S. Parris - Treachery

‘It was her idea to leave,’ he remarks, as he follows my example and tucks his short dagger inside his boot, leaving his sword buckled. ‘Nell Arden, I mean. It was she who suggested she wait for you in our chamber. None of my doing.’

‘And you didn’t think to point out to her how that would look? For all of us?’

‘I thought you might be grateful for the opportunity. It’s been a while.’ He lifts the iron ring on the door and bangs it three times, turning to smirk as he does so.

‘How would you know? Don’t imagine you are privy to every part of my life.’ I push a hand through my hair.

‘All right, don’t bite. But hasn’t it? You will not countenance another woman since she left, as far as I can see, and you say you don’t visit whores, so I can’t imagine where-’

‘Perhaps you know nothing about it. Perhaps I consider some things to be private.’ I hear the petulance in my voice. I am spiky because he is right, but I will not acknowledge this. Although his grin suggests he realises it already.

He breaks off his reply as the shutter behind the grille is drawn back and a woman’s face appears in the opening.

‘May I help you, gentlemen?’ Her voice is unexpectedly refined. Sidney immediately sweeps off his hat and executes a professionally charming bow.

‘Good evening, mistress. We were hoping for a drink and good company.’

The woman appears unmoved. ‘Perhaps you have mistaken this house for some kind of inn, sir. I run a home for orphaned girls here.’

Sidney laughs. ‘Is that so? But I do not believe I am mistaken. Are you, perhaps, the Vestalium Maxima? The high priestess of the Vestals?’ He offers another gracious smile, and she concedes the reference by returning it, briefly.

‘Do I know you, sir?’

‘Not yet.’ He beams, and produces the silver token from his purse, holding it up to the light. She glances at it and nods.

‘Where did you get that?’

‘From a friend. He said we should-’

‘Which friend?’ Her sharp eyes flick from Sidney to me and back, sizing up our garments, our faces, the likely size of our purses.

‘Robert Dunne,’ I say, before Sidney can answer.

Her expression changes, though it is not clear whether my gamble has worked.

‘I see.’ She presses her red lips together. The bars of the grille divide her face into its constituent parts; it is hard to form an impression of the whole. ‘What did you say your names were?’

‘My name is Giordano Bruno,’ I say, enunciating carefully, watching for a flicker of recognition from her. She studies me, impassive, before the shutter slides closed with a sharp crack of wood on wood.

Sidney curses through his teeth, but after a brief pause we hear a fumbling with the latch and the door opens to reveal a tall woman, elegantly dressed in a gown of green satin that is past its prime but was clearly once an arresting sight, much like the woman herself. She fingers a string of pearls at her throat.

‘Well then. You had better come in. I would ask that you take off your weapons and leave them here. They will be quite safe.’

‘But will we?’ Sidney says, attempting a joke. She silences him with a glacial stare, and he meekly unbuckles his sword without another word. I hold out my hands, indicating my empty belt, though I see her practised eye travel over my body, pausing at my legs. For a moment I think she is going to demand that I be searched, but after a long look she gives me a curt nod.

‘You can give me the token. And we take payment in advance,’ she says, holding out a manicured hand with a smile which does not reach her eyes. ‘A gold sovereign, if you please.’

‘A gold sovereign ?’ Sidney stares at her, open-mouthed, waiting for her to laugh and tell him the real price. She continues to hold out her hand, the smile fixed in place.

‘Twenty shillings ?’ Sidney repeats, still hoping he has misheard.

She looks at me. ‘Each.’

‘Christ and all his saints. What do I get for that?’

‘A little taste of heaven.’

‘A little taste? For a sovereign I expect a five-course banquet.’

‘With respect, sir.’ That same, smooth tone. ‘As with so much in life, you get the quality you pay for. If you don’t like our prices, there are plenty of places where you can pay a good deal less. Here you know what you are buying.’ Her lips curve again into the ghost of a smile. We might be talking about any transaction, it is all so carefully couched in the language of business.

‘I meant no offence, madam,’ Sidney says, all gallantry once more. He takes a couple of coins from his purse, glaring at me as he does so; if we find nothing useful here, he will not easily let me forget the loss of two sovereigns. She glances at the money and regards us with the same inscrutable expression, before the reserved smile reappears and she nods towards a door.

‘Follow me, then.’

I watch her with curiosity as she leads us through to a small parlour, the air over-warm and thick with the smell of good wax candles. She carries herself with a dignified bearing, as if she were a lady of quality. Perhaps she once was. I guess her to be nearer forty than thirty, though her figure is that of a younger woman and she has clearly kept her pale skin away from the sun and wind. I am curious to know how a woman of evident breeding came by this trade, but her manner does not invite questions. Sidney flings himself into a chair with velvet cushions worn shiny with age and slides down, his long legs stretching out across a faded Turkish carpet. I stand by the hearth, where a neglected fire splutters and smokes in the grate.

‘Well then — what is your taste, gentlemen?’ She puts her head on one side and studies us. ‘Tell me what is to your liking and I will see if we can oblige.’ She makes it sound as if she is asking how we like our meat cooked.

‘Robert Dunne told me I should ask for his favourite,’ I say, before Sidney can answer. He glances at me.

‘Did he now?’ Her painted eyebrows arch; she seems almost interested. ‘And what did he tell you about his favourite?’

I try to look nonchalant. ‘Only that I would not be disappointed.’

She tilts her head. ‘Well. I’ll see what I can do. Wait here.’ She leaves the parlour by a side door and we hear the sound of footsteps climbing stairs overhead. As soon as she is gone, I feel the clench of fear in my gut.

‘She knows I am lying,’ I hiss, when I am sure she is out of earshot.

‘Not necessarily.’ Sidney turns his hat in his hands and examines the feather. ‘Do you think she knows anything about the letter?’

I shrug. ‘I doubt it. The imprint in that seal came from one of those silver tokens. Anyone among her elite clientele could have used it. But whoever it was wanted to direct us here, there can be no question about that. All we can do now is tread carefully and hope to discover why.’

‘And hope it was not for the purpose of running you through with a sword.’ Sidney crosses and uncrosses his legs and turns his attention to a loose pearl on his sleeve. ‘What do you suppose Dunne’s tastes were? What if he was one of those who liked to be roughed up? Tied and whipped, that sort of thing. Then there are some who like hot candle wax-’

‘She won’t get anywhere near me with a candle, don’t worry.’ The fire spits a fat ember on to the carpet; I stretch out a foot and stamp it out. ‘The girl will probably be so relieved to find that I only want to talk, she will be more than willing to help me.’

‘Let us hope so,’ he says. ‘And what am I to do while you charm this vestal virgin into spilling Dunne’s secrets?’

‘Perhaps you could find someone to talk to. Ask a few questions.’