The Ladder Dancer

by Roz Southey

‘I’m looking for my aunt,’ I said, in a desperate rush. ‘And her granddaughter. I had a message to say they’d be here.’

  ‘A likely story!’

  ‘An elderly woman and a girl of about twelve,’ I said. ‘They were both wearing white.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear your ravings, sir!’ he roared. ‘James! Thomas! Apprehend him!’

  Two large footmen jumped on me.

  James and Thomas were very large; I’m not short but they towered over me. And the plum-coloured livery concealed strong muscles; one twisted my right arm painfully behind my back. Beneath the powdered wigs, they sneered at me.

  ‘I’ll go, I’ll go!’ I gasped out, bending almost double as pain shot through my shoulder.

  ‘You will,’ the gentleman agreed. ‘When the Watch arrives! James, has the boy gone for the Watch?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Someone knocked on the front door.

  ‘Damn me!’ The gentleman pushed himself up. ‘They’re alert for once!’

  But it was female voices I heard in the hall, and I sagged in relief. A servant flung open the door and in walked Esther, Kate demure at her side.

  ‘That’s him!’ Esther said melodramatically, pointing a finger at me. ‘That’s the rogue who stole my purse!’

  ‘He knocked me over,’ Kate said indignantly, with a smirk, and clung on to Esther’s arm. ‘Didn’t he, mama?’

  ‘I knew it!’ the gentleman said with glee. ‘Clap the fellow in irons! Jail him! Transport him!’

  ‘Devil take it,’ I started. But another figure was emerging from the shadows of the hall. ‘I am a justice of the peace,’ Claudius Heron said. ‘I will deal with this.’

  We walked briskly away down the chill moonlit streets and didn’t stop until we were out of sight of the house. I was breathing heavily, not sure whether to laugh or be angry. At last, I halted under a tree out of the reach of the torches in the street and turned to face the others. Esther was looking amused, Kate smug, Heron exasperated.

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘Kate went back to our own world and brought you both here.’

  ‘I can think when I need to,’ Kate said smugly.

  I stared her down. She might have just rescued me but that didn’t obscure the fact that she’d caused the mess we were in, by carrying Mrs Annabella off in the first place. ‘Where’s Mrs Annabella? And why did you leave her?’

  ‘Because you didn’t follow me!’ Kate protested. ‘Not for ages! And then when you did come, you got yourself tangled up with that old gent!’

  ‘She is very talented, Charles,’ Esther said. ‘When she saw you were having difficulties with the old gentleman, she came back to collect me and insisted on going for Mr Heron. I was frantic with worry but she kept saying we had all the time in the world – and then she brought us back here precisely.’

  I stared at Kate. I’d been in that house a matter of minutes and Kate had done all that? She knew how I felt about it too – she was smirking. ‘Well, Mrs P said I could use it in emergencies!’ she pointed out. ‘When the occasion demanded, she said. And it did, didn’t it?’

  Heron’s hand was on his sword. ‘We had better sort all this out later at our leisure. We have a dangerous woman to catch.’

  ‘That’s why you’re here,’ Kate said grinning. I thought for a horrified moment she was going to prod Heron in the arm, but she contented herself with poking at his sword hilt. He looked intimidatingly down at her but she didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘I had to grab her quick,’ she said. ‘So I just jumped through, without deciding where to go. And we ended up outside St Nicholas’s church. She was really upset. Tried to hit me. So I let her go and just followed.’

  ‘Didn’t she wonder where she was?’ I asked.

  ‘Nah. She was just ranting and raving. Yelling. She’s mad.’

  ‘Where did she go?’

  She grinned. ‘Home. That house where the angry gent was.’

  ‘But she was not there,’ Esther said.

  ‘She would have found it much altered,’ Heron said. ‘I spoke to one of the servants before coming in to you. Robert Jenison in this world died six months ago and the house has been sold, the servants dismissed and new ones hired by the new owners. Even if Mrs Annabella Jenison exists in this world – of which we have no knowledge – no one at that house would recognize her.’

  ‘So where would she have gone after that?’ Esther asked.

  ‘Never saw,’ Kate said. ‘Came for you.’

  They all stared at me as if expecting me to produce an answer out of thin air. And I had no doubts. ‘To the cause of it all,’ I said. ‘To Nightingale. At the Fleece.’

