Only two days later, Raphe, my incompetent and troublesome servant, grumblingly went to the door when a visitor knocked. He stood there a few moments, and I could hear him rudely accosting whoever the visitor was, and then the door closed and I could hear his steps making their way towards me in my parlour.
‘Some scruffy old foreign git wants to see you,’ he announced.
‘Where is he?’
‘He’s not English. I left him outside,’ he said.
After the usual remonstrations and telling the fool to bring in the stranger, I was soon confronted by Peter, Vanderstilt’s servant. ‘Master said this for you,’ he said, dropping a leather bag on my table.
I had, at the time, been involved in trying to work my way through my expenditure and coming to the worrisome conclusion that, were I not to find some money soon, I might be forced to leave London for a period before some of my creditors came to visit. One or two of these were not the type of men to accept a simple response of I don’t have it right now, but if you come back in a week. They were more likely to take a hand or a foot in part payment.
Inside the leather pouch was the money to pay for all the debt so far, and more for the subsequent month.
‘His ship has finally arrived,’ the steward said. He peered about my chamber with every sign of disgust. Perhaps he was another protestant. He did not appear to like my choice of decoration. I like bright colours and had gilt painted on my carved seats and panels, and he seemed to shy away from my silken tapestries.
‘Good,’ I said, waving him away, and weighed the purse in my hand before counting the coins. With his cash, I could at last look to paying off my debts without risking hands, feet, broken limbs or other impediments to enjoyment of London’s life. Satisfied, I pushed many of the coins into the bag and happily took my key to my strongbox. I carefully stowed the money in the chest and struck a stern pose. ‘Raphe, under no circumstances mention to your friends that this money has come in, understand? Not even your wench in the kitchen.’
‘Why?’
‘It is not for you to question my decisions,’ I said loftily. The simple fact was, I knew several of Raphe’s friends, and they were the type to take an inordinate amount of interest in any man’s wealth. And as for the hussy who acted as cook for our household, I had no great impression of her either. She had materialized from the street, and while she was moderately comely, she was a terrible God-bothering young draggle-tail. She could recite the Gospels whenever it suited her, so it seemed, and yet was content to go and rattle her bubbies with Raphe every night without bothering the vicar with legalizing their marital bed. She had skill with a pan and copper, I admit, but as to whether she was genuinely loyal, I was yet unconvinced.
‘My affairs are my own,’ I said. ‘You will keep them from others. Nothing you hear in this house is to be shared with your drinking companions or others.’
There would soon come a time when I would regret that firm command to Raphe.
But I was unaware of that as I relocked my chest, took my pleasantly weighty purse in hand and fitted it to my belt, and then, whistling, left the house and entered the street.
It was a busy day. I saw several loitering vagrants who stood languidly leaning against walls and trees, and ignored them as a man of quality must. I thought nothing of them, in reality. Beggars and knaves were commonplace. Such rogues were a cause of concern to most men of degree. New laws were constantly being created to try to control such feckless individuals. I was aware of some of these fellows watching me, and I have to confess, I hurried my steps somewhat. Not that I was scared, you understand, but it is best not to tarry.
My road in St Helen’s parish was just off Bishopsgate, and I walked up to the Vine, a pleasant inn not far before the city’s gate. I was looking forward to an assignation with a delightful young maid called Alice, whom I had met some weeks before, and with whom I had begun to enjoy a weekly tussle. She no doubt saw me as a route out of her life of drudgery, and were I not quite such an important man, she may well have succeeded in convincing me, mainly because of her inventiveness and enthusiasm for bedchamber battles. Sadly, she was not of my station in life. No one could accuse me of elitism, but she was of a lower class. She would have to continue working as housemaid to her master, a rather superior man called George Loughgren, who fancied, so she said, that he was a great politician, and man of enormous authority. There were many who fooled themselves into such beliefs. I assumed he had a minor role as alderman, or perhaps worked with the mayor – wiping his arse for him, no doubt.
It was while on my way to the inn that I was accosted by a young man of perhaps two-and-twenty years, who looked me up and down with a sneering gaze. I returned it with condescension. I doubted he was of the same quality as a gentleman of my standing.
A man of my position has to become accustomed to the puerile insults of the less fortunate. And when I say less fortunate, I mean the lazy and the good-for-nothings who frequent the cheaper gaming houses, of course. There are so many vagabonds and Egyptians about London nowadays, all attempting to cozen poor gulls into parting with their money, that this one barely merited more than a glance. However, to my surprise, he fell into step at my side.
