'We have said all that we need to say to each other.'
'Will you not at least let me apologise properly to you?' he pleaded. 'I spoke out of turn at your house. It was ungentlemanly. Your censure was justly deserved and I make no complaint about it. But,' he said earnestly, 'was my behaviour really so bad as to justify a complete rift? I love you, Penelope. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Think of all those plans we made together, all those ambitions we had. What a terrible waste for you to throw it all away now.'
'I am not the person who threw it away, George.'
'All I ask for is a second chance.'
'It is too late,' she said, opening the door of her coach. He touched her arm. 'Please take your hand off me.'
'Not until you hear me out.'
'Supposing I refuse?'
'Penelope!'
'What will you do - set those ruffians on to me as well?'
'So that lies behind all this, does it?' he sneered, releasing her arm and stepping back. 'Redmayne has been telling tales. Well, let me tell you something about him. Did you know that he has been here to this office to pester the clerk for details of your father's transactions? He had no right to do that. It is intolerable. Do you want Sir Ambrose's private affairs to be scrutinised by an interfering architect?'
'I have every faith in Mr Redmayne.' 'Is that what you told him when you saw him?'
'He knew it already,' she said, getting into the coach.
'Next time you meet him, give him a message from me.'
'I am not your courier, George.'
'Warn him, Penelope!' he snarled. 'And take a last look at that pretty face of his before I redesign his features.'
'How many bullies will you pay this time?'
'One person will be enough. Me.'
The coach rolled off and left him smouldering with rage.
Molly Mandrake was in her counting house, seated at her desk as she assessed the takings from the night before. Business had been brisk and money rolled in with encouraging ease. Every payment was entered in her ledger. Only a small percentage of the income would go to the girls whose bodies had helped to earn it. They understood that. In taking them into her service, Molly was their benefactress. She had rescued them from cruder establishments where disease and violence could bring an early end to their careers, and she introduced them to clients from the very pinnacle of society. In her opinion, they should be paying her for the privileges she had bestowed on them.
There was a tap on the door and she broke off from her work.
'Come in!'
The door opened and the black manservant entered with a letter.
'This has just arrived for you, Mrs Mandrake,' he said.
'Who sent it?'
'Henry Redmayne. The messenger is awaiting your reply.'
'Why?'
When she read the letter, she understood. Letting out a cry of joy, she reached for some writing paper.
'Give this to the messenger at once,' she said, scribbling away with excitement. 'When you have done that, send Damarosa to me.' 'Damarosa?'
'Tell her that I have some wonderful news for her.'
Sarah Bale could usually discern the cause of her husband's long silences but this time she was baffled. As he put on his coat, Jonathan was tense and preoccupied. She tried once again to initiate a conversation.
'I will be sorry to see them go,' she said. 'We could have had far worse neighbours than the Thorpe family, even with his ranting. It is disgraceful when God-fearing people like them are forced to emigrate.' She clicked her tongue. 'New England! All that way when they have no idea what they will find when they get there. It is frightening, Jonathan. I could never face a journey like that.'
'I could,' he muttered.
'What did you say?'
'Nothing.'
'Why are they leaving? Is there no way to persuade them to stay? Hail-Mary Thorpe is not a robust woman. How will she survive the long voyage? And think of those poor children of theirs.' She shook her head. 'They must be desperate to take such a course as this.' He reached for his hat. 'Do you have no opinion at all to offer?'
'Not tonight, Sarah.'
'Why? What ails you?'
'I have to go.'
'Where? Not back into the river, I hope.'
'No.'
'Then where?'
He gave her a token kiss. 'I will tell you on my return.'
'Is it such a big secret? Surely, you can tell me.' She followed him to the door. 'Jonathan, what is going on? You have hardly said a word to me all evening. I am your wife. What have I done to upset you?'
'Nothing, Sarah.'
'Then why are you so morose? Anybody would think that you were walking off to your own execution. Are you looking forward so little to your duties tonight?'
He opened the door then turned to look back at her.
'Yes,' he confessed. 'I am.'
Henry Redmayne was in his element. He had always wanted to ride in a coach with the King of England. Wearing his periwig and accoutred in his finery, Henry went over the arrangements once again.
'I chose Damarosa for you, Your Majesty,' he said. 'Not simply because she is my favourite. A voluptuous creature in every particular, I do assure you. Breathtakingly so. No, the main reason that I specified Damarosa in my letter was that she has a room on the ground floor. When we enter by the side door, you can slip into her bedchamber without being seen by anyone else.' He emitted a high laugh. 'Not that anyone would recognise you because your disguise is too cunning. I am not sharing a coach with King Charles at all but with Old Rowley.'
'Quite so,' said the other.
His companion used a thumb and forefinger to smooth down his black moustache. A black periwig hung to his shoulders and obscured much of his swarthy face. Flamboyant attire had been sacrificed for more homely garments yet there was still a touch of distinction about him.
'Tell me about this room again, Henry.'
'As you wish, Your Majesty.'
'Old Rowley,' corrected the other.
'How could I forget?'
Henry babbled on happily until the coach drew up outside the house in Lincoln's Inn Fields. When the coachman opened the door for him, Henry alighted and went across to the house with a swagger. He did not see Jonathan Bale lurking uncomfortably in the shadows. Knocking at the side door, he waited until Molly Mandrake herself opened it.
