The Ashes of London Read Online Free Page B

nails. She had seen it by daylight: the wood had blackened with age and was as hard as a stone wall.
    In the distance came the sound of three explosions. They were blowing up more of the houses in the path of the fire.
    There came a faint scraping sound from the other side of the door. Then silence. Then another scrape. No lock, thank God. Only two iron bars, as thick as a man’s arm.
    The door swung inwards. A crack of light appeared on the other side, widening with the opening door. She slipped through the gap. Immediately she turned, closed the door and dropped the latch in place.
    ‘Mistress …’ The whisper was a hiss of air, barely audible.
    ‘The bars, Jem.’ Cat’s eyes hadn’t adjusted to the gloom yet. ‘Quickly.’
    The flame wavered behind the grille of the closed lantern as he placed it on the floor. Shadows fragmented and glided over the wall. The air was foul, for the cesspit of the house on the other side of the alley had leached through the foundations of the wall.
    Jem scuttled to the door. Iron grated on stone. He had rubbed grease on the bars to make them move easily and as quietly as possible. She watched, clutching the grey cloak about her throat.
    When the door was doubly barred, he turned to face her. She heard his breath, wheezier than usual perhaps because of the smoke. Sometimes his wheezing grew so bad that they thought he would die of it. ‘Scratch me, I wish he would,’ Cousin Edward had said last winter. ‘It’s like listening to a death rattle.’
    ‘Mistress, what happened?’
    She brushed aside the question with one of her own: ‘Where are they?’
    ‘Madam’s retired. Master’s in the study. Master Edward’s not back yet. The dogs are loose.’
    If the dogs were in the house, then the servants had gone to bed too, all but the watchman and the porter.
    Jem bent down for the lantern. As he picked it up, the shadows merged and swooped to the vaulted ceiling, sliding over stone ribs and bosses.
    Now she was safe, or as safe as she could be for the time being, Cat was aware that she too was breathing raggedly, and that she was drenched with sweat. It was hot even in here.
    He lowered his voice still further. The flame flickered as he mouthed the words, ‘Did you find him, mistress?’
    Tears filled her eyes. She bit her lower lip, drawing blood. ‘No. And St Paul’s is lost. I saw part of the portico fall and crumble into dust.’
    ‘If Master Lovett was there, he will have escaped.’
    ‘We must pray he did.’ Her words were pious, but her feelings were more complicated. Was it possible to love her father and fear him at the same time? She owed him her devotion and her duty. But did he not owe her something as well? She wondered why Jem cared for him, the man who had once beaten him so hard that it caused the lameness in his leg.
    ‘Remember, I cannot be sure it was him I saw this morning.’ Jem brought the light closer to her. ‘Your clothes, mistress. What happened?’
    ‘It doesn’t matter. Light me upstairs.’
    The house was built mainly of stone and brick – a blessing in these times, Master Alderley had said at dinner, though he also urged his family to mark that God tempered the wind to those who took thought for the morrow – and it lay at a safe distance beyond the City wall near Hatton Garden. The place had belonged to the monks in the old days and it had been much altered since then. It was old and rambling, with stairs that spiralled to chambers that were long gone and to great vaulted cellars half-full of rubble.
    Jem led the way, holding the lantern high. They mounted a flight of steps and passed through another door.
    Claws clattered on stone. The mastiffs met them in the passage. One by one, they pushed their moist muzzles at Cat. They pressed against her, sniffing and licking her outstretched hand, eager for her familiar touch. By day the dogs lived in a special enclosure in the yard, and by night they patrolled the house, yard and the