It was a relief to see him go. With my conviction that Raphe would inform about all of my activities as soon as he met his uncle, Blount must be impressed to hear how I dealt with Seymour. I only hoped Seymour was not somehow a friend to Blount.
I sat back, musing over the affair once more. So much had happened: it was baffling. But I am always a careful fellow. Not for me the panic and tantrums of the feeble-minded. Not for me the sudden burst of terror. I am made of sterner stuff. Instead, I started to think about the people involved in the affair. Geoffrey was only interested in his brother’s death, of course. He wanted to know who had tampered with my powder. Hal Westmecott was responsible for the condition of the powder since he had possessed the bag that evening. I had thought that the fool might have got the powder damp by accident, leaving it on a wet table in a tavern, but what if he had meant to disable it? Could he not have made the powder wet on purpose, so that he had an excuse to blackmail me into helping him find his wife? He could have so dampened the powder as to make it unusable. After all, I had wondered whether someone could have met Westmecott in a tavern somewhere and made the powder damp. But who could have known where he would be, and that he would have a bag of black powder on his person? No, it was ridiculous.
What if he didn’t want Moll because she was his wife? What if he was only ever in the pay of the Seymours? Perhaps he wanted Moll because they told him to find her? But no, that was lunacy. The Seymours were happy with the service Geoffrey’s brother had provided in baptizing the boy. Why would they willingly let Hal kill the priest? Unless, of course, he had not mentioned to them that he was going to do that. They might have had no idea that he contemplated giving Geoffrey’s brother a slow, lingering death just so that he could blackmail me into finding Moll.
In any case, I began to feel more comfortable. I allowed myself to think that, with a little good fortune, the whole affair would soon be over for me. The boy had disappeared courtesy of Humfrie, the woman Moll was in the care of the Seymours, and Hal Westmecott knew where she was. My tasks seemed to be coming to an end.
After all, if my master demanded to know why he had not heard of the child’s death, I could happily tell him that the child had been ‘removed’, and the mother was even now at the house of Edward Seymour. Master Blount need never hear of them again, once we had liberated Moll. She had to be removed, else her evidence ended up in Queen Mary’s hands.
If Blount chose to question my integrity, or demand to see the body of Seymour, I would reply coolly that he only need question my servant, his spy, about whether I was responsible for executing those who displeased me, and learn that Anthony Seymour’s body had been thrown into the Thames. If he wished to go hunting from London’s wharves all the way to the coast in search of a body, he was welcome to do so, but he could not expect me to go with him. I had better things to do with my time.
For now, I was left with the delightful prospect of meeting Humfrie and letting him know what was planned. In fact, I was surprised that he had not been back yet. I had expected him to return before now. No doubt Blount was interrogating Raphe with enthusiasm about the last days.
Now, admittedly, my next action was perhaps not the wisest, but my mind was running on two parallel roads. One was all about Humfrie and my protection, while the second was fixed rather more firmly on the woman in the house opposite. I was wondering whether her husband was at home, and whether she would welcome an invitation to sup wine or a little strong ale. Not that I was going to knock on her door. After all, her husband might be at home. Besides, I have always tried to have a golden rule in my philandering: never to enjoy the affections of those living nearest to me. If I were to go and introduce myself, and anything were to happen, and we engaged in a happy coupling, her husband knew where I lived. But even golden rules are made to be broken occasionally.
I moved my foot nervously at the thought of an enraged cuckold banging on the door. My boot’s sole caught, and I glanced down at the dampness where Anthony Seymour’s blood had been washed away by Raphe. The moisture had dissipated somewhat, and that was a relief. If Edward were to come here, it would be hard to see that a man had died in my house. And then I realized. Suddenly, I felt my spirit quail.
He knew where I lived!
‘Oh, dear heavens! God’s wounds!’
