Petals in the Ashes (13 page)

‘Why's that?' Anne asked.

‘I heard that there's a fire near to the wharves.'

‘There are always fires there,' I said. ‘There was one at the tallow-chandlers last week which gutted the place right out.'

‘Is it a big fire?' Anne asked.

‘I couldn't see it. But someone roused the Lord Mayor in the night to tell of it and ask for the fire-squirts to be brought, and he looked on it and said it was nothing and that a woman might piss it out.'

Anne and I laughed, but Tom suddenly looked embarrassed. ‘You must pardon me for using such a term,' he said, ‘but I have not had female company for many a month and I have almost forgot my manners.'

‘Then you
are
a monk?' Anne asked.

‘No, I am not.'

‘Oh! And you didn't go into the cabinet and get turned into air?'

Smiling, he shook his head. ‘No. But you mustn't tell a soul that it's not true.'

‘
None
of it is true?' Anne and I both asked at once.

‘None of it.'

‘Not magic?' Anne said, disappointed.

‘I will tell you all, and tell you truly,' he said. ‘But first let me ask where is your sister Sarah, and what happened to you after you left London?'

I took a deep breath. ‘It's a long story,' I said, and attempted to tell him in as few words as possible (for I was more than anxious to hear
his
tale) about our stay in Dorchester at the pesthouse, and then at Highclear, and our journey home when Sarah had met Giles Copperly, and then about me and Anne coming to London. ‘And when I reached London I was told that both you and Doctor da Silva had contracted plague
and were dead!' I finished.

Tom was silent a while. ‘Doctor da Silva died, God rest his soul,' he said then. ‘I was thought to be dead, too – and even taken for a ride on a death cart.'

‘You were put on the death cart?' I gasped, while Anne sat open-mouthed.

He nodded. ‘The Doctor had already died and I was unconscious when they took up our bodies with some others to convey us to the pit,' he said. ‘Luckily for me, though, the buboes under my arm had burst and the poison was slowly draining from me, so that when the cart reached the pit I had recovered my wits enough to sit up and ask for a pigeon pastie.'

I tried to laugh with him yet could not, for his dying was not a matter in which I could find humour.

‘I lay abed for some weeks until I was strong enough to stir myself, and then I had to find a job. I heard at a hiring fair that Count de'Ath wanted a thin, strong lad, so applied for the position.' He stretched out his arms. ‘Do you find me changed?'

I nodded. ‘You are much thinner, yes, and taller – and you have no hair to speak of.'

‘That is because I lost my hair to the plague and it is only just now growing again. But I have reason to thank the sickness for my present job, for only a very thin person could fit into the secret space at the back of the cabinet, and on that my job depends.'

‘So you just go into the back of the cabinet?' Anne said, looking affronted. ‘There is no magic to it at all?'

He shook his head. ‘I'm afraid not.'

She sighed heavily. ‘It is too bad to think there's no magic in the world.'

‘There
is
magic.' Tom's eyes caught mine and locked
with them. ‘For those who are lucky. But it is not a matter of cabinets and disappearing monks.'

Tom and I went for a walk. I longed to go to Chelsea again, where we had spent a day last year picking wild flowers, but the sun was already low in the sky and the walk would have taken several hours. Instead we went out of the City by Ludgate and took a route past the prison and over Fleet River (which was stinking very bad after the hot summer we had had) and from there to the Strand to admire the new-built houses of the nobility. We came near to the king's palace at Whitehall and I told Tom about coming back to London on May Day, and seeing His Majesty on the royal barge.

‘May Day.' Tom frowned slightly, trying to remember. ‘I was in Bath then, appearing at the pleasure gardens.'

‘With Count de'Ath?' I asked.

He nodded. ‘I've been with him for six months now.'

‘Is he a good man?'

Tom raised his eyebrows. ‘A cat will be a cat still,' he said.

I looked at him for his meaning.

‘He is as good as any quack can be, but he is not a real Count, and not even French.' He smiled. ‘When he is not Count de'Ath he is Doctor Marvell. Have you heard of Doctor Marvell's excellent medicine?'

‘No!' I said, laughing.

