Caroline shuddered, and was glad when they reached their destination, a small but neat looking house in an alley off Cheapside, one of the main thoroughfares in the city. There were stables behind the house, and the Comte, who seemed to know his way well, went straight to these, and they dismounted. There was no one about, and the Comte took down his saddle bags and laid them on the cobbles.
'There is no groom here, so we shall have to see to the beasts ourselves,' he explained to Caroline. 'This will be one of your duties. I will show you where everything is.'
They led the horses into the stalls and fed and watered them, rubbing them down with wisps of straw. When they had finished, the Comte picked up his saddle bags and led the way into the house by a back door.
*
Inside, they found themselves in a big, cheerful kitchen, hung with hams and onions, and full of the smell of new bread and fresh baked pies. A buxom woman was bending over the fire turning the spit on which several capons were roasting. She straightened up as they entered, and smiled broadly. She was about forty years old, and her dark hair, liberally sprinkled with grey, escaped from under the little cap she wore.
Her face was rosy from the heat of the fire, and had once been pretty, though it was now marked with the scars of the smallpox. The dress she wore was of a sober cut, though of a vivid shade of blue, and with a startlingly white lace collar. Brown eyes sparkled as she smiled at them, and deep laughter creases appeared on her face.
'Mr Martin! 'Tis good to welcome you here again. I thought to myself when I heard the horses that it was likely you.'
'How do you keep here, Bessy? It is long since I was in London.'
'We do as well as most, sir, these days. My Tom has become apprenticed to old Mr Cantling, the tailor, and is doing well, they tell me. Then Betsy has been taken into service at my Lord Aylesbury's, at his house along the Strand. 'Tis only in the kitchens, mind, but I taught her proper cooking, and I doubt not she'll soon rise to better than scullery maid.'
'She most surely will, Bessy, if she can cook but half as well as you do. They have done you proud. Their father would have been proud of them too.'
'Aye. He said to me, afore he went off soldiering, they would rise in the world, and they are doing that, even though they haven't a father to guide them.'
'And Will?'
Bessy's face crumpled suddenly, and she struggled for words.
'My babe – he were ten, though still my babe – he was taken by the plague last summer. He would go looking to see what he could. He was inquisitive as all boys, and he caught the pestilence.'
'Bessy, I had not heard. I grieve for you. He was a most promising lad.'
'Aye, sir. But at least he'll not have to struggle any more in this hard world. He's in a better place. I cheer myself with that thought.'
'Then do you live here alone?'
'No. My sister and her children came to live here before last winter. Their house was burned down, and as I had this one which is more than enough for us all, they moved in with me. It's company now the children are gone, and her man is more often away than at home, seeing his job is a carrier, so we both do well from the arrangement.'
Bessy was now recovering her cheerfulness, and was looking with ill-concealed curiosity at Caroline.
'This is a young cousin of mine, Bessy, Charles Martin. He is travelling with me. Have you a small room where he can sleep? I would have him in my room, but as you know, I come in at all times of the night, and I would not disturb him too much.'
'He is welcome, sir. There is a small room under the eaves which will do him fine. Now you sit yourselves down and eat, while I go and get his room ready.'
She turned to the fire, and bustled about getting the capons off the spit, chattering all the while. The Comte sat down on the bench at the large table and indicated that Caroline should join him. She seated herself and looked round with interest. At the side of the huge fireplace was an old oak settle, and a stool was placed at the other side of the fire in front of a pile of logs. The ceiling was invisible, so many bunches of herbs, onions, vegetables and other provisions were hanging there. She had heard some of the servants at home talk scathingly of town living, where the housewifely virtues of preserving food were unknown, but Bessy was obviously not this type of town housekeeper. The shelves round the rest of the room were laden with stores, rather like the store cupboards and still rooms at home, and bore witness to her industry.
Then Caroline's attention was needed for the food placed before her. She had seldom seen such a variety, even in her uncle's well-run and well-to-do household. As well as the capons, there were several pies, larks and pigeons and veal, a dish of prawns in butter, a huge cold ox-tongue, a loaf of bread, half a cheese, a syllabub made from several kinds of fruit, and beer, perry, and cider to wash it all down.
Bessy urged them to eat well, and they needed no second bidding. Though the inns where they had stayed the last two nights had been clean and the food wholesome, it could not compare with this delicious meal. They were replete before tasting every dish, but said reluctantly that they could eat no more. Bessy herself had departed to prepare the room for Caroline, and soon after they had finished she bustled back into the kitchen, exclaiming they had eaten nothing, and she was sure her cooking had been at fault. Laughingly they reassured her, and then the Comte excused them, saying they had had a tiring journey, and would retire early. Bessy showed Caroline up the rickety stairs to her room right at the top of the house, then left her. A moment later, while she was still looking round at her little room, the like of which she had never seen before, a tap came on her door.
*
Taking up her candle, she lifted the latch to find the Comte outside. He slipped in and closed the door behind him. Sitting down on the little truckle bed, he told Caroline to sit beside him, since the room contained no other seats.
