‘Then it’s as well you don’t,’ Annis said roundly. ‘Have you not heard how folk are turning against wise women? They are hanging witches every week, it seems. I heard Old Mother Dent was hanged in York only t’other day.’
‘Sybil Dent? Oh no.’ Jane put a hand to her mouth in distress. She remembered the cottage out on the common, Sybil’s rough hands on her chin, and she glanced at Geoffrey, who was watching the candle flame through narrowed eyes.
Be careful what you wish for.
‘Leave remedies to the apothecaries,’ Annis advised. ‘Else sooner or later someone will accuse you of casting a spell, and then where would we be?’
‘Then I must use my other skills,’ said Jane. ‘I can manage a household. There must be someone in London who needs a housekeeper.’
It was Annis who heard of the job in Minchen Lane. ‘Mr Harrison is a widower and in sore need of a housekeeper,’ she told Jane. ‘He has three young daughters and his sister is at her wits’ end, she said. She has children aplenty of her own, and cannot care for any more. I told her of you, and she said for you to go and see her brother. He is a lawyer, with a fine house, she said,’ Annis added. ‘Tell him Mistress Blake sent you.’
Minchin Lane was not as far from Aldgate as Jane would have liked, but she could not afford to turn down the chance of a post.
Four great horses plodded up the centre of Minchen Lane, their shoulders straining with the effort of hauling a cart laden with timber. The carter followed, whistling through his teeth and sending his long whip snaking and cracking through the air. Jane squeezed herself into a doorway to let them past.
‘You can tell you’re not a Londoner,’ Jack teased her whenever she hesitated, momentarily overwhelmed by the press of people. ‘You must plunge in, my lady, and battle with the rest of the world, else you will be flattened by the rush!’
Jane was getting more used to London now. The city was rough and vigorous, and it seethed with an energy that sometimes took her breath away. Jack, she soon discovered, was right. There was no point in waiting for folk to slow down to give her a chance to cross the street on her way to the inn or to church or to market. She just had to join the throng.
It was like jumping into a river. Jane felt like a piece of jetsam, tossed overboard, carried along by the current of London life, jostled between rowdy apprentices and goodwives with their baskets, between peddlers and water carriers and beggars and pie sellers, between boys pushing and shoving on their way to school and retinues of servants clearing a passage for their noble masters on horse, and all manner of men in between, all talking, shouting, laughing, bargaining and cursing at the tops of their voices in a babble of different languages. The streets were clogged with carts and wagons and coaches and litters, with pack horses and errant pigs and scavenging dogs and stray hens. Jane had seen a flock of bleating, baffled sheep being funnelled down a narrow street only to come face to face with a gaggle of geese being driven in the opposite direction, and the noise and confusion was so great that she had turned round and gone a different way.
A true Londoner would never have been so poor-spirited, Jane knew. Londoners would have forged through the animals regardless, pushing on their way, with no time for diversions. Sometimes Jane remembered York and how she and her neighbours would shake their heads at the press of people on the Pavement or in Thursday Market, and she would smile to think of how quiet life there had been. In London, just crossing the street could be a challenge. You had to dash and struggle through the throng, your ears battered by a cacophony of shouts and curses, of barking and bleating and squawking and squabbling, woven with the cries of the street sellers, the creaking of cartwheels and the sonorous clang of the church bells marking the hour or tolling a death.
Everybody in London seemed to be in a hurry. They walked quickly, talked quickly. Vicious arguments flared up without warning, only to dissolve the next instant into shouts of laughter. How Juliana would have enjoyed London, Jane often thought. The city was as tempestuous as her sister, and just as with Juliana, Jane loved it and was overwhelmed by it in equal measure. London was a tumbling, jumbling, hustling, bustling place, its houses so tightly packed that sometimes Jane despaired of seeing the sky, and the air rank and rich with the smell of the Thames, with the smell of opportunity, of life. It was a place you could hide, and a place you could find yourself.
