The Vagabond Duchess

Before she had time to protest at his high-handedness he was running back towards the flames.

Temperance paused on the verge of following him. ‘Carry on to Covent Garden!’ she shouted at Isaac. ‘Bundle’s Coffeehouse. Don’t forget.’

‘But, mistress—’

‘I have to see Agnes is safe. Go!’ she insisted, when he seemed reluctant to obey. ‘It’s your duty to make sure everything gets safely to the coffeehouse. I’m counting on you, Isaac.’

She pulled her skirt almost to her knees and started to run. Modesty no longer mattered. She had to catch up with Jack and find Agnes. She was still clutching the workbox to her chest. She wished she’d had the presence of mind to put it in the cart, but it was too late now. As she got closer to Agnes’s shop, her pace slowed. The far end of Cheapside was already a roaring wall of flames. As she watched, the fire leapt the width of the wide street. If Temperance hadn’t known better, she would have sworn the flames were alive. She wanted to turn and run, but she forced herself to go forward. Jack was ahead of her for sure and so, perhaps, was Agnes.

The shop door stood wide. She rushed inside, shouting their names.

‘Here,’ Jack called from upstairs. ‘Stay there.’

‘What? Why?’ Horrors flashed through her mind. She started up the stairs.

‘We’re coming down. Move, Tempest!’

She jumped back and Jack emerged into the shop with Agnes in his arms.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Temperance hurried ahead of him into the street.

‘Fell on the stairs and twisted her knee,’ Jack said. ‘Stay close to me.’

Temperance almost had to run to keep up with his ground-eating strides. She didn’t ask any more questions. She had no breath to spare and Jack had Agnes safe. An occasional shudder racked the old woman, and there was a pinched look on her face, but the fire would not get her now.

Jack paused once they were level with St Paul’s. There was a stitch in Temperance’s side. She wanted to double over to ease her aching muscles, but resisted the urge.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘Covent Garden.’ Jack sounded mildly surprised by her question. His voice was hoarse, and even his breathing was more laboured than usual.

‘Her niece lives in Southwark,’ Temperance said.

‘I can talk for myself, girl!’ Agnes snapped.

‘Does your niece have room for you?’ Jack asked.

‘Of course she does. She’s family.’

‘We’d best take you there, then.’ Jack set off again, striding through St Paul’s churchyard as he headed obliquely for the river. Temperance kept close to him as they pushed through the crowds around the cathedral. When she looked to her left she was shocked to see they were moving parallel with the fire. It had travelled further west along the edge of the Thames than she’d realised. They’d have to go further than she’d expected to find a boat to take them across to Southwark.

‘Perhaps we ought to go to Covent Garden,’ she said.

‘I’m sure Mistress Cruikshank would prefer to be safe in the bosom of her family,’ said Jack.

It occurred to Temperance that, if they took Agnes to Covent Garden, she would still be their responsibility. Whereas, if they took her to her niece in Southwark, they could leave her with a clear conscience. She started to nod in silent agreement and saw from the ghost of Jack’s familiar grin he was thinking the same thing.

It was very late by the time they reached their destination. Temperance had been outraged by the greed of the watermen. If she’d been alone she wouldn’t have been able to afford the crossing. It was a relief to hand Agnes over to her niece, Fanny Berridge.

‘You’re welcome to stay here,’ said Fanny, looking harried.

‘Thank you, but I’m eager to return to Covent Garden,’ Jack said, and a moment later Temperance found herself back in the crowded Southwark streets.

Even though it was nearly midnight, people were out of doors, watching the catastrophe unfold on the other side of the river. Temperance’s shoulders slumped at the prospect ahead of them. The journey to Covent Garden would be as exhausting and expensive as the journey they’d made from Cheapside to Southwark. She looked at Jack and saw he was carrying the sewing box. She couldn’t remember putting it down. She reached to take it from him, even though she was so tired she was almost past caring whether she lost it.

