‘’Allo, Peter,’ Arch said. ‘You fell over my boot. Look, you’ve scratched the leather.’
‘He has, Arch, hasn’t he?’ Hamon said.
This is what passed for wit between them.
‘Excuse me, but I must—’
‘We won’t mention the damage to my boot leather, though, will we, ’Amon?’
‘No, Arch. Not if he sees his way to buying us a quart of ale each.’
‘I …’ I stood and stared about me. There were many men there, and all appeared to be laughing at me, but of Cat there was not a sign. She had disappeared through a door in the farther wall.
I turned to Arch and gave him a sickly grin.
Arch sat back and studied me as I stood. ‘So, friend Peter, where ’ave ye been? Strange, but you know I haven’t seen you since we had that little bet the other day.’
‘Shall I go and buy you your drinks, then?’ I said.
‘No ’urry. One of the girls’ll be here soon, I ’ave no doubt. No, what we were wondering was, when you were plannin’ on paying me back my money what you owe. Only, you see, it’s a guinea now.’
‘What? A guinea? It was ten bob!’
‘Well, it’s like this, Peter,’ Hamon said. ‘You get to owe Arch money, and he has to go to all the trouble of making sure you’re safe to pay it. Now, what that means is, he has to buy in snippers and things so that if you was to forget you owed him money, he had a way of remindin’ you. Such as, say, taking the snippers to your little finger, or your nose, or your ears, or maybe something you’d miss even more,’ he added, staring at my codpiece. ‘Snip, snip, snip.’
I felt a cold trickle move down my spine.
Arch shook his head. ‘It’s not just the snippers, you understand,’ he said. ‘I ’ave other people who want to borrow money from me, and if it’s all out with you, I can’t take their money from them, can I? It’s simple, this. I lend money, people pay me back. If some thieving scrote keeps ’old of my money, I can’t lend it out, can I? So the thieving bastard ’as to pay me more, to compensate me for the money I can’t earn from other people. Oh, an’ to stop me getting interested in ’im and ’ow his cods are attached, and whether I can remove ’em to make sure ’e remembers in future.’ He gave me a broad grin. ‘And that way, everyone’s ’appy, aren’t they? So it was ten bob, but now it’s a guinea.’
Have you ever had the sort of sinking feeling in the belly that paralyses you? Usually, with most men who wanted to investigate the inner workings of my body, I could be on my feet and away in moments. Fear provokes responses of varying types in different characters. I have known men who, at the first sign of a problem, would swallow their terror and run towards the danger. That is always good to see, because it tends to mean that the enemy is busy watching them, and paying less attention to someone like me, who was quietly sidling away in the background. Not that I’m lacking in courage, you understand. It’s only that I never saw the point in getting involved in unnecessary fights. Or fights I would lose. In other words, usually fear was a wonderful motivator for me to practise my sprinting skills.
Not today. The sight of these two smiling at me was enough to send all the right signals to my spine, and thence to my feet, but the degree of horror and panic was enough to confuse. And even if I were to issue definite instructions to my legs, the simple fact is that there was not enough space in that room for me to have any certainty of escape. There were too many obstacles in the form of benches, tables, and men.
‘I am sure that I can pay you back tomorrow,’ I said with an anxious smile.
‘Ah, he says tomorrow,’ Hamon said to Arch.
Arch nodded sadly. ‘Tomorrow is such a long time away, ain’t it, Peter? You might forget by then. And that would be dreadfully sad, wouldn’t it, ’Amon?’
‘It would, Arch. It would.’
‘Because we’d ’ave to give him something to remember us by, wouldn’t we, ’Amon?’
‘We would.’
‘Some people, you know, Peter, have this way of remembering. They tie a knot in an ’an’kerchief. Then, when they need to blow their bugle, they see the knot, and they think, “Why’d I go an’ tie a knot in my ’an’kerchief?” and then, they think, “Oh, yes, it was to go and pay Arch that money what I owe him,” as it might be. And that is all right and good. Do you have an ’an’kerchief about you, Peter?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, dear. Oh, dear, that is a shame. You see, you could ’ave tried to tie a knot in it, and then we’d think you’d be likely to remember that you owed me one guinea and fifteen shillings.’
