‘You are trespassing here,’ he said.
‘Do you live in this house, sir?’
‘No, I have just been visiting.’
‘You know the tenants, then?’
‘Why do you ask?’ His suspicion was candid. ‘Have you any business to be here?’
‘I was looking for someone.’
‘Indeed, sir?’
‘He has a patch over one eye.’
Simon Pendleton stared at him with cool distaste and took some time before he spoke. His tone was offhand.
‘That is Master Renfrew,’ he said.
‘May I speak with him?’
‘He is not at home, sir.’
‘Will he return soon?’ asked Nicholas.
‘I fear not,’ said the steward dismissively. ‘He has gone away for a long time. You will not be able to see Master Renfrew. He is not here in London.’
‘Then where is he?’
‘Far away, sir. Far, far away.’
The bed creaked and groaned noisily as they flailed around on top of it at the height of their passion. He was a considerate lover who aroused her patiently by degrees and made her yield herself completely to him. She loved the weight of his body with its firm muscles and its thrusting power. She shared his total lack of fear or inhibition. Here was no ordinary client who tumbled into her arms for five minutes of overeager satisfaction or who rolled off her in a drunken stupor before he could complete the business of the night. Kate had found herself a real lover and she revelled in the discovery.
When it was all over, they lay side by side in a peaceful togetherness. His chest was heaving, her heart was pounding and both of their bodies were lathered with sweat. It was minutes before either could speak. He then propped himself up on his elbow to gaze down at her with his one eye. His smile had a rugged tenderness.
‘Thank you, my love,’ he said softly.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘We’ll meet again some night.’
‘That is my hope.’
‘And my intention.’
He leant over to kiss her gently on the lips then he reached across to the chair on which he had tossed his clothes. Fumbling at his purse, he brought back some coins to slip into the palm of her hand. Kate knew their value by touch and was instantly grateful.
‘Oh, sir, you are too kind!’
‘I repay good service handsomely.’
‘Be assured of it here at any time.’
‘I will always ask for you in this house.’
Another kiss sealed their friendship. Kate was no common whore from the stews. She was a very beautiful and shapely young woman of seventeen who chose her clients at the Unicorn Tavern with some care. They were always true gentlemen even if they could not always hold their wine or complete their transactions between the sheets. Kate had standards and the latest guest to her perfumed little bedchamber was a prime example of those standards. She even liked the black patch over one eye. It gave him a raffish charm that sorted well with his relaxed manner. This was a man who knew how to please a woman properly.
As he got up from the bed and began to dress, she reached out for the rapier that lay against the chair. It glinted in the light of the candles. Kate pulled it a little way from its scabbard before pushing it slowly back in again. Then she noticed the name that was inscribed in large italics on the handle of the weapon.
‘James Renfrew,’ she read.
‘At your service, madam.’
‘What do your friends call you, sir?’
‘Jamie.’
‘Then that shall be my name for you. Jamie.’
‘I will come when you call it.’
‘Then will you never leave this bed, sir.’
He laughed merrily and pulled her to him in a warm embrace. Kate was the finest company he had found in Eastcheap and he would not neglect her. Cupping her chin in his hand, he brushed his lips past hers then smiled.
‘I will be back soon, Kate.’
‘I will be waiting, Jamie.’
Only a small party of foreign visitors was dining at the Lord Mayor’s house that evening but they were accorded the lavish hospitality for which Sir Lucas Pugsley was justly famed. He sat beside his wife at the head of the table, fielding compliments and savouring the deference of other nations. Exuding good humour, he made his guests feel thoroughly at home. As soon as they had all left, however, he was able to show his true feelings to Aubrey Kenyon.
‘I hate these grinning Italians,’ he said.
‘You showed them great civility, sir.’
‘What else could I do, Aubrey? I am bound by the duties of my office here. But private opinion is another matter and in private, I tell you, these greasy fellows are not to my liking. We have enough aliens of our own.’
‘London is a melting-pot of nations.’
‘And it does not stop here,’ said Pugsley irritably. ‘Bristol, Norwich and other towns besides have their own foreign quarters. The rot is slowly spreading.’
‘I know it well,’ said the Chamberlain. ‘There are over five thousand registered aliens here and that does not include the many who conceal the origin and escape the census. We have French, German, Italian, Dutch …’
‘Dutch! Those are the ones I hate most.’
‘An industrious people, sir.’
‘Then let them stay in their own country and be industrious, Aubrey. We do not want them here to compete with honest English traders and craftsmen.’ He was so animated now that his chain jingled. ‘London is fast becoming the sewer of Europe. What other nations spew out, we take in and suffer. It is not good, sir.’
‘The city has never welcomed foreigners.’
‘Can you blame it?’
Before the Lord Mayor could develop his theme, they were interrupted by the arrival of a friend. Alderman Rowland Ashway was perspiring freely from his exertions. He was conducted into the dining room and rested on the back of a chair while he recovered, letting an expert eye rove around the tempting remains of the banquet. Aubrey Kenyon gave his graceful bow then slid out through the door to leave them alone together.
‘What means this haste?’ said Pugsley.
‘I bring news that may advantage you.’
‘Then let me hear it.’
‘Walter Stanford is much discomfited.’
‘That is sweet music to my ear. How?’
‘His nephew has been killed,’ said Ashway. ‘They pulled the dead body of Lieutanant Michael Delahaye from the Thames. He was cruelly murdered.’
‘How has Stanford taken it?’
‘Sorely. He had high hopes of the young man and made a place for him in his business. Coming after the death of his first wife, this blow is doubly painful.’
Pugsley smirked. ‘This is good news indeed. But will it make the Master of the Mercers abandon his mayoralty?’
‘It will make him think twice.’
‘That is some consolation. Thank you, Rowland. You shower many favours on me. I know not how to repay them all. You did well to bring me this intelligence.’
‘We must pray that further disasters befall him.’
‘If that young wife of his should vanish,’ said the Lord Mayor. ‘Now that would really cut him to the quick.’
Ashway was thoughtful. ‘Most certainly.’
‘Lieutenant, you say? The nephew was in the army?’
‘Recently discharged.’
‘Remind me of his name.’
‘Michael Delahaye.’
‘Michael Delahaye, sir. A soldier lately returned from the Netherlands.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘The body was released an hour ago.’
‘To whom?’
‘His uncle. Alderman Stanford.’ ‘The Lord Mayor Elect?’
‘Even he.’
Nicholas was surprised. Having called at the charnel house to see if the body had yet been identified, he found the old keeper replaced by a more respectful individual and the corpse from the river replaced by one that was hauled out of a ditch. He collected all the details he could then came back up into the living world again. The livid scar on the chest of the dead man could now be explained. It was patently a wound sustained in battle but its owner had been cut down before it had been allowed to heal. The connection with Walter Stanford intrigued him. It had been a bad week for the mercer. While he was learning of the murder of his nephew, his wife was being courted by Lawrence Firethorn. If the actor were not prevented, Stanford might well find a corpse on the slab of his marriage as well.