‘I have to come in, I have to.’
‘You have to. Jacob, how do you love me?’
‘With my body I thee worship.’ That was half a jest, but only half.
‘Say rather you love the meat that loves the salt.’
I could not understand this directly, but when I did, I felt the insult. I walked on awhile, picking my phrases, and said at last, ‘When you penned that letter bidding me come to you,’ my voice quivered and I took a few steps in silence, in order to recover it, ‘you wrote you could not hold back those words, even if they were to be printed. Where’s that courage now? Are you changed?’
‘Plainly, you are not,’ he flared up. ‘Nothing but your prick and its wants! I don’t lack courage, Jacob—’ he hesitated, and went on more calmly, ‘nor love neither. But don’t you see I can’t just put Aunt out of the way? I live with her as well as you. Nay, I love her.’
‘You love me,’ I insisted.
‘Is there no room here for discretion?’ he cried.
‘Yes. Yes—’ I thought him cowed by a petticoat, but some men do set too much store by women and I knew that on such matters there was no reasoning with him.
‘We will use all discretion. Only let me in, and we will be silent,’ I begged.
We walked on again. I could feel him yielding, and no wonder, for despite what I had said I knew full well that he did love me like salt. If he shut me out one time, I could the sooner wear him down another.
Ferris tugged at my sleeve. ‘Quiet.’ He tilted his head. I saw a man like Zebedee just turning out of an alley before us and evidently going the same way we were about to take. Ferris whispered, ‘Is it—?
The stranger had long black hair hanging down his back, and my brother’s walk exactly. Either the man ahead was Zebedee, or my father had played false.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Go on then, go up to him.’ Ferris jogged my arm as if to urge me forward.
‘No. No it isn’t.’
‘Won’t you look?’
‘No. Let go of me.’
I jerked away from him and we stood facing one another. My legs were drained of blood.
‘What of your wife?’ Ferris asked.
‘I want to go home. To bed.’
The house seemed more than ever an Egypt. Becs was cold as a corpse to us, turning on her heel and stalking off to the kitchen as soon as she had let us in.
Aunt sat in the chimney corner with some crewel embroidery. She was civil but distant, saying that we were earlier than she’d reckoned on, and that we stank of smoke. Ferris made to kiss her, but she flinched away from him. His face fell, and I wanted to hit her. He went down to the kitchen himself, bringing up two bottles of red wine. His aunt sighed as he set them down on the table.
‘Will you join us, Aunt?’ I asked.
She said she would take a cup for her stomach’s sake. I was trying to discover if Becs had talked while we were out; on the whole, I still thought not.
‘You didn’t find him, then,’ she murmured.
‘No,’ I put in before my friend let anything drop.
For some time we sat ill at ease, politely talking of everything and nothing. Though the wine was not of the best, Ferris swilled it down almost as fast as that night when I found him wrapped in Joanna’s shift.
‘Becs has given me notice,’ Aunt announced after her first cup and while I was pouring her a second. My hand shot forward and splashed the cloth with purple. I dared not look at Ferris.
Aunt went on, ‘She says she is needed at home.’ Her face added, And I blame you, Jacob, for refusing her.
I met her look full in the eyes. I was in no mood to be blamed or controlled.
‘We’ll find a girl as good,’ said Ferris.
‘Who’s we? You’ll be far off by that time,’ she whined.
‘You then,’ I said.
Dinner, which we ate by candlelight, was minced beef baked into a pie. Becs served briskly but with sufficient civility to satisfy Aunt. I had, after all, refused the girl. Pie, cabbage, baked custard: all savourless and heavy. I ate what I was given but asked for no more.
‘I shall miss Becs,’ Aunt said when the girl was gone downstairs. ‘So neat and handy.’ I nodded, understanding all the while that I was under attack.
Ferris, already halfway down his fourth cup, sighed and said, ‘A kind mistress like you, Aunt, will never lack for servants. I’ll print you off a handbill, Maidservant required.’
She sniffed. ‘This isn’t the season for hiring. A good maid will be in place by now.’