I dare wager you have already spotted this, but I assure you that it had not occurred to me until that moment: Westmecott had taken the body away from here. He knew that I had slain Anthony, and he had taken the body away. And then he had gone straight to the Seymours’ house at Whitehall. He must have told them! They must know that I had killed Anthony! I looked about me at the floor.
Edward must be on his way here to see me!
Westmecott and Seymour both knew perfectly well where I lived.
Yes, that was when I began to panic.
There was only one thing to do. I hurried upstairs, but the woman opposite (what was her name?) was no longer in her bedchamber. The drapery had been withdrawn, but she was nowhere to be seen. I stared over the gap wistfully. It would have been good to see her, to discover if she would do more than raise an eyebrow. And then I heard steps in the street. I craned my neck close to the glass to peer down, but it was only a man with a great bale of goods on his back. When I looked back over the way, she was there.
She wore a tunic with an apron bound about her waist. Her bosoms strained against the thin material, and her hair was demurely locked away under her coif. She looked the perfect embodiment of serenity and femininity, I thought, gazing at her. There were more steps below, but I could see no one under the overhang of my jetty. I held my breath. They were right under me now. When I listened, the steps continued along the way, and I could breathe again. Looking over, I gestured to indicate I could go over to join her. Her face stiffened, and she glanced behind her. I guessed she was thinking about her servants, but then she looked back at me and nodded.
I cast a glance down into the street again. No sign of Westmecott or Seymour to left or right up the lane, and soon I was hurtling down the stairs, rushing to the door and drawing the bolts. There was only the lock remaining, and I turned the key and opened the door, and as I did so, I stopped.
The woman who had knocked me down and scarred my jaw was in the doorway, her knife at my face, and she stepped into the house, pushing me back while I whimpered, staring at the horribly shiny blade.
I do not think it was unreasonable for me to be alarmed. This maddened harpy had appeared several times, and never had she heralded anything to my benefit. My jaw still stung where that damned knife had marked me, and my head was still feeling battered from her blow when she had stunned me, and now the knife was back in her hand and threatening me.
No, it was perfectly reasonable to be anxious at the sight of her crazed features.
There are men, such as Blount or Humfrie, who would take this kind of event in their stride. They would dart back, perhaps slam the door in her face, knock her knife hand aside, deliver a blow to the side of her head, or something similar, and wrestle the knife from her feeble, womanly grasp.
I confess, I am not cast from that mould. Instead, I gave a sharp cry and tripped over Hector, who had chosen that moment to come and see what I was doing. He yelped, I gave a loud cry of ‘Ballocks!’ and the woman slid in and closed the door quietly behind her. I heard the key turn in the lock.
At that moment I had other matters to occupy me. One was the benighted mongrel. I was on the ground again, and my arse had hit it heavily; I was forced to sit there rubbing my backside while glaring at the bitch with baleful anger and fear. All I could think right then was, if I’d left a minute or two earlier, I could even now be resting my head between the bounteous bubbies of the woman over the road, but no, as usual Fate had stepped in with a mallet and bludgeoned my potentially beautiful future.
‘What in God’s name are you doing? Who on earth are you?’ I demanded.
Now I could see her more distinctly, I was much less alarmed than the last time she had me at her mercy.
‘As if you don’t know,’ she sneered.
‘No. I don’t.’
‘I am the wife of Hal Westmecott.’
It was obvious to me that she must be mad. After all, I knew what Moll looked like, and the last time I saw this woman, she had told me to leave Alice alone. I goggled at her on hearing that. ‘What is your name?’
‘I am Alice.’
Now I could smile. ‘Then you aren’t the wife of Hal Westmecott. His wife is called Moll. He told me so.’
‘Are you really so stupid?’
‘What?’
‘You thought you could take poor Molly and her charge and sell their lives! I ought to kill you right now!’
