responsibility of the Hanseatic merchants of the Steelyard. And it seemed that the Easterlings, with Teutonic thoroughness, took their responsibilities very seriously.
The gatekeeper let us through with no questions asked â indeed we must have looked a thoroughly harmless little band â and within seconds we were out in the pleasant open countryside that surrounds the city. I freed Hercules from the constraint of his lead, pushing the length of rope into my sack, but my free hand was immediately claimed by Elizabeth, frightened by the wild screams and weird noises coming from the building to our left. This was the St Mary of Bethlehemâs Hospital, known to every Londoner as the Bedlam, where the half-mad or totally insane â or even those merely embarrassingly eccentric â were left by their unloving kinfolk until they either recovered or were conveniently forgotten by an uncaring world.
Some few hundred yards further along the track, to our right this time, was the New Hospital of St Mary Without the Bishopâs Gate, generally called â and again because of our slovenly English habit of never saying a whole word if half a one would do â St Mary Spital, in its beautiful setting of spreading green fields. In between these two buildings, on either side of the road, was a scattering of cottages and almshouses, a church dedicated to St Botolph, a tavern, a small graveyard and, most convenient for my immediate and most pressing need, a public latrine.
Both Elizabeth and I made use of this latter edifice, my daughter having a rooted objection not only to exposing herself in public, but to my doing so, as well. It puzzled me where she got these ladylike notions from. It certainly wasnât from me, so I could only assume it was from Adela.
Adela! That familiar cold hand suddenly clutched at my entrails once again. I had been carefully putting off thinking about my wifeâs reception of me. It had, of course, crossed my mind from time to time, but I had dismissed the thought as quickly as possible on the principal that sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof. But now, as we rounded a bend in the track to see a large, sprawling, half-stone, half-timbered house set in an acre or so of badly maintained garden, I could no longer postpone the dreaded moment of truth. This surely had to be the Arbour as there appeared to be no other dwelling of comparable size in the immediate vicinity.
I took a deep breath and braced my shoulders.
I had noted, almost without being aware of it, a little knot of people standing outside the gates; but it was not until Elizabeth let go of my hand and ran forward screaming excitedly, âNicholas! Nicholas!â that I realized that I knew them. My breath became suspended in my throat.
At the sound of my daughterâs voice, heads turned sharply, and then, after a brief silence of pure disbelief, my stepson detached himself from the group and came tearing towards us with answering, and equally excited, shouts of âBess! Bess!â A moment later, the pair were hugging and kissing and dancing for sheer joy, with Hercules prancing around them, barking madly.
My gaze was fixed on the younger woman who still seemed rooted to the spot, staring at me as though she were unable to trust the evidence of her eyes. My heart began pounding uncomfortably fast. Then she, too, was running in our direction . . .
âOh, Roger,â gasped my wife, flinging herself into my arms, her own entwined about my neck, âhow glad I am to see you!â
Whatever sort of greeting I had imagined, it certainly hadnât been this. Icy disdain, reproaches, angry questioning, I had been prepared for them all. But never in my wildest dreams had I anticipated a welcome of any warmth. And yet this one was positively ecstatic.
âAdela,â I said hurriedly, patting her back and dropping a kiss on her upturned face, âthat woman, Juliette Gerrish, was
The gatekeeper let us through with no questions asked â indeed we must have looked a thoroughly harmless little band â and within seconds we were out in the pleasant open countryside that surrounds the city. I freed Hercules from the constraint of his lead, pushing the length of rope into my sack, but my free hand was immediately claimed by Elizabeth, frightened by the wild screams and weird noises coming from the building to our left. This was the St Mary of Bethlehemâs Hospital, known to every Londoner as the Bedlam, where the half-mad or totally insane â or even those merely embarrassingly eccentric â were left by their unloving kinfolk until they either recovered or were conveniently forgotten by an uncaring world.
Some few hundred yards further along the track, to our right this time, was the New Hospital of St Mary Without the Bishopâs Gate, generally called â and again because of our slovenly English habit of never saying a whole word if half a one would do â St Mary Spital, in its beautiful setting of spreading green fields. In between these two buildings, on either side of the road, was a scattering of cottages and almshouses, a church dedicated to St Botolph, a tavern, a small graveyard and, most convenient for my immediate and most pressing need, a public latrine.
Both Elizabeth and I made use of this latter edifice, my daughter having a rooted objection not only to exposing herself in public, but to my doing so, as well. It puzzled me where she got these ladylike notions from. It certainly wasnât from me, so I could only assume it was from Adela.
Adela! That familiar cold hand suddenly clutched at my entrails once again. I had been carefully putting off thinking about my wifeâs reception of me. It had, of course, crossed my mind from time to time, but I had dismissed the thought as quickly as possible on the principal that sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof. But now, as we rounded a bend in the track to see a large, sprawling, half-stone, half-timbered house set in an acre or so of badly maintained garden, I could no longer postpone the dreaded moment of truth. This surely had to be the Arbour as there appeared to be no other dwelling of comparable size in the immediate vicinity.
I took a deep breath and braced my shoulders.
I had noted, almost without being aware of it, a little knot of people standing outside the gates; but it was not until Elizabeth let go of my hand and ran forward screaming excitedly, âNicholas! Nicholas!â that I realized that I knew them. My breath became suspended in my throat.
At the sound of my daughterâs voice, heads turned sharply, and then, after a brief silence of pure disbelief, my stepson detached himself from the group and came tearing towards us with answering, and equally excited, shouts of âBess! Bess!â A moment later, the pair were hugging and kissing and dancing for sheer joy, with Hercules prancing around them, barking madly.
My gaze was fixed on the younger woman who still seemed rooted to the spot, staring at me as though she were unable to trust the evidence of her eyes. My heart began pounding uncomfortably fast. Then she, too, was running in our direction . . .
âOh, Roger,â gasped my wife, flinging herself into my arms, her own entwined about my neck, âhow glad I am to see you!â
Whatever sort of greeting I had imagined, it certainly hadnât been this. Icy disdain, reproaches, angry questioning, I had been prepared for them all. But never in my wildest dreams had I anticipated a welcome of any warmth. And yet this one was positively ecstatic.
âAdela,â I said hurriedly, patting her back and dropping a kiss on her upturned face, âthat woman, Juliette Gerrish, was
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