Edward Marston - The Nine Giants

‘I’ll do it, Nicholas!’ she said.

‘Privily.’

‘Lawrence will suspect nothing.’

‘He would not understand this manoeuvre.’

‘Teach me what I must say.’

‘Appeal to Mistress Marwood as a woman.’

‘But she is a dragon in skirts, from what I hear.’

‘All the more reason to flatter and fondle her.’

Margery chortled. ‘You are wicked, sir!’

‘I will call you when the time is ripe.’

‘You will find me ready.’

She planted a kiss of gratitude on his cheek then sent him on his way. Setting her on Sybil Marwood might just be the solution. They were two of a kind, sisters under the skin, powerful women with red blood in their veins and fire in their bellies. With even moderate luck, Margery might be able to get through to the landlord’s wife in a way that no man — not even Marwood himself — could possibly manage. It was all down to the ladies in the case. They spoke the same language.

As Nicholas marched homewards, he reflected on the day and the crisis with which it had begun. Hans Kippel was in grave danger. Enemies who would resort to arson would stop at nothing. Evidently, the boy had witnessed something on the Bridge which he should not have and his life was forfeit as a result. The only way to save him was to unmask his attackers first and bring them to justice. These thoughts took the book holder all the way down Gracechurch Street and back onto the Bridge.

The shops were closed now but there were still plenty of people milling around. Nicholas stood aside as two horses cantered past him. He then walked up to the house which he had visited that morning and appraised it more carefully. It was a small, narrow, two-storey property that consisted of a tiny drawing room, a dining room, two bedchambers, and a kitchen that jutted out over the river so that a supply of water could be hauled up in a bucket tied to the end of a long rope. The dwelling also had its own privy. There was a public convenience on the Bridge itself but most householders took advantage of the site to make their own arrangements. The Thames was its own form of sanitation.

Nicholas saw the light in the downstairs window but he did not immediately knock on the door. Instead, he turned sideways to go down the slender gap between the house and the shop next door so that he could reach the parapet. Directly below was one of the starlings into which the stone pillars which supported the Bridge were set. The swift current foamed the water as it sluiced its way under the arch. Nicholas leant right over to get a better view and discovered that he could see right into the kitchen of the house. Its timber-framing had sagged dramatically and it looked as if it was hanging on to the rest of the building with the tips of its fingers. He bent right over the parapet to peer into the kitchen.

‘May I help you, sir?’

The voice was polite but unfriendly. Nicholas swung round to see a short, neat, erect figure blocking the narrow passage. His apparel suggested service in a grand establishment. The man stroked his greying beard.

‘You are trespassing here,’ he said.

‘Do you live in this house, sir?’

‘No, I have just been visiting.’

‘You know the tenants, then?’

‘Why do you ask?’ His suspicion was candid. ‘Have you any business to be here?’

‘I was looking for someone.’

‘Indeed, sir?’

‘He has a patch over one eye.’

Simon Pendleton stared at him with cool distaste and took some time before he spoke. His tone was offhand.

‘That is Master Renfrew,’ he said.

‘May I speak with him?’

‘He is not at home, sir.’

‘Will he return soon?’ asked Nicholas.

‘I fear not,’ said the steward dismissively. ‘He has gone away for a long time. You will not be able to see Master Renfrew. He is not here in London.’

‘Then where is he?’

‘Far away, sir. Far, far away.’

The bed creaked and groaned noisily as they flailed around on top of it at the height of their passion. He was a considerate lover who aroused her patiently by degrees and made her yield herself completely to him. She loved the weight of his body with its firm muscles and its thrusting power. She shared his total lack of fear or inhibition. Here was no ordinary client who tumbled into her arms for five minutes of overeager satisfaction or who rolled off her in a drunken stupor before he could complete the business of the night. Kate had found herself a real lover and she revelled in the discovery.

When it was all over, they lay side by side in a peaceful togetherness. His chest was heaving, her heart was pounding and both of their bodies were lathered with sweat. It was minutes before either could speak. He then propped himself up on his elbow to gaze down at her with his one eye. His smile had a rugged tenderness.

‘Thank you, my love,’ he said softly.

‘Thank you , sir.’

‘We’ll meet again some night.’

‘That is my hope.’

‘And my intention.’

He leant over to kiss her gently on the lips then he reached across to the chair on which he had tossed his clothes. Fumbling at his purse, he brought back some coins to slip into the palm of her hand. Kate knew their value by touch and was instantly grateful.

‘Oh, sir, you are too kind!’

‘I repay good service handsomely.’

‘Be assured of it here at any time.’

‘I will always ask for you in this house.’

Another kiss sealed their friendship. Kate was no common whore from the stews. She was a very beautiful and shapely young woman of seventeen who chose her clients at the Unicorn Tavern with some care. They were always true gentlemen even if they could not always hold their wine or complete their transactions between the sheets. Kate had standards and the latest guest to her perfumed little bedchamber was a prime example of those standards. She even liked the black patch over one eye. It gave him a raffish charm that sorted well with his relaxed manner. This was a man who knew how to please a woman properly.

As he got up from the bed and began to dress, she reached out for the rapier that lay against the chair. It glinted in the light of the candles. Kate pulled it a little way from its scabbard before pushing it slowly back in again. Then she noticed the name that was inscribed in large italics on the handle of the weapon.

‘James Renfrew,’ she read.

‘At your service, madam.’

‘What do your friends call you, sir?’

‘Jamie.’

‘Then that shall be my name for you. Jamie.’

‘I will come when you call it.’

‘Then will you never leave this bed, sir.’

He laughed merrily and pulled her to him in a warm embrace. Kate was the finest company he had found in Eastcheap and he would not neglect her. Cupping her chin in his hand, he brushed his lips past hers then smiled.

‘I will be back soon, Kate.’

‘I will be waiting, Jamie.’

Only a small party of foreign visitors was dining at the Lord Mayor’s house that evening but they were accorded the lavish hospitality for which Sir Lucas Pugsley was justly famed. He sat beside his wife at the head of the table, fielding compliments and savouring the deference of other nations. Exuding good humour, he made his guests feel thoroughly at home. As soon as they had all left, however, he was able to show his true feelings to Aubrey Kenyon.

‘I hate these grinning Italians,’ he said.

‘You showed them great civility, sir.’

‘What else could I do, Aubrey? I am bound by the duties of my office here. But private opinion is another matter and in private, I tell you, these greasy fellows are not to my liking. We have enough aliens of our own.’

‘London is a melting-pot of nations.’