Sixteen

“Why are you dressed so elegantly while I look like one of those prancing fops we saw in Tunbridge Wells?” Catherine asked with displeasure, turning about in a circle, feathers, lace, and ribbons flapping in the breeze. “I swear this suit boasts more adornments than any dress I’ve ever worn.”

“Because you are a prancing fop,” Jamie explained patiently, “an untutored young pup, trying to make his mark as daring and original. As such, you must look like all the other fops. You must stay in character, my love. What does a young lad new to London want? What does he fear? How experienced is he? You have to ask yourself these questions. Anyone can don an outfit and play make-believe, but it takes study and practice to become. You must look like all the other rustics trying to impress.”

“I should rather be a gallant young spark,” she sniffed.

“Excellent! That’s the spirit! So would all the other fops. You can go in costume if you like without practicing the rest. I can keep you safe, but they’ll spot you quick enough for what you are, a lamb in wolf’s clothing, a curiosity and diversion, and you’ll soon become the center of attention, the one observed. But if you mark me well and do just as I show you, you’ll disappear among them, an insignificant pup beneath anyone’s notice, yet privy to their secrets, an invisible traveler in the world of men. It’s up to you, Catherine. Would you rather be the watcher or the watched?

“The watcher,” she said, springing to her feet and swaggering across the room. “There! You see? I can walk like a man.”

“You walk like a country bumpkin.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you do, love,” he said with a smile. “That’s how an apprentice boy would walk, not a young lordling. Now attend me, please, and try to walk like so.”

“Is this really necessary, Sinclair?”

“Yes it is, my love. The walk is essential. All the courtiers do it. I would best describe it as an elegant swagger, a graceful strut. Observe if you will.” He stood, head held high, one hand on his hip, one leg leading away from his body, with his right hand extended as if holding a mouchoir or cane, and then began to walk in a gliding, rolling stride, swinging his leg out and back round in a circular motion, exposing the inside of his thigh with each step. The sauntering swagger and fluttering handkerchief reminded her of the first moment she’d seen him on the banks of the River Clyde, and she smiled to think what a strange thing was fate.

He stopped in front of her. “Now you try.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“But I am, my dear. You must practice and perfect it if you hope to pass. If you lurch about like a Highland laddie, you’ll be seen as a rustic boor no matter how fine your clothes. A courtier will appear a courtier even dressed in rags, so long as he has the walk and can do like so.” He waved the handkerchief in an affected manner, bringing it to his nose. “I should have thought you’d have learned as much at the French court.”

“I observed it and thought it affected and ridiculous. I never strove to emulate it.”

“Of course not! You were a young lady, but now you’re a gallant young spark.”

“Is that all there is to it?”

“Well, it would help to affect an air of tremendous ennui,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, fluttering the handkerchief again. “You are to be my cousin after all, a step above the average fop.”

“Ah, is that what you are?”

He blinked, taken aback, then burst into laughter. “Why no, my dear! I am a practiced rake and libertine. You’ve a sharp tongue on you, Cat Drummond, and a sharper wit. I predict young Reginald Sinclair will be a great success.”

“I detest the name Reginald.”

“Very well, I christen thee William. Now watch again.”

Catherine burst out laughing. “You look like a peacock!”

“Precisely!” he said, nodding solemnly, “and so must you.”

They continued like that for the next hour, laughing and playing like children. Catherine couldn’t remember ever having such fun, but there was nothing childish about the thrill that ran through her whenever he smiled, or the way her skin pricked and her heart hammered whenever she felt his touch. Why must he be so charming? She found herself making deliberate mistakes, hoping he’d correct her with a hand to shoulder, elbow, or wrist, but bit by bit her disguise became more natural and her manner more assured. She was somewhat annoyed he didn’t seem to notice.

“Sinclair, why are you standing there with your head cocked to one side? Am I still doing it wrong?”

“Good heavens no, my love! You’re a remarkably quick study. You nailed the thing a half hour ago. I was merely admiring your splendid arse!”

