The Ladder Dancer (28 page)

Ahead, Ridley paused outside a tavern as if he was tempted to go in. One hand strayed to his hip and began to scratch. With any luck, he’d picked up fleas from the beds at the Old Man.

I realized my danger almost too late. If I stopped too, Ridley might realize I was following him. There was nothing I could do but walk steadily past him and hope he didn’t look too closely at my face. I pulled my hat low on my forehead and was lucky; he didn’t look round. He was frowning at his waistcoat pocket, dipping his fingers in as if in a vain search for a coin or two. It looked as if he’d have to sing for a drink, as Nightingale had. I walked on then, at the point where the Clothmarket meets the Bigg Market, stopped and sneaked a look back down the street.

Ridley had disappeared.

Thirty-Seven

A gentleman’s reputation precedes him . . .

[
A Gentleman’s Companion
, September 1730]

Heron was striding across the Clothmarket; when he saw me start back, he waved his hand, pointing at a building about halfway down the street. I got there before he did and found a small alley between two shops, barely wide enough for a man. Light from a torch burning in the Clothmarket barely penetrated the alley but I thought it turned almost immediately to the right. Once we were round that corner, it would be pitch black.

Heron came to my shoulder. ‘It is too dangerous to go in there. I will cut round the other side of the shops and see if there’s a better way in. Stay here.’

He was just moving off, leaving me, annoyed, at the entrance to the alley, when we heard a clatter.

I plunged in.

My shadow blocked out most of the torchlight. I trailed my hand along the bricks, straining to see. Ahead was a blank wall with the tiniest of windows high under the eaves. I could have done with the help of a friendly spirit but didn’t want to call for one in case Ridley heard me. None came dashing to see what was going on so perhaps the alley was unspirited.

I came to the corner, took a deep breath and swung round it. Heron came up behind me, swearing. I drew back, said, ‘There’s no danger. Look.’

It was a dead end, closed off at a doorway that had been bricked up decades ago. The staves of a broken barrel were still rocking where they’d been knocked over. There was no way out and no Ridley.

Heron said, ‘He has stepped through. We must do the same.’ He gripped my arm, his thin fingers bruising me through the material of my greatcoat. ‘Without delay.’

He was right. God knows what havoc Ridley might wreak on an unsuspecting world. We had to follow him. And at once, because of that disconcerting habit of the worlds being slightly out of step. I took a pace forward. Heron, still gripping my arm, took that pace too. There was the familiar sense of cold and a flash of darkness, then we were standing in the same alley – only it was daylight and rain was lashing into our faces.

At least we were dressed for it, I thought wryly as we huddled at the place where the alley debouched on to the Clothmarket. Which Ridley was not – he’d be getting very wet. And the heavy rain meant too that there were fewer people about, and they were hurrying past with heads down. No one seemed to notice us.

Heron, beside me, was shivering despite his thick greatcoat. I stared out into the sodden street, remembering, too late, that Esther would be walking about the streets of our own world on her own, in the small hours of the morning, wondering what had happened to us. I took a firm control of my anxiety; she was a sensible woman and she had a duelling pistol. Heaven help anyone who tried to take advantage of her!

We splashed up the cobbles to where the Clothmarket meets the Bigg Market and stood in the shelter of a shop doorway to stare about for Ridley. We could be directly behind him, or hours too late. The heavy rain stung my exposed hands and face. If this was our own world, I’d ask a spirit to trace Ridley’s movements but there were no spirits here. And if we accosted a passer-by they might mistake us for our counterparts and ask awkward questions.

Heron said suddenly, ‘There!’

Ridley was dressed in sombre brown, which was not easy to spot in the driving rain but he was also the only person not sensibly wrapped up against the weather. He was just disappearing round the corner where the Bigg Market dog-legs to the right, leading up to the dead end where the Turk’s Head lies.

‘Esther was right,’ I said grimly as we hurried from our shelter. ‘He’s looking for ale.’

We were walking into the rain. A vicious wind tugged at our clothing; I was forced to keep one hand on my hat to prevent it blowing away. My greatcoat flapped open; the rain quickly soaked the knees of my breeches and stained my white stockings a muddy brown. A man hurrying past raised a hand and shouted something. The wind whipped away his words but I distinctly heard my own name.

