Читать книгу The Vagabond Duchess - Claire Thornton - Страница 11

T emperance flung herself forward, almost throwing herself into Jack’s arms in her urgency to reach him before anyone else. He reacted to her presence faster than any of his accusers. She saw the flash of recognition in his eyes, then he caught her shoulders and steadied her. She pulled out of his grasp and spun to face her neighbours, holding out her arms to either side to create a barrier between them and Jack.

‘He’s not French! He’s English!’ she shouted. ‘His great-grandfather was a grocer! Here, in the City. You’re an idle gossip, Agnes Cruikshank. But it’s evil to accuse an innocent man of such a sinful crime… What?’ she demanded over her shoulder at Jack. ‘Why do you keep pushing me?’

‘Because I don’t normally hide behind a woman’s skirts,’ he replied mildly, managing to reverse their positions so he was closest to the crowd. ‘Even when she defends me as well as you just did, Madam Tempest.’

‘Tempest?’ A man in the crowd repeated, in a snort of half-amused disbelief. ‘He’s got the measure of Mistress Temperance, right enough.’

‘He’s got the look of a foreigner,’ said another man.

‘I’m as English as anyone here,’ said Jack. ‘My great-grandfather was a grocer, but I was born in Sussex.’

Temperance tried to get in front of him again, but he caught her arm and wouldn’t let her.

‘I heard the rumours the fire was started by our enemies too,’ Jack said. ‘I came out this morning ready to defend us from the Dutch—but from what I’ve heard the fire started by accident, in the house of the King’s baker in Pudding Lane.’

‘Why did you speak in the heathen’s tongue yesterday?’ Agnes came close and peered up at him through slitted eyes. ‘I did hear you. You pulled off your wig and called on the devil.’

Jack grinned. ‘How long have you lived next door to Mistress Temperance?’ he asked.

‘Twenty-three years, near enough,’ Agnes replied, glowering at him. ‘I was there at her birthing.’

‘And in all those twenty-three years, haven’t you ever felt the urge to clutch at your hair and swear?’ he asked.

Several people laughed. Only the improvement in the crowd’s mood stopped Temperance from giving Jack a swift kick on his ankle. She’d thrown herself into the breach, determined to save him, despite his annoying behaviour and questionable morals—and now he repaid her by making fun of her!

‘In English.’ Agnes prodded him in the chest. ‘I chastise her in English. Not French.’

Jack caught Agnes’s hand and held it. ‘But when I was three years old the Roundheads drove my mother out of our home,’ he said, his attention apparently focussed entirely on Agnes. ‘She fled in fear of our lives. I had to wait seventeen years to return home to England. I am not at fault for what happened when I was still a child in arms.’

‘You visited the French Court. After so long there you must have French sympathies,’ Agnes said, but she no longer sounded so hostile.

‘I went to the French Court when I was fourteen,’ Jack said, releasing Agnes’s hand. ‘That’s a long time ago. I am not a French spy.’

‘What was your great-grandfather’s name?’ asked an elderly man Temperance recognised as Nicholas Farley. ‘I’m a grocer, perhaps I knew him.’

‘Edmund Beaufleur.’

‘Edmund Beaufleur!’ Farley exclaimed. ‘He was Lord Mayor in Queen Bess’s reign.’

‘That’s right,’ Jack said.

‘Well, well, well.’ Farley nodded with interest. ‘Edmund Beaufleur’s great-grandson. Who’d have thought it?’

Temperance couldn’t believe it. London was on fire yet, by the looks of things, any minute now Farley would drag Jack off to examine the Company records in the Grocers’ Hall. At least most of the potential lynch mob had dispersed.

‘It has been an honour to meet you, sir,’ said Jack to Farley. ‘I look forward to seeing you again in happier times. I’d enjoy learning more about my great-grandfather when we can talk at leisure.’

‘Yes.’ Farley looked up and Temperance saw the animation in his face replaced by grim anxiety. ‘There is much to do.’

‘Let’s go inside, sweetheart.’ Jack took her elbow and guided her towards her door.

‘Yes. Yes.’ She gathered herself and fumbled with her key. A few moments later they were standing in the shop. With the shutters closed the only light came from the open door. Temperance stared at Jack in the gloom.

