“Well, I’m proper honoured to be called a friend,” said Harry, relaxing. “I’m just glad you didn’t break my wrist, m’lor’, which feels like you surely could’ve. That woulda spoiled me career real nasty.”
“A failed career, I imagine,” Nicholas said, “since your creeping fingers were as obvious as that poor wretched bear just offloaded.”
Harry scratched his chin. “You’ve never bin to the bear pit in Southwark, m’lor? Nor set a wager for beast ’gainst hounds? Then you’ve not lived to the full is all I can say. And as for wretched, ’tis a beast with all the temper and cruelty of a Frenchie missing his dinner. Them buggers come from the forests of Calabria – and kills as sure as be killed, they tells me. Evil is as evil does, I say, and merits death.”
“I consider the Southwark bear pits even more hideous than the Southwark brothels,” Nicholas said.
“Can’t afford neither,” said Harry sadly. “Wish I could.”
“Your brother,” Nicholas told him without noticeable sympathy, “is waiting for us in the Katherine Tavern. I have a job for you both.” He turned away, watching one of the cob’s sailors striding towards him. “And I see the man I came to meet, who will tell me whether the job is urgent, or otherwise.”
It was later that afternoon when Nicholas rejoined his wife. She was in the small private solar attached to the hostelry bedchamber, and she had been watching his approach from the adjacent window. She was therefore prepared, and when he entered the room she ignored him and continued with her supper. She had ordered her own apple codlings.
He said, “You don’t seem overjoyed to see me,” threw his gloves to the window seat, kicked off his boots and tossed them to the small empty hearth, and strode quickly over to sit beside her. “Hungry as usual, I see? With luck we’ll find the Strand House still employs its Florentine chef.”
That made her turn towards him. “Oh gracious fortune, we’re going there at last, then? So we really shall have a proper home and stop this hideous journeying and moving and sleeping in other people’s beds?”
“Well, hopefully you’ll be sleeping in mine.”
She discarded the last apple codling into its syrup, and threw her arms around her husband’s neck. “Oh – wonderful. It’s been three wretched days in this horrid place, and ages and ages on the road, and before that it was Maman’s and that lumpy bed, and before that it was more travelling, and Adrian’s house for half a night until we were all threatened with disease and death – and before that –”
“The fire,” nodded Nicholas, “and sleeping in the west tower with the smell of soot to flavour the porridge. What a delightful marital experience you’ve enjoyed so far, my dear. Didn’t you believe me when I promised you adventure?”
“This isn’t adventure. It’s torture.”
“Since I’ve been threatened with torture more than once, I can assure you it’s something way beyond the boredom of travel, my dear.” He grinned at her, spooned up the single apple codling she had discarded, and ate it himself. Mouth full, he continued, “And now I suppose I should explain what’s been happening, and what will probably happen next.”
“Your loyal squire,” Emeline informed him, “has been explaining matters in your absence. At least there’s someone in your employ with manners and intelligence who takes me seriously enough to tell me what to expect.”
“How can I tell you what’s on the next horizon when I don’t know myself,” objected Nicholas, “and if Witton has been explaining it all to you, then perhaps he should explain it all to me.”
“And he told me all about the Strand House too,” she smiled, remaining determinedly affable. “He said it used to belong to your grandfather, who left it to the whole family to use at will. And since your father was the eldest and inherited the title, he has prime claim, but he’s not at the castle then he’s usually at court so the house stays empty. Your uncle Jerrid, who sounds rather sweet, uses it sometimes, and so does Adrian. Your aunt Elizabeth used to stay there when she was younger, especially before her husband was killed at Tewkesbury. And Mister Witton told me you often go there, but it depends on the secrecy of your movements, and sometimes you prefer to go to a rather less salubrious address which actually belongs to him, close by The Tower. He says I wouldn’t like it there, which is why you haven’t taken me.” Nicholas was frowning, so she hurried on, “What David Witton did not tell me was why on earth you like to be so secretive all the time. Why would you hide in a tiny little place belonging to your servant, when you could stay in a grand house amongst the palaces of the nobility?”
Nicholas sighed. “Probably because I’m pissed half the time, like my father.” He smiled suddenly. “It’s the only reason I’ve bought you some decent clothes of course – so I can borrow them from time to time.”
“So,” Emeline refused to giggle, “we remove to the Strand House tomorrow morning? Have you discovered whether Adrian is there already?”
“He isn’t,” Nicholas told her, “which is the main reason I’m prepared to take you there. The less I see of the rest of the family, the better. But I warn you, we’ll receive visitors from time to time. Too many people know of the place. Even your wretched father knew of it. He kept hinting that he ought to be invited, since he wanted a close place to use for gaining access to court and the king’s ear.”
Emeline looked up, startled. “Don’t tell me the king may come calling?”
Nicholas regarded her for a moment, eyes narrowed. “I wonder just how much Witton has actually told you, my dear. But in any case, his highness does not trot around to call on his subjects at whim. If he wants to see anyone, he summons them to court. But you will meet him, since I suppose I shall have to take you to Westminster Palace at some time.”
Emeline’s frown blossomed into a blazing smile. “Oh, gracious heavens. A new gown then. Baudekyn?”
“No doubt,” grinned her husband. “And perhaps one for you too.”
It dawned fine and clear, with birdsong, the church bells chiming for Prime, and the Thames at low tide. Sprats jumped in the shallows and the dragonflies dipped iridescent reflections from water to wing. The gardens all along the Strand sloped down to the riverbanks, grass sprigged with daisies. Emeline stood, her feet in the clover and her hands clasped in delight, gazing up at the long house. She exclaimed, “It is marvellous,” seemingly transfixed.
“Then get inside,” said Nicholas, “before it starts to rain.”
Half bricked with a wooden framed central entrance, the house was full three storeys high. Peaked garret windows peeped beneath a proud slate roof with four groups of towering chimneys. The lower windows, overlooking the river, were large mullioned and bright, all fully glassed. Emeline breathed deep. “Oh, blessed miracles and bounty, there will be light.”
“There’ll be rain too,” insisted Nicholas. “The sky’s clouded over and those clouds threaten thunder. Harry and the boy are stabling the horses and Rob and David have the baggage in hand. Alan, my other man, is already based here. If you need anything, my sweet, while I’m not around, then ask Alan or David. I trust them both entirely. Now come quickly, my love, let me show you the Chatwyn attempt at comfort.”
The rain began with a great sloshing downpour, huge heavy drops pounding on the roof and streaming from the overhang of the upper storey. The house had started to bustle and the grand door was flung wide. Against the outside thrum, the steward clapped his hands and summoned the servants from their apathy. Hippocras was set to warm, the fire was lit in the kitchen hearth, cauldrons unearthed and cupboards explored for supplies. The pantry woke, the buttery heaved into action, the spicery was dusted and the candles were aflame in the hall and in the sconces up the main staircase.