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“You’ve done me a service,” Monmouth nodded. “Ned Ferryman, isn’t it?”
“We could go on the ebbing tide, at night,” one of the men said.
“The wind’s still against us,” someone else answered. “We’ll struggle to get out of port.”
Monmouth shook his head. “We can’t wait a moment longer.” He glanced at one of the men. “Hire barges, extra barges, to tow us out. Once we’re out the harbor we can run before the wind wherever it takes us. But we leave in the first lull.” He rose, and everyone leapt to their feet, calling for the reckoning and going to their rooms for their belongings. Ned, an old campaigner, quietly pocketed two bread rolls from the table and turned to the door.
REEKIE WHARF, LONDON, SPRING 1685
Matthew was not late on Friday, as he had threatened to be. He came home early, oddly subdued, hung his coat on the hook in the warehouse, and kissed his foster mother.
“I thought you were out roistering,” Alys said.
“No, I wanted to come home. Is theSweet Hopesailing soon?”
“Next month. Why?”
“Someone asked me.”
“Is everything all right, Matthew?”
He did not look at her. He thought how the other woman had called him “Matteo,” as if he were someone else. “Yes.”
“You’ve not lost money gambling?” She went straight to her greatest fear.
“No, Ma. How often do I have to say!” He checked himself at her stricken face. “No. But I’d like to talk to you and to Mother Alinor. Is she well enough to see me?”
“She’s well, she’s in her room.”
He led the way upstairs so that she should not hurry in front ofhim and warn her mother that he was in trouble. Alys followed the polished heels of his smart shoes and felt her heart sinking with dread.
Matthew tapped on Alinor’s door and heard her take a breath enough to say “Come in!” and stepped inside the room. He stood before her, hands at his sides, his face as blank as the beautiful statues that he resembled. Alinor raised her silver head and took him in, from the velvet bows on his shoes to the crown of his dark curling hair, noting his grave expression and the hurt in his eyes.
“Oh, you’ve seen your mother,” she said at once.
Alys dropped into a chair as if she had been winded. “Oh,” she said. “Oh! Is that it?”
Matthew nodded. “She sent for me to meet her in a coffeehouse,” he said.
Alinor held out her hand. “Come, my son, sit here.”
He crossed the room and sank onto a stool at the side of her sofa. He leaned back, and she stroked the dark curling locks of hair from his forehead. Suddenly, he looked very young, and Alinor was reminded of the little boy he had been, the baby who had been left in their care because his mother did not want him. She laid her hand on his forehead as if she would test the heat of his skin for fever. “Go on,” she said gently. He was steadied by the coolness of her hand and the faint scent of herbs in the room.
“This is my home,” he said.
“It is,” Alinor confirmed quietly. “No doubt of that. You’ve got nothing to fear, and neither does Alys. Nothing can untie the love you two have for each other. You don’t have to be born a son to a mother, to be a mother and son. You two have a bond that nothing will break.”
He nodded. “It’s true,” he said. He looked across at Alys, who was frozen in her chair. “It’s true,” he repeated. “Don’t look like that, Ma.”
“How do I look?” she demanded.
“Like I was threatening you with a knife.”
“Aye,” she said bitterly. “She’s a sharp blade. What did she want?”
“I don’t know what to tell you…” he began.
“Better say it all,” Alinor counseled. “There’s enough secrets already.”
