He had just finished speaking when the cabin door opened on a blast of wind and rain to admit my smart young gent looking decidedly the worse for wear. Even his thick cloak was drenched, while the blue feather in his hat hung down sadly, no longer bravely upstanding but bedraggled past recognition, tickling his cheek. Both ladies exclaimed in horror, urging him to sit down while they chafed his hands (one each) and scolded his imprudence in remaining aloft.
‘Pooh! I’ve crossed in worse gales than this,’ he boasted. ‘This little squall will soon blow itself out, believe you me!’
However, he was in no hurry to quit the shelter of the cabin again, and remained until well after an improvement in the weather had sent Robert Armiger up on deck to see if land were anywhere in sight. My and Eloise’s presence prevented anything more than a tender look or two passing between the lovers, and frustration finally decided Will Lackpenny to follow suit.
I was just debating whether or not to go, as well, when the cry of ‘Land ahoy!’ made the decision for me. Both Eloise and I hurried up on deck, she because she was feeling a little sick after hours of confinement in the stuffy cabin, I because this was my first view of Calais and I was anxious to get a glimpse of so famous a town.
It was by now late afternoon, almost twilight, but the weather had moderated and visibility improved. I could see the two great fortresses of Hammes and Guisnes, which protect Calais, quite plainly through the gathering gloom, and as The Sea Nymph edged its slow way into the splendid harbour, I was amazed at the quantity of shipping anchored there.
‘It’s one of the busiest times of the year,’ Eloise told me, slipping one small hand into the crook of my elbow and looking every inch the doting wife. ‘All the shipments of wool for Burgundy and Flanders come through Calais. It’s our most important staple town and the only English port where we keep a standing garrison.’ She tilted her head and looked up at me. ‘Can you smell that smell?’
‘Fish? Salt water, do you mean?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘There’s nothing odd in that. Every port I’ve ever visited has the same stench.’
‘No! The smell of money,’ she answered, laughing. ‘Calais is the home of very many very rich men. You’ll see some magnificent houses belonging to the owners of those vast warehouses you can just make out lining the quayside, where the wool is stored.’ She gave an excited little laugh. ‘There isn’t much you can’t get in Calais. Horses, hawks. . whores! All of them every bit as good as you’ll find in London, and a dozen times better, I’m sure, than in Bristol. And if you want dancing lessons, singing lessons or to learn how to play a musical instrument, there’s no problem.’
I glanced down at her, refusing to be impressed. ‘I don’t think I’ve time to learn a musical instrument,’ I muttered sourly. ‘I hope the inhabitants all speak English.’
‘Nearly all of them.’ She withdrew her hand from my arm, knowing the game I was playing. ‘Don’t worry! You won’t hear much French until after we’ve crossed the Calais Pale.’ Then she marched off to join the Armigers, who, like us, were watching The Sea Nymph ease her way into an empty berth between two great ships of war, riding at anchor, high and proud, in the water.
It must have been the better part of an hour later by the time we had all disembarked and were standing on the quayside, waiting for our baggage to be brought ashore. It was dark by now, the October days growing ever shorter as November approached and was very nearly upon us, but the myriad lights from the houses and ships made it seem almost as bright as day.
John Bradshaw, muffled in his good frieze cloak, tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Sir,’ he said respectfully, ‘with your permission, Philip and I will go on into the town and bespeak lodgings. Also, we need to search out a good livery stable to hire horses for tomorrow. If you and the mistress will be good enough to stay here until our return, I hope not to keep you waiting too long.’
As I nodded and he turned away, Robert Armiger raised a restraining arm. ‘Master Chapman,’ he said, ‘if your man could find an inn able to accommodate Mistress Armiger and myself as well, I’d be obliged.’
‘Of course,’ I answered stiffly, and looked at John.
He nodded curtly, probably thinking the same as I was: that it would be safer to keep everyone under our eye until the time arrived for a natural parting of the ways, or it became necessary to give our companions the slip.
‘Oh, don’t forget Master Lackpenny and Oliver!’ Jane Armiger exclaimed. ‘They also need lodgings.’ She smiled timidly at John and darted an uneasy glance at her husband, afraid she might have said too much.
‘Yes, indeed!’ confirmed my smart young gent, whose appearance had not yet recovered from the battering it had suffered. (The blue feather still hung forlornly down over one shoulder.) ‘I’d be very grateful, Master Chapman, if your fellow there could do the same for me.’
‘Do your best, John,’ I instructed, trying to sound as if I was used to giving orders, rather than receiving them.
‘Sir!’ He called to Philip and the two of them disappeared through a gap between the houses, an alleyway, presumably, leading further into the heart of the town.
I turned back to discover that the baggage had by now been dumped on the quayside by a couple of hefty sailors, and that Robert Armiger was testily putting some question to his wife.
‘Well, where is he?’ he was demanding in a low, angry voice. ‘The rest of us are here. The baggage is here. So where, in Jesu’s name, is your brother?’
Until that moment, I hadn’t realized that Goliath wasn’t amongst us, and neither, I think, had the others. A strange absence, considering his height and bulk, to overlook, but so it was.
‘And where’s the Frenchman?’ I asked, glancing around me. ‘Master Harcourt.’ I gave the name its full brutal, aspirated pronunciation, just to prove, in my aggressive English way when dealing with foreigners, that I was starting as I meant to go on.
‘Monsieur d’Harcourt,’ Eloise reproved me, as Gallic as I was being Anglo-Saxon, ‘took his baggage roll and left while you were speaking to John. Presumably he is well acquainted with Calais and can find his own lodgings without our help.’
‘Never mind the Frenchie,’ Robert Armiger interrupted angrily. ‘Where’s Oliver? That’s what I want to know. Why hasn’t he come ashore like the rest of us?’
I caught a little of his uneasiness. To the best of my knowledge, Oliver Cook had stayed up on deck throughout the voyage. Why he should now have gone below was a mystery. And why he was remaining there, when he must be aware that The Sea Nymph had docked, was an even greater one.
I called to one of the sailors and asked him to fetch the ship’s master. When he came, Robert Armiger explained the situation. ‘His baggage is here,’ he added, kicking a somewhat worn and scuffed leather saddlebag with one foot.
‘I’ll have the vessel searched for him, Your Honour,’ the master said, irritation mingling with a note of concern that he could not quite keep out of his voice. ‘You’re certain he hasn’t come ashore already and wandered off on his own?’
‘No,’ Jane Armiger answered firmly. ‘I’ve been watching for him ever since I got ashore. He. . Well, he isn’t exactly the sort of person you can miss.’
‘I suppose he couldn’t have left the ship before the rest of us?’ Eloise suggested.
Jane shook her head. ‘We were all standing in a group as The Sea Nymph was berthed. I even noticed Monsieur Harcourt. But I don’t remember seeing Oliver.’ Her little, flower-like face puckered anxiously and she wrung her delicate hands. (I recall thinking that I’d never actually seen anyone do that before.) ‘Wherever can he be?’