The Vagabond Duchess

Southwark, Wednesday morning, 5 September 1666

‘S t Paul’s burned last night!’ said George Pring.

Temperance huddled in the corner of Fanny Berridge’s kitchen, listening as Pring told his story of destruction. She’d waited until morning to make her way through Southwark. When she’d arrived she’d discovered that she and Agnes weren’t the only victims of the fire who’d sought temporary refuge with Fanny. Pring was a bookseller who, like Agnes, had believed his goods would be safe in the cathedral.

‘It started to burn yesterday evening,’ he said. ‘All my books—my whole stock—were in the crypt of St Faith. But the cathedral roof collapsed and broke through the floor and smashed the roof of the crypt and…the books are still burning.’

‘I heard explosions,’ said Temperance. ‘Was that St Paul’s?’

‘The stones exploded! Great lumps of rock hurtling through the churchyard like cannonballs. The lead from the roof melted. It ran in a great red, boiling tide down towards the Thames. It smelt like the fumes of hell. I’ve lost everything,’ Pring finished in a whisper.

Temperance looked at Agnes in concern. The old woman had lost just as much as the bookseller. Overnight she had been reduced from a tradeswoman in comfortable circumstances to a pauper. Worse than that. She’d rented her shop and, under the terms of her lease, she would still be expected to pay her rent, even though she’d lost her business.

Agnes locked her hands together in front of her chest. Her papery skin was pulled tight over the bones of her face. Temperance saw Fanny exchange a glance with her husband. He looked resigned rather than truly accepting, but he nodded. Fanny sat down beside her aunt and began to speak softly to her.

Putney, 5 September 1666

Jack left Bundle’s horse on the north side of the Thames and crossed the river in a lighter. As he drew closer to the house his swift stride slowed as his anxiety intensified.

‘Your Grace! You’re back!’ Henderson, his steward, greeted him. ‘Colonel Balston—’

‘Is he here?’

‘Yes, your Grace, the green bedchamber—’

‘In bed, by God!’

‘Your Grace, wait!’ Henderson followed breathlessly behind. ‘Colonel Balston is not in the green bedchamber. He was to sleep outside the door—’

‘Nonsense!’ Jack wasn’t interested in anything the steward had to say, especially when he could see for himself there was no sign of his cousin in the gallery.

He reached the chamber and flung open the door. It slammed against the wall, shattering the early morning quiet. He cast one raking glance around the room before his attention focussed on the bed.

‘Diable! Are you hurt?’

‘No,’ Jakob replied calmly.

Jack stared at his cousin as the tension drained from his body. Jakob hadn’t been burned alive. The crisis was over. At last he took the time to glance at the woman sitting beside Jakob. To his utter shock he recognised her.

Lady Desire Godwin.

Six years ago he’d come close to marrying the lady, but he’d grievously insulted her and provoked her outraged father into trying to force a duel upon him. The duel had never taken place but, from the expression in Lady Desire’s eyes, her hostility towards him hadn’t abated. What the devil was she doing under his roof, sharing a bed with his cousin?

Temperance slipped unnoticed out of the kitchen. The street wasn’t a pleasant place for quiet reflection, but at least she could avoid banging elbows at every turn with distraught friends and neighbours. As she glanced around, her eye was caught by a dishevelled figure stumbling towards her. It took her a moment to recognise her apprentice.

‘Isaac!’ She seized his shoulders, shocked by his appearance. One side of his face was bruised and crusted with dried blood. His nose and lips were swollen and he breathed heavily through his mouth.

‘Mistress?’

‘Isaac.’ She ran her hands gently up and down his arms. She didn’t know what other injuries he’d suffered and she was afraid she’d hurt him if she touched him too firmly. ‘What happened?’

He stared at her, his eyes filling with tears.

‘Come inside.’ She put her arm around his shoulders. ‘You’re safe now. I’ll tend your wounds and—’

‘I failed you!’ he cried out, his words slurred but his anguish agonisingly clear.

‘Failed me?’ Temperance’s immediate instinct was to take care of Isaac’s injuries, but she felt a chill of foreboding. ‘Failed me how?’

‘I lost…I lost the cart!’ His confession emerged in gulping gasps. ‘Someone offered the carter more. I couldn’t stop him. They threw out all your goods. I tried…I tried to collect it all up. P-protect as much as I could. But I c-couldn’t…everything was trampled or st-stolen. I’m s-sorry…’ Wrenching distress overcame him. He couldn’t talk any more, only stand sobbing beside Temperance.

‘Everything’s gone?’ She breathed. A few minutes ago she’d been contemplating a destitute future for Agnes. Now the same thing had happened to her.

‘I’m s-sorry…I’m sorry.’

Temperance put her arms around her distraught apprentice. She was several inches taller than the lad and she ended up with his head on her shoulder as he wept out his accumulated shame and fear.

‘I know. It’s not your fault. Don’t cry. You’ll make yourself feel worse.’

Isaac was fourteen, but he was neither naturally robust nor confident. She knew he’d done his best, but he wasn’t equipped to deal with the disaster that had befallen him. If she’d been there…

She cut off that train of thought before she gave way to anger and grief as uncontrollable as Isaac’s bitter sense of failure.

‘Stop this now!’ she ordered. ‘You’ll make yourself sick if you cry any more. Did you go to Bundle’s?’ she asked when he was calmer.

‘Where?’ He looked at her blearily.

‘Bundle’s Coffeehouse. That’s where you were supposed to take the cart.’

‘Oh. I—I forgot,’ he confessed. ‘When I woke up…I just wanted to find you. I didn’t know where to go at first. Then I remembered Mistress Agnes’s niece lives in Southwark…’

‘What do you mean, when you woke up?’

‘I don’t…I don’t know. I woke up. I was lying on the street, next to the wall of a house. I didn’t know where I was!’ His voice was sharp with remembered panic.

‘You’re safe with me now,’ said Temperance, resorting to the brisk tones she’d often used in the shop, though she’d seldom felt less safe in her life.

‘Yes.’ His shoulders slumped with relief. He even managed a slight smile. ‘That’s it. I found you. What will we do now?’

Kingston upon Thames, Wednesday 5 September 1666

Jack stepped over the threshold of Lady Desire’s Kingston house and into pandemonium. When the fire had threatened her home in the Strand she’d sent her most valuable belongings here, and boxes, furniture and paintings were piled everywhere he looked.

He paused, assessing the situation. He’d brought eight of his own men from Putney. He’d sent two to guard the river entrance, two to guard the street entrance and four were at his back.

‘You!’ He pointed to the nearest startled servant. ‘Where is Arscott?’

‘Ar-Arscott?’