by S. D. Sykes
Mother clung to my arm. ‘Don’t let them have it, Oswald.’
The second man drew a knife from within his tunic. ‘Shut up, you old goat.’ He waved it towards Mother, causing her to scream with such drama and volume that he drew back momentarily. His hood fell slightly to the side, revealing a face that was as potholed as an apple with bitter pit. ‘Your purse. Or we’ll cut you.’
I swerved to avoid the knife, but in doing so slipped on one of the many rotting leaves that littered the ground. And then the man was upon me, with his hands inside my cloak, desperately searching for my purse. His knife was ready to cut the leather bag from my belt. I fought back, kicking and punching, but he was as strong as a stubborn ox and my attempts to fight him off were in vain. I only managed to squirm and wriggle so he might not easily find the purse, but then his companion held my arms down, giving me no opportunity to defend myself. Mother stood behind, doing nothing more helpful than waving her arms and wailing.
And then, suddenly, the two men jumped away from me and fled. With no explanation. I had not suddenly found the strength to fight them off. Mother had not helpfully seized a length of wood and walloped them about their heads. It was a mystery.
I staggered back to my feet. ‘What happened? Why did they just run away?’
Mother held a hand to her mouth. ‘There was something in the shadows, Oswald. It scared them.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It was hideous.’ Now she fanned herself, as if she were about to faint. ‘I think it was a leper.’
I dusted myself down and checked that my purse still hung from my belt. ‘Let’s get back to Fleet Street. Quickly.’
We retraced our steps through the warren of alleys and eventually found ourselves back in Fleet Street. Thankfully Edwin and Ada were sitting on a bench outside the New Inn with a mug of ale, looking only partially relieved to see our faces. Hector sat at their feet, panting. I noted that Edwin was looking down at Ada’s large bosom as he spoke. By her position on the bench next to him, she was comfortable with this arrangement. In fact, I would say she was allowing him to look.
We carried on with some haste, as the clouds were threatening rain – passing Whitefriars,Temple and then the many grand mansions and palaces that lined the Strand, as the city bled away into the fields of the abbey and convent gardens. We reached the house said to belong to Eloise Cooper just as the weather turned, and were relieved to find a large projecting jetty above the door that afforded some protection from the rain. We stood beneath this shelter and looked upwards to see an ostentatious building with blackened beams and an abundance of glass at the windows. This residence might have drawn all this attention to itself, but it was still on the inner side of the Strand and did not look down upon the river. For all its finery, it could not compete with the grander palaces that it faced.
Mother looked up at the elaborate house and sniffed. ‘Merchants. Always building their homes out of wood. A nobleman lives in stone.’
‘It looks grand enough to me.’
‘You cannot make a castle from a cabin.’ Then she whispered, ‘It’s a person’s birth that signifies nobility. And the de Caburn family polluted their daughter’s stock. By marrying her off to a man who farmed customs at Southampton.’
‘Well. He clearly made more money than we do, farming wheat in Kent.’
Mother turned her back on me and knocked loudly at the door. ‘What does that matter? His father was a true cooper, Oswald.’ She sniffed disdainfully. ‘He made buckets.’
Chapter Sixteen
A servant opened the heavily oiled door of the Cooper residence, but would not admit us straight away, despite Mother’s protests. The haughty-looking fellow returned after quite a while and opened the door – allowing Mother and myself into the main hall, whereas Edwin and Ada were sent down a side alley, and told to call in at the kitchen porch.The servant then suggested that Hector should also proceed to the kitchen, but Mother would not release the dog from her grasp, not under any circumstances.
As we walked through the Coopers’ hall, I looked about with wonder at its opulence. Tapestries of vivid red. and purple hung at every wall.These were not the blanched and moth-eaten cloths that covered our own cold and supposedly noble stone. I had rarely seen such quality, not even in the archbishop’s palace at Gillingham. These tapestries were of the very finest designs, depicting Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, or the doomed love of Tristan and Isolde. If we had hoped to stumble upon the obvious signs of Eloise’s devilry and love of witchcraft, then we were to be disappointed, for there was nothing other than respectable decoration on show.
