Authors: Harriet Steel
There was a clap of thunder and lightning flashed across the sky. Ahead, Tom saw the heaving sea changed to a maelstrom of white froth. Black teeth of half-submerged rocks bristled malevolently. His heartbeat raced. They were heading straight for them.
A few moments later, with a rasping growl, the ship reared out of the water. Tossed across the deck, Tom collided with the mainmast. He came to rest entangled in the streaming canvas around it. Richard lay dazed close by but Hugh tottered to his feet, swaying like a drunken man.
‘I’ll not stay here,’ he repeated.
Before Tom had time to stop him, he hoisted himself over the rail. Ignoring Tom’s shouts for him to come back, he started to clamber along the treacherous rocks. Tom watched in horror as he struggled, slipping into the crevices between the rocks and hauling himself out, until at last he disappeared into the white water, this time for good.
Numbly, Tom stared at the place where Hugh had been. The danger was not over. Hugh’s fate might still be his own.
He stood on the deck, his wet clothes sticking to his shivering body. It was only when the wind calmed that he heard a groan and was reminded that Richard was with him. He knelt down beside him.
‘Are you hurt?’
Cautiously, Richard sat up. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said at last. He looked around. ‘Where’s Hugh?’
‘I tried to stop him but it was no use. He fell in the water trying to reach the shore. I think he drowned.’
Richard staggered to his feet and almost fell. Tom seized his elbow. ‘Don’t move too quickly.’
With glazed eyes, Richard stared at the dark waters. ‘Poor fellow,’ he said sadly.
The sea made no more than a soft sucking sound now as it lapped at the base of the rocks. It was hard to believe that only a little while ago, it had raged so ferociously. The storm was over. Above them, the clouds were already parting to reveal a black, velvety sky pricked with hard, bright stars. Tom felt as if a great burden had lifted from his shoulders. He lay on his back on the deck and stared upwards. Richard was speaking but he hardly heard him. His body felt weightless.
‘Rowley!’ A dash of salt water roused him. ‘Get up,’ Richard said. ‘We have to get off the ship. If anyone sees the wreck, they’ll be bound to come looking for plunder. We don’t want them finding us.’
Tom struggled to his feet and strained his eyes to discern the dim outline of the shore.
‘Can you swim?’ Richard asked.
‘Swim? Yes,’ Tom said doubtfully. He had swum in the river in Salisbury many times but the sea was a different matter.
‘The rocks are clear of the water now, we shouldn’t slip but you need to be ready if you do.’
‘Should we see if there are any pickings to be had before we go?’
Richard hesitated. ‘I suppose money is no use to dead men,’ he said reluctantly.
The captain’s body was already stiffening and they had to drag his arms away from his sides to remove the knife and purse on his belt. In the cabin, they found more coins, a bottle of grog, some hard cheese and a small sack of biscuits.
‘It might be the last meal we have for a while,’ Tom said as they ate and drank hungrily. In spite of his sodden clothes and boots he felt the grog warm him. Richard had a faraway expression on his face.
‘What is it?’ Tom asked.
‘I was wondering what we should do once we reach shore. We could be anywhere. If we try to get back to our families, we shall only put them in danger.’
‘Let’s worry about that when we’re off this ship. It’s time we were leaving.’
The wet rocks were smooth as glass under their feet. Frequently, Tom lost his footing and it was not long before he was a mass of bruises but eventually, their painful progress brought them to the end of the outcrop. A narrow stretch of water separated them from the shore.
‘We’d best take our boots off,’ Richard said. ‘They’ll weigh us down. Just keep your shirt and breeches on, I’ll tie the rest in my cloak and swim with it.’
When they were ready, he slid into the water and held out his arms. ‘Give me the bundle and be quick about it. This water’s freezing.’
Hesitantly, Tom threw it out to him then followed. He had been cold before but the sea knocked the breath from his body. For a moment, it closed over his head then he came up spluttering and managed to take his first stroke. Ahead of him, Richard ploughed determinedly towards the shore.
