The Lost Boys of London

by Mary Lawrence

  Setting her mug aside, Bianca pulled on dry stockings and immediately felt the comfort of warm feet. The end of winter is the bleakest time of year, when patience wears thin and the desire for sun and color made every day of brown mud increasingly less tolerable. Bianca unlashed her shutters and dumped the pail of collected drips out in the already saturated lane. The sun made an effort to force itself through the clouds, but only succeeded so far as to marginally brighten the sky. Still, it was enough to inspire Bianca to make a balm for the inevitable insect bites that would menace citizens when the weather improved.

  She searched through her stoppered pots and found a stash of witch hazel bark and dried comfrey leaves and, satisfied that they were not too old to use, made a pile on the table. Her supply of beeswax was enough for now, but soon she’d have to trouble the beekeeper near the orchard on Horsleydown Road to raid his skeps for more. She also found tansy and, remembering her mother rubbing it on a wasp bite she’d gotten when she was little, decided its fairy buttons were worth adding to the mix.

  Hobs returned from his morning foray and leapt upon the board to sniff the selection of herbs. After concluding that none of them were delectable, he gave himself a bath.

  “You’re feeling back to your old self,” said Bianca as she rummaged for the pieces to her distillation apparatus and laid them one by one on the table. She began fitting them together, aggravated at herself for not taking the time to clean the junctures before storing it. She sat down and spent the needed time scraping off residue and dissolving hardened bits with oil of turpentine, a noxious solvent that made her nostrils burn.

  It came as a welcome distraction when she heard a small voice at her door.

  “Goodwife, may I speak to you?” A wisp of a girl stood outside, peering in. She appeared uncertain about entering Bianca’s room of Medicinals and Physickes, but who could blame her with the place smelling so foul?

  “For cert,” answered Bianca, beckoning her inside. “Granted, I am using a very disagreeable liquid but it doesn’t mean that I do not welcome visitors. Come in.”

  The girl carefully crossed the threshold, acting as if a sea serpent lurked just beneath it and would rear its ugly head to swallow her whole.

  Once Bianca got a better look, she realized this was Fisk’s younger sister. The child had markedly different coloring from her brother. Wispy gold hair framed her petite face and her eyes were a bright chicory blue. Her grungy coif was too large for her head and her kirtle showed no cleaner.

  “Remind me of your name?” asked Bianca.

  “Anna,” answered the girl. Her head barely moved, but her eyes roamed the room, rolling up to see the herbs overhead, then down to rest on the copper apparatus spread across the table.

  “Welcome, Anna,” said Bianca, standing and ushering the girl to sit. “Come. I shall get you a drink of cider.”

  Anna did as she was bid. She sat rigidly, self-consciously, while Bianca fetched her a bowl of drink.

  “You are Fisk’s little sister,” said Bianca.

  The girl said nothing but gave a quick nod.

  Bianca stoppered her noxious solvent and settled across the table from her guest. “I am surprised to see you here. Did you come across the river on your own?”

  “I crossed the bridge.”

  Bianca blinked in surprise, thinking that the dark, narrow, byway was not the safest route to Southwark. She’d give the girl a penny for a return wherry. “And no one troubled you?”

  “I am a fast runner.”

  “A useful skill for a young lady.”

  Anna almost smiled.

  “How did you know where to find me? Did Fisk tell you where I lived?”

  “I followed you home.”

  “Did you, now.” The child was full of surprises. “When might that have been?” The last time Bianca had visited Ivy Lane was yesterday. If Anna had followed her, the girl must have traipsed all around London, over to St. Mary Magdalen’s, then to Jane Clewes’s tenement…by the time Bianca returned to Southwark it was nearly dark and several hours would have passed.

  Anna shrugged. “Once when you came by.”

  “Ah, so not yesterday?”

  The girl shook her head. “When you came the day after Fisk didn’t come home.”

  Bianca studied her little visitor. She had something of her brother’s fearlessness about her. She could see that the two weren’t so very different in temperament.

  “Gull Hole is not so easy to get to. It is a distance from Ivy Lane.”

