Pleasing Mr. Pepys

by Deborah Swift

  The coach drew up again at his tailor’s. He would not let her alight until he’d warned her to take care, and to make sure she kept away from predatory men. Somewhat impertinent, she thought, coming from him. She resisted the urge to snap at him but threw open the carriage door in silent frustration. She still had no definite information and knew this would mean more threats from Abigail and no pay, but she just could not stomach being alone with him any longer.

  He made a lunge to detain her with a kiss, but she was already out and brushing down her skirts. He pressed her into agreeing to meet him a few days later at Herringman’s booksellers. She agreed, only because it meant he would leave, and it would go some way to appeasing Abigail.

  Strangely, though, at the appointed hour at Herringman’s, Mr Pepys did not arrive to meet her. It was unlike him, and Deb wondered if he was unwell. She puzzled over it, whether she had made a mistake with the day or time. But one early morning in the following week, the answer came in the form of a steady rap at the door.

  Abigail was at the window in an instant, to peer out onto the street.

  ‘It’s a young man,’ she said, frowning. ‘Quick, see if it’s someone you recognise.’

  Deb held back the curtain to look out. The neat and well-suited figure was unmistakeable. ‘It’s Will Hewer,’ she said.

  ‘Hewer?’

  ‘Mr Pepys’ clerk.’

  ‘Oh, him. How does he know where you live?’

  She remembered he’d been there when she gave the driver instructions. ‘I don’t know. It must be something about Mr Pepys.’

  Abigail paused for a moment, considering. ‘Then you’d better go down, but don’t on any account let him in. I don’t want him to see me here.’

  The knock came again, harder and more insistent. This time Deb hurried down and undid the bolts to open the door.

  Will cleared his throat with a little cough. ‘Beg pardon, Miss Willet. I hope I don’t disturb you in your duties with the good doctor, but I brought this.’ He held up a letter. ‘From Mr Pepys.’

  ‘Do you know what it’s about?’ she asked, a sudden impossible hope flaring that she might have been forgiven and Elisabeth wanted her back.

  Will looked away, seeming to read her thoughts. ‘There’s been more bother between Mr and Mrs Pepys. She found out he’s still seeing you – someone saw you in a coach together. He says … he won’t be coming to you again. I think it wise to let matters cool, Miss Willet. Like he says in the letter. Mrs Pepys’ll not have it, any kind of … meeting between you.’

  He held the letter up in front of her. ‘Please take it. It’s more than my life’s worth to take it back. And before you ask – no, I can’t deliver a reply.’

  So that was the way things were. She reached out for the letter, knowing Abigail would be watching her from the window. ‘Is Mr Pepys all right? Not unwell or anything?’

  Will’s eyes flashed. ‘What do you think? Of course he isn’t all right. His work’s suffering and it’s brought him to … well, he’s just not himself any more. And Mrs Pepys, she weeps and weeps. It breaks my heart to see how she takes on. Please, do as he asks. The whole house is at sixes and sevens because of you. Just stay away, that’s all I ask.’

  Deb reached for the letter, silence hiding her conflicting emotions.

  Will shifted from foot to foot, growing redder and redder. ‘It should never have started,’ he burst out. ‘It wasn’t fair on Elisabeth.’

  ‘I didn’t mean for it to be …’

  He stood waiting, frowning, stubborn, expecting her to finish, but she could not. He was right. What was the point? After a moment’s awkward silence, Deb said, ‘I can’t stay, my new mist … master, is waiting.’

  ‘Apologies for keeping you,’ he said with sarcasm. ‘Farewell, Miss Willet.’ His words had a finality about them.

  From habit she dipped her head towards him before going back inside and closing the door. In the dim hallway she unfolded Mr Pepys’ letter. She knew his handwriting so well, yet it was odd to see a letter actually intended for her and signed ‘Samuel Pepys’ with an inky flourish. She ran her finger over it, over the flamboyant letters, the sheer confidence of it.

  There could be no more meetings, he said. She was not to go near him again; their affair was at an end.

  ‘Deb?’ Abigail called.

  Slowly she climbed the stairs. A sharp pinch of regret had lodged in her chest – not for him, but for Elisabeth, who, she was sure, had made him write it.