From the rocks, the distance had not seemed great but now Tom was in the water, it looked a very long way off. With alarm, he felt the current drag him in a direction where he did not want to go. Suddenly, a tremendous pain gripped his legs making it impossible to kick with them. His mouth filled and his head went under. Dazed by panic, he tried to regain the surface but it eluded him. His lungs seemed on the point of bursting when strong arms pulled him upwards and he breathed air once more.
‘Don’t struggle,’ Richard shouted. ‘It’s not much further. A few more yards and you should be able to stand.’
Water spewing from his mouth
, Tom let himself be towed along until he felt Richard’s grip relax. He put one foot down and felt shingle beneath it then stumbled upright to find the water came no further than his waist. A few moments later, he collapsed on the rocky beach.
‘Thank you,’ he panted.
‘Thank God, not me,’ Richard said gravely.
Tom succumbed to a fit of coughing. ‘I think you are more worthy of thanks,’ he said when he recovered his breath.
If Richard disapproved of such blasphemy, he did not show it.
They sat in silence for a while, Richard with his hands clasped in prayer and Tom thinking of the narrow escape he had had. Acutely aware of the cold, he wrapped his arms around himself and rubbed vigorously to try and keep warm.
At last Richard raised his head. ‘I wonder where we are,’ he mused. ‘I think we may have reached the coast of Norfolk by now, but I’m not sure.’
The darkness was fading and, on the horizon, streaks of crimson showed where the sun would rise.
Richard undid the bundle of clothes. ‘I’m afraid they are not as dry as I hoped they would be. It was hard to keep them clear of the water. We’ll just have to do our best to wring everything out.’
‘We’ll go west,’ he said when they had re-dressed themselves. Perhaps we can find a road that will lead us to a town.’
Tom shivered in his damp clothes. ‘What shall we do then?’
‘Walsingham’s men may think we have drowned with the others but staying in
England is too much of a risk for the present. I shall find the nearest port where I can take ship for France and go to Paris. A friend I made in my time at the English College in Rome lives there. He’s a priest now. I’m sure he’ll stand by me. I’d like to return to Rome but it is too late this year. By the time I reached the mountains, the passes would very likely be blocked with snow.’ He smiled. ‘If you wish to come with me, I’d be glad of your company.’
Tom shook his head. He felt a slight pang of guilt over concealing the truth from a man who had saved his life but he could not confide in him. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘but there are matters I must settle in
England first. I wish there was some way I could show my gratitude, though. I owe you my life.’
‘I only did what any man would have done, but there is something you can do for me.’
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t want my sister, Beatrice, to grieve for me. Since the day the priest hunters came to our home, she must have suffered a great deal on my account. If I write a letter to her, will you make sure she gets it?’
‘Of course, I’ll deliver it myself. All you need to do is tell me how to find her.’
Richard nodded. ‘That’s very generous of you but you must not run into danger on my account. Take care you do not.’
‘I will.’
‘Our family home is a place called Lacey Hall in
Devon. I’ll explain to you how to find it.’
He stood up and wrung a few more droplets of water from his shirt tail. ‘It may be some time before these clothes dry out properly, but at least we didn
’t lose them, and we have money to buy food.’ He scanned the beach and pointed to a path. ‘The way lies there,’ he said.
With a last glance at the stricken ship, they set off.
*
They found a path that wound inland onto spongy moorland strewn with boulders encrusted with rust-coloured lichen. It was a raw, overcast day. Tom’s damp boots chafed his feet and his stomach grumbled. Even salted herring would have been more welcome than an empty belly, but they did not pass as much as a hamlet where they might have been able to buy food.
They had left the rugged coastal land behind and reached softer uplands grazed by huge flocks of sheep when Tom heard a shout behind them. Balling his fists, he swung round but it was only a cart with an old brown nag ambling along in the shafts.
‘Where are you going to?’ Tom called out as the man passed.
‘Taking this samphire to market at Norwich.’
‘We’ll give you a penny if you give us a lift.’
The carter studied them suspiciously. ‘You’re not from round here, are you?’
‘We’re merchants come from
King’s Lynn,’ Tom replied.
‘Funny road to take. Where’s your horses?’
‘We were set on in the night then we lost our way.’
The carter grunted. ‘Tuppence. That’s the best offer you’ll get.’
Tom looked at Richard, who nodded.
‘Very well.’
