forsaken it, as it has every other earthly pleasure?”
“The public room survives. Men will have their indulgences no matter what they profess to the world. In fact it thrived beneath the notice of Cromwell and with the patronage of many in Parliament.” She looked toward the pub, for it was just up the bank from where they stood. “Old Dent has died and his son has taken over, but it’s the same old place.”
“Then by all means, let us claim the table in the back and have a chat. Like old times.” Suzanne remembered the old times as less chatting than other pastimes.
She hated to spend this bright, lovely day in a dark, stuffy pub, but she was terribly curious what had moved Daniel to ask to see her today. She clung to a hope that was thin as a wisp of fog, and wanted to grasp it closer in to see if it might turn out to be more substantial. She took his offered arm under her hand and strolled with him to the Goat and Boar up the street.
The pub lay tucked into an alleyway so small it had no name, and it had no sign besides. The attitude of the proprietor—and anyone else in the neighborhood—had always been that anyone who didn’t already know where the Goat and Boar was didn’t need to be there and therefore wasn’t welcome. Though its upper floor could be seen from the river, it had no window on that side. No view. Nobody could see out, and nobody could see in, and most of its patrons liked it that way.
However, today the place was less stuffy than usual, for Young Dent had thrown open its two tiny windows at the back and propped open the door onto the alley. The cooking fire at the far end of the room near the staircase had a haunch merrily roasting and dripping grease every so often, making the flame leap and lick for more. Only two other patrons sat at a table, and that left the rest of the room to Suzanne and Daniel. They chose the table at the back next to the little windows to catchwhatever breeze might come from the south. One of the other patrons was a former client of Suzanne’s who frequented the pub, whose name was Alfred. Most men in this neighborhood had been clients during the years before William, and though none were clients these days, they were all quite friendly. Suzanne was like an old hunting dog that had outlived its usefulness but was too well liked to shoot.
Alfred nodded to Daniel and smiled. “Ah! I see you found her, my lord!”
“Right where you said she’d be,” Daniel replied as he guided Suzanne toward the empty table at the back.
Suzanne didn’t question how Daniel knew Alfred. Sometimes it seemed as if everyone knew everyone else in London, or at least all the men did. She was no longer surprised to learn that clients knew each other.
Suzanne gestured to Old Dent’s son for an ale. He was a young man and had grown up in this pub, and so knew everyone and everyone knew him. There was very little about the city of London he didn’t know.
Daniel enquired after some Scottish whisky, but at Young Dent’s blank look quickly changed his mind and asked for an ale as Suzanne had. They settled into chairs, and Suzanne said to Daniel, “It’s good to see you survived the war.”
“Yes, a good thing. I tend to agree. Though I did come close to dying once, with a ball through my arm that brought fever.” He touched the outside of his left arm as if feeling for the scar.”
“We had no idea whether we’d ever see you again.”
“We?”
“Piers and I.” Could he have forgotten Piers?
“Ah. I must say it’s also good to see you’ve prospered.”
The last thing she wanted was to explain to Daniel how William had abandoned her. Humiliating enough that she was talking to Daniel at all after he’d abandoned her and Piers; she didn’t care to whine and appear a weak ninny. But neither did she want Daniel to think his treatment of her hadn’t been callous and hurtful. She said, “After you left, I had no choice but to sell what I had. I became a
“The public room survives. Men will have their indulgences no matter what they profess to the world. In fact it thrived beneath the notice of Cromwell and with the patronage of many in Parliament.” She looked toward the pub, for it was just up the bank from where they stood. “Old Dent has died and his son has taken over, but it’s the same old place.”
“Then by all means, let us claim the table in the back and have a chat. Like old times.” Suzanne remembered the old times as less chatting than other pastimes.
She hated to spend this bright, lovely day in a dark, stuffy pub, but she was terribly curious what had moved Daniel to ask to see her today. She clung to a hope that was thin as a wisp of fog, and wanted to grasp it closer in to see if it might turn out to be more substantial. She took his offered arm under her hand and strolled with him to the Goat and Boar up the street.
The pub lay tucked into an alleyway so small it had no name, and it had no sign besides. The attitude of the proprietor—and anyone else in the neighborhood—had always been that anyone who didn’t already know where the Goat and Boar was didn’t need to be there and therefore wasn’t welcome. Though its upper floor could be seen from the river, it had no window on that side. No view. Nobody could see out, and nobody could see in, and most of its patrons liked it that way.
However, today the place was less stuffy than usual, for Young Dent had thrown open its two tiny windows at the back and propped open the door onto the alley. The cooking fire at the far end of the room near the staircase had a haunch merrily roasting and dripping grease every so often, making the flame leap and lick for more. Only two other patrons sat at a table, and that left the rest of the room to Suzanne and Daniel. They chose the table at the back next to the little windows to catchwhatever breeze might come from the south. One of the other patrons was a former client of Suzanne’s who frequented the pub, whose name was Alfred. Most men in this neighborhood had been clients during the years before William, and though none were clients these days, they were all quite friendly. Suzanne was like an old hunting dog that had outlived its usefulness but was too well liked to shoot.
Alfred nodded to Daniel and smiled. “Ah! I see you found her, my lord!”
“Right where you said she’d be,” Daniel replied as he guided Suzanne toward the empty table at the back.
Suzanne didn’t question how Daniel knew Alfred. Sometimes it seemed as if everyone knew everyone else in London, or at least all the men did. She was no longer surprised to learn that clients knew each other.
Suzanne gestured to Old Dent’s son for an ale. He was a young man and had grown up in this pub, and so knew everyone and everyone knew him. There was very little about the city of London he didn’t know.
Daniel enquired after some Scottish whisky, but at Young Dent’s blank look quickly changed his mind and asked for an ale as Suzanne had. They settled into chairs, and Suzanne said to Daniel, “It’s good to see you survived the war.”
“Yes, a good thing. I tend to agree. Though I did come close to dying once, with a ball through my arm that brought fever.” He touched the outside of his left arm as if feeling for the scar.”
“We had no idea whether we’d ever see you again.”
“We?”
“Piers and I.” Could he have forgotten Piers?
“Ah. I must say it’s also good to see you’ve prospered.”
The last thing she wanted was to explain to Daniel how William had abandoned her. Humiliating enough that she was talking to Daniel at all after he’d abandoned her and Piers; she didn’t care to whine and appear a weak ninny. But neither did she want Daniel to think his treatment of her hadn’t been callous and hurtful. She said, “After you left, I had no choice but to sell what I had. I became a
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