‘I knows you, master.’
‘How fortunate you are.’
‘You was at your old house two days since.’
‘I have visited my house often,’ I said. Then I realized what he had said. ‘What of it? Are you following me, fellow?’
Usually that sort of accusation would make a scoundrel retreat. They know that a gentleman of my status and importance would be prepared to defend himself and his honour by beating a vagabond unmercifully, and with good reason. Some of these fellows have no idea how to behave in the presence of their betters. I used to see it when I was living roughly on the streets, in my past when I was a pocket-dipper, and others would treat those with money as mere fools and knaves, even when they were severely beaten.
Now, of course, I was one of the wealthy, and this was a piece of human garbage.
‘Begone!’ I commanded him, and struck a pose, chin in the air, hand near the hilt of my rapier. ‘Go, before I teach you manners at the point of my sword! I am not interested in your vapid maunderings.’
‘Oh, you will be,’ he said, and there was a nasty look in his eye.
I strode on, choosing to ignore him, and it was as I passed through the alley towards the Vine that I glanced to my side and saw that the churl was still there.
‘It is good to see that you can walk about the city a free man still,’ he said, seeing my gaze.
‘How dare you! I am a gentleman!’
‘Oho! A gentleman, eh? I knows all about you, Master Blackjack. I knows how you used to earn your living, all about you and the others living by the river. And about that house you rent to the Dutchie now.’
‘What of it?’ What did he mean, all about me? Did he mean he knew I was an assassin?
‘It would be a shame if people was to hear that you had been threatening the man, wouldn’t it? Master Vanderstilt, I mean. People might come wondering how serious you was. Might think, “What sort of a man makes threats like that?”’
I gaped. After all, this was two days after my interview with my tenant, and I swear I had all but forgotten the threat I had given. In truth, it was some moments before I realized what he was talking about.
‘You was seen and heard,’ he mentioned again. ‘It’d be sad, was news of your arguing over money to come to the hearing of those what distrust you.’
That was enough. I grasped the hilt of my sword and drew the first foot free.
My companion was not the sort to show fear, sadly. He twisted his lips and shook his head. ‘You think to scare me? Not a good choice, master. I think you’d do better thinking how to cut your losses, not seeking to make enemies. You show your blade in public and you’ll be arrested. That would delay your dalliance with the maid, wou’n’t it?’
‘What do you want?’ I rasped.
‘I just want to give you peace of mind. Why should you be afeard? Us wants a chat, that’s all.’
I could only gaze at him with bemusement and confusion. Although I am noted for my quick mind and ability to think my way out of problems, this man seemed to speak in riddles. I had no idea what he was actually saying. ‘A chat about what?’
‘Give me a little of your time,’ he said again, and this time his voice held authority. ‘Or news may spread of how you earned your money.’
We were at the time still in the alley that led to the Vine, and there were several men about us. Seeing a narrow way, I strode inside, the rascal behind me. As I went, I felt his hand on my shoulder.
It was enough to raise the natural, instinctive anger of a gentleman. I span, starting to draw my rapier, but on turning, I stopped. ‘Come! What is this all for? There is no need to fight,’ I said.
What had curbed my martial spirit? The sight of the two brutes who now stood with him, one tapping the palm of his hand thoughtfully with a heavy blackthorn club, while the other took to glowering at me with a face so broken and brutal, I could only assume he had been involved in more fights than the bears at the Surrey pits.
‘Now, Master Blackjack, we’d like to speak to you,’ my first interlocutor said with a vile smile. And yes, his accent and tone had changed. He stood a little taller, as if he had been play-acting the part of a rogue. Somehow he reminded me of an adder confronting a chick.
I studied him more closely. He stood some five feet six inches tall, and was as thin as a whip. It was obvious that he was no match for me, but of course he was not alone, and the other two bullies with him were more than capable of overcoming any defence I might attempt.
In past chronicles I have spoken of the grim, grey, damp, foul and bleak tin-mining moors of Dartmoor. On those moors there are certain moorstone outcrops which the locals call ‘tors’. Some appear to have been hewn into fantastical shapes, such as the faces of men, or of enormous creatures lying atop their hills like dragons hoarding gold. These two men were formed from a similar mould as those stones. Their speed of thought may have been as slow as a rock’s, but they were able to give the impression of strength and resilience. I swiftly decided I did not wish to test my sword on their hides. From the look of them I would blunt my blade. Or snap it.