She took a step forward as if persuaded, and I scrabbled my way back. Hector thought this enormous fun and started to leap up at me. I had to batter the foolish creature away while trying to keep an eye on the mad tramp before me. ‘No! Wait! Look! Westmecott came to me and asked me to find his wife and son for him. It was only later I heard that he wasn’t married, and that she had been a wet-nurse. I had no idea. I thought I was bringing a family back together, that was all.’
‘You think me as stupid as you?’ she demanded, the knife giving off nasty blue/grey flashes as she swept it from side to side, approaching me.
‘No!’ I squeaked as the knife came closer. ‘I was hired by Westmecott to find his wife, or so he said. When I learned the boy wasn’t his, I wasn’t going to take the lad to him.’
‘You were at Whitehall today with the Seymours.’
‘Yes, and they chased me all the way to Temple Bar, almost. I was trying to persuade Moll to come with me, so I could release her. The boy isn’t there – I sent him away for safekeeping.’
‘And Westmecott told you to find them for him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘He’s your man! Why do you ask me?’ I demanded, not unreasonably, I think.
She looked at me coolly. There was that calm serenity in her eyes that spoke of either large quantities of alcohol, or a religious conviction that was set several levels above mine. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a heretic, but there are some people whom you meet who can plainly see heaven before them. All too often they are keen to help others to see their vision, aiding them on their way with a rope or a knife or a fire. Thankfully, I have never had that vision. My life has always been too chaotic.
‘So this woman is called Moll, yet your man asked me to find her, saying she was you?’
She nodded.
I absorbed this with a puzzled frown. ‘Why did he ask me to find Moll, then, and not you?’
She rolled her eyes. Speaking with the patience of a woman answering a child’s repeated questions, she said, ‘Because he knew Moll had the boy with her. He didn’t want me! He got you to search for Moll, pretending she was me. He wanted the boy. It worked, didn’t it? Anyway, did Moll say where her son is? Is he safe?’
‘Yes, he’s safe enough. As I said, I have placed him with a friend,’ I said warily. ‘It’s me who is in danger. Westmecott will likely be here at any time, and when he arrives—’
‘He knows you live here?’
‘Well, yes. He came here to buy powder for the execution of the priest, and then—’
She interrupted again. I have no objection to people having their say, but this constant interjection was annoying.
‘When did you last see him?’
‘I don’t know – in the time it took for me to get here from Whitehall and change my clothes.’
She turned and went to the door, slamming the bolts into place. ‘Can we escape from the rear?’
‘I suppose so,’ I said. ‘There is a gate to the alley. But wait! Why are you concerned? Surely he would be glad to find you?’
‘Why?’
‘He was looking for his wife, and you are his wife.’
‘No. He was looking for Moll, pretending she was his wife, so that he can sell her and the boy to whoever will pay him the most money for them.’
I rubbed my temples. ‘Say that again?’
‘We don’t have time!’ she snapped. ‘Come, show me this gate!’
I took her through the kitchen and out to the little yard behind. There was a gate in the wall which had three bolts. A man cannot be too aware of security. I drew them all, and she opened the gate and peered up and down the alley, quietly stepping out and walking on to the alley’s entrance.
I left Hector behind. The stupid animal would only have been a distraction on our way, and, besides, Raphe would have been distraught if the creature had disappeared. He could easily bear my absence, but not that of his beast.
We made our way along the narrow way, her in front and me sheltering behind her. It was when we were almost at the south-western entrance that I heard the tramp of heavy boots. When I snatched a glance from behind her, I saw that there were four men, with Westmecott and Seymour in the lead. Two large, rough brutes followed on behind. They passed by the entrance to the alleyway, and thankfully did not so much as glance in our direction.
‘They’ll be on the way to my house,’ I said sadly. I could all too easily imagine the damage the four could do to my home.
‘Those men?’ she said.
And suddenly I realized she didn’t know any of them.
‘Wait!’ I cried, and took her by the shoulder, thrusting her against the nearest wall. When I think back to my action now, a cold stream of water runs down my back and makes me shiver. I wasn’t thinking at the time, but her knife was at my belly. ‘Do you mean you didn’t recognize them?’
