'No, sir,' she said. 'The master respected me.'
'Virgins among the chambermaids! I never heard the like.'
'We were treated well before, sir.'
'You'll be treated well tonight, Jane.' He waved an arm. ' These flowers are for your benefit. Come, share some wine with me and we'll be friends. Take up that goblet.'
'I will not drink, sir.'
'Not even at my request?' Her silence annoyed him slightly, i see that I am too considerate, Jane Skinner. You give me no thanks for my pains. So let us forget the flowers and the wine. Step over here.'
She began to tremble but did not move at all.
'Come,' he said, putting his goblet aside. 'Now, Jane!'
'No, sir,' she murmured.
'What did you say?'
'No, sir.'
'Do you know who I am and what I am? he shouted.
'Yes, sir.'
'Then do as you're told girl, and come over here.'
Jane Skinner took a deep breath and stayed where she was. Her hands tightened on the large brass key in her hands. Prickly heat troubled her body. Her mouth was quite dry.
'I'll give you one more chance,' he said with menace.
'No, sir,' she replied with her chin up. 'I will not.'
'Then I will have to teach you.'
He hauled himself off the bed but he was far too slow. Caught between disgrace and dismissal, Jane wanted neither and chose a third, more desperate course. As Francis Jordan tried to come for her, she tripped across the room, jumped up on to the window sill then leapt out into the darkness. There was a scream of pain as she landed with a thud on the gravel below.
Jordan rushed to the window and looked down. She was squirming in agony. Doors opened and lighted candles were taken out. Two bodies bent over her in concern. Jordan was both furious and alarmed. Lying beside her was the key to his bedchamber. Before he could pull back from the window, one of the figures looked up to catch his eye.
It was Joseph Glanville.
*
It was good to be back in the saddle again. Nicholas Bracewell was a fine horseman who knew how to get the best out of his mount. He was proceeding at a steady canter along the rough surface of the road. It was early on Saturday evening and Westfield's Men had not long given a performance of Mirth and Madness to a small but willing audience at Newington Butts. Instead of staying to supervise their departure, Nicholas was allowed to ride off on important business. The fair which had been at Hoxton the previous week had now moved south of the river. It was at the village of Dulwich.
Me heard the revelry a mile off. When he reached the village green, he first saw to his horse then went to explore. The fair was in full swing and it was not difficult to understand why Leonard had enjoyed it so much. Booths and stalls had been set up in a wide circle to bring a blaze of garish colour to the neighbourhood. People from all the surrounding districts had converged in numbers to see the sights, eat the food, drink the ale, buy the toys, watch the short plays, enjoy the entertainments and generally have fun.
Visitors could see a cow with three legs or a sheep with two tails, a venomous snake that wound itself around its female keeper and hissed to order, a dancing bear or a dog that did tricks, a cat that purported to sing in French, a strong man who bent horseshoes and the self-styled Heaviest Woman in the World. The wrestling booth struggled on without the Great Mario and Nicholas spared a thought for Leonard.
Vendors wandered everywhere. They sold fans, baskets, bonnets, aprons, fish, flowers, meat, even a powder that was supposed to catch flies. Kindheart was pulling out teeth with his pincers and the ratcatcher was selling traps. One of the most popular vendors had a tray of cosmetics and a melodic voice.
‘Where are you fair maids,
That have need of our trades?
I'll sell you a rare confection.
Will you have your faces spread
Either with white or with red?
Will you buy any fair complexion?’
The village girls giggled with high excitement.
Nicholas eventually saw them. They were three in number, tiny men in blue shirts and hose, demonstrating their agility to the knot of spectators who gathered around their booth. They were midgets, neat, perfectly-formed and seemingly ageless, doing somersaults and cartwheels for the delight of the crowd. They came to the climax of their routine. One braced his legs as his partner climbed up on to his shoulders. The third then climbed even higher to form a human tower. Applause broke out but changed to a moan of fear as the tower appeared to fall forward. Timing their landing, they did a forward roll in unison and stood up to acknowledge even louder clapping. A woman in a green dress, smaller than any of them, came out from the booth with a box and solicited coins. The villagers gave freely.
He could hear them talking as he went around to the rear of their booth. The woman entered and discussed the takings. Nicholas called out and asked if he could come in.
'What do you want, sir?' said a high voice.
'To discuss a business proposition.'
The flap of the booth opened and a midget studied him. At length, he held the flap back so that Nicholas could enter. The other two men and the woman were resting on benches. Now that he could see them closer, Nicholas could discern that there were age differences. The man who had let him in was older than the others.
'I am Dickon, sir,' said the man, then indicated the others with his doll-like hand. 'This is my wife and these are our two sons.'
'You mentioned a business proposition,' said the woman.
'It's one that concerned Westfield's Men,' he said.
The two sons started guiltily but the father calmed them by showing the palms of his hands. He confronted Nicholas without fear.
'What are you talking about, sir?'
'Merry devils.'
'We do not understand.'
'I think your sons do.'
They tried not to fidget so much and averted their eyes.
'Leave us alone!' said Dickon with spirit.
'You caused a great deal of trouble, sir.'
'We are poor entertainers.'
'I saw your entertainment at the Queen's Head in Gracechurch Street,' said Nicholas. 'The Curtain in Shoreditch. The Rose in Bankside. I was not amused.'
'Get out of our booth, sir!'
Dickon had the ebullience of a man twice his height and weight. He was going to admit nothing unless he had to do so. His sons, however, were less skilled in deception. Nicholas decided to play on their fears with a useful fiction.
'Lord Westfield is a very influential man,' he said.
'So?' replied Dickon.
'He could close this whole fair down if he chose. He could get your licence revoked, then your booths would not be able to stand anywhere. That is what he threatened to do but I tried to talk him out of it.'
Dickon had a brief but wordless conversation with the others. Alarm had finally touched him and he was not sure what to do about it. Nicholas quickly exploited his advantage.
'Unless I go back with some answers, Lord Westfield will pursue this fair through the courts. He wants revenge.'