‘Fifteen? You said it was—’
‘Ah, but you’re making me explain things. You wouldn’t expect to get all my advice for free, would you? Naturally, you’d expect to pay for good advice, just as you would if you went to a lawyer or a medic. So the price has gone up, but we need to make sure you remember, don’t we? So, ’Amon will need to introduce you to his snippers, is what I’m thinking.’
‘No, there’s no need, I swear.’
‘Yes, well, you swore to pay me the next day, didn’t you?’ Arch said nastily. He leaned forward, head jutting like an angry lizard. There was something reptilian in his eyes as he held my gaze. ‘That’s today. So if you don’t bring me two guineas tomorrow, ’Amon will put a knot in your tarse that’ll make your ballocks wish they’d been cut off. And if you still don’t bring me my money, ’e’ll grant their wish. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Now disappear, Peter. You’re blocking my view.’
You can imagine that it was a thoughtful, anxious Jack Blackjack who left them hurriedly, trying not to stumble over any other men as he bolted from the tavern.
There was no sign of Cat or Henry. At the farther doorway, I stood and stared into a new room. A man was enjoying a woman against the wall, and she peered at me over his shoulder, making the requisite moans and groans to hurry his inevitable end, while no doubt reminding herself that she needed to purchase milk on her way home, or eggs, or some other comestibles. I recognized her vaguely, and she acknowledged me with a quick smile and a wink, before returning to her shopping cogitations.
Beyond her there was another doorway. I walked through the room and came to a staircase that led down. Following this, I came across the tavern’s cellars. There were more people down there in the gloom and damp, but my main thought was that Arch and Hamon weren’t, and I darted from one chamber to another, trying to find my way back to the daylight.
Two guineas! It was a shocking sum of money, especially since the two had fixed the gamble. Hamon had released the hound so soon after Arch let the cat from the sack that the cat could make only a quick dash of five paces, turn, give a mew that, to me, sounded like ‘’S’wounds!’ before the hound was on it. And now I was learning that I would have to pay still more the following day, and more each day after that, because kindly Arch was helping me maintain my honour by lending me the money I needed to pay him back for a gambling debt I never wished for in the first place.
It was enough to make my head spin.
However, I was determined that I would not pay Arch and Hamon. They could keep increasing the amount of the debt all they wanted, but I was not going to pay it. I had the money in my strongbox back at home, but that was for me to use, not for those two. They could threaten me all they liked, but I knew something that they didn’t: my name wasn’t Peter, and they didn’t know where I lived.
At the far end of the cellars there was a set of stone steps leading up to the dim alleyway, and I took these, hoping to find the fair air of London again.
I had not even managed to find a quart or two of ale. Although the entrance to the tavern was only a short way back up the alleyway, I chose to walk back down to the road. I felt safer there, with more people milling about, the constant shouting of the hawkers, the hurdy-gurdies playing where buskers were pestering the public, demanding money by menacing them with music, and the occasional dog barking and
snarling. I had no enthusiasm for dogs just at this moment.
There was a tavern called the Sign of the Fox a short way up towards the Fleet prison, a foul building that held some three hundred miserable souls. It was a debtor’s prison, and the victims were held inside with their families, unless they could afford to pay the keeper and take lodgings outside. The other denizens were often to be seen at the grilles in the doors, begging for any coins that passers-by could spare. The thought of being locked up and having to pay for every meal, for the removal of irons, for – well, for everything – was hideous in the extreme. I stood outside and stared at the place for some little while.
Money and debts were lying heavily on my mind.
