The Judas Blade (23 page)

‘And I!’ another cried. ‘Why, I’d never leave the bedchamber! If you seek a rum cull, madam, I’m your man!’

‘She don’t seek one,’ Peter Crabb said. The fellow looked round, then upwards, and gulped.

‘No she don’t … and I pray you’ll excuse me, sirs.’ With a tipsy leer, Mullin pushed his way through the seated men, clapping some on the shoulder as he disentangled himself. ‘I’ll join
you again,’ he said loudly. ‘Next week perhaps … who can say?’ And with that he turned his back to them and drew close to Betsy. Her instinct was to back away from him, drunk as he appeared, until she looked into his eyes.

‘At your service once again, madam,’ he said gently. ‘Shall we find a more salubrious spot to talk?’

They sat in a small back room, quieter than the rest of the tavern. The only other occupants were an elderly gentleman and a blowsy-looking trull, fumbling each other in a corner. But after a while they too departed, leaving the three intelligencers alone. Soon they had exchanged such news as there was, though little of what the men said was new to Betsy. Not wishing to dwell on it, she gave them a very brief account of her meeting with Williamson. But at that, Mullin grew animated.

‘The damned skinflint!’ he grumbled. ‘I had to wheedle to get my own money out of him, and still it wasn’t all I’m owed. I told him I’d not had a penny in four months, and strike me if he didn’t deny it! In the end I took payment for three, and bade him insert the remainder somewhere dark and unpleasant!’

Betsy glanced at Crabb and saw his look of amusement. ‘I hope you got paid, Wrestler,’ she said. ‘After all you went through. And I’m very glad to be able to thank you again for saving my life.’

‘I’ve been paid in full,’ Crabb told her. ‘Mr Lee needs a few like me, and he knows it. Besides, I come cheaper than gentlefolk.’ He gave her a shy smile.

‘You see we’re the best of friends now?’ Mullin jerked his thumb at Crabb, then picked up his mug. ‘I hope that pleases you.’

‘It does,’ Betsy answered. ‘Especially since each of you once swore to kill the other, as I recall.’

But Mullin waved a hand in the air. ‘That was the Dutch wine talking,’ he said breezily. ‘Why, even the Rose’s ale is an improvement.’ And as if to prove it, he took a generous pull.
But, as he set his mug down again, he eyed Betsy keenly. ‘It’s fortuitous you got my message in time,’ he went on. ‘I had nowhere else to leave it, save at the theatre. I depart tomorrow – for the Low Countries again. Though not, thank heavens, Delft. It seems my talents are in demand at the Hague. Things are somewhat fraught there, I fear.’

‘You’re still certain there will be war?’ Betsy asked quietly, to which the other nodded.

‘Unavoidable,’ he said, with a glance at Crabb. ‘Early spring, as I said …’ He looked away. ‘And for what? So another preening monarch can plunder the bog of Europe?’

‘Let’s not speak of it now, Captain,’ Crabb said mildly. ‘Should we not toast our gallant companion instead?’

At that Mullin slapped a hand on the table. ‘Quite right!’ Raising his own mug, he knocked it against Crabb’s. Both men drained them to the last, then set them down.

‘And before we part, madam, there’s one other thing …’ A sly smile appeared on the captain’s face. ‘We’ve shared our displeasure about Williamson,’ he added, ‘yet I’ve news that may cheer you – indeed, I’m certain it will. It … well, it concerns a horse.’

In surprise Betsy met his eye … and caught a familiar gleam in it. She looked at Crabb and saw a knowing look there too. ‘How so?’ she enquired.

‘Not just any horse, I should say …’ Once again, Mullin seemed rather pleased with himself. ‘I speak of the one I rode from Dover to Datchet, then raced – a spirited beast. I was sorry to part with him, but needs must.’ He grinned. ‘In short, madam, I sold him to a dealer in Smithfield. He fetched a good price, I might add. Then I do enjoy a haggle.’