'There are a few things I must tell you.'
He smiled at her.
'I did not warn you before, which was very stupid of me, that here I am known as plain Mr Philip Martin. It was fortunate you did not betray me when Bessy greeted me so. Also when I introduced you as my cousin. It is better you should be related to me, since Bessy does not know my real work, and would think it odd I need a secretary. Also, I suddenly realised I do not know your real name.'
Caroline flushed guiltily, and the Comte, who had been watching her, went on quickly.
'I am not asking you to tell me. It does not concern me what your past is, only that you are to be trusted by me, and that I am certain of.'
'Oh, yes, sir. You can trust me with any secret, I would never betray you. I cannot forget what you rescued me from, and how much I am indebted to you, not only for helping me then, but for bringing me to London, and for trusting me. I vow your trust will be honoured.'
The Comte smiled. 'I have no fear of that. I am allowed to be a good judge of character. You spoke of finding work when you reached London.'
He paused, and Caroline looked at him apprehensively, afraid he was about to suggest she leave him. She did not want to do this, for the thought of the possible home awaiting her at her Aunt Mary's had receded during the last few days. But she need not have worried, for he went on, 'I hope to be in London for several months, and you will be of great help to me, especially in taking messages to people when you know your way about. Are you willing to stay with me, for a while at least?'
'Oh, yes, please may I? I would be afraid to try for work just yet. London is so much bigger and more difficult and frightening than I thought. Please keep me with you.'
'Good. Then as we are supposed to be cousins, I suggest you call me Philip rather than sir. And remember, no one knows who I really am, so you must refer to me as Philip Martin.'
'I will remember. Thank you, sir.'
'Philip. You must call me so in private too, so that you do not slip in public.'
'I am sorry, s – Philip!'
Caroline blushed as she said the name, but the Comte
smiled at her and stood up.
'Tomorrow I will show you some of the sights of the city, and you must begin to find your way around. Now you must sleep. Goodnight, Charles. Sleep well.'
'Goodnight, Ph – Philip!'
He went out, and Caroline undressed and got into bed, but in spite of his injunction she could not sleep. It was partly the unaccustomed noise of the street below, where drunken revellers shouted their way home, where the sound of coaches came from the wider streets near by, and the occasional shout of the watchman as he went on his way.
But Caroline was even more disturbed by her own emotions. She was unable to analyse them, for she had never felt like this before, but she could not dismiss the Comte from her mind. His face refused to go from before her eyes, even when she shut them tightly. His voice sounded in her ears, and when she imagined his smile, her limbs turned to water and she felt the most extraordinary happiness flowing through her. It was a feeling she had never experienced before.
She tried to think calmly about this thing that had happened to her, unexpectedly and when she was in sore straits, but all she was conscious of was the desire never to leave the Comte – Philip! She whispered the name to herself many times, and at last fell asleep, her hands lightly clasped, and a wondering smile on her lips.
It was thus the Comte found her the next morning, when he came to rouse her. Getting no answer to his knocks, he came into the room, and stood for several minutes looking down on her, a strange smile on his face, before gently shaking her by the shoulder.
She opened her eyes and sat up, startled, then realised where she was, and smiled at the Comte.
'It is time to go out,' he said. 'Come, I will show you St Paul's to begin with, then we will wander round the city.'
He left her to dress, and she was soon downstairs. This morning they were to eat in the room at the front of the house, for the kitchen was a hive of industry, with Bessy, her sister, and the two older nieces all busy there, and two younger children playing on the floor, while the boys chopped wood outside.
One of the nieces, a girl of twelve, served them, shy and giggling. Bessy looked in several times to make sure they had all they needed. The Comte told Caroline many stories about the city, and she was agog to see for herself this famous talked-of square mile, with its teeming streets and alleys, the fine buildings and churches, all crowding together under the shelter of the massive fortress, the sinister Tower, where so many unfortunate beings had spent their last days.
As soon as they had eaten, they left the house and made their way through the crowded streets to St Paul's. Caroline had no idea what to expect, since the cathedral at Lichfield had been virtually destroyed by the Parliamentary troops, when they had occupied the close for a period during the early part of the civil wars, and she had seen only the outsides of village churches, and the insides of the bare meeting places her uncle attended, so she was unprepared for the splendid, though sadly neglected cathedral.
'There have been churches here for a thousand years,' the Comte told her. 'It is one of the largest in Europe, though it is no longer splendid. Many of the treasures were taken by Henry VIII, and almost a century ago a fire destroyed the spire, which was immensely high. It destroyed much of the building too, but that has been partly rebuilt.'
First they walked round the outside, and Caroline exclaimed at the ruined condition of the north side.
'The stones were taken away by the Protector Somerset to build his new house down there on the Strand. I will take you to see it later. Only this year the present Protector used the cathedral as a stable for near a thousand horses. And for long Paul's Walk has been a busy market. There are many stalls there, and it is a favourite meeting place. We may well use it as such ourselves.'