At the Fox, I soon found myself comfortably ensconced before a roaring fire, a pot of warm ale in my hand, and feeling considerably more cheerful as the level in my cup went down. After all, Arch and Hamon would be unlikely to find me, and if they did, as long as I kept to busier thoroughfares, I would be secure enough. I had a reputation, after all. As long as I kept my pistol close by, I should be safe.
I ordered a pie and ate it thoughtfully. There was, after all, one other consideration, which was that story of Atwood’s. Was it really possible that he was telling the truth? It seemed barely credible. I hoped that he would have been arrested by now, anyway, and with luck he would be held for a good long time. I didn’t think he was a murderer of wayward priests, but I knew that he was capable of killing other men without a qualm, and I had no desire to be his latest victim. And if he was telling the truth about the gold, it could be quite profitable for me if Atwood was held in Newgate or somewhere similar. I could find the gold and keep it all.
Cat was nowhere to be seen now, and searching for one woman with her occupation was unlikely to be productive. London was a seething mass of women who sold themselves on the streets, in brothels, in clubs or taverns. I could hardly run about all the taverns in London. There were twenty or more within the square mile, let alone all the alehouses and drinking chambers without the City walls. It might take me a year or more to find her. The room to which she had taken me the day before was nothing more than a chamber paid for by the hour, I had no doubt. But then … well, I had little else to do just now. It would be good to see her. And perhaps, if I couldn’t find her, I might make my way back to St Botolph’s and enquire of the widow Dorothy about Dick Atwood’s story of a box of gold. If I knew Dick Atwood at all – and I knew him alarmingly well – he would be keen to find the gold, but also to keep it entirely for himself. He was not the sort of man to share his good fortune, and no matter what he said, the idea that he might willingly allow me to keep a brass farthing from the box of gold was stretching the imagination. He was not a trustworthy man.
He must know that I wouldn’t trust him. So what was his aim in telling me about the box in the first place? Was he being hopeful, thinking that I would drop everything to help him discover it? Surely the man would realize that I would be likely to keep it, were I to find it?
Since he had told me about it, he must have had a feeling that I was more likely to find it than him. Perhaps he believed that I was more honourable than he himself? Well, naturally, I was. Maybe he thought that my natural generosity of spirit and sense of fairness would mean that I would instantly let him know, were I to discover the box? If so, I hoped I might disabuse him of that belief.
Of course, he would know that I had a good opportunity to find out anything from Dorothy. Better than his own chances. You see, I have a welcoming face – a regular, pleasing face, which women like. They think I am comely and want to coddle me. It is a difficult cross to bear, but bear it I must. I am attractive to all women. Obviously, Atwood knew this. He had known it from the first time he saw me chatting to one of the working women in the street, I have no doubt. I have charms that put other men in the shade.
He realized that I would be able to work my charms on the widow Dorothy. Dick Atwood must have been counting on the fact that I would so entrance the woman that she would tell me all her secrets. He thought that if there was any remote possibility that she knew where the abbot’s gold was hidden, she would find it impossible to hide from me.
I took a long draft of ale.
Well, who could say that he was not right? Maybe the woman would succumb to my many advantages. She would not be the first, nor the last. I could inveigle my way into her affections by using Ben or one of her other sons, perhaps.
I would return to St Botolph’s, I decided. I’d woo the woman and she would soon tell me all.
And that way I’d evade Arch and Hamon too.
I enjoyed a second quart of ale, and then a pint of wine to wash it down, and then, as the light began to fade, I set off homewards.
The porter at Ludgate was grumpy that evening and glared at me when I gave him a ‘Good evening’, but I was used to that. The lower classes of servant are often jealous of a man who is as well attired as me. I strolled along happily enough, up past St Paul’s, and on.
There was a tavern up near the cross, and I stopped off for a quick refresher and repaired to the main room, taking my seat at a bench not far from the door. I was not known to frequent this place, but I didn’t want to take any risks; I would keep a wary eye on the door, in case Arch or Hamon appeared. The keeper was a miserable, black-featured fellow, but I did not require conversation just then, and was glad to receive my quart of ale without having to entertain him.
