Lucy found a sunlit bench in a quiet corner of the bailey in the Tower of London, where she could read in peace. Bushes secluded the bench from prying eyes.
She had a talent for finding a small oasis of calm in whirlpools of activity. Life at Barn Elms had honed this skill to perfection.
"Lilith, where are you? Come out where I can see you," said Lucy, out loud.
The air in front of Lucy seemed to shimmer and Lilith appeared in a blue dress.
"There you are, demon," Lucy said. "I wondered where you had got to."
"I am where I always am—inside you," said Lilith.
"I though, mayhap, you had found a way to withdraw," said Lucy. "I understand that you are casting a spell to show me an illusion but I find it easier to talk to someone that I can see."
Lilith had tried to explain to Lucy just how she placed an image in her head but Lucy lacked the world picture to grasp the explanation. Maybe "casting a spell" was not such a bad explanation. The Shadow World with computers and other electronic devices had regarded magic as a primitive superstition but witchcraft seemed to work in this world. In fact, magic showed interesting similarities to her own gravitonic capabilities. Lucy's people appeared to work magic by influencing the probability of quantum effects with their minds.
"So where have you been, Lilith? Have I offended you?"
"No, I am trying not to interfere with your life. I only make contact with you when you call."
"But you see everything that I do?"
"Yes." Lilith paused. "I also record what you see and hear and touch. Would you like to see the play again? I could arrange that."
"That might be fun, but later. You know, I have never really had a friend before. At Barn Elms I was always the little Lady Dennys. I used to see the servant's children playing in the fields but I could never join them. It wasn't done, you see."
"Ah," said Lilith. Things that are done and not done, the essential core of the human condition raised its head again.
"Uncle Francis is a sugar-pie, of course."
"Of course," agreed Lilith.
"But he's my master, not my friend."
"I have never had a friend either," said Lilith. "Before coming here my whole life was spent training for a role."
"Just like me." Lucy clapped her hands with pleasure. "Lilith, you can always talk to me when you want. Just don't distract me when I am involved with someone or people will think me crazy or stupid."
Lucy paused. "You are my friend, aren't you Lilith?"
Lilith found it difficult to analyse her feelings. No one had ever shown her any affection and now this little human trusted her. After all she had done to the girl, Lucy still trusted her and called her friend. Lilith felt a rush of emotion. This is leakage, a stubborn analytical subroutine insisted, just leakage from the human's emotion centre. Lilith did not care, leakage or not it felt wonderful. Lucy's electrochemical nervous system was ridiculously inadequate compared to Lilith's own gravitonic processing and storage systems but somehow the little biosystem powered a wonderful person.
"Yes," Lilith said, simply, and meant it.
"Can you tell me exactly what Isabella was doing in the theatre?" asked Lucy.
"That's not easy," said Lilliith. "She was manipulating gravitonic energies to draw power out of the matrix between the Shadow Worlds. She had aligned the strings that reach into the eleventh spatial dimension to link two universes. Everything lies close alongside everything else in the eleventh dimension."
"I see," said Lucy. "Or rather I don't see. Could you translate that into English for me?"
"She was working up a magic spell," said Lilith.
"What would the spell have done if you hadn't 'earthed' it? And what is earthing anyway?"
"To answer the last point first. You know that lightning strikes downwards to the ground—that is earthing," said Lilith.
"Hence the burns on my hand and the wooden floor."
"Exactly, Lucy. As to what the spell would have done, that is more difficult to say. It would have opened a portal into the Shadow Worlds somewhere and something would have come out."
"Something like a demon, oh demon!" Lucy said, with a giggle.
"Possibly," said Lilith. "Or something else such as energy or even objects."
"Our philosophers know that there is an Other World, Lilith, but I think that it is a new idea that there are many Other Worlds or that you would consider our world to be one. I suppose the natives of each world think themselves in the true world and name the others shadows," said Lucy, shrewdly.
This thought rocked Lilith. Her people thought that they were real and that all others were shadows. Perhaps they were deluded by arrogance.
"It occurs to me that your education is still sadly missing an important aspect of London life, demon," said Lucy.
"Really?" asked Liliith.
"Really," said Lucy. "We have not yet been shopping. To go shopping we shall need money and an escort." She rose. "Now, I wonder where Uncle Francis is?"
