Chapter 10

The next day Bess stared absently out of the window into the wet street beneath, a bowl balanced on her hip, stirring the sour milk into the dough to make bread. What a day to have to go to the bakehouse. It was Lucy’s half-day off and she was obliged to make the bread herself, though Lucy had at least left the yeast steeping in a bowl.

Below, the bang of the hammer. She could hear no conversation between Will and Jacob – a bad sign. Will was still grim-faced at her. He had no right to be so angry. She’d got Pepys to write to Nicholson, hadn’t she?

She flung more flour into the bowl, and paused as another bout of hammering assaulted her ears. She emptied the dough onto the board, pummelled her fists into the bread, and turned it over with a slap.

Still, how was it her fault, if she was still comely? A glimmer of pride swelled in her chest. It had been nice to be admired. Will hadn’t looked at her like that – like he could eat her, for years. Where had it gone to, all his passion? These days, Will only had eyes for a nice chair back, or a pedestal table. She paused a moment, chest burning with a lost longing, before she pushed the dough roughly into a dome with her knuckles and draped a cloth over it.

How odd that Pepys had taken such a shine to her, and fancy him demanding to see her again. She wouldn’t go. She must let go of these fancies, be a good, plain wife, and abide by her husband’s will.

She went to the change jar that they used for every-day expenses, and shook out a few tokens. Large amounts, like gold coin, Will kept under lock and key in the casket beneath the bed. The change jar rattled with silver coin since Hertford had paid for his chairs, though the amount had dwindled and was even less than she’d thought. And Will hadn’t offered her any more housekeeping, despite the fact there was no meat, and the larder was almost empty. She wondered if he had paid Tyler again, and worried that Bastable would be back soon for the loan money. She hoped Pepys would be a man of his word, and find a good position for Will. Quite apart from them needing the money, it might mend the ill-feeling between them.

With change in hand, she threw a shawl over her head, locked the door and hurried along Butt Lane towards the bakehouse. Outside the sky had turned thundery and pewter-grey and threatened a proper storm. Heaven knows they’d had enough – St Swithin must have it in for Londoners.

The low rumble of thunder in the distance made her speed her step. At the bakehouse she got chatting with a neighbour and it was another half-hour before she ran home, dodging through the heavy rain, the hot bread wound in its cloth and stuffed under her shawl next to her stays.

At the bottom of the outside stairs she listened, but could hear nothing. Will must have decided to stop his fettling, and call it a day. Perhaps now they could talk everything over like civilised folk should. She took the stairs two at a time and elbowed open the door, ready to give Will a big smile.

Her face froze. Will’s cousin Jack was at the kitchen table and the three damp children were squabbling under it.

‘Ah smell that, boys,’ Jack said. ‘Fresh bread!’

Bess’s good humour drained instantly. She reached to put the change in the jar, and was surprised to find it empty except for a few coppers. She looked to Will for an explanation, but he deliberately turned away and dived into the pantry to fetch beer.

‘Tear us a bit off, would you, Toby?’ asked Jack.

The loaf was whipped from her hands, and in a moment there was only the cob-end left, the rest had been devoured.

‘Didn’t you have any dinner?’ Bess asked.

‘Not since yesterday,’ Toby said, his mouth spitting crumbs.

‘Course they have,’ Jack said. He cuffed Toby a sharp clip on the ear without even looking at him. ‘That’s for telling lies.’

Toby’s mouth quivered, but he didn’t cry.

Under the table the other two boys fell silent, watching them with wide eyes. The atmosphere was thick and dark, rain drummed on the roof. Will brought the small beer and poured out cups for everyone, smiling to try to pour oil on Bess’s temper.

Jack took a long draught. ‘We were just passing, and thought we’d drop in.’

‘How’s business?’ Bess asked. She failed to conceal her annoyance. Why he was here in the middle of the day? She prayed they’d go soon.

‘I was just saying to Will, I’ve had a better offer. I’m going into the export business proper. We’ve got a syndicate. A fellow I know has access to a bigger ship. We’ll split the labour, and that way I’ll have more time to spend with my boys.’

He ruffled Toby’s hair, but Toby shrugged him off, uncomfortable.

‘After tonight, that is,’ Jack continued. ‘Will says you can have them tonight, whilst I go and meet my new business partners.’

