We passed Somerset House, almost derelict, its golden days of masquerades and court intrigue long past. I caught the high, pungent scent of manure on the air; the Horse Guards had sequestered the old stables a few years back. These were the days we lived in since the South Sea Bubble burst: houses abandoned half-built or half-falling down; money flowing in and out of people’s lives, harder to keep hold of than quicksilver.
The boatman rowed on, whistling quietly to himself, oars cutting smoothly through the water. Jakes reached past him and tapped my knee, making me jump. ‘I might look the other way, when we reach Southwark,’ he said in a low voice, rubbing his thumb against his fingers in an unmistakeable gesture. ‘Not something I do as a rule.’
The bridge loomed up ahead, the windows of the houses upon it glinting in the mid-morning sun. A queue of boats waited to ride the churning waters below. ‘Why would you help me, Mr Jakes?’
A sad, distant look came into his heavy-lidded, sea-green eyes. ‘You remind me of my old captain.’
The river was flowing faster now as we reached the narrow arches of the bridge. I had to shout above the roar. ‘You were in the army?’ I should have realised from his battered, weatherbeaten face.
‘Nine years,’ he called back. He paused, lost in memories, then shook his head. ‘Captain Roberts was just like you. A rake and a gambler. And a drunk.’
I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it again.
‘You look the spit of him, too. Odd, that. You could almost be brothers.’
‘Indeed?’ The closest I had to a brother was Edmund, my stepmother’s son – and we were both delighted to be nothing like each other.
‘John was not what you’d call respectable,’ Jakes said, frowning at the memory. ‘Not always square. But he was a good friend to me. Saved my life once.’
I could tell by the way he was talking that Roberts was dead. ‘What happened to him?’
He looked away, down into the swirling waters. ‘The Marshalsea killed him.’
The boatman steered towards the arch closest to shore, holding tight to the oars. It was crowded with traffic, boats slamming against one another, shouts and curses filling the air. And above it all, the rush of the Thames, surging hard beneath the bridge. The river could be dangerous here, forced between the narrow arches; the waterman had to use all his strength to hold the little scull steady. One slip and it would be smashed to pieces. I didn’t fancy my luck in the water – not with twenty pounds of iron chains wrapped about me.