‘They might really have hurt you,’ she whispered, remembering the volatile, angry mood of the crowd when she’d arrived. She started to tremble and wrapped her arms around herself. ‘They were going to attack you—just because Agnes Cruikshank always has to push her nose into other people’s business and n-never gets her f-facts right.’

Jack closed the distance between them and put his hands on her shoulders. She stood still as he rubbed his hands up and down her back. She was too shaken to protest at his action, and too tall to rest her head on his shoulder and pretend she hadn’t noticed what he was doing. She felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek, the solid strength of his body close to hers.

‘They didn’t hurt me—thanks to you,’ he said, his voice soft and soothing. ‘And I do thank you. You are a true virago of a draper, Mistress Tempest.’

She felt his lips brush her skin, then he kissed her. A real kiss, even though it was on her cheek, not her mouth. Her heart rate accelerated. For a moment she forgot about the disaster overshadowing London. She felt hot, excited, unsure. In the dark of the night she’d imagined him kissing her—even though she hadn’t known if she’d ever see him again. She’d hugged herself, pretending it was his arms around her, wondering what it would feel like if he was really holding her.

She’d been kissed a few times before, but it had always been an awkward, embarrassing experience. She’d been several inches taller than the hopeful suitor who’d pursued her when she was eighteen. The discrepancy in their heights might not have been a problem if he’d been genuinely attracted to her. Unfortunately, it was her inheritance that had appealed to him, and he’d lacked the necessary address to hide his real motivation. Temperance had sent him away without regret.

But Jack was different. In his arms she didn’t feel oversized and unfeminine. He was so graceful and sure of himself that somehow he made her feel more confident in her own appeal. She clutched his coat and lifted her head, instinctively turning her face towards his. His lips slid over her cheek in a hot trail, then his mouth found hers.

Temperance felt the jolt of intimate contact all the way to her toes. Yet it was only his mouth on hers. She held his coat in her clenched fist and his open hands lay on her back, but there was still an inch or two of space between their bodies. The only place where their naked skin touched was mouth to mouth. She was astounded that every novel, delightful sensation rippling through her body was generated by nothing more than the movement of his lips and tongue against hers.

It was too dark in the shop to see clearly, but she closed her eyes the better to lose herself in the experience. It was a wonderment she’d never known before. How could a man’s lips be so firm and soft at the same time? His caresses so delicate yet compelling? His tongue stroked her upper lip, teasing and exploring until her knees felt weak. Hardly aware of what she was doing, her arm slid around his neck as she leant against him for support.

His hold on her tightened. One hand in the small of her back pressed her against him. His other hand lifted to cup her head, holding her firmly in place as his tongue slipped inside her mouth and the gentle kiss became far more potent. Lights exploded behind Temperance’s eyelids. The pleasant feelings rippling through her inexperienced body suddenly became a torrent of hot, elemental sensation. She gasped and pulled back, half-thrilled, half-frightened by the unfamiliar feelings he aroused.

After a second his hold on her relaxed. She felt his chest expand as he drew in a deep, not quite steady breath.

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘I didn’t intend that.’

‘Oh, no?’ Temperance pushed against him, upset by his comment. ‘In the dark did you forget what I look—?’

He silenced her with a brisk, almost impatient kiss.

‘Of course I remember what you look like,’ he said, releasing her. ‘Don’t insult me. Or yourself. Even I, irresponsible reprobate though you think me, occasionally put practical matters ahead of pleasure.’

Temperance caught her breath as a vivid image of the fire filled her mind. How could she have forgotten it, even for a few moments? Before she could speak, she heard feet clattering down the stairs.

‘Mistress, is it you?’ Her housemaid, Sarah, burst into the shop, with Isaac close behind. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘I don’t—’ Temperance began, for once in her life uncertain what to do next.

‘Pack up and be ready to leave,’ Jack said.

‘What?’ She turned to stare at him.

‘The waterwheels beneath the bridge have already been destroyed,’ he said. ‘Burning timbers fell on them from above. I saw the damage myself. No water can be drawn up from the river, even if it were possible to get close enough to the flames to douse them. And people have been smashing open water pipes in an effort to save their own homes. If the wind doesn’t abate, nothing will stop the spread of the fire.’

