Carolina had not realized how excited she would be at seeing London again. Memories assailed her as the Sea Waif made her stately way up the Thames, past the Isle of Dogs where those three little wooden ships, the Susan Constant, the Godspeed and the Discovery, had set out for Virginia in December some eighty-odd years ago - and so made a place for her ancestors. The grove of Spanish chestnut trees at Greenwich Palace brought back memories of Thomas, her first love, and the aching desire she had felt for him. But those memories dissolved when she turned to look at the tall stalwart man beside her. Here was no slippery Thomas, pursuing every skirt in sight - here was a man to live for, to live with.
As familiar landmarks drifted by, she was busily telling Virginia about them: There was the massive bulk of St Paul’s Cathedral destroyed in the Great Fire of London more than twenty years ago and rebuilt at such cost! And there was the Tower of London where queens had been imprisoned - and later lost their heads!
And there - ah, there were the Inns of Court. And that was Gray’s Inn where her school friend Reba’s cousin George had studied law. Carolina’s silver eyes sparkled, for it was in an ice-green satin suit belonging to Reba’s cousin George that she had slipped out of a window one snowy night at Mistress Chesterton’s School for Young Ladies and first met Rye Evistock.
‘You need not tell your sister everything in great bursts,’ Rye told her affectionately. ‘We will be staying in London for a few days before we go up to Essex.’
Carolina could not have been more delighted. That would give her time to show Virginia all her old haunts - all those places that had once meant something special to her: the Whispering Gallery at St Paul’s, Highgate Hill where the Bow Bells had called to Dick Whittington, Drury Lane Theatre where she had attended plays with her schoolmates and later with Thomas.
Being back here made her think of Reba, her auburnhaired roommate from Miss Chesterton’s school. It had been a long time since she had given much thought to Reba. Indeed when Reba’s mother had caused her servants to seize Carolina and summarily force her aboard a ship bound for the Colonies, Carolina had been very angry with Reba for not taking her part. She had thought never to speak to Reba again. But now she felt differently for, after all, had not Reba brought her and Rye together? No matter why she had done it, it was at Reba’s home in Essex that she had fallen in love with Rye and he with her . . .
When she had last seen Essex it had been a winter wonderland of snow and ice. She wondered what it would be like now in the full bloom of summer.
They took rooms at a good centrally located inn, the Horn and Chestnut, whose painted swinging sign outside displayed a horn of plenty spilling out chestnuts - and it took Carolina rather by surprise when Rye told the innkeeper their last name was Smythe. Even Virginia blinked to learn that she was to be known as Rye’s sister Virginia Smythe for the duration of their stay in London.
‘Just until I hear from my younger brother Andrew in Essex,’ Rye told the girls when they were gathered together in one of the two adjoining rooms they had secured upstairs and were sorting out their luggage. And Carolina realized that this was but an example of the eternal vigilance that had kept him alive throughout his buccaneering days in the Caribbean. ‘You will have plenty of time to sightsee,’ he added. ‘For I’ll be busy this next few days with the unloading of the ship, making sure that everybody has collected his portion and gets off safely.’
She knew he would help all those who didn’t know how to deposit their gold with a goldsmith, under a false name if necessary. And see all those off to visit their families who still had families in England. Rye was very reliable, she thought warmly. He never forgot old friends.
‘The landlord tells me today’s the day for Swan Upping,’ he told Carolina. ‘Perhaps you might want to take Virginia up the Thames to see that.’
‘Oh, yes, please let’s do!’ cried Virginia, for Carolina had told her how the graceful long-necked birds who floated in frosty beauty upon the Thames were considered the property of the Crown unless they bore the marks - nicks in their bills actually - of either the Vintners or the Dyers who had had royal permission for over two hundred years to keep swans upon the Thames. Once every year on a summer’s morning members of these two ancient ‘livery companies’ would start upriver from Old Swan Pier near the Tower of London, marking swans as they went. These were jolly occasions and very popular with the public.
‘And perhaps tomorrow,’ added Virginia shyly, ‘we could visit the booksellers’ stalls that you said are congregated around St Paul’s?’