When the cart had laboured past, Jane stepped out of the doorway, narrowly avoiding a bolting urchin and a servant carrying a tray of vegetables on her head. Through the crowd she had glimpsed a painted sign. The flower was yellow and peeling slightly but it was unmistakably a lily. The sign of the golden lily, Annis had said. It was a fine house, with a double front and glass windows in the upper stories. The beams were intricately carved with leaves and flowers, and she could see rolls of fabric, glowing like jewels, in the draper’s shop through the open shutters.
She went into the shop to ask for Mr Harrison, but she had to raise her voice above the sound of children crying and dogs barking and the shouting that came from the house behind. Although the London streets might be noisy, the houses were usually quiet. But not the house at the sign of the golden lily, it appeared.
‘Down the passage,’ the man said, jerking his head to one side. ‘And tell them to be quiet or I’m calling the constable, lawyer or no lawyer! I cannot hear myself think today.’
Jane thanked him and made her way down the passage at the side of the house. She found herself in a courtyard, with an imposing doorway. The heavy wooden door stood ajar, and the sounds of tears and quarrelling spilled out onto the cobbles.
‘God’s bones!’ A man’s voice rose furiously above the racket. ‘What is happening here?’
Immediately, there was a clamour of hysterical explanations, interspersed with the frantic yapping of a little dog. ‘Be quiet!’ the man bellowed, which had no effect at all unless to redouble the volume of the barking. They might have been standing in the street instead of inside a fine house. No wonder the draper had grumbled.
It was a raw December day, and Jane rubbed her hands against the cold as she hesitated, stamping her boots a little. She could freeze if she waited for them to finish their argument. Briskly, she knocked on the door, but nobody heard her above the cacophony, and she took a deep breath before stepping inside.
From the noise she had expected a crowd, but in fact there were only three small girls in the hall, a harassed maid, a tiny spaniel with feathery paws and a tail that seemed too big for it dancing up and down on all fours, and the man. He was clutching at his head and glowering at the girls, making them cry harder.
‘Somebody shut that cursed dog up!’ he bellowed, and without thinking Jane stepped forward and picked up the little dog. It was so surprised that it stopped barking, and the reduction in the noise level was instant. Jane closed her fingers gently but firmly around its velvety muzzle just in case.
‘If you will all be quiet, the dog will be quiet too,’ she said as the man swung round and noticed her for the first time.
Ignoring him, Jane identified the smallest girl, who was sobbing hysterically. She knelt by her side. She had had many years of dealing with Juliana’s tantrums, and she kept her voice bright and clear. ‘Your little dog is frightened of your crying,’ she said. ‘Can you stroke him and show him not to be afraid?’
Still shuddering with sobs, the child nodded and stroked the dog’s head until it licked her hand and she gave a watery smile. ‘There, that is much better,’ said Jane, giving no sign that she was aware of the man’s hard stare boring into her back. ‘What is his name?’
‘P-Poppet,’ she stuttered.
‘That is a sweet name,’ said Jane, smiling. ‘And what is your name?’
‘C-Cecily.’
The others were just standing and watching as if stunned by the sudden cessation of noise.
‘I am pleased to meet you, C-Cecily,’ said Jane gravely. ‘My name is Jane.’ She straightened, Poppet still tucked under her arm, a
nd held down her free hand to the child before turning to the other two. ‘I don’t know about you, but I always get hungry when I’m fractious. Shall we go into the kitchen and see if we can find something to eat? I feel sure Poppet is hungry too, are you not?’ She held up the dog as if waiting for his answer, and he licked her chin, his feathery tail wagging.
The little girls giggled, their black looks evaporating. ‘I am Mary,’ said the elder, stepping forward importantly, ‘and this is Catherine.’
‘Mary. Catherine.’ Jane inclined her head gracefully. ‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance. Will you show me where the kitchen is? And you,’ she added to the servant, who was looking harried beyond belief, ‘do you clear up the broken pot.’
‘Yes, mistress.’ She even bobbed a curtsey, clearly grateful that somebody had taken charge.
Chapter Fifteen
‘This way.’ Mary tugged at Jane’s skirt and started pulling her towards the door that Jane guessed led to the buttery and pantry, and the kitchen beyond.
