hot things that left burns and scars, and they breathed foul smoke that robbed them of their health, and used poisons such as arsenic and mercury which stained their skin and their minds.
Thomas Smythes was therefore a most pleasant surprise. He was not the wizened gnome that Daniel was expecting, not at all. He was a robust, healthy man with bright blue eyes and a quick smile. He was not handsome and lithe like her last Thomas, but that was true of most men. Alice was so relieved that he was not a gnome, that she wanted to rush immediately to Saint Paul’s for the ceremony.
The ceremony was scheduled for two weeks later, after the proper waiting period from the reading of the banns. These, of course, had to be read at Saint Mary's in Bridgwater as well as Saint Paul's in London, in order that those who knew the bride and those who knew the groom would have ample time to raise any objections to their union. For those two weeks, Alice changed her name to Impatience and spent her time moving furniture around in the rooms above the shop where Thomas lived.
Daniel, on the other hand, used the time to explore London, and especially to find out what was selling for a good profit in London shops. It was while checking out the prices in a gun shop that he once again met Henry Marten, the husband of Margaret from his trip from Cambridge to Oxford.
"You are the Pistoleer Daniel, are you not?" Henry blustered as he strode across the shop with his hand outstretch. "Well met sir, and welcome to London. Capital! Capital! For us to meet in this shop at this time is providence and nothing less."
Daniel was less exuberant with his greeting. He had after all, cuckolded this man on more than one occasion. He stretched to his full height to look around the shop to see if Henry had any friends or servants with him. There were none, and by the welcome, Margaret must have kept her adultery a secret.
"It could be said,” Henry continued, "that I am in this shop because of you. I cannot get your explanation of the versatility of pistols and Pistoleers out of my mind. I am here now to gauge the price and the worth of the many types." The high spirits of the wealthy gent were the opposite of the effect that Daniel's arrival had made on the shopkeeper. He had been expecting to make good profits from this proud and ignorant gent. The gent's sturdy friend, on the other hand, had the look of military about him.
"A pistol is just a tool and like any tool it is designed for specific work,” Daniel explained as he stood beside Henry to see what he had been looking at. "Take an axe, for instance. A simple tool, and yet you wouldn't use a splitting axe for felling, or a felling axe for clearing roots. Was that the pistol you were looking at?"
"Yes, I was drawn to it because it is the smallest."
"That is the tool of assassination. Either to do the deed or to protect against it. Because it is a wheel lock it is smooth and contained. This means it can be kept in a pocket and pulled out again quickly. You see how nothing jagged sticks out from the lock? Nothing to snag on clothing. Nothing to set it off accidentally. It is the type of pistol that is made by clockmakers for gentlemen and aristocrats. It was such a pistol that assassinated William of Orange in H
olland, but that was in Elizabeth’s reign before I was born."
"I like it better and better,” Henry replied and turned to the shopkeep, "May I try firing this one?"
The shopkeeper's face lit up. Perhaps this was to be a profitable day after all. "I will load it for you and you may take your shot in my yard out back. Half load of course, for I do not want to risk the mechanism."
In explanation Daniel told Henry, "On this model the trigger spins the steel wheel directly rather than using a cocked mainspring. Another spring holds the fool's gold against the steel wheel to create the spark."
"Fool's gold,” Henry interrupted, "you mean flint?"
"Flint is too hard, so they use fool's gold to make a spark. If the powder does not flash, then you just keep pulling the trigger until it does. The workings are as finely made as clockworks, so even a single shot can foul the tiny cogs with powder grit. This makes it costly to build, expensive to buy, and temperamental in a pitched fight. As I said, an assassin's tool, not a soldier's."
"Ah, but then I am not a soldier. It will make me feel safer on the streets of London, especially at night."
"If that is your purpose, then do not buy this pistol. Hire a pistol-carrying guard instead." Daniel's advice was met with a curious gaze from Henry and a moan from the shopkeeper. He explained.
"The guard will be an expert with the pistol, and when he has cause to draw it, he will use it efficiently and without delay. If you, a man of letters and law, draw this pistol it will like as not be taken from you before you are brave enough to fire it, and then it will be used against you."
Henry could see by the forlorn look on the face of the shopkeeper that these words were true. "Then I will do both. Meanwhile, since I wish to learn more about pistols, the first step is to buy one to practice with. It may as well be a small one that I can carry with me." Again the shopkeeper's face lit up. He handed Henry the now loaded gun, then showed him to the back door and outside into a long narrow yard with a scarecrow at the far end of it.