by John Masters
Now Emily said, ‘Dick’s arranged about our dancing.’
Dick said, ‘Yes. I talked with Jemmy that owns the Cockpit, till four this morning. You and Emily will dance there twice a night every night except Wednesday and Thursday. Jemmy’s going to put out handbills round the town. He’ll put up his prices for wine and food, and he’ll pay the fiddler and the drummer.’
‘But he’ll make more out of the cocks, too, won’t he?’ Emily said keenly.
Dick said, ‘Yes, that’s why I’m only going to give him ten per cent of what we make, and nothing to the musicians. You two take half the rest between you, and I keep the other half.’
‘Half!’ Emily said indignantly. ‘You only take a third of what I get now.’
Dick said, ‘You’re just a stupid whore, Emily. This is different. I’ll have to have more men. You don’t think the Rakes and the Frogs and John Ames’s crew are going to stand by idle, do you? I’ll have to find another three bullies and keep them in the Cockpit every night. But I’ll give you a guinea out of every six that we take from the drunks--between you, that is. Only I’ve agreed with Jemmy that we won’t rob or kill anyone in the tavern or as far as the end of the street either way. And, you’--he turned to Jason--’don’t forget to hand over to me a third of anything you get privately, same as Emily does. I pay the rent here.’
Jason said, ‘Only women are whores.’ He looked bitterly at Emily.
Dick laughed shortly and said, ‘Don’t play baby to me. I saw you with Old Popeyes last night. You’ll get a hundred out of her unless you’re a fool.’
Jason said, ‘Popeyes? Do you mean Mistress Dempster? I wouldn’t take any of her money. I thought she looked kind and lonely.’
Dick said, ‘Jesus’ bones, I believe he’s real. Listen, you do what she wants. Blow the light out, and you’ll find she’s no worse than a sheep. Swyve her upright, sideways, and endways, and make it ten guineas a crack. She’s rich as an earl, married two city merchants who both died. Ever since, she’s been spending her time in the taverns. She’s picked up dancers and bear-leaders and fiddlers and bullies and cockhandlers and poets. I know fifty men who’ve dug into that old bag of tripes.’
‘She’s lonely,’ Jason said furiously.
‘Christ and the Virgin, what do I care if she’s lonely? Do what you’re told.’
‘I won’t!’ Jason said. ‘And I’m not going to dance for money.’
Dick p’ the Ruff got up slowly. He drew back his lips, and his nose came down to meet his jaw. He said, ‘You are. I say so.’
Jason said, ‘I don’t like it, and all the other things you’ve been talking about. Why, you’re no better than a pimp and a robber and a--‘
There was a dagger at his throat, the blade glittering like the hard snow-light on the ceiling. Dick said, ‘How would you like your nose cut off?’
Emily shouted, ‘Stand still, Jason! He means it. Dick, please go away and let me talk to him.’
For a moment longer Jason looked into Dick’s hard eyes. He was a rat, and Jason hated him but was afraid to move. Dick would kill him and feel no worms of death, no pity, no shame. Dick put the knife away and swaggered out, saying, ‘When Dick o’ the Ruff speaks, don’t argue.’ Jason glared at the huge white ruff as it disappeared. A rat--vain, ferocious, criminal, but terrifying.
Emily swung her legs out of the bed, put up her hands, and caught Jason’s. She said, ‘Jason, please do what he wants. For one thing, he will really kill you if you don’t. And don’t you see that this is the only way I can get away, get up from what I am doing now? If people will pay to see us dance, why don’t we let them? One day I’ll grow old and get like the women you see by the river in the mornings, who hang about the taverns for scraps of food because not even a drunken sailor will pay a penny to lift their skirts. But this way we can make a lot of money quickly. You can go to Coromandel. I can buy a farm and have chickens and pigs and a riding horse.’
‘After a few weeks like this I might not want to go to Coromandel,’ Jason said slowly, remembering the terrifying, sick ecstasy of the applause. ‘And you’ll never go to a farm.’
She was silent. Jason insisted, ‘Would you?’ There were tears in the comers of her eyes, and he felt the flutterings of love in his stomach. She needed looking after, protecting from Dick and Lord Nailsworth and all the rest of them.
