could entice and excite as of old. Firethorn had aroused the love of serving wenches and the lust of court beauties in his headlong flight into adultery but he always came back to the more mature charms of his wife and wondered, as he did now, feeling a rare pang of guilt, why he had bothered to go astray in the first place.
Margery gave him a joy beyond mere satisfaction and it was something to savour. Lying there in an attitude of complete welcome, she was as irresistible as she had been on their wedding night when the bed had creaked until dawn. Shafts of moonlight came in through the window to paint an even more wondrous portrait of her.
Lawrence Firethorn pulled her to him.
'Come closer, my love. We need each other.'
'One moment, sir,' said Margery, wanting to get the practicalities out of the way beforehand. 'How am I to live while my husband is away?
'As virtuously as if he were at home.'
'I speak of household expenses, Lawrence.'
'You will be provided for, my angel.'
'In what way? she pressed.
'The establishment will be much smaller when I am gone,' he said. 'I will take the lodgers, apprentices and all with me out of the house. There'll be but you, our children and our servants left here in Shoreditch.'
'Children and servants must eat, sir.'
'And so they shall. Every day, most regularly.'
'Will I be furnished with money, then?'
'Of course, Margery, he said, stroking her thigh as a prelude to their shared delight. 'I will give you all that I am able. Let that content you.'
'And how if it should not be sufficient?
Be frugal, woman, and all will be well.
'Even frugality must come at a price.'
'Have no fear, sweeting.'
'Then put my mind at rest.'
'I will, I will,' he said, letting his hand travel up to cup her ample breast. 'While I am away, I will send you more money. And if that be not enough, why, then, you must raise some capital from elsewhere.'
'Teach me how, sir.'
'Sell my second-best cloak.'
Margery was touched. She knew how much his apparel meant to him and how he would sooner lose a limb than part with a yard of it. The cloak, a magnificent garment that was paned with yellow, green, blue and red sarcanet and lined with buckram, was a present from Lord Westfield himself and would not disgrace the wardrobe of any peer. 'Do you speak true, Lawrence? I may sell it?'
'Only if the need arises.'
'And you will not berate me for it?'
'Your comfort must come before my vanity.'
'This gladdens me more than I can say.'
It was the moment to secure his prize. Firethorn reached under the pillow for the ring which he had placed there earlier then slipped it symbolically on to the third finger of her left hand. The ruby mesmerized her.
'It is for me?'
'For whom else? Wear it till I return.'
'Nothing would make me take it off
'It is a token of my adoration,' he said, easing her thighs apart with gentle pressure. 'Let it be a perpetual reminder of the love I bear you. A precious jewel to show that you are the treasure of my existence. A lasting tribute to the fairest of her sex.' She gave him a kiss which set him aflame and which banished all commonsense. His tone was ruinously casual. And if the worst should happen- sell the ring as well.'
A volcano erupted directly beneath him.
The bed creaked mightily but not for joy.
Bankside was kinder to its departing Thespians. Nocturnal pleasures were not squandered so readily by Nicholas Bracewell. Because they were less frequent occurrences in his life, he had schooled himself to enjoy them when they came and to lock out all thought of the real world. It was only afterwards-as they lay side by side in lazy provocation-that he turned his mind to harsher matters.
'Will you stay in London, Anne?'
'Unless the plague should worsen.'
All the signs point that way.'
'Then I will visit relatives in the country.'
'Your cousins in Dunstable?'
'Or my uncle in Bedford. Or even my other uncle in Nottingham. I'll go to one, or two, perchance all three of them before I stay here to catch the plague.'
'Is that what I am?' he teased.
'I grow feverish whenever you are near, Nick.'
Anne Hendrik was one of the more unusual residents of Bankside. In an area notorious for its brothels, its gambling dens, its taverns and its teeming low life, she owned a respectable house and ran a successful business. English by birth, she was the widow of Jacob Hendrik, a conscientious Dutchman who brought his skills as a hatmaker to London only to discover that the City Guilds were intent on keeping him and his compatriots out of their jealous brotherhoods. Forced to set up shop outside the city boundary, he chose Southwark as his home and Anne as his wife.
Fifteen happy years of marriage had produced no children. What Anne inherited was a fine house, a thriving business and her husband's belief in the dignity of work for its own sake. She also inherited Nicholas Bracewell.
'Which towns will you visit?' she asked.
'The details are yet to be decided upon.'
'In what direction do you travel?'
'North, Anne.'
'Haply, you may find your way to Dunstable, then?'
'Or to Bedford. Or to Nottingham. Or to anywhere else you should chance to be. If I am in the same county as you, I'll find a way to see you somehow.'
Anne kissed him fondly on the cheek than nestled into his shoulder. In the time that he had lodged at her house, Nicholas had become more than a friend. They shared a bed only occasionally but their lives were nevertheless intertwined. He was drawn to the tall, graceful, attractive woman who had such a refreshing sense of independence about her and she, in turn, was fascinated by his blend of humour, intelligence and quiet strength. She had never met anyone who could be so modest about his many attributes. Though he was only a hired man with the company, Nicholas had made himself indispensable and taken on duties that would normally be beyond the scope of a book holder.
Intrigued by the theatre, Anne Hendrik took a lively interest in the affairs of Westfield's Men and she was well-informed about its shifting population. Having sat through the last performance of The Constant Lover, she was curious to know which of its cast would appear in the play when it was taken on tour.
'How large will the company be, Nick?'
'But fifteen of us.'
'That calls for severe surgery.'
'Master Firethorn has made a swift incision.'
'And who has been cut out?'
'Far too many, I fear.'
'George Dart?'
'No, I saved him.'
