She had been excited to come to London. Goldsmiths’ Row gleamed and sparkled in the sunshine and even the cobbles had been swept clean. Traders sat within their little doorways, leather aproned, carving wood and polishing pewter. Some shops, so grand the doorways stood wide and customers wandered both in and out as if a palace awaited them, displayed gold and silver merchandise glimmering through the windows, window shutters folded down as counters. Emeline stared. Nicholas noticed her expression and said suddenly, “I’ll take you there once we’re settled. But other matters come first. They’re not so pleasant, I’m afraid, but we’ve come for reasons other than shopping.”
“I didn’t say anything about shopping – I’ve never cared about shopping.” Emeline stuck out her chin. “Papa always says –” and then she stopped. Since Nicholas offered no reassuring smile of sympathy, she said crossly instead, “But it’s a horrid way into London. There are other gates, aren’t there? Are they all so vile?”
Nicholas smiled then. “No. I chose the worst.”
They spoke loudly, their voices raised, for London was noisy. A hundred chatterers, welcoming calls from vendors, children squabbling and dogs barking. A shopkeeper chased a dog from his shopfront with a broom, but the dog raised a leg and pissed on the broom’s rushes. Ravens flew low to scavenge from the central gutters, and small gaudy selds had set up where the road was wider, leaving little space for the horses to pass. Nicholas dug in his heels, Emeline followed, and they trotted, hooves like cracking glass on the cobbles, pushing the shoppers aside as they clutched at their hats and their baskets. Then with a sudden turn right they entered Bread Street where cobbles ran out into beaten earth and the early morning bakers had already closed. It was quieter. They headed south.
Rob, directly behind Emeline, called out, “The tenement first, m’lor, or the Bear, to settle your lady?”
Nicholas turned and grinned, “You think I’m taking my wife to an ale house, my friend? I might as well leave her in Cock Lane or drag her up Seethinge Alley.” David pursed his lips, riding to Emeline’s left but staring adamantly ahead. Nicholas, now in front, grinned back at his wife. “There’s the Swan, large and clean. We’ll go there first.”
“You’ve no need to say it, my lord,” Emeline shrugged, tired. “You intend leaving me there while you travel elsewhere without me. May I expect you back before the end of the month?” She ignored the instant cackle behind her.
Nicholas said, “Almost positively my love. Even within the day. But where I intend going, you could not come.”
She clenched her fingers on her reins and brought her horse alongside her husband’s, leaving David Witton in the dust. “You seem to think me exceedingly delicate, my lord, and pretend I’m incapable of facing anything at all. I cannot meet this person, and cannot go to that place. But you bring me past the executioner’s gallows and through a gateway of degeneration and horror.” He continued grinning and did not answer, so she said, a little louder, “And you told me not to bring either my nurse or a maid so I’m entirely dependent on you. But you have three servants, and one is remarkably young. He only appeared when we left Gloucester, so was this the person you went to see when I was forced to stay alone in that nasty little tavern? I was not allowed to meet him – yet it seems you have brought him along with us so I have the pleasure of meeting him every day.”
Nicholas chuckled. “My plans need to be adjusted from time to time. I’m an adaptable soul. Otherwise I wouldn’t be undertaking this venture with a woman in tow. And as for the urchin, he’s simply a waif I didn’t want to leave to starve. Not the brightest brat, and only twelve years old, but he may yet prove useful.”
“He’s small for his age. What unsavoury use do you have in mind?”
“Roasted, I think, when we run out of food. But think, my love. Having no servants at all would hardly please you. I’d be expecting you to unsaddle the horses, and lead the baggage drey. I imagine you might complain.”
“I would never dare complain, my lord,” Emeline said coldly, “when you are such a polite and considerate companion yourself. Besides, I should be terrified you might leave me camped by the river, since you abandon me so regularly however pliant I try to be.”
“Pliant?” hooted Nicholas. “You’re as snappy as a pike and as doleful as a haddock, my dear, but far less biddable. But you’ll share in all the adventures from tomorrow on, I promise you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh the surety of your promises again, my lord. How that fills me with faith and composure.”
“Show off your composure now then, my love, for this is your hostelry for the next couple of nights.” Nicholas waved an arm to his left where a long white limed building stood four stories tall and as grand as a mansion. “I’ve made no advance warning of arrival, so we must now pretend to be respectable or risk being turned away. But you’ll like the place. The food’s good, there’s minstrels sometimes, no rowdy tavern below, and the chambers are spacious. Promise to let me wash your back, and I’ll order a bath set up this evening.” Emeline blushed, one eye to the three men of their company, now dismounting. Nicholas had stopped, and swung his leg over his horse’s back, hopping down quickly, throwing the reins to David, and coming around to help his wife dismount. “Rob and the boy will take the horses to the stables. Come with me now, little one, and you can rest at last.”
“Will you – rest too?” Both hands to her waist, he lifted her down to the hostelry’s open paved courtyard. Then he took her arm and led her to the wide open doors and the flickering candle light within.
“Not exactly,” Nicholas said. “I have other places to go and other things to do. But I’ll join you for supper, I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The sudden and violent banging on the door seemed so unexpected and threatening that Sysabel pulled the covers over her head. “What? What has happened? If it’s Avice you want, she’s not here anymore.”
“No,” Avice shouted from outside the door, “that’s because I’m out here. You have to get up at once and come downstairs. Get dressed quick. Where’s your silly little maid? Does she sleep like a drunken sailor too?”
Having no clear idea how a drunken sailor might sleep, Sysabel emerged from the bed’s cocoon, and looked around. No one else was in the room and the truckle bed where her maid had slept, was now empty. She rubbed her eyes and said, somewhat plaintively, “I wish you’d come in, Avice. I have no idea what you want of me.”
Avice poked her head around the door. “I just want you, silly. Everything is in chaos, your uncle is about to murder everyone and my mother’s having hysterics in the hall. You have to get up. Don’t bother dressing since your maid seems to have run off too.”
They had shared a bed, Avice and Sysabel, since Emeline now occupied a grand guest chamber with her husband. But only Sysabel, tired after the previous day’s journey, had slept in long past dawn. Now she mumbled, “I expect the girl has gone to try and get me some breakfast.”