She blushed and made a face at him. “Well, pray don’t when we’re out in company, else no one will take me for a boy.”

He choked on his drink and put it down, sputtering and laughing. “Good Christ, my love, but you’re a God-awful innocent!”

“What do you mean? Why do you say that?”

“Never mind, it’s not important.” He reached for a handsomely plumed wide-brimmed hat and handed another to her. “Come along, little cous, the night has yet to begin, and London and adventure await. Remember to speak as little as possible, and keep your voice pitched low. Don’t worry if you squeak a bit. It will only add to the effect.”

He took her first to The Puritan coffee house on Aldergate Street, a respectable establishment known for political discourse. Coffee was looked upon as a great stimulant for the mind, and The Puritan had become a popular social gathering place for intellectuals and literati, a place where men could relax in good company, exchange opinions, and hear the latest news.

“You’re about to enter the most sacred bastion of the London male, Cat,” he told her as they stood outside. “Any man can enter, provided he’s reasonably dressed and can pay his penny, but no females are allowed. By bringing you I mark myself a traitor to my sex.” He favored her with a wink. “This is a Londoner’s true home, where every man is equal, and every man a king. If you ever need to find a fellow, don’t ask what street he lives on, ask where he drinks his coffee.”

Catherine peeked over his shoulder, anxious and eager to look inside. She was grateful for the tight waistcoat and coat that bound and hid her full breasts. It was a tight squeeze, but not nearly as bad as wearing a corset. She resisted the urge to clutch Jamie’s arm and remembered his words from earlier in the afternoon. “What does a young lad want? What does he fear?” Will Sinclair was an inexperienced youth who feared making a fool of himself, she decided. He wanted to impress his cousin and wanted to be a seen as a man. It seems we share a lot in common, she thought with a grin. Young Will would be awestruck and cocksure by turns. In fact… he’d be feeling the same anxiety and excitement as she was right now. She took a deep breath, tilted her hat at a rakish angle much as she’d seen Jamie do, threw back her shoulders, and with a hint of a swagger, paid her penny and followed him inside.

She blinked and coughed and Jamie patted her back solicitously. The place reeked of tobacco and the rich, dark smell of coffee. Conversation swirled around them, roaring and receding like waves on a beach. Men sat in corners or at long tables, scribbling and reading, drinking coffee and smoking, engaged in heated discussions and quiet discourse. Newspapers and pamphlets were strewn about, free with the price of admission, and bulletins and announcements of auctions, sales, and shipping news covered the walls.

A handsome gentleman came over to greet Jamie, nodding politely her way in passing. She recognized him—Churchill, the Earl of Marlborough—and was relieved he didn’t recognize her. He and Jamie were soon deep in conversation, and she wandered over to the back wall, wondering in passing what it was that made them both so intent. A sheet was posted on the wall, entitled “Rules and Orders of the Coffee House.” She perused it, fascinated. It stated that all men were equal in a coffee house, and none need give up his seat to a finer man. Anyone who swore must pay a fine of twelve pence, and the man who started a fight must buy every man a meal to atone. Maudlin lovers were not to mope in corners, sacred things must be excluded from conversation and—

“William!”

It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her.

“William! I’ve secured us a table, come and sit, you chuckle-headed dolt. You’ve been staring off into space like a moonstruck calf.”

She lifted her chin and strolled over to join him, giving him a frosty look on behalf of an indignant Will, before sitting down.

“Here, have some coffee, lad. Maybe that will wake you up.”

Several other men had joined them at the table, none of whom she knew, but they all seemed well acquainted with Jamie. No one gave her more than a cursory glance, and though she was accustomed to discussing and arguing politics at council and at table, she hung back, choosing to listen rather than speak, melting into the background, a watcher like Jamie had said.