We even passed a small reliquary shrine upon an oak table, a gilded triptych at its centre, decorated with an array of delicate paintings of the virgin and a host of angels. It was probably French, given its design and the quality of its workmanship, and though I was unmoved by its message, I could not help but admire its shiny ostentation. I took a moment to look into the face of the virgin. The artist had portrayed the tones of her skin with great skill – but then I noticed something peeping out from beneath her gown. It was a small winged creature, with a hooked beak and clawed feet. Its eyes looked at me strangely, and I immediately felt uncomfortable.
Moving quickly away, I was then nudged by Mother. ‘See how the Cooper family try to pass themselves off as noble,’ she whispered. She pointed at an embroidered wall hanging depicting the battle of St George against the dragon. ‘This house scales the very heights of affectation, if you ask me.’ At these words the haughty servant spun on his heels to stare at Mother, clearly having heard every word. Mother’s response was to tilt her nose in the air. ‘I hope you made it clear to your mistress that Lady Somershill was visiting.’
The servant bowed his head. ‘Please excuse me, my lady. I didn’t catch your name properly before. So I merely told my mistress that a group of travellers were at the door.’
This man might first have thought us a group of wayfarers, with our tired faces and dirty clothes, but I had no doubt he now knew our true identity – otherwise, we would never have been allowed past the two men who guarded the house with pikes in their hands.
After working our way down a long passage, we came to a door that led out onto an unexpected garden, where a woman was playing ball with two small girls. The girls I recognised immediately. They were Mary and Rebecca de Caburn – their slight and boyish frames now dressed in heavy gowns. Their blonde hair covered in linen veils, and their hands warm inside white gloves. There should have been a touching quality to this scene, but instead it left a strange impression, as if the whole tableau were staged. The woman in the distance waved to us and then passed the ball to Mary, to end their game.
Mother leant towards me once again to whisper, ‘Look at her gown. It’s far too narrow in the waist and low at the shoulder. She might as well be touting for business at the stews.’
‘Be quiet, Mother,’ I said. ‘I’m not interested in her gown.’
This was not true, however, for I had noticed Eloise Cooper’s gown from the moment she had turned around to acknowledge us. Or perhaps I should say, I had noticed the body within it, which was as lithe and sleek as a black cat’s. As she made her way towards us, I was immediately charmed by her appearance – though Eloise was not beautiful in the manner I had previously admired. There was nothing of the pretty kitten about her – instead her face was angular and almost masculine. A large nose was softened by a pair of striking eyes that were as green and lustrous as the scales of a perch.
Eloise curtsied to me, ignoring Mother. ‘Lord Somershill. I welcome you to London.’
I could feel Mother stiffen beside me, as I bowed and kissed the hand Eloise extended to me. ‘Mistress Cooper.’ Her fingers were long and delicate, with nails that lightly stroked my skin as she removed her hand.
Eloise now bowed her head to Mother, and then curtsied with an exaggeration that I suspected was mocking and discourteous. Mother did not read it this way, ho
wever. I would say she was impressed by such an act of servitude. ‘Lady Somershill,’ said Eloise, letting her eyes rest upon Mother’s dusty gown. ‘I’m honoured that you have come to this humble house.’
Mother raised her nose to the sky. ‘We had to come, Mistress Cooper. After we heard you were harbouring the girls.’ Now Mother pointed a finger. ‘They’re wards of the de Lacy family, you know. You should have informed us they were here. We thought they’d been murdered.’ Mary and Rebecca hung back and would not meet my stare.
Eloise bowed her head once again to Mother. ‘But I’ve written to you. Did you not receive my letter? I assumed that’s why you’re here.’
Mother frowned. ‘No. We only heard the news of the girls’ whereabouts from Earl Stephen’s steward. You should have written sooner.’
Eloise stiffened, but almost indiscernibly. ‘You’re right, Lady Somershill. It’s just that my nieces were so disturbed when they arrived, that I promised not to tell a soul. This went against my own judgement, of course. Which is why I wrote after a week or so.’ Eler eyes flashed. ‘With their permission, of course.’
‘How did the girls get here?’ I asked quickly, before Mother had the chance to respond.