Temperance pressed her fingers to her mouth. A few moments ago she’d been kissing Jack. Her body was still flushed with the sensations he’d aroused. Now her thoughts turned sickeningly to the disaster that had overtaken the east of the City.

‘It’s still a quarter of a mile away at least,’ she whispered. ‘Surely…’

‘Pray for the wind to drop and a rainstorm to equal the deluge,’ said Jack almost brutally. ‘Perhaps the fire won’t spread this far—but it is better to be safe than burnt.’

In the silence following his words, Sarah began to cry. Temperance swallowed and tried to gather her wits. She looked around the shop. She’d lived here all her life. Through every crisis that had visited London during her lifetime she’d known at least her home was secure.

‘Go where?’ she asked. ‘How far? Everyone I know lives within a few streets of here.’

‘In the first instance, to Bundle’s Coffeehouse in Covent Garden,’ said Jack. ‘Bundle’s an old friend of mine. It’s nearly one and a half miles from the heart of the fire. God willing, it won’t spread—’

He broke off at the sound of running footsteps. A second later Temperance saw a woman in the doorway.

‘Is my Katie here?’ Nellie Carpenter half-sobbed her desperate question.

‘Katie? No. Nellie, what—?’

‘Oh, dear God!’ Nellie spun around. She was almost out of the door before Temperance managed to catch her arm.

‘Is Katie lost?’

‘I went out to hear the latest news.’ Nellie heaved in a shuddering breath. ‘She was by my side, I swear. I told her not to leave my side. But the next time I looked she was gone.’ Tears streamed unheeded down Nellie’s cheeks. ‘I’ve got to find her.’ She tried to pull out of Temperance’s grip.

‘Who is Katie?’ Jack was right beside Temperance.

‘Her daughter. She’s five,’ Temperance said. ‘I’ll help, Nellie—’

‘We’ll all help,’ said Jack. ‘Nellie, show us where you were standing the last time you saw her. And you two…’ he glanced over at Isaac and Sarah ‘…do you know what Katie looks like? Good, come with us.’

They spent the rest of the day searching the streets for the lost child, while ash fell on them continuously and the fire crept closer to Cheapside. By nightfall Nellie was almost collapsing from despair and terror.

‘We have to keep looking!’ she insisted, her voice harsh with desperation. ‘We have to—’

‘We will,’ said Jack, his voice as firm and confident as it had been that morning. ‘We won’t give up until she is found. I won’t give up until she is found.’

Tears filled Temperance’s eyes when she heard his avowal. Yesterday she’d almost decided he was a scoundrel without a conscience—today he was steadfastly looking for a child he didn’t know. It was true that, unlike many of the other searchers, he didn’t have a business to save, but it was still the act of a generous, compassionate man.

After dark, Jack insisted Temperance and Isaac stay together, but otherwise the search continued as before. Finally, well past midnight, Isaac spotted Katie huddled in a doorway. She was almost hidden behind a pile of rubbish. Temperance hadn’t seen her. She thanked God for Isaac’s quick eyes as she lifted the frightened child into her arms.

A few minutes later Nellie snatched Katie into her own embrace, scolding and crying over her restored daughter.

Jack took the key from her and opened the shop door, lifting the lanthorn he held high to provide light for the others as they stumbled inside.

‘Now we eat,’ he said. ‘What have you got in your larder?’

‘Eat?’ Temperance rubbed her face, smearing tears and ash across her cheek. ‘I don’t know. There’s some bread. Bacon. Cheese, I think…’

‘Now there’s a feast for a hungry man. Will you give me a share, even though I can’t play for it?’ he asked, a hint of his former teasing manner in his voice.

‘Of course.’ Temperance was too worried to reply in kind. How was she going to save her goods now? All the previous day she’d seen tradesmen packing their wares and household belongings into carts and barrows. They’d found Katie, and she’d never regret the hours they’d spent looking for her, but would there still be time to salvage her belongings?