There were men from all walks of life, carpenters and bankers, soldiers, sea captains, apprentices, and statesmen, and not a few of London’s elite, but they sat shoulder to shoulder, and any man’s view was as good as the next if he could explain and defend it. She delighted in the conversation, surprised at its breadth and depth and the liberty of ideas, and impressed with Jamie’s encyclopedic grasp of the issues of the day.

Here was the London she’d heard so much about, a vibrant crucible of thought and innovation years ahead of anywhere else in Europe. This was where it had been hiding. It wasn’t born and nurtured in the halls of power by a glittering elite, but in the streets and theatres and coffee houses of the city, where doers and thinkers from all walks of life could meet and share their views. What a pity no women are allowed! What might we contribute, what might we accomplish, if not excluded from this feast?

A sudden commotion drew everyone’s attention as a breathless youth burst through the door and went to the counter to collect a cup of coffee and speak to the proprietor. “The boy is a messenger,” Jamie explained, turning to her. “They send them around the coffeehouses whenever there’s some news.”

A moment later, it was announced that a clipper ship en route to Jamaica had been lost in a storm, provoking white faces and gasps from some—investors, she assumed. The news that followed provoked an angry grumbling and heated conversation. It seemed His Majesty had chosen an ardent Catholic supporter, Richard Talbot, as Lord Deputy and his chief governor in Ireland.

“Good Christ, that’s all we need! There’s no helping the witless fool,” Jamie muttered under his breath. “Come along, Will, there’s more to see and do. Time we be off.”

They stepped out into a grey and dreary late winter afternoon.

“We’re not done yet, are we? There’s so much more I’d like to see.”

“Perhaps another time, love. Something’s come up that I must attend to.”

“Can’t I come with you?” she pleaded. “You promised me a night to remember and it’s only been two hours. I can be discreet.” She touched his arm and gave him an imploring look. She knew it was shameless, but she wasn’t ready for the adventure to end. Ever since the swoon in her council chamber had brought men who’d opposed her running to assist, she’d been convinced that in a world that gave every advantage to men, a woman must use whatever tools she had.

He looked at her uncomfortably, his whole body aware of her hand on his arm. An erection stirred, straining against his breeches, and he was vaguely aware that this wasn’t the way to be looking at his cousin Will. Blast the wench! Whenever he was with her, he couldn’t seem to think straight. She’d always been fetching in breeches, though. There were few women who had such long and shapely legs, or such a pleasing derr—

“Well?”

“Well what?” He blinked and focused. He had no use for innocent misses in general, but this one was his wife. They’d come to an agreement. He’d promised not to bed her and let her go within a year, but he still owed her his protection and he considered her a friend. He needed to stop imagining her naked. He needed to find a whore and relieve himself of whatever it was that plagued him as soon as he was able.

“Can I come?”

“I’m sorry, Catherine. I’ve several stops to make, some in places a lady, or even cousin Will, should never go. It could be dangerous, and I’ll be gone most of the night.”

“I’m not a lady tonight, and I’m not your cousin Will. I’m not delicate, Jamie. I wasn’t in a parlor doing my stitching when you found me. I’ve been on cattle raids. I’ve proven myself in battle. I know how to fight.”

There was something in her eyes, an earnest plea for recognition. Something moved deep inside him, and he couldn’t tell her no. He sighed and removed his hat, running one hand through his hair. “There won’t be any fighting. You’ll stay close beside me at all times, unless I tell you otherwise. No wandering off to explore like you did in there,” he nodded in the direction of The Puritan. “You won’t speak to anyone unless spoken to, and if you have to speak, you’ll keep it short. You’ll do exactly as I tell you at all times, and if we become separated, you’ll wave down the nearest carriage and go directly home. Is that clear?”

“Absolutely!” she said, beaming.

“If you fail to do as I tell you, I’ll never take you adventuring this way again,” he warned, but her excitement was contagious and he put away his doubts, returning her grin with a smile and a wink, motioning for her to follow. “You never told me how you came to be on a battlefield,” he remarked as they walked along.