‘Doctor Marvell's medicine can cure everything from rupture to measles and from toothache to the bladder stone,' Tom said solemnly. ‘Three bottles will
fit a man for life and cure any illness he is likely to encounter during all of that time.'

‘Can it cure plague?' I asked.

‘Everything!' he said firmly, with the glint of a smile in his eye.

‘And what is in this wonderful linctus?'

‘Nettle water.'

‘What's that?'

‘A few leaves of nettle steeped in water. And perhaps a leaf of curled parsley for luck.'

I began to laugh. ‘That will not cure anyone!'

‘But 't'will not kill anyone, either. And if you think it is doing you good then mayhap it will. It'll do the quack doctors good, certainly,' he went on, ‘for there were a hundred different cures for plague and men were made rich by them.'

‘But why did you not take up a new apprenticeship with another apothecary?' I asked after a moment.

‘Because there was no one to pay my premium,' he said. ‘When I recovered from plague I journeyed home, but could not find my father and stepmother. I was told they had moved away.' His voice broke slightly and I squeezed his hand and looked at him with tenderness, for I could see that he had felt himself alone in the world. ‘But I get on well with Count de'Ath,' he said with more cheer, ‘and it is a merry job, for when I am not making bottles of nettle water then I am an actor.'

‘So it's always you who appears and goes into the cabinet?'

He nodded. ‘Sometimes I'm a monk, sometimes I'm a farmer, on occasion I'm a woman! I have six changes of face and keep a record of what person I am
where, for I must never appear in the same guise twice in the same place.'

‘I saw you at the theatre dressed as a dandy,' I said. ‘At least, it seemed to be someone who looked much like you. That was partly why we came to Bartholomew Fair – so I could see the show again.'

He smiled. ‘I'm very glad that you did.'

I hesitated a moment. ‘What I cannot understand,' I said slowly, ‘is that seeing how you were alive all the time, you did not come round to the shop to see me.'

‘I did!' he said. ‘I came when we were in London earlier this year – in February or March.'

‘Oh! We were still in Dorset then …'

‘I came round in a rush, dressed as a monk, and spoke to your neighbour – the frowsy-headed fellow at the sign of the Parchment and Quill.'

‘Mr Newbery.'

‘And he told me you were dead for sure, and he might take over your shop if no one claimed it.'

‘The hog-grubber!' I gasped. And then I looked at Tom from under my eyelashes. ‘But did you just come round to ask for me once only?' I asked, for this did not seem to me to be enough.

He smiled, his head on one side. ‘And did you enquire after
me
once only?' he countered.

‘Indeed not!' I said indignantly. ‘I saw that Doctor da Silva's shop was shuttered, and spoke to an old lady who said that you'd gone to the pesthouse and died, and then I enquired at the pesthouse and saw it recorded that the death cart had taken you!' I paused. ‘But how many times did you ask for me?'

‘I was at Death's door for six weeks – so you will excuse me not asking
then
,' he said, laughing a little,
‘and then I was travelling across England, to Bath and Warminster and Canterbury to all the fairs and theatres that Count de'Ath could reach. I came to enquire about you both times we were in London, however – the first when I spoke to your neighbour and once again, late one afternoon after we'd appeared at the King's Theatre. I banged at your door but although it was a trading day the shop was still shut and boarded, so I feared that you must really be dead.'

‘It was shut and boarded because I was at the theatre seeing you!' I said. ‘Nelly Gwyn had been in the shop and given us tickets for that very day.'

We mock-glared at each other, then this gave way to laughter and thence – in myself at least – to something close to tears, for we had so nearly lost each other, and it had been only the most peculiar set of circumstances which had caused us to find each other again.

I wiped my eyes with my fingers and Tom pulled a linen kerchief out of his pocket for me, and with it came a length of bright green silk ribbon.

‘For me?' I gasped. ‘How pretty!'

‘No, it is for my new disguise …' Tom began, and then he stopped and lifted my chin, for my face had fallen in disappointment. ‘No, indeed it is not! I was only teasing, for I bought it yesterday at the fair. And there is a silver locket too, which is to go on the ribbon and be tied around your neck.'

