He was amusing, even witty. I saw another person emerging and I thought: This is how he was meant to be; and I knew that it had something to do with me and that made me very happy.
We skirted one area—the Whitefriars quarter, which he called Alsatia. “It stretches from Salisbury Court to the Temple,” he told me. “It’s a sanctuary of debtors. They dare not emerge and debt collectors dare not enter. They’d risk their lives if they did.”
“Could we not take a look?”
He shook his head. “I might not be able to protect you, and you wouldn’t like what you saw. It’s getting late. It’s time we made tracks for the Rainbow.”
At the Rainbow Inn we left our horses in the stable yard and went into the dining room.
The innkeeper’s wife appeared; she was very obsequious and I realized that she knew Charles well.
“I’ve brought a friend to try some of your steak pie,” he said.
“And you’ll take William’s home-brewed cider with it, I’ll be bound.”
He said we would and we sat down opposite each other.
He regarded me steadily. “I think.” he said, “you are liking your jaunt in the big city.”
“I never realized it was quite so exciting before, though I do remember long ago … when we lived here. My father used to take me out with him sometimes.”
“You look sad now,” he said. “You were very fond of your father, weren’t you?”
“He was wonderful … or so he seemed to me. He was a gambler. My mother was the steady one. He was killed in a duel—senselessly.”
“Don’t think of sad things … today,” he begged.
“If I don’t, you won’t. Is that a promise?”
“It is.”
The pie was brought and with it flagons of cider.
I agreed I had never tasted such food. But I knew in my heart that everything would be good today.
He talked more about London, about the contrasts one could see during a short walk through the city. Such luxury, such extravagance, and such poverty.
“Like that place we passed.”
“Whitefriars, oh yes.”
“Have you ever ventured there?”
“I did once … for a patient.” He shuddered.
“Were you alarmed?”
“I was going to see a sick person. I didn’t think beyond that. It became like a nightmare. A young girl ran up to me when I was passing and cried out that her mother was dying. I said: ‘I’m a doctor. Take me to her.’ And she took me. As soon as I stepped into that maze of streets there was the sound of horns blowing. I couldn’t understand what it meant. Then I learned that the whole community was being warned that a stranger was in their midst. The young girl screamed out that I was a doctor and she was taking me to her mother. I realized then what a fool I had been to come. I could have been murdered just for my watch. But I was going to a patient … and at such times one doesn’t think much beyond that.”
I said: “I think you must be a very good doctor.”
“A very ordinary one,” he said.
“Tell me about Whitefriars.”
“The woman I was being taken to was in labor. I delivered a child. That was my profession. … It was fortunate that the girl had run into a doctor. I think she thought it was a sort of miracle. Afterwards I escaped in possession of my watch and coins in my pocket. Looking back I think that was the real miracle.”
“So you really did have a glimpse inside.”
He was thoughtful. “For some time I felt I wanted to do something for those people. I wanted to take them out of Whitefriars. I had the usual dreams and ideals which beset the young until they realize that all they can do is what they’re qualified for. I was meant to care for the sick. It was for the politicians and such like to change the living standards of the people.”
“You have always been devoted to your work?”
He looked at me steadily. “It is like a crutch,” he said. “It helps me through life. When I am weary and melancholy and I feel no great enthusiasm for living … I work … and that soothes me. I limp along on my crutch and get by.”
There were so many questions I wanted to ask him. I was certain that there was some tragedy, some shadow hanging over him, something which had happened in the past and which he could not forget. But this was a day for forgetting, a day for enjoying.
I said: “How shall we get to Ranelagh? Shall we ride?”
“Good heavens no. We shall go in the traditional manner. We shall wait till dusk and then we shall take a wherry along the river. We shall alight at Ranelagh; we shall walk through the enchanted glades and at the Rotunda there is a treat in store. There is a young genius who has come to this country for a short tour. I was determined to hear him. He is but eight years old and a composer already.”
“Is that possible? A boy?”
“Possible with this boy. Apparently he was astonishing people when he was but six years old. It will be interesting to hear if he is really as good as we have been led to believe. He has come to England from Salzburg with his father and sister. Marianne, I think. A musical family, it seems. He will play some of his own compositions on the harpsichord.”
“I so look forward to hearing him.”
“As well as Master Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart we may also hear the chorus from Acis and Galatea and “Oh, Happy Pair” from Alexander’s Feast. I think that Tenducci is singing the solo.”
“I can see it is going to be most entertaining. I wonder you live in the country when you could obviously find so much to enjoy here.” I waved my arms as though to embrace the town.
He said quietly: “I had my reasons. …” And there was that in his voice which told me I should ask no further questions on that matter.
We sat for a long time in the Rainbow Inn and when we came out we left the horses there and walked down to the river. There we took a boat and were rowed along the river past Westminster and right out to Hampton.
The red-brick manor house, which had been transformed into the palace of Hampton Court, looked magnificent.
“A palace of great importance in the country’s history,” commented Charles. “I have heard it is an interesting place. The Tudors enjoyed it and King William and Mary were fond of it. The alterations they made have transformed it into a most magnificent palace.”
“I should love to explore it,” I said.
“It’s full of ghosts and shadows, they say. Memories leaping out from every corner. I have heard that the ghost of Catherine Howard appears in the gallery along which she is reputed to have run seeking the king when she knew she was accused. Poor girl, remembering the sad fate of her cousin Anne Boleyn, she must have known what hers would be.”
“There must be pleasant memories, too.”
“It’s strange how the unpleasant ones are those to be remembered. I heard that our present George won’t go there because it is said his father once boxed his ears in the state apartments. As there were others present he felt so humiliated that whenever he sees the place he remembers the incident.”
“Poor George. People seem to enjoy humiliating him.”
“It must be something in his nature which provokes the teasing spirit.”
“And being a king that must be doubly hard to bear.”
“Don’t let’s waste sympathy on him. It’s not going to help him in any case. I should like to go along the river to Windsor but if we are going to get to Ranelagh to hear our child genius there would not be the time.”
Oh, what a happy day that was, sailing along the river, among hundreds of others who had had the same idea as we had. I thought the company added to my pleasure. It was good to see so many people laughing, calling to each other; there were some who had music on board, and the sound of it was very sweet to me.