Chapter 6
‘Ididn’t need no rescuing,’ Matt protested as soon as they were out of earshot.
‘No, of course not,’ Daniel replied. ‘You were about to be set upon by a girl and you would have just stood there and taken it.’
Matt looked down at his feet, roughly shod in a pair of cracked and broken shoes through which his filthy toes poked. ‘Whatcha want me to do?’
Daniel considered the urchin. Someone who knew his way around the rabbit warren of streets could be useful.
‘You can start by taking me to the Ship Inn.’
The boy’s eyes widened. ‘The Ship Inn over by Old Bayly?’
‘I believe that’s where it is.’
‘Anywhere in London but there. That Nan Marsh has a tongue on her,’ the boy said. ‘Caught me stealing some pie one day. Told me never to show me face again.’
‘Well, I’m not asking you to show your face. Just take me there. What you do after that is up to you.’
Matt stood poised for a fleeting moment between flight and compliance. When Daniel produced a coin from his purse, Matt needed no further persuasion.
‘This way, Cap’n’, the boy said, falling into step beside Daniel. ‘So your name’s Lucas?’ he asked.
‘It is,’ Daniel replied. Lucas was just one of the many false names he had used in the last five years. It now almost seemed strange to use his own name.
‘You a seafaring cove?’ Matt inquired.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Yer not all pasty and pale like the rest of us.’
Daniel considered his new young friend. ‘If you are at all pasty and pale it is almost impossible to see under the dirt,’ he said. ‘You need a bath, Matt.’
The boy shuddered. ‘Terrible bad for yer health, Cap’n.’
He stopped and gestured down a street that looked like any other street in this maze of a city.
Halfway along an old inn sign creaked above the narrow, cobbled way.
It had once been a galleon in full sail, but age and the fetid air had mellowed it to the point where it looked like a rowboat in a storm.
‘Down there. I’ll wait for you ‘ere,’ the boy said.
‘This Nan Marsh has got the better of you, hasn’t she?’
The boy squatted down and pretended an interest in a pile of refuse.
Daniel left him and, pulling his cloak around him, entered the establishment. It seemed respectable enough, the floor swept and mopped and the tables wiped. At this hour only a handful of patrons occupied the benches.
A thin woman with a hard face looked up from scrubbing a tabletop.
‘What can I do for ye?’ she enquired.
‘An ale,’ Daniel replied.
The woman straightened, wiping her hands on her apron as she studied him. She frowned and shook her head.
‘Something the matter?’ Daniel enquired, self-consciously touching the scar on his face. She did not seem the sort of woman to be discomposed by a mark on a man’s face.
‘Nah, just for a moment, I thought you was someone else.’ She gestured at an empty table near the fire. ‘Make yerself comfortable, I’ll be right back.’
Daniel settled himself into the well-worn chair and looked into the freshly lit fire, watching as the green wood spat and caught, sending bright sparks and wreaths of smoke up the chimney.
‘Here’s yer ale.’
A man set the pot down in front of him and Daniel looked up. This time the spark of recognition was mutual. The man narrowed his one good eye, the other obscured by a silken patch.
‘I know you,’ the man said.
Daniel didn’t know whether to curse or praise his luck. He should have realised that if this inn had been a habitual haunt of Kit’s, there would probably be a reason.
‘Eveleigh Priory, 1648?’ he ventured.
The man sat down on the bench across from Daniel with a thump and swore. ‘God’s death. It can’t be Dan’l … nah … he’s dead … ’
Daniel studied the man, trying to recall the name of Kit’s burly sergeant.
‘Marsh, isn’t it? You served with my brother.’
The man nodded. ‘Aye, I did. Fought beside him for many a year.’ He shook his head in continued disbelief. ‘Well, well, Dan’l Lovell, as I live and breathe. You were a lad when I last saw you.’
The woman sauntered over. ‘Jem, there’s no time for sittin’ here. There’s wood to be cut.’
The man looked up and gestured to the woman. ‘This is me sister, Nan.’
‘And who’s this?’ Nan demanded, a scowl darkening her face.
‘Would you believe it? This ‘ere’s Kit Lovell’s brother, Dan’l, back from the dead,’ Jem responded.
The colour drained from the woman’s face and she stared at him as if he truly were a ghost. ‘But you’re dead and buried somewhere in the godforsaken Indies.
’ Nan sank on the bench beside her brother and stared at Daniel.
‘Daniel bloody Lovell. Who’d have thought it?
What’s up with your family? Descended from Lazarus? ’
‘Now, Nan.’ Jem elbowed his sister into silence. He leaned forward on the table, his hands clasped. ‘So, Daniel, what brings you ‘ere?’
‘I am looking for news of my brother,’ Daniel said. ‘They told me that Kit used to come here.’
The woman’s face closed like a door slamming. ‘Didn’t they tell you? He’s dead. They ‘anged him in ‘54.’
Jem shook his head and looked down at his big hands, clasped together on the tabletop. ‘Dead,’ he echoed.
Daniel cleared his throat. ‘I know Kit’s dead,’ he said. ‘I just thought maybe you could tell me a little more about the circumstances.’
Jem Marsh heaved a sigh. ‘Got ‘imself tangled up in some sort of plot to kill the Lord Protector.’ He shook his head. ‘He was ‘ere when they took ‘im.’
Nan glanced at her brother. ‘You’ve said enough, Jem Marsh. Truth is there ain’t much more to tell. We was right fond of ‘im but he’s dead. Don’t know and don’t care where you’ve bin all these years. Ye’ve got your own life to lead. Forget ‘im.’
Daniel looked from one to the other. Neither appeared to be any more forthcoming, so he drained his ale and stood up.
Nan rose and faced him. She looked him up and down and her face softened as she shook her head. ‘Ye’ve certainly got the look of your brother about you. Not as tall I wager but ye’ve the same eyes. Can’t forget Kit Lovell’s eyes; would make a woman wet ‘erself if he looked at you the right way.’
Somewhat taken aback by the description, Daniel smiled. ‘I’ve not heard him described in quite that way before.’
‘Then you didn’t know your brother,’ Nan said, with what was probably intended as a saucy wink but looked rather more threatening on Nan’s hard face.
No, I didn’t.
Ten years his senior, Kit had been eighteen when he had ridden off to war, and they had seen precious little of each other during the weary years of fighting.
It had only been in ’48 that Kit had returned to Eveleigh and embroiled the family home in a futile action that had subjected the house to the bitter month-long siege that had ended in the death of their father and the destruction of the house.
Kit had returned to England again in 1651, bringing with him the hopes of the young King Charles II, and this time Daniel was not going to let his brother ride away.
Despite Kit’s every effort to dissuade him, Daniel had followed him to Worcester.
That had been a foolish and fatal decision.
He handed over some coins for the ale. Nan bobbed her head as her fingers closed over the coins.
‘That’ll do nicely.’
She looked up at him and her eyes narrowed. He gained the impression that she may have been about to add something, but a rowdy group of ‘prentices fell through the door demanding ale. Nan gave Daniel a cursory nod and went to see to her customers.