The carter climbed down and handed Tom the reins. ‘Hold these and keep her steady.’ He made some space at the back of the cart then returned. ‘There’s the place ready for you. I’ll have the money now.’
As he clambered on, Tom wrinkled his nose at the briny, cabbage smell coming from the dark-green bundles of samphire. He would have to put up with it, he reflected wryly. It was better than walking and at least they were sure they were going somewhere useful. He had heard there was a road from
Norwich to London. With a jolt that threw him off balance, the cart moved off.
In the early evening, the carter stopped to rest the horse before the climb up to the city. Tom and Richard got down and stretched their legs. High above them, the cathedral spire soared into the sky. Before night fell, they rumbled through the gate. The next morning, they parted company and Tom set out on the road to
London.
22
London
October, 1587
‘Will you come then?’ Susan finished folding a shirt and put it on the pile. ‘People round here will talk if I go on my own with Alfred. If you and William come, it’ll be different.’
Meg hesitated. Sometimes she had noticed William looking at her in a way she didn
’t like, but it seemed unkind to refuse to help Susan.
Susan pouted. ‘Peggoty hardly ever gives us time off. Don’t you want to have some fun?’
‘All right,’ Meg smiled. ‘I’ve never been to a London playhouse. At home we only had travelling players coming for Christmas and feast days.’ She stopped, biting her lip at the memory of the May Day fair.
‘I’ll tell Alfred,’ Susan beamed, seeming not to notice.
*
For once the weather was dry when they set off the following morning. It was warmer than usual and ribbons of cloud drifted across a pale blue sky. Arm in arm a little way ahead of William and Meg, Susan and Alfred were clearly engrossed in each other’s company.
‘They look very happy together,’ Meg ventured.
‘Alfred’s a decent enough fellow. Apprenticed to a blacksmith, wants to have a smithy of his own one day.’
‘Yes, Susan told me.’
‘She won’t need to wash anyone’s linen then - she’ll have servants of her own.’
Susan turned, her chestnut hair shining in the sunshine and her eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘And all the fine clothes I want,’ she called out. She dug Alfred in the ribs, ‘And a big four-poster bed for us to lie in.’
William guffawed. ‘Better watch out, lad. She’ll have the shirt off your back if you let her.’
‘He wouldn’t care if I did, would you, Alfred?’ Susan giggled.
Flushing
, he dropped a kiss on her cheek.
As she watched them, Meg felt a pang of sorrow. It was so hard to be alone.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’
Meg shivered. ‘They’re not worth it.’
Beyond Holborn, they passed through the city gate and walked east along Cheapside and Poultry. Meg looked around her apprehensively. Even though there were thousands of people in the city it was difficult to dismiss the fear she might come across Ralph. She wished she were more like William. He seemed completely unconcerned.
Susan insisted on stopping to look in the windows of the grand shops in the Royal Exchange, exclaiming over the wares they displayed: fine fabrics, shoes fashioned from the softest leather, lavishly embroidered gloves and glittering jewellery. On the streets, dozens of vendors offered everything from oysters, pies and smoked fish to oranges, lemons and plums. The sweet and savoury aromas were tantalising. Alfred bought a bag of plums and they walked along eating them.
They came out of the city again through Bishopsgate and joined the crowds heading for the theatres in Shoreditch, most of them on foot but the better-off on horseback. In the distance, trumpets brayed.
‘Come on, you two,’ Susan shouted over her shoulder. ‘They’ll be starting any minute,’ and dragging Alfred by the hand, she hurried on.
‘Which theatre are we going to?’ Meg asked as they caught up.
‘The Curtain. I want to see Richard Tarlton. They say he has you in stitches just poking his head out of the wings. Alfred wants to see him too, don’t you, Alfred?’
He nodded.
‘That’s right,’ William chuckled. ‘Learn to do as you’re told.’ He ducked as Alfred aimed a blow at his head.
They paid their pennies at the gate and went in. Meg had never been in a crowd like it before. She was glad the day was no hotter; as it was, the heat intensified every smell to an unpleasant degree. The play was a silly story involving two sets of twins and innumerable unlikely coincidences but Susan had been right about Tarlton, the crowd roared every time he appeared and Meg could not help joining in. There was no denying that being away from the steamy cottage and Peggoty’s evil temper was a pleasant change.