It was when I lifted the pot for the first mouthful that I almost choked.
There, opposite me, was Cat.
She looked delicious, although a little distressed in some way. Her eyes appeared wider than usual, her cheeks slightly more rosy, and she looked as though she was panting slightly. But much more to the point, she appeared to be alone.
‘Hello, young maid,’ I said in my smoothest manner. ‘May I take a seat with you?’
‘Peter!’ she said.
I had forgotten she knew me as Peter. It gave me a jolt for a moment, but then I smiled. ‘You were at the Cheese earlier. What made you hurry away in such a madcap manner? You disappeared before I could catch you.’
‘I am so glad to see you, Peter,’ she said, and leaned into me as I sat beside her, her head resting on my shoulder.
Her hair smelled of hay and freshness and all that was good and wholesome, and the warmth of her beside me was enough to stir the blood. I remembered my plans for her earlier today. Looking down now at her blouse, I came to the conclusion that her figure was more than adequate.
‘Where were you? I was at the Cheese when we agreed, but you never arrived. I thought you must have been injured or killed,’ she said, and there was a marvellously broken quality to her voice that thrilled my blood, and other organs besides.
‘I was held up, maid. I had to go to a Coroner’s inquest east of the City, and the damn thing kept me occupied until the afternoon. I was desperate to get back to you, but the Crowner wouldn’t let me go. Officious fool that he is.’
‘Why? Were you accused of murder?’ she asked, sitting up, her eyes round as pennies.
‘Me? Hah! No! Well, sort of. A malcontent fool chose to deflect suspicion from himself on to me. Me! I ask you! Who could accuse me of something like that?’
She nodded, but there was a faintly anxious look in her eyes still.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘What happened?’
‘There was no suggestion from the Coroner that I was involved,’ I hastened to reassure her. ‘It was just something dreamed up by a man who was once my servant. Nothing more than that. He wished to clear his own name by muddying another’s. That’s all, maid.’
‘Where was this?’
‘A little village near St Botolph’s. The local vicar was murdered.’
‘That’s terrible! Who would kill a vicar?’ she said. She had snuggled up to me again, her thigh wondrously warm on mine, and her low voice was breathy in my ear.
‘Ah, well, you see, there are always men who can
be jealous of a vicar. Someone who sees a man who had been a devoted member of the new Church, and who now throws over his old life in order to embrace the old Church – it can make some men angry. The vicar concerned had suddenly decided to give up his wife and children, and return to Holy Orders in the Catholic faith, rather than keep to his family. A sad case, no doubt, but the fellow has paid for his inconstancy.’
‘Who killed him? Did the Coroner arrest your servant, if he was so obvious?’
‘He may have done by now. There was little evidence as to who might be guilty, but Atwood would deserve a few weeks waiting at Newgate. No doubt they will find the culprit before long, and if not, perhaps he will be taken.’
‘But the priest. What sort of person could kill a man of God?’
I didn’t want to say that if I was to bet, a troublesome, murdering bastard like Atwood would spring to mind quite easily. Instead, I sighed and looked doleful. ‘There are some men in the world who have no conception of the depths of their depravity. You should be careful. The streets are full of dangerous men.’
‘I am safe with you, though. I always feel safe with you.’
There was a little wriggle then of her bottom, bringing her thigh into still more glorious contact. Her breast was on my upper arm, and I dared not move in case she pulled away. ‘Of course you are,’ I said suavely. ‘You will always be safe with me, Cat. But heavens, look at the light outside! Even I need daylight to be able to see dangers. Cat,’ I said with great seriousness. ‘You should not be out at this time of day on your own. I have to return to my house, but I cannot leave you to fend for yourself. Would you come with me, so I can guard you on the streets?’
She looked up at me, coy and slanted-eyed, as though she did not quite trust me.
‘’S’blood, Cat,’ I said. ‘I hope you don’t mistrust me? On my honour, I only seek to protect you.’
She nodded, but there was a shadow on her face.
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