‘You’ve a better memory than I have,’ I told him, whereupon he drew himself up to his full height and sniffed.
‘I never forgets a debt. C’me on. You look like you’ve sold most of what you got. We’ll go to the Boar’s Head in East Cheap and after, you can come ’ome with me and meet my Jeanne.’
For a moment I hesitated, while a warning voice sounded inside my head. ‘Stay now,’ it said, ‘and you may never get safely away.’ But at the same time another voice whispered, ‘God is not mocked,’ and I heaved a sigh, knowing it to be only too true.
‘Well?’ Philip demanded. ‘You comin’? Never refuse a debt repaid, ol’ friend. It don’t ’appen all that often in this wicked world.’
I laughed and stowed my few remaining items in my pack, which I then humped on to my shoulders. I picked up my cudgel and nodded. ‘Lead the way,’ I invited. ‘I was just thinking about my dinner when I saw you.’
Over a meal of eel pies and brandy tarts, washed down with some of the best ale I have ever tasted, I told Philip Lamprey of my brief marriage and subsequent fatherhood, and of the desire to see London once more, which had led to my present circumstances.
‘Aye,’ he commiserated, ‘you couldn’t’ve picked a worse time to visit than now. But you should’ve known that, cocky, what wiv us bein’ at war again with them Mounseers. And only the Lord Almighty c’n tell why! Fer I don’ know of any cause they’ve given us, do you? But there, it’s not fer the likes of us t’ question. You come ’ome wiv me tonight and my Jeanne’ll make you more than welcome. Then tomorrer, if you’re still set on goin’ ’ome, you can.’
The Lampreys’ second-hand clothes shop was situated in the western reaches of Cornhill and their living quarters were a daub-and-wattle hut at its rear. There was barely sufficient room for the two of them, but neither made anything of that. As Philip had promised, his goodwife made me as welcome as he did himself, and she pressed me to remain for the rest of the day and the coming night. Mistress Lamprey was a little, round, bustling body, with bright-brown eyes and a mop of unruly black curls, imperfectly confined by a kerchief. She had a smile and a cheerful word for all their customers, but what surprised me particularly was her youth. She could not then have been much above eighteen years old, while Philip was certainly past his fortieth birthday. But they seemed to suit each other and to be fonder than many a better-matched couple as regards to age.
I spent the rest of the day helping them with their stall, my own selling skills coming in handy, after which I shared their supper before assisting them to pack up for the night.
‘So,’ Philip asked when we had finished, ‘what’ll we do, then? It won’t be dark for several hours.’ Without waiting for me to furnish him with an answer he continued, ‘There’s a tavern I know of where you c’n get the best Rybole wine you’ve ever drunk in yer life. You’ll be all right, my dearling, won’t you?’ he added, kissing Jeanne ingratiatingly on the cheek. ‘We’ll be back afore curfew.’
‘O’ course I’ll be all right,’ she answered, laughing and giving him a playful push. ‘Get along with you. But don’ come back ’ere drunk.’
‘I’ll see he doesn’t,’ I assured her, grinning. When we were clear of the house, I said, ‘You’ve a treasure there.’
‘Don’ I know it!’ he replied fervently. ‘I told you my luck ’ad turned.’
We set out briskly through a maze of narrow alleyways that had me lost and confused until we finally emerged into Candlewick Street, where the drapers and mercers have their shops and dwellings. The houses there are timber and brick and painted plaster, indicative of their owners’ wealth and standing, but Philip regarded them without envy. He had everything he wanted from life.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked, as we passed several likely looking ale-houses and started down Dowgate Hill.
Philip made no immediate reply. Halfway along, we swung into Elbow Lane and, moments later, having turned the corner which gave it its name, we emerged into Thames Street, still busy and teeming with people. To my left, in the distance, I could see the towers of the Steelyard rising above the surrounding buildings, while opposite lay a network of small streets leading to the wharves, and comprising that part of London known as the Vintry.
‘Where are we going?’ I repeated sharply.
‘A tavern called the Three Tuns,’ Philip answered. ‘Near Three Cranes Quay. I told you, it sells the best Rybole you’re ever likely to come by. C’me on, man! Don’t fall be’ind. It’s full o’ people this time of the evening. We’ll be lucky if we c’n find a seat.’
For a moment my lagging footsteps came to a halt and Philip glanced over his shoulder in surprise and irritation.
‘Come on!’ he reiterated impatiently. ‘B’ Lady, what’s the matter with you? I tell you, this stuff’s special.’
I hesitated a moment longer, then shrugged and quickened my pace. God had caught me in His net again. He had had no intention of allowing me to escape; and I comforted myself with the thought that had I not encountered Philip Lamprey, I should either have remained in, or returned to, London for some other reason. I had as yet no notion what to expect, but I entered the Three Tuns ale-house, reluctantly resigned to my fate.
Chapter Six
I saw Timothy Plummer almost immediately, in spite of the fact that, as Philip had predicted, the ale-room was full to capacity on this fine summer’s evening. I felt little or no surprise that I should have clapped eyes on him so soon, even though he and his companion were drawn well back into a secluded corner and were partially obscured from my view by passing pot-boys, rowdy customers and the ample figure of Mine Host himself, as he moved among the tables making sure that everyone was satisfied. Nor did I feel it to be anything except inevitable when Philip seized my elbow and steered me to two seats which his penetrating gaze had spotted within a few feet of where Timothy Plummer was sitting.
‘Wait ’ere an’ keep my stool for me,’ Philip instructed. ‘One o’ the pot-boys is cousin to Jeanne. I’ll ferret ’im out, otherwise we could be sittin’ around till curfew and not get served.’
I nodded and hooked one leg across the stool next to mine, but once Philip had disappeared into the press my whole attention was absorbed by the bench in the corner. I had suspected that the man with Timothy must be Lionel Arrowsmith, but now that I could confirm the suspicion I was astonished to note that as well as having his right arm still in its blue silk sling, the latter also had his left ankle heavily bandaged and a wooden crutch propped beside him. Somehow or other, in the intervening hours between late last night and early this evening, he had sustained a second injury; a fact which explained the worried expression on both his and his companion’s faces as they constantly glanced towards the door, eyeing up every fresh arrival. It would be impossible now for Lionel to risk a meeting with Thaddeus Morgan and somebody else must have been despatched in his stead; most probably that person whom he had described as ‘too young and too green’. No wonder they both looked so uneasy.
Philip returned with two beakers of Rybole wine, triumphant at having been served before the other occupants of our table, who quickly raised an outcry at such unfair treatment. Philip was unabashed. ‘You gotta know someone in this place,’ he told them with a wink and turned to me. ‘Now, what d’you think o’ that?’
He was right. I had never before tasted such richness of flavour, and afterwards I regretted that at the time I was too preoccupied to do it justice. Although I exclaimed enough to satisfy Philip, my mind was on the two men in the corner, who had suddenly stiffened to attention, their eyes fixed on the ale-house door. My own gaze shifted hurriedly and I saw that a young man had just come in.