She muttered, ‘Perhaps not. But what is there better than this? You meet anybody and everybody here. Whatever you want to dream about, it’s here, only better. I saw a play at the theatre--Will Shakespeare’s A Winter’s Tale--and afterwards I felt bigger and better than I am. Perhaps I’ll be able to buy a farm one day.’
Jason said, ‘Didn’t you say that one of those men in the Cockpit was an India merchant?’
She said, ‘Yes. Nathan Wigmore--five-handed old bullfrog that lives in Leadenhall Street. But don’t go to Coromandel yet, Jason. Stay here and dance with me. It’s the only way you’ll get the money.’
Jason thought of the dancing, and of Emily. Perhaps he would really fall in love with her--and then what would happen to them? He would like to see A Winter’s Tale. What kind of tale was it, and why did it make Emily feel bigger?
He said, ‘I’ll stay and dance with you for a few weeks, Emily.’ She jumped up and flung her arms tightly round him. ‘But I won’t do anything of the other. I won’t take a penny from Mistress Dempster or any woman.’
‘Oh, don’t be a silly,’ Emily said. ‘You wait till some of the Court ladies come after you. But don’t you dare fall in love with any of them. Promise!’
Jason said, ‘I don’t like to see you going with Lord Nailsworth. I don’t like him. And why did you go up to Dick’s bedroom last night when you came in?’
She jerked away from him, her heavy golden hair flying out above her shoulders, and snapped, ‘Oh, go away. Mind your own business. I don’t care who you fall in love with.’
He let go of Emily’s hands and stood with his own right hand over his heart, bowing slightly, smiling lightly at the applause. After two weeks he had come to listen closely to the texture of it. Usually, like tonight, it was deafening and close-knit. Three evenings ago it had been as loud but not so forceful, and there were holes of silence and half-hearted cheers among it. That night he had turned quickly on his heel and left Emily standing alone. It had been her fault. She danced well, but sometimes she had other things on her mind--how she looked, whether Lord Nailsworth and the rest of the Whitehall crowd were in their places, whether Levoller had brought the Lord Chamberlain. They might yell at her legs and gape at the straining breasts under her dress, but he was the dancer of the two of them. They must practise a new step he had worked out.
He left her and walked by habit to the far corner and sat down at a small table there. Mistress Dempster said eagerly, ‘You were better than ever, Jason. There’s cold roast beef tonight. Will that be enough? Do you like cold roast beef?’ Jason said, ‘Very much.’ He smiled at her and picked up a slice of beef and ate it. He ate only lightly before the first dancing nowadays, and then took another light meal after the second dancing. He did not want to be with Dick o’ the Ruff more than he had to; Emily still went out with Lord Nailsworth as soon as the dancing was finished, ignoring the cold look he fixed on them; and Mabel Dempster liked to give him food and drink. She was a nice woman, and comfortable to be with. She was sitting back now and watching him eat, her hands folded in her wide lap.
She had told him a lot about herself in these two weeks. As Dick said, she had been widowed twice. The second time she had suddenly decided to do what she really wanted to do instead of what her relatives and her husbands’ relatives thought she ought to do. She liked taverns, music, food, and drink. She liked being with men--but she did not talk about them much and had never, so far, made any effort to seduce him. She had tried to give him a jewelled dagger, which he had refused. He let her pay for these late suppers, though.
He finished the beef and sat back, stretching luxuriously
against the wall. She said suddenly, ‘I have never met anyone like you, Jason.’
Jason said, ‘You’ve been lucky.’ God’s blood, he hated himself sometimes.
She said earnestly, ‘No, no, I’ve been terribly unlucky. You don’t seem to want to order me about, and you don’t want to take my money. All the men I’ve known have wanted one thing or the other. I loved them all, but they never loved me. There must be something wrong with me--but I don’t feel wrong inside.’ She dabbed her eyes, and Jason made a sympathetic noise.
Her hand crept across the table and covered his. She said, ‘I’m forty-four.’