  The quickest way down to the Keyside was via the Castle; we walked across the open expanse of the Castle Garth towards the postern gate and the Stair that led down from it. The Garth was well lit with torches that cast flickering shadows. Three drunken miners ogled Esther but she ignored them and sailed coolly on. ‘You do realize we do not know whether Nightingale exists in this world,’ she pointed out. ‘And if he does, whether he was attacked?’

  I was in a hurry, would rather have left them and plunged on down the Stair, flight after flight, twisting and turning past the old decrepit houses down to the alley beside the Fleece where Nightingale had been attacked. ‘That doesn’t matter. Mrs Annabella believes this to be her own world. She knows Nightingale to be at the Fleece. That’s where she’ll go – for one last look.’

  Kate tugged at my arm. ‘Why don’t we just go the quick way? You know, stepping through?’

  ‘Because we don’t know what we might find when we arrive at the other end.’

  ‘Stepping through,’ Esther said firmly, ‘is to be used only for emergencies.’

  Half a dozen people wanted to accost us; Heron carried off the attempts with high confidence, nodding, bowing, once exchanging a few words with a complete stranger who appeared to know him – the weather is always an unexceptional topic of conversation. I lost patience, clattered on down leaving the others to descend behind me. Torches burned on the Stair, and one showed the alley empty except for shadows. But there was a gleam and flicker of candlelight from the window of Nightingale’s room. Or the room Nightingale occupied in our own world. I stooped to look in.

  And there stood the man himself, obviously hale and hearty and well on the way to getting drunk. A tankard in his hand, a red sheen on his cheeks and a puzzled frown as if he was trying very hard to work out what was going on. He was staring at someone just out of my view.

  ‘Mrs Annabella.’ He was prepared to be extraordinarily gallant, bowed a little too deeply and had to put out a hand to the table to prevent himself toppling over. ‘If you’d warned me you were going to call, I would have— have— have—’ Triumphantly, he found the right words. ‘I would have ordered wine!’

  I shifted so I could see the other person in the room. Mrs Annabella stood with her back to me. I could see only her dress, muddied a good foot from the hem, and her grey hair which was escaping from her cap and straggling, pitifully thin, around her shoulders. Her voice was so quiet I had trouble hearing it through the window. ‘You’re dead,’ she said.

  ‘I assure you,’ he began bewildered, but she interrupted, her voice rising in volume and pitch. ‘You deceived me!’

  ‘I assure you—’

  ‘You said you would marry me!’

  Horror spread across Nightingale’s face. ‘Marry!’ he squeaked. ‘But my dear lady, you are in error!’

  ‘You gave me a ring!’

  ‘I did not,’ he said indignantly.

  ‘You said you would buy a licence.’

  I scrabbled at the window, hoping to throw it open and climb through. It appeared to be slightly ajar but it was merely ill-fitting; a narrow gap was allowing me to hear the exchange of words. I peered inside and saw it was firmly latched.

  ‘But I already have a wife,’ Nightingale was protesting. ‘A delightful young creature!’

  Mrs Annabella shrieked
with rage and flung herself at him.

  Forty-Five

  A lady is at all times reasonable and gracious, soft in manner but adamant as steel in her devotion to duty.

  [A Gentleman’s Companion, August 1731]

  Esther came up behind me and handed me a large stone. I swung my arm back and smashed the stone against the window. Ages-thinned glass shattered; inside the room, both Nightingale and Mrs Annabella jumped, stared wildly. Heron was already bending to give me a boost over the windowsill.

  I landed on bare floorboards amongst shards of glass. Nightingale stared in horror at the broken window. ‘Mr Patterson! The landlord will charge me for that!’

  By the door of the room, Mrs Annabella picked up a candlestick. A very large candlestick. The candle burning in it tipped at an alarming angle, dripped wax on the floor. She tore the candle out and dropped it on the rug she stood on, where it guttered then brightened.

  Nightingale hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on behind him. I said quickly, ‘I’ll leave you payment for it. Mrs Annabella, I think you should come with me.’

  ‘She’s mad,’ Nightingale said, waving his tankard. ‘She says I agreed to marry her but devil take it, sir, I have a chit eighteen years old waiting to warm my bed in Clerkenwell. Why should I want a dried up old piece like her?’

