They turned left out of the alehouse and walked briskly up Pudding Lane to Eastcheap. Josiah did not speak until he was sure they were not being followed. ‘Better rub your ’ands in the dirt, sir. I should ’ave thought of it before.’
Thomas bent down and did as Josiah suggested. ‘How’s that, Josiah?’ he asked, holding up his hands.
‘Better, sir. And what do you ’ave in mind now?’
‘Well, we didn’t learn much there. How about a stroll down Drury Lane?’
‘Drury Lane, sir? You don’t want to go there. Even I don’t go down there unless I ’as to.’
‘Nonsense, Josiah. You’ll be quite safe with me.’
Josiah looked doubtful. ‘If you say so, sir. It’s an ’orrible place, though. Don’t go wandering off on your own, will you?’
‘Of course not. My place will be at your side.’ Thomas strode off in the direction of Drury Lane. They passed St Paul’s, walked down Ludgate Hill and along Fleet Street to Wych Street, where Josiah stopped and planted his stick firmly on the ground.
‘Couldn’t we just go down the Strand, sir, or up to ’Olborn? There’s plenty of alehouses around there.’
‘No, Josiah. Drury Lane it is. Lead on.’ A heavy-hearted Josiah led on, with Thomas close behind. The lane ran along the north side of Covent Garden and up to the western end of Holborn. It was a narrow, stinking, winding street, lined with filthy drinking houses and filthier brothels. Its inhabitants could disappear in seconds into the maze of alleyways, tunnels and passages that ran off the lane, quite safe from constables or trained bands who might be looking for them. Honest men did not visit Drury Lane or its offshoots alone.
Despite being aware of the lane’s reputation, the moment they set foot there Thomas was shaken by what he saw. At every turn, poverty, disease, squalor. On the corner of Coal Hole Lane, a man with a face ravaged by pox held another by a rope around his neck. The roped man, eyes crossed and tongue hanging from his mouth, stared blankly at Thomas and Josiah. ‘A penny to see ’im dance. Straight from Bedlam, ’e is. Dances as good as a bear. A penny for the pleasure, sirs,’ called out the man with the rope. They hurried on.
A little further on, a huge man with one eye and hair down to his waist stepped out from a dark doorway and blocked their path. He did not speak, merely held out one hand and bunched the other into a fist. His meaning was clear. Thomas reckoned that, armed with his stick, Josiah would have been able to deal even with this giant, but, to his surprise, the little man pulled a coin from his pocket and handed it over. The giant tested the coin with his teeth and stepped aside.
‘Couldn’t you have bested him, Josiah?’ whispered Thomas, as they passed.
‘Yes, sir. But not the six others who’d ’ave appeared if I ’ad. Now where did you want to go?’
‘Anywhere we might learn something. What do you suggest?’
Josiah suggested that they went immediately to Piccadilly. The longer they were in Drury Lane, the more likely they were to meet trouble. And it would be double the trouble for Josiah Mottershead when Joseph Williamson found out. But Thomas was in a determined mood and Josiah had seen that look in a man’s eye before. It signalled a mind made up, which no amount of persuasion would change. The good Lord alone knew why. If he were Thomas Hill, he’d be sitting safely at home in Romsey, enjoying a glass of something sweet and fortifying. Not risking his life on the streets of London. Especially not these streets. ‘There’s an ’ouse in Wild Street, sir. Might be worth a visit.’
‘A house? What kind of house?’
Josiah coughed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘You know, sir. An ’ouse for gentlemen.’
‘Do you mean a brothel, Josiah?’ Josiah nodded. ‘Then for the love of God, say so, man. I haven’t spent all of my forty-seven years in church. I know what a brothel is.’
‘Yes, sir. Course you do. It’s just that this one’s rougher than most. ’Enrietta – that’s the owner – takes a bit of ’andling. If she takes against you we’ll be in trouble.’
‘Why would she take against me?’
‘’Enrietta’s sharp as a nail. Might see through you. Don’t open your mouth, sir. We’ll use the same story as before. Leave the talking to me. And don’t show nothing when you see ’er. Very touchy about ’er appearance, ’Enrietta is. Knows what’s going on, though. Not much she doesn’t ’ear, in ’er line of business.’
‘My lips are sealed, Josiah. Not a word shall pass them.’
