Petals in the Ashes (7 page)

‘Hannah, I think we must stay here a while,' Sarah said gently.

Cross and disgruntled, I jumped down from the gate to go inside, leaving Sarah sitting gazing into the distance. I loved my home and my family, but while I'd been away I'd grown apart from them. Although close in age, I now fancied myself much more mature than Anne, and as for John, George and Adam – well, they drove me quite demented, following me around and putting on my voice until I could scream. Moreover, although Mother was as sweet as she'd always been, Father was often crotchety and preoccupied with his business, seeming none too
pleased that he would soon have a new babe in the house. All in all, now the excitement of our return was over and we had told and re-told all our adventures, Chertsey was in every way as tedious as I'd always known it to be.

I went into the cottage and sat at the window seat, staring down the lane. Another twelve weeks! How would I bear it? I could write to Tom, perhaps, care of his master Doctor da Silva to whom he was apprenticed, and tell him that I had not forgotten him and would be returning soon. I had done this once before from Dorchester, but had not had a reply, and indeed I was not sure it had ever reached him, for our letter to Mother and Father had not done so.

As I thought on, my attention was caught by a movement further down the lane. There was a horseman riding towards our cottage, and I knew immediately that it was Giles Copperly, for he'd visited us the day before, and the day before that, each time to thank us for conveying him home. Three visits in a week!

As I watched, he stopped where Sarah was sitting on the gate and jumped from his horse. Sarah took his outstretched hand but, instead of helping her from the gate, he put her hand to his lips and kissed it. They then gazed at each other so long, with the blossom falling all around them, that I was embarrassed and felt obliged to turn away.

It was then that I realised. Of course!
That
was why she did not wish to return to London …

The boys were in bed and the candles lit when, that evening, Sarah told Mother she would be staying in
Chertsey to help her through her lying-in.

Mother was so content with this news that it made me feel guilty that I did not really wish to stay. Yet I could not resist a sly dig at Sarah, saying that I had noticed Giles Copperly had called a third time – surely he hadn't wanted to thank us
again
for our trouble?

‘No,' she said, blushing. ‘No, he merely called to ask if I wished to see the extent of spices they have in their warehouse at Parkshot. I will be visiting there next week.'

Mother, Anne and I looked at her. ‘Indeed?' Mother said.

Sarah rose and pretended to tend the fire. ‘Yes. They have vanilla, nutmeg, aniseed and a type of cinnamon I've never heard of. Mr Copperly feels we may wish to use some for our sweetmeats.'

‘Giles Copperly!' said Mother. That was all, but the way in which she spoke said much.

‘He is very handsome. Is he your beau?' Anne asked eagerly, but Sarah did not reply.

‘So you two girls will be staying here and eating like horses for another two-month, will you?' Father put in.

I looked at Sarah. ‘We will be back in London by the middle of July for definite, won't we?' I asked.

‘Of course,' Sarah said. ‘Our new babe will be settled in and Mother will be recovered by that time.'

‘And mayhap you will have seen enough cinnamon by then,' I teased, and had the satisfaction of seeing her blush again. We sat gazing into the fire and the only sound was the crackle of wood and a
phut-phut
as Father pulled on his pipe of tobacco.

‘Hannah,' Anne suddenly piped up. ‘If you are so
anxious to get back to London, why don't you go ahead by yourself?'

I looked at her, my heart giving a great leap. Never had Anne said anything so clever.

‘You couldn't do that,' Mother said immediately.

‘Of course you couldn't,' Sarah said. ‘And you couldn't manage to make sweetmeats, run the shop and serve folk all on your own.'

‘Well, then!' Anne said. ‘What if I went with her? We could do these things between us.' She looked around at everyone beseechingly. ‘If I was in London I would work very hard! You would be surprised at how hard I would work.'

I gave a little gasp at this suggestion, but as it did not get shouted down straightaway, began to get fearful excited.

‘What do you think, Father?' Mother asked after a moment.

‘I think it's a sound idea,' he replied. ‘Anne could learn a trade and we would have two less mouths to feed.'