William was damnably tired but he remained on the deck to show himself to the men. In truth, there was little for him to actually do, as his officers were quite capable of dealing with all practical matters. But captains, like princes, had to be seen by their subjects. The wounded men were carried below to the tender mercies of the cook, who also doubled as the ship's surgeon. Half would be dead by nightfall. Half of those who survived treatment would die of a fever in the next few days. Nevertheless, the butcher's bill was less than he had expected. He could have lost the whole ship.
The ship's decks looked chaotic, but apparently random movement could be broken down into purposeful activity to William's experienced eyes. The carpenter and his mates examined the hull, boarding up damage. The boatswain and his mates checked the masts, yards, rigging, and sails. The gunner supervised the securing of the heavy weapons.
The master walked up to William and touched his hat. "Begging your pardon, sir, but you look a proper mess."
William's clothes were stiff with dried blood. "I think I will go to my cabin and clean up. Send along my steward. You have the ship, Master Smethwick."
The master saluted again and William made his way aft. William noted with annoyance that the guard on his cabin door was absent despite his clear order. He tried to open the door but it stuck. William pushed hard and it yielded a few inches. Something was jammed against it from the inside. William put his shoulder to the wood and forced it open.
The interior was wrecked and scorched as if by the discharge of a weapon. The missing guard's body lay behind the door. His shirt had been blown off and he was badly burnt. William knelt down to examine the body.
"Sweet Jesu, sir." The steward put his head around the door.
"Get the boatswain. Now man, hurry."
William had finished with the dead sailor and was examining the cabin when the boatswain arrived.
"The dons had a final revenge on you then, sir." The boatswain gazed dispassionately down at the body. "I suppose that's Andrews under all that charring. He weren't a half-bad topman, when he were sober. An explosive shell must have caused this. We were lucky the whole ship did not go up."
"There is no entry hole. Tell me, boatswain, how did the dons fire an explosive shell through the hull without leaving a hole somewhere? Then there is Andrews' corpse. He was dead before the explosion."
"How can you tell, sir?"
"Either he died before the cabin was wrecked or someone went to all the trouble to stab after he was dead," said William. He prodded the corpse with his foot to indicate the wound.
The boatswain whistled. "Someone stuck him good. You said that sneak thief was a heavy-handed fellow."
"So he was," confirmed William.
"Anything missing?"
"I haven't counted every pearl but the only item that is definitely missing is the gold mirror."
"The lady's mirror."
"Yes. This isn't just theft now, boatswain, it's murder. Take armed men with you and find the lady and Packenham." William's voice was hard.
William put his cabin back together as best he could. He would have some more furniture made when the carpenter was less busy. He searched his memory for an explosion. Mayhap, there had been a concussion aft during that last run past the galleys but the battle had been so intense that it was impossible to be sure.
The boatswain entered and touched his cap. "Begging your pardon, sir, but the lady and Master Packenham are not aboard."
"Not aboard? What do you mean? Is a boat missing?"
"No, sir, both boats are on deck."
"You have searched the hold, and the pinnace?"
"Yes sir, we have searched everywhere, thoroughly. They are not aboard." The boatswain looked upset, as if he felt personally responsible.
"They were there at the start of the battle. I told them to go below," said William.
"Did you see where they went, sir?"
"No, I was rather busy at the time."
"One other thing, boatswain. I had to push the body aside to get in the cabin. How did the corpse end up blocking the door do you suppose?"
"The killer probably dumped the body there," the boatswain looked puzzled. He clearly couldn't see the point.
"And the killer escaped from the cabin leaving the body blocking the door how?" asked William, in exasperation.
"Mayhap the explosion threw it there," said the boatswain.
"Yes, the explosion with no entry hole," said William.
The boatswain shrugged and looked uneasy. Most people knew that magic existed and most used the powers of a wisewoman when necessary, but the Church frowned at having too much truck with the supernatural. The Church was inclined to express its displeasure of black magic by burning practioners at the stake.
The rain fell gently from the skies and dripped down the White Tower, the central keep of the great Tower of London. The sun was already lighting up the wet ground in a blaze of pastel yellow. Pretty soon it would stop raining for a while, then the next shower would caress London. Simon watched the English summer scene through an unshuttered window. The fresh smell of wet grass blew gently in on the summer breeze. Walsingham had an apartment in the buildings just inside the north curtain wall of the fortress. Here, he had an uninterrupted view of the execution block and the small chapel behind it.