  ‘What did he want?’ Abigail asked, looking at the letter. ‘Is it information from Pepys?’

  ‘Yes.’ Deb was still digesting the impact of the words.

  ‘I don’t want his servants here. If Pepys and Lord B find out that we live in the same house, it could be a risk.’

  ‘It won’t matter now, because he won’t be back. Pepys doesn’t want to see me again.’

  Abigail pounced on the letter and twisted it from her hand before Deb could stop her. Her expression did not shift as she read. Finally, she screwed up the letter and cast it down on the floor. ‘You know what this means?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You don’t understand, do you?’ Abigail threw up her hands in annoyance. ‘You don’t matter, don’t you see? Nothing is important to Piet but the information. A spy is not a person, but a conduit. When intelligence flows through, all is well, but if it stops flowing, you’re useless. Nobody cares who you are. You are utterly disposable. It is the bargain that you strike whenever you turn traitor.’ She was tight-lipped now, her words staccato as if she was firing them at Deb. ‘That’s the thorn in the handshake. But you haven’t just put your own skin at risk, have you? The Dutch intelligence office doesn’t know you exist. How am I to explain it to them, the sudden drying up of information?’

  Deb couldn’t answer. Abigail’s agitation seemed to fill the room. Even the silk of her skirts seemed to crackle as she paced the floor. She took hold of Deb by the wrist. ‘Did you refuse him? What did you do to stop him wanting to see you?’

  ‘Nothing, Abigail. Will said Elisabeth—’

  ‘I took you in because you were Pepys’ whore. Why else did you think I would take in a girl like you?’ Abigail’s face was close to Deb’s, so close she could see the black pupils of her eyes.

  Deb struggled to release herself. The word shocked her, as if she had been kicked by a horse. She struggled to make sense of it. ‘Don’t call me that.’

  ‘You’re worthless to me.’ Abigail thrust Deb away. ‘What am I to do with you now?’ She pressed her hand to her forehead. ‘How am I supposed to find out which ships are being built in which yards without access to Pepys?’

  ‘Go to Lord Bruncker then! He knows as much as Pepys.’

  ‘Bruncker never writes anything down himself. He thinks it beneath him to act like a clerk. There must be someone else who wants to get his hand up your skirt. One of Pepys’ friends. His clerk, the one who just came, what’s his name?’

  ‘Will Hewer?’ Deb shook her head to free it of the idea. Not Will, the idea was appalling. ‘No, I couldn’t. He dislikes me. He has a fondness for Elisabeth and I—’

  ‘You’d better think of something. Or there’ll be no bed for you here. Take it or leave it. You can sell yourself my way, or take your chances in Bridewell or on the streets with the other whores.’

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ she said again.

  ‘You did it with Pepys, didn’t you?’

  ‘No! It was only a hug,’ she shouted.

  She ran to her room and slammed the door. Why had she said that? It wasn’t true. But she wished it was. With all her heart, she wished it. She had not let him take her; that was true. She was still a virgin, but it had been far more than a hug, she knew that.

  She sat down hard on the bed; her legs were shaking. She could run, but where would she go? The poorhouse? No, she would go stark mad in there, and Hester would surely find out. She could not bear it if Hester had to set foot in such a place. She had
not had the courage to tell her sister what had really happened – how could she? Instead, she had written and told her that she had a new position with a Dr Allbarn who was a well-respected chirurgeon with a flourishing practice. Lies, lies, lies. It seemed all she could do now was lie.

  Pepys was one thing – he had some affection for her, and she for him – but she couldn’t be a cold-blooded whore. Not that. She used to look down on the mollies on the street with revulsion, thought them beneath her, another sort of woman altogether. Nothing to do with her. She crossed the road if she saw one propping up a doorway. The shame of it, to have to sell herself so openly.

  Jem Wells’s face sprang into her mind. She looked up to where she had pinned his wooden angel over the door. The sight of it depressed her. There was no guardian angel watching over her, she thought bitterly, only her own conscience.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ she said to it.

  Then she pushed the thought of Jem down, back to the place inside that nobody could touch.

