The Last Protector

by Andrew Taylor

  The pain in my head fused with the pain in my shoulder and the pains in my limbs. The nausea receded. I tried to empty my mind of everything, especially the pain and the fear. The sounds around me eventually twisted themselves together and made a harsh music, a dark lullaby that sent me drifting back to unconsciousness.

  The attic was a long, thin chamber with a sloping ceiling. Something was tapping erratically above my head. The sound was constantly in motion, zigzagging across the slope of the roof. There must be a bird up there, I realized, and what I was hearing was its feet as it scurried about the tiles.

  My headache had receded. I was no longer gagged, which presumably meant that no one who mattered was in earshot. I was still tied up, however, and I was still thirsty. My shoulder was so sore I could hardly move it. I needed to piss.

  There was a small window in the wall at the far end of the room. The light had a muted quality, as if the afternoon were already shading into evening. There was a film of dust, grey and gritty, on the floorboards. Apart from myself, the room was empty.

  It was very quiet. I had been dumped in a corner of the room. I had fallen to one side, dragged down by my own inert weight. My hat, my wig and my shoes were gone. I had a dreamlike memory of being carried up many flights of stairs, my head and my legs occasionally colliding with the walls on either side.

  A bolt slid back. I struggled into an upright position. The door opened. A young woman entered. She was plainly dressed – she looked like a servant in a moderately respectable family. But her feet were bare. And there was something teasingly familiar about her face.

  ‘Hush,’ she whispered. ‘Old Cresswell’s got long ears. I brought you something to drink.’

  I recognized her then: Chloris, Madam Cresswell’s whore, the one who had helped me to escape from her window when Durrell had found me in Dog and Bitch Yard. She hitched up her skirts and knelt beside me. She held a wooden mug to my lips. It was half full of watery milk. It tasted sour but I was so thirsty I would have drunk anything.

  ‘Where am I?’ I said at last in a voice that sounded strained and rusty.

  ‘Where do you think? Dog and Bitch Yard.’

  ‘Why did they bring me here?’

  ‘How do I know? It was Mr Durrell’s orders, which means it’s for the Duke, and that means old Cresswell’s happy to oblige.’

  I was puzzled by her attire. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’

  ‘We ain’t open for business. Haven’t you heard? The apprentices are attacking the bawdy houses. They started in Poplar and now they’re in Moorfields. Ma Cresswell must have known something was in the wind.’

  ‘I need a pot.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘To piss in.’

  She grinned. ‘You’re easily satisfied.’

  ‘It’s no joke.’

  Chloris left the room, leaving the door open. In a moment she returned with a chamber pot in her hand.

  ‘Would you untie my hands?’ I said.

  ‘Ah – I see your game.’ She looked mockingly at me. ‘Trying to fool an innocent girl into letting you escape.’

  ‘Truly,’ I said, growing desperate. ‘I give you my word that I will let you tie me up again. I can hardly contrive it if my hands aren’t free.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry, sir. I’ll do it for you.’

  ‘I cannot – you must see—’

  She snorted with laughter. ‘You can trust me not to be affrighted. In this house, we’ve seen everything a man has to offer. I won’t be rough, I promise. Gentle as a nurse with a suckling.’

  ‘Very well then. But – but pray be quick.’

  I closed my eyes. I felt her fingers unlace me and delve into my breeches. I heard the blessed hiss of water rushing into the pot. Afterwards, when she had made me respectable, I opened my eyes.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘My purse is in my coat, the left-hand pocket, if—’

  Chloris was already patting my sides. ‘No it ain’t.’ She sounded resigned. ‘Of course not. Just a poxy book. They wouldn’t leave you with your purse, would they?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘You wanted to make me a present for helping you. And not just now, with the pot. To get you out of here as well.’

  ‘You read me like a book. If you help me, I give you my word of honour that I will pay you handsomely. In gold, if you wish.’

  ‘I’ve heard that before.’

  ‘There must be something I can offer you. Anything.’