“Didn’t I? I’d come to rescue my little brother. He got himself mixed up with some Covenanters in Edinburgh and I didn’t want you to kill him.”

“Ah, black sheep of the family, was he?”

“No, apparently that was me.”

“Something else we share in common.”

“Why did you call the king a witless fool?”

“Because he’s hanging to his throne by his fingers, and every day he makes matters worse. He’s autocratic, stubborn, and vindictive, and he’s rapidly losing friends. Charles was wise enough to recognize the English have a deep distrust of Catholic rule. They fear it would mean far less power for Parliament, and far more for the church and king. It’s a feud that’s been responsible for years of trouble and grief. I believe he was Catholic in his heart, and I’m told he returned to the fold on his deathbed, but he never let it interfere with governing the country.

“James insists on flaunting his faith, and despite all warnings, on forcing it on the country. One by one, he replaces his advisors. He’s taken a Catholic wife who any day now may become pregnant with a Catholic heir to supplant his Protestant one, Mary. He keeps a standing army at the ready, and now he’s taken steps to bind the Irish to his cause.

“Dick Talbot’s first task will be to create an Irish Catholic army that James can use to coerce his English subjects. Sullivan may be happy, as my Irish properties used to be his. He’ll be hoping for his ancestral lands back, as will most of the Catholics in Ireland, but the Protestants Cromwell settled in their place are bound to object. It’s going to upset a great many powerful men. It’s going to start the engines of civil war and rebellion all over again. You’d best not get too close to it, nor put too much faith in English treaties, trade arrangements, or alliances. It’s something to warn your family about when you return to your snowy home.” The thought caused an uncomfortable pang and he turned away.

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I don’t expect to ever go home. Why were you given Sullivan’s land if you are Catholic too?”

“I was Protestant then, which illustrates precisely why one should always be flexible in matters of dogma and religion. You ask too many questions, love. Now look you to the left.” They were turning onto Deveraux Street, and Catherine craned her neck to see. “That’s the Graecian. Most coffee houses cater to specific groups and interests. Men of money and business frequent those on the Exchange. The Graecian’s famous for its scholars and philosophers. Sir Isaac Newton calls this one home. When you hear men refer to coffee houses as penny universities, it’s places like this they mean.”

They found seats in a far corner and ordered steaming bowls of chocolate. Sir Isaac wasn’t there, but Catherine listened with delight as an impromptu debate arose among several members of the Royal Society as they attempted to arrange the events of The Iliad in chronological order. She had to bite her lips several times to keep from joining in.

She was all but bouncing up and down when they set out on their way again. “Did you get your business done there, Jamie? It was certainly stimulating, but it hardly seemed dangerous to me.”

“How many coffees have you had, love?”

“Three… four I think. And two chocolates. It does indeed have healthful properties as I’ve heard many people say. I’ve seldom felt more energetic.”

“I can see that,” he said dryly, “and no, my business isn’t done. I had no business there. I just thought you’d like to see it.”

“I loved it! I’m so happy you’re showing me all this. I’d never have known it existed otherwise.” She stopped and removed her hat, holding it gracefully in one hand as she performed a courtly bow. “To think I believed your debauched and rackety court was the best London had to offer. I freely and most humbly admit my ignorant mistake and tender you my most sincere and heartfelt apologies.”

He plucked her hat from her hand and plopped it back on her head. “No more coffee for you, love.”

“Jamie!”

Where The Puritan and Graecian had been stimulating for weighty debate as well as their coffee, their next stop on Russell Street was an entirely different affair. They stepped into Will’s amidst a roar of laughter, followed by thumping on tables, cheers, and shouts, and then laughter all over again. Jamie was greeted with handshakes and much backslapping and pulled immediately into a merry throng. Reaching back, he grabbed Catherine by the shoulder of her coat and tugged her down into the seat beside him.

Putting an arm around her shoulder he leaned into her and shouted to be heard above the din. “Look over there, Will. Do you see the gentleman surrounded in the corner?”

