The Vagabond Duchess. Claire Thornton
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you need to rest. When I’ve gone, bar the door and try to sleep.’
Temperance sat on the bed and watched as he put on his coat, sword and finally, his periwig. He looked at her and grinned. ‘Is it straight?’ he asked.
‘You are too vain for words,’ she grumbled. Despite everything, her mood lightened at his familiar smile. It did far more to reassure her than the money he’d dropped in her lap. Perhaps she was fooling herself, but she thought it was the kind of look a man gave to a woman he cared about—not one he’d used to ease a fleeting physical need. She knelt up, ignoring the strange, unfamiliar twinges between her legs, and rearranged his somewhat woebegone curls.
‘Thank you.’
She shifted her gaze from his hair to his dark eyes. He smiled crookedly at her. ‘I’m coming back,’ he said. ‘I promise.’
Southwark, late evening, Tuesday 4 September 1666
Temperance sat on the bed listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the inn around her, and the noisy disturbances in the streets outside. Earlier she’d left the small room long enough to buy food and drink from one of the inn servants, but she hadn’t dared go further afield. She’d had to give the innkeeper more money before he’d let her remain in the cramped chamber, and she knew if she went out she’d lose the room. She was worried about Isaac, but comforted by the knowledge he was safe at the coffeehouse in Covent Garden.
The strong gale had continued to blow most of the day, driving the flames across London. Temperance had fallen into an uneasy sleep in the early evening, only to be frightened awake by distant explosions. She’d scrambled to the window, horrified to discover the fire was burning even brighter than before.
A sudden pounding at the door made her jump.
‘Tempest? Temperance, let me in.’ Jack’s voice sounded harsh and strained.
She hurried to open it. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her back so he could come into the small room too.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘No.’ He’d come back. He had. Her heart sang with happiness—then she sensed his tension and her stomach clenched with anxiety. ‘Did you find your cousin?’
‘No. I’ve just searched the Clink for him.’
‘The Clink?’ Temperance was sure she’d misheard. ‘The prison?’
‘Yes. Here.’ Jack caught her wrist and lifted her hand. ‘This is for you.’ She felt him put a heavy weight into her palm. She closed her fingers around it and realised it was a purse. ‘Put it away safely,’ he ordered. ‘Where’s your mother’s workbox?’ Without waiting for a reply he began to feel around for it.
‘Why do you want it?’
‘I’m taking you to stay with Fanny Berridge.’
‘It’s the middle of the night!’
‘I don’t have time to wait until morning,’ Jack said. She could hear the impatience in his voice, feel it in his movements as he dropped the workbox on to the bed.
‘I’m sorry.’ He took a deep breath, and she sensed his effort to speak more gently. ‘Take this as well.’
‘What?’ She held out her hand and felt even more confused when he didn’t give her anything.
‘Stand still.’ He lifted his hands over and behind her head. A moment later she felt a slight weight pull at her hair. ‘Keep this until I come back. You’d best put it inside your bodice for safety.’
She touched her breast and discovered he’d put a chain around her neck. She slid her fingers along the links and found a ring.
‘What is it?’
‘My ring. I can’t stay now, but I will come back.’
Temperance reached out to him and her fingers brushed his cheek in the darkness. She couldn’t see him clearly, but he radiated impatient, hard-edged anxiety.
‘Why were you searching the Clink for your cousin?’ she asked.
‘That’s where they took the prisoners when Newgate burned. Come.’ He took her wrist and pulled her towards the door.
‘Wait.’
‘I don’t have time—’
‘Jack.’ She paused, remembering how he’d helped her overcome her panic in the last moments before she left her shop. Now she must find the words to calm him. ‘There is a little time,’ she said gently. ‘I will go by myself to Fanny’s tomorrow morning. I will be quite safe.’ She cupped his cheek with her palm. ‘So you have that extra time to tell me why you think your cousin was a prisoner in Newgate.’
She felt him take a carefully controlled breath. She sensed it was hard for him to stand still and talk when he was eager to act.
‘When I reached Putney, I found Jakob had sent me a message on Sunday,’ he said. ‘In it he told me he was a prisoner in Newgate and asked me to go and get him out. But when I got back to London I discovered Newgate had already burned. The warders took the prisoners to the Clink, here in Southwark. I followed. I’ve been searching…searching… I even went to Swiftbourne’s house, but he has no news either!’ The torment in Jack’s voice was unmistakable. ‘I keep thinking…perhaps this happened because I stole Jakob’s coat at Dover—but why would they arrest the victim, not the thief?’
Temperance couldn’t bear to hear the anguish in his voice. She wondered who Swiftbourne was, but she was far more concerned about Jack. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him fiercely.
‘That’s foolish,’ she said. ‘A man arrested at Dover would not be put in Newgate. It’s just a mistake and nothing to do with you. And you couldn’t find him in the Clink because, if he’s anything like you, he’s already escaped.’
For a moment Jack held himself rigid, then his arms closed around her, holding her as tightly as she held him. ‘That’s what I keep telling myself,’ he said. ‘Jakob’s a soldier. It must have been chaos when they tried to move the prisoners. He could easily have escaped then.’
‘He may even have been released before the fire ever reached Newgate,’ said Temperance, pleased to feel the tension in Jack ease a few degrees. ‘He’s probably rushing around London looking for you at this very moment.’
Jack sighed. ‘Most likely. But it was a hell of a shock when I read his letter. I won’t be easy till I’ve found him.’
‘I know.’ There were so many things Temperance wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. Jack had come back to her once. She must trust he would return a second time.
‘I’ll take you to Fanny’s,’ he said. ‘The streets aren’t safe for a woman alone.’
Temperance gave a small laugh. ‘I’ve been a woman alone for years,’ she pointed out. ‘I’m a unremarkable tradeswoman. No one will bother me during the day.’
‘Very well, but be careful,’ Jack ordered. ‘Go to Bundle’s as soon as you can and don’t let anyone know you have that purse.’
‘I’m not a half-wit!’ Temperance said in exasperation. ‘Besides, although I thank you kindly, I can’t take any more of your money—’
‘Of course you can. The world is turned upside down. You don’t know when you’ll be able to reclaim your goods and set up shop again. For God’s sake, be practical!’
Temperance considered herself a very practical tradeswoman. Jack, for all his undoubted loyalty and generosity, was hardly a paragon of that particular virtue. Only a few days ago she’d been upbraiding him for the unnecessary extravagance of buying a periwig. But when he ordered her to be practical in that terse, worried voice, she felt a surge of tenderness towards him.
She leant forward and,