‘I know Edward Seymour,’ she said. ‘The others were surely his henchmen?’
‘The man in front on the left – didn’t you recognize him?’
‘No. Should I?’
‘That is the man who called himself Westmecott,’ I said.
She chuckled briefly, but then she saw my seriousness. ‘You mean this? That was not my man.’
‘It was he who told me to find you!’
She gave me an entirely puzzled look. ‘But I’ve never seen that man before.’
‘He isn’t Westmecott?’
She made no reply to that, but gave me a look of such contempt that I guessed the answer.
‘You were living with Westmecott?’ I said doubtfully. ‘You couldn’t have mistaken him?’
‘Yes, but that was not him.’
‘What did your man look like?’
‘About your height, but broader of shoulder. He wasn’t a bad-looking fellow. He had a scar, here,’ she added, touching her left cheek.
I frowned. A man with no scar was a rarity, of course, but this sounded familiar. ‘What hair?’
She shrugged. ‘Fair – sort of dirty fair. Not yellow like some. He wasn’t a bad man. He was good enough by his own lights, but I could not bear to have him pawing at me, knowing what his hands had done that day.’ She pulled a face. ‘It was horrible. So I decided I had to leave him.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘I was able to find a job at the Cardinal’s Hat.’
‘So you knew Peggy?’
‘Yes.’
Her tone indicated that there was little love between them.
‘How did you meet Moll and Ben?’
‘They were often down that way. Moll had been at the Hat before she was hired as a wet-nurse. As soon as that happened, she was taken away, but she returned to London some months ago, with the child in tow. I saw her in the street with the boy.’
‘Did she tell you what had happened to her?’
‘Who, Moll? Of course. She was … well, she needed help when she started out. I took her under my wing, as you might say.’ She gave me a quizzical look. ‘Do you want to stand here for long? If those men are looking for you …’
‘Yes, yes,’ I said. I had no wish to be discovered by Westmecott or the others. We set off at a fast pace.
‘Moll told me that they took her to a big hall in Hertfordshire, and from all she said, she was treated like a princess there. She’d lost her own child, which was why she was needed there as wet-nurse, but she enjoyed it so much that when they offered the post of nursemaid to the boy, she took it like a shot.’
‘Why is she back here now?’
We had reached the end of the alley. I motioned to her, and Alice peered round the opening. She gasped and snatched her head back, panting, leaning against the wall, her eyes wide with terror – and then began to laugh. ‘Your face!’ she managed between gurgles. ‘You should see yourself!’
‘What, is there …’ I took a peep myself. There was no sign of anyone in the street. ‘You stupid—’
‘Oh, don’t be so pathetic,’ she said, and took my hand before leading us up the road away from my house.
As she went, she said, ‘The Seymours wanted to come here, and they brought her with them.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
I nodded, frowning. ‘So why did you attack me?’
‘Moll was trying to keep away from her old life. I thought you were working for a pimp and trying to get her back on the game. I wasn’t going to let you do that to her.’
I felt the scab at my jaw. The wound was still sore, and I disliked the idea that I might in any way look like a pimp. ‘Next time, perhaps you could ask questions first, before attacking a fellow,’ I said. I almost pointed out that I had a much more honourable profession – but that could have led to difficult explanations.
‘Moll is with the Seymours now, you say?’
I nodded again. ‘They seem to be treating her well.’
She frowned. ‘The last time we spoke, she said she was terrified of the man Seymour. He was violent, she said, and she didn’t think he had the boy’s best interests at heart.’
‘If that was Anthony Seymour, I can only agree with her,’ I said. ‘He was a horrible man.’
‘Was? Has something happened to him?’
I smiled with some bemusement. I didn’t know how to answer. ‘I only met him a couple of times,’ I said at last.
‘I felt sure that he was trying to use Moll to get at the boy.’
