Then I pity you, sir. Chelling waved his hand, as if consigning Gromwell to a place of outer darkness. It would be better for the world if he were entirely unknown.
Why? What has he done?
He is one of our Rules that is to say, the members who are elected to govern the affairs of Cliffords Inn. He is particularly charged with overseeing the fabric of the place, and its maintenance. I regret to say that hes no friend to the Fire Court.
But you are paying something for the use of the hall, I suppose?
Of course we are and for these chambers but he thinks we do not pay enough for the privilege. He ignores entirely the pro bono aspect of the matter. Chelling pointed out of the window. The other day I asked if we could use the fire-damaged staircase over there for storage. It would ease our lives considerably, and cost him absolutely nothing. Its no use to anyone else at present. But he refused point-blank.
Marwood bowed again. Im sorry to hear it, sir.
Chelling returned the bow, and almost toppled over. If only the King were aware
By this time, Hakesby had managed to stand up. She came forward to offer her arm he was often unsteady when he had been sitting down but Marwood was before her. The three of them said goodbye to Mr Chelling and went slowly downstairs.
Poor man, Hakesby murmured. Clinging to his duties at the Fire Court as a drowning man clings to a straw. Chelling has many excellent qualities, but hes been unfortunate all his life, partly because of his stature.
They emerged into the sunlight. Marwood looked at Jane Hakesby and, she knew, saw Catherine Lovett.
She stared back at him, hoping he would leave them.
Hakesby turned towards them. Will you dine with us, sir?
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Lamb was in Wych Street, just to the north of the Strand and set back in a court. It was an aged building with blurred, blackened carvings along the bressumers supporting the upper storeys. It lay conveniently between Mr Hakesbys drawing office at the sign of the Rose in Henrietta Street and the house where he lodged in Three Cocks Yard. Shops lined the ground floor, and the tavern was above.
The landlord conducted them to a small chamber, poorly lit by a mullioned window overlooking a yard. Hakesby ordered their dinner, with wine and biscuits to be brought while they waited. Jane Hakesby worried about the cost.
Marwood slipped on to a bench that faced away from the light. She set down her basket and sat opposite, beside Mr Hakesby who took the only chair. She examined him covertly. His face was pale, the skin stretched tight over the high cheekbones and smudged with tiredness beneath the eyes.
He had agreed to come with them, but without much enthusiasm. It was as if it didnt really matter what he did. He ate a biscuit, and then another, which brought some of the colour back to his face.
He caught her looking at him. How do you do, mistress? He left the briefest of pauses and added with a slight emphasis, Hakesby.
The mistress pleased her, however foolish of her that was. I do very well, thank you, sir.
He turned to Hakesby. I dont wish to cause trouble. You dont mind being seen with me?
Weve heard nothing to alarm us, sir, Hakesby murmured. About the other matter. They were quite alone but he shifted uneasily and leaned closer. I have no idea if Mr Alderley is still looking for Catherine Lovett.
The men exchanged glances. The Alderleys were her cousins. She hated her cousin Edward more than anyone in the world.
Ive heard nothing either, Marwood said. Nothing of any moment.
Catherine Lovett has become Jane Hakesby, Hakesby said. Why, I almost believe it myself. She makes herself useful at the drawing office.
I am still myself, sir, she said sharply. And I am here beside you. I do not forget who I am and what is owed me. Nor do I forget who has harmed me. She glared impartially at them. In this company at least, I am Catherine Lovett.
Hakesby shied away. Pray dont upset yourself.
She saw the alarm in his face. You mustnt mind me, sir. When I was a child, they called me Cat. I have claws.
Marwood said, Are you content?
I am a maidservant, sir. I assist Mr Hakesby in his business. I live a quiet life. What more could I possibly want? She heard the bitterness in her voice and abruptly changed the subject. Who are you in mourning for?
Marwood seemed to huddle into his black cloak like a tortoise retiring into his shell. Hakesby cleared his throat, filling the silence. Her abrupt, unwomanly behaviour made him uneasy. He had grown used to it in private, but he did not like it when she spoke so directly to others.
My father. On Friday. Marwood finished his second glass of wine. He was run over by a wagon in Fleet Street.
Im sorry to hear it, sir, Hakesby said.