Walsingham threw down a letter angrily. "My agent in the English Seminary in Rome tells me that another ten English Jesuits are ready to infiltrate into England. Most of them are Oxford educated. We should have closed that wretched university down years ago, Tunstall." Walsingham, of course, was a Cambridge man.
"There is some mischief in the wind. Why now? Why are they expending their assets so liberally?"
"Surely we have their names?" asked Simon.
"Oh yes, but that won't help us ferret them out from wherever they are hiding. Most of them will come here to London. It is far easier to escape notice in a crowd." Walsingham flung open the door. "Pooley."
"Yes, Sir Francis." A man entered the room and hurriedly removed his cap.
"You have Ridolphi kicking his heels in the Tower?"
"Yes, sir, just as you ordered. He didn't want to come but me and the boys persuaded him, like." Pooley's eyes seemed incapable of meeting Walsingham's gaze. They slid sideways, flickering around the room. Pooley managed to look furtive even when in his master's office. Simon always had the urge to lock up the silver every time the man came.
Pooley was a nondescript sort of fellow. A few minutes after he left one would be hard-pressed to describe his clothes or appearance. That was one reason why he was such a successful spy; another reason was his utter lack of scruples or conscience. Pooley's eyes flickered to where Gwilym leaned nonchalantly against the wall by the door.
"Very well," Walsingham said. "Ridolphi should have had long enough for his imagination to curdle his courage. Come gentlemen. Let's throw a scare into our Italian rabbit. And what does a frightened coney do, Gwilym?"
The bodyguard grinned. "'Ee bolts for 'is rabbit 'ole, your 'onour, to cuddle up to all 'is furry friends."
The group walked across the bailey to the White Tower. Pooley had Ridolphi held in one of the lower windowless rooms that was lit only by flickering torches. These did nothing to banish the damp chill in the air. Condensation ran down stone walls that were unrelieved by tapestries. Ridolphi was sat on a bare wooden chair facing the two guards at the door. He had arranged the chair so he had his back to the rack on the floor behind him. The Italian jumped to his feet as Walsingham entered.
"This is outrageous. How dare you arrest me in this manner? I have diplomatic status. I am an emissary of His Holiness Pope Gregory XIII. You have no right."
"I have every right." Walsingham's voice cut across Ridolphi's like a whip.
"You are the Pope's banker in England." Walsingham held out his hand to Simon who passed him a letter. "This was found in your possession. A letter signed by the hand of Pope Gregory, himself."
"You have no right to search my belongings, no right," Ridolphi said, but a whine entered his voice.
Walsingham ignored him and began to read. " '. . . since that guilty woman who is the cause of so much injury to the Catholic faith . . " Walsingham flicked down the next few lines. " 'There is no doubt that whosoever sends her out of the world not only does not sin but gains merit.' "
The spymaster continued to read. " 'And so, if those English gentlemen decide actually to undertake so glorious a work, your lordship can assure them that they do not commit any sin.' "
The spymaster looked up. "What 'glorious work,' Master Ridolphi, and what are the names of these 'English gentlemen'?"
Ridolphi said nothing. Gwilym walked behind him to examine the rack. It was a different model to the one at Nonsuch, being at floor level. The victim's feet were held in a clamp; at the other end was a small drum to which the wrists attached. The drum had a series of slots drilled into it where a long lever could be inserted to put enormous torque on the drum.
Gwilym picked up the lever and inserted it in a drum slot. He waggled the wood and the drum moved with a loud creak. "That's the trouble with these wooden joists, 'ighness. They warp in wet conditions. Still, a bit of goose fat on the bearing and I will soon 'ave this device in tiptop working condition." He gave the smile of a man happy in his work.
The banker turned white. Walsingham examined Ridolphi the way a natural philosopher considers a beetle of unusual features that has crawled across his desk. Simon saw sweat forming on the banker's lip. He was a moneyman, a coin counter who had never expected to be in a place like this or expected to face a rude-handed man like Gwilym.
"Please sir," Ridolphi said to Walsingham. "The letter is only a copy of one addressed from the Pope to his ambassador in Madrid. I do not know what it signifies."
"I wonder what the Queen would make of it, Tunstall?" asked Walsingham. "Do you recall the Jesuit who nailed a proclamation to the door of St. Paul's Cathedral. The one denouncing Her Majesty as a bastard and no true prince?"