Fear compelled her up the stairs, past the kitchen and on to the attic. Horror stopped her breath as she stared towards the fire. In the daylight it had been bad enough, in the dark it was a terrifying sight. The flames lit up the sky almost as bright as day. They were closer now, leaping over rooftops, dancing like obscene devils over church spires.

She gazed, transfixed, by the nightmarish spectacle. Jack came to stand by her side.

‘You’re right,’ she said, her voice harsh with anxiety. ‘We have to pack up and leave.’

‘After we’ve eaten,’ he replied.

‘There’s no time—’

‘There’s time to eat,’ he said firmly. ‘The fire looks more fearsome in the dark, but it is still no closer than Cannon Street.’

By the time dawn was casting a shrouded light over the city, Jack had found a cart for Temperance. She didn’t ask how he’d persuaded the carter to go with him, or what he’d paid to hire the cart. She’d seen for herself how the price of carriage had multiplied since the start of the fire. Porters, carters and watermen were all charging whatever their customers were capable of paying—and if one person didn’t have the money, another one, richer or more desperate, was sure to accept the exorbitant price.

Temperance didn’t let herself think about how deeply she might now be in debt to Jack. She’d ask him later. For now she concentrated on wrapping and loading the bales of cloth from her shop. Sarah had returned to her own family that morning, too frightened to remain close to the advancing flames, so it was only Jack and Isaac who helped load the cart.

She paused to catch her breath and noticed Agnes come out of her shop door. After today Temperance didn’t know when she’d see her neighbour again. She’d had many arguments with Agnes, but she didn’t want to part on bad terms, so she went to speak to her.

‘Where are you going?’ Agnes asked.

‘Covent Garden. What about you?’

‘My niece, Fanny, in Southwark. You remember her?’

‘Of course. What about your belongings?’ Temperance could see Agnes’s shop was already stripped bare.

‘St Paul’s,’ said Agnes. ‘No fire will burn the cathedral. I was lucky I managed to get my goods inside in time. Everyone was rushing there yesterday. I didn’t know you knew anyone in Covent Garden,’ she added suspiciously.

‘I don’t. Jack does. Where are Ned and Eliza?’ Temperance asked, referring to Agnes’s apprentice and servant.

‘They’ve gone ahead,’ Agnes said. ‘I’ll be on my way soon. I just came back…’ Her throat worked as she patted the doorjamb of the shop, her home for forty years. ‘I can’t stand here gossiping, girl,’ she said. ‘I’ve got things to do.’ She went inside without a backward glance.

Temperance walked over to Jack. He paused, one hand resting on the side of the cart.

‘We’re nearly done in the shop—why don’t you start upstairs?’ he suggested.

She nodded and went inside. It was agonising deciding between what she could take and what she would be forced to leave behind.

‘What’s going?’ Jack asked from behind her.

She pointed mutely, making ruthless decisions with tears in her eyes. Jack picked up the largest item and started downstairs. They finished loading the cart in silence.

‘Is that everything?’ Jack asked at last.

‘I think so.’

‘Good.’ He glanced over her shoulder, and she saw his expression change. She spun around, then clapped her hands to her mouth in shock.

The fire had reached Cornhill. For the first time she could see the flames when she was standing at her own front door.

‘Oh my God!’ she whispered. ‘It’s nearly here.’

For a moment her feet seemed frozen to the ash-covered cobbles. Then life surged back into her limbs. She dashed inside the building and rushed up the stairs. When Jack caught up with her she was flinging open cupboard doors and dragging drawers from the old dresser.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘Everything. Nothing. What if I’ve missed something important?’ She stared around in panic, then headed up another flight to her bedchamber. ‘What if I’ve missed something?’ she kept repeating, as she tossed discarded items left and right in her distress.

Jack’s arms closed around her from behind. ‘You can replace anything except life,’ he said gently. ‘It’s better to live to fight another day than to take on a foe you can’t beat. Now be still and think quietly. You’ve already taken a little carved box. I know it’s important to you because you put it straight into your pocket. Is there anything else here that means so much to you?’

‘My brother made the box,’ she said, her thoughts going off at a tangent.

‘Where is he now?’ She felt Jack’s breath against her cheek as he held her from behind.

‘He died when I was thirteen.’

