The Rebel’s Daughter (21 page)

“
You
shanty have much to do with the customers. And you’ll never find
Mama in the kitchens. Carstairs manages the staff.”

Carstairs turned out to be a jovial but
strict, middle-aged housekeeper, whose role was to marshal the
serving girls into their various duties. A skill she performed,
Celia told her, laughing, like a mother hen.

The woman eyed Helena with mild
suspicion. “Our taproom girls are from good families,” she said,
defending them. “Not ignorant slatterns like those in
The
Sunn
, or
even
Thompsons
.”

These names meant nothing to Helena, who
accepted Mistress Corsair’s judgment in polite silence.

“
Our
servers are all men, naturally,” Celia announced, with all the
authority of a chatelaine. “Lubbock trains them to keep everyone’s
personal orders in their head.” She bent closer Helena, whispering,
“They are more discreet than the girls when it comes to the private
dining rooms.”

Helena frowned, confused, though confident
that given time, everything would make sense.

On the second floor, they discovered Phebe
loitering by the stairs. Helena was convinced she had been waiting
for them, but when Celia invited her to join them, she looked
disinterested. “I have little else to do this morning, I may think
about it.” When neither girl attempted to persuade her, she trailed
behind them at a distance.

The ceilings were lower on this floor, and
the windows smaller. Each of the rooms was furnished with a table
and two chairs in an alcove; others contained elaborate canopied
beds as well.

“
These
are our private dining rooms.” Celia waved a hand. “Exclusively for
the use of our married guests.”

“
How do
you know which of the guests are married?” Helena exchanged a sly
smile with Phebe.

Celia raised an innocent eyebrow. “Of
course they are. Only respectable people come to
Lambtons.”

Helena felt a small thrill of
excitement, wondering what her father would think. Then it struck
her; this was her new life. A life he was not part of.
Until he
returns
, a
small voice in her head reminded her.

The
ir tour of the vast inn ended in Celia”s
bedchamber, where the noise of the street intruded, though when
Helena commented on this fact she was brushed aside.

“
I could
not bear the silence of the country. I love the clamor of city
streets.” Phebe shuddered, apparently having overcome what her
mother called her “shyness”. She produced a box of “mouches”,
holding up a sheet of spanish paper with a flourish. “I use it to
colour my cheeks,” she explained unnecessarily.

“
It can
barely be seen when you do use it, Phebe.” Celia rolled her eyes.
“You already possess such high colour.” Her pained look told Helena
they had had this conversation several times before.

Helena perched on Celia”s bed, her
high-spirited chatter flowing over her as she cast her mind back to
the summer in Ideswell. The Ffoyle girls were kind hearted, loving
creatures, but she had soon outgrown their homespun kindness. To
have the sophisticated, colorful city of London laid out before her
was more than she could have hoped for. She could not wait to be a
part of it.

Helena moved to the window and looked onto
the street, where hackney coaches clattered on the cobbles and
sedan chairs disgorged their occupants onto the swarming
street.

It was not yet noon and Lambtons already
bustled with activity. Despite the cold, the inn doors were thrown
open, and from where she stood, Helena could hear the enthusiastic
welcomes of Lubbock, combined with muffled greetings and chattering
of the diners as they entered the halls.

Helena stared, fascinated at the swaying
headdresses and billowing skirts of the ladies, the ornamented
coats and impossibly full wigs of the men strutting through the
doors, with their oversized muffs and silver-topped
canes.

Celia came to stand beside her, pointing
to a black vehicle pulled by four bay horses in the street. “Oh
look, there’s Lord Marlborough’s carriage.”

Helena strained forward to see,
exhilarated at being so close to the famous John Churchill. Yet
shouldn’t she have felt more resentment than curiosity? This was,
after all, the man who had led the King’s forces against her family
at Sedgemoor.

Celia nodded. “He’s very handsome, and his
wife, Lady Sarah, has the loveliest golden hair. They have been
married for seven years, and he is still madly in love with
her.”

“
Hmm,”
Phebe muttered from her position at her sister’s bureau. “She is
proud, that one, and thinks she is more important than the Princess
Anne.”

Helena pressed her nose against the glass.
The street was so crowded, he was out of sight before she saw his
face. Mildly disappointed, she turned to lean against the sill. “I
had no idea an alehouse keeper could be so-” She paused, aware she
was about to be insulting.

“
Father
isn’t just an innkeeper, Helena. He’s also a goldsmith-banker.”
Phebe beamed with pride.

“
Master
Ffoyle often uses his services.” Celia turned her gaze on Helena.
“And I believe Sir Jonathan Woulfe, too, when he came to the city
to trade wool.”

“
Master
Devereux knew my father?” Helena’s heart lurched at his name on
Celia”s lips.

“
We saw
him but twice.”

Helena detected triumph in Phoebe’s face,
aware Helena had not known this, but ignored it. If only she could
make Phebe less hostile. She would need all the friends she could
find in this vast city.

A worry had nagged at Helena all the way
there from Devon. If their father lived, and she dared not believe
otherwise, how would he find them now they had left Devon? The fact
he knew about Lambtons, and had been here, made her less
troubled.

She could not wait to tell Henry.

* * *

Eager to make a good impression
to his hosts, Henry rose early and dressed carefully that morning,
his first in London. He wandered into the main hall, only to be
told by the inscrutable Lubbock than no one else was up
yet. “I doubt you’ll
see any of the ladies much before ten of the clock, master,” the
manservant said with a wry smile.

Thanking him, Henry turned to leave, though
with no idea where to go or what to do next. Preoccupied, he almost
collided with Master Devereux.