‘I hope to God we do not come face to face with our own selves,’ Heron said.

I’d met my counterpart in this world once before, the briefest of encounters – we’d come face to face on a doorstep – and it had been one of the most frightening experiences of my life. And one of the most humbling. My counterpart in this world is wealthier than I—

And I almost came to a halt as I thought:
Not any more.

The street was less exposed when we turned the corner – the Bigg Market narrows progressively as it twists towards the Turk’s Head, and the worst of the rain splattered against the walls above our heads. The door to the inn stood open but an inner door was firmly shut against the weather; I pushed on it, feeling water dripping from my hat down my back. Noise hit me as the door swung open: laughter and the rumble of conversation, the clatter of tankards, the calls of serving girls.

Ridley had his back to us. If we’d any doubts the sodden figure was his, they would have been dispelled by his behaviour. He was ranting and raving at the landlord, Parker, demanding beer on account, and game pie too, and where the devil was Maggie? Judging by Parker’s squint of puzzlement, Maggie had no counterpart in this world. Some do not.

‘It’s no use you going on, Mr Ridley,’ Parker said levelly. Parker has a big black wig which looks as if it was left over from King Charles’s days, and a shock of eyebrows to match. ‘I told you last time you’d get no more credit from me. Not until you pay what you already owe.’

‘I can give you wealth beyond your imaginings,’ Ridley said, gesturing drunkenly. ‘I can show you the entrance to another world—’

I started forward but Heron put out a hand to hold me back.

‘Yes, I know,’ Parker said sighing. ‘You want to show me the land of the fairies.’

A man with a tiny wig and a huge belly grunted with laughter.

‘No!’ Ridley caught Parker’s sleeve. ‘A world like this one but with unimaginable wealth!’

Parker looked at him until he took the hand away. ‘There are only two worlds, Mr Ridley, this one and the next, and I can hear all I need to know about the next world in church on Sunday mornings.’

‘Oh my God,’ I muttered to Heron. ‘What day is this? In our own world, I mean.’

He stared at me as if I was mad. ‘Saturday. No – it must be Sunday morning now.’

I groaned. ‘I’ve promised to play the organ at All Hallows today.’ Would I be back in time, I wondered. Who could tell? I’d never yet fathomed how to guess when I’d get back to my own world. Perhaps I did need Kate to give me a lesson or two.

‘I want a beer!’ Ridley growled.

‘No, sir,’ Parker said, very deliberately. ‘And if you don’t leave this inn now, I’ll personally throw you out of it. And you’ll know from the last time that it’s none too pleasant an experience.’

Heron strolled forward. Startled, I trailed after him. ‘Parker,’ he said cordially. He took off his hat and shook himself. ‘Dreadful weather.’

Parker looked relieved. ‘It is indeed, Mr Heron. Good day to you. And to you, Mr Patterson – I didn’t see you there.’

Thanking providence my greatcoat hid my shabby clothes, I nodded warily. I don’t have Heron’s inbred confidence that immediately makes him master of every situation.

Ridley was staring at us and I didn’t like the slow grin that spread over his face. ‘Here you are, Parker. These are the very gentlemen to confirm what I’ve been telling you.’ He prodded me in the ribs. ‘You tell him, Patterson. You tell him we’ve just come from another world.’

‘Yes, yes,’ I said soothingly and winked at Parker. ‘Another world entirely.’

‘With spirits on every corner.’

‘What’s special about that?’ Parker sighed. ‘There are enough taverns in this world. I wish there weren’t – too much competition.’ His large customer grinned.

‘Spirits!’ Ridley cried. ‘Not brandy or— or— not
those
spirits. The spirits of the dead!’

‘I was told he has been hearing voices,’ Heron said, regarding Ridley dispassionately.

‘Sad case,’ Parker said, more as a matter of politeness than anything else. The look he bestowed on Ridley was not sympathetic. The large customer looked thoughtful, even professionally interested. I wondered if he was one of those gentlemen who look after the deranged in such places as Bedlam. Perhaps we ought to enlist his help.

‘Real spirits, damn it!’ Ridley burst out.

‘Drunk as a lord,’ Heron said.

