could think of trade, but this year it is another matter.’
I glanced towards the door to Arthur Gregory’s small cubicle.
‘Is Arthur not about?’ I said.
‘Gone to fetch some special fine-grained wood he needs for his seals,’ Phelippes said. ‘He will be sorry to have missed you.’
He asked me about the expedition, but he was mainly interested in the escape of Titus Allanby, one of Walsingham’s own agents.
‘It was unfortunate that you were not able to secure the release of Hunter from the prison in Lisbon,’ he said.
‘There were many things which were much more unfortunate than that,’ I said grimly. ‘Besides, Hunter seems to be accommodated in a fair degree of comfort, and to have valuable sources of information about the Spanish. Is he not of more use to Sir Francis where he is?’
‘Perhaps, perhaps.’
I left soon afterwards and collected Rikki from the stableyard.
‘Will you be coming back to us then, Master Alvarez?’ Harry asked.
‘It seems Master Phelippes will have some work for me shortly, so you will be seeing me again. Thank you for looking after Rikki.’
‘He’s a good lad. I gave him a bone to chew.’
Rikki loped across the yard to me, the bone still firmly clenched in his jaws.
I laughed. ‘Very well, you may bring it with you, but do not expect me to carry it.’
I set off on the walk back to Wood Street. The sun was high in the sky now, beating down with relentless August heat. Although it was nowhere near what we had endured in Portugal, it was enough to bring the stench of the City streets to a full ripeness. Very cold weather in winter brought many deaths from chest diseases and even from the very cold itself, but very hot weather brought its own dangers, above all the plague. There had not been a serious outbreak since 1582, the year my father and I arrived in England, but there were some cases every summer, often in the crowded slums near the docks, for the disease somehow seemed to arrive with foreign ships, though no one knew how. It was best to avoid such places when the weather was hot.
As I neared the Conduit in Cheapside, I caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd.
‘Peter!’ I called. ‘Peter Lambert!’
He turned and pushed his way through the throng to reach me, and grabbed both my hands.
‘Dr Alvarez! I heard you were come home, despite all the losses.’
‘Am I no longer Kit to you, Peter?’
I laughed. Peter and I were of an age and had often worked together at St Bartholomew’s, he as assistant apothecary, I as assistant physician.
‘Kit, then,’ he said, looking at me critically. ‘You’ve lost weight.’
‘We all lost weight, those who managed not to die of wounds or disease or starvation. Are you not at work?’
‘I’ve been running errands, ordering new stocks for the hospital. Some have been allowed to get too low.’ He made a face, as if he could say more.
‘Have you time for a beer and something to eat?’
‘Aye, why not? We must all eat. There’s a decent inn back there a step or two.’
We made our way to the small inn he had pointed out, Rikki following behind, still carrying his bone. When we were seated in the small garden at the back, with mugs of beer and a couple of pies and Rikki under the table, Peter took a swig, then set down his mug and looked at me seriously.
‘That was a bad business about your father.’
I nodded. I had been able to speak of it fairly calmly to Walsingham and Phelippes, but Peter knew my father and I found my eyes filling. I turned aside in the hope he would not see.
‘This fellow Temperley,’ Peter said with contempt, ‘he’s a relic from the last century. You’d think Dr Stephens a modern revolutionary to hear Temperley carry on. After working with your father, I know that many of those old ideas of medicine have been proved wrong. Temperley thinks bleeding and cupping and purging are the cure for everything, from a woman’s morning sickness to the bloody flux to .
I glanced towards the door to Arthur Gregory’s small cubicle.
‘Is Arthur not about?’ I said.
‘Gone to fetch some special fine-grained wood he needs for his seals,’ Phelippes said. ‘He will be sorry to have missed you.’
He asked me about the expedition, but he was mainly interested in the escape of Titus Allanby, one of Walsingham’s own agents.
‘It was unfortunate that you were not able to secure the release of Hunter from the prison in Lisbon,’ he said.
‘There were many things which were much more unfortunate than that,’ I said grimly. ‘Besides, Hunter seems to be accommodated in a fair degree of comfort, and to have valuable sources of information about the Spanish. Is he not of more use to Sir Francis where he is?’
‘Perhaps, perhaps.’
I left soon afterwards and collected Rikki from the stableyard.
‘Will you be coming back to us then, Master Alvarez?’ Harry asked.
‘It seems Master Phelippes will have some work for me shortly, so you will be seeing me again. Thank you for looking after Rikki.’
‘He’s a good lad. I gave him a bone to chew.’
Rikki loped across the yard to me, the bone still firmly clenched in his jaws.
I laughed. ‘Very well, you may bring it with you, but do not expect me to carry it.’
I set off on the walk back to Wood Street. The sun was high in the sky now, beating down with relentless August heat. Although it was nowhere near what we had endured in Portugal, it was enough to bring the stench of the City streets to a full ripeness. Very cold weather in winter brought many deaths from chest diseases and even from the very cold itself, but very hot weather brought its own dangers, above all the plague. There had not been a serious outbreak since 1582, the year my father and I arrived in England, but there were some cases every summer, often in the crowded slums near the docks, for the disease somehow seemed to arrive with foreign ships, though no one knew how. It was best to avoid such places when the weather was hot.
As I neared the Conduit in Cheapside, I caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd.
‘Peter!’ I called. ‘Peter Lambert!’
He turned and pushed his way through the throng to reach me, and grabbed both my hands.
‘Dr Alvarez! I heard you were come home, despite all the losses.’
‘Am I no longer Kit to you, Peter?’
I laughed. Peter and I were of an age and had often worked together at St Bartholomew’s, he as assistant apothecary, I as assistant physician.
‘Kit, then,’ he said, looking at me critically. ‘You’ve lost weight.’
‘We all lost weight, those who managed not to die of wounds or disease or starvation. Are you not at work?’
‘I’ve been running errands, ordering new stocks for the hospital. Some have been allowed to get too low.’ He made a face, as if he could say more.
‘Have you time for a beer and something to eat?’
‘Aye, why not? We must all eat. There’s a decent inn back there a step or two.’
We made our way to the small inn he had pointed out, Rikki following behind, still carrying his bone. When we were seated in the small garden at the back, with mugs of beer and a couple of pies and Rikki under the table, Peter took a swig, then set down his mug and looked at me seriously.
‘That was a bad business about your father.’
I nodded. I had been able to speak of it fairly calmly to Walsingham and Phelippes, but Peter knew my father and I found my eyes filling. I turned aside in the hope he would not see.
‘This fellow Temperley,’ Peter said with contempt, ‘he’s a relic from the last century. You’d think Dr Stephens a modern revolutionary to hear Temperley carry on. After working with your father, I know that many of those old ideas of medicine have been proved wrong. Temperley thinks bleeding and cupping and purging are the cure for everything, from a woman’s morning sickness to the bloody flux to .
Similar Books