Instead I spoke sharply, with a degree of hauteur. ‘What do you want with me?’
‘Don’t squeak, little mouse,’ the first said snidely, and the two moorstone figures sniggered. ‘If you’d listened, you would have quickly understood. I am called Bagnall. Perkin Bagnall.’
He looked as though that should have impressed me. It did not. Well, not as much as his companions. A name doesn’t hurt you. The two trolls at his beck and call may well do.
He continued: ‘We knows a lot about you, Master Blackjack. Such as, you was at your house to demand money from your tenant, and you made threats against him, didn’t you? A man should be more careful. There are people might hear such threats and speak out.’
Yes, this fellow was warning me of blackmail, it was plain. He wore a nasty smirk as he said all this, while I imagine I was wearing a frown of concentration. He must have thought it was a glare of growing rage, because he actually took a half pace back, and hastily continued, ‘Don’t try nothin’ foolish. It’s pointless.’
If only he had known the truth – I was in no manner capable of attacking him and his companions. A large block of ice had settled itself in my bowels.
As for the suggestion that some may wish to speak out – what did he mean? The obvious inference was that he knew of those I was thought to have murdered in my capacity as an assassin – and that was the conclusion I swiftly reached, that he was threatening my exposure. That gave me pause for thought. I had been convinced that my profession would remain secret, but this rogue was apparently aware of it. Who could have let that slip? My master? Unlikely. My servant? He wouldn’t dare. Who else knew?
However, whoever it was, the main concern I had just now was the fact that this fellow seemed to know. It was deeply troubling. And for the moment I was unsure how to proceed. The leader was gazing at me with sublime confidence, clearly thinking that they had me by the curly hairs; however, I have always been bold. This was only a temporary setback. I would learn how he had discovered me.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I bluffed.
I also have a very honest face. It has been my saviour on many previous occasions. Today, though, it seemed to carry little weight with the rogue.
‘Not only your house, neither. We’ve followed you other places, master, ain’t we, boys?’
‘A boring occupation, no doubt,’ I said.
‘To Master Loughgren’s often enough, ain’t we? You like his house, do you? Or him?’
Loughgren, as I think I have mentioned, was the man who employed Alice. And suddenly I realized – these men were seeking to threaten me not about my supposed career as an assassin, but with exposure! If Loughgren were to learn I had been bedroom-bouncing with his maid, I might receive a drubbing at the hands of his other servants. No doubt this trio wanted payment.
The relief was overwhelming. And if they thought they could threaten me in that manner, they were mistaken.
So, I smiled at the ruffians, and was relieved to see that their concerns were assuaged. It was there in the eyes of the man before me, even if it wasn’t in those of the two tors behind him. But then, you don’t expect stone eyes to register any kind of emotion. They were probably just waiting for someone to give them a command they could comprehend. From the look of them, that could be a very long time.
Seeing that, I made use of my usual courageous approach. I thrust the rapier back sharply into the sheath, removed my hand from the hilt, and then suddenly kicked with all my strength at the codpiece of their leader.
It was deeply satisfying to see how his eyes widened, and then his hands reached for his injured plums, while his body arched as if trying to prevent them flying past his backside.
I was disinclined to remain and enjoy the sight. Already there was a loud graunching sound, and I was sure it would be the two tors beginning to move towards me. Rather than wait to see how fast moorstone could move, I chose to demonstrate how quickly an anxious assassin could run. I took to my heels, pelting down the narrow alley.
There was a sharp right turn, and I thundered into the wall ahead and pushed myself away without slowing my pace. My feet moved as quickly as a galloping horse’s. At another little alley I turned right again. That meant, by my reckoning, that I was now pointing straight at the Vine, and beyond a slight dogleg I could see the welcoming sight of the inn’s yard ahead of me. I was safe.
I ran on, glancing behind me occasionally, but there was no sign of my pursuers, and I slowed slightly, panting with exertion. I was concerned that the trio might reappear at any moment, and the idea of confronting them again just now was deeply unappealing.