  She charged. He staggered round, yelped as she swung the candlestick at him. He dropped the tankard, spraying beer everywhere. ‘Madam!’ he squeaked. The candle flame licked at the rags of the rug.

  Nightingale retreated. ‘Madam, I beg—’

  She swung again, he ducked, stumbled and fell back against me. We both went down in a tangle. Nightingale caught hold of the bedpost and managed to drag himself up again as the candlestick whipped through the air inches from his head. The room was beginning to stink of smoke.

  The table at the bedside was just above me; I got on hands and knees, grabbed up a jug and threw it at Mrs Annabella. The water it contained sprayed across her and she shrieked. The jug smashed on the floor.

  Flames leapt suddenly from the rug; perhaps I ought to have saved the water for the fire. Nightingale flung a book at Mrs Annabella but his aim was beyond lamentable. The book smashed against the far wall.

  I crawled backwards on to floorboards, grabbed the edge of the rug and tugged.

  The rug rippled. Flames snapped. Mrs Annabella staggered backwards.

  And Claudius Heron stepped through the door of the room and took the candlestick out of her hand.

  ‘My apologies for being late,’ he said. ‘I came the long way round through the yard.’

  For a moment we were all surprised into immobility. Then Nightingale, galvanized into action, slapped Heron on the back. ‘My dear sir, my greatest thanks!’ And while Heron was looking appalled at the familiarity, Mrs Annabella slipped past. I yelled, Heron spun to seize her – but Esther and Kate were blocking the doorway.

  Mrs Annabella stopped in baffled fury. Heron took hold of her wrist. ‘Time to go.’

  She looked at him outraged. ‘How dare you! Unhand me!’

  ‘Oi,’ Kate said. ‘You do as you’re told.’

  We let Nightingale rave about Mrs Annabella’s being a madwoman. I gave him some money for the damage to the window and the rug, and got out a shilling or two to give to the servants who ran in from the kitchen passageway. ‘Mr Patterson, sir,’ Nightingale said, fingering the sovereigns I’d given him. ‘You’re a gentleman.’

  Heron and I exchanged glances. ‘I’d be grateful, sir,’ I murmured, ‘if you’d say nothing of this to anyone. The family . . .’

  ‘Don’t want it known she’s mad, eh?’ In his relief, Nightingale positively glowed with good humour. He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Rest assured, sir, I shall be dumb. Not a word shall pass these lips.’

  ‘Rogue!’ Mrs Annnabella said, in a tremulous voice. ‘You shall not escape, sir. Your miraculous recovery will not help you for long.’

  ‘Miraculous recovery?’ he said, wavering.

  I gave him another shilling or two. ‘Buy yourself more beer, Mr Nightingale, and sleep well.’

  His face lit up.

  ‘And,’ I added, ‘a long life to you.’

  Forty-Six

  Fine clothes are an ornament, not the substance, of man.

  [A Gentleman’s Companion, October 1734]

  In the middle of the next week, I went back to the Fleece. As I came under its arch, I saw a private coach being loaded, half a dozen children dashing about excitedly. Spirits looked on with good-humoured and voluble interest as a middle-aged man anxiously watched his boxes being stowed on the roof. The man was curt with the servants, obviously used to being obeyed; by the look of him, he had a few guineas to spare.

  He glanced round as he heard me walk into the yard behind him, looked for a moment, then nodded. ‘Good day, sir.’

  Sir. I nodded back. What a difference a new coat and breeches made. In the eyes of the world, at least. Nightingale had summed me up by my frayed cuffs and was over-familiar. This man was respectful to my new expensive coat.

  Esther, still in her nightgown and sipping hot chocolate in bed, had made me turn round several times for her approval. ‘Very fine, Charles! Mr Watson is an excellent tailor.’

  ‘I agree,’ I said, sitting on the edge of the bed and bending to kiss her forehead. ‘So I’ve ordered three more coats.’

  She stared at me in amazement. ‘Three?’

  ‘Don’t you approve?’

  ‘Well yes—’

  ‘But?’

  ‘They are not all brown and green, I hope?’

