Bertha came back almost before I realized she had gone, helping me up off the stool and pulling my clothes into shape.
‘I’ve fixed you a room,’ she said. ‘Small back one, out the way o’ pryin’ eyes. But the bed’s comfortable. You c’n ’ave yer meals there, too if you wants to.’ She seemed pleased with herself, as well she might be. ‘Ain’t cost you much, either.’ She winked lasciviously. ‘Landlord owes me a favour.’
I preferred not to dwell too much on the implications of this remark and followed her meekly out of the hut and across the quay. I guessed it was probably getting close to dinner time, but for once the thought of food made me feel queasy, and the smell of cooking that emanated from many of the houses as we passed turned my stomach.
I knew the Rattlebones by sight but had never been inside. To my relief, it seemed a lot more salubrious within than it looked without, and the landlord himself, a jolly-faced, curly-haired fellow, wore a fresh shirt and apron. Also his nails were reasonably clean. Nevertheless, there was a furtive atmosphere about the place. I doubted if anyone who was not a friend of, or at least known to, mine host would penetrate very far beyond the door and not meet opposition of some sort or another. Happily, he was obviously on good terms with Bertha.
More money — my money — changed hands and Bertha clapped me on the arm.
‘I’ve paid fer two nights, so’s you c’n stay till Sunday if you wishes. Otherwise you knows where I be. Come ’n get yer stuff — ’ she nudged me meaningfully — ‘before you leaves.’ And then she was gone.
The landlord led me up two flights of stairs to a small chamber at the back of the house. It was not home from home, but there was a bed that looked inviting and proved to have a goose feather mattress and down-filled pillows. So I pulled off my boots, flung my hat on the floor, shut my eyes against the whirling ceiling and was soundly and deeply asleep in less than two minutes.
EIGHTEEN
I awoke with a great start and sat up abruptly, unable for the moment to get my bearings.
I had been dreaming, not for the first time during this past week, of Eloise Gray. It had been an unusually vivid dream, but on this occasion she had been dressed as a boy, the guise in which I had originally known her. The clothes had not deceived me and I had been fully aware of her sex, in spite of the fact that I had addressed her on several occasions as ‘Davy’.
The dream faded as I stared about me, tense and anxious, trying to remember where I was, then slowly relaxing as the evnts of the past two days began to take shape in my mind. I was in a small, back chamber of the Rattlebones tavern, in Southwark, and I had been asleep since early that same morning.
I reckoned it was now late afternoon or early evening. There was a subtle difference in the light filtering between the cracks of the closed shutters, and a different rhythm to the sounds that ascended from the bowels of the inn. Moreover, I was feeling ravenous, hardly surprising as I must have slept throughout dinner and, possibly, even supper time — although in such a place food was probably to be had at any hour of the day or night.
Carefully, I swung my legs to the floor and stood up, flexing my arms. There was still some stiffness in my limbs and the various bruises decorating my person protested slightly, reminding me that my body had been seriously knocked about during my passage down the drain into the Thames. But the dizziness and nausea had passed, leaving me feeling considerably fitter than I had done, despite the dull ache that still nagged at the back of my head. Whoever had dealt me the blow, had used a force that had surely been intended to kill, or at least to render me unconscious long enough for the river to complete the job.
Which brought me to the question of who my assailant had been. Now that I knew about the Sisterhood, the so-called Daughters of Albion, and now that Rosina Copley was most likely one of them, it could have been her or indeed any of her three companions from the Boar’s Head. The four women had left the inn well in advance of me. They had failed to notice my presence, and so my sudden intrusion into the underground chamber of St Etheldreda’s Church must have come as a nasty shock for whoever was down there making preparations for. . For what? My mind balked at the answer and I found that I was shivering violently.
I sat down again on the edge of the bed, my arms wrapped around my body, and waited for the fit to pass. I had not recovered from my ordeal as well as I had thought and must therefore take things carefully. My first priority was food and ale, although I decided that I could also do with a wash: the rancid smell of Bertha’s hut still clung about me. My other desperate need was to relieve myself, but that was easily dealt with. I simply threw back the shutters, knelt up on a chest that stood beneath the window and peed into the courtyard below, a long, steady, golden stream that sparkled in the evening sunlight.
There was an indignant cry. Hastily adjusting my clothes, I leant out of the casement and found myself looking down into a pretty, dimpled face, at present marred by a furious scowl. The girl wore an apron over a grey homespun gown, and her abundant brown curls were partially covered by a triangle of white cloth, indicating her status as a serving-maid at the inn.
‘Just give a warning before you do that again,’ she hissed up at me. ‘I might’ve been drenched. As it is, you’ve splashed my skirt.’
I apologized profusely. It wouldn’t be too much to say I grovelled, and was rewarded beyond my deserts by the gradual lightening of her features into an impish grin.
‘You’re forgiven,’ she said after a while. ‘You’re that man who’s been asleep all day. Aren’t you hungry?’
‘Starving,’ I agreed. I hesitated, then asked, ‘If I come down to the ale room, is there a secluded corner where I can hide away, without being noticed too much by the other drinkers?’
She laughed. ‘Like that, is it? Oh well, you’ll be in good company. More’n half the people who come to the Bones don’ want t’ be noticed. Folk with prying noses aren’t encouraged round here. But if you like, I’ll bring victuals up to your room.’
I thanked her, but I was already heartily sick of the featureless little chamber and felt the need of company to banish the hideous images floating around in my brain.
‘I’ll be down immediately,’ I said, ‘if you’ll serve me.’
She gave me a provocative, upwards glance from beneath drooping lashes and swung her hips.
‘I daresay that can be managed,’ she said.
A few minutes later, having made myself as presentable as possible, I descended the stairs to find her waiting for me.
She jerked her head in the direction of the ale room. ‘Follow me. I know just the place where you won’t be seen.’
The place was crowded, but not a single head was lifted, nor one curious glance turned in my direction as I followed in the girl’s wake to a seat in one corner of the room. Nevertheless, I felt sure that my presence had been noted and was under discussion by everyone there, although I was unable to justify the feeling. The subdued laughter, the conversation might have related to any topic under the sun, but I was certain that they related to me. The air was charged with a suspicion deliberately masked and the atmosphere crackled with resentment. Then the landlord himself approached, according me a discreet bow, and the sensation immediately vanished. I had been accepted and was no longer seen as a threat.
The bench to which the girl had shown me was a high-backed settle placed along one wall and sheltered from the general view by just such another settle at right angles to it, the seat facing away from mine into the room at large and its back acting as a protective screen.
‘This secluded enough for you?’ my guide asked with a grin, and when I nodded, returning smile for smile, she again swung her hips invitingly. ‘The mutton’s good tonight,’ she offered. ‘It’ll put beef into you.’ She giggled self-consciously in the manner of one making a feeble joke.