‘My sides ache,’ Susan gasped as they trooped out afterwards. ‘And I smell roast hog.’ She tugged at Alfred’s arm. ‘Buy us all some, won’t you?’ she wheedled.
‘Nothing to a rich fellow like you, eh?’ William grinned.
‘Well – oh, all right.’
As they waited their turn in the queue, Meg observed the scene. People were still pouring out of the theatre, laughing and chattering. Hawkers shouted out their wares and nearby, a man nailed up handbills for the next play. So this was the world Tom had wanted to be part of. How cruel fate was to stand in his way.
With a frown, she thought of the ring she had found and of the initials engraved on it –
WK
. How had it come into Ralph’s possession? Did it mean he had something to do with William Kemp’s death? If only there was someone she could take it to, someone who knew how to use it to help Tom.
‘Meg?’ With a start, she realised Alfred was holding a piece of bread and meat out to her.
Susan squealed. ‘Don’t do that, Alfred! It’s dripping. We’ll need something to wrap it in. Meg and me don’t want hog fat all down our dresses, do we, Meg?’
‘No extra charge for you, my lovelies,’ the stallholder grinned, producing two pieces of paper and passing them across the counter. Meg wrapped one of them around her bread and took a bite. The pork was moist and delicious.
‘Bit different to the muck my sister serves up,’ William mumbled through a mouthful. He wiped a speck of grease from Susan’s cheek and returned Alfred’s scowl with a chuckle. Susan pushed him away. ‘Go and bother Meg,’ she said.
‘Shall I then? Yes, I think I will,’ he grinned. ‘Meg knows a good thing when she sees it, don’t you, Meg?’ He squeezed her by the waist and instinctively, she tensed but he would not let go. His lips brushed her ear. ‘I’ll wager I could make you happy,’ he whispered.
Meg wriggled away from him, flushing. She saw Susan give him a knowing wink then a man with a monkey on a chain diverted her attention. ‘Ooh look,’ she giggled. ‘Perhaps he’ll make it dance. Give him some money, Alfred.’
The little creature gibbered and cringed at the end of its chain as the man dragged it over to them. ‘Only a penny to see it dance,’ he said. ‘All the way from
Africa this monkey is. I can make it skip like it’s on hot coals if you pay me.’
The monkey had such sad eyes, Meg pitied it. Susan nudged Alfred. ‘I want to see that,’ she said. ‘Give him the penny, won’t you?’
Reluctantly, Alfred fished out the penny and handed it to the man. With a barked instruction, he shook the chain and the monkey limped in a small circle.
William frowned. ‘That’s not worth a penny. Can’t you make it do better than that?’ The man shook the chain harder, jerking the monkey’s neck from side to side.
Meg averted her eyes. She wished they could go home. She had finished her food but she still held the greasy paper in her hand. To avoid watching the monkey, she took a closer look. It was part of a handbill for a play. A lot of the printing was too soiled with grease to be legible but some words were still clear. She read them and her heart lurched. The others were too busy laughing at the monkey to notice her run back to the hog roast stall.
‘Where did you get this?’ she asked the stallholder urgently.
He frowned. ‘I pick ’em up when the plays are done. They come in handy. What’s it to you?’
‘Was it from one of the theatres here?’
He scratched his chin. ‘Couldn’t say for sure, let me have a look.’ He came round the side of the stall, took the handbill from her and puzzled over it. Meg struggled to contain her impatience.
‘Looks like it’s from Master Lamotte’s company,’ he said at last. He glanced at a group approaching the stall. Meg seized his arm before he had the chance to leave her.
‘Which theatre do they play at?’
‘The Unicorn, down that way, but there’s no one there now.’
Meg’s heart sank. ‘Have they closed?’
‘No, just gone out of
London for a while.’
‘When will they be back?’
‘A few weeks maybe. Now I haven’t time for any more of your questions. I’ve got customers to serve.’
‘Please, just give me another minute. Do you know a man called Tom Goodluck?’
‘Tom Goodluck? I don’t think so.’
Meg pointed to the handbill. ‘His name’s down here.’
