"You are a trouble to me, wench," he said. "Mistress Margery said that I must save your life, and indeed, two corpses in my house would be an embarras de richesses for one night. Now you must go. I give you half an hour."
A wild idea to follow Bentley came to her, but she was naked, beaten, and did not know where to go. The vision in one eye appeared blurred, she could not rightly see.
"But ... but I have protection here. Sir Ar No, I cannot give his name. And Dr. Marigold."
"I am Dr. Marigold. I had hopes of you, but I fear your looks are gone. That gentleman who pays for you gave me discretion, as is normal. He will not complain."
"But, sir '
But Marigold had turned, and Marigold was gone. One of the flunkies gestured with his torch, lasciviously, and in its gleam she recognised Mrs. Putnam. Some minutes afterwards, in a cloak, she was led to the older woman's room, and given brandy and some washing water, and shortly some of her own stouter, outdoor clothes, brought by a girl from her own suite. The body, Margery told Deb, was gone from out of it, as soon would every trace of her inhabitation also be. She showed a purse with money in, that she would donate from the goodness of her heart, but implied the maid had brought the trouble on herself. When Deb - a shadow of her spirit stirring in her challenged that, Mistress Margery sighed, and said it was the times, the times. Which, strangely, reminded her of old Sir A, and made her cry again.
"He says I've lost my looks," she said. "That Marigold. But I have never seen him, how should he know? Oh Margery, it is not true though, is it?"
"The times he's looked at you, only your face was bruised, maid. Now you're bruised all over, and you're scalped in parts, as if Virginny savages had got at you. Nay, your looks will grow again, don't fret, the reason he wants rid of you is scandal, a thing he can't afford here, in any wise. That's what it boils down to, maid, just money, like everything in this world we live in, where all are money mad. You have brought scandal here, you must allow, since the very moment that you came. That mountebank attacks the house and kills that thin girl, what was her name again, that Cynthia, and now he's dead and in the Fleet or in some lime pit if I know Marigold. Just because he looks a fop, dear, don't mean he ain't a man of hardest stone. Cecily, poor Cecily, see, I ain't forgot her, bless her soul. She cried to me the day before she died, of a town called ... Stockport? And a river with an ugly name, the goitre, or some such. Now, what was it?"
"The Goyt. The name is bad but it is very lovely. The Goyt, the Tame, the Mersey." Deb had dried her tears, but they still leaked down on her cheeks. She sniffed, hard, and shuddered. "But can he throw me out? What will Sir Arthur say? My good protector?"
"What the hell he likes," said Margery. "No skin off Dr. Marigold's appendages. Look, there's a bit of money there, go find yourself a lodging, some cheap house. Or even wander home, back to the River Goitre. There's not enough to take a coach but carters will do a little trade in my experience, and you're safe enough from pimps and whore masters in your current state. Go home and fright your ma to death, she'll box your ears but probably forgive you, as mas must do. You could try your "protector", I suppose, but you'd be a fool, in my opinion. It's not every maiden that Marigold kicks out for bringing murder to his house, I can tell you that much. This "Sir Arthur" would be good indeed if he did not merely bar the gates to you, when he could have you hanged for certain. Listen in a month or two you'll have your face again. Get some good cheap lodging and when you're right you can go whoring for yourself. That's the best way up the ladder, maid. Do that."
Deb, silent but no longer tearful, contemplated her future, but saw only Will Bentley, being dragged away to join a ship. She was the maiden in the song, in all the songs, the maiden weeping on the shore, her sailor gone away.
"Where is the Adur?" she asked Margery. "What is "the Adur way"?"
The matron shook her head.
"There's a River Adur down near Shoreham and Portslade. I left Sussex when a kid, but I'm pretty sure of that. The Arun, the Adur, and the Ouse, through Lewes. I was born at Burgess Hill, I couldn't stand the quiet. Why, do you know '
But Deb's face cut off reminiscence. She stood, distracted, and said she had to leave, which was quite right, her time was more than up. Rain spattered on the window, and it was cold outside, but she thought she would go there, to Sussex and the Adur, where she pretended that she hoped she might find Samuel.
"How will I get there?" she asked Margery. "There is someone I must give a message to."
Mrs. Putnam's eyes were full of pity.
"Maiden; maid," she said. "Stay in London, where you might be safe. Don't go out on the roads alone at night, or you will die."
When Deborah left the house, she took a wicked little knife the woman gave to her. It might serve equally, to save her life, or end it.
Sam Holt had been betrayed, but the chaos of the landing and the night came close to saving him. In any way, he'd been in his home country for several days, had spoken to people, had spent cash -Sir A's and knew the secret house as clear as day and had a vantage point that should have been impregnable. He had seen men he had known since early days as respectable, upstanding pillars of the eastern community, and had seen one man arrive from Hampshire one man of several of a similar type and order whom he had recognised. He had only seen Will Bentley's father once before but he had no doubt, however much it saddened and alarmed him. Now Christ, he thought, how do I tell my dear friend that?
Will Bentley, in the yawl out in the ever-wilder Channel, was moving, through Celine, to sad awareness of his own. She had awoken him as the weather had deteriorated, suggesting that they might be better off, in fact, to up and run for France, which was at that point not so very far away. She couched it in the nature of a jest, but when he was wakeful and aware, Will could see merit in it, from a seaman's angle. The northerly was blasting fiercer, with a heavy sea running offshore, confused by a counter tide. The surface was broken and ugly, with gouts of heavy water rising abrupt from any quarter, threatening to swamp. Had he not been so dead with exhaustion he would have woken naturally, and within a minute he was bailing hard. The boat was good, though, with another reef to take, and when he'd emptied her he dropped the sail and she rolled safe and comfortable in the troughs while they tied the last one in.
"She'll do," he said. "We'll work her closer in to get some lee. You could have run me off to France but did not, and I thank you for it. If you wish to go on shore in England, rather than risk your life out here, I would be proud to take you, if not pleased. By which I mean," he added, flustered, "by which I mean, you are such a ... by which I mean, your help is very vital, and that is a pleasure, very great."
She was laughing, her brown face frank and easy, although drawn and pale with tiredness.
"You are such a gallant boy," she said, 'so gal ant I am old enough to be your sister, is that English?" and that is how I treat you, I could not dream of leaving you alone. No, she will serve, or "do", as you put it, and I am as determined to help Sam Holt as you are. And Mary Broad, and Kate, and Isa and the rest. It is you that '
Will had been thinking that his sisters were both younger, and not in any way at all like this young woman. But her breaking off alerted him, and the way she turned her face away.