It has often been said that I have the senses of a cat. My agility, speed and quick perception of dangers have always impressed people, and just now, while I was unable to see the three, I had the firm conviction that they were there, just out of sight. It was alarming, but I turned and traipsed over the last few yards to the inn. I would have to explain my tiredness – I was not exactly spent, but I was weary. However, my innate genius came to my rescue. After all, I reflected, no woman can resist a tale of her man’s heroism, and were I to tell her that I had been set upon, and had bested three or four … or possibly five vagabonds who had attempted to steal my purse … or knock me on the pate, to take my suit of clothing and my purse, perhaps – it was all one. The six tried to rob me, but with my rapier in hand, dagger in the other, I beat them off. I injured three, and their four companions instantly fled. Or knocked two down, and injured the other six? I glanced down at my sheathed sword. Oh, yes, I cleaned the blade on the shirt of their leader.
With that story firmly fixed in my mind, I sauntered inside.
I am, of course, a gentleman, so I will not go into the details of my entanglements with Alice. Suffice it to say that my courage inspired her to greater enthusiasm and excitement than I had known her to display before.
She was a fresh little thing, Alice. And she loved to chatter after her first exertions. Now she tried to make me jealous, telling me of other men who had tried to entice her into their beds, men in the street who attempted to grab her and force her to kiss them, or who offered her money – as if I would be jealous of them, when I was myself enjoying all her best favours already!
It was a weary and worn Jack who left the chamber some hours later, while Alice remained in the bed, ravished and languishing from our joint exertions. It has been said many times by my past lovers that I am most competent, and I knew I had acquitted myself well. A last glance behind me as I closed the door showed her to best effect: a slender figure, with fair hair tumbled all about her shoulders, one breast peeping from the sheets. Ah, she was a sight to spur a man to ever greater demonstrations of adoration – but she was, I must admit, tiring.
The staircase from that upper chamber was a little slippery and took me straight down into the inn’s bar area. In a comfortable parlour, I ordered a large cup of wine to refresh myself after my efforts, and was enjoying my drink when I heard a cry from outside. When I went to the door, I saw that there was an altercation in the yard near the gates leading to Bishopsgate. A small group of men was brawling. It was nothing to do with me, however, and I returned to my seat, finished my drink, and beat a retreat, before Alice could appear and demand a return match of which I felt less than capable just now.
Instead, I took up my hat, which I had set aside, threw down a few coins for the innkeeper for the wine and the room, and made my way outside. I no longer had the impression of being followed, and I strode on with vigour, but the crowd effectively blocked my route, and rather than try to pass through them, I returned by the alley through which I had entered. It struck me that the group of rogues were hardly likely to have waited all this while. Rather, they would have made their way elsewhere in the hours between our encounter and my return.
And so it proved. I soon found myself on Bishopsgate, where the crush of other people was enough to reassure me. After all, no one would attempt to injure a fellow in broad daylight with many witnesses, unless they wanted to be caught and held captive in a gaol or slaughtered out of hand. The London mob is a terrifying sight when roused, and a man committing a murder before them will invariably force a response. Yes, some would watch and admire the purpose of a man, his elegance, his economy of effort, perhaps, or the speed with which he struck. But others would be more keen to clobber him over the head with a mallet, since the murder would mean locals paying dearly in taxes for the infringement of the queen’s peace.
My walk home was slower than usual. In part, yes, it was the effect of the strenuous exercise at the altar of lovely Alice’s body, which necessarily had an impact on my pace and speed, but there was also the matter of the three brutes to consider. I was mentally invigorated after my mattress duels, and my mind could return to the three waylayers and their demand.
It was blackmail, of course. They had almost said as much; they wanted payment to secure my secret, else they would broadcast my liaison. It was notable that the fellow had two brutes with him – were they his usual companions, or were they hired as his bodyguards in case I should turn to a simpler, cheaper remedy than acquiescing to his demands? Hirelings, I concluded. He looked so little like a gentleman who could afford to maintain a household, these two must be paid by the hour.
Which meant I really only had the one man to contend with. That scrawny bag of bones who dared to threaten me was the only one with a brain, I felt sure.
Well, I had no desire to meet the man again. I doubted that he would take my parting shot with any form of gratitude. If he was like me, he would deprecate that kick and wish for an opportunity to return the favour. I was keen not to give him an opportunity.
I had no need to travel abroad until my assignation with Susan Appleby, so I chose to remain indoors for a few days. Having instructed my more than deficient servant, Raphe, to keep an eye on anyone who could be watching the house, I retreated to my parlour with a flagon of wine, and rested.
After my efforts with Alice, I felt the need of it.