  “I wanted to talk to you.” Anna had not touched the cider.

  Bianca pushed the drink toward Anna. “Have some. It is not so poor. I only work with bad- smelling liquids. I don’t serve them to my guests.”

  Anna took a tentative sip and must have deemed it potable, for she visibly relaxed and gave over to gulping down the entire portion.

  “Would you like more?”

  Anna nodded stiffly. Still, she remained reticent.

  Bianca filled her bowl and gave her some bread and cheese, which was received with wide eyes and, this time, an eager and grateful smile. The poor girl was stick thin. Without a father to bring in a wage, and now without Fisk’s help, it was obvious that Anna’s mother was struggling to feed her children. Bianca waited until the girl had finished before prompting her to speak.

  “I have more if you want it.” But Anna shook her head. It didn’t take much to fill a tiny stomach. The girl ran her gaze around the room, gaping at the strangely shaped instruments and bottles lining Bianca’s shelves.

  “I wanted Fisk to come and help me with my work,” said Bianca, conversationally. She guessed Anna was there to tell her something in regards to her brother.

  Anna’s eyes settled on Bianca’s. For as young as she was, the child possessed a maturity or awareness beyond her years.

  “I know the name of the man who spoke to Mamma about Fisk.”

  “The man who told her Fisk was being held for money?”

  Anna nodded solemnly. “His name is Geve Trinion.”

  The name sounded familiar. Bianca couldn’t place where she’d heard his name and tried to remember.

  “He came by the day Fisk went missing and then a second time. He says he knows who has Fisk.”

  Bianca sat up. This, was of inestimable value. Anna’s mother had not told her the fellow’s name. Why had she withheld the information?

  “Did he say who has Fisk?”

  “Nay. He said the rogue was keeping him until Mamma gave him money. Then he’d give Fisk back.”

  Bianca already knew this, but she hoped Anna knew more. “Do you know where Fisk is being kept?”

  Anna’s face clouded over and she bit her lip. She shook her head.

  “Know you where this Geve Trinion might live?” After all, the girl had successfully found her across the river in Southwark.

  Again, Anna did not know.

  Bianca sat a minute, coiling her hair around a finger, then uncoiling it. She tried remembering where she had heard of this Geve Trinion.

  “And he has visited twice?”

  “Aye.”

  “But you don’t recall ever seeing him before?”

  “Nay,” said Anna. “But Mamma called him a rascal and wanted him gone.”

  “How do you think she knew him?”

  “I do not know. But she likes him not. She mentioned about the damage he’d done.”

  “Damage? To what?”

  “I do not know. But she was angry about it.” Anna peered into her empty bowl of cider, then looked up at Bianca with soulful eyes. “Could I have more?”

  “Oh, aye,” said Bianca, springing from the bench and refilling her bowl. Anna continued.

  “The first time he came to the house, he wanted to take Fisk,” she said.

  “Take him?”

  “He said he would take Fisk with him to work in the tin mines.”

  “And this was before Fisk
went missing?”

  “Aye. He said he would send Fisk’s wages home to help Mamma so she could feed us. That it would be better than letting him steal.”

  Bianca sat down heavily on the bench. Being a cutpurse was fraught with danger, but working in a tin mine was also a perilous occupation. The ever-increasing need for the metal attracted a steady flow of unemployed men to the west country, all willing to toil long hours. Whether they worked underground or outside in the weather, Bianca feared a young boy such as Fisk would be taken advantage of. Who was this Geve Trinion? What man would take a boy to the stannary to work beside him without exploiting him in some way? Likely he would garnish the boy’s wages and keep them for himself. An even more odious thought occurred to her, and her stomach turned at the thought of it.

  “You say he has visited your rent twice? Once, to ask your mother about taking Fisk to the tin mines and then a second time, after Fisk had gone missing, to tell your mother he knew who had him.”

  “Aye,” confirmed Anna. “And if Mamma gave him the money, he would give it to the man and then Fisk would come home.”

  “But your mother doesn’t have the money.”