‘I’ll carry it,’ he said. ‘Come on.’ He guided her with his free arm around her shoulders.

‘At least we can sit down on the boat,’ she roused herself to say. ‘How can they be so greedy?’ She was thinking of the iniquitous amount Jack had paid for their last river crossing, but she was too tired to be angry. She was glad she was with Jack. If she’d been alone, there was a good chance she would have found the nearest quiet spot and fallen sleep in the street. She made an effort to be more alert.

‘Why aren’t you asleep on your feet?’ she mumbled, mildly resentful of his stamina.

‘It wasn’t my house,’ he replied.

‘What?’

‘Everything we’ve had to do over the past two days would be enough to tire anyone. I feel it myself.’ Jack flexed his arms and grimaced. ‘I wasn’t sorry to deliver Agnes. But I think it is grief which is making you so very tired. There’s no shame in that, sweetheart. Grief is a wearisome emotion. But it will pass.’

‘Where are we going?’ Temperance suddenly noticed they weren’t heading for the river.

‘To find a room—or at least a bed—for the rest of the night,’ he replied.

‘But all the inns will be full,’ Temperance protested, even though she yearned to lie down and close her eyes.

‘We’ll find somewhere,’ said Jack. ‘Even if we have to share an attic with the scullery maid.’

Temperance was so tired she could hardly find the energy to climb the stairs. She lifted one foot on to the next wooden tread and wearily levered her body up another six inches. Only a few more steps and she could go to bed. The familiar staircase was deep in midnight shadow. She pushed open her bedchamber door. The room was ablaze in bright orange fire. She stared in horror. The flames licked towards her. She turned and fled down the stairs. The fire pursued her. She ran through the streets, the flames hard on her heels. Her heart thundered with panic, but her exhaustion was forgotten. She tried to reach the Thames, but over and over new flames leapt up to block her route. At last she teetered on the very edge of the river steps. Black and red water swirled below. A boat bobbed just out of reach. The fire rose in a huge column behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the flames were poised to swallow her whole. She stretched desperately towards the boat, but it floated further away. She overbalanced. Falling towards the terrible river of burning blood—

Chapter Four

T emperance’s eyes flew open. Her heart was pounding, her limbs tingling with fear. Now she was awake the terror was even greater than in her nightmare. The dream had been so real she almost expected to be engulfed in flames at any second.

‘Gently, sweetheart,’ a soft voice murmured from behind her.

She felt a reassuring touch on her arm. Still more asleep than awake, it took several long, panicky moments for her to shake off the remnants of her nightmare. Slowly she remembered who she was with, where they were and what had happened to bring them to this place.

They were in a tiny room, little more than a cupboard, in a Southwark inn. The bed was small and the mattress lumpy. All Temperance could see when she looked straight ahead was the dirty plaster four inches from her nose. It dawned on her that Jack was lying beside her, but she couldn’t see him because she was facing the wrong way.

He kept running his hand lightly up and down her upper arm and talking softly to her. He must have realised she was having a nightmare.

She took a deep breath and began to cough. Jack helped her to sit up. She leant against him as she tried to control the paroxysms. At last she was able to sit quietly. She rested her head on Jack’s shoulder, too heartsore to care about propriety.

‘Did you dream about the fire?’ he asked.

She nodded jerkily and started to cry. From the moment she’d realised Agnes had been left in her shop there had been no time to dwell on the fate of her home. Now she knew her dream had shown her the exact truth. She hadn’t been standing on her stairs when her bedchamber caught fire, but by now it had burned just as surely as in her nightmare.

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry,’ Jack murmured.

She nodded, but she couldn’t speak. For a little while her grief was too overwhelming to control. It was the first time since the death of her father that there had been anyone to comfort her. She clung to Jack, uncharacteristically surrendering to the full force of her emotions. She’d been raised to show more self-discipline than this, but Jack didn’t seem shocked. He held her close in a strong, steady embrace. He even rummaged up a grimy handkerchief to offer her.