Edward Marston - The Bawdy Basket

Anne Hendrik had waited up for him. She had a light supper in readiness.

‘Welcome back!’ she said, kissing him on the cheek.

‘It is good to see the end of this day, Anne.’

‘Was it so distressing?’

‘My distress lay in the sight of another’s. Anne,’ he said, ‘today was nothing but a torture chamber for Frank Quilter. I thought he would never survive it.’

‘Did he hold up?’

‘Bravely.’

‘No small thanks to you, I dare venture.’

‘There was little I could do beyond bearing him company.’

Nicholas sat at the table and picked at the supper she had prepared for him. He told her little about the execution itself, suppressing its viler aspects completely. Anne was pleased to hear about his visit to Lawrence Firethorn.

‘You have bought Frank some time, then?’

‘Yes, Anne,’ he said. ‘He has time to recover and time to conduct his search.’

‘For what?’

‘The real killer of Vincent Webbe.’

‘Is there no question of his father’s guilt?’

‘None at all. Gerard Quilter went to his death like a wronged man, not like a skulking criminal. Frank talked so fondly of his father. He was a kind man, a gentle soul who avoided violence of any kind.’

‘How, then, did he become embroiled in a fight?’

‘That is one of the many things we have to find out, Anne. We have picked up the trail already. This evening, I accosted one of the witnesses from the trial.’

She was fascinated by his account of the visit to the Golden Fleece. Knowing him to be such a sound judge of character, she took his estimate of Bevis Millburne at face value. Anne was revolted at the idea that anyone could attend a public execution for pleasure before rushing off to sup in style at a tavern.

‘What sort of man would do such a thing, Nick?’ she asked.

‘It wounded Frank to the quick.’

‘I am not surprised,’ she said. ‘You mentioned that Master Millburne shared a table with three other people. Was the other witness, Master Paramore, among them?’

‘No, Anne. But then he is out of the country at present. That was something I gleaned from Bevis Millburne. Whom the two younger men at his table were, I have no idea, but I did hear the name of his other companion.’

‘And who was that?’

‘Sir Eliard Slaney.’

‘The moneylender?’

He was surprised. ‘You’ve heard of him?’

‘Yes, Nick.’

‘So had Frank Quilter,’ he said, ‘though nothing good about the fellow had come to his ears. By all accounts, Sir Eliard Slaney is a thorough scoundrel. What do you know of the fellow, Anne?’

‘Only what his wife has told me.’

‘His wife?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Lady Slaney is a client of mine. As it happens, I am making a hat for her at this very moment. She is one of our best customers.’

A long and gruelling night had left Francis Quilter pale and drawn. Plagued by memories of his father’s execution and spurred on by thoughts of revenge, he had been unable to steal even a moment’s sleep. Instead, he tossed restlessly on his bed or paced up and down the narrow room. His brain was in such turmoil that it threatened to burst his skull apart. When he could no longer bear the pain, he quit his lodging and hurried to the parish church, spending an hour on his knees in humble supplication. It took its toll on him. By the time he met Nicholas Bracewell, early the next morning, he bore little resemblance to the handsome actor who attracted so much female admiration whenever he appeared onstage with Westfield’s Men. His friend did not recognise him at first. Nicholas peered more closely at him.

‘Is it you, Frank?’ he asked.

‘Good morrow, Nick.’

‘A better day for me than for you, it seems. What ails you?’

‘Grief has dressed me in its ghostly garb.’

‘Then we must find some means to allay that grief.’

‘A hopeless task, unless you bring my father back to me.’

‘His reputation can at least be restored.’

They met in Thames Street, close to the busy wharf where vessels returned as they sailed up the estuary from the English Channel. Quilter was early but Nicholas had nevertheless been there some time before him.

‘We might have enjoyed an hour or two more in bed, Frank,’ he said.

‘There’s no enjoyment of sleep for me.’

‘I’ve made enquiry. No ship is due from France until late afternoon at least. It will be several hours before Cyril Paramore sets foot on dry land again.’

‘I’ll be waiting for him,’ vowed Quilter.

‘Try to rest beforehand.’

‘No rest for me until this business is concluded.’

‘You will need to show patience,’ warned Nicholas. ‘It will take time.’

‘However long it takes, I’ll not falter.’

‘I make the like commitment.’

‘Thank you, Nick,’ said Quilter, embracing him. ‘You are a true friend. I fear that I leant too heavily on your kindness yesterday. It must have been near midnight when you finally got back to Bankside.’

‘One day was indeed about to slip into another.’

‘Anne will blame me for keeping you out so late.’

‘There was no word of reproach from Anne,’ said Nicholas fondly. ‘She was waiting up for me last night. Anne is a willing convert to your cause. She appreciates the anguish you have been through and wishes to lend her own help.’

‘Sympathy is welcome from any source, but I cannot see how Anne can help.’

‘That is because you have only met her as my friend. You have not seen her manage her business affairs in the adjoining house. She employs four hatmakers and a bright apprentice. Her late husband would be proud of the way she has made his enterprise grow.’

‘How does this advantage me, Nick?’

‘Anne is able to reach places denied to us.’

‘Places?’

‘The home of Sir Eliard Slaney, for instance.’

Quilter was astonished. ‘Anne is an acquaintance of his?’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, ‘but she knows his wife, Rebecca, very well. Lady Slaney is a woman of discernment. She’ll not buy a hat from anyone but Anne Hendrik. Now do you see how she may render some assistance?’

‘I begin to, Nick.’

‘When I saw Master Millburne last night, he and Sir Eliard Slaney seemed to be the closest of friends. Why was Sir Eliard present at such a celebration?’

‘To gloat over the death of my father.’

‘Why so? What did the moneylender have against him? Was there a falling out between the two men? Did your father have any dealings with Sir Eliard Slaney?’

‘None, to my knowledge. But he always spat out the man’s name with disgust.’

‘Anne may be able to find out why.’

‘I would not have her put herself in danger on my account.’

‘From what I hear,’ said Nicholas, ‘she will have little difficulty in securing answers to her questions. Lady Slaney never ceases to prattle about her husband and his wealth. She takes every opportunity to boast of her good fortune.’

‘What sort of hats does Anne make for her?’

‘Ones that catch the eye, Frank. No expense is spared to achieve ostentation. It seems that Lady Slaney has a vanity that would rival that of Barnaby Gill.’

Quilter smiled wearily. ‘Barnaby’s attire certainly demands attention.’

‘He likes to be noticed.’

‘Lady Slaney and he are birds of a feather.’

‘Not quite, I think. Barnaby Gill has no parallel.’

‘Forget him for the moment,’ said Quilter. ‘My interest is in Anne’s customer. This is a stroke of fortune, Nick. Any information we can gain about Sir Eliard, or about his friendship with Bevis Millburne, will be valuable. I beg of you to thank Anne most sincerely on my behalf.’