I mustnt bore you with my troubles. Tell me about the Court where these three judges sit. Why would they be listed together?
Because the Fire Court usually consists of three judges to hear each case, Hakesby said, a little stiffly because Marwood had rebuffed his attempt at sympathy. Perhaps there was a particular case that came before these three. Or there will be.
Three judges for a trial?
Not a trial, sir. The Court exists to resolve disputes arising from the Fire. Parliament and the City are anxious that rebuilding should begin as soon as possible, and that the costs should be shared fairly among all the concerned parties. In many cases the tenants and so forth are still liable to pay rent for properties that no longer exist. Not only that, the terms of their leases make them responsible for the rebuilding. Often, of course, they lack the means to do so because they lost everything in the Fire. So Parliament set up the Fire Court, and gave it exceptional powers to settle such disputes and set its own precedents.
There must be a list of forthcoming cases, Marwood said. If I knew which ones were coming up before those three
Hakesby said: It depends which judges are available.
Mr Chelling would know, Cat said. As far as anyone does.
Yes, but the selection is not usually made public until the last moment. To prevent annoyance to the judges. They dont want to be pestered.
Marwood hesitated. Id rather not trouble Mr Chelling again.
Hakesby smiled. He has a loose tongue. And your your connections impressed him mightily. He will try to make use of you if he can. He will tell the world youre his friend.
But if you were to make the enquiries, sir, Cat said to Hakesby, and in a fashion that suggested the matter had to do with something quite different, one of your own clients
Would you, sir? Marwood said, his face sharp and hungry.
Hakesby hesitated. I am pressed for business at present, and I
He means, sir, Cat interrupted, impatient with this unnecessary playacting, would you do something for us in return?
Jane! Hakesby said. This is not polite.
I dont care much about being polite, sir.
What do you want? Marwood said, returning bluntness for bluntness.
What do you want? Marwood said, returning bluntness for bluntness.
Would you lend Mr Hakesby some money?
Jane!
Cat and Marwood stared at each other. Perhaps, she thought, she had made him angry by asking him a favour at such a time. But he looked prosperous enough. And there was no room for sentiment. Didnt one good turn deserve another? This was a matter of business, after all, an exchange of services.
Well, Mr Hakesby said uncertainly. Taken all in all, I cant deny that a loan would be most welcome.
After dinner, Hakesby and Cat took a hackney back to Henrietta Street.
To be Jane Hakesby in Henrietta Street was Cats refuge, for the Government did not care for her. The reputation of her dead father and her dead uncle clung to her like a bad smell, and her living cousin wished her harm.
But Mr Hakesbys drawing office was more than a refuge: it was a place where, if she were fortunate, she could pursue the one occupation she preferred above all others: like the great Roman architect Vitruvius, she dreamed of designing buildings that would be solid, beautiful and useful, like the nests of birds and bees.
The hackney meant more expense, Cat thought, but it could not be helped. They did not speak during the journey until the end, when Hakesby turned to Cat.
I wish you had not asked Marwood for money. And so bluntly.
Do we have a choice, sir?
As they climbed the stairs, Hakesby reached for Cats arm. Floor after floor they climbed, and the higher they rose, the tighter his grip and the slower his step.
The drawing office was on the top floor. It was a converted attic that stretched the width of the house, with wide dormer windows to make the most of the light. Two drawing slopes were set up at an angle to the windows, each one separate from the others, so they could be turned individually to increase or occasionally reduce the light that fell on them from the windows.
As Mr Hakesby and Cat entered the room, Brennan laid down his pen, rose from his stool and bowed to his master.
Any callers? Hakesby said, making his way to his chair.
No, master. Brennans eyes strayed towards Cat. Ive finished inking the north elevation if you care to inspect it.
Hakesby lowered himself into his chair. Good. Bring it here. His finger flicked towards Cat. Then I shall dictate a note to my lord.
Cat hung up her cloak. In this case, my lord was the freeholder for whom Hakesby had held a watching brief at the Fire Court this morning. While she gathered her writing materials together, she watched the two men studying the elevation. Or rather she watched Brennan. He watched her so she watched him.
