Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

Josiah explained his cousin’s odd habit and rose to leave. ‘Come on, Tom. Time to go to work. Goodbye, Woody, Jeb.’

‘Goodbye, Josiah,’ replied Woody.

‘Have a drink before you go,’ said Jeb. ‘Like another drink, Tom?’ It almost worked. Just in time, Thomas bit his tongue and shook his head. In the Honest Wherryman, being caught out would not have been a good thing.

They turned left out of the alehouse and walked briskly up Pudding Lane to Eastcheap. Josiah did not speak until he was sure they were not being followed. ‘Better rub your ’ands in the dirt, sir. I should ’ave thought of it before.’

Thomas bent down and did as Josiah suggested. ‘How’s that, Josiah?’ he asked, holding up his hands.

‘Better, sir. And what do you ’ave in mind now?’

‘Well, we didn’t learn much there. How about a stroll down Drury Lane?’

‘Drury Lane, sir? You don’t want to go there. Even I don’t go down there unless I ’as to.’

‘Nonsense, Josiah. You’ll be quite safe with me.’

Josiah looked doubtful. ‘If you say so, sir. It’s an ’orrible place, though. Don’t go wandering off on your own, will you?’

‘Of course not. My place will be at your side.’ Thomas strode off in the direction of Drury Lane. They passed St Paul’s, walked down Ludgate Hill and along Fleet Street to Wych Street, where Josiah stopped and planted his stick firmly on the ground.

‘Couldn’t we just go down the Strand, sir, or up to ’Olborn? There’s plenty of alehouses around there.’

‘No, Josiah. Drury Lane it is. Lead on.’ A heavy-hearted Josiah led on, with Thomas close behind. The lane ran along the north side of Covent Garden and up to the western end of Holborn. It was a narrow, stinking, winding street, lined with filthy drinking houses and filthier brothels. Its inhabitants could disappear in seconds into the maze of alleyways, tunnels and passages that ran off the lane, quite safe from constables or trained bands who might be looking for them. Honest men did not visit Drury Lane or its offshoots alone.

Despite being aware of the lane’s reputation, the moment they set foot there Thomas was shaken by what he saw. At every turn, poverty, disease, squalor. On the corner of Coal Hole Lane, a man with a face ravaged by pox held another by a rope around his neck. The roped man, eyes crossed and tongue hanging from his mouth, stared blankly at Thomas and Josiah. ‘A penny to see ’im dance. Straight from Bedlam, ’e is. Dances as good as a bear. A penny for the pleasure, sirs,’ called out the man with the rope. They hurried on.

A little further on, a huge man with one eye and hair down to his waist stepped out from a dark doorway and blocked their path. He did not speak, merely held out one hand and bunched the other into a fist. His meaning was clear. Thomas reckoned that, armed with his stick, Josiah would have been able to deal even with this giant, but, to his surprise, the little man pulled a coin from his pocket and handed it over. The giant tested the coin with his teeth and stepped aside.

‘Couldn’t you have bested him, Josiah?’ whispered Thomas, as they passed.

‘Yes, sir. But not the six others who’d ’ave appeared if I ’ad. Now where did you want to go?’

‘Anywhere we might learn something. What do you suggest?’

Josiah suggested that they went immediately to Piccadilly. The longer they were in Drury Lane, the more likely they were to meet trouble. And it would be double the trouble for Josiah Mottershead when Joseph Williamson found out. But Thomas was in a determined mood and Josiah had seen that look in a man’s eye before. It signalled a mind made up, which no amount of persuasion would change. The good Lord alone knew why. If he were Thomas Hill, he’d be sitting safely at home in Romsey, enjoying a glass of something sweet and fortifying. Not risking his life on the streets of London. Especially not these streets. ‘There’s an ’ouse in Wild Street, sir. Might be worth a visit.’

‘A house? What kind of house?’

Josiah coughed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘You know, sir. An ’ouse for gentlemen.’

‘Do you mean a brothel, Josiah?’ Josiah nodded. ‘Then for the love of God, say so, man. I haven’t spent all of my forty-seven years in church. I know what a brothel is.’

‘Yes, sir. Course you do. It’s just that this one’s rougher than most. ’Enrietta – that’s the owner – takes a bit of ’andling. If she takes against you we’ll be in trouble.’

‘Why would she take against me?’

‘’Enrietta’s sharp as a nail. Might see through you. Don’t open your mouth, sir. We’ll use the same story as before. Leave the talking to me. And don’t show nothing when you see ’er. Very touchy about ’er appearance, ’Enrietta is. Knows what’s going on, though. Not much she doesn’t ’ear, in ’er line of business.’

‘My lips are sealed, Josiah. Not a word shall pass them.’

They arrived at a tall, narrow house in Wild Street. ‘Is this it?’

‘Yes, sir, ’ere we are.’ Josiah knocked three times on the door with his stick. Thomas guessed the knock was some sort of signal. Not every caller would be welcome at Henrietta’s house. A small panel in the door slid back to reveal a pair of dark eyes.

‘Josiah Mottershead and ’is cousin Tom to see Miss ’Enrietta.’ Evidently satisfied, the owner of the eyes closed the panel and opened the door. His skin was as dark as his eyes, he towered above Thomas and Josiah, he was dressed from head to toe in yellow satin and he wore a curved knife in his belt.

‘Good day, gentlemen. I am Oliver. Pray come in and I shall advise Miss Henrietta of your arrival. Mr Mottershead and cousin, did you say?’ Josiah nodded. ‘Please be seated.’ He indicated two chairs in the entrance hall, placed there for just such a purpose.

‘An unexpected doorman,’ whispered Thomas when he had gone. ‘Looks like he was born on the Barbary coast, sounds like he was educated at court.’ Josiah frowned, put his finger to his lips and shook his head. Seated on the chair, his toes just reaching the floor, the little man twiddled his stick in his fingers and looked about nervously.

It was not long before Oliver returned, his smile displaying the whitest and largest teeth Thomas had ever seen. ‘Miss Henrietta will be pleased to see you, gentlemen,’ he announced. ‘Kindly follow me.’

They were led down a passage to the back of the house and shown into a room with a window looking on to a small courtyard. Miss Henrietta was waiting for them, a man who could have been Oliver’s twin standing beside her. He too was dressed in yellow satin and had a curved knife at his belt.

Only with difficulty did Thomas manage to do as Josiah had instructed and keep his expression neutral. Arranged on an enormous padded chair, the owner of this brothel was a woman who might have been anything from forty to sixty, must have weighed almost as much as Thomas and Josiah put together and wore a wig the colour of an orange. Her cheeks were decorated with black patches in the manner of ladies at court and her mouth was painted to match her wig. In one hand she held a large glass of port, in the other a long clay pipe. Her chair was set so that she could see both the door and into the courtyard, where some customers were unashamedly taking their ease with her ladies.

Henrietta took a puff on her pipe and looked them up and down. When she spoke her voice was deep and throaty. ‘Well, well. Josiah Mottershead, if I’m not much mistaken. We haven’t seen you since the king was returned to us. Found another house to visit, I daresay. And who have you brought to meet me?’

‘’Allo, ’Enrietta. You’re looking very fine. This is my cousin Tom. ’E’s come from ’Ampshire to ’elp me with a job I’ve got. ’Is ’ead’s not right. Doesn’t speak ’ardly ever. Dependable, though, and don’t tell tales.’