The stallholder shrugged. ‘People come and go all the time around these parts. I can’t be remembering all of them.’
Tears welled up in Meg’s eyes. ‘Please, when Master Lamotte comes back will you tell him I’m trying to find Tom? My name’s Meg. I lodge at the laundress’s cottage in Holborn.’
The stallholder gave a grudging nod. ‘All right, now be off with you.’
*
Meg lifted a sodden sheet from the lye tub and twisted it into a rope to wring out the milky liquid. The foul smell of potash and urine still revolted her and her hands itched from the cheap black soap Peggoty used. It smelt of fish – and no wonder, for Susan said it was made with oil from the carcasses of whales. She noticed Susan was clever at keeping for herself the job of washing the fine linen their wealthier customers brought in. For that, Peggoty bought the best white soap, which contained imported olive oil and was smooth and soft.
Straightening up
, Meg carried the sheet over to one of the lines and threw it across. It tangled instantly and she struggled to free it.
‘Here, let me.’
Meg jumped. She hadn’t noticed William come into the room behind her. She tensed as he reached above her to rearrange the sheet. When it hung smoothly, his hands dropped to her shoulders.
‘Ooh, am I disturbing something?’ Susan stood in the doorway with a bundle of sheets.
Furious, Meg ducked under William’s arm.
He grinned at Susan, ‘Jealous, are you?’
‘Over you?’ she laughed. ‘My Alfred’s ten times the man you are.’
Peggoty bustled in from the back yard. ‘Get back to work, the lot of you,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t pay you to lark about.’
‘You don’t pay me at all,’ William muttered.
She put her hands on her hips. ‘I give you bed and board, be thankful for it. Now go and finish those logs.’
With a scowl, William disappeared in the direction of the log pile.
‘I wouldn’t encourage him if I were you,’ Susan remarked when Peggoty had gone. ‘You wouldn’t be the first girl he’s got in trouble.’
‘I don’t encourage him.’
Susan laughed. ‘With him it doesn’t take much. You won’t have to be so ladylike if you don’t want him. I made sure he knew he was wasting his time when he tried it on with me.’
‘I told you,’ Meg said crossly, ‘I don’t encourage him.’
‘Whatever you say,’ Susan shrugged. ‘If you’ve finished with the tub, I’ll put these sheets in to soak then you can rinse them for me.’
*
That night, the questions going round in Meg’s head tormented her. Bitterly, she thought of the time she had wasted going to
Plymouth. If only she had come to London sooner, she might have found Tom and they would be together now. Why had he left the Unicorn? Was it because he knew he was charged with killing William Kemp and feared capture? Worse still, was it because he had actually been arrested? And if that were so, how would he defend himself? Who would speak up for him? She refused to contemplate the possibility he might be guilty but she had heard Edward and her father talk of such things often enough to realise that it was very hard for a poor man to prove his innocence.
As she often did, she wished she had someone to talk to. Susan knew a little about Tom but she was too preoccupied with her Alfred to be much interested and Peggoty’s sour nature did not invite confidences.
It was almost dawn before Meg slept. In the morning, she was so tired that the basket of laundry she had to fetch from Lincoln’s Inn seemed heavy as a millstone. Putting it down for a rest, she stopped to watch the Trained Bands practising in the fields. Some shot arrows at targets; others fought with blunt, wooden swords or fired muskets. William, who liked to parade his knowledge of military matters, had once told her that musketeers should be able to load and fire two rounds in a minute. Archers should be strong and quick enough to shoot three arrows in the same space of time, but she didn’t know whether to believe him or not.
Wearily, she lifted the basket onto her hip once more. She had better be getting back. Peggoty was in an even blacker mood than usual that morning.
‘Alfred shoed a horse for a traveller come up from the country yesterday,’ Susan was saying when Meg arrived at the laundry. ‘He said there was a cow born with two heads at Canterbury and when he was coming over the Weald, it rained blood.’ She shivered. ‘Do you think it means the Spanish are coming?’
‘Well, if they are,’ said Peggoty, beating the dirt from a sheet with a paddle, ‘I’ll see them in Hell before I do their washing. They’ll have to cut my throat first.’