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‘Stand still.’ He lifted his hands over and behind her head. A moment later she felt a slight weight pull at her hair. ‘Keep this until I come back. You’d best put it inside your bodice for safety.’
She touched her breast and discovered he’d put a chain around her neck. She slid her fingers along the links and found a ring.
‘What is it?’
‘My ring. I can’t stay now, but I will come back.’
Temperance reached out to him and her fingers brushed his cheek in the darkness. She couldn’t see him clearly, but he radiated impatient, hard-edged anxiety.
‘Why were you searching the Clink for your cousin?’ she asked.
‘That’s where they took the prisoners when Newgate burned. Come.’ He took her wrist and pulled her towards the door.
‘Wait.’
‘I don’t have time—’
‘Jack.’ She paused, remembering how he’d helped her overcome her panic in the last moments before she left her shop. Now she must find the words to calm him. ‘There is a little time,’ she said gently. ‘I will go by myself to Fanny’s tomorrow morning. I will be quite safe.’ She cupped his cheek with her palm. ‘So you have that extra time to tell me why you think your cousin was a prisoner in Newgate.’
She felt him take a carefully controlled breath. She sensed it was hard for him to stand still and talk when he was eager to act.
‘When I reached Putney, I found Jakob had sent me a message on Sunday,’ he said. ‘In it he told me he was a prisoner in Newgate and asked me to go and get him out. But when I got back to London I discovered Newgate had already burned. The warders took the prisoners to the Clink, here in Southwark. I followed. I’ve been searching…searching… I even went to Swiftbourne’s house, but he has no news either!’ The torment in Jack’s voice was unmistakable. ‘I keep thinking…perhaps this happened because I stole Jakob’s coat at Dover—but why would they arrest the victim, not the thief?’
Temperance couldn’t bear to hear the anguish in his voice. She wondered who Swiftbourne was, but she was far more concerned about Jack. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him fiercely.
‘That’s foolish,’ she said. ‘A man arrested at Dover would not be put in Newgate. It’s just a mistake and nothing to do with you. And you couldn’t find him in the Clink because, if he’s anything like you, he’s already escaped.’
For a moment Jack held himself rigid, then his arms closed around her, holding her as tightly as she held him. ‘That’s what I keep telling myself,’ he said. ‘Jakob’s a soldier. It must have been chaos when they tried to move the prisoners. He could easily have escaped then.’
‘He may even have been released before the fire ever reached Newgate,’ said Temperance, pleased to feel the tension in Jack ease a few degrees. ‘He’s probably rushing around London looking for you at this very moment.’
Jack sighed. ‘Most likely. But it was a hell of a shock when I read his letter. I won’t be easy till I’ve found him.’
‘I know.’ There were so many things Temperance wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. Jack had come back to her once. She must trust he would return a second time.
‘I’ll take you to Fanny’s,’ he said. ‘The streets aren’t safe for a woman alone.’
Temperance gave a small laugh. ‘I’ve been a woman alone for years,’ she pointed out. ‘I’m a unremarkable tradeswoman. No one will bother me during the day.’
‘Very well, but be careful,’ Jack ordered. ‘Go to Bundle’s as soon as you can and don’t let anyone know you have that purse.’
‘I’m not a half-wit!’ Temperance said in exasperation. ‘Besides, although I thank you kindly, I can’t take any more of your money—’
‘Of course you can. The world is turned upside down. You don’t know when you’ll be able to reclaim your goods and set up shop again. For God’s sake, be practical!’
Temperance considered herself a very practical tradeswoman. Jack, for all his undoubted loyalty and generosity, was hardly a paragon of that particular virtue. Only a few days ago she’d been upbraiding him for the unnecessary extravagance of buying a periwig. But when he ordered her to be practical in that terse, worried voice, she felt a surge of tenderness towards him.
She leant forward and, more by luck than judgement, kissed his cheek. ‘Then I thank you very kindly and accept,’ she murmured. ‘I’d hate you to think I’m impractical,’ she added with a glimmer of amusement.
‘Good.’ He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her, his mouth fierce and demanding on hers. It was another small reassurance their earlier intimacy was not unimportant to him. Before she had a chance to respond, he lifted his head and stepped back. ‘I’ll return as soon as I can,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, be careful. And no matter how bad business is—don’t try selling muslin in taverns after dark again!’
Covent Garden, later that night
Even though it was the early hours of the morning, the coffeehouse buzzed with activity. Bundle was keeping a careful watch on the progress of the fire, but so far he hadn’t opted for flight.