Carolina smiled at her sister. Virginia would never change. Even here with all of London about her to be explored, she was bound to have her head in a book!
Rye left them at the inn and they promptly headed out, having changed to light calico dresses that blew in the breeze. They hired the boat of one of the watermen to take them along, following after the Swan Uppers, who were presided over by the royal Keeper of the Swans as the cygnets were rounded up from London Bridge to Henley.
"Tis said swans mate for life,’ the waterman told them thoughtfully as they viewed the beautiful long-necked white birds, excited by all this activity. He shook his head in wonder. ‘Tis more than can be said of men!’
‘Indeed it is,’ echoed Virginia and Carolina threw her sister a compassionate look. Life had not been very kind to Virginia; she hoped all that would change now that they were in England.
‘Just think,’ murmured Virginia, letting her fingers trail over the side of the boat to ripple through the water. ‘Anne Boleyn drifted down this very river on a barge to her coronation at Westminster - and her husband wasn’t faithful either.’
Your husband wasn’t unfaithful - he just didn’t love you, Carolina thought with a pang.
‘I wish you could be here during a frost fair,’ she said, to change the subject. ‘Stalls are set up and hawkers run about and everybody is dancing on skates and they roast whole oxen on the ice! But then,’ she added lightheartedly, ‘perhaps you will be here if the river freezes over this winter, for Essex is not so very far from London.’
Rye had sent a message to his younger brother Andrew on the day of his arrival and Andrew arrived the very next evening on a lathered horse. He looked worried. He was a tall, thin young man with a slightly stooped appearance which came, Carolina suspected, from habitually having his head bent over a book as he rode or walked. He had forgotten to pack any clothing - not even fresh linens, which Rye good-naturedly supplied him from his own luggage - but his saddlebags were bulging with leather-bound volumes.
‘I thought I might find time to read a bit in London,’ he told them apologetically, running his bony fingers through his lanky, carelessly cut dark hair.
‘Perhaps you will let me look at some of your books?’ asked Virginia eagerly. ‘For I have nothing to read and although Carolina had promised to take me to the book stalls around St Paul’s today, we were sidetracked by the dress shops and, I am afraid, have rather overspent!’
Rye gave his young wife an indulgent look. ‘Ever extravagant!’ he said lightly. ‘What would you have done had you fancied a poor man?’
‘I’d have found a way to make him rich,’ Carolina said pertly, but her attention was focused on Virginia and Rye’s younger brother Andrew. Indeed she could tell from the sudden tension in the way Virginia was standing that she was not unattracted to him.
‘Mistress Virginia,’ said tall Andrew with a sudden flashing smile that was reminiscent of Rye’s wolfish grin, ‘I would be honoured to escort you to the book stalls around St Paul’s. And Mistress Carolina too, of course,’ he added hastily. ‘And as to my own books, you may have of them what you will. They are at your disposal, every one.’
Virginia flushed happily and bent over to study the covers of the books he had brought with him, raising her head eagerly to ask Andrew questions about each. They were soon so engrossed in their literary discussion that neither one of them heard Rye suggest it might be time to go down to supp
er.
But as Carolina and Rye were moving from the room, Andrew suddenly roused himself from his discussion and said, ‘I’ve come bearing bad tidings, I’m afraid. Word is out all over Essex that you’re none other than Captain Kells and you’ll be arrested if you go in that direction. Indeed, ’tis a good thing that you’re here under the name of Smythe, for I hear the word is well out in London too that the noted Captain Kells may be coming home to England . . .’
‘Say rather notorious, Drew,’ Rye amended in an ironic voice. ‘But tell me, how did word get about so soon?’
‘Some gossipy visitor from the Colonies, I’m told.’ His brother frowned. ‘She leaves for Nottingham but before she goes she tells a wild story that’s being repeated everywhere about a wedding that did not come off. In Williamsburg, I believe she said?’
‘No, on the York,’ said Carolina bitterly. ‘And I’ll warrant it was Amanda Bramway who gave her all the gory details. That woman cannot get over the fact that Mother took Fielding away from her!’
