***
The journey took an eternity. Owen Elias was soon regretting his offer to safeguard the drunken Jonas Applegarth. The playwright kept stopping in the street to accuse innocent by-standers of unspeakable crimes, to hurl verbal thunderbolts at every church they passed, to kick at the stray dogs which yapped at his heels and to relieve himself unceremoniously against any available wall. When Elias tried to remonstrate with him, Applegarth either turned his vituperation on the Welshman or embraced him tearfully while vowing undying friendship.
Celtic patience finally snapped. Applegarth reviled him once too often and Elias expressed his displeasure in the most direct way. Grabbing the bigger man by the scruff of the neck, he dragged him towards a horse-trough and threw him in head-first. Applegarth hit the water with a fearsome splash. His face was submerged for a full minute as he emitted a hideous gurgling sound. Then he managed to haul himself out of the trough and fell to the ground.
He lay there twitching violently like a giant cod on the deck of a fishing vessel. His clothes were sodden, his hair and beard dripping and his hat floating in a puddle beside him. After expelling a pint of water from his mouth, he let out a bellow of anger and tried to get up. Elias put a foot in the middle of his chest to hold him down. Applegarth replied with an even louder bellow but it soon gave way to rumbling laughter. Instead of lambasting his colleague, he turned his derision upon himself.
‘Look at me!’ he said, wobbling with mirth. ‘The most brilliant playwright in London, flat on his back in the mire! The greatest ale-drinker in England, spewing out rank water. The fattest belly in Christendom, staring up at the sky! Is this not a pretty sight, Owen?’
‘You deserved it.’
‘Indeed, I did.’
‘You went well beyond the bounds of fellowship.’
‘I am the first to acknowledge it.’
‘The horse-trough was the best place for you.’
‘No, my friend,’ said Applegarth, as remorse wiped the grin from his wet face. ‘It is too elevated a station for me. A swamp would be a fitter home. A ditch. A dunghill. Find me a hole big enough and I’ll crawl into it with the other vermin. Why do I do it, Owen?’
‘I’ll tell you in the morning when you’re sober.’
Reaching down, he took the other in a firm grip and heaved backwards. Jonas Applegarth swung slowly upright. He looked down at the state of his apparel with revulsion.
‘My wife will assault me!’ he moaned.
‘There may be others keen to do that office for her.’
‘My doublet is stained, my breeches torn, my stockings past repair. I am an insult to her tailoring.’ He felt his head in a panic. ‘Where’s my hat? Where’s my hat?’
‘Here,’ said Elias, retrieving it from the puddle.
‘I dare not go home like this.’
‘You will and you must, Jonas.’
‘What will my wife say?’
‘That is her privilege. But I marvel that you rail against religion so when you must be married to a saint. Who else would put up with you?’
‘True, true, Owen,’ agreed the other. ‘She is a saint.’
‘A martyr to her husband.’
Applegarth remained solemn and silent all the way home. He was a sorry sight as he was admitted to the house by a servant. Elias waited long enough to hear the first shriek of complaint from the resident saint before turning away. Movement in the shadows then alerted him. He was reminded why he had accompanied Applegarth in the first place.
Pulling out his dagger, he ran diagonally across the street to the lane on the opposite side but he was too slow. All he caught was the merest glimpse of a man, darting down the lane before disappearing into the rabbit warren of streets beyond it. Elias stabbed the air in his anger.
They had been followed.
***
Anne Hendrik counted out the coins and handed them over.
‘There, Ambrose,’ she said with relief. ‘’Tis done!’
‘Thank you.’
‘My debt is cleared at last.’
‘There was no hurry to repay me,’ he said, putting the coins into his purse. ‘And I am far more in your debt than you in mine. No amount of money can ever discharge that obligation.’
‘I have done nothing.’
‘Is saving a man’s life nothing? Is giving him fresh hope nothing? You did all that for me and more.’
‘I think not.’
‘Every penny I have is yours for the asking.’
‘We can pay our own way again now.’
‘You must know how much you mean to me, Anne.’
She turned away and resumed her seat in order to avoid what she sensed might be an embarrassing declaration. They were in the parlour of her house in Bankside. The butcher stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, peeved that the settlement of her debt had deprived him of an excuse to call on a regular basis and searching for a means to secure a more permanent mooring in her affections.
‘I acted out of simple friendship,’ she said.
‘Is that all that it will remain?’
‘For the moment, Ambrose.’
‘And in time?’
‘Who knows what the future will hold?’
‘Who indeed?’ he agreed, shaking his head ruefully. ‘A year ago, I was the most contented of men. I had a happy marriage, a son I adored and a business that was thriving. What else could anyone ask? Then, suddenly…’ He clapped his hands together. ‘I lost it all. My dear wife died, my son was taken from me by deed of impressment, and I had no pleasure from my occupation. What was the point in struggling on?’
‘There is always a point, Ambrose.’
‘You taught me that.’
‘I, too, lost my dearest partner.’
‘But not your child as well.’
‘No,’ she conceded sadly. ‘Not my child. The joys of motherhood were denied me and that is a grievous loss in itself.’ She brightened. ‘Besides, your son has not left you for ever. Philip is still alive and like to return to you before too long. Nick will see to that.’
‘Will he?’
‘Put your trust in him.’
‘It is growing difficult to do so.’
‘Ambrose!’ she scolded.
‘You saw the way he rounded on me. He is supposed to be helping Philip, not accusing the boy’s father with such severity. I am sorry, Anne, but I begin to have serious doubts about Nick Bracewell.’
‘Then you do not know him as well as I.’
‘That is another cause of my discomfort.’
He moved away to hide the surly expression on his face. When he turned back to her, it was with a slow smile and a surge of ungainly affection.
‘I have written to Philip again today,’ he said.
‘Your letters will be a comfort to him.’
‘He is old enough to be told now. To understand.’
‘Understand?’
‘What an angel of mercy you have been. Without you to rescue me, I would have given in. Philip knows that. He always liked you, Anne. He always talked kindly of you. It will make such a difference to him. Philip was much closer to his mother than to me but that is only natural. It will make such a difference.’
‘I do not follow.’
‘A child needs a proper home, Anne.’
‘He has one.’
‘He has a house but something is missing from it.’
Anne realised what he was trying to say to her and steeled herself. In paying off her debt she had hoped to lighten the weight of his friendship, but she had merely given him the cue to translate it into a deeper relationship.
‘I know that I have little enough to offer,’ he began, planting himself before her. ‘Jacob Hendrik was a decent, God-fearing, conscientious man and I could never be the husband to you that he was. But I swear to you-’
‘That is enough,’ she interrupted. ‘I would prefer it if you said no more on that subject.’
Robinson was hurt. ‘Have I offended you?’
‘No, Ambrose.’
‘Do you find me so revolting, then?’
‘You are a good man with many qualities.’