A Love Most Dangerous (34 page)

Art took all in with a practised glance and led us to
a little table as far as possible from the songsters and the two angry men.

A barmaid came up and looked me up and down. 'Latest
conquest, Art?' she asked.

'What's it to you, Amy Pepper?' Betty cried.

'It's nothing to me, Betty,' the barmaid answered.
'Just having a pleasant chat.'

'Well less chatter and more serving would not go
amiss.'

'I'll serve you when you've got some coin,' the
barmaid answered. 'You've spent what little you had when you came in this
morning.'

'I'm paying,' Art said, in a soothing tone. 'Three
pints of ale, Amy, and one for yourself if you wish.'

Betty glared at the barmaid as she went to get our
order. I was glad. It was better if she directed her anger on to someone else
and away from me.

'Well this is cosy,' Art said. 'My oldest friend and
my newest.'

Betty turned towards me but now all sign of antagonism
had drained away from her face. She looked weary from drink, her eyes heavy and
fluttering. She perked up when Amy brought the ale, however, grabbing it
swiftly and downing half of it in one swallow.

'Like a sewer,' Amy muttered but Betty was too
engrossed to hear, slurping the drink swiftly and murmuring to herself as she
did so.

Amy gave Art a broad smile, knowing that Betty was too
far gone to react. He reached out and stroked her bottom. Then he caught my
glance and removed his hand.

This was my introduction to Art Scrump and his world.
He spent the next two weeks trying to entwine me in it in the way which suited
him most.

He made no bones about his desire to get me into bed.
And I made no bones about refusing him.

All his life he had been successful with women and my
reaction left him bewildered. I often found him staring at me as if not quite
sure how to take me. But he was never dismayed by my intransigence for long and
would renew his assault as if he had never been rebuffed.

My money was beginning to dwindle and I was forced to
eke it out by making and mending shirts. I was accounted a very poor seamstress
at court but in the back alleys around Offal Pudding Lane I was reckoned
accomplished. I soon found myself with almost enough work to make ends meet.

As the weeks drew on towards the middle of May I began
to think that I would be able to make my way in London. I missed the court and
I missed the comfort and good grace I had been used to. But I'd always been
taught to make the best of things and I was determined to make my way in the
world. I did not intend staying in the Scrump's home for long but I reconciled
myself to living here for a little while.

It was this sense of familiarity which proved my
undoing. I got so used to the daily round that I let my guard down. I swear I
do not know how it happened but I found myself allowing Art Scrump into my
little bedroom and onto my bed.

He was a skillful lover, make no mistake. I had, of
course, only the King to compare him with and Art was superior in every way. He
had a way of moving which made my body throb with pleasure and all the time we
made love he stared into my eyes as though he had never seen such beauty in his
life. I knew that he was enjoying himself, of course, and suspected that his
attentiveness to me was only fuel for his own pleasure. But I did not care. He
made me feel that I was the loveliest woman in all the world. And he took me to
a place I had never been before. I held him fast in my arms as we climaxed and
I wanted to cry out, I love you, I love you, but I could not form the words for
my tongue was thick and my throat too tight.

Then he gave the smuggest smile I had ever seen on
human face and whistled a careless tune right in my ear. I was glad that I had
not been able to find my voice, glad I had not given him the satisfaction of
declaring my feelings. But I stroked his face, nevertheless, and sighed at how
I had been so easily seduced.

We made love twice a day for the next nine days. I
knew that Art had other lovers, Betty Dibble and Amy Pepper to name just two.
But I did not care for I allowed myself to believe it when he told me that I
was the only girl he loved and that the others were mere customary obligations
which he had to fulfil for a little while until he could concentrate solely on
me.

It was on the tenth day that he came to my bedroom and
did not take me immediately in his arms.

'Is there something wrong?' I asked.

He nodded ruefully. 'I've been unlucky at cards, Alice,' he said. 'I'm being dunned for money from some creditors.'

 A little warning bell sounded in my heart and the
words came cautious to my lips. 'And can you pay these creditors?'

He shook his head. 'I need twelve pounds.'

I don't know which opened widest, my eyes or my mouth.

'Twelve pounds? How on earth have you racked up such a
debt?'

He shrugged his shoulders. 'Wine and women, chiefly.'
Then he shook his head. 'No, that's not true. It's mostly down to gambling.
I've had a lot of bad luck recently. The dice do not love me and nor do the
cards. And the cocks that I bet on are not game for the fight.'

I shook my head. 'So it's not your fault at all?' I
said sarcastically.

He looked aggrieved. 'Don't say it in that tone, Alice. I've told you, luck has been against me lately.'

'And how long is lately?'

'Six months. A year.'

'Then more fool you.'

I glanced at his face which took on the look of a
truculent child. I could not believe that anybody could accumulate such debt,
especially a man of Art's station. And I could not, for the life of me, see how
it would be possible for him to pay it back.

'How much do you earn in a year?' I asked.

'A good year or a bad year?'

'Either.' I spoke curtly for I had no patience for any
games.

'I've no idea. I get about sixpence a day, more in the
summer.'

'So you earn six pounds a year and you owe twice as
much.'

He shrugged. 'Normally I can earn as much gambling as
I do on the river.'

I sighed. 'But not lately, clearly.'

He kicked the wall idly and did not answer.

'So what will you do?' I asked at last.

His face brightened immediately. 'That's where I hoped
you might come in,' he said.

I shook my head, not understanding his meaning.

'You're a lady,' he said. 'You were at court. Haven't
you any money to lend me?'