"Yes, Sir Francis," said Simon, playing his part. "The Queen is jealous of her bright honour. When we caught him, she had him hung, drawn, and quartered."
This was the English reward for traitors. The victim was hung by the neck, until almost unconscious, cut down, a slit inserted in his abdomen and his entrails pulled out and burnt in front of him. Sometimes his genitals were likewise treated. Finally, when he died, he was hacked into four pieces to impede the resurrection of the body on the final day of judgement. It was a terrible punishment.
"Please, Sir Francis, I have done nothing," said Ridolphi.
Walsingham stared at him, unblinkingly.
"Very well, Master Ridolphi. You may go," said Walsingham.
"What?" asked the banker, confused by Walsinghham's abrupt change of tack.
"You may go," repeated Walsingham. "At least for the moment. Guard, show him out."
A guard escorted Ridolphi from the Tower.
"Pooley, have your watchers ready," said Walsingham, as they walked out into the wet sunshine. "I want to know every place our bold fellow goes and every pagan rascal he meets."
"I have three teams of six on him to give night-and-day coverage," Sir Francis. "I have street children, whores, peddlers, and beggars to see his every encounter. He shall not piss in the street but that I know what drain it ran in."
"See you do, Pooley." Walsingham dismissed the man, but Pooley hovered. "Now get you gone, why wait you here, man?"
"There is another matter, sir." Pooley looked uncomfortable.
Walsingham's expression hardened. "There will be no more money, Pooley. Be sure of that."
"No, sir, it's not about the reward. Your honour is more than generous."
Walsingham's eyebrow lifted and Simon could well understand why. A disinterest in money was most unlike Pooley.
"Well then?"
"The watchers are worried, sir. Another whore has been found dead in Symmon's Alley, off Cheapside."
"Whores get killed, Pooley, it's an occupational hazard," said Walsingham.
"Yes, sir, but they don't die with their entrails pulled out and eaten or all the blood drained from their bodies. The watchers will only go out in twos. Sorry, your honour. The ordinary people are fair shook up by it. Some people claim to have seen things. There is talk of a demon stalking London at night."
"There is always talk, Pooley. The people are superstitious. They generally would have you believe some apparition is abroad."
"Yes, sir." Pooley did not look convinced, but he knew better than to push the matter and left.
Lucy was positioned ready to sidle up to Walsingham, the moment he was free. "Uncle, I was wondering if I could borrow Master Tunstall? I would like to go into London and need an escort."
"What on earth do you need in London, Lucy?"
"To see the sights, Uncle, and to order a new dress in the latest fashion. My dresses are out of date. The other ladies at Nonsuch made sport of me. If I am to get a husband . . ."
"Not that again, Lucy. Spare me the husband argument. Tunstall, draw a suitable sum from my private chest for expenses."
"Thank you, Uncle." Lucy clapped her hands in glee. "I need to get some things before we go." She rushed back to her uncle's apartments.
"All this talk of monsters is rubbish, of course, but there may be some madman killing girls in London." Walsingham came to a decision. "Gwilym, I want you to go with Master Tunstall and Lady Dennys, just to help carry things and so forth. You will attend Lady Dennys until I say differently."
"Still through the cloven skies they come,
"With peaceful wings unfurled,
"And still their heavenly music floats,
"O'er all the weary world.
"Above its sad and lowly plains,
"They bend on hovering wing,
"And ever o'er its Babel sounds,
"The blessed angels sing."
The assembled crew parading on the deck sang badly to the accompaniment of drummers and flute men. The musicians did their best but they were more used to belting out sea shanties than solemn hymn music. William stepped forward.
"We therefore commit their bodies to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body, when the sea shall give up her dead, and the life of the world to come."
He stepped back and signalled to the honour guard who fired a volley into the air. Sailors lifted the weighted bags containing the bodies of their messmates and hurled them over the side. The canvas bags bobbed for a moment alongside the ship, until they waterlogged and sank. In the clear water, some could be seen for some little time before they disappeared.
It was customary for the captain to say the last words. William hated making these speeches but it would be disrespectful not to follow tradition. He walked slowly to stand before the men.
"We stand here again to consign our shipmates to the care of the Almighty, into whose arms we all must go. They have gone before us. English merchants sail peacefully to the four corners of the world to trade. But the sea dogs growl where our merchants are bullied and impeded. And when we are hurt, we bite. These men have already bitten."