‘I see,’ I said. I didn’t want to mention the Seymours selling Moll and Ben to the Queen.
‘After all, the lad was worth a lot of money.’
‘Really?’ I said suavely, and was about to question her about this aspect of the matter when we reached the house of Master Blount. I knocked, only to be told that the master was not at home. It was enough to make me swear, but I informed his servant that we would be found in the Golden Cockerel, a tavern only a short distance away, and to send his master to me as soon as he appeared.
At the tavern, after buying us drinks, I took her to a table in the front room where I had a good view of the entranceway. I wanted to see as soon as John Blount – or Westmecott – appeared.
We had been there long enough for a quart and a half of ale by the time I saw Master John Blount in the doorway. He pulled off his gloves as he marched to our table. ‘That was a merry dance you led me,’ he said. ‘Who did that to your house?’
‘My house?’
‘All the doors broken, chairs slashed and damaged, and a woman crying that they were fiends.’
I swear to you, the first thought in my mind was Hector. ‘What of the dog?’
He shrugged.
For once I had a feeling of sadness at the thought of the scruffy mutt. It was the idea that I might not see him again. The tatty little fleatrap had grown on me, I suppose.
He must be dead.
‘Who was crying?’ I said with confusion. All I could think about was my lovely house, and especially my little strongroom with the bolt-studded, iron-lined door, which held my chest of money. My heart felt as if it had been gripped by a steel fist, and was being squeezed as the fist clenched. All that money …
Blount was looking at Alice. ‘Who is this?’
‘This lady is Alice. She was Westmecott’s – er – wife. She knows Moll and the boy.’
‘Oh. You can go now,’ he said to her, and faced me.
Alice leaned back. ‘And you can go swive a goat, Master,’ she said equably. ‘I’m enjoying my ale.’
I don’t think any woman had spoken to Blount in so forthright a manner before. He had given her an instruction. Her refusal to pay him any heed was not expected. In his world, women were dainty things who obeyed. He blinked and stared at her, and clearly decided that she was determined to remain, so he dropped his voice and leaned towards me. ‘This wench, she’s a whore?’
‘I can hear you, you know,’ she said.
‘Damn your eyes, woman, will you let us speak?’ he blurted.
It was entertaining, I confess. I had never seen my master in quite such confusion of spirit. He glared at Alice, who nonchalantly ignored him. It became rapidly apparent to me that Blount had no idea how to deal with this woman. A man he could simply have bullied into submission, threatening him until he left us to our conversation, but this woman was a different matter. He had the sense not to try to manhandle her from the room, because, for all her tatty appearance, there was a confidence that oozed from her. Whores often have it, I’ve noticed. Since they have little shame, it’s hard to embarrass them, and often a man will discover that any attempt to do so will leave him looking the fool.
Blount turned so that his back was half turned to her. Glowering at me, he said, ‘So? Who did that to your house?’
I glanced at Alice, but there seemed little point ignoring her or trying to conceal matters from her. I began my story, telling him about the Seymours. ‘You know that Thomas Seymour, the Lord Sudeley, married Lady Catherine? He was accused of treason and arrested, and had to be executed.’
‘I know all this,’ Blount growled.
‘And you will know that Lord Sudeley had responsibility towards a young lady living with Lady Catherine and under her protection?’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘And that there were rumours of … impropriety between the Lord and his young ward?’
‘Yes, and he was forced to confess, and was executed, as you say. So what?’
‘A woman was working in the stews at that time. She was pregnant, but her child did not survive. However, she was invited to go and live in a great hall as wet-nurse to a child.’
‘This woman?’ Blount asked with frank distaste.
‘No, another – a woman called Moll. She was engaged, and when the child was finally weaned, she was retained as maid and dry-nurse. It was a job that she found accommodating.’
‘And?’
‘Do you not see this? Moll, the boy – a lad who happens to have been born at about the time Thomas Seymour was arrested, and now many men expressing great interest in the lad and his mother?’