Andrew looked properly mystified and Rye muttered, ‘Family matters, Drew. I’ll explain it all later - just remember to call me “Ryeland Smythe”. Well, now that you’ve properly impressed Mistress Virginia here’ - he slapped his brother lightly on the back - ‘tell me how things are at home, Drew. How’s Father?’
‘About the same. Takes little interest in what goes on and lets Darvent and Giles have their way about things.’
Rye frowned. ‘I’m sorry to hear it - though it’s no more than I’d expected, of course. I’d hoped to go up there and see if I couldn’t straighten things out once again, set them on a right course for a change, but I see it’s not to be.’ He sighed. ‘Well, why don’t you take Mistress Virginia downstairs, Drew? Remember we’re all named Smythe though we’ve kept our given names for convenience’s sake - and I’ll follow with Carolina as soon as she’s put away her purchases.’
Carolina had already put away the things she had bought, so she knew that Rye’s words were just an excuse for having a word alone with her. She turned to him expectantly as Andrew closed the door behind himself and Virginia.
‘This means,’ said Rye, looking down at her gravely from his great height, ‘that we cannot be married in Essex.’
‘But surely here in London - ’ she protested.
‘Nor in London either. You heard what Drew said. The word is out. In London as well as Essex. If I tried to get a marriage license or have the banns cried, I’d be arrested.’
Carolina turned and walked to the window, where she stood looking out. The disappointment at his words went through her so keenly that she realized with shock just how much she had been counting on this wedding, this reaffirmation of Rye’s love for her. His recital on ship of the details of his first tragic marriage to the young Spanish girl, Rosalia, had affected her more than she cared to admit. And now it was beginning to look as if she was to be always a mistress and never a bride!
‘We shall be married!’ She swung about accusingly. ‘You promised me we would be married when we got to England!’
‘Carolina - ’
‘There is bound to be some place!’
‘There is,’ he said coldly. ‘St James’s in Duke’s Place, which claims it does not come under the Bishop of London’s jurisdiction. We could be married there - for a price - no questions asked. I’m told they’d even predate the certificate.’
Carolina’s eyes widened. ‘Is it legal?’
”Tis said to be perfectly legal,’ he said coolly. ‘And we could be married there, say, the morning of the day I sail back to the Caribbean. Just before boarding, so that there may be no hue and cry after me should the prelate decide to make a few extra guineas by telling the authorities who it is who’s just been made a bridegroom!’
But that meant waiting . . . Carolina’s soft lips formed into a pout. She wanted to be married now.
‘We won’t wait for that,’ she declared. ‘I know a place we can be married where there’s no waiting.’
He sighed. ‘Where?’
‘Fleet Street,’ she told him promptly. ‘Virgie and I - ’
‘You’ll stay away from Fleet Street,’ he interrupted. ‘Just south of it is the area they call “Alsatia” and it’s peopled by cutthroats and thieves. They’d as soon cut your purse as look at you. I’ll not have you going there alone.’
Carolina tossed her fair head. ‘Virgie and I just happened to stroll through there today. I remembered you had said you were taking some money to deposit with the goldsmiths - ’
‘On Lombard Street.’
‘Well, I thought you might be taking it to Child’s on Fleet Street. I remember being told Nell Gwyn had banked there.’ She had recalled school friends telling her of seeing a coach carrying that famous actress and onetime mistress of the king pull up before No 1 Fleet Street and watching Nell herself descend, laughing, to go into the bank. ‘Anyway,’ she defended, ‘we were perfectly safe, no one accosted us.’
‘You should not have gone there unprotected at all! Indeed the denizens of Alsatia can come up to Fleet Street, cut a purse or two and then find legal sanctuary in Whitefriars Priory and refuge from justice!’
‘I shall try not to need sanctuary!’ Carolina cried, exasperated. It took an effort not to stamp her foot. ‘I am only trying to tell you. Rye, that as we were walking along Fleet Street, we saw two couples pounced upon by ministers who jumped out of doorways and offered to perform a wedding ceremony on the spot for five shillings! And I want to be married there tomorrow morning!’ she added recklessly.