William took off his hat and waved it, "God save Her Majesty the Queen and confusion to her enemies."
The men roared their reply then the parade disintegrated into groups. Some went aft to say a last prayer for their friends but most went cheerfully about their business. Life was cheap in Elizabethan England and this was never truer than on a warship. The survivors looked to the future and forgot the past. William had waited until he was certain the deaths had ceased before having the funeral. He hated giving the last rites to his shipmates and did not want to repeat the experience more than once. He would have joined the Church if he had wanted to be a priest.
William shivered as the air turned cold. The Swallow was making a fast run north, helped by the prevailing southwest winds. The log showed that she had made nine knots yesterday, an unprecedented speed for a warship. Truly the Swallow was well named. She veritably flitted across the water. At this rate, they would sight the Lizard, the tip of Britain, in a few days.
Lucy took Simon's arm and the couple crossed the outer curtain wall and moat surrounding the tower at the western river gate. The gate led into a fortified enclosure beside the west wall. The only gate out lay all the way up at the northern end. Any attacker trying to break into the Tower would find himself breaking through a series of fortifications, each of which led only to another killing ground.
The Tower was incorporated into London's eastern defensive wall so the party entered London through a small postern gate, as soon as they left the cleared fire zone around the curtain walls. The constable of the Tower strictly enforced the cleared zone, putting illegal buildings to the torch if necessary.
This was Lucy's first visit into the City of London. Up to now she had just travelled around it by boat. London hit the visitor with a tidal wave of sound and smells. The sound was that of tens of thousands of people in the immediate vicinity gossiping, debating, arguing, selling, shouting, and making love. The smell was an accumulated fug of human and animal bodies, food, industry, and waste. The houses clustered so closely together that they almost seemed to rise like a defensive wall but, on closer inspection, small alleys wound between the ground floors. The upper floors overhung, so that buildings on opposite sides of the alleys almost touched each other. Church steeples poked from the red-tiled agglutination, reaching for God. And in the background, the dense blocky mass of St. Paul's glowered over the whole, reminding the populace of the power of the Church and the terrible judgement to come in the next world.
Simon led Lucy to where a road pierced the dense mass. Here the houses were far enough apart for sunlight to penetrate through various items of cloth and animal hides strung across the street to dry and cure in the sun.
"What think you, milady?" asked Simon.
"I did not think that there could be so many people in the world, Master Tunstall."
Simon looked back to check Gwilym. The bodyguard had dropped back four or five paces so he could keep an eye on his charge and have an awareness of his surroundings. Gwilym strolled along like a country rube at the local market but his eyes constantly swept the street, and Simon knew that he missed nothing.
"What is this place?" asked Lucy.
"This is Tower Street, Lady Dennys.
"What else would it be called?" asked Lucy, happily.
Tower Street ended where a leather shop ran right across the road. Alleys led off on each side. The leather seller's family lived on the top floor. A large shutter opened on the ground floor to display the goods. Lucy stopped and leafed through them. The leathermaker came out. "I have some fine belts for gentlemen or ladies," he said, pulling out a hanger of wares.
"Indeed, indeed," said Lucy. She selected one. "Look, Master Tunstall, this would be perfect as a present for Uncle. Would you buy it for me, please?"
Simon watched the leathermaker assess Lucy's material wealth and enthusiasm for the item. He sighed and started a long bargaining process to get the cost down to merely overpriced, as opposed to extortionate. Once the deal was closed at six silver shillings, Simon led Lucy around the shop into Little East Cheap, or East Market, Street. The East Cheap market was the poor relation of West Cheap, the later better known as just Cheapside.
"Where would you like to go to choose a new dress, Lady Dennys?" asked Simon.
"Wherever you suggest, Master Tunstall. I shall follow your guidance."
"Then we shall go up to the new Royal Exchange. There are a hundred permanent shops in the arcade and a number are dressmakers. If you cannot obtain satisfaction there, then I suggest we move on to Cheapside. Mayhap you would also like to visit the booksellers in Paternoster Row by St. Paul's."
"That sounds excellent," said Lucy. Her eyes shone and she gripped Simon's arm somewhat tighter than would normally be considered appropriate.