‘But do you think Anne could do such a job?' Mother asked Sarah.

‘Of course she could,' I put in quickly. ‘She could do all the tasks that I used to do: shopping and fetching water from the conduit and grinding down the sugarloaf. She can serve in the shop while I do the skilled work,' I added, for I had already learned much of the trade from Sarah.

‘And what would Anne do when you returned to London, Sarah?' Mother asked.

‘Well,' Sarah said slowly. ‘If things work out with Anne in London I will bide my time here and stay
with you a while longer, Mother. Until the babe is weaned, perhaps.'

‘And then Anne could come back to Chertsey or we would find her another job in London,' I said, and I spoke joyfully, for in my mind's eye I could already see the reunion of me and Tom – of us meeting and kissing and walking through flowers together, like in the ballad sheets.

‘But are you perfectly sure that it's safe?' Mother asked.

‘Of course, Mother!' I flew to kiss her. ‘London is as safe as houses!'

‘May Day and thence to Westminster, on the way meeting many milkmaids with their garlands upon their pails, dancing with a fiddler before them.'

‘What is that great hulking place?'

‘Oh! Who does that forward baggage think she is!'

‘Hannah! Look at their gowns!'

‘What a beautiful barge!'

‘Do look at that!'

As we made our steady progress up the River Thames, Anne was testing my patience sorely, leaning first to the left of the open wherry, then to the right, pointing, exclaiming, gasping and calling for me to look at first one thing then another. It was May Day and it seemed that most of London was on the river.

Mother had asked that we stay in Chertsey until May Day, and on the previous evening she, Sarah, Anne and I had gone into the orchard as we always had on this day, and spread linen cloths under the trees. At dawn we had risen, run into the orchard (although Mother had not run) and pressed the damp
cloths over our faces and arms, for everyone knew that washing your face in the dawn dew gathered on the first of May was a great beautifier.

Thus refreshed, we had gone home for bread and milk, and then the whole family had walked to the village green where a maypole had been erected and where there was a small May Fair with stalls selling pewter and china and fruit and toys, and sideshows with jugglers, tooth-pullers and dancing milkmaids. Anne and the boys were highly entertained at these, but it was not much to me after the amusements of London – although I did not say as much.

It was a happy farewell to Chertsey, though, for after spending all morning at the fair, Anne and I had walked down to the wharf with our family and caught the boat to London, which was to bring us all the way in four hours. Mother and Sarah had wept as we boarded the craft, but Anne and I had not, for neither of us could contain our excitement at the adventure before us.

We had passed Hampton Court (where the king, it was said, kept two spare mistresses in case he should stay overnight) and also the great palace at Richmond where Good Queen Bess had died. With each mile we covered, the number of craft on the Thames increased until, near the City, a myriad of little boats covered the water from side to side: sculls, skiffs, wherries, decorated rowing boats and the magnificently ornate barges that belonged to the various Guilds of the City.

About two hours into our journey, Anne (who carried two lidded baskets made by our father) said she had a confession to make. I, being in the best of moods, said that I would forgive her, for the day was
fair and nothing could be
that
wrong.

She then pulled out the smaller of the baskets, which I had noticed her fiddling with for some time, opening and closing its lid. ‘I have brought a friend,' she said, looking at me imploringly, ‘for I could not bear to part with her.' Saying this, she lifted the lid and presented me with a white kitten, which she put upon my lap, saying, ‘Isn't she pretty? Just look at her pink ears! I could not bear to leave her behind.'

The kitten immediately crawled up to my shoulder and, as she seemed about to make a leap into the river, I took her up and placed her back in the basket, sighing a little. I felt it was fitting that I should sigh, being the older sister and the one in charge, but to tell the truth I loved cats as much as she did and did not mind a bit. Besides, I knew London still had a shortage of animals and that she – and her kittens in time – would be welcome there.

‘You're not very cross, are you?' Anne said. ‘One of the farm cats had five kittens and I couldn't leave them all behind. I almost brought two—'

‘It'll be you who'll look after her,' I warned. ‘You must find scraps for her to eat and clean up any messes.'