  She took out paper, began to make a list of Pepys’ associates. If whoring was to be her business, then she would choose wisely, make it pay; give as little as possible, take as much as she could.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  December

  DEB CLOSED HER EYES IN ANGUISH, the letter dangling in her hand. It was from Hester; she was coming up to London with Lavinia, whose father was buying her a viol. They had offered to bring Hester to town with them, and they would drop her off at noon in three days’ time, at Dr Allbarn’s address. Hester was looking forward to meeting Deb’s new employer and seeing the fine mansion where she lived.

  Deb sat down, stood up, sat down. Obviously Hester could not come to Abigail’s house. She did not want Hester anywhere near Abigail; it was too dangerous for her to even meet her. Nor did she want Hester to see the strange emptiness of where she lived, the echoing chambers, the down-at-heel street. She thought quickly and then penned Hester a note to tell her Dr Allbarn was busy with patients, that she had the day off and would meet her outside the temporary Exchange.

  On the day, Deb dressed in her blue woollen dress, the one from Unthank’s that she often used to wear at the Pepyses’. Even though it was a dull shade, it was of good quality. It made her feel conspicuous to be wearing it again, as though everyone was staring at her.

  ‘Deb! Deb!’ A lacquered and gilt carriage was pulling in, and there was Hester waving excitedly from the window. It had barely drawn up to the kerbside when the door opened and Hester leapt out in a flurry of skirts and petticoats and threw herself into Deb’s arms.

  When Deb had kissed and hugged Hester tight, and brushed away her tears, she was introduced to Mr Hartley, and to Lavinia Hartley, his daughter. It was clear right away that they were people of a certain class. Lavinia’s damson-coloured dress was well cut, of the finest warm worsted, and her fur muff was lined with velvet. Mr Hartley greeted Deb with polite reserve and surreptitiously looked her over, as if to determine whether Hester was really a suitable friend for Lavinia.

  Deb bridled under their scrutiny and took on her best Abigail Williams impersonation of hauteur. ‘My apologies that I cannot entertain you today,’ she said. ‘Dr Allbarn has a very important client this morning, from White Hall, and cannot be disturbed.’

  ‘From White Hall? You don’t mean from the royal household?’ Hester was wide-eyed.

  ‘I’m afraid I am not allowed to say more. Dr Allbarn does not discuss his clients,’ she said, and let them draw their own conclusions as to the royal, or otherwise, nature of his business.

  The Hartleys looked suitably impressed and arranged to meet Hester again by the carriages at three o’clock after they’d been to the music shop.

  ‘Only a few hours.’ Hester was rueful.

  ‘Come, let’s go inside out of the cold.’ She put her arm in Hester’s and they wove their way under the jetties of the new houses towards the bustling market.

  Hester had grown taller. Deb took a sidelong glance at her. She was no longer a child, but a young, self-confident woman with the sort of raven beauty that drew men’s eyes. The sight of her made Deb expand with pride.

  Inside the market they found a stall selling warmed milk and honey, and they seated themselves on the little stools set around makeshift tables. When they had their drinks before them, Hester chattered on about her life at school, her friend Lavinia, and how Lavinia had a brother who was simply the most handsome man she’d ever seen. This news discomfited Deb. She had not realised how quickly Hester was growing up. Soon she would need employment and a dowry, and Deb was now in no position to provide either.

  ‘Deb?’ Hester tapped her arm to get her attention.

  ‘Sorry, just daydreaming.’

  ‘You look tired out. Is it hard with Dr Allbarn? Does Mrs Allbarn work you long hours?’

  ‘No. Not at all. He’s a very good employer.’

  ‘What’s his house like?’

  She twisted the lace on her cuff. ‘Well, it’s large, and lofty, and … well, what you’d expect really.’

  ‘What about Mrs Allbarn?’ Hester leaned forward, face alive with interest. ‘I’ll wager she’s less untidy than Mrs Pepys! And the other servants, how many staff are there?’

  ‘A lot. I haven’t counted.’ She was at a loss, so she tried to turn the subject. ‘But tell me about your music lessons. You say Lavinia plays the viol?’