  Anna shrugged. “She doesn’t believe him. She says he is lying and is just trying to get her money.”

  Bianca mindlessly picked up a joint from her disassembled apparatus and tapped it on the board. Anna finished her cider and watched Hobs parade across the table, stepping between the copper tubes without disturbing a single one. He sat directly in front of the girl and stared at her. Anna stroked his back.

  “Geve Trinion!” exclaimed Bianca, making Anna start. She pointed the piece of pipe at her. “He brings wool to Jane Clewes.” Bianca rose from the bench and tossed the pipe on the table. “Anna, you have been very helpful. Can you describe this Geve Trinion?”

  “He was tall with dark hair. He had a beard. I couldn’t see a lot of his face.”

  Bianca went to her purse hidden under her bed and gave Anna a penny. “Keep this in case you ever need to visit me again. It’s safer to take the ferry than walk across the bridge. Come, I’ll take you back to London.”

  Chapter 25

  It was Anna’s first ride across the river and she sat stock still, as if frightened to move for fear she would fall in. Bianca remembered the first time she had stepped foot in a wherry. The boat had wobbled so badly that the boatman had shouted at her to crouch and took her hand. She had plopped herself down as soon as she could. It had only been a few years ago, so she was quite a bit older than Anna was now.

  Bianca admired the girl’s determination to visit Southwark and find her. The South Bank’s salacious reputation was deterrent enough to keep most away. But Anna loved her brother. And she put herself in harm’s way to try to see him home.

  A larger wherry angled past, loaded with revelers impatient for the opposite side. Men frequented Southwark to drink and be merry, to gamble, to watch bearbaiting and bullbaiting, to cheer at cockfights, and to foin. That Bianca chose to keep her room of Medicinals and Physickes in the sordid ward might at first seem counterintuitive, but it served her purpose.

  Locating her hovel near a chicken coop helped mask the smells caused by her experimentation. What could elsewhere have been cause for alarm was effectively smothered by the overriding stink of chicken droppings.

  Secondly, there were any number of peculiar goings on in the borough at any given time, and the constant distractions of rowdy drunks, knifings, thievery, sodomy, rape, murder, street brawls, arrests, gambling, chases, skullduggery, biting dogs, dumped chamber pots, rats, cats, bats, church bells tolling, night watchmen calling, and visitors shouting for boats, shouting for constables, shouting for the hell of it, all took precedence over the occasional foul odor wafting into a lane and catching anyone’s notice.

  “Only walk the bridge if you have no choice,” Bianca told Anna as they reached the other side. “The first ride is a bit disquieting, but you shall get accustomed to it. It is not very common that anyone falls in.” That last bit was not entirely true, but Bianca’s intent was to reassure Anna.

  They disembarked and Bianca accompanied the girl up to Knightrider, where they would part ways.

  “You’re nearly home,” said Bianca, looking in the direction of Ivy Lane. “You were brave to seek me out and I am grateful you did. I want to see what I can learn about this Geve Trinion. Mayhap he will lead us to Fisk.” Bianca straightened the coif on Anna’s head. “It is better if you do not mention our talk to your mother. She may not want me interfering.”

  Anna nodded, and Bianca was moved that the girl trusted her. The child put on a brave face, but she could see she struggled to conceal her worry and fear.

  “Anna,” said Bianca, bending down to her. “I love Fisk, too. And I will do everything I can to find him.”

  Anna bit her lip and Bianca straightened. She pulled the girl against her and felt Anna’s shoulders shake as she began to cry. “You must not fret,” said Bianca. “All will be fine.” She said this as much to assure herself as the young girl. She wiped away Anna’s tears and tried coaxing a smile from her. “Take this,” she said, giving Anna another two pennies once she settled. “Get yourself something to eat at market, but save the penny I gave you if you need to see me again.”

  ***

  Bianca continued on to Jane Clewes’s rent, wending past the drays and vendors moving their wares to market. After hearing the news from Roy the previous night, she was heartened by this bit of information from Anna. Between worrying about John and feeling helpless regarding Fisk, she had tossed around in bed restlessly, even though she had drunk enough to have dropped a man twice her size. Now she had hope, and she would ride its wings to see where it took her.