'Not twelve pounds,' I said. 'Not anything like.'

'How much have you got then?'

'That's not for you to ask, Art. What is mine is mine
and I don't intend to lose it all like you have done.'

He looked crestfallen but brightened up in a moment.
'You don't have to lend me the full amount, Alice. The men I own money to won't
be expecting the full amount from me, not at all. Just a little on account, a
token. Something to buy them off and give me more time to get together the
whole amount.'

I felt my reluctance begin to thaw.

'How much? How much is a token?'

Art shrugged. 'Three pounds, two, even ten shillings
would be a help.'

'Ten shillings?'

He nodded.

I looked away. I had thirty shillings still in my
purse. I did not want to give him everything but some of it, ten shillings say,
would help keep him out of trouble.

'And it doesn't have to be cash,' he added, trying to
seem helpful. 'Maybe some jewellery would go down just as well.' He gave a look
which I perceived to be sly and mean. 'That silver locket, for example. You
don't wear it and it has no picture in it. Perhaps we could pawn that for ready
money.'

I bit my lip. The locket had been given to me by the
King though he had ordered that his portrait be prised from it when I fell out
of favour. If I were to help Art it would make good sense to pawn the locket
instead of giving up my last reserves of cash. But something made me pause.
Partly it was because if I were to return to court the King would demand
account of the locket. But also, I realised to my consternation, it was because
the locket felt precious to me. And it felt precious because it had been given
to me by the King.

'Or your cloak,' Art said, picking it up from my bed
and scrutinising it. 'It's well made and should fetch a good price.'

'And what am I to do when winter comes?' I said. I
snatched it back from him. 'Besides it belonged to my mother. It's the only
thing of hers which I own.'

I undid the locket from my neck and gave it to him.
'Take this. And here is ten shillings.'

He kissed me hard on the mouth.

'This will save my life,' he cried cheerfully as he
disappeared.

I shook my head ruefully and smiled. It was exactly
like his mother said. Art was a heart-taker and a heart-breaker.

He did not return for the rest of the day.

His father and mother seemed unconcerned at his
absence. They were used to his Tom-Cat ways. But then Walter glanced at me
suddenly and asked if something was wrong.

'I don't know,' I mumbled. I truly didn't. And then I
realised that I had been distracted for most of the evening. I put down the
shirt I was mending. And then it came to me. Art had made up a story in order
to get money from me. Even now he was likely in the Shambles, drinking away my
money, gambling and whoring.

'There's nothing amiss,' I said, 'at least not with
me.'

I got up and made for the door.

'You're not going out,' he said. 'Not at this time, Alice. It's getting dark. It's no time for a lady to be out on her own.'

'Well I'm going,' I said and went out of the door.

'Go after her, Walter,' I heard Mrs Scrump say.

'I'll get a lantern and stick,' he said. They were the
last words I heard for I was already marching up the lane towards Eastcheap.

I burst into the Shambles and there, sure enough, sat
Art. He was not gambling though, he was sitting drinking quietly with three
men. I did not recognise any of them. One of them was so pale he seemed to have
no colour about him at all. His hair looked white as snow and his eyes as cold
as a winter ice in a pond.

Art looked up as I got closer and smiled broadly. 'Alice,' he said. 'I did not think to see you here at this hour.'

The pale man looked up at me, his eyes sharp and
suspicious.

'Is this she?' he asked.

'Yes, Thorne,' Art answered and the man picked up his
ale without another word.

'Come on,' Art said, rising and holding me by the arm.
'The Shambles is no place for a lady at this time of day. Let me walk you
home.'

'All right,' I said. 'But I need to talk to you when
we get there.'

He nodded and hurried me out of the door.

We took half a dozen steps and then he paused and
touched my hair. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'You'll be all right though.'

I looked at him in surprise. 'What do you mean?' I
asked.

And then a hand clamped on my mouth and two strong
arms grabbed me round the middle. I kicked out and heard a howl of pain.

'She's a vixen, right enough.' Thorne, the pale man
with the sharp eyes, held a lantern to my face. 'And as beautiful as you
claimed, Art. A lovely little vixen, full of fight. She's worth a fortune.'

I was hauled off my feet and carried down a dark alley
opposite. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the distant shape of Walter
Scrump, lantern and stick in hand, hurrying up the lane. Distant, too distant.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Captivity and Escape

The men wound a rag tight around my mouth and I was
carried down dark alleys to the river. I looked back for any sign of Walter
Scrump but he had not seen me in time. The men knew the path they took very
well and nobody saw us as we passed.

I was bundled into a boat.

'Don't move,' Thorne's harsh voice told me, 'and don't
try to shout for help. You'll feel the back of my hand if you do.'

I shook my head and whimpered in terror. It was the
most noise I could make.

The boat pulled into the river. I tried to calm my
mind in order to think. A tall ship rode at anchor in the middle of the river.
Images of slavery swarmed in my head. Of fierce Turks with razor-sharp swords,
cruel Spaniards with neat-cut beards, pomaded Frenchmen with glittering eyes.
Of being locked in a harem, a castle, a dungeon dank with water, filled with
rats. But then the boat moved past the ship and headed towards the south bank.

Towards Southwark, I thought. Southwark and the filthy
brothels and bawdy houses that crammed its streets.

The boat grated against a bank and I was hauled up and
onto the shoulder of one of the men. They moved more slowly now, as if they no
longer feared pursuit or any interference. I presumed that women being
kidnapped were a common sight in Southwark.