‘There can be no connection.’
‘Then consider this,’ I said, fixing him with a serious eye. ‘Whether the boy is or is not the son of a nobleman and his leman, could it be argued that he was? If so, others who worked for someone with a desire to earn favours at court might well decide to allege that the boy was indeed the result of an illicit union between Thomas Seymour and his … his …’
‘Be very careful,’ Blount grated.
‘His companion.’
‘Well and good,’ Blount said. He eyed me consideringly, then shot a look at Alice. ‘What of her?’
I frowned. ‘Alice here was the companion of Hal Westmecott, the executioner. She left him. But when he asked me to find his wife and son, he told me her name was Moll. So he did not seek Alice here, but the woman who was Ben’s nursemaid. That means, I think, he must know of the story, and he is trying to find Moll and her son to take them to the Queen and denounce the mother.’
‘Which, true or not, would be embarrassing,’ Blount nodded slowly.
There was no doubting that it would be easy to persuade a justice that Lady Elizabeth had indulged in adultery with Thomas Seymour, and that Ben was the fruit of that illegal relationship. And if that was the case, Lady Elizabeth could be in very great trouble. I didn’t need to point it out to Blount.
‘There is one other thing, however. As I said, Alice was the companion of Hal Westmecott. A man came to me to buy powder and said he was Westmecott, but according to Alice here, it was not him.’
Blount shook his head as though to clear it. ‘What? You mean the man you were dealing with claimed to be Westmecott, but wasn’t?’
I merely nodded, and Blount leaned back, his hands on the table, staring into the middle distance. ‘So this man Westmecott is an imposter. Where is the real Westmecott?’ He looked at Alice. ‘What does he look like?’
‘Not tall, but broad, fair-haired, with a scar on his face, and he’s lost the top of his finger,’ she said succinctly, holding up her finger to demonstrate.
I gaped, aghast. ‘That was the man I saw dead on the floor in Westmecott’s chamber!’
‘Are you sure?’ Blount said.
‘Yes! I went there to talk to him, but when I walked in, he was dead on the floor. I didn’t know who it was, because I’d already met Westmecott, or the man who called himself that, and he appeared a little later with a rug, and seemed to suspect me of the murder.’
‘He was carrying a rug?’
‘Yes.’
‘So he had murdered the man and was bringing a means of removing him.’
‘Oh!’
There seemed little else for me to say, really.
‘You didn’t suspect him?’ Blount said.
‘No. Why should I?’
‘The fact that he was there, that he had brought a rug. How did you dispose of the body?’
‘He said he could do that. He had ways, he said. So we rolled the body into the rug to conceal it, and he took it away.’
‘So you had seen him arrive with the article and didn’t suspect him?’
‘Of course not! I am not a murderer. I don’t think like that!’
He looked at me with a keen sharpness. It was like being stabbed with a dagger that had been hidden behind a fine veil. Since he had hired me and paid me to be his assassin, I suppose I deserved it. He was not to know that I had never killed on his orders.
‘Raphe mentioned that you had some other difficulty,’ he said pointedly.
‘Um.’ I had no desire to discuss Anthony in front of Alice.
‘What did you do then? Did Westmecott come around again?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘I don’t know. But a little later I saw him at the Seymours’ house.’
He winced. ‘And a little later I found your house sorely battered. I think you can assume that Edward Seymour has learned of his brother’s death.’
‘The man calling himself Westmecott was with him when he marched to my house,’ I said.
‘You saw him?’
‘We saw the party, yes.’
Master Blount nodded to himself. ‘So it would seem that the Seymours have you marked as a person they would like to speak with.’
‘What can I do?’
He rose. ‘I would run and hide. I see little else you can do.’
