The Pirate and the Pagan (42 page)

The man held up two more ten-pound notes, and the guard with him called down, “This is Lord Peregrine Howard.”

“Tell him no—go away!” shouted Summer.

Lil explained, “Prostitutes ply their trade here day and night.”

The guard called down, “He says you don’t even need to take off your clothes.”

“No!” cried Summer.

“He’ll settle for a French,” shouted the guard.

Summer put her hands on her hips angrily and looked up at Lord Howard. “You don’t seem to understand English very well. Let me put it more succinctly—piss off!”

Lord Howard waved and shrugged his disappointment.

“What on earth is a French?” whispered Summer.

Lil pantomimed licking ice cream and Summer shuddered with horror. It propelled her, however, to get someone in authority and demand to know where they were keeping her brother. After an interminable wait while records were checked she finally learned that he was imprisoned in the old section. The guard also explained that to go over there she would have to pay a guard to protect her, as it was very rough. It was rapidly turning into the nightmare she had feared as they were lighted down a dark stone tunnel which she feared would lead to the bowels of hell. When she saw where they were keeping him, however, it was not the large cell, which stank of urine and excrement, that upset her, but the cell’s inhabitants. An iron grille separated the men from the women and she saw her brother immediately. His face was a mass of bruises. He also sported a black eye and split, swollen lip. He came toward her with anger blazing in his eyes. “Cat, what in the name of hellfire are you doing in this hole? I forbid you ever to come here again. Lil, for Christ’s sake, surely you have enough brains if she doesn’t. You should have used a go-between.”

“Did the guards do that to your face Spider?”

“No. I had to beat the shit out of a couple of the prisoners.” She looked about and saw battered and bleeding men. Some lay naked in the corners on stinking heaps of straw.

“Why? Did they think you had money?” she asked innocently.

He did not disabuse her of her ideas. Not for the world would he tell her that he must guard against rape every hour of the day and night. “I suppose so, Cat. Did you bring money?” he asked hopefully. She nodded and immediately he bargained with the turnkey to be taken to the affluent side of the prison.

Summer could not keep her eyes from straying into the women’s cell. They were filthy drabs. The pregnant ones with swollen bellies were the most pathetic. Some wore rags; other were less fortunate and lay naked covered by dirt and suppurating sores. Their faces were hopeless, their eyes empty.

The cell door was unlocked and Spencer was permitted to accompany them. Halfway down the passage Summer felt the nausea grip her and she vomited her heart up. Spider held her until the spasm passed. “’Fore God, you must promise me you’ll not come again, love. Did you tell Ruark what Oswald did?”

“Don’t ever speak that man’s name to me again. He did nothing to prevent Oswald from shipping you here.”

“Nay, he knew nothing of it. Oswald learned Ruark was coming
to Falmouth jail and had to get rid of me before Ruark arrived. Cat, he’d never do a bastardly thing like that. He’s your husband, for Christ’s sake.”

“Not for long, I hope. I’m going to the King. I’ll have you out of here as soon as I possibly can. I swear it!”

“Come along of me, missus, while I tally up what’s owin’,” said the turnkey. Reluctantly Summer left her brother in the common cell, which was patrolled from the catwalk. When she protested at the ridiculous rates she was being charged for the week Spider had been incarcerated in such a hellhole, the guard growled, “We ain’t runnin’ a bleedin’ charity, ye know.” They even charged for him to use the piss stone twice a day and as an afterthought added on another ten shillings for her “puking.”

She paid twenty pounds for him to have a private cell with water to bathe and shave and all his meals brought in. She said that she would be back again next week if he had not been released.

The moment she arrived back at the fashionable house in Cock-spur Street Summer ordered a bath. She bade the servant take away every stitch of her clothing to be washed then proceeded to scour her body and hair to rid herself of the odor of the place which seemed to cling to her.

A message was brought to the house from Edward Progers that if Lady Helford would come to the privy garden at Whitehall tomorrow night between the hours of eleven and midnight, there was every chance that His Majesty would see her.