‘Oh!' I said, and could not say more or even thank him because I was quite speechless with pleasure and happiness.

‘And I'm glad you're wearing this green gown, for I bought it specially to match it,' he added.

We had walked a good way out of the City by this time, and were in a pretty lane alongside the Thames where Michaelmas daisies grew amass in blue, purple and white clumps. There was a fallen oak tree covered in all manner of ferns and ivies, and we sat upon this and Tom carefully threaded the locket on to the ribbon and tied it around my neck. When it was tied fast his hands moved from around my neck to my face, one finger tracing along the line of my cheek, another trembling on my lips. I lifted my face to his, seeing the sun shimmering the sky crimson and dappling the river with light, and then, as I closed my eyes, his mouth came down softly upon mine.

My first kiss was everything I'd dreamed it would be, and there were two more kisses after it before Tom took a deep breath and said that we ought to be getting back.

‘That's what I was thinking,' I said quickly, although I hadn't at all, but did not want him to think of me as a girl ready to throw up her petticoats at any man's asking.

‘We'll be together again soon,' he said.

I felt the locket at my neck and ran my fingers over its cool smooth shape, impatient to get home and look at it properly, for I had not had time to see it before he'd put it on me. ‘Will we?' I asked. ‘For you'll be travelling around all the time with Count de'Ath.'

‘Well, we are at Bartholomew Fair all this week, and then go over the river to Southwarke, and from there to Richmond – and I can come and see you from all those places.'

‘But what then?' I asked, for I felt I couldn't let him go.

‘Then …' He shrugged. ‘I don't know. With the winter coming mayhap the Count will shore up somewhere for a season. And London is where the money is to be made, so we may stay here.'

I sighed. ‘But what if it—'

He interrupted me by kissing me again, lightly, on my nose. ‘Wait and see. If I go away then I'll give you a kiss for each freckle and this will last us until we meet again.'

And with this I had to be content.

Walking downriver a little, we came to a landing stage where several boatmen were plying their trades ferrying people across to the other bank, and Tom negotiated a fare of sixpence with a young water-dog for us to be taken as far as Swan Steps at London Bridge. It started off a pleasant trip, for although the sun had almost disappeared, it was still warm with a light breeze, and a soft mist was rising from each bank of the river. There were craft aplenty: families out with their servants, couples deep in each other's eyes, and groups of young men carousing.

It was only when we were coming to the last deep bend of the Thames before the City that we became aware that all was not as it should be. The craft we were seeing were not bent on pleasure; some were being rowed hard, with a purpose, across to the other bank or upstream and away. And then as we came around the river's bend we heard strange sounds: the clashing noise of church bells reverse-pealing, and an awkward crackling sound tempered by the occasional sharp bang of what sounded like fireworks.

Our water-dog hailed another to ask what was amiss, saying that he had only just now begun his
evening's work.

‘Fire!' the other yelled back. ‘Some of the wharves are alight and you'll not be able to land at Swan Steps.'

Our water-dog swore, and said he would land us wherever he could and the rest of the trip could go hang, and so began to row us towards the bank.

As we cleared the bend we could see the fire for ourselves, as it was sending up pillars of smoke in a line all along the river from Black Swan Alley, where I sometimes went for sugar, past Cold Harbour as far as London Bridge. In all, the flames looked to stretch for a quarter of a mile or more.

‘This must be the fire that I told you of this morning!' Tom said as we both stared in horror at the bank. ‘I had no idea it was this bad.'

‘'Tis more fire than I have ever seen at once!' I gasped.

The boatman began to swear under his breath for, although he was rowing as fast and as hard as he could, backwards and forwards, he could not find a landing stage which was not crowded with people intent on putting out to river and getting away.

‘Your fare will be double!' he shouted to Tom, and Tom could not but agree to pay him.

Up and down the river we rowed without finding a place to alight, and once the boatman threatened to put us out on the Southwarke side of the river, and upped his fare to one shilling and sixpence not to do so. Tom again agreed to pay, for the north side of the bridge was now burning hard, its glistening timbers falling, splashing and sizzling into the water, and we knew we would not get across it if we were landed on
the Southwarke side.