  Chloris crouched down, bringing her head level with mine. Her dark eyes considered me. There was a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

  She opened her mouth to speak but then stopped. I had turned my head to look at her, and for the first time she had a clear view of the left side of my head. In the absence of my wig and hat, there was nothing to conceal the scarring, the discoloured skin and the remains of my ear.

  ‘I was in a fire last year,’ I said. ‘Have you seen enough?’

  She coloured. Frowning slightly, she searched my clothes, patting me and stroking me quite impersonally, as though I were a horse or a cow and she a potential purchaser. Before long her fingers found the concealed pocket inside my coat where I kept such papers that I would prefer not to lose to a pickpocket.

  My warrants were there. Mr Chiffinch had arranged to have one signed for me last year for the better discharge of my private duties for the King. There was another one too, signed by my Lord Arlington, that Mr Williamson had given me.

  Chloris unfolded Chiffinch’s paper and peered at it, lifting it near her eyes.

  ‘J – James Mar … wood.’

  ‘Yes. James Marwood’.

  Her eyes travelled to the bottom of the paper. ‘This is …?’

  ‘The King’s signature.’

  ‘You work for the King?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. I added, gambling on the probability that reading did not come easily to her, ‘I am here on his business. As I was before. The warrant explains all, and the importance of your helping me.’

  ‘You have influence?’

  ‘In my way. I have the King’s ear.’

  ‘Perhaps there is something you can do for me,’ she said.

  ‘Anything. Anything in the world.’

  She thrust both warrants into her bodice. ‘I’ll keep these. If I help you escape, you must take me with you. You must take me back to your house and under your protection. You must keep me safe from the Duke and Cresswell, Merton and Durrell. And give me …’ She took a deep breath. ‘Let’s say twenty pounds in gold … and you’ll give me your Bible oath you’ll help me leave London and Dog and Bitch Yard for ever.’

  ‘Where do you want to go?’ I asked.

  ‘I want to go home.’

  Even then, in the depths of my own danger, I realized that Chloris must be desperate indeed to help me, trusting only to my word and to the doubtful power of my warrant.

  ‘Home? Where’s that?’

  ‘Near Bristol. A village, not five miles away.’ She swallowed. ‘There’s – there’s someone there. Who’s waiting for me.’

  I saw her eyes were moistening. I said, ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘The bawds are in the kitchen when we’re closed. It’s warmer. The men are downstairs in case of trouble.’

  ‘The men who brought me?’

  ‘No – they went away. Our three – Merton, the porter and the outdoor man. As for Cresswell, she’s in her chamber doing her accounts. She says the Duke will keep us free from harm, the crowds won’t trouble us.’

  ‘You don’t think—?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  She stared at me but let it go. ‘Stay there. I’ll be back in a moment.’ She left the room, and I heard her moving about in a neighbouring attic.

  It wasn’t nothing. It sounded to me as if someone had given Madam Cresswell forewarning of the riots, and had also advised her that Dog and Bitch Yard would be safe from att
ack. I remembered those curious papers I had glimpsed on the desk in her drawing room during my last visit here.

  Chloris returned with a cloak, a small bundle wrapped in a shawl, and a pair of shoes. She took a knife from her pocket and sawed at the ropes that bound me. I struggled to my feet. I leaned against the wall, groaning as I rubbed and stretched my aching limbs.

  ‘Hush, sir – you’ll bring the whole pack of them about our ears. Come on. We ain’t got all day.’

  The attic window was just large enough for us to squeeze through, first Chloris, then me. My sore shoulder gave me great pain. We slid down the tiles to a lead gutter between two roofs and followed this to the back of the house. It butted against two outbuildings whose roofs were lower than those of the house. We dropped down to these, crawled crabwise across the slope of their roofs. From there, we clambered on to the wall along the side of the yard – no easy matter, since it was topped with a row of rusty spikes. I lowered myself into the alley beside the house and stretched up my arms to help Chloris down.