‘I’m sorry. Then of course you must keep it safe. Is there anything else here so important to you? Just close your eyes and rest a moment.’

His voice was so soothing and unhurried she did as he bid. Just for a few seconds she relaxed enough to let her mind range over her belongings and all the years to see if there was anything she’d forgotten.

‘My mother’s sewing box.’ She made an instant move to fetch it, dismayed she’d forgotten it until that moment. What else had she forgotten?

Jack held her still.

‘Anything else?’

‘I don’t know.’ Panic began to rise in her once more, and tears leaked from her eyes. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Fetch the sewing box,’ he said gently. ‘It’s time to go.’ He released her and stepped back.

She careered down the stairs and found the sewing box in its familiar place in the alcove by the fire. It had been in full view all the time. She was so used to seeing it there her eyes had passed over it every time she’d scanned the room for important things to save.

She clattered down the rest of the stairs to the shop floor, terrified they’d lingered too long and the fire would be upon them. To her relief, the flames didn’t seem much closer. The fire was making inexorable progress through the old timber buildings, but not so quickly a healthy man couldn’t stay ahead of it.

That didn’t stop the carter cursing them for the delay.

‘Be quiet and drive!’ Temperance snapped. He hadn’t lifted a finger to help them load the cart, but she knew he was being paid a fortune for his services.

She and Jack and Isaac walked beside it as it rattled over the cobblestones. When she looked around she realised they were the last people to leave this part of Cheapside. The fire roared behind them, so loud it drowned out the sound of the cartwheels. Sparks as well as ash showered down on them. High above them the thick black smoked blocked out the sun.

They were halfway to St Paul’s when Temperance remembered Agnes.

‘Isaac! Did you see Agnes leave?’

‘I…’ He drew in a breath and coughed on a gust of smoke. ‘I didn’t see her.’ He stared at Temperance. ‘But I wasn’t looking. Surely she must have—’

‘Did you?’ she demanded of Jack.

‘No.’

‘Carter!’ She lifted her voice in a cracked shout. ‘Did you see an old woman leave the shop next to mine?’

‘Wasn’t looking.’

Temperance spun around and headed back the way they’d come. She didn’t much like Agnes, but she couldn’t leave her to burn. Jack seized her shoulder, pulling her to a stop.

She tried to shake him off. ‘I have to go back. Make sure she left.’

‘You stay with the cart,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll go.’

Before she had time to protest at his high-handedness he was running back towards the flames.

Temperance paused on the verge of following him. ‘Carry on to Covent Garden!’ she shouted at Isaac. ‘Bundle’s Coffeehouse. Don’t forget.’

‘But, mistress—’

‘I have to see Agnes is safe. Go!’ she insisted, when he seemed reluctant to obey. ‘It’s your duty to make sure everything gets safely to the coffeehouse. I’m counting on you, Isaac.’

She pulled her skirt almost to her knees and started to run. Modesty no longer mattered. She had to catch up with Jack and find Agnes. She was still clutching the workbox to her chest. She wished she’d had the presence of mind to put it in the cart, but it was too late now. As she got closer to Agnes’s shop, her pace slowed. The far end of Cheapside was already a roaring wall of flames. As she watched, the fire leapt the width of the wide street. If Temperance hadn’t known better, she would have sworn the flames were alive. She wanted to turn and run, but she forced herself to go forward. Jack was ahead of her for sure and so, perhaps, was Agnes.

The shop door stood wide. She rushed inside, shouting their names.

‘Here,’ Jack called from upstairs. ‘Stay there.’

‘What? Why?’ Horrors flashed through her mind. She started up the stairs.

‘We’re coming down. Move, Tempest!’

She jumped back and Jack emerged into the shop with Agnes in his arms.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Temperance hurried ahead of him into the street.

‘Fell on the stairs and twisted her knee,’ Jack said. ‘Stay close to me.’

Temperance almost had to run to keep up with his ground-eating strides. She didn’t ask any more questions. She had no breath to spare and Jack had Agnes safe. An occasional shudder racked the old woman, and there was a pinched look on her face, but the fire would not get her now.