Caroline was silent. This desecrated, half-ruined building did not seem much like a great church, and she was saddened at the thought of what it had become, when its creators must have envisaged such a different life for it.
But she soon forgot this in the delights of the hundreds of strange things she was shown. It was all so enthralling that long before the hour for dinner her head was whirling with the noise and the myriad new impressions. She was thankful when they reached Bessy's house, and they could sit down in the comparative quiet of the parlour.
After their meal, the Comte suggested they ride for a way out of the teeming city, past Whitehall and into the country beyond. This they did, and Caroline had her first look at the sprawling palace of Whitehall, where the Protector Cromwell had been installed with his family. She was impressed with the sight of this historic place, but too tired to take in a great deal. They returned early for supper, and immediately afterwards Caroline excused herself and went to bed, to sleep soundly, untroubled by the noises of the city or her pangs of love.
*
Chapter 8
After the first few days of bewilderment, Caroline, to her surprise, became used to the noise and stench of London's streets. She was free to wander about for hours at a time, and so she gradually found her way around the narrow crowded streets, learning to jump out of the way of coaches and horsemen, and avoid the contents of the chamber pots which were thrown, regardless of passers-by, directly out of the upstairs windows.
Their life developed a certain routine, uneventful and varying little. The Comte, or Philip, as Caroline was learning to think of him, gave her little to do. She cared for their horses, which were stabled behind the house, and occasionally had letters to write, similar to the ones she had written before, usually appointing some meeting place, a tavern or inn, for a meal. Always the Comte filled in the names of the recipients, and Caroline knew no more of his work than what he had told her on the first few days.
The Comte went out a great deal, usually alone, and at these times Caroline wandered round the streets, as the Comte had instructed her to do, discovering her way about, and in particular learning the location of the hundreds of inns and taverns which abounded in the area. The Comte had suggested that later on he might find it useful to send her with messages to people staying at these places, and she was anxious to be able to do this, for she felt she was not earning her keep by the work she was doing. The Comte was generous in giving her money to spend, but she, who had never had any money of her own before, was cautious in her use of it. Besides, the things she would have liked to buy were too feminine and might have revealed her secret to the Comte. She looked longingly at the frills and laces, ribands, and pretty embroidered slippers displayed temptingly for sale in the booths, but restrained herself from such purchases.
She bought some clothes to add to her boy's attire, some high boots, a dashing hat similar to the one worn by the Comte, and several pairs of stockings, but most of the money she saved. She had not forgotten to send the promised money to Robby, the stable lad who had helped her escape.
As soon as she had saved enough, she bought a shirt, a pair of stockings and a jacket, and wrapped the rest of the money with these into a parcel which she addressed to him care of Benny. This she took to the Swan with Two Necks, in Lad Lane, where many of the carriers from Staffordshire lodged.
This inn was a large, busy and prosperous one, and many of the stage coaches started from it. She knew from her previous explorations that the Staffordshire carriers left several times each week, and she had earlier sent a message by one of them to tell Benny she had arrived in London.
Now she soon found what she sought, and on a small payment, the carrier promised to take the parcel to Robby, leaving it at Benny's cottage.
With so many sights to see, the days passed quickly. It had been the middle of July when Caroline had first arrived in London, and she was surprised to discover several weeks had gone by in the same fashion before any great change occurred in their lives. This was at the end of August, when the Comte, who had been out late that night, as he often was, returned in some excitement. Caroline was in her room, reading one of the tracts she had bought only that day, one of the many that were sold praising Charl
es Stuart, and calling for his return to the throne. Caroline devoured all she could of this kind of literature, but was careful to burn it afterwards, since the Comte had told her it was unsafe to keep it.
Tonight, seeing the glow of candlelight from her room, the Comte came up the stairs and knocked on the door.
'Come in.'
'Charles, were you about to retire?'
'No. I am reading the latest broadsheet I bought today. Have you seen it?'
She held it out to him, and he glanced at it cursorily.
'I doubt it has the latest news. It seems the Protector is dying at last.'
'But, methought he had been ill for weeks now. Is he then worse?'
'It would seem so.'
'Was the journey from Hampton Court too much for him?'
The Protector, for long ailing, had moved in July to Hampton Court, where his daughter Elizabeth Claypole lay gravely ill, and had had a serious relapse when she died on the sixth of August. By the middle of the month he had recovered a little, but his illness puzzled his doctors, and they prescribed a change of air. Thus on Tuesday the twenty-fourth he was brought to Whitehall, but from then on had been desperately ill.
'He has been unconscious for much of the day,' answered Philip. 'I think this time it is the end, and if it is – we have the best chance yet of bringing in the King!'
Caroline smiled at his enthusiasm.
' 'Tis wrong to wish a man dead, but the King has been deprived of his rights for so long. I can but hope that now he will be restored.'
'Aye, given the goodwill of the so-called Royalists. Sometimes I believe we have more to fear from our own side than from the republicans.'
Caroline looked puzzled.
'But so many people want the King to return. Where is the difficulty with his supporters?' she asked.
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