‘Nay, there are folk thrown out of work everywhere. They’ll come in droves, you’ll see.’
He bent himself too much to the humouring of this old woman. I wanted to get up and tongue his mouth under her jealous stare.
‘You lack sleep, Ferris,’ I said.
Aunt stiffened. ‘It’s early yet.’
‘O, he’ll only stop drinking if he sleeps,’ I went on. ‘We walked a long way today. I shall go early to bed also. Here,’ I put a candle in Ferris’s hand, ‘move yourself.’
‘I’ve not finished my drink—’
I drained my third cup and pulled him upright. ‘Come on. Good night, Aunt.’
‘Good night,’ she breathed, eyes wide.
‘Good night, Aunty.’ Her nephew smiled, innocence incarnate, as I marched him towards the door.
All the way upstairs I held him close. Once in his chamber I laid him on the bed and kissed him soft and deep, tasting wine and burnt tobacco leaf. As soon as he breathed fast and ran his hands down my sides I pulled away and went, laughing to myself, to my own room. I had but stripped off my coat when the latch lifted and he came in to me. Later, I thought I heard the floorboards creaking out in the corridor, but by that time the bolt was securely driven home.
TWENTY-TWO
What’s Past Repair
‘God grant that we remain ever thankful, and ever mindful, Lord, of Thy presence, Thou who seest our most secret doings.’
Aunt was excelling herself over the morning bread and beer. I said nothing; Ferris answered with a simple Amen. We ate in silence, and when I had finished I put down the cup and went to fetch my cloak.
My friend looked at me in surprise. ‘Stay, Jacob, I’ll bear you company—’
‘I wish to be alone.’
‘Very well,’ said Ferris, hurt. ‘But it is early.’
‘I know that.’ I donned my hat and went out.
In the street I felt shame. The night before he had been so loving with me, I had been nearly mad with the joy of it, and now I was cold with him as a man might be with a woman just paid off. I walked fast, staring at every man who approached until sure he was not Zeb. Most fellows dropped their eyes.
First I tried the tavern I knew best. An ancient purple-faced fellow lay sleeping off his debauch in the ashes. It seemed he was the woman’s tapster, for he woke with a snort, raised himself on an elbow and wheezed to me, ‘What’s your will, Sir?’
‘Hold your peace.’
Not another soul was to be seen though I strode through to the back and looked all round there. The air of the place was exceedingly sour. I could hear the old reprobate’s cracked cough as he voided his phlegm into the hearth.
I was glad Zeb was not to be found in that midden. But then it came to me that he might be lodged upstairs. I would come back later.
The cloak rose behind me like a wing as I cut up the next street; there was such force and spirit in me I felt I could walk forever. As I went, I tried to picture Zeb as I might soon see him, unshaven, surly, perhaps threatening. But the image softened until what I had before me was a laughing boy. Try as I might, the face refused to harden, so from this ghost’s ear I hung a gold ring. As for speech, I had by now rehearsed my first words to him in every way; be he sorry or sly or full of wrath, I was ready, yet still my heart clenched whenever I saw a fellow with a swarthy face.
I next tried the tavern where he and Ferris had talked together,
but found the door barred, so I went along the quays again weighing up every man. Fallen into a rhythm now, I continued walking until the Thames banks grew green and soft, when I knew I was out of my way; then, sitting down awhile, I rubbed my calves, which were stiffening with the exercise. A scent of decay came off the river mud. A conviction settled on me that it was useless going back to the taverns, but I resolved to do it anyway, and turned back, going more slowly now on my tiring legs. The green banks smeared again into trampled mire, shabby boats were hitched here and there, and the buildings thickened until the foulness of the wind assured me of my return into the city.
I now became aware of a difficulty. Ferris might think I was concealing some meeting from him; he might not believe that I had failed to find my man. ‘Not a sign of him, nothing at all,’ I was saying to a stone embedded in the mud, when I looked up and saw Zeb standing in an alleyway, watching me go. I stopped dead, and raised my hand as he turned to run.