“
I do
apologise, sir. I didn’t see you there.” Henry scooped up his
hosts” muff and cane, both of which had clattered onto the tiled
floor in the collision.

“
No harm
done, young man.” He dusted off the muff and tucked the silver
topped cane beneath his arm. “What plans have you for the
morning?”

“
Plans,
sir?” Henry shrugged.

“
Well.”
Master Devereux turned to a gilt-framed mirror in which he adjusted
his curly black wig. “Why don’t you take a carriage ride with me? I
have some business this morning, but the City being new to you, I
imagine you’ll find something of interest. What do you
say?”

Henry accepted with enthusiasm, eager to
see this vast city which he was now his home. Robert Devereux
proved an entertaining guide, and kept up a stream of chatter all
the way along Fleet Street, where he pointed out the old houses
that had survived the Great Fire, comparing them with ones
constructed during the last twenty years..

When they halted on Ludgate Hill, Master
Devereux gathered up his muff and walking stick. “I imagine you
might like to take a look at Wren’s cathedral while we are here,
Henry. More entertaining for you than my booksellers, at any rate.”
He pointed his cane at a fence opposite. “Building work has started
again, and Wren has employed an army of stonemasons. The cathedral
site is busy these days, and worth a look.” He chattered amiably as
he alighted from the carriage.

“
The new
cathedral, sir?” Henry asked, fascinated, jumping down behind
him.

Hendr
y’s grandfather had told him all
about the terrible fire that had destroyed the old cathedral of his
childhood, and that nearly all the City had been destroyed by the
terrible blaze.

“
Was
there anything left of the old one?” Henry asked.

“
The
statue of John Donne survived intact. He was a Dean of St Pauls,
though many remember him best for his poetry. Some stonework is
left from Inigo Jones” original choir.” He had to shout to make
himself heard above the yelling, banging and construction noises on
the other side of the wooden hoarding, as well as the hubbub of the
street behind them filled with pedestrians, carriages and carters.
“The lead roof of the old building melted, and ruined everything
inside. They say there was molten lead running through the streets
here.” He gestured again with his cane.

“
It must
have been a terrible sight, the fire.” Henry kept his face solemn,
but he was eager for more details. “Did you see it,
sir?”

Master Devereux stared into thin air. “I
was a young man then. Alyce and I had an alehouse at the rear of
Fleet Street.” He glanced sideways at Henry with the ghost of a
smile, “I was neither quite so respectable, nor as wealthy, in
those days.” A smile that he quickly suppressed hovered on his
lips. “The old place burned to the ground and I had to begin
again.” He gave a deep sigh as he arranged his muff over one arm
and held his cane in the other hand. “Alyce and I had to flee to my
father-in-law’s house in Southwark. The bridge prevented the fire
from spreading across the river.”

“
Did it
take long to clear up the mess?” Henry asked, trying to imagine
what rivers of molten lead must have looked like.

“
Years,
Henry, years. Master Wren, as he was then, had to engage a team of
thirty laborers to operate a battering ram to demolish the ruins of
the old cathedral.”

“
A
battering ram?” Henry glanced over at the site, almost hoping it
might still be there.

“
Yes…of
his own design. However, it was slow work. To speed things up, he
enlisted the services of a gunner from the Tower, to explode
gunpowder under the cathedral.” Robert gave a throaty chuckle.
“That worked too, although it frightened the residents
hereabouts.”

“
How
long have they been building?” Henry peered through the fencing,
but he could not see much.

“
Work
began about three years after the fire, but the foundation stone
wasn’t laid until “seventy-five. Work has been intermittent over
the years, much to Wren’s frustration.”

“
How
so?”

Robert balanced both hands on top of his
cane, his lips pursed as if considering. “Well, Compton, the Bishop
of London, voted for the Exclusion Bill, so King Charles withdrew
the funds.”

Henry cocked his head, listening. “There’s
work going on now. I can hear it.”

Robert nodded. “King James called his
first Parliament this spring, and reinstated the coal tax revenues,
which funds the building work. For the next fifteen years, at any
rate.”

“
Shall
it stay like this, sir?” Henry nodded at the building rising above
the fence. “With a flat roof?”

Robert looked up at the towering edifice.
“Indeed, no. Sir Christopher’s plans include a magnificent dome,
painted with ecclesiastical murals visible to the congregation from
the cathedral floor. It will be the highest building I shall see in
my lifetime.”

“
Is this
to stop thieves?” Henry pointed to the hoardings on the opposite
side of the road.

“
Partly,” Master Devereux nodded. “Many say Wren chooses to
hide his masterpiece behind this.” He tapped one of the panels with
his cane. “To confound those who would criticize his design. The
Commissioners say his plans for a dome is too Catholic for an
Anglican cathedral.” He leaned closer. “They are staunch Whigs, and
anything that smacks of Papism sends them into paroxysms of
criticism.”

“
I wish
I could see it properly.” Henry glared at the fence, willing it to
vanish.

Robert tapped his nose with his cane. With
a knowing smile, he said, “well my boy. There’s a gap in the
boarding a little further on, from which you can see the workings.
However, I advise you to stay in sight of my coachman, lest you
become a target for footpads. I’ll see you anon.” He aimed a brief
salute in Hendry’s direction, before he turned on his heel and
strode across the cobbles of Paternoster Row.

Chapter
13

Henry picked his way across the
cobbles at the bottom of Ludgate Hill, where the stench of the
river was strong. A shout from his left made him jump
backward
,
just in time to avoid a man pushing a loaded handcart down the
incline. Congratulating himself for not sustaining an injury on the
dirty road, he was almost run down by a laden pony coming from the
other direction.