Summer conjured a mental picture of Whitehall. It was a sprawling red-brick mass in the old Tudor style. Its hallways and apartments opened one into another like a vast honeycomb. She knew where the kitchens were because at high tide they sometimes flooded and could be seen from the river. Ah yes, now she remembered. To get into the privy garden you had to go through a gateway into the Stone Gallery. She wished he had agreed to see her tonight, but she supposed she was extremely fortunate to be seen at all.

Actually Charles had granted a private meeting to his friend Ruark Helford tonight and he’d set aside an hour for their business. “The Dutch have outfitted two war fleets. They intend to make war on our ships in America off the coast of New Amsterdam and our East India Company ships will be attacked off the Guinea coast of Africa. Michael de Ruyter is in charge of the
Guinea Fleet. He’s a genius at sea, Sire, make no mistake about it,” warned Helford.

“Weil, forewarned is forearmed. We are at war, even though it’s still being fought in distant ports. I’ll try my best to double the fleet and I think we’d better be about building ships on a greater scale. We are bound to suffer losses.” Charles had few illusions. “Bloody Parliament controls the purse strings. Christ, Ru, it’s like walking a tightrope dealing with the tightfisted bastards. In open confrontation they win every time, so I have to outwit them or deceive them. Ah well, that’s not your problem.” Charles took off his periwig and scratched his head. He glanced at Ruark’s clubbed-back hair. “Are you wearing one of these?” he asked.

Ruark laughed and shook his head. “I hate the damned things. I wear my own hair, Sire.”

“They’re all the rage at the French court, so my sister says, and my hair is getting as gray as a badger’s arse these days, but it feels wonderful to take the damned thing off and scratch my head.”

“Sire, through a comedy of errors at my headquarters in Falmouth, my wife’s young brother, Lord St. Catherine, was arrested and shipped to Newgate. I’d like your permission to get him released.”

“Arrested for smuggling?” Charles laughed. “No doubt working for that reprobate brother of yours. Speak to Shaftsbury, he’ll write you out a release for the young devil.”

“Thank you, Sire, Lady Helford will be relieved.”

“You are a lucky dog, Helford. My wife thinks a bedchamber is for displaying pious pictures of saints and books of devotion. She sleeps with holy water at the head of the bed.”

Ruark grinned. “For what you are about to receive, may the lord make you truly thankful. Amen!”

“Exactly!” said Charles, appreciating the witticism. “Are you staying at Whitehall tonight?”

Ruark nodded then bethought himself to tell Charles something others might keep from him. “I’m afraid plague has been brought to London and it’s spreading. There’ve been many reports of sickness among ships’ crews.”

“Damnation! I’d heard rumors, but nothing confirmed. Let’s hope it confines itself to the dock area. I’ll speak to Sandwich; the Navy Office should put a quarantine on any ships suspected of carrying plague.”

“Good night, Sire.” Ruark bowed.

“Hold on. I’ll walk with you. Your room’s down by the bowling green, isn’t it?”

Ruark nodded, aware that Charles was on his way to Barbara’s even though it was past midnight.

    Summer awoke at dawn with nausea once again. Finally she faced the indisputable fact that she was probably going to have a baby. She had been intimate with Ruark and also with her husband’s brother Rory and she had no way whatsoever of knowing who had fathered the child. This truth was so shocking she simply hadn’t been able to accept it. Now that she was trying to face up to it, she was deeply ashamed of herself. It was too appalling to share with Auntie Lil. She would let her assume it was Lord Helford’s child, as of course would everyone else. Summer, however, was less sure about what she should disclose to Ruark, or for that matter to Rory. For the present she would keep her mouth shut.

If she was to be a mother, it was time to take practical steps for her own welfare and the well-being of the child. The first practical thing she must do is put her money where it was safe and where it would earn interest. Solomon Storm was the only person who came to mind. She dressed in her richest walking suit with matching hat and gloves and asked if she could use the carriage.