The ground seemed to fly up towards me as I ran over the street. I felt my hat fall as I thudded after him, my legs limp, my cloak a lead weight; though my breast laboured I could not get up speed. But Zeb was also hard put to it, and I was gaining on him. Several times he glanced back, and each time he did so he fell back a little. Men leapt to one side as we tore along, and once he tried a doorway let into the stones, but it was locked. When we were almost level I saw that the alley ended in a blank wall. He must have noticed it at the very same moment, for he stumbled. At once I was up with him and had hold of his hair. He whipped round, and straightway getting hold of my little finger bent it backwards until I let go of him; while I was shaking my hand from the pain he kicked full on my shin as if to crack it. My eyes watered in agony. Panting, we stared at one another. I guessed he would try to run past me, and dodged left and right to show him he could not.
‘Stay! Stay!’ I cried. ‘I won’t hurt you.’
‘I’ll see to that.’
‘Trust me, Zeb.’
‘You! I’ll trust to this,’ and he pulled out a knife. ‘Now stand off.’
Unarmed, I hesitated before my unknown brother. There was the gold earring Ferris had made report of, but that was nothing in comparison with the way his countenance had aged and hardened.
‘Stand off,’ he repeated. His eyes had never left mine, and for the first time in my life they cowed me. I moved back a yard.
‘Now speak,’ Zeb ordered.
‘I have been looking for you,’ I began, ‘to make peace, if I may.’
‘That’ll take some doing,’ he sneered. ‘Looking for me? How did you know I was here?’
‘A friend saw you and heard your name.’
‘Ah yes, the one with the questions. Jacob’s spy!’
I hated to hear him speak thus of Ferris. ‘Don’t put my crimes on him, brother,’ I said. ‘He’s as good as I’m bad.’
‘O, I’d say he was a very loving friend.’ His laugh brimmed with spiteful meaning. ‘And you to him, I’m sure.’
I tried not to look as if I understood.
‘I have had ample time to think about you,’ Zeb went on. ‘And cause. I have met folk who could tell me what you were.’
I was frighted by this speech. Did he mean that Ferris and I were noted in the town? But I dared not question him, and asked instead, ‘You are better?’
‘I’ll never be what I was. Still, I have my admirers. Your friend among them. Stripping me naked with his eyes, did he tell you that?’
I felt a stab in my chest.
Zeb smiled. ‘Well, well. It seems we are jealous still.’
I would not answer this and turned my face away until I could regain my dignity. But the task proved too difficult, and it was in a trembling voice that I at length began again, ‘You see I will use no force.’
‘Nor would I in your position,’ he observed. His gaze travelled downwards, taking in the heavy cloak and good shoes. ‘Quite the citizen, aren’t you? Living with him on Cheapside.’
I gasped.
‘I’ve known your whereabouts for some time,’ he added.
‘O Zeb, I have been in agony wondering what became of you! Why, why did you not come to me?’
‘Because I’ve taken my last beating from you!’ he shouted, eyes black and possessed. ‘Because you knifed Walshe, and fucked Caro – like a beast – under my nose! Because, because! Did you forget I was there, Brother, or did you reckon me as already dead?’
I dropped to my knees. ‘Forgive me. Forgive me! I want to make reparation, only tell me what to do!’
‘Make reparation!’ He spat. I stayed kneeling, beseeching him with my eyes, and at last he put up the knife.
‘I can get you money,’ I pleaded.
Zeb looked thoughtful. I noticed how tattered was his sheepskin coat, and stretched out my hands in supplication. ‘Let me take you—’ I had almost said home, when I checked myself and went on, ‘into one of the taverns here. So we can talk further.’
He nodded. ‘Just don’t lay hands on me.’ He eyed my outstretched palms. ‘I learnt from the gypsies ways of dealing with big men. They do it so well, they end up burying them.’
‘I understand.’ I got up on my aching legs.
He would go nowhere with me unless he chose the place himself. Despite the Puritans and the community of the Elect, there are so many of these holes round the docks it is a wonder the sailors keep any of their pay. We sat by ourselves near the window; I now remarked that he leant a little to one side. The only other customers were a weary-looking woman, perhaps a trull, and an elderly man with a basket of eels.
