‘Empty rooms?’ Tyballis had been hoping to reacquaint herself with the Spiers, and perhaps be taken in by Felicia to help care for the children.
Davey’s grin was visible even in the darkness. ‘Stay with me, darling, if you don’t fancy the draughts to yourself. You’ll not be lonely and it surely seems you need looking after.’
Tyballis stiffened. ‘I’m a married woman and can look after myself.’
A shriek interrupted, a door slamming, and the sudden black head of a poker emerged from the dark passageway. Davey turned and grabbed a flailing wrist. A woman’s voice squealing. ‘Let me go, bastard.’ The woman, all dark hair and fury, lashed out. Davey forced her arm back until she dropped the poker.
‘I’ll let you go when I know whose skull you’re planning on cracking.’
‘Not yours, thief. You’ve a head thicker than quarried stone, with neither sense nor a decent idea in there worth the stealing.’ The woman stood rubbing her wrist and glaring. ‘It’s Drew I’m after, and none of your bloody business.’
Davey grinned. ‘I doubt Drew’s even here. Never is past curfew. And if he’s in, then leave him be, before he throws us all out. Come to my room later, then I’ll teach you better habits. In my arms, you’ll forget the poor bugger downstairs.’
‘Why choose the rat, when I can have the lion?’ She panted, leaning back against the passage wall.
‘But if the lion’s so willing, why the poker?’
She glared over his shoulder. ‘And who’s she? Yours? Or his?’
‘Drew’s?’ Davey laughed. ‘They’ve never even met each other. No, not his, nor mine neither. A newcomer. And a right fine welcome she’s getting. So, get out of my way, Lizzie, and take your foul temper elsewhere.’
In the lightless passageway the woman was only a shadow. Her loose hair hid her face but her eyes were hugely black. She bent quickly and retrieved her poker, then ran down the stairs.
Tyballis moved aside. ‘She lives here, too?’
The shadows melted back into place and the footsteps from below muffled into silence. ‘Elizabeth,’ Davey said simply. ‘Sleeps with Drew when he’ll have her, or me, when he won’t. I reckon she’d take old widower Switt if he asked. But it needn’t concern you, sweetheart. I’ll take you instead.’
Tyballis turned, recognising the Spiers’ doorway. ‘I told you, I’m not interested. I’m married and won’t take another man. If I stay, which I haven’t said I will, then I’ll talk to Felicia first.’
‘No good talking to her.’ Davey shook his head, moving in so close she smelled the sweet musk of Spanish soap on his hair. ‘Poor old drudge don’t get neither coin nor bread from her useless husband, not enough to feed her brats let alone visitors. Jon don’t even move himself to go out on the cadge nor the pilfer and cutting a purse would take more energy than he’s prepared to spend on anything more than getting out of bed and then back into it. You’d do better with me, darling.’
Tyballis sighed. ‘I told you –’
‘I know, I know, Mistress Proper and Prim,’ Davey grinned. ‘You told me to get lost. But I can be patient. There’s enough of us here, but you’ll find no one else capable as me. Apart from Lizzie the whore and the Spiers, there’s widower Switt as only fancies the little ones, and will grope the children when Felicia’s not looking. Nat and Ralph, well, a useless pair they are, though Ralph has some small claim to sense. But they look so alike, you could climb into Ralph’s arms and find yourself with Nat’s hands on your arse. Luke Parris, now he’s a dirty little heathen, he is, what was put to be a monk, seduced his abbot, I reckon, or stole the charity box, and ran from his monastery years back. I doubt he has a prick, and if he has then he don’t know what to do with it. Then there’s those that come and go, since Drew lets in all and sundry, mostly the tanners when they’re too pissed to find their way home, and some of the local whores and their pimps when there’s no business and the streets too cold to sleep in. So, which of them will you choose, Lady Prude? Or will you come to Davey Lyttle, and keep his pallet warm through the long winter nights?’
‘Or maybe I’ll take one of those empty chambers you spoke of and find that girl’s poker and keep it to protect myself.’ Tyballis was leaning hard up against the Spiers’ door. When the door opened suddenly behind her, she almost fell backwards. Hearing voices, someone had come, but no vivid light of fire or warmth of welcome lit the chamber. Tyballis turned, facing only shadow and chill. ‘It’s me, Tyballis Blessop. I visited with Ellen yesterday,’ she whispered. ‘Is that Felicia?’
The answer, another whisper, came from lower down. ‘It’s not me Ma, it’s me,’ said the child. ‘Me little brother Gyles is sick and we’ve no firewood, nor supper.’
Tyballis bent towards the hovering shadow. ‘Perhaps I might come in, Ellen, and help look after him.’
Ellen shook her curls. ‘Might be the pox. Drew says as how we must keep shut up till we knows. Whenever there’s sickness, Drew shuts us in. Won’t risk pestilence through the house. But I’ll show you where to go, if you wants a place to yourself.’
Tyballis sighed, reaching for the child’s hand. ‘Another room? Yes, thank you. Davey Lyttle is here, but I would sooner not – that is, I would prefer –’
‘That’s Davey nobody, that is. Come with me,’ announced Ellen, emerging from her doorway.
Davey chuckled. ‘Since I am clearly no more than a nuisance, I must allow the child to lead the child. But remember, Mistress Blessop, I can be relied upon, whatever appearances to the contrary, and will protect you if you need it.’ He stepped back as Ellen danced forwards, clearly pleased to escape the silent misery of the sickbed.
It was a small chamber where Tyballis finally took refuge, the larger rooms already taken. Across the stone hearth a smattering of cold ashes smelled of loneliness. The window was cracked and the shutters missing. The solitary pallet had lost much of its straw, now a small pile of refuse accumulated in a corner. Otherwise the chamber was empty.
There was furniture to spare downstairs, Ellen said, but Drew would not distribute this to the rooms until they were inhabited, or others would steal it. And a fire? Well, kindling and faggots could be collected from the copses nearby, mixed with twigs from the garden. Drew sometimes gave his own firewood to the Spiers, being a family much in need of warming. ‘We’ve two rooms,’ Ellen gossiped. ‘Right big and pretty. The other folk here, well, they’ve only one chamber each, or share one like Ralph and Nat. Luke’s quarters is the biggest with an annexe for his scribing, but that’s right up under the roof and he don’t much bother with the rest of us.’
‘This little chamber is cosy enough,’ Tyballis told her. ‘In any case, I may leave tomorrow. If I do, I shall come and say goodbye first.’
Once alone, Tyballis took off her wet shoes and sat them neatly before the empty hearth. Outside, pelting and persistent, the rain obscured the moon and no light intruded through the unshuttered windowpanes. With no blanket to warm her, Tyballis curled herself fully dressed deep into the pallet’s straw. She closed her eyes but remained awake, her thoughts turning more melancholy as the silent hours lengthened. The dispossessed filth of the city had rustled through her nights since birth, and she had no cause to be afraid of something long accustomed, but she had not felt so dispossessed since her parents had died, when she was rescued, half-drowned, from the flooded Thames and its rising tide. She would, she thought, if she permitted such pitiful nonsense to swallow her thoughts, soon begin to cry. If not careful, she might trick herself into missing a house and a family she loathed though had never before found the courage to leave.