Eastcheap Street consisted primarily of private houses, with the odd shop intermittently scattered along its length. The houses were mostly three stories high. Each storey projected further out than the one below and window boxes projected further still, so there was very little gap between the houses, even across such a wide thoroughfare. Washing hung out to air on clotheslines strung across the top stories of the houses. The houses were made primarily of a wooden skeleton with plaster in between the beams. Here and there, a prosperous merchant had rebuilt in brick. The street was a main road so it was clogged with people. Simon kept his spare hand on his purse. London boasted the finest pickpockets in the world.
Simon decided to turn up Rood Lane to get to Fen Church Street. This led into Lombard Street, which went up to Stocks Market where five roads met. The Royal Exchange was between Corn Hill and Three Needle Street.
Little East Cheap ran all the way to Fish Street, which then went north up to Lombard Street. However, if they went further west before turning north they would get caught up in the cart traffic flowing across London Bridge. Carts could be dangerous to pedestrians as it was all too easy to get crushed between a cart and a wall. The lanes in London could have dangerous inhabitants but Simon had great confidence in Gwilym's ability to deal with dangerous people. Carts were another matter.
Fewer people moved along Rood Lane and those that did hurried with their heads down. Gwilym moved in closer behind Simon and Lucy. They passed a water bearer taking two gallons from a fountain to a private house. Dark little alleyways led off the lane to either side. Some were so choked with waste as to be impassable. A shrill cry erupted from an alley as they moved past. Simon moved to hurry Lucy away.
"Look at that," Lucy said, outraged. Slipping off Simon's arm, she darted into the alley. "Stop that, you beast!" A small girl in rags knelt cowering in the mud. She looked ten or eleven but may have been older as she was clearly half starved. A bully boy stood over her with a horsewhip.
The whip came down and Lucy hurtled forwards to intercept it. She effortlessly caught the whip in one hand and wrenched it from the man's hand. With the other, she pushed the man back against a wall. He grunted as the breath was knocked from him. Then she dropped down to check the child.
Gwilym and Simon were hot on her heels.
"She's mine. What right have you got to stick your noses into my business?" asked the bully, drunkenly.
"Who is this man?" Lucy asked the girl.
"He's my uncle," the girl sobbed.
"Where are your parents, girl?" asked Simon.
"Please, sir, they are dead of plague," said the girl.
"Just like mine," said Lucy softly. "I could be in your rags, were I not of different rank. Why was this man whipping you?"
"He says I have to warm his bed and do things," said the girl.
"Does he now?" said Lucy, looking at the bully with contempt.
"Shut your mouth, slut," said the bully, apparently to the little girl since he surely could not be stupid enough to talk to Lucy in that manner. "She's mine so I can belt her if I want." He was clearly convinced, actually with some justification, that the law was on his side. Then the bully demonstrated that he really was as stupid as he looked. "Stay out of my affairs, trollop," he said to Lucy, and raised his fist to strike her.
Gwilym was on him like a tiger, grabbing the bully's arm and throwing him back against a wall.
"You need to learn some manners when talking to your betters, knave," said Gwilym, who was not overly concerned with legal niceties but who knew someone who needed a good kicking when he met them. Insulting Walsingham's niece was the same as insulting Walsingham's honour, and Gwilym's own personal honour was bound up in his master's. Besides, he liked Lucy.
The bully came off the wall and aimed a blow at the bodyguard. Gwilym deflected it with his left hand. He punched a short vicious hook into the bully's kidney with his right. The bully's whole body jerked under the impact.
"You're lucky, filth. 'Ad you hit 'er 'ighness then I would 'ave 'ad to really hurt you."
Gwilym hit him again, another short jab into the same kidney. The bully gasped and moaned, the fight driven out of him.
"Before handing you over to the 'angman," said Gwilym. He held the bully up by the throat.
"You will never," Gwilym slapped him hard across the face, "raise your 'and to a lady" he backhanded the bully's face from the opposite direction, "ever again. Especially, this lady." The final slap knocked the bully to his knees.
"And to make sure you remember." Gwilym pulled the man's arm up and kicked him in the elbow. There was an audible crack. The bully screamed and fainted.
"Master Tunstall, we can't leave her here in the hands of that animal," said Lucy. "There are whip marks all over her back."
"Yon bully can't look after 'er in any case," said Gwilym, with a friendly countryman's smile. "Fellow seems to have broken 'is arm."
Simon thought it might have been kinder to kill the man outright. The bully would likely be crippled for life, if he survived the next month. But Simon had seen too much misery inflicted on the innocent to waste sympathy on an animal who beat little girls for his sexual gratification.