Since she was carrying a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, she took along two of Lil Richwood’s six-foot servants. She was ushered in with deference and served refreshments before they began their business. Solomon Storm called her Lady Helford so many times she began to realize just how impressive the name was in London.

“Lord Helford wished to surprise you by discharging the mortgage on Roseland.” He nodded, pleased he’d had a hand in it.

“Oh, he surprised me all right,” replied Summer, wondering why everyone assumed Ruark intended it as a gift for her. But to be fair, she was the one who had sprung the bigger surprise regarding Roseland and its heavy mortgage. When she left, she had deposited her money with him at six-percent interest. He had offered five, but Summer wasn’t quite the green girl she had been on her first trip to London.

L
ord Helford visited the house in Cockspur Street with very mixed feelings. He hoped his wife would not shut the door in his face, yet he knew he would risk more than the sharp edge of Summer’s tongue to keep her from the King’s lusty advances.

“Oh, my lord, you have just missed her,” said Lil Richwood, bursting to ask him a dozen questions. “Do come and have a drink, darling, and satisfy my insatiable curiosity.”

“What has she told you?” he asked bluntly.

“Ah, I can’t begin to catalog all your faults, Ruark my dear, but I’ve been playing devil’s advocate. I told her it was all a silly misunderstanding … that you would never in a million years kick her out without a penny … especially not in her condition—” Lil’s drawling voice halted as if she had revealed something she shouldn’t have.

“Condition?” he questioned quickly. “Is she …?”

Lil held up her hands. “She swears she is not.”

His mouth hardened. “Where has she gone?”

“She took the carriage up into the city. I really don’t think she’ll be back for hours and hours, my lord.”

“I’ll write her a note,” he said with decisiveness. “Perhaps it’s best we don’t meet face-to-face today. We have this unfortunate
knack of exacerbating each other’s tempers the moment we are in the same room together.” He emptied his glass and refused to let her refill it. “I’ve seen the King and Shaftsbury about young Spencer. I’ve arranged to have him released, so there’s no need for her to petition His Majesty about this.”

Lil brought him paper and quill and he wrote that under no circumstances was it necessary to meet with the King to beg his favors. “When she learns what you have done for her brother, I’m sure she’ll be ready to forgive everything, darling,” assured Lil.

“I do have to beg her pardon for a few things I said to her,” he explained, “then perhaps we can begin again.” He handed Lady Richwood the letter and after he left she took it up to Summer’s chamber and laid it on the pretty French desk.

    After Summer left Solomon Storm she went on a shopping spree in the Exchange. All she bought for herself were some pretty hair ornaments and a pair of delicious, dangling earrings which caught her fancy, but for Spider she bought soap, towels, a razor, underclothing, shirts, breeches, doublets, waistcoats, and vests, the very latest fashion from Paris. She knew the hours would stretch interminably until she must be at the gateway of the privy garden, so she lingered in the vast arcade, enjoying the display of articles from around the world.

There were wig shops, tobacconists with their strange masculine aromas, French glove shops, lace vendors, goldsmiths, rainbow displays of Venetian glass and Moroccan leather. By the time she returned to Cockspur Street, Lil’s escort for the evening had already called to take her to Lady Somerset’s ball.

Summer took a bath while she mulled over what would be the right outfit to wear tonight. She chose her gown for her meeting with the King very carefully. Red was out, it was far too provocative and bold. Black was very regal, but with her dark coloring it was not her best color. In white or pastel she would stick out like a sore thumb, and when one had a secret, midnight meeting through the privy garden and up the backstairs, one did not wish to advertise the fact. She finally settled on an apricot silk with a taffeta cape of amber.

She had a light supper of cold meat and fruit and decided against taking any wine. She would need all her wits about her for tonight’s encounter. Finally at the hour of ten o’clock she bade a footman call her a linkboy to light her way to Whitehall. It lay just
across Pall Mall and along through the Holbein Gateway. She hadn’t even noticed the letter from her husband lying on the desk.