At twilight, the ostler’s wife brought us soup and a little bread. My head was hurting and my legs were heavy, but I knew I was getting well again. Mama though, had barely moved. Was this how our big adventure ended? Abandoned and penniless in a stable? No! I was an adventurer! Adventures had to be difficult and dangerous. I couldn’t call myself an adventurer if everything went well. So, what was I going to do? First, I needed to make sure we had food and board until we could travel. Second, I had to work out how we would travel. Would we continue to look for treasure in Southampton or return to Southwark and the grain store?
The next morning, the ostler’s wife brought us some apples. I offered to help her in her garden as payment for the food and board, but she said that there was little to do in February. But she was happy for me to help with the sewing and brought me a big basket of sheets and aprons to mend. I asked Mama if she would sew with me, but she tucked her knees under her chin and closed her eyes. I worked for as long as there was light, peeping down from the hatch to check who was bringing in horses to stable. When it became too dark to sew, I tried to feed Mama a little bread, but she refused.
“Please, Mama,” I whispered. “Just enough to keep you strong.”
The stable door opened. I peered down. A man was leading a horse with one hand and holding a lantern with the other. He wore a heavy riding cloak over a dark doublet and hose and a high soft-crowned cap. He was humming to himself as he unsaddled his horse and filled a trough with feed. As he lifted his head, his cap dropped into the trough. I squeezed back a giggle. He held up the lantern, but missed me in the shadows. I saw then that the man’s skin was as dark as Mama’s. The man was black, like Mama and me. I had seen people like us in Southwark; musicians playing at the fairs or servants following behind rich people’s carriages. But this man wasn’t wearing servants’ clothes and I couldn’t imagine him playing the trumpet for tokens. He finished settling his horse then made his way to the inn.
“Mama?”
Her eyes were open, but she was as still as if she was sleeping.
“I’ve just seen a man like us! His horse is below. Should I talk to him?”
She said nothing.
“Mama?” I squeezed a handful of hay and felt a sharp end pierce my palm. I let it go. “Do you think he may be the man we’re looking for? Do you think God brought luck to us?”
Mama turned on her side and rolled away from me. I had to be patient. Mama always surfaced again in the end.
“Mama?”
“Deixe-me dormir.”
She wanted me to let her sleep. Her eyes closed and she curled tighter. I wasn’t ready to sleep, though. I climbed down into the stable. My knees were wobbly and I clung to the ladder so hard that chips of wood splintered into my skin. I eased open the stable door and ran across the dark yard.
“Sir!” I called. “Sir!”
The man slowed but did not stop. I pushed my aching body to make one last burst of speed and almost threw myself in front of his feet. He looked for a moment like he was going to step right over me. He bent down and helped me up. His eyes widened when he saw me and he let me go so quickly I almost fell over again.
“I’ve no money,” he said. “Do not bother trying to beg it from me.”
How many people did he see that looked like us, but he still thought badly of me. Tiredness and anger took over.
“I’m not a beggar!”
“So what do you want?”
“I…” Was this the moment to ask him about a wrecked ship and its treasure? What if it wasn’t Jacques Francis? “My Mama and I are staying in the stable,” I said. “And I saw you and…”
“So you’re a spy, then. Or a thief, watching to see where I leave my valuables.”
“No, I am not a spy! Or a thief! I just thought … I thought I might know you.”
He bent down, his face close to mine. His skin was coated with the grey dust of travel. His eyes were tinged with red. A small pearl earring was like a spot of light on his right ear.
“You don’t know me,” he said.
He walked towards the inn, pushed open the door and went inside. I crept over to the window and watched as he sat down at a table close to the kitchen. Was it really Jacques Francis? If George Symons was right, the diver would definitely have to travel this way.
“Why are you out here?”
I jumped so hard I almost separated from my skin. It was a girl. She had a round face that looked pale under the moonlight. Her smile touched her eyes and she cocked her head sideways. I realized that she was waiting for an answer. Behind her, the ostler had taken charge of a couple of horses and was leading them to the stables.
“Because she’s outstayed her welcome,” he muttered.
The girl giggled. The hem from her hood was falling crooked over her face. She pushed down her muffler to talk to me. I stared at her. I’d seen that face before! I was sure!
“If you give me a penny,” she said, “I can ask my brother, Griffin, to read your charts.”
That’s when I knew who she was. It was the drummer girl!
“Why are you staring at me?” she asked.
“I saw you before. At Bartholomew Fair.”
“Did Griffin read your charts then?”
“No.”
“That’s why you’ve had bad luck.”
“How do you know I’ve