Brennan had been working here for less than three weeks. He had come with a letter of recommendation from none other than Dr Wren himself, with whom Hakesby had worked on several projects. He had been one of the men working on the Sheldonian Theatre in Oxford, helping to adjust the designs after discussions with the masons employed on building the theatre. He was certainly a good draughtsman, Cat gave him that, and a fast worker too.
In this next hour, Cat took dictation from Mr Hakesby for the letters, wrote a fair copy for him to sign, and copied it again into the letter book as a record. It was not work she enjoyed but it was work she could do. Afterwards her reward came: she was allowed to work on the plans for a house and yard in Throgmorton Street routine work, but with details she could make her own, subject to Mr Hakesbys approval.
Brennan was behind her, and she felt his eyes on her. Her skin crawled. She twisted on her stool, presenting him with a view of her shoulder. The afternoon was drawing towards its end, and the light was changing. She took her dividers and pricked first one hole in the paper before her and then another. She laid the steel rule between them and, frowning with concentration, pencilled a line, a mere shadow, on the paper.
There. The base of the architrave. And now, at an angle of twenty degrees
Her irritation faded as the lines of the east façade spread across the paper. In her mind, the same lines sprang up, newly translated from two dimensions to three, acquiring solidity as well as depth, existing in space and time. The miracle was familiar but no less astonishing for that.
While the two of them worked at their slopes, Mr Hakesby sat by the fire, reading and occasionally making notes in his crabbed hand. At present he was checking accounts and invoices, and scribbling notes on the margins of letters. He had caused a carpenter to fix a board to each arm of his chair, and these he used as a desk. His handwriting was now almost illegible, because of the ague. On a bad day, even Cat found it hard to read.
Time passed. The light faded. The bells of surrounding churches chimed seven oclock, though not quite at the same time.
Mr Hakesby dismissed Brennan for the day. The draughts- man was due an extra fee for a piece of work he had done at home. Hakesby found the money in his purse himself and told Cat to make a note of the payment. She added it to the current sheet of sundry expenses. Glancing back, she saw an alarming number of entries already. She drew up a rough total in her head, and the amount staggered her. There were two months to go until the quarterly rent on the drawing office was due at midsummer.
The draughtsman came over to where she was sitting so she could pay him the money and initial the entry as a receipt. At that moment, Mr Hakesby retired to his closet to answer a call of nature.
Brennan took his time. He stood very close to Cats stool. He was fair complexioned, with pink cheeks and a sprinkling of freckles on his nose. He wore his own hair, which was sandy in colour. Cat saw two grey lice squatting among the roots where it fell into a parting on the left-hand side of his scalp.
He laid down the pen and blew on his initials to dry them. Cat felt his breath touch her cheek. Involuntarily, she turned her head. He took up the paper. He stared at her with pale eyes, neither blue nor grey, that made her think of pebbles on a shingle beach.
She held out her hand for the paper, anxious for him to be gone. His hand touched hers. She snatched it away.
Less haste, he said, smiling, more speed. Whats the hurry?
He leaned on the table, resting on his right hand. His left hand touched her neck in a caress which was as light as a feather. She seized her dividers and jabbed them between his index and middle fingers, missing them by a fraction of an inch on either side. He snatched his hand away. The points of the dividers had passed through the expenses sheet and dug into the wood of the table.
He raised his hand. God damn you, you could have stabbed me. My right hand, too.
Next time I will stab you. Cat tugged the dividers free from the table and turned the points towards him. And it wont be your hand.
Ah. He lowered his arm and grinned at her, exposing long, yellow canines. A vixen. I like a woman with spirit.
The closet door opened. Brennan sauntered over to the peg where his cloak was hanging.
Why are you still here, Brennan? Hakesby said. I thought youd be gone by now.
The draughtsman had recovered his composure. Talking to Jane, sir. He bowed low. I wish you goodnight.
He promises well, Mr Hakesby said as his footsteps sounded on the stairs. Particularly on the fine detail. Dr Wren was right.
Cat busied herself with throwing another shovel of coals on the fire, keeping her face averted to conceal her rising colour. The fire was a luxury at this time of year. More expense. Hakesby craved warmth, a symptom of his illness. His blood ran cold nowadays, he said. Colder and colder. She stood up and looked at him.