‘Coffee or ale?’ he asked Jack laconically.
‘Coffee,’ Jack said, looking around the coffee room. ‘Is my cousin here?’
‘No one claiming to be your cousin is here.’ Bundle gestured to a serving boy. ‘We haven’t seen you since Sunday.’
Jack spared him a quick glance. ‘Were you worried?’
A grin flickered on Bundle’s face. ‘After only three days? Which cousin? What does he look like?’
‘Jakob Balston. Big. A couple of inches taller than me. Blond. Swedish.’
‘Ah, yes, I remember. No, he hasn’t come here.’
‘Diable!’ Jack had known it was a long chance. There was no reason for Jakob to suspect Jack had been staying in the coffeehouse. For the thousandth time he damned himself for not having received Jakob’s message in time. If Jakob died because he had delayed resuming his ducal responsibilities, Jack knew he’d never forgive himself.
‘If he comes here…’ He stared at the surface of his coffee as he tried to hold his grinding anxiety at bay. ‘Send him to St Martin’s Lane,’ he said.
‘St Martin’s Lane?’
Jack looked up. ‘Send him to Lord Swiftbourne,’ he said harshly.
Bundle’s eyes widened briefly. ‘As you wish.’
‘I don’t like it, but it’s close,’ said Jack. ‘If he goes there, Swiftbourne can send a message to me at Putney. I’m going back there now. He wasn’t there this morning, but they hadn’t moved the prisoners then—’
‘Prisoners?’
Jack quickly explained.
‘I’m proud to serve such a lively, gallant family,’ Bundle remarked.
‘You have an insolent gift for sarcasm,’ Jack said to the man who’d carried him as a three-year-old all the way from Sussex to France.
‘Since when has Jack Bow acquired a taste for tedious deference?’
‘After tonight, Jack Bow’s dead.’
‘What?’ Bundle sat up straighter.
‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ Jack tossed off the last of his coffee. ‘Or did I misunderstand all your hints that I should adopt a more regular style of living? I’ll become a paragon of respectability—but first, please God, I must find Jakob.’ He stood up. ‘I need a horse.’
Chapter Five
Southwark, Wednesday morning, 5 September 1666
‘S t Paul’s burned last night!’ said George Pring.
Temperance huddled in the corner of Fanny Berridge’s kitchen, listening as Pring told his story of destruction. She’d waited until morning to make her way through Southwark. When she’d arrived she’d discovered that she and Agnes weren’t the only victims of the fire who’d sought temporary refuge with Fanny. Pring was a bookseller who, like Agnes, had believed his goods would be safe in the cathedral.
‘It started to burn yesterday evening,’ he said. ‘All my books—my whole stock—were in the crypt of St Faith. But the cathedral roof collapsed and broke through the floor and smashed the roof of the crypt and…the books are still burning.’
‘I heard explosions,’ said Temperance. ‘Was that St Paul’s?’
‘The stones exploded! Great lumps of rock hurtling through the churchyard like cannonballs. The lead from the roof melted. It ran in a great red, boiling tide down towards the Thames. It smelt like the fumes of hell. I’ve lost everything,’ Pring finished in a whisper.
Temperance looked at Agnes in concern. The old woman had lost just as much as the bookseller. Overnight she had been reduced from a tradeswoman in comfortable circumstances to a pauper. Worse than that. She’d rented her shop and, under the terms of her lease, she would still be expected to pay her rent, even though she’d lost her business.
Agnes locked her hands together in front of her chest. Her papery skin was pulled tight over the bones of her face. Temperance saw Fanny exchange a glance with her husband. He looked resigned rather than truly accepting, but he nodded. Fanny sat down beside her aunt and began to speak softly to her.
Putney, 5 September 1666
Jack left Bundle’s horse on the north side of the Thames and crossed the river in a lighter. As he drew closer to the house his swift stride slowed as his anxiety intensified.
‘Your Grace! You’re back!’ Henderson, his steward, greeted him. ‘Colonel Balston—’
‘Is he here?’
‘Yes, your Grace, the green bedchamber—’
‘In bed, by God!’
‘Your Grace, wait!’ Henderson followed breathlessly behind. ‘Colonel Balston is not in the green bedchamber. He was to sleep outside the door—’
‘Nonsense!’ Jack wasn’t interested in anything the steward had to say, especially when he could see for himself there was no sign of his cousin in the gallery.