They arrived at a tall, narrow house in Wild Street. ‘Is this it?’
‘Yes, sir, ’ere we are.’ Josiah knocked three times on the door with his stick. Thomas guessed the knock was some sort of signal. Not every caller would be welcome at Henrietta’s house. A small panel in the door slid back to reveal a pair of dark eyes.
‘Josiah Mottershead and ’is cousin Tom to see Miss ’Enrietta.’ Evidently satisfied, the owner of the eyes closed the panel and opened the door. His skin was as dark as his eyes, he towered above Thomas and Josiah, he was dressed from head to toe in yellow satin and he wore a curved knife in his belt.
‘Good day, gentlemen. I am Oliver. Pray come in and I shall advise Miss Henrietta of your arrival. Mr Mottershead and cousin, did you say?’ Josiah nodded. ‘Please be seated.’ He indicated two chairs in the entrance hall, placed there for just such a purpose.
‘An unexpected doorman,’ whispered Thomas when he had gone. ‘Looks like he was born on the Barbary coast, sounds like he was educated at court.’ Josiah frowned, put his finger to his lips and shook his head. Seated on the chair, his toes just reaching the floor, the little man twiddled his stick in his fingers and looked about nervously.
It was not long before Oliver returned, his smile displaying the whitest and largest teeth Thomas had ever seen. ‘Miss Henrietta will be pleased to see you, gentlemen,’ he announced. ‘Kindly follow me.’
They were led down a passage to the back of the house and shown into a room with a window looking on to a small courtyard. Miss Henrietta was waiting for them, a man who could have been Oliver’s twin standing beside her. He too was dressed in yellow satin and had a curved knife at his belt.
Only with difficulty did Thomas manage to do as Josiah had instructed and keep his expression neutral. Arranged on an enormous padded chair, the owner of this brothel was a woman who might have been anything from forty to sixty, must have weighed almost as much as Thomas and Josiah put together and wore a wig the colour of an orange. Her cheeks were decorated with black patches in the manner of ladies at court and her mouth was painted to match her wig. In one hand she held a large glass of port, in the other a long clay pipe. Her chair was set so that she could see both the door and into the courtyard, where some customers were unashamedly taking their ease with her ladies.
Henrietta took a puff on her pipe and looked them up and down. When she spoke her voice was deep and throaty. ‘Well, well. Josiah Mottershead, if I’m not much mistaken. We haven’t seen you since the king was returned to us. Found another house to visit, I daresay. And who have you brought to meet me?’
‘’Allo, ’Enrietta. You’re looking very fine. This is my cousin Tom. ’E’s come from ’Ampshire to ’elp me with a job I’ve got. ’Is ’ead’s not right. Doesn’t speak ’ardly ever. Dependable, though, and don’t tell tales.’
Henrietta examined Thomas, who tried to look simpleminded. After his practice in the Honest Wherryman, he thought he was making a decent job of it. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I can see he’s not right. Not like you, Josiah. You’re as right as a silver guinea, the ladies tell me.’
For some reason, this brought on a fit of coughing, terminated only by her hawking loudly into a bowl set at her feet. ‘Don’t want any gentlemen slipping on the floor, do we?’ she asked innocently, taking a gulp of port. ‘And what can I do for you gentlemen today? Something special? There’s a girl from Morocco arrived only last week. A princess she is and knows the things those Moroccan princes like. One of my gentlemen could barely wal
k home, another one wants to marry her. Makes up for the ones I’ve been losing. It’s always the pretty ones who go off with my gentlemen. Doesn’t last long. They’re back soon enough when his lordship has had enough of them. Lost Molly not long ago and don’t even know who she went off with. Remember Molly, Josiah?’
‘I do, ’Enrietta. Red ’air and a viper’s tongue. And I’d like to meet the princess, but I don’t think we shall today, eh, Tom? Got work to do, ’aven’t we?’ Tom shook his head and rolled his eyes. Josiah affected not to notice the histrionics. ‘Just wanted to introduce Tom so’s you’d know ’im next time.’
‘Pity. Still you’ll take a drink with me, eh?’ She smiled at her tall servant. ‘Rupert will fetch it, won’t you, my lovely?’ Oliver and Rupert. The late Lord Protector and the king’s cousin – no sign of Henrietta taking sides.
