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