‘Oh, I will!' she said fervently.

‘And you must keep her in that basket and not let her out until we reach the shop.'

Some of the bigger craft had musicians, or a fiddler or singer, and these provided entertainment for the passengers who, dressed richly and to be seen, lounged on the decks drinking wine and partaking of food. As we passed Chelsea we came across a skiff containing
four rather drunk gallants, and they, seeing us, urged their boatman to follow us upstream. For two miles or so they did so, calling us ‘Charmers' and ‘Sweet Angels' and sending extravagant compliments across the water, promising not only undying love, but all manner of jewellery and fine things if only we'd join them. We did not deign to even look their way, of course, but there was much giggling between me and Anne and we were rather sorry when, their boatman seeming as drunk as they were, they lost us amid the crush somewhere before the king's palace.

Here, at Whitehall, we had the biggest thrill of all, because the royal barge sailed by us with the king himself on board. His Majesty was seated on an ornately carved chair at the prow, and looked the very image of the man we had seen depicted on news-sheets and inn signs: handsome, strong and lusty. He had olive skin, long black hair which fell curling to his shoulders, and a narrow dark moustache, and was magnificently clothed in satins and lace with a fur-trimmed velvet cape hung about his shoulders. He smiled and waved to those around him, exuding a charm and a presence which drew all eyes. Several spaniels must have been playing about his feet, for we could hear them yapping, and when a barge piled with animal skins passed by, two of them jumped up to a ledge at the stern and hung there, sniffing the air, like tiny figureheads.

His Majesty's barge had lavish ornamentation and was most excellently carved and gilded, with all manner of bright pennants fluttering from its awning. Queen Catherine was quietly seated under a tapestry canopy in the shade (for it was said that she was
expecting a child), and looked a neat body, and refined, and on seeing her our eyes raked the area to the back of the barge, hoping we might glimpse Barbara Castlemaine or another of the Ladies of the Bedchamber, but we did not. On board there was a quartet of musicians and all around us on the water people were shouting, ‘Long live the King!' and ‘God bless His Majesty!' We joined in, shouting, ‘A Health to King Charles!' louder than anyone else, for we were fair excited out of our wits to see him there.

Indeed we could not have travelled by river on a better occasion, for there was so much to see that, when Anne was not giddily exclaiming at the sights around us, she was struck speechless at them. I, too, was both awestruck and astounded, but sought to appear more knowing, mindful that I was eighteen months older and had lived in London before.

Passing the great warehouses, tanneries and chandlers along the quayside of the City, our wherry landed at Swan Steps just before London Bridge (at which sight Anne almost collapsed with wonder and astonishment). Here we alighted, which was no easy matter for the landing jetty was slippery-thick with mud and detritus. We had no clogs or pattens to lift us out of the mud, but were wearing leather mules with our best gowns and carrying bundles and bedrolls as well as baskets and the kitten. The waterdog who'd rowed us there came to our aid, however, taking our baggage first and then sweeping us up and throwing us over his shoulder to carry us in turn to the top of the steps. Thus safely landed, I paid our fare and gave a generous tip and, with kitty in the basket meowing piteously, we set off for Crown and King Place and the
shop. I was tingling all over now, happy to be back, thrilled at the thought that I'd soon be seeing Tom again.

Anne stopped at the top of Fish Lane. ‘Can we go on to the bridge?' she asked breathlessly, looking back at it. ‘Just to look …'

I shook my head. ‘We cannot!' I said. ‘Not with all the things we have to carry. See how crowded it is up there! We would be pushed this way and that and robbed of everything we have.'

Anne looked sorely disappointed, so I added that although we ought to get to our shop quickly for the sake of the poor enclosed kitten, we'd return as soon as we could. Our load was such that I was tempted to take a sedan chair, but did not because I had never hailed one before and was not sure of the correct procedure. Besides, it being May Day, some skipjack chair-carrier would be sure to overcharge me, and I had promised Sarah that I would look after the sum of money she'd given me, trade sensibly and not get fleeced.