So that was what it was about. She was to look after the boys, was she? They’d arranged it without even asking her. Bess turned to Will, who busied himself wiping a spill of beer with rapt concentration. Bess curled her fingers into a fist.

‘And who’s involved in this new scheme of yours?’ Bess asked, unable to keep the tartness from her voice. Somehow every conversation with Jack felt like a boxing match.

‘No-one you’d know. Mr Kite and some merchants from the city.’

‘Kite the moneylender?’ Will frowned. ‘He gave us the loan on this house.’

‘Did he? He has contacts in Rotterdam. He’s processing the snuff in the mills there. Its good quality and very cheap, so it will sell like the devil.’

‘What about the quarantine regulations?’ Bess asked. ‘The Plague Orders you were telling us about? You said nothing’s coming in from the Low Countries, not since the pestilence.’

‘Ah. That’s where it’s so clever. There’s no regulations for Rotterdam, only Amsterdam. That’s why it’s such a sure bet. I’m striking whilst the iron’s hot.’

‘But what if—?’

‘It’ll be fine. Don’t worry, your money’ll be safe.’

Your money. She looked to Will, who’d taken a sudden interest in his tankard.

‘Have you invested in this?’ She pierced Will with her words.

‘Sit down, Bess,’ Will said. ‘Have a drink.’

‘I asked if you’d invested.’

‘Jack needed a bit more backing to get the wheel turning, and anyway we’ll get it back soon, and with profit. It’ll double our money, Jack says.’

That was why the jar was nearly empty. It was as if an ice-cold finger pressed on her heart. She put a hand on Will’s arm. ‘Why didn’t you talk to me—?’

‘Does he have to ask your say-so?’ Jack interrupted. ‘Alice never interfered in men’s concerns.’

‘Then it’s no wonder Alice was so miserable,’ Bess flashed.

‘Curb your tongue, Bess,’ Will said, shaking off her hand. ‘Have some respect.’

She tugged at his sleeve.

‘Just a minute, Jack,’ Will said, resisting as she drew him into the kitchen.

‘But you promised me,’ she whispered. ‘“No more”, you said. You said you’d make Jack stand on his own two feet. And he still owes us from the last time. We’re not some bottomless bag, there just to give him a loan.’

Jack’s voice called from the parlour, ‘If I’m going to cause dissent …’

But it’s what you’ve always done, she thought, at precisely the same time as Will called out, ‘No trouble. I’m just fetching more ale.’

Will held up his hands to silence her. ‘He’s right. Leave it to me. It’s only a few angels. It’ll be back in our hands before you know it.’ And he went back through to Jack.

Bess clamped her mouth shut, because it wasn’t good for the boys to hear what she’d really like to say to their father, and because hadn’t she given away an angel herself, one they could ill-spare, to that beggar girl?

When Jack had finally left, she had a sudden uncomfortable thought. She went through to the bedchamber and dragged out the locked casket from under the bed. It was suspiciously light. She lifted one end and listened, no chink of coin, no sound at all from within. It was empty.

‘You stupid man,’ she said.

*

Will sighed. Bess was late to bed, still fussing over the boys who were top to tail on the straw palliasse in the spare room; the one that was supposed to be the chamber for the cook they couldn’t afford.

‘What possessed you?’ she said to him, when she finally got into bed. ‘We’ll not see that money again.’

‘You never give him a chance.’

‘You gave him the money from the casket, didn’t you?’

How did she know? He began to protest, ‘No, I—’

‘I’m not a fool!’ she said. ‘There’s no rattle inside it. I checked.’

‘We’ll get it back.’ He knew his voice sounded sulky and defiant.

Bess propped herself up on her elbow. In the half-light from the street torch outside Will could just make out her face. It was full of disgust.

‘Jack Sutherland is hardly the most reliable businessman is he? How many jobs has he lost in the last year? And those poor boys don’t know if they’re coming or going,’ she said. ‘And that Toby’s turning into a terror.’

‘He’s just lively. He’ll settle soon enough.’

‘Why can’t Jack meet his cronies in the day? You should have gone with him, to see who these men are. Felons and thieves, knowing your Jack.’

‘Rather them than a toad like Pepys.’