Josiah was hoping for this. Henrietta consumed enormous amounts of wine and ale and much preferred company while doing so. Next to money, she most loved an audience.
‘Be pleased to, ’Enrietta. Mug of ale, Tom?’ Tom nodded enthusiastically. ‘Same for me, if you please.’
Thomas studied the room. It was as large as the Carringtons’ sitting room, oak-panelled, oak-floored and with a fine portrait of a lady aged about twenty adorning one wall. The subject was a striking woman and the artist had skilfully captured a devil-may-care look in her eye.
Rupert returned with mugs of ale and a fresh bottle of port for Henrietta. ‘I see you’re admiring my portrait, Tom,’ said Henrietta. ‘Pretty, wasn’t I? Know who painted it?’ Thomas hoped it was the last time he would have to shake his head and look simple. ‘Sir Anthony van Dyck himself, it was. Not many London ladies had their portraits painted by Sir Anthony. Lovely man. Gave it to me for a present. He used to visit me when he was in London painting the new king’s father.’ Astonished at this information, Thomas managed, just, to look blank.
‘Don’t suppose Tom knows who you’re talking about, ’Enrietta,’ said Josiah. Deftly, he changed the subject. ‘’Ow’s business, now we’ve a king again?’
‘And thank the Lord we have, I say. Gentlemen were too frightened to come here when Cromwell’s lot were telling us all what to do and what not to do. Spent too much time on their knees in church and not enough on their elbows at Henrietta’s.’ Fearing another cough, Thomas looked away. Happily it never came. ‘Business has been much better since the coronation and the king himself sets a good example. They say there’s scores of little royal bastards running around Paris and Rotterdam. I wish His Majesty would call here, though. Trade’s fallen off again since those murders. Bad for business, murders. Especially murders of four respectable gentlemen. Some of our regulars have been staying at home. Hope they catch whoever done it quick.’
This was promising. ‘You mean the gentlemen in Pudding Lane and the other in the graveyard? Was there a fourth one, ’Enrietta?’
‘Course there was. They said he’d jumped off the bridge. Jumped off the bridge, my arse. Pushed he was and most likely by the same man who did for the other three.’
‘Why d’you say that?’
‘No one who really wants to top himself jumps off that bridge. More often than not they get washed up safe and sound. He was dead when he hit the water, you mark my words. And there’s talk.’
‘Is there? What sort of talk would that be?’
‘What’s it to you, Josiah Mottershead? You got something to do with it?’ Henrietta spoke sharply.
Josiah grunted. ‘Me? Course not. Not my game, murder, nor robbery, as well you know. Just interested, that’s all.’
‘Well then. There was talk of a foreigner, Dutch or German perhaps, come over to do it for money. He was seen about the place. Here and there, as you might say. Came and went. Didn’t say much, but he was marked by his face. Sliced lip and half a nose, he had. Hasn’t been seen since the last murder.’
‘Took ’is money and went ’ome, I daresay. Any word on who paid ’im?’
‘Not that I’ve heard. Nor why.’
Josiah decided he had gone far enough. Henrietta had been helpful, but any more probing and she’d be suspicious. He rose to go. ‘Better be off, Tom. Thanks for the ale, ’Enrietta. ’Ope business picks up.’
Thomas took his lead and followed Josiah to the door. As he did so, he glanced out of the window. In the courtyard he caught a glimpse of long fair hair and a handsome young face. He swallowed an exclamation and sneaked another look. There was no doubt about it.
‘Come again, Josiah. And before you do, tell your cousin not to go getting into fights and to wash his hands. They’re filthy.’
At Charing Cross, they parted company. ‘Thank you for introducing me to your friends, Josiah,’ said Thomas. ‘We learned more today than I have in a week. In more ways than one.’
‘You’re welcome, sir,’ replied Josiah. ‘Only I ’ope you won’t be wanting to meet them again. Made me quite jumpy wondering if you were going to open your mouth and give the game away.’
‘We could always say I had suddenly gained the power of speech following the king’s touch. I hear His Majesty believes he can heal all manner of diseases with his hand.’
‘We could, but I’d rather you stayed at ’ome and left it to me. I like to work alone. Always ’ave.’