Jack paused once they were level with St Paul’s. There was a stitch in Temperance’s side. She wanted to double over to ease her aching muscles, but resisted the urge.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘Covent Garden.’ Jack sounded mildly surprised by her question. His voice was hoarse, and even his breathing was more laboured than usual.

‘Her niece lives in Southwark,’ Temperance said.

‘I can talk for myself, girl!’ Agnes snapped.

‘Does your niece have room for you?’ Jack asked.

‘Of course she does. She’s family.’

‘We’d best take you there, then.’ Jack set off again, striding through St Paul’s churchyard as he headed obliquely for the river. Temperance kept close to him as they pushed through the crowds around the cathedral. When she looked to her left she was shocked to see they were moving parallel with the fire. It had travelled further west along the edge of the Thames than she’d realised. They’d have to go further than she’d expected to find a boat to take them across to Southwark.

‘Perhaps we ought to go to Covent Garden,’ she said.

‘I’m sure Mistress Cruikshank would prefer to be safe in the bosom of her family,’ said Jack.

It occurred to Temperance that, if they took Agnes to Covent Garden, she would still be their responsibility. Whereas, if they took her to her niece in Southwark, they could leave her with a clear conscience. She started to nod in silent agreement and saw from the ghost of Jack’s familiar grin he was thinking the same thing.

It was very late by the time they reached their destination. Temperance had been outraged by the greed of the watermen. If she’d been alone she wouldn’t have been able to afford the crossing. It was a relief to hand Agnes over to her niece, Fanny Berridge.

‘You’re welcome to stay here,’ said Fanny, looking harried.

‘Thank you, but I’m eager to return to Covent Garden,’ Jack said, and a moment later Temperance found herself back in the crowded Southwark streets.

Even though it was nearly midnight, people were out of doors, watching the catastrophe unfold on the other side of the river. Temperance’s shoulders slumped at the prospect ahead of them. The journey to Covent Garden would be as exhausting and expensive as the journey they’d made from Cheapside to Southwark. She looked at Jack and saw he was carrying the sewing box. She couldn’t remember putting it down. She reached to take it from him, even though she was so tired she was almost past caring whether she lost it.

‘I’ll carry it,’ he said. ‘Come on.’ He guided her with his free arm around her shoulders.

‘At least we can sit down on the boat,’ she roused herself to say. ‘How can they be so greedy?’ She was thinking of the iniquitous amount Jack had paid for their last river crossing, but she was too tired to be angry. She was glad she was with Jack. If she’d been alone, there was a good chance she would have found the nearest quiet spot and fallen sleep in the street. She made an effort to be more alert.

‘Why aren’t you asleep on your feet?’ she mumbled, mildly resentful of his stamina.

‘It wasn’t my house,’ he replied.

‘What?’

‘Everything we’ve had to do over the past two days would be enough to tire anyone. I feel it myself.’ Jack flexed his arms and grimaced. ‘I wasn’t sorry to deliver Agnes. But I think it is grief which is making you so very tired. There’s no shame in that, sweetheart. Grief is a wearisome emotion. But it will pass.’

‘Where are we going?’ Temperance suddenly noticed they weren’t heading for the river.

‘To find a room—or at least a bed—for the rest of the night,’ he replied.

‘But all the inns will be full,’ Temperance protested, even though she yearned to lie down and close her eyes.

‘We’ll find somewhere,’ said Jack. ‘Even if we have to share an attic with the scullery maid.’

Temperance was so tired she could hardly find the energy to climb the stairs. She lifted one foot on to the next wooden tread and wearily levered her body up another six inches. Only a few more steps and she could go to bed. The familiar staircase was deep in midnight shadow. She pushed open her bedchamber door. The room was ablaze in bright orange fire. She stared in horror. The flames licked towards her. She turned and fled down the stairs. The fire pursued her. She ran through the streets, the flames hard on her heels. Her heart thundered with panic, but her exhaustion was forgotten. She tried to reach the Thames, but over and over new flames leapt up to block her route. At last she teetered on the very edge of the river steps. Black and red water swirled below. A boat bobbed just out of reach. The fire rose in a huge column behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the flames were poised to swallow her whole. She stretched desperately towards the boat, but it floated further away. She overbalanced. Falling towards the terrible river of burning blood—