‘Aye, I noticed you chopped away my locks last night.’
‘You wouldn’t want them sticking to the wound, I promise you. Where is your home?’
‘Gloucestershire. But I won’t go home, I’ll go back to my barracks in Dover.’
‘You won’t be fit for duty yet awhile.’
‘Tell my commander that.’
‘If it is the same commander as last year, he seemed a sensible man.’
‘No, he has been transferred to the Low Countries. We have a regular Tartar of a fellow now.’
‘Then we will send a letter with you, saying that you are not fit for work for another three weeks. Three weeks after we release you.’
‘You make the hospital sound like prison.’
‘You’d not be fed so well in any prison I’ve heard of. It is one of the provisions of Barts, to feed the patients well. Make the most of it. Here is your breakfast coming. I’m off home myself soon, but I will see you later today.’
He looked at me seriously for the first time. ‘I thank you for your care, Kit. You had a terrible night of it last night. How is that poor lad, William?’
I didn’t realise he had been aware of what had happened.
‘So far, he seems well enough. It’s a bad shock to the body, an amputation.’
‘It’s a fearful thing. The army will turn him away and forget that he lost his leg serving his country. It’s a cruel world out there for a one-legged man.’
‘I know. I am going to find his sister today and tell her what has happened.’ It was a task I was not looking forward to.
‘Well, it is good he has a sister. I hope she is a loving one.’ There was a touch of bitterness in his tone, but I did not probe him.
‘Eat your breakfast and then rest. Sleep is the best healer.’
‘It isn’t easy on this b’yer lady floor,’ he said, moving his shoulders irritably. I realised his dislocated shoulder would still be giving him pain, as well as the injury to his head.
‘I know, but we weren’t expecting four hundred extra patients. Now eat. I will come to see you later.’
Dr Stephens was talking to my father, who gestured to me that we should leave. I checked once more on William Baker, but he had not woken. However, his sleep seemed more natural now. I found myself yawning as if my jaw would break. Time to go home and to bed myself.
When I woke in my own bed I was momentarily confused by the broad swathe of light falling across the room. Then I remembered why I was still abed so late. I threw back the covers and rubbed my eyes. Although I had slept well, I still felt the exhaustion and horrors of the night before. I knew that when I returned to the hospital I would find that some of the soldiers had died while I was away, and others would be in a worse state than yesterday, not better.
I dressed slowly, my fingers fumbling with garters and buttons. Even in this warm summer weather I wore a doublet, for it was the best garment for concealing my shape and keeping up my pretence. I was still thin and flat-chested, though my breasts were beginning to swell. The time might come when I would need to bind them.
Down in the kitchen I found Joan on her knees, scrubbing the floor. She looked up at me, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.
‘Your father has gone this half hour, but he said I was to let you sleep. And he said you had some errand in Eastcheap, so not to go to the hospital until that was done. Dr Stephens’s assistant will have returned.’
‘Aye, thank you, Joan. Is there anything to eat?’
‘Bread and cheese and apples. Or do you want me to cook something?’ She looked pointedly around at the half of the floor not yet scrubbed.
‘No, no. This will suit.’
I picked my way over her bucket and brush. Putting a piece of cheese and two apples on a plate, and adding a chunk of bread which I spread with honey, I carried my breakfast outside and sat on the step to eat it, out of the way of her scrubbing. I was not looking forward to finding William Baker’s sister, but I had promised, so I must go.
The city was busy. Pushing along the roads, blocking the way for carters and the occasional horseman, the crowds were making the most of the late summer sun, shopping or gossiping. Apprentice boys in their blue tunics lounged in groups at street corners, as if they had no work to do. One man led a sad looking bear on a chain and stopped from time to time, playing on a pipe to make the creature dance. The poor beast had had his claws torn out and his coat was patched with mange. There were scars of old fights on his muzzle, so I guessed he was one of the old creatures from the bear pits. If they survive but become reluctant to put on a show, the owners will sell them off cheap. A bear keeper like this man would render the bear harmless by removing his claws and most of his teeth, then make him dance for a living. This one was unwilling. He rose up on his hind legs and shuffled his feet a few steps, then sank down on his haunches and refused to move. His keeper tucked his pipe in his waistband and began lashing the bear viciously with a whip, cursing him the while.
Most people simply walked past but I stopped and caught hold of the man’s whip arm. ‘I will give you a shilling if you will give me your whip and buy food for yourself and your animal.’
I could see that the man himself was gaunt with hunger and had a withered leg. He looked at me as if I were mad, his mouth hanging open. I don’t suppose anyone had ever given him more than a penny before. I held up two sixpenny pieces in one hand and reached out my other hand for the whip. Still gaping he grabbed the coins and bit them to be sure they were genuine.
‘The whip,’ I said.
He shrugged and handed it to me. I knew he would soon be able to get another, but at least they would both eat and the bear would be spared a whipping for the moment.
‘Be sure and feed the bear as well,’ I said.
‘Aye,’ he growled. ‘I’m no fool. He’s my livelihood.’
I left him staring at me as I walked away. The whip I snapped into four pieces and threw into the Fleet River.
There were three saddlers and leatherworking shops in Eastcheap. At the first one I was told that Jake Winterly’s shop was across the street and a hundred yards further on, at the sign of the Brown Bull and Scissors. I found the sign – a remarkably placid looking bull standing next to an enormous pair of scissors, as tall as he was. The door stood open, as did most doors in the street, to let in a little air on this hot day, and the counter was folded down from the front of the shop. Over the top I could see a woman and a small boy moving about inside, setting out a row of leather beer tankards along a shelf.
‘Mistress Winterly?’ I said as I walked in.
She turned and smiled at me, a plump, rosy-faced woman of about forty. The boy was about seven or eight and had the same yellow curls as William.
‘Aye, sir. That’s me. What can I do for you?’ She came forward, wiping her hands, which looked perfectly clean, on her apron.
There was no point weaving about the subject. Best to get it over with.
‘I am a doctor at St Bartholomew’s,’ I said. ‘Your brother, William Baker, was brought in yesterday.’
Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a faint cry and she sank down on a bench.
‘Was he one of those at Sluys, sir? We couldn’t be sure. Last we heard, he was posted to Dover. He’s a poor hand at writing letters.’
‘I don’t suppose many letters made their way out of Sluys,’ I said, ‘except official despatches slipped out by a few brave messengers. Aye, he’s one of the survivors.’
‘Oh, Jesu be praised!’ She had gone quite white. Now her face flushed again. ‘Will, go and fetch your father.’
The boy ran to a curtain which covered the door to the back shop and slipped through.
‘Please, sir, take a seat. I’ve been that worried, not knowing whether he had been sent with those men to the Low Countries, or whether he was in that terrible siege. Is he hurt?’