"Are there not charitable orphanages in London?" asked Lucy.
"I do know of a reputable one," said Simon. "But they may need money to accept another charge."
"Is that all?" asked Lucy. "Lead on, Master Tunstall."
The little girl held Gwilym's hand and the two couples made their way up to Lombard Street. The wide street parted to go round Fenn Church, which occupied the centre of what had once been a market. Simon took them to a building around the back of the church and introduced the little girl to a curate.
"I regret that the Fen orphanage is full, milady," said the curate.
"I will endow two new positions at the orphanage on condition that this girl gets one of the places," said Lucy.
"But highness, that would require eighteen sovereigns," said the clergyman.
"Indeed," said Lucy. "Have the papers drawn up, Master Tunstall, and give him twenty."
"Your highness is generous," said the curate.
Simon opened his mouth to argue but closed it again when Lucy dropped on one knee to explain to the little girl that she was to have a new home.
"I doubt the girl has been baptised. I want you to carry out the ceremony now and I intend to stand as godmother. You two shall be godfathers," said Lucy to her companions.
"Yes, milady," came a chorus of male voices. When Lucy was in this mood, there was no holding her.
Simon understood completely. The vicar of Fen Church was a righteous man but things change and it never hurt to have connections. The orphanage would take special care of the child's welfare with Lady Dennys as her godmother. This precious charge was a two-edged sword. On one hand the orphanage would enjoy the benefits of patronage at a level they dared not have dreamed. On the other, one never knew when Lady Dennys would be back to check on her goddaughter's welfare. And heaven help them if she gave a poor report to Sir Francis Walsingham.
The girl was a little concerned about being dipped, as it was well known that exposure of the skin to water caused fevers. Eventually, Lucy persuaded the girl to submit to the ordeal of baptism and the Church of England acquired a new addition to its congregation.
"When the orphans are at their devotions, curate, would you ask them so say a small prayer for Lucy Dennys and Lilith?"
"I doubt you have much on your conscience, milady," said the curate.
"We all have something to weigh against our souls," said Lucy.
"Very well, Lucy Dennys and Lilith . . ." The curate trailed off.
"Just Lilith," said Lucy.
"It shall be as you say," said the curate.
'The orphans will say prayers for me, Lucy?' thought Lilith.
'That's right, Lilith,' thought the girl.
'What will the prayers do? Will they change something?' thought Lilith.
'Not exactly, Lilith, the orphans will say prayer to preserve your soul.'
Lilith considered. 'Lucy, I don't think I have a soul.'
'Of course you have a soul. I know you as well as I know my uncle. He has a soul and so do you,' Lucy said, confidently.
'Oh!' thought Lilith. This was a new idea.
And who is Lilith?, wondered Simon. The trio walked away leaving the girl to her new life.
"Um, Lady Dennys," said Simon. "How are we to buy you a new dress?"
"The dress is cancelled," said Lucy, happily. "Doubtless the London fashion season will survive without me."
"But won't Sir Francis notice that you are still in last year's fashion?" asked Simon.
Lucy threw her head back and laughed out loud. "Master Tunstall, close your eyes."
He did as he was bid.
"Now, Master, you have been with me all day. Describe my dress."
Simon thought of Lucy. In his imagination, he could picture her shining auburn hair, her dark brown eyes, her smile, and the curve of her breast. No, suppress that last thought, but her dress. It was green, maybe, or possibly blue. Simon opened his eyes; the dress was brown. He smiled. "Your point is made, Lady Dennys."
Outside two carts had come nose to nose between Fen Church and the terrace of houses opposite. There was no room to pass so the cart drivers yelled insults and threatened each other.
Lucy pointed to the confrontation, "Observe, Master Tunstall."
Simon could not quite see what she meant. "London is too crowded," he said. "London Bridge is impassable at times. The Mayor has passed a rule requiring all carts to be driven on the left when crossing the bridge into town. There is talk of extending the rule to the whole city."
The carters had progressed to hitting each other with their whips. Their animals took fright and tried to escape. The carts jerked forward and became linked. A wheel cracked and collapsed, creating an immovable obstacle.
"If just one of the carters had given way to the other then the situation would have been resolved in minutes and both would have been on their way," she said. "I have oft thought that, from the highest in the land to those of the lowest station in life, all men are brothers under the skin."
In Lucy's head, Lilith laughed and laughed.