I dipped my razor in the water again and began scraping the other side of my face. ‘I was just wondering…’
‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing. It may not be important.’
Unlike Cicely, Lydia never demanded to be admitted to confidences which might be none of her concern. She kept secrets herself and accepted others’ right to do so. Now, she simply got up and began to attend to the breakfast.
This proved to be a meal of long pauses and few words. The two apprentices were content to eat their food in silence, while Cicely, after one swift glance at me from beneath lowered lashes, addressed herself solely to Dame Joan and Lydia. The older woman, however, was preoccupied with her forthcoming visit to the scrivener, and judging by the soundless opening and closing of her lips, was busy composing her letter to her brother. She roused herself eventually to instruct Rob and John to be off about the business of discovering a carter bound for London, and to inform her the moment that they found one.
No one inquired as to my intended movements until, just as Lydia was in the process of clearing the table, Gilbert Honeyman arrived from his hostelry further down the street. His genial presence was like a breath of fresh air in a musty room and cheered us all considerably. He refused all offers of food and drink, having breakfasted, he said, extremely well off soused herring, broiled venison and medallions of mutton. This being far superior fare to the bacon collops and oat cakes served up by Lydia, I felt very envious of him and immediately my stomach began rumbling with dissatisfaction.
Dame Joan acquainted the Bee Master with her intention of sending for her brother, a plan at once applauded by him as the wisest action she could take, praise which brought the faintest flush of colour to her drawn cheeks. She asked Master Honeyman to go with her to the scrivener’s, but was denied his company by Cicely’s belligerent claim that she was the most proper person to help compose a missive to William Armstrong.
‘He’s my father, after all. I know better than Master Honeyman what you should write to him.’
Dame Joan sighed, recognizing that Cicely was in one of her intractable moods and, if not allowed her own way, would be quite capable of making trouble. She was obviously too tired and too depressed to argue, and therefore apologized to Gilbert with a half-smile and a vague flutter of her hands. Master Honeyman acknowledged her dilemma with an understanding nod, directing a disapproving glance at Cicely’s departing back, then seized my elbow and piloted me into the garden, leaving Lydia to collect and wash the dirty dishes.
‘If that girl were mine,’ he began menacingly, ‘I’d…’ But then he laughed and shook his head. ‘Who am I to talk? I can’t even manage my own Rowena. Now!’ He squeezed my arm. ‘What have you been up to since I saw you yesterday?’
I regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before asking, ‘I wonder if you’d care to accompany me instead of Dame Joan?’
‘I might,’ he answered cautiously. ‘Where are you going?’
I grinned. ‘I’m paying a visit to all the whore-houses in the town. So what do you say? Will you come with me?’
Chapter Seventeen
There was a moment’s pause before Gilbert Honeyman gave a somewhat uncertain laugh.
‘I daresay you have a reason, lad, for visiting these places — apart, that is, from the usual one.’
‘I do.’
‘And will that reason help to find these two young men who are missing? Will it assist Dame Gildersleeve?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I replied honestly, ‘but it might move us one step further on in this inquiry.’
He sucked his teeth for another two or three seconds, then clapped me on the back, a prurient curiosity seeming to have overcome his natural reluctance. ‘Very well! I’ll come with you, provided that I don’t have to enter any of those dens of vice.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘I’m a respected citizen and I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about me.’
‘I promise that you needn’t do more than wait for me outside. Now, if you’re willing, we’ll be off.’
Cock Lane was a narrow twisting street well away from the main thoroughfares of the town, dark because the overhanging eaves of the houses met almost in the middle. The central drain was piled high with refuse, including the rotting carcass of a sheep, and rats ran openly in and out of doorways. The muckrakers, who had been busy in the High Street when we quit the shop, had not yet reached this far, and by the look of things were not too punctilious at any time in their duties hereabouts.
Gilbert Honeyman held his nose and picked his way fastidiously through the litter. For my own part I was less cautious, but my boots were stout and had survived worse conditions than those at present prevailing underfoot. I noted that there was only one house where a rail outside provided for the tethering of horses, and I made directly for it. Two girls, wearing striped hoods to indicate their calling, were leaning from the upstairs window, both amply proportioned and in a state of undress. One was quite pretty, but the other had a pronounced squint which marred looks already rendered plainer than necessary by several layers of white lead paste.
‘Can I come in?’ I called up to them. ‘Is the house open yet?’
The girls exchanged glances then burst into raucous laughter. ‘You’re a bit early, my dear, aren’t you?’ Squinteyes giggled. ‘Your goodwife have a headache last night, did she?’
I waited for the hilarity subsequent upon this sally to subside before telling them, ‘I’d like a word or two with your Madam.’
There was further merriment. ‘She doesn’t do anything, my old acker,’ the prettier one said, using a local term of endearment, ‘except take the money.’
Her companion nodded, her smile vanishing. ‘Ay, she’s good at that, but not so generous when it comes to sharing it out.’ She focused her good eye on me, while the other seemed to stare off into space. ‘But come in, all the same. Nice-looking fellow like you won’t have any difficulty fixing himself up with a partner, early though it might be, and half of us not yet awake.’
I didn’t argue with them but went inside, leaving an uncomfortable Gilbert Honeyman hovering in the shadows, trying to render himself as inconspicuous as possible.
He breathed a huge sigh of relief when I reappeared after only a couple of minutes. ‘Can we go now?’
‘Not yet, but I promise to be as swift as I can.’
By the time I had called at every house in the alley, however, Gilbert had withdrawn from the vicinity of Cock Lane and awaited me in a neighbouring street. Here he had located another tavern which he deemed worthy of his attention, after a conversation with the landlord concerning the method of brewing and the contents of the latter’s various ales.
‘Come in! Come in!’ In the dark interior, he guided me to a table where two pots of ale were already set out — ‘and paid for,’ Gilbert assured me — indicating the settle alongside it. ‘Sit down, lad, and drink up.’
He raised his beaker and gave me the old Saxon form of cheer, still often heard in western parts: ‘Was heil!’
‘Drink heil!’ I responded, but absently, my mind on other things.
‘Tell me then!’ he ordered once he had quenched his initial thirst. ‘Did you find out what you were hoping to, or have you been wasting your time and mine?’
‘No,’ I answered, setting my beaker down on the table and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘I made a discovery.’
‘Go on!’ he urged, as I hesitated. ‘Explain to me why were you so anxious to visit the town brothels.’
I had told him most of the facts relating to Mark and Peter Gildersleeve the previous day, but, because I had then thought it unnecessary, I had mentioned nothing of Lydia’s encounter with Mark on the night she was taken ill, nor of Rob and John’s explanation of these nocturnal expeditions. I was therefore obliged to do so now.