Jason said, ‘I’ve never thought of it.’ That was not quite true, because when he first saw her he had wondered why a woman past her youth should sit alone in the Cockpit Tavern. But since then he had not thought of her age.
She said, ‘How old are you?’
He said, ‘Twenty.’
Her hand closed convulsively over his. He thought she had drunk too much mulled wine--perhaps to bring herself to the point of saying this that he was hearing--’I love you, Jason. The others wanted my money, and you’ll laugh at me, but I must tell you I love you.’ Her big mouth quivered, and her big blue eyes looked fearfully into his.
He turned quickly, feeling torn and affectionate inside at her fear that he would laugh at her. He said, ‘I think you’re the kindest person in the world.’
She sat for a while, looking down at the table; then she said heavily, ‘I’m not a young girl any more. I must go home.’
Jason said, ‘I’ll come with you.’
She looked up at him with a sudden, almost fearful movement. She said, ‘Do you want to--really?’
He said, ‘Of course. Where did you leave your cloak?’
She shivered a little as he wrapped the cloak round her, and then they went out together. He walked slowly along the street in the pitch dark at her side. He knew where she lived, but he had never been to the house. She held his hand tightly, and neither spoke. She stopped at last, whispered, ‘This is my house. The servants sleep at the top. They won’t come down.’ She opened the door with a big key from her purse, and he saw a long, low room, lit by a night light on a table, and silver glowing on a shelf against the far wall. The light gleamed dimly in her face.
Jason said, ‘Well, you’re home safe now. Good night.’
She stood on the step of her house, staring at him, her mouth working. Suddenly she dropped the key and put her arms round his neck and her wet face into his shoulder. He heard her mumbling, ‘Jason, Jason,’ and patted her shoulders and did not know whether to go now, or stay.
She recovered herself in a moment and took his hand. She said, laughing through the end of tears, ‘Come in for a moment, Jason, and let me show you my house. I’m very proud of it.’
Jason said, ‘Thank you. I’d like to.’ And he went with her into the house. Now she was hugging his arm so tightly that he had to keep close beside her.
She said, ‘There!’ She lit an oil lamp, and then the room seemed smaller again, and the two of them were in it, and --there was a clean stone floor and an arras of light-green cloth to one side.
He saw four books lying alone, one above another, on their sides, among the silver on the shelf, and went towards them.
Mabel said, ‘That’s a set of plate the Fishmongers’ Company gave my first husband. He was quite an old man.’
Jason picked up the first book and opened it. The printing did not cover all of each page, but ended irregularly on the right--some lines short, some long. He wanted to ask what book it was but felt ashamed because he could not read, so said negligently, ‘This is supposed to be good, isn’t it?’
Mabel said, ‘Oh, yes. That is one of Will Shakespeare’s plays. My second husband bought it. All those books are his.’
Jason said, ‘Shakespeare? Is it A Winter’s Tale?’
Mabel said, ‘Oh, yes. It’s beautiful. I’ve read it a score of times. So sad. Would you like a glass of canary wine, dear?’ Jason said, ‘No thank you. Please read to me a little out of A Winter’s Tale. I like your voice.’ He did like to hear her speaking. Her voice was pleasant and comfortable, like the rest of her.
She said, ‘No, Jason, you read to me. I’ll get the wine.’
‘I don’t want any wine, please, Mabel. I’ve had enough.’ He pushed the book into her hands and smiled at her.
Slowly she went scarlet and at last muttered, ‘Jason, I--I’ve always wanted to read, but I can’t.’
His jaw dropped. He said, ‘Nor can I!’
They looked at each other for a moment. Jason thought he could never have seen her properly before. She was a handsome woman with fine eyes and thick brown hair. The house smelled clean but lived-in.
He said, ‘I am a farmer’s son. I had no time for schooling.’
She said, ‘My father would not have me taught, because I was a girl. Then I asked both my husbands, and they forbade me. They said, “What does a woman want with reading?” And when I was free there seemed so many other things I wanted to do.’
‘Do you really want to learn to read?’ Jason asked. They had sat down together on the padded seat of a high-backed bench in front of the empty fireplace. They were holding hands.