  I laughed. ‘I allowed him to persuade me to a dark plum colour, on Hugh’s recommendation, and a buff-coloured coat, on Heron’s. Esther . . .’

  ‘I agree entirely,’ she said promptly. ‘Whatever it is you propose to buy next, I concur. And can I order those seven shirts now?’

  ‘I thought you would have done so already. The provision of linen is after all the housewife’s duty.’

  She sighed. ‘I was intent upon taking things slowly, getting your agreement.’

  I winced. ‘Have I been so unreasonable about it all?’

  She cocked her head on one side. Her hair was loose and fell about her shoulders like sunshine, trailing fine strands across her shoulders. I ran my fingers through it. She smiled and kissed the palm of my hand. ‘Yes, very unreasonable.’

  ‘I was wondering,’ I said, accepting this rebuke meekly, ‘if we shouldn’t spend some time this afternoon going through the estate records.’

  She stared then said hurriedly, ‘Yes, yes indeed!’

  ‘On condition,’ I said, ‘that if we disagree about anything, your opinion prevails.’

  She raised her eyes to heaven – or the roof of the bed, at any rate.

  ‘Charles, you will never be master in your own household if you behave like this! Yours must be the last word – they are your estates, since we married.’

  ‘I will never be master in my own household,’ I retorted, ‘if I don’t acknowledge what a superior wife I have, who knows more about estate management than I ever will.’

  ‘Flatterer,’ she murmured.

  ‘They’re your properties, Esther, and you’re the most fit to manage them. But I’ll do my best to help.’

  She thought about it for a moment. ‘If that is the way you want it, so be it.’

  ‘I want peace in the household,’ I said. ‘And neither of us will have that if I have sole management of those estates. I’d lose every penny of them, you’d be hard put to keep them from going to rack and ruin.’

  She laughed. ‘Ridiculous!’

  I caught my breath. I loved the way the skin around her eyes crinkled as she laughed, the way her eyes lit up, the way she tilted her head back and showed me the long line of her throat . . .

  ‘I must be off to the Fleece,’ I said, sighing. ‘Hugh will be there already and getting impatient.’

  ‘And I must deal with Kate,’ she agreed. ‘Alt
hough I do not have the least idea what we are going to do with her.’

  I bent to kiss her again, on the lips this time, contenting myself with a mere peck because I knew that if I indulged myself, I’d never get away. She said, provocatively, ‘How soon do you think you will be back? Shall I trouble myself to get up?’

  I grimaced. ‘I have to see Heron afterwards too.’

  She sighed. ‘Then I will see you tonight. Charles—’

  I turned back.

  ‘What changed your mind? About the estates?’

  ‘Mrs Annabella,’ I said. ‘We had certain – ideas – in common.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ she said, outraged.

  I shivered in an unexpected chill as the wind idled through the Fleece’s arch. I suspected we were in for a hard winter. Hugh came up behind me, peering over my shoulder at the private coach without a great deal of interest. He was in his favourite blue and the sling was very white against the darkness of his coat.

  ‘The coffee house rumours,’ he said, without preamble, ‘are that Mrs Annabella has gone quite mad with grief and been packed off to the countryside for her health.’

  ‘The rumours wouldn’t be far wrong,’ I said. The ostlers were leading out a matched pair of black geldings.

  ‘Is she going to be safe there?’ Hugh asked. ‘Devil take it, Charles! The last thing we want is her breaking out and hotfooting it back to town with her embroidery scissors!’

  ‘I’ve seen the two – er – companions Jenison has given her.’

  ‘Hefty, were they?’

  ‘Fine figures of women,’ I said.

  ‘And Ridley?’

  ‘I’m meeting Heron in Nellie’s coffee house after we’re finished here. Messages have been sent to his father in Narva though God knows when we’ll hear back. But I’m not going to let it rest, Hugh. That boy killed a child and ought to pay some penalty for it. At the very least he should be brought to realize the enormity of what he did.’

  ‘You always did hope for the impossible,’ Hugh said.

  We walked round the edge of the chaos, ducked into the passageway that led to the Fleece’s kitchens. Mally was bearing a huge pie along the passageway and stopped to glare at me. Then her gaze drifted over my shoulder and her smile broadened invitingly. I glanced round to find Hugh grinning back.