Eloise turned to me, though I’m not sure how well I listened to her answer. ‘They dressed themselves as boys and followed the crowds to London.’
Mother frowned. ‘Boys?’
‘Yes,’ said Eloise. ‘They even cut their hair to look the part.’ Mother went to answer, but Eloise interrupted. ‘But please. Let’s not talk about this now. You must be hungry and thirsty after your journey?’
‘We’ll just take the girls and go, thank you,’ said Mother.
Eloise raised an eyebrow, but remained unprovoked. ‘But I was hoping you might stay for a night.You have come such a long way.’ Mother touched her cheek. ‘We don’t wish to stay in London. The place is a den of thieves. We were attacked by two cutpurses. Not half a mile from this very house.’
Eloise frowned. ‘Did they take your money?’
‘Indeed they did not. They were scared away by a leper.’
‘A leper?’ A cloud suddenly passed across Eloise’s countenance. ‘Did you see his face?’
‘Only his vile lesions.’ Mother shuddered. ‘I looked away.’
Now Eloise smiled. I would say she seemed relieved. ‘There’s a lepers’ hospital at St James’s. I expect he came from there.’
Eloise took Mother’s arm in a show of bonhomie that even Mother was unable to resist. ‘Do stay, please. After such a shock. And I would value your company. In London people will only talk of the king and politics. It’s so dull.’ She then nestled in towards Mother. ‘I long to hear about the country again,’ she paused. ‘To talk about such matters as sheep shearing and the rotation of crops.’
I nearly laughed out loud, but Mother was completely taken in by this mockery. Nobody, not even the most avid and dreary of ploughmen, wants to talk about crop rotation. Nevertheless, I had had my fill of Mother in the last few days, so was without compunction when it came to laughing at her expense.
Eloise led us into a chamber to the side of the central hall. I would call it a solar, except it was on the ground floor, with large glass windows that faced the street. I noted a wing-backed chair by this window, positioned at an angle behind a shutter so that a person might look out, but passers-by might not look in.
Mother surveyed the room, which was small compared to our own solar. Then she sighed. ‘You are so very crammed in here, aren’t you Mistress Cooper. I fear I could never live in London.’
Eloise smiled again. ‘Indeed, Lady Somershill. I fear London would not suit you at all.’ Then she led us to the table. ‘Please. Sit down. Take the best chairs and I will arrange for some refreshments.’
‘Will Mary and Rebecca join us?’ I asked. The girls had been spirited away during our journey from the garden to this chamber.
Eloise drew close. Close enough for me to catch her woody perfume. ‘Let’s talk without the girls first.They can join us later.’
Over the next hour a team of liveried servants brought a series of edible fancies to the table. Served on silver plates, we were offered dates pressed into small squares, dried sausage flavoured with cardamom, and balls of marzipan rolled in powdered sugar. All were delicious and exotic, but I was so hungry that a simple portion of bread and a square of cheese would have sufficed. When Mother made a comment to this effect, Eloise arranged for more substantial pastries and cold meats to be served.Though, once again, most of this food was highly flavoured and completely impossible to identify, even after the haughty servant had announced the name of each offering in his most flourishing French. I ate each Delice de Lille or Morceau de Savoyard in haste. I was hungry and didn’t care to know too plainly what I was eating.
Mother found this act harder to maintain. ‘A pottage would have been adequate,’ she grumbled, as she fed another unidentifiable morsel to Hector.
Eloise licked the sugar from her fingers. ‘Goodness no. I wouldn’t serve you such fare. Pottage is for servants.’
Mother pulled a face. ‘I like it well enough,’ she said, before realising her mistake.
Eloise smiled. ‘Indeed.’
The supper continued in such a bad mood, with both women jabbing at each other with increasing momentum – acid, venomous bites that were thinly hidden behind honeyed smiles. Whenever I tried to turn the conversation to the future of Mary and Becky, it was thwarted by an irrelevant condemnation of the immodesty of London fashion by Mother, only to be followed up by a gibe about the foulness of country air from Eloise. In the end, I ate my food in silence and looked to the door, where every so often Mary peeped around the panelling to look at me – though as soon as I acknowledged her with a smile, the girl vanished back into the shadows. Mary’s presence went unnoticed by my supper companions, who were now arguing about the worth of garlic in a diet, and were only distracted from this topic when a new guest joined us. As this man walked into the room and saw our faces, I had the distinct impression he was disappointed to find other company at Eloise’s table.