‘You sold the other hired horse?’ Betsy’s mouth fell open. ‘That was bold, sir, if not criminal.’

‘Do you think so, after all we did?’ Mullin shrugged. ‘I told you Williamson would pay the reckoning, and so he has, albeit grudgingly. A sum will be sent to the stable in Dover, so no
man’s been ill-served. Except that skinflint, our master.’ He grinned broadly. ‘I enjoyed watching him rage when I told him the price of both our horses.’

‘But how did you explain their loss?’ Betsy asked. And when Mullin merely kept grinning, she looked to Crabb. ‘Wrestler, won’t you tell me?’

‘Well, from what I heard, your mare was stolen in Egham,’ the young man answered haltingly. ‘The captain’s mount was lost on Hounslow Heath. A fearful place for horse priggers, is that …’ He threw Mullin a look. ‘You should be more careful in future, sir.’

‘That I should.’ Mullin put on a sober look. ‘Still, what’s done is done, so now I’ll come to the nub of it.’ He reached into his coat and drew out a small package. ‘That matter is, I thought you had a right to a share in my good fortune, madam,’ he went on. ‘A small token of my appreciation – and our friendship, of course. After all, one of the horses I sold was yours, so to speak.’

In silence, Betsy took the packet.

‘It’s a trifle – a scrap of lace,’ Mullin went on with a casual air. ‘But good stuff… Flanders, of course. It’ll serve to trim a collar, or cuffs.’

‘I thank you,’ she said.

‘Best tuck it away before you go,’ Crabb put in. ‘Some thief will have it off you otherwise.’

‘I will …’ She eyed him, then Mullin. Nothing more was said: it was time for her exit and all of them knew it. So she rose and tucked the gift into her bosom. After that it only remained for the men to stand too and bid her farewell. It seemed unlikely they would meet again; and though Betsy was about to leave the two with whom she’d shared so much, she would not stay. When Crabb said he would see her safely to the street, she nodded. At the door, she looked back to see Mullin still on his feet. He smiled and made her a low bow; then she turned and went out.

In Brydges Street, the link-boy was still waiting. Drawing her
whisk about her, Betsy took farewell of Peter Crabb with a hug and, without speaking, left him.

Then she was walking back down Little Russell Street, facing straight ahead.

T
OM CATLIN WAS
in the parlour when Betsy returned to the house in Fire’s Reach Court. As she came in, he glanced up from reading
The London Gazette
and nodded a greeting.

‘Was your sister in good spirits?’ he asked.

‘She was.’ Avoiding his eye, Betsy moved to a couch and sat down. Then, putting her hand down her gown, she pulled out Mullin’s package. It was wrapped in coarse frieze. She frowned. In the moment of parting, she hadn’t noticed how heavy it was.

‘What is that?’ Catlin enquired with mild interest.

‘A gift, from a friend.’ Rather hurriedly, she began opening it. There were several folds to unwrap before the small strip of lace was revealed. She picked it up … then caught her breath, while Tom Catlin gave a start. Both stared in amazement, at the shower of gold coins that fell out and clattered to the floor.

‘A gift?’ The doctor stood up. ‘Then this friend is most generous … not to say wealthy.’

Betsy didn’t reply. She gazed at the gold guineas and
half-guineas
lying scattered on the floorboards. Some were still spinning, glinting in the firelight. There were more than a score of them… twenty pounds, at the least. Finally she looked up to see alarm on Catlin’s face – and at once she understood.

‘Now, you don’t imagine I’ve been selling my favours?’ she asked drily.

‘No – why would I?’ Catlin frowned at her. ‘And how could you think so harshly of me?’

She swallowed. ‘Your pardon … I don’t. I was … this money is … well, it’s a shock.’