Catherine looked over and saw a long-nosed, sloe-eyed older gentleman keeping court, and nodded.

“That’s Dryden, the playwright. People come here to talk literature and be entertained. We’ll be staying a while. Stay close, enjoy yourself, and watch your purse. There are sharpers, rogues, highwayman, and thieves in these places, too.”

She nodded and he returned to the conversation he’d been having with a fellow who looked to be just the sort of man he’d described. They stayed well over an hour, and she clapped, hooted, and shouted with the crowd at each comedic turn, as wits, critics, and satirists took their turns at lampoon, inspired mimicry, and clever libel. One verse in particular was making the rounds from table to table, though she just caught the end of it.

Dare was an auld prophesy found in a bog,

Lilliburlero Bullen a la!

That Ireland would be ruled by an ass and a dog.

Lilliburlero Bullen a la!

And now the auld prophesy has come to pass,

For Talbot’s a dog and James is an ass.

Lilliburlero Bullen a la!

Jamie’s head was bent in earnest conversation with one man, then another, and though she’d strained to hear, it was impossible to tell what was said over the noise of the crowd. He turned to her now with a grin, clamping a hand on her shoulder and pulling her close to shout in her ear. “That ditty is the work of Wharton and Dorset, I’d wager,” before returning to his companions.

“They say at court that half the fellows in these places are traitors and spies,” she ventured, after they’d clambered into a hackney carriage and were on their way again.

“Mmm… yes. Charles used to call them seminaries of sedition. He’d have closed them down if he could. Tried once, but it lasted all of ten days before he had to open them again for fear of causing an insurrection.”

“So… which are you?”

“They’re flip sides of the same coin,” he said with a sharp look. “I’m your husband, mouse. That’s all you need to know. It’s an impertinent question as well as a dangerous one. Why would you ask it?”

“Because everywhere we go some furtive fellow or another is always trying to engage you in private conversation.”

“Not furtive enough, apparently. You said you could be discreet.”

“And I am, very.”

“Then I’ll tell you this. Much like yourself, I like to be well informed. Access to the halls of power can’t get a man as close to the heart of a matter as the talk at his local coffee house can. Now no more talk of spies and treason, although I grant you our next two stops are known for it. Filled with radicals and republicans, revolutionaries and agent provocateurs. The sort who appeal to all the ladies. I’m sure you’ll quite enjoy it.”

They stopped first at Jonathan’s in Exchange Alley and then The Cromwell. Catherine had perfected her courtier’s swagger, and a low-pitched, slightly bored drawl, an unconscious but effective imitation of Jamie’s. Comfortable in her role now, she’d forgotten Jamie’s strictures and joined in with the throng. Confident in her abilities, common sense, and discretion, Jamie let her go. He watched with fond amusement as she went to fetch her umpteenth cup of coffee, every inch the eager stripling on his first big night in town. No mean wit herself, she traded jests and sallies as she jostled through the crowd. Her performance would bring a theatre roaring to its feet, he thought with possessiveness and pride. What madness though, to bring her.

Why had he? The same reason, he supposed, he liked to taunt and tease her and to make her laugh. He loved to see the excitement shining in her eyes. When he was in her company, things seemed fresh and new. The world throbbed with color and everything pulsed with life. In three short months, she’d become so much a part of his life it seemed she’d always been there, and it was almost impossible to imagine her gone. He watched as she returned, bearing gifts of chocolate, eyes bright with exhilaration, and felt a stab of sadness that he’d never been that young.

A hand on his elbow pulled his attention away from Catherine. “Buckingham? What are you doing here? I thought you’d left for the country. Good God man! You look like you’re at death’s door.”

“I’m doing well enough, Sinclair. I leave the day after tomorrow. Now look you there, and heading our way. That’s the tonic I need,” he said with a leer.

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re a timid sort of rake, Jamie. A man can make do with a comely lad for want of a comely lass.”