His name was Thomas Dukinfield, the partner of Eloise’s dead husband, and easily the most tedious bore I have ever met. As ever, London exaggerates and amplifies the ordinary – so this man was not only a braggart, he was an outright liar and self-confessed cheat. As he poured himself Madeira from the silver decanter and offered it to nobody but Eloise, he explained, in some detail, how he and Eloise’s dead husband had made their money.
I did not ask to know about their business, but nonetheless he told me, very proudly, that their dishonest dealings and countless swindles had allowed them to amass so sizeable a fortune that they had been able to lend funds to the king himself. In return for these loans, the king had allowed the pair to farm customs on imported goods at Southampton and Portsmouth, taking a small proportion of each duty payment for themselves. It seemed they were more efficient at collecting these taxes than the king’s authorities, so the arrangement had suited all parties.
I had watched Dukinfield over the supper, trying to brush his hand against Eloise’s when she leant forward to pick up one of the delicacies on offer. I had seen his greedy eyes drinking in her strange beauty. Who could help but notice the way in which he hung upon her words, was amused by her wit, and was awed by her wisdom to a much greater extent than any of her utterances warranted. He dropped his shoulder and laid his handsomely dressed arm upon the table to exclude me from the conversation, but I noted every flirtatious smile and every over-played compliment he gave her.
Mother coughed to get my attention, when pulling at my arm hadn’t worked. She had been sitting in peeved silence since Dukinfield’s appearance, since the man showed no interest in her at all. Her interjection was particularly unwelcome, as I had just managed to turn the conversation to the trajectory of Venus, and was on the cusp of saying something that was certain to impress Eloise.
‘I’m going to vomit,’ Mother whispered
, loudly. ‘I’ve been poisoned by all this appalling French food.’
Eloise and Dukinfield stopped talking immediately. So the ploy had worked. ‘Are you unwell, Lady Somershill?’ asked Eloise. Mother nodded, dropped Hector to the floor and began to rock, with her hands clenched to her stomach. When nobody moved, she then heaved. A little too theatrically.
Dukinfield clasped his hand to his nose. ‘God’s nails. The woman is going to be sick.’ He then ran from the room, towards the garden, clutching his hand to his mouth.
At Dukinfield’s departure, Mother seemed to settle a little, having succeeded in disrupting the party and re-establishing herself as centre of attention. Unlike Dukinfield, Eloise was not appalled by this display, instead she swept to my mother’s side and laid a hand upon her cheek, pronouncing that Mother was indeed pale and sweaty.
Eloise spoke softly. ‘Would you care to rest, my lady?’
Mother nodded silently.
‘There’s a chamber up the stairs where you may sleep.’
I looked out of the window. ‘I think we should return to our inn, thank you Mistress Cooper.’
Eloise stretched her neck and turned to look at me. ‘But your mother is ailing, Lord Somershill.You must stay the night.’
She called for the haughty servant before I had a chance to reply, and as the man stepped reluctantly into the room – no doubt aware that he was about to deal with a vomiting woman – Eloise took my arm and led me to one side. ‘You must not rush away, Lord Somershill. We are yet to discuss my nieces.’ She gazed into my eyes a little longer than was necessary, and I felt the bones in my legs give way at the knees.
The moment ended abruptly when Mother emptied her stomach onto the shoes of the servant, causing the man to utter the vilest of obscenities and stamp his feet about the floor, as if he had just trodden upon a wasps’ nest. Incensed by his rudeness to my mother, I stepped away from Eloise and told the servant to drop his conceit. With a sharp intake of breath, he looked to his mistress for support, appearing to have every expectation that he would receive it. To his obvious surprise, Eloise repeated my threat, demanding that the puffed-up fool apologise to Lady Somershill, or she would call for the constable and have him stuck in the pillory on Fleet Street, where he might be pelted with buckets of water from the River Fleet.