‘So that’s what this is about, is it? You’re angry at Pepys, so you think going into business with Jack will make you feel better?’ Her whisper grew louder.

‘I was ashamed. All those clerks laughing behind our backs …’

‘Because I spoke up?’

‘No. Keep your voice down! Because you encouraged him with your smiling and your big cow eyes.’

‘Is that what you think? That I’m at fault? That somehow because Pepys took notice of me, that I’m to blame?’ He couldn’t see her face, but he felt the cut of her rage. ‘I didn’t ask for him to be that way. I was doing it for you! So you’d get into the Guild. Perhaps you would have preferred it if I was rude to him?’

She slipped out of bed, and faced him, dragging the cover with her and holding it to her chest, the sleeves of her chemise pale against the window. Her whisper was penetrating and hoarse, ‘I did it for you. Because you’re not man enough to stand up for yourself.’

The words hit him like a punch in the guts.

‘Is that what you think?’ He leapt out of bed and stumbled into his breeches, hitching the braces over his shoulders.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Getting away from you,’ he snapped. Without bothering with a hat or cloak he floundered down the stairs and out into the night air.

Not man enough echoed in his ears.

Behind him he heard Billy’s voice calling out, ‘Auntie Bess …?’ but Will didn’t stop.

He loped down the street, splashing through the puddles, along the edge of the Deptford Strond and towards the clinking masts of Middle Water Gate. He only slowed when he had to, when the river slid past his feet, oily and black. There, he leant on a wooden paling, felt the solidity of rough timber under his hands, and let his head hang. Women’s moods; he never understood them. But he’d given his heart to Bess, and though she infuriated him, the thought that he’d disappointed her bit deep.

He gazed into the shifting undulation of the water without really seeing it. Bess’s accusation that he lacked courage had wounded him. Because he knew it was true; that had she not been there, he would have just agreed with Pepys, and left, with no promise from him or a word of recommendation to Nicholson and the Guild.

Bess had a forceful streak he didn’t understand, as if she was goading him all the time, and the more she pushed, the more evasive he became. When she did that, he felt himself turning to water, but he couldn’t help it.

He re-played the scene in his mind; Pepys’s lips pressing onto the back of Bess’s hand, his slightly lascivious smile. Will’s whole chest felt hollow so he had to place both hands there and press them to his heart.

‘You’re an ass, Will Bagwell,’ he said to himself. He remembered his own obsequiousness and cringed. She was right. He should have spoken up, made it clear to Pepys that he was in charge, not Bess.

He pushed himself up from the fence, and taking in a deep breath of brackish air, headed up in long strides past the Powder House towards Deptford Creek. Perhaps Jack was right, and Bess was too unruly. But then again, Bess and Jack were always like baited wolves, circling and snapping at each other.

Bess had never understood about him and Jack; why he found Jack so hard to refuse. When Will was only twelve his father had impressed on him that Jack had lost his parents, so he must be kind, and look out for him. Any hint of unkindness to Jack, and his father’s belt came out. Now looking after Jack was a pattern that was hard to break. Besides, he felt mean-spirited if he denied him. He’d known him all his life. He was like a brother. And today, he thought ruefully, Jack had been at his persuasive best.

‘You’ll double your money, easy,’ Jack had said.

And what a relief that would be. He’d been carried away with it. With the thought it would pay off Kite and the debt would be gone.

The loan was like a tourniquet; he felt it every day; squeezing, cutting off the blood.

‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ Jack had said. So he’d emptied the casket too, as well as the coin in the jar. Ten pounds. What was left of Hertford’s money added to their little emergency fund. The money that by rights should buy wood for his next commission. But there was no commission in sight, and he gambled that Pepys, curse him, might come up with something.

The thought of all that gold made him catch his breath. And he hadn’t realised Kite, the moneylender, was involved in Jack’s new venture. They already owed him for the house, and now more of Will’s precious coin would be going into Kite’s pocket.

But still, Bess shouldn’t be querying his judgements on business, and if he wanted to invest in Jack’s snuff trade, then why the hell not? It would be all right. If snuff was as lucrative as Jack said it was, the loan would be paid off by next year and then they’d both be rich men. Trouble was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be rich. Peace was all he wanted. Peace and a lump of wood in his hands.