“The lad is my cousin,” Jamie said, a note of warning in his voice. “Keep your hands to yourself and mind your manners, Bucks, the boy doesn’t share your vices.”

“Pity,” Buckingham replied with a mischievous grin.

Jamie made the appropriate introductions and Catherine removed her hat and made a gracious bow.

“No need for that, lad. We’re not at court here.” Buckingham’s eyes flicked over her with interest. “The lad’s a green one, Sinclair.”

“Green as springtime, George. Leave him be. Is there ought you wanted to discuss?”

“Yes, actually… ” His gaze shifted back to Catherine and sharpened. “Here now, boy! Have we met somewhere before?”

“I’m not a boy, Your Grace.”

“Drink your chocolate and mind your manners, Will. My lord Buckingham and I have a matter to discuss and then we’ll be leaving.”

While Jamie occupied himself with Buckingham and others, Catherine joined a game of basset. Sprawling in her chair, she slouched, elbow on the table, a fashionable young buck who watched the play just like a sharper. After an hour, she had a tidy pile of winnings. She was about to take her turn as banker when a hand clamped on her shoulder.

“Now then, William. What would your dear father say to see you occupied this way?”

“’Twas he who taught me, cousin. Would you care to join us?” she asked with a jaunty grin.

“Aye, Sinclair, you’ve been scarce around the tables these days. Come join us. Perhaps the lad can teach you a thing or two,” a rotund and sweaty gentleman invited, to snorts of laughter.

“Well… perhaps a round or two. Then we must be on our way.”

Catherine flashed him a grateful look and he returned it with a wink and a grin. She’d been hearing since childhood that she was too outspoken, too independent, and too proud, a tomboy and a hoyden who was too muscled and too tall. Jamie’s easy acceptance was the first she’d known in her adult life. She looked at him now as he raked in his winnings, flashing her a brilliant smile. Her heart squeezed painfully and she had to catch her breath.

“How could he not recognize me?” she asked him as they left.

“Who, Buckingham? People tend to see what they expect. Particularly people like him.”

“What do you mean, people like him?”

“The rich and privileged. They live inside their own little world. People rush to give them what they want and need, so they grow accustomed to their expectations being met. Be careful of him. He’s a predator, and you’re just the sort of prey he loves.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Daring, witty, a challenge… a beauty who can pass as a boy.”

She flushed, pleased with his offhand compliment. “But I’m your wife. You’re his friend.”

“You’re no longer in your Highlands, love. Honor’s worth spit here. Each man for himself and damn the rest. Buckingham never lets such flimsy contrivances as friendship or loyalty stand between him and what he wants.”

“I am forewarned.”

“You’ve done well tonight, Catherine. I know no other woman I could trust on such an adventure, but for this last stop, you must stay close. The element where we’re going is far from refined.”

“Try living in the field with a band of hairy Highlanders.”

“I’d rather not. There’ll be men of the sort I warned you against.”

“Rascals and rogues? The type women swoon over? I shall try to restrain myself. In any case, I already have one of my own. Do they have food? I’m famished.”

“They serve fine food on silver dishes, coffee in china cups, and wine in crystal glasses. They also serve… er… other things. You’ll see women there, but no ladies.

Her eyes lit with interest. “You’re taking me to a whorehouse? A brothel?”

“No… it’s technically a coffee house… but… ”

“You needn’t worry, Sinclair. I promise you I won’t have fits or faint, unless it be from hunger. Set me at a table with a meal and go about your business. I’ll be fine. Oh dear! I just realized how that sounded. You’ll not be about that kind of business though, I’m sure. I shouldn’t like that very much.”

“Of course not. I hadn’t planned visiting here when I said you might come, but something came up at The Cromwell I must see to tonight. Would you prefer I have a carriage take you home?”

“No! I’d expire from hunger on the way, and I’m curious. It’s something I’d never otherwise get to see.”

“I should hope not! Very well. I’ll be in and out as quick as I can. Be warned, though. You’re likely to see far more than you bargained for.”