‘A Fleet Street marriage? You want a Fleet Street marriage?’ He stared at her. ‘You cannot be serious! D’ye not know they’re none of them legal? They publish no banns, require no licences! Indeed most of these alleged “clergymen” are prisoners from Fleet prison who bride the warden to let them live outside the prison walls!’
‘They are marriages nonetheless!’ snapped Carolina, who had been driven too far. Why couldn’t Rye see that she needed this ceremony to tell her that she meant as much to him as had that long-ago Spanish girl whom he had married proudly in a great cathedral? ‘The banns and the licence I do not care about! Indeed you can be married as “Ryeland Smythe” and I as “Christabel Willing”, but at least it will be a proper wedding ceremony.’
‘No more a “proper wedding ceremony” than was our buccaneers’ wedding in Tortuga!’
‘But this is different,’ she wailed. ‘Rye, you promised me!’
They were still arguing about it when they went down to dine on shrimp pie, stewed eels in parsley sauce with shallots, pease and comfits and steaming hot cups of that expensive ‘China drink’ - tea, which, the laughing serving girl assured the ladies with a flirtatious toss of her head at the gentlemen, cost more a pound than enough geneva (referring to gin) to make a whole party tipsy!
‘Yes, tea is so dear that the merchants do adulterate it with all manner of dreadful things,’ said Virginia, eyeing the steaming brew warily.
Carolina gave her sister a warning kick under the table. Virgie had been about to say that tea was often adulterated with floor sweepings, and she did not want Rye diverted from talk of marriage to talk of adulterated tea!
‘Indeed, ’tis true, Mistress Virginia,’ agreed Andrew soberly. ‘Tea is adulterated with practically anything that will go unnoticed - even floor sweepings, I’m told!’
Virginia gave her sister a vindicated look and Carolina glared at both Virginia and Andrew with equal hostility. They were soulmates, those two, she decided impatiently, both of them staring suspiciously into their teacups!
Rye tasted his Canary and declared it to be but a mixture of rough sherry and malaga. Carolina might have observed that he was too used to the best wines Spain could provide, but the flirtatious serving girl was hovering over them and she kept silent.
Andrew turned brick-red as the girl leaned over to pour him some wine and her low-cut blouse fell open to reveal a pair of plump breasts, and beside him Virg
inia was scarlet with embarrassment. How alike they are, thought Carolina, suddenly amused. Cut from the same cloth. She wondered if they realized it yet. In time they would, she was very certain. It was hard to realize that Andrew was Rye’s brother, they were so different. Except when they smiled - then their white teeth flashed in much the same way, transforming alike Rye’s saturnine countenance and his brother’s owlish one.
Thoughtfully Rye fingered his glass of Canary and looked across the table at his brother. ‘My lady is in mind of a wedding, Drew.’ He sighed. ‘She yearns to be a Fleet Street bride.’
‘On the morrow!’ said Carolina promptly.
Andrew looked at her aghast. ‘But Fleet Street weddings are - ’
‘Illegal?’ she supplied sweetly but her silver eyes were stormy. ‘That’s what you were going to say, weren’t you, Andrew?’
‘Well, yes, I - ’
‘Forget your warnings, Drew,’ Rye cut in. ‘If it’s a wedding we must have, a wedding is what we’ll get. Tomorrow morning.’
Carolina was hard-pressed not to throw her arms around his neck.
Her eyes were still glowing when next morning the four of them took a carriage to Fleet Street where an unsavoury lot of ‘ministers’ were hawking the virtues of the married state. Rye looked about him in some distaste.
‘Well, you can see what’s offered,’ he said politely as several of the ‘ministers’, scenting business, converged on them. ‘Pray select a parson of your own choosing.’
Carolina ignored the irony of his tone and promptly chose the one that seemed cleanest and best spoken. ‘I am Mistress Christabel Willing and this gentleman by my side is Ryeland Smythe,’ she declared in a ringing voice. ‘And we are here in Fleet Street this morning to be wed.’
‘Ye’ve come to the right place, my lady,’ boomed the minister’ of her choice, who had more than a trace of yesterday’s gravy on his shirt front. ‘And would ye be taking a wedding parlour at the tavern yonder for your wedding breakfast? Brandy is provided by the landlord without charge,’ he added slyly.
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