‘So I observe.’ After a moment, the doctor moved to a side table. ‘You’d better take some sack,’ he murmured. He poured out a glass for each of them, while Betsy stooped to pick up the coins. Sitting down again, she set them in her lap and counted them carefully: twenty-four pounds in all.

‘Cods,’ she muttered under her breath. The price, she knew at once, was well over half of what the horse would have fetched – even when the seller was Marcus Mullin. ‘More likely it’s the whole sum,’ she breathed, then looked up. Tom Catlin was holding the glass out to her.

‘Let me explain this later,’ she said, rather shakily. ‘For now, I’d like to present you with ten pounds. I know I’m late in keeping the promise I made you before I went away, but I do so now, in the hope it will stave off your creditors. Shall we call it a year’s rent in advance?’ She took the glass from him, and drank it down in one gulp.

Speechless, Catlin stared at her.

‘I swear it’s my money,’ Betsy said. ‘And that I’ve done nothing wrong to get it … nothing
very
wrong, anyway. I want you to have the sum – this is our home after all. Peg’s and mine, I mean. We’d simply hate you to sell it.’ She paused. ‘Please don’t be tiresome: take it as a favour to me.’

Still Catlin didn’t speak. His eyes went from Betsy’s face to the money in her hands, then back. ‘But … what of your father?’ he said at last. ‘Surely he needs this more than I?’

‘Ah yes …’ Betsy put a hand to her brow. It was damp, but then the room was quite warm. ‘I neglected to tell you,’ she went on, thinking fast. ‘My sister has raised a good sum from a family friend … it will go some way to helping our father in his plight. Together with the amount I will give her, I think matters will resolve
themselves
.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Indeed, I’m planning another visit to Chelsea soon, to talk of our good fortune – see the money is well spent, and so forth. All in all, it should be a happier time ahead.’

‘So it would seem.’ Glass in hand, Catlin moved slowly back to his desk. At one side was the familiar stack of unpaid bills, weighed down with a pebble. He glanced briefly at them, then sat down. ‘By the heavens, Betsy,’ he muttered.

There was a footfall on the threshold, and the door swung open. Peg stalked in, sleeves rolled and cap at one side.

‘Before you retire, I’ll need two shillings for the butcher’s boy tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Does Master think he can scrape up that much?’

She stared insolently at Catlin and, when he didn’t answer, turned to Betsy. But when her eyes fell on the money, she faltered.

‘Good Christ!’ she blurted. ‘Where did that come from?’

For a moment neither of the others spoke. Then as the women’s eyes met, Peg’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Your pardon …’ She caught her breath. ‘Someone’s died – is that it?’

‘No one’s died, Peg,’ Betsy said. ‘At least, no one that I knew. So there’s no need to ask pardon.’ She smiled up at the servant, then picked out a half-sovereign and held it up.

‘Take this for the butcher’s boy,’ she said. ‘And tell him to be sharp about giving you change. Then take what’s left, and use it to pay off whom you will – the ones who won’t wait, I mean.’ Still smiling, she faced Tom Catlin.

‘And out of that rent money, sir, I hope you’ll take some to your wig-maker,’ she went on, ‘and order something better than that … doormat you’re still wearing. I’d hoped when I went away, to see the last of it.’

There was a short silence. Then shaking herself out of her inertia, Peg stepped forward and took the coin from Betsy.

‘Leave it to me,’ she said, and sniggered. ‘As for the
wig-maker
, he’d be less than pleased.’ She jerked her head towards Tom Catlin. ‘Hadn’t you noticed? That’s not the same one he had on – it’s new! Talk about cheap, eh?’ And with that she gave a shout of laughter, and went out.

Betsy looked at Catlin – not at his face, but at the top of his head – and saw that it was true.

‘Well, at least the fuel’s of good quality,’ she murmured. She turned and looked into the fire – whereupon a coal cracked and hissed, letting out a spurt of blue flame.

‘Gas,’ Catlin said.

Then he turned away, and took up his paper.

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