  Bianca slowed as she neared the tenement, wondering if Huet might be outside on the road. She wondered what he might do if she asked to speak to Jane. But after surveying the area and looking into the side alley, she found that either Huet was inside or he was out running an errand. Bianca stepped up to the door and knocked.

  “I’ve taken care of the rats,” was the first thing Jane Clewes said at seeing her.

  “Marry, I am glad to hear it,” said Bianca. “But that is not why I am here.”

  Jane made no offer to invite her inside.

  “Is Huet home?”

  Jane’s eyes slid to the side, then settled on Bianca’s. “He is.” She kept the door nearly closed.

  Bianca looked past Jane, trying to see into the dimly lit interior. She thought she saw movement.

  “The man who brings you batts of wool to spin. What is his name?” She wanted confirmation that she had remembered correctly.

  “He be Geve Trinion.”

  “And, this Geve Trinion…do you know for whom he works?”

  Jane’s brows furrowed in thought. “I do not recall.”

  “Might he have mentioned it? Do you know where he takes your skeins?”

  “So long as I am paid, it matters not,” said Jane.

  For a moment, Bianca feared this was all for naught. She had been so hopeful that finding Geve Trinion would lead to Fisk.

  “Does he give you coin or perchance a note for your work?”

  “He gives me coin, of course. I have no use for a note. What good is a square of paper with scratching on it?”

  “Goodwife Clewes, it is a matter of importance that you try to remember. A child’s life may be in danger.” Bianca thought she saw Jane Clewes start at this mention. “Surely you must understand a mother’s heartache when a child goes missing.”

  Jane grew quiet and rubbed her chin while studying Bianca’s face. Her tone was softened when she finally spoke. “Methinks he takes them to a clothier near St. Antholin. I remember he said the man had spinners in thirteen wards. It was Trinion’s task to collect skeins in Castle Baynard and Bread wards. But, to be true, if he mentioned the clothier’s name, I do not recall it.”

  “If I mentioned the name do you think you
might recognize it?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Well, no matter, Goodwife Clewes. You have been helpful.” Bianca hesitated, her mind slipping into contemplation.

  “If that be all,” said Goodwife Clewes growing impatient and moving the door to shut it.

  “Oh, aye,” said Bianca. She had just snapped out of her thoughts when she heard scratching—similar to the other day. “What was that?”

  “I don’t hear anything,” said Clewes. “It is your imagination.” And she slammed the door and shot the bolt.

  Bianca remained on the stoop, blinking in surprise. She pressed her ear against the door. Unfortunately, any sound on the other side was effectively muffled, and to her disappointment the shutters were latched. Bianca knocked again, but Jane Clewes did not answer.

  Bianca returned to Knightrider and walked toward Friday Street with a mind for finding the clothier who employed Geve Trinion. Unfortunately, there were plenty of clothiers near St. Antholin. Their shops ran along a lengthy stretch of city from Tower Street up along East Cheap to Candlewick and Budge Rowe, and Watling all the way to St. Paul’s. She had a formidable task armed with only the name of a worker delivering batts of wool.

  She decided to begin her search at the Red Lion, a large courtyard of shops. It was a random choice, but Bianca hoped that through inquiry, observation, or just mindless luck she could find someone who would lead her to the clothier who employed Geve Trinion. Inquiring at the guild would not offer anything helpful. They were unlikely to keep lists of a clothier’s employees.

  Bianca passed under the fabled “Red Lion”—the currant-red timber over the gate of the cobbled area off Budge Row. The entire square was taken up with the busy commerce of well-established shops involved in the manufacture, but mostly the display, of broadcloths and draperies. Merchants and noblemen, lords and ladies, entered and exited the shops, some with servants in tow carrying bundles.

  At first, Bianca anticipated being poorly received, but then she saw a goodly number of commoners also engaged in some purpose. They appeared mindful of their superiors but were not cowed by their lack of privilege. This she took to heart, but still, the task before her was a daunting one.