‘Just a minute.’ The man found his voice at last and Jane stopped and looked at him politely.
‘Who in God’s name are you?’ he demanded, scowling.
‘Why, I am your new housekeeper, sir,’ she said, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
‘Is that so? I did not ask for a housekeeper! The last one wore me out with her bleating. We can manage without. The servants do well enough.’
‘You did not seem to me to be managing just now,’ Jane pointed out demurely. ‘If you do not mind me saying so.’
‘You are very impertinent for a housekeeper,’ he said with another ferocious scowl. ‘What did you say your name was again?’
‘Jane. Jane Birkby.’ She was used now to using her father’s name again. If anybody asked, she said she was a widow, and Geoffrey her son. It was a sin to lie, but not so great a sin as breaking her promise to Juliana. ‘And you, I suppose, are Mr Harrison.’
‘Gilbert Harrison, yes. And I remind you, madam, that I did not ask for a housekeeper.’
‘Mistress Blake sent for me,’ said Jane and he cursed without apology.
‘My damned sister! Will she never cease interfering?’
‘Come on,’ said Mary, and then shrank back as he glowered at her.
Jane stepped quickly between them before the little girls all started crying again. ‘Why do I not take the children and give them something to eat? They will settle when they are less hungry. And then we will talk.’
‘Oh, we will, will we? You are a managing woman, Jane Birkby!’ But he didn’t say no, and Jane let the girls lead her to the kitchen, where she found another maid wide-eyed and trembling.
‘I heard the master shouting,’ she said, twisting her hands in her apron.
‘I dare say he is hungry too,’ said Jane. ‘Take him some ale and a piece of bread and cheese.’
‘I dare not!’
‘He will not eat you!’ Jane said, but the girl, who said her name was Petronilla, shook her head with a mulish look.
‘Master don’t like to be disturbed if he don’t call for you.’
‘Very well. I will go.’
Jane sniffed at the ale and thought she could brew better. She poured some into a tankard and cut some cheese and some bread. The girls were happily playing, their recent quarrel forgotten, so she left them in the kitchen with Petronilla and carried the simple meal through on a tray to the hall, Poppet scampering at her heels.
The hall was empty, but there was a door on the far wall which she guessed would be Mr Harrison’s closet. Balancing the tray on one arm, she scratched on the door.
‘Go away!’ he shouted.
Jane opened the door and went in. Gilbert Harrison was sitting at his desk. He flung down his quill pen when she appeared and set the tray down on the desk.
‘I don’t wish to be disturbed!’
‘I have questioned the maids and nobody appears to have had a decent meal since you chased off your last housekeeper,’ she said composedly. ‘No wonder you are all so cross. I thought something to eat might improve your temper.’
For a moment he glared at her, but suddenly he laughed, and the change of expression transformed him so completely that Jane blinked. He was tall and solid, a dark-visaged man with a stern mouth, shrewd eyes and ferocious brows. At first glance he was intimidatingly fierce, but a second look showed the hint of humour around his eyes, the telltale crease in his cheeks, the strength in his jaw. He wasn’t handsome like Robert, no, but there was something reassuringly uncompromising about him.
‘You are mighty cool for someone who has just wandered in off the street,’ he said.
‘I have not wandered,’ Jane replied calmly. ‘I came in response to a summons from your sister.’
‘My sister is not mistress in this house.’ The scowl was back.
Jane looked around the closet. There was dust on the table by the window, and balls of fluff in the corner of the room. The air was musty and the rush mat smelt rotten. The hangings were dull, the carpets unbeaten, the wood unpolished.
‘It is clear to me that there is no mistress here,’ she said.
‘And that is the way I want it to stay,’ said Gilbert flatly. ‘I want no new wife.’
‘I am not applying for the position of wife,’ Jane pointed out. ‘Your house needs someone to manage it, and you may employ me to do that without taking the trouble of marriage.’
Poppet had snuffled in behind Jane and now stood up on his hind legs to put his front paws on Gilbert Harrison’s thigh and yip a greeting. ‘What is that creature doing in here?’ he said with distaste. ‘Get out!’ he growled, pushing away the dog, which retreated back to Jane with a wounded expression.