Zeb sat with his back to the wall and demanded wine. When it was served he raised a cup and bade me drink to brotherly love. He had put off the sheepskin, and in shirtsleeves, his hair curling round his face, he soon had the serving-girl simpering like an imbecile. I saw that his shattered rib had put hardly a crack in his beauty.
‘Did you know that Mervyn is dead?’ I asked.
Zeb’s face lit up. ‘Excellent! Killed in the fighting?’
I shook my head. ‘Poisoned. Or drunk himself to it.’
‘Would I could have nursed him!’ my brother cried, and again I remarked a savagery in him that had not been there before.
‘Zeb,’ I said, ‘ah, Zeb—’
My brother waited without speaking.
‘Zeb – where did you get the earring?’
He laughed. ‘That’s what all the world wants to know. Citizen Whore, and now you.’
‘His name is Ferris.’
‘And what does he call you? Husband? Ganymede?’
‘I go by my own name.’
We drank a little more wine.
‘So, the earring,’ I tried again.
‘He’s told you it’s a wedding ring, and so it is. Yours.’
I stared at the shining loop in his ear. ‘That ring was thrown away.’
‘We found it in the morning and I persuaded her not to be a fool. Later she had it worked into an earring for me.’ He sat back the better to observe my expression.
‘Zeb, where are you living?’
‘Here and there.’
‘You’re not with her any more?’
‘Before you start, she left me.’
‘Do you know where she is?’
He drank lazily. ‘No. We parted company after coming to London.’
I shuddered inwardly at the thought of coming up against her in the street. ‘Why did you part?’
He considered. ‘That I won’t tell you.’
Clenching my fists under the table, I stammered, ‘Were you—? Were you, ah, did you—?’
He laughed. ‘She fastened her wedding ring in my ear. Work it out for yourself.’
I covered my face; my shoulders heaved. I should never have sought out this shame and pain. He was more her husband than I. It seemed I could do nothing for Caro, and would not be permitted to do anything for Zeb.
‘You don’t deny killing Walshe,’ he said at length. ‘I knew that was it.
By God, you picked your time to tell her.’
I lifted my head from my hands. ‘That’s past and gone.’ I was not going to rehearse the boy’s death with him. ‘I hear that Izzy was whipped and turned out,’ I added.
It was Zeb’s turn to flinch and look away. I recalled something he had said earlier. ‘Why did you say I beat you?’ I demanded. ‘I have never beaten you.’
‘You’ve a short memory,’ he replied. ‘When we were boys.’
‘Never.’
‘You near skinned me once. In the orchard.’
Memory stirred: the two of us, and a rod in my hand.
‘You were standing in for Father, you said.’
‘But why did I?’
‘Aye, why did you?’ He stared at me. ‘That’s a thing I should ask your friend perhaps, your Herris.’
‘Ferris,’ I said and then stopped. The room seemed tilting; I could scarcely breathe.
‘He’s not as pretty as I was,’ Zeb went on, as sickness spread in me. ‘But slight – no match for you, eh? Are you rough with him?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I whispered.
‘No?’
I was on my feet. Zeb’s knife was out at once, but I wished only to be away from him and that room before I suffocated: chairs and tables barred my path to the door and I bruised my shins and thighs as I ran through them, furniture falling on either side of me like the Red Sea. I heard the girl call out something as I crossed the threshold. Out in the cold air I whirled round in case he had followed me, but I was alone. I walked on more slowly, saw folk staring at me and realised I was groaning aloud like some baited beast. In this condition I stumbled back to Cheapside, seized from time to time by the dry heaves. To get home, to run to earth. I must get home.
I could not find my key. Ferris let me in, and was as gentle with me as I had been curt with him earlier in the day. Everyone else being out we sat together, his arms round me, as I told him some of what had passed. My hands were icy and from time to time I had shaking fits, as if poisoned.
Having heard that Zeb disowned me and had taken up with my wife, he patted my hand, and murmured, ‘You need never see him again.’