  Hester told her about how they sang choral music for the church services. ‘But this is lovely, isn’t it? I hope to come and visit you much more often. Lavinia’s father is a magistrate and he’s often in town for business, and he says he can bring us. In fact, I meant to ask, I mean … I wondered if there was room for me at Dr Allbarn’s? After all, I’m nearly fourteen and I don’t want to stay at school any more, not when I could be here in London with you.’

  Deb’s thoughts raced. ‘There are no vacancies where I work, and besides, you need to finish your education.’

  ‘But that’s stupid. I know you pay my fees, and they cost you dear. If I was working, you wouldn’t have to do that any more, and we could be together every day.’

  Her sister’s bright-eyed enthusiasm only made Deb feel worse. The idea of seeing Hester daily made her realise it would be impossible to keep her uninvolved.

  Hester saw the indecision in her face. ‘Have you got used to your new London life without me? Is that it? Don’t you want me with you? I suppose that’s why I can’t come to the house; I’m not good enough for your fine doctor.’

  ‘No, that’s not it at all … look, Hester, you must stay at school. Learn as much as you can while you can. A good education is your chance – don’t throw it away. I’ll send for you when there’s a suitable vacancy, I promise.’

  ‘Lavinia’s leaving school at Christmas. Her family think she’s old enough. She’s going to tutor two small children. She promised me we’d explore the city together, and I want to be in London, like her.’ She pouted. ‘Bow is so unfashionable … and so dull.’

  Good, thought Deb. A dull life was a safe life; the duller the better. ‘Be patient, Hester. You’re too young. Just complete your schooling like a good girl.’

  Hester slammed her cup onto the table so the other customers stared at her flushed face and angry eyes. ‘Don’t treat me like I’m four years old! I’m nearly fourteen! Fourteen! It’s selfish of you not to help me. If it was the other way round I’d help you. I thought you’d be pleased: saving you your hard-earned wage and offering to come and help.’

  ‘You don’t understand. London’s not all it seems from the outside. There are dangers you don’t know about—’

  ‘Dangers? Don’t be so old-fashioned. Deb, I cannot bear that stuffy schoolroom a moment longer, not while you are shopping at Unthank’s and going to the theatre and living the life of a lady.’

  Too late, Deb realised that in censoring the reality of her circumstances, she must have given the impression in her letters that life was one long round of luxury and ent
ertainment. She could think of nothing to say.

  Hester took her silence as refusal. ‘Well, if you won’t help me find employment, I’ll ask Lavinia if her father knows of anything suitable. I’ll show you I’m not too young. I’m old enough now to do it without you.’ She stood, flung her cloak about her shoulders and marched away, head up high in her neat little hat.

  ‘Hester! Wait!’ Deb leapt up to follow, but the bearded man at the counter stepped out to stop her.

  ‘Thinking of leaving without paying, were you?’ he said.

  ‘No, of course not …’ She fumbled frantically in her purse for the few remaining coins and tokens, her eyes fixed on Hester’s back as it disappeared into the crush of the crowd.

  When she reached the end of the row of stalls, she looked about helplessly. There was no sign of Hester’s navy blue cloak and hat anywhere. Deb was forced to wait outside the Exchange until Hester deigned to return. Deb walked listlessly up and down, seeing nothing of the stalls in front of her but ruminating miserably on what to do.

  What would happen if Hester came to London? It would all come out then: her sullied reputation, the strange clandestine life she had been forced to live. If anyone discovered Deb was a traitor, and working for the Dutch, then, if they lodged together, her sister, too, would be a suspect.

  More than an hour later, Hester appeared, face tear-stained and red. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and burst into fresh tears. ‘It’s just … I’d dreamed of it so many nights. Us both living and working together, like a proper family. I felt sure you’d say yes.’

  Deb’s heart melted. ‘Sorry, Hester love, I can’t. Dr Allbarn, well, he’s not easy. In fact, he’s a bit of a tyrant. You wouldn’t want to come to him. But I’ll find you something as soon as I can. I promise.’ The lie made her sick to her soul. Quite apart from the fact Dr Allbarn didn’t exist, by omission, more deception seemed to be closing round her, choking her. Hester only wanted to save her trouble and money, and for them to be together. What sort of sinful creature had she turned into, that she could tell such outright lies to her own sister?