Jane stooped to gather him up. ‘Why do you have a dog if you do not like him?’ she asked. Poppet was soft and light, and she could feel his little heart beating in her hand. The absurd tail brushed backwards and forwards under her sleeve as he quivered with excitement, his nose sniffing the air.
‘It was one of my wife’s enthusiasms, and he lasted as long as any of them did, which is to say about a week, after which she got bored with him.’ Gilbert eyed Poppet in disgust. ‘Now I am left to feed it with the rest of her cast-offs. I would not mind so much if it were a real dog – a greyhound or a mastiff – but that is just ridiculous. Do I look to you like a man who owns a dog called Poppet?’
Jane tucked in the corners of her mouth to stop herself smiling. ‘He lives in your house and he seems fond of you.’
Gilbert glowered over his desk at the dog in her arms. ‘It is always in here, getting under my feet, and squealing when I tread on it.’
‘It would not hurt you to give him a pat, and then he would settle down.’
‘One pat is never enough. It is like a woman. It must be petted constantly or it makes my life a misery.’
‘I assure you, I do not require petting,’ said Jane, who could not imagine what it must be like to be courted and cajoled into good humour.
Gilbert eyed her across the desk. She stood holding the spaniel, straight-backed and slender, and looked back at him with clear eyes. Abruptly, he pointed at the chair on the other side of the desk. ‘Sit,’ he barked.
Jane raised her brows at the graceless order, and he sighed as he reached absently for a piece of the bread she had brought in. ‘Dear madam, please be seated. Is that better?’
For answer, Jane inclined her head and sat in the chair, stroking Poppet on her lap when he curled up contentedly. The poor creature just wanted attention, she thought.
Still chewing the bread, Gilbert sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his mouth while he studied her with a penetrating look. ‘Since you are here, you may as well tell me about yourself,’ he said grudgingly. ‘You are not from London, that is plain from your voice.’
‘No, I am from Yorkshire, sir.’ Jane had practised this. ‘I am a butcher’s widow. I know how to manage a household. I can cook and brew. I can sew and dress
meat and cast accounts, and I can read, and write a little. I have some skill with remedies too.’
‘You are not ill-looking,’ he said, eyeing her critically until her cheeks burned. ‘Why have your kin not found you another husband? You sound like you would make a most useful wife.’
‘I do not wish to marry again,’ said Jane.
‘In my experience wishing has little to do with it once your family and friends decide you should be wed,’ said Gilbert with feeling. ‘But for a woman like you, it is better than poverty, is it not?’
‘I will not be poor if you employ me,’ she pointed out, fondling the spaniel’s silky ears.
‘I may not pay you a great wage.’
‘I will have somewhere to live, and my meals, would I not?’
‘Of course. If I employ you.’
‘Then that is all I need,’ she said as if he had not spoken. ‘I have been working as a seamstress, but I would like a more certain position for my child’s sake.’
‘Oho! And now there is a child! You did not mention that before,’ he said, glowering. ‘This house has enough children.’
‘One more will not make any difference,’ said Jane composedly. ‘Geoffrey is a quiet boy.’
Gilbert grunted. ‘I suppose he is a boy at least. I am going mad here with all these girls, and female servants, and my sister yapping in my ear like that wretched spaniel about marrying again. I had thought a housekeeper would do, but the last one wept and shivered and shook if I so much as looked at her, and my daughters have been running wild. My wife had no time for them either, and I do not know how to manage them. I cannot abide crying, and it is all they seem to do.’
‘They need some discipline, and some kindness,’ said Jane. ‘And I think I can promise you that I will not cry when you shout at me. Let me try,’ she said, attempting to keep the eagerness from her voice. She hadn’t realized how much she longed to be away from the cramped chamber she shared with Jack and Annis, dear as they were to her. There was something about the house of the golden lily that pulled at her. She and Geoffrey could be safe here, with this gruff man and his daughters and the ridiculous dog. ‘If I do not please you, you may send me away.’
The Edge of Dark Page 25