He reached the chamber and flung open the door. It slammed against the wall, shattering the early morning quiet. He cast one raking glance around the room before his attention focussed on the bed.
‘Diable! Are you hurt?’
‘No,’ Jakob replied calmly.
Jack stared at his cousin as the tension drained from his body. Jakob hadn’t been burned alive. The crisis was over. At last he took the time to glance at the woman sitting beside Jakob. To his utter shock he recognised her.
Lady Desire Godwin.
Six years ago he’d come close to marrying the lady, but he’d grievously insulted her and provoked her outraged father into trying to force a duel upon him. The duel had never taken place but, from the expression in Lady Desire’s eyes, her hostility towards him hadn’t abated. What the devil was she doing under his roof, sharing a bed with his cousin?
Temperance slipped unnoticed out of the kitchen. The street wasn’t a pleasant place for quiet reflection, but at least she could avoid banging elbows at every turn with distraught friends and neighbours. As she glanced around, her eye was caught by a dishevelled figure stumbling towards her. It took her a moment to recognise her apprentice.
‘Isaac!’ She seized his shoulders, shocked by his appearance. One side of his face was bruised and crusted with dried blood. His nose and lips were swollen and he breathed heavily through his mouth.
‘Mistress?’
‘Isaac.’ She ran her hands gently up and down his arms. She didn’t know what other injuries he’d suffered and she was afraid she’d hurt him if she touched him too firmly. ‘What happened?’
He stared at her, his eyes filling with tears.
‘Come inside.’ She put her arm around his shoulders. ‘You’re safe now. I’ll tend your wounds and—’
‘I failed you!’ he cried out, his words slurred but his anguish agonisingly clear.
‘Failed me?’ Temperance’s immediate instinct was to take care of Isaac’s injuries, but she felt a chill of foreboding. ‘Failed me how?’
‘I lost…I lost the cart!’ His confession emerged in gulping gasps. ‘Someone offered the carter more. I couldn’t stop him. They threw out all your goods. I tried…I tried to collect it all up. P-protect as much as I could. But I c-couldn’t…everything was trampled or st-stolen. I’m s-sorry…’ Wrenching distress overcame him. He couldn’t talk any more, only stand sobbing beside Temperance.
‘Everything’s gone?’ She breathed. A few minutes ago she’d been contemplating a destitute future for Agnes. Now the same thing had happened to her.
‘I’m s-sorry…I’m sorry.’
Temperance put her arms around her distraught apprentice. She was several inches taller than the lad and she ended up with his head on her shoulder as he wept out his accumulated shame and fear.
‘I know. It’s not your fault. Don’t cry. You’ll make yourself feel worse.’
Isaac was fourteen, but he was neither naturally robust nor confident. She knew he’d done his best, but he wasn’t equipped to deal with the disaster that had befallen him. If she’d been there…
She cut off that train of thought before she gave way to anger and grief as uncontrollable as Isaac’s bitter sense of failure.
‘Stop this now!’ she ordered. ‘You’ll make yourself sick if you cry any more. Did you go to Bundle’s?’ she asked when he was calmer.
‘Where?’ He looked at her blearily.
‘Bundle’s Coffeehouse. That’s where you were supposed to take the cart.’
‘Oh. I—I forgot,’ he confessed. ‘When I woke up…I just wanted to find you. I didn’t know where to go at first. Then I remembered Mistress Agnes’s niece lives in Southwark…’
‘What do you mean, when you woke up?’
‘I don’t…I don’t know. I woke up. I was lying on the street, next to the wall of a house. I didn’t know where I was!’ His voice was sharp with remembered panic.
‘You’re safe with me now,’ said Temperance, resorting to the brisk tones she’d often used in the shop, though she’d seldom felt less safe in her life.
‘Yes.’ His shoulders slumped with relief. He even managed a slight smile. ‘That’s it. I found you. What will we do now?’
Kingston upon Thames, Wednesday 5 September 1666
Jack stepped over the threshold of Lady Desire’s Kingston house and into pandemonium. When the fire had threatened her home in the Strand she’d sent her most valuable belongings here, and boxes, furniture and paintings were piled everywhere he looked.
He paused, assessing the situation. He’d brought eight of his own men from Putney. He’d sent two to guard the river entrance, two to guard the street entrance and four were at his back.
‘You!’ He pointed to the nearest startled servant. ‘Where is Arscott?’
‘Ar-Arscott?’