‘Can we stay at your house for a little? Just until …’
‘No. You can return to me when this affair is sorted one way or another,’ he said shortly. ‘Until then, you are an embarrassment – and dangerous, both for me and for our principal. You can seek me out when Seymour is no longer a danger, or …’
That was the point. The ‘or’. Because either Seymour must be removed, or I would die. Blount’s eyebrow lifted just a fraction, and we both knew which was the more likely outcome.
Blount stalked from the room, and I was left staring at a crack in the wall’s plaster. I had no very happy thoughts.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know what I can do. I should leave London, I suppose. What of you?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t go back to my house, and I can’t go to work again. I’d be too easy to pick up on the streets. If they were to find me …’
‘Why should they want to hurt you? I’m the one they’ll want to kill,’ I expostulated.
She shrugged. ‘The man who killed my Hal won’t want me to be here, in case I tell stories about him and people realize he isn’t the real Hal. I am as much at risk as you. If he was happy to kill my husband, he’d hardly worry about removing me, an old whore.’
Her tone was matter-of-fact, laced with a little stoicism, but while there was not a trace of self-pity, she looked distinctly mournful. And with her face like that, she was a different woman. With her features softened, the harsh lines of rancour were smoothed over, the trials of her hard life were swept away like old rushes, and in their place I saw a woman who had once been a young, attractive wench, with large eyes that would melt the heart of the most pitiless outlaw and have him begging her to take a sup with him.
‘What are you staring at?’ she demanded, catching my eye, and normal life was resumed.
It was clear that I could not return to my home. Even if the housebreakers had left me a seat or table undamaged, the danger was that they could return at any moment. What I needed was a place where I could rest and think what I should do. Master Blount was clear enough that I was not welcome at his home, and I didn’t think it would be a good idea in any case. The fact was, many people knew I worked for him, and it would take little to realize that I might go to his house.
Where else might I go? The Cardinal’s Hat? That was safer, no doubt, but I didn’t think that the bawd who ran the house of relaxation would welcome me. She had a soft spot for me, as so many of these tarts do, but the fact that I was a refugee and could bring danger to her own place meant she would be unlikely to want me there. I needed somewhere else.
One man occurred to me.
‘I know where we can go. We should be safe there,’ I said.
I knocked loudly on the door. There was an interval in which not a sound could be heard, and then the sound of slowly approaching footsteps.
Jonah, Mark’s servant, opened the door, and subjected us to his most morose scrutiny. He glowered all the while with suspicion. He was a wizened, ill-kempt fellow, who looked as though he should have had a dewdrop fixed to the end of his nose permanently. He would not have looked out of place in a dungeon, serving the torturers with ale and cheese between the clicks of the rack’s ratchets.
‘Jonah, it is me. Is your master in?’
‘I’ll have to go and check.’
‘Be quick, then!’
‘I’ll take as long as I need to,’ he said. He slowly withdrew and closed the door again. I heard the bolt lock.
I had a sudden thought. ‘Do you like hounds?’ I asked.
Her look could not have been more confused if I had grown a second head. ‘What?’
‘I suppose I’ll soon find out,’ I said.
It is fair, I think, to say that while Alice might have liked the companionship of a small lapdog, Peterkin was not built on those lines. When Jonah opened the door again, grudgingly admitting us to the hallway, there was a sudden plodding of paws. While Jonah slammed the door and thrust the bolts home, Alice suddenly caught her breath. If she had been confronted by a demon, she could not have looked more appalled.
I have noticed that some people are more keen on keeping cats. They are less trouble, they say, and affectionate, without fawning. And they keep rats down. Except in my experience, they do nothing to control rats which are almost their own size. Rather, they assault the prettiest songbirds, any shrews or mice, and occasionally me, as the scars on one wrist can attest (the cat was lying on its back, and I thought it wanted its tummy rubbed).
On the other hand, dogs will protect a house, see to the defence of their master, obey commands and, in short, be reliable members of the family.