  Afterwards Chloris took my arm to support me. I staggered beside her as fast as I could to the street at the end. There were plenty of people about, and almost at once I earned curious glances. No wonder – my clothes were dishevelled, and I lacked both hat and shoes.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she said.

  ‘My house. As you wanted.’ My feet were bruised, and it was only a matter of time before they started bleeding. ‘It’s not far – off the Strand.’

  ‘Are you going to walk there? It’ll take us about a week if you go at this rate.’

  ‘We’ll find a hackney,’ I said. ‘Isn’t there a stand in Long Acre?’

  ‘What you going to pay the coachman with?’ Chloris demanded. ‘Promises?’

  ‘I’ve money at my house.’

  ‘He’ll want it in his hand, not in your house.’

  ‘Have you any money?’ I said. She gave a quick nod. ‘Then pray lend me a shilling or two, and you shall have it back and double within the hour.’

  She stared at me. ‘Faith,’ she said at last. ‘I must be moonstruck.’

  She turned aside into a doorway. While I stood guard, she felt in her pocket for her money. She gave me a shilling in silver and coppers, dropping them coin by coin in my hand.

  ‘A shilling,’ she said. ‘Mark it well. No more. No less.’

  ‘Thank you, Chloris.’

  ‘My name’s not Chloris.’

  I frowned but then I understood. Chloris was a name for a whore, albeit one in an establishment that catered for gentlemen, rather than a whore in a doorway who did what men wanted for pennies. ‘What shall I call you then?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She sniffed, and for an instant I thought she might start weeping.

  ‘You can trust me.’

  ‘Can I?’ She shrugged, and walked on, leaving me to follow. ‘You all say that,’ she said.

  At my house in Infirmary Close, a new trouble arose. Hands on hips, Margaret confronted me in the hall.

  ‘We were worried, master,’ she said, and if she had been worried that meant she was angry. ‘We thought you’d be back hours ago.’

  ‘I was set upon by footpads,’ I said.

  She ran her eyes over me, taking in the absence of my hat and wig, my torn clothes and my bare and filthy feet. She also took in the fact that I was leaning on the arm of a young woman.

  ‘And who’s this?’

  ‘You may call her Chloris. She helped me back after I was attacked. From the kindness of her heart.’

  ‘Very kind, I’m sure.’ It was clear that Margaret was prepared to put the worst construction on my relationship with Chloris. Her name didn’t help.

  ‘Faith, mistress,’ said Sam, who was in the back of the hall and eyeing Chloris with interest. ‘That was very Christian of you.’

  Chloris ignored him. Some of the assurance she had shown in the street had dropped away from her.

  ‘She’ll stay with us for a day or two,’ I said, ‘before going back to her family in the country.’

  ‘Staying here?’ said Margaret. ‘Here? You mean in this house?’

  ‘Yes, here.’ I raised my voice, for I was growing angry too. ‘Take her down to the kitchen, give her some food. Treat her as you would your own sister – she’s done me a service. No doubt she will make herself useful while she’s here – help you about the house and so on.’

  ‘Very well, sir. As you wish.’ Margaret jerked her head at Chloris. ‘You better come with me.’

  ‘One moment. Send Stephen up to my bedchamber with some hot water. Stay, make it two bowls – I want him to wash my feet. And I want something to eat, as well, and at once. Sam – make sure the doors are barred, and the windows secured, and then come up to my chamber.’

  ‘Trouble, master?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  I began to climb the stairs. Chloris put her hand on my sleeve to stop me. I saw Margaret’s eyes widen at the impertinence.

  ‘Hey,’ Chloris said. ‘Where’s my money then?’

  Half an hour later, my life had improved. I was clean, for a start, and warm in gown, cap and slippers. I was sitting by the fire in my bedchamber and eating the cold venison pasty that Margaret had sent up. My shoulder was still painful but the headache had lessened.

  Sam came up to report that he had secured the house and to ask if he should look out the few weapons we had about the place.

  ‘Yes. Though I hope we won’t need them. This is merely a precaution.’

  He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Against what, sir?’