I took Ridley’s arm. ‘Time to go home.’

Ridley staggered. ‘I won’t go with you! Got to get to the field.’

This puzzled me. ‘Which field?’

Ridley clutched at me. A faint pink stain disfigured the shoulder of his coat, I noticed; the wound must still be bleeding. I thought of the field Kate and I had stepped through to – was that what he was referring to? But how could he know about that?

‘Shall I call a chair?’ Parker asked.

The vision of Ridley being carried to our own world in a sedan chair briefly diverted me. ‘No, no. The walk will do him good. The rain will help sober him up.’

Ridley shrugged me off. ‘I said I won’t come. I want to go to the field.’

‘Maybe he doesn’t want to see the spirits,’ Parker said humorously.

‘Does one
see
spirits?’ Heron said, frowning. ‘I would have thought that by its very nature the human spirit is incorporeal. Surely, like the rest of the spiritual world, it is invisible, beyond our perception?’

We all stared at him. I suddenly realized he was trying to distract Ridley and was succeeding. I snatched at Ridley and got a good grip on his arm. He struggled to get free. ‘Let go of me, I said, let go!’

‘Jem!’ Parker said imperiously.

And the large customer lifted a massive fist and brought it down on Ridley’s head.

He slumped into my arms.

Thirty-Eight

Independence of mind and action are the sure sign of a gentleman.

[
A Gentleman’s Companion
, June 1734]

We staggered out into the rain-lashed street with Ridley lolling between us, a dead weight. The thought of carrying him even a hundred yards was not appealing.

‘Take us back to our own world,’ Heron said peremptorily. ‘Now!’ A rough-looking man pushed past us.

‘I can’t! Not with so many people about! We need a deserted alley.’

That should have been easy, particularly in this rain. But it seemed that half the town was heading for the Turk’s Head to shelter from the weather; every time we turned down a side street or alley, someone was coming the other way. Heron cursed and Ridley began to show signs of coming round.

In the Bigg Market again, we came face to face with a group of five or six apprentices causing havoc, yelling and shouting at passers-by and trying to splash them as they trudged through the puddles. Heron almost exploded with rage and frustration. ‘What the devil are they doing out at this time of day!’

I tugged at Ridley. I’d pulled his arm round my shoulder but his weight was dragging me down. ‘Let’s cross to the other side.’

Avoiding confrontation is not in Heron’s nature. ‘Devil take it! Get back to work!’

The boys sneered; one struck a defiant pose. With water dripping off his hat and running down his face, Heron was not an impressive authority figure.

‘We’ll call out the Watch,’ I threatened, trying to tug at Ridley and, through him, at Heron.

The effect of my words was startling. One of the lads started stammering. ‘Mr Patterson. Sorry, sir, I didn’t recognize you.’ Rain was running down his cheeks but I rather thought there were beads of sweat there too. ‘I was just off to get that ruled paper for you, master. I just happened to meet—’

His voice trailed off. I thought it best to say nothing; I looked at him. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said quickly and dashed off into the downpour. The other boys, maintaining their dignity, sauntered after him and didn’t laugh or smirk until they were at a safe distance.

‘You patently do not keep a sufficiently hard hand on your apprentice,’ Heron snapped, staring after the boys.

‘My
counterpart
doesn’t,’ I said annoyed. Thinking of George. And Kate.

At which moment Ridley kicked me on the ankle bone.

I yelped, involuntarily let go of him, and he set off running. Heron still had his other arm and held on grimly. Ridley swung in a circle, slipping on the wet cobbles and almost tumbling over. He swung a wild punch. Heron swayed back out of reach.

My ankle throbbed furiously. I made an ineffectual grab for Ridley. His arm took me full in the face, sent my hat spinning and knocked me to the ground. I landed in a pool of rain; water soaked straight through my clothes to the skin. I heard Heron swear, then the rip of cloth, and Ridley dashed past me.

Heron bent to help me up. I waved him away. ‘After him!’

He raced off. The Bigg Market runs downhill and Ridley was fast, skidding on the slick stones, dodging and weaving between startled passers-by. He had the advantage in years on Heron but I didn’t believe for a moment he had more tenacity. He’d be hard put to escape.