‘Oh, yes!’ she said. ‘More than anything! Why, if you can read you can travel without ever leaving your chair. You are as wise as the wisest man who writes the books.’
Jason said, ‘And you have a thousand eyes and a thousand ears. You’re everywhere. You’re all the people you want to be but aren’t. If I could read, perhaps I would not want to go to Coromandel.’ He said it almost from force of habit. He had not thought of Coromandel for over a week now. The dancing was so important, the applause so fiery in his veins.
She said, ‘Coromandel? Where’s that? There’s no need to leave home if you can read, that’s what I think. I don’t want to go anywhere. I’ve got a big house here, and all the servants I need. I eat what I like and drink what I like. Jason, I’ll get a clerk to teach us to read!’
Jason said, ‘Are there such people?’
‘Plenty,’ she said. ‘We could have a lesson every morning, at noon, before dinner, and another in the afternoon. The clerk can have dinner with us.’
Jason turned and took her in his arms. He kissed her cheek and said, ‘I can’t thank you enough, Mabel. I’m too excited. Can we begin tomorrow?’
She said, ‘You must not try to thank me. Oh, Jason, I thought you wanted my money, but you don’t. Then I thought just now that you only wanted to lie in the bed with me--that was better, because you could have any girl you wanted, couldn’t you? But still it wasn’t right. Now I really believe you like me. I feel as if I were sixteen again--I feel so foolish, I love you so much. Can you really forget I’m so old?’
Jason thought, and answered, ‘Yes. But--‘ Now he ought to tell her that he was not in love with her. This strangely comfortable feeling he had for her couldn’t be love. It wasn’t at all like what Jane Pennel had done to him. It was more like Mary Bowcher--and it had turned out that he did not love Mary. He might be in love with Emily--only she was a strumpet.
So he ought to tell her, because she was lonely. But, looking into her eyes now, he saw that she was happy. She was not like Mary, after all. She wanted to learn to read. She looked like a merchant’s plump and sedate hen, but she lived hungrily at the corner of the table where the actors and the dancers and the wild singers fed. She had dreams, like him, and yet--she was comfortable, and kind, and enfolding.
He said, ‘But I must go home.’ He kissed her gently on the lips.
Dick and Emily were talking at the far end of Emily’s room. Jason leaned out of the low window. It was late January, and there was a hard frost. The ice on the Thames would be thicker today. Yesterday he had been walking along the bank with Mabel, and they’d seen two children drowned while trying to slide on the ice. He had wanted to run out to them, but they just disappeared while Mabel held him, crying that he mustn’t go
.
He’d felt miserable after that. But all the same London was a good town when you got to know it. He understood better now what Emily had been trying to tell him about how no one needed to leave London. He looked down at himself. His clothes were not yet luxurious, but they were very different from anything he had owned or worn before. He had talked about buying a long silk coat once, but Dick wouldn’t let him. Dick said it was all right to dress well--in fact it was necessary, or people would give you the kind of small money they thought should satisfy a beggar--but it did not do to dress too richly, or people would give you nothing. They’d say to themselves, Why, that dancer’s got better clothes than I have; and if they were lords or noblemen they’d resent it; and if they were not, they’d still resent it, because perhaps they’d worked a lifetime in a merchant’s business and had never afforded or dared to wear such clothes.
Jason said, ‘I had dinner with Thomas Overpride yesterday. He asked me if we had thought of moving to Vauxhall Gardens in the spring.’
Dick sneered. ‘Where would you dance there, my lord?’
Jason said coldly, ‘Overpride will build a hut there for selling cakes and ale and whatever people want, and he will build a stage with a shelter over it. Two or three times as many people will be able to watch us as can in the tavern, and we would have more room to dance.’
‘And how are we going to make them pay to see when they can see without paying?’ Dick said.
‘Overpride will build a wooden fence round the stage, and--‘
‘Oh, hold your mouth! Run along to your old bag. It won’t pay.’
‘It will! After a year or two it will pay twice as well as the Cockpit!’ Jason noticed that Emily was looking at him with a curious, almost scornful, smile.