  I decided to take him at least partly into my confidence. ‘You remember those men I sent you to look for a couple of months ago?’

  ‘By Arundel House? At the sign of the Silver Crescent.’

  ‘Yes – the tall thin clergyman called Veal, and his servant, one Durrell.’

  ‘Oh aye – they were with that doctor. Except he wasn’t a doctor, young Stephen said. The Duke of Buckingham?’

  ‘Yes. Veal and Durrell are in his employ.’ I hesitated and added primly, ‘I’m afraid that all three of them have taken a dislike to me.’

  ‘And has this something to do with the attacks on the bawdy houses, master?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  His voice changed, became confidential. ‘And the girl?’

  ‘You’ll treat her with kindness,’ I said, my voice suddenly sharp. ‘And respect. So will Margaret. Whatever she is, or has been, she acted as my friend today.’

  He bobbed his head.

  ‘Send her up now.’

  He bobbed his head again but wisely resisted the temptation to say anything.

  While I waited, I unlocked my smaller strongbox, for I had two now; a sign of my growing prosperity. One box was for my immediate expenses, and the other contained what I had managed to save, together with a few pieces of plate. Gradually, as I began to accumulate a little money, I had discovered the unexpected problems that came with it. The greatest of these was how to keep it safe. The security of my boxes was a matter of considerable worry to me. They might so easily fall prey to thieves or be destroyed by fire. Some people trusted their valuables to the care of a goldsmith’s strongroom, but goldsmiths did not always prove worthy of trust. Others lent out or invested their wealth to make it grow, but debtors could default and investments could fail.

  The smaller box contained almost thirty pounds in gold and silver. I counted out twenty pounds. The coins made a shining heap on the table. After a moment’s thought, I took out another shilling and placed it apart from the rest.

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘One moment,’ I called.

  I relocked the box and put it away in the closet. I opened the door of the bedchamber. Chloris was on the landing, picking at her teeth with a fingernail. I beckoned her into the room. Her eyes widened when she saw the money. She moved towards it, her hand outstretched.

  ‘One moment. Give me back my warrants.’

  She tore her eyes
away from the gold and reached into her bosom with an absence of modesty as complete as a child’s. She handed me the papers. Her eyes strayed to the table.

  ‘It’s yours,’ I said. ‘Count it.’

  She rushed forward, her face bright with excitement. She hunched over the money, her fingers pushing the coins to and fro, heaping them into piles. She looked back at me, tapping the shilling on the table. Her face was flushed.

  ‘It’s all there,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think you would. I thought you’d …’

  Her voice trailed away. I knew what she had thought: that I would turn out to be like the other men who had offered her money for a service and then cheated her of it afterwards.

  She took out a kerchief and scooped the coins into it. She tied the ends in a double knot and pushed the little bundle through her skirt and into the pocket beneath. The weight of all that money must have been considerable.

  ‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘Did you often see the Duke at Madam Cresswell’s?’

  Chloris nodded. ‘He’s always there, two or three times a week. Not just for us girls. Sometimes he scribbles away in Ma Cresswell’s sitting room. There’s a desk by the window, and he’s the only one with the keys for it. He meets people there sometimes. There’s a big bedchamber kept for him, too.’

  I filed this away in my mind for later. ‘Will you do something for me?’

  She looked at me and smiled. ‘Maybe I’d do just about anything for you, master.’

  ‘I’m going to write two letters. I’d like you to deliver them for me.’

  She blinked. ‘Where to?’

  ‘One to Whitehall or rather to Scotland Yard. Do you know where that is?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And the other to Henrietta Street by Covent Garden.’

  She frowned. ‘Covent Garden’s but a hop and a jump from Dog and Bitch Yard.’

  ‘Henrietta Street is on the other side of Covent Garden. Wear a shawl over your head – tell Margaret to lend you one of hers.’

  ‘She don’t like me.’

  ‘You must both make the best of it.’

  ‘And what’s this about helping her in the house?’

  ‘You’re meant to be a maidservant,’ I said. ‘Would you rather I told her you were a whore?’