‘Very well, Josiah. But if you hear anything, anything at all, be sure to let me know at once. If the lovely Henrietta is right, someone might have hired the murderer and brought him here from Holland or Germany. We need to know who hired him and why.’
‘I will, sir. You can depend on it. And don’t get in no more fights.’
‘I won’t. And when you report to Mr Williamson, there’s no need to mention me.’
‘No, sir, I’ll just tell ’im about the Dutchman.’
As to the other matter, it had been a shock and Thomas would need to think carefully about what to do for the best. Indulging his niece was one thing, but this was quite another.
CHAPTER 11
JUST AS THE church bells struck two the next afternoon, Thomas knocked on the door of the little house in the lane off Fleet Street, Sir Montford’s journal under his arm. The scratch on his face had dulled to a yellowy brown.
Madeleine’s housekeeper, a stout woman with a cheerful, open face, answered the door and introduced herself as Agnes. She showed him into a cluttered room which served as sitting room and parlour. The furniture consisted of just four plain chairs and a table; one wall was lined with books, the others adorned with paintings of rural scenes. The room was saved from being oppressive by the afternoon sun which shone through a large window and bathed it in light.
While he waited for the housekeeper to fetch Madeleine, Thomas studied the paintings. He thought they were rather good. Skilful draughtsmanship and fine brushwork combined to produce interesting and unsentimental scenes of cottages, harvesting, a village square and a tiny church. To his surprise, each one was discreetly signed ‘M. Stewart’. Charming, intelligent, beautiful and artistic too.
He was still studying her work when the artist herself, brown hair tumbling on her shoulders and blue eyes smiling, entered the room. ‘This is a pleasant surprise, Thomas. I have few visitors.’ He turned and returned the smile. Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh. What has happened to your face?’
‘An accident, nothing more.’
Madeleine looked unconvinced. ‘If you say so, Thomas. And I see your visit is not a social one. Would you like me to return the journal to Lady Babb?’
‘That would be kind. Apart from an unwise investment, I have learned little about him.’ Thomas hesitated. ‘I had wondered also if you would care for a stroll in St James’s Park. We could inspect the king’s works there.’
Madeleine smiled. ‘A most agreeable idea. I hear the king’s menagerie is growing daily and he often walks there himself. I’ll fetch my hat and we’ll be off.’
The route from Fleet Street to St James’s Park took them along the Strand to Charing Cross, and then south down King
Street to Westminster Hall, where they turned right past the Abbey and into the park. They passed Somerset House, Worcester House, and the king’s palace at Whitehall.
‘They say there are so many rooms and passages in Whitehall Palace,’ said Madeleine, gazing at it, ‘that there are men and women wandering about unable to find a way out. Some have even died of starvation, their bodies unfound for years.’
‘Do they now?’ asked Thomas. ‘Then let’s hope the king is always accompanied by a reliable guide. I doubt the country wants another coronation just yet.’
‘No. Especially not until His Majesty has a legitimate heir. His brother James, I fear, would command little respect.’
‘James has not proved a good name for the king of England. The only one so far was Scottish, preferred boys to girls and took advice from no one but God. Another might be as bad. We need another William or Henry, don’t you think?’
‘Or an Elizabeth?’
‘Indeed. Or a Queen Madeleine, perhaps.’
Madeleine pretended to be shocked. ‘Hush, Thomas. You’ll have me in the Tower for saying such a thing.’ She slipped her arm through his. ‘You will come and visit me there, won’t you?’
‘If time allows, certainly,’ replied Thomas, getting a punch on the arm for his trouble.
They strolled through the park to the canal and along the towpath beside it. They were about to turn and retrace their steps when a large party swept towards them. Both men and women were dressed at the very height of fashion – the gentlemen flamboyant in their loose shirts, skirts and voluminous trousers, feathered hats and ribbons, the ladies rather less so in muted skirts, short jackets and simple shawls. At their head was a tall man in a long black wig, swinging a walking stick as he strode along the path and accompanied by three small spaniels. His entourage were struggling to keep up with him. Six soldiers of the King’s Lifeguard marched alongside the party. Mary grabbed Thomas by the elbow and dragged him off the path. ‘Hat off, Thomas,’ she whispered, ‘and your finest bow. The king approaches.’ As the king passed them, Madeleine curtsied low and Thomas bowed low from the waist. They waited for the whole party to go by before standing upright again.
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