However, not all people feel as comfortable with a dog like Peterkin. This hound of Mark’s was as tall as Alice, if he stood on his hind legs – no, taller. As she took in his size, I had the impression that he was measuring her up for future amusement. Perhaps he considered her a dainty little treat to be consumed later. I could not be certain, but felt that there was a flaring of interest in his eyes as he took her in – a little spark, such as one might see in the eye of a demon welcoming a new victim to his pit. He padded towards us on paws the size of my fist.
Alice was unimpressed by the sight of him, and as I remembered my scarred jaw and the lump on my head, it gave me no little pleasure to see how she recoiled at the sight. She retreated before him, until her back was at the door, and then, as he shoved his nose into her groin, she whimpered.
I patted the brute’s back with a sense of comradeship before strolling off after Jonah. After some moments, Peterkin followed after us, and then there came the slightly frantic pattering of Alice’s feet. Reaching me, she took my arm in her hands and clung to me all the way to Mark’s chamber. It was not an unpleasant sensation.
The room was, as usual, a precise duplicate of a room that has been struck by a cannonball – no, an artillery barrage. Papers had been flung on every surface. Where there had been space, more armour and weaponry appeared to have materialized for little reason. The great hound sauntered in and shook his entire body, and slobber flew through the air to land on a sheaf of papers on Mark’s lap. He glanced at his pet affectionately and looked up at me.
‘What do you want now?’
Hardly an encouraging welcome, but I indicated my human limpet. ‘This lady is Alice. She was involved in the matter I spoke of with you …’
‘Come in, my dear, please,’ Mark said immediately. His attention, once distracted from the papers, was wholeheartedly in favour of the wench. He all but threw the papers aside and tried to spring to his feet. His age and infirmity were against him, but he yet cast a languishing glance at her. The man was already undressing her, I saw, but that was the sort of man Mark was. He could never pass through a room without doting on every female form within it.
I interrupted his gaze quickly, saying, ‘Mark, the lady is under threat of her life.’
‘Are you the lady he told me of?’ Mark said, seemingly deaf to all but Alice’s voice. ‘Please, you must be chill. Sit yourself by my fire, my dear. It must have been a terrible shock to you, you so young and … Please, you will partake of some wine, and a little cheese and beef?’
‘I—’
‘Quite. Jonah, would you … God’s teeth, where is the useless … Jonah!’
‘What?’
At the response behind him, Mark gave an instructive impression of a startled faun. ‘Well, I … wine and—’
‘I did hear you.’
He wandered off, his head bowed, and Mark continued to survey Alice with much the same gleam in his eye that his hound had borne. ‘So, are you the lady my friend here was looking for?’
‘Yes – and then again, no,’ I said, not that my presence was required. I felt rather superfluous, if you know what I mean.
‘How intriguing,’ Mark said, without for an instant taking his eyes from Alice.
I told him briefly of the matter, how Alice and I had met and the situation in which we found ourselves. ‘And so I was hoping that you could help us,’ I finished.
Mark said, ‘Oh, yes. Of course. I see. Here? Oh, I don’t think we have space for both of you. It would be …’
Alice had been fully aware of his attention. While he had been studying her figure in the way of a paederast artist studying a possible subject, she had been keenly giving the room her own minute examination. Clearly, what she saw was pleasing. I could almost hear the chink of coins being counted in her brain. ‘I think it would be very kind of you to put us up. Obviously, I need Jack for my protection.’
‘Oh, don’t have any fears on that score. Our Peterkin will drive away any foe foolish enough to try to break in or harm you,’ Mark said.
We all turned to view the hound, who was currently sitting before the fire and assiduously scratching at his ear with an expression of acute gratification. On noticing our stares, his paw gradually slowed in its whirling motion, and he clearly grew uncomfortable, until his paw came to rest some six inches from his head, while he looked from one to another of us with an air of questioning innocence, as though he knew his own behaviour was irreproachable, so why were we viewing him in such an accusing manner?
‘Yes,’ Alice said. ‘I think I would like Jack here, too.’