Plague and Fire--The Complete Series by C. C. Humphreys

Author:C. C. Humphreys
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-77530-258-2
Publisher: C. C. Humphreys

* * *

Just as Sarah and William passed the front of the theatre, the second act began. The doors were open to late trade and they could hear Betterton’s rich voice: “ ‘Sblood! She could not have picked out any devil upon the earth so proper to torment her.’ ”

“Are you certain you do not wish to watch the second act?” William asked.

“I will be in the playhouse soon enough again. I would rather enjoy my freedom.” She sniffed the air. “It smells like spring today, does it not?”

“It does.” As they crossed Lincoln’s Inn Fields, he marvelled at the warmth and, even more, the normality. People strolling and enjoying the sunshine; oyster sellers selling oysters, maids their ribbons or combs.

“It is as if the plague never was. Yet I hear some still die of it.”

“I have heard so as well. In the poorer parts of the city. The monster never entirely quits the labyrinth.” He squeezed her hand. “But the king would not have returned nor the gathering places been reopened if there was a general danger still.”

“I am not concerned for my life. Yet I am sad about those who lost theirs.”

“As am I.” They gazed at the ground for a moment, neither with the other, both with Lucy. He was always a little surprised how readily the tears still came. He looked up, saw a match in her eyes. “Come, love,” he said. “How would you spend this free day of yours? Shall we walk? Or shall we retire to your apartments?”

There was a change in his voice, light now in his eyes. “Truly, was last night not enough for you, sir?”

“You were gone to Cornwall a long while. A month. And you only admitted me to your bed and your heart a short month before that.”

“Two months. How swiftly a man forgets!’ She laughed and kissed him. “Why not your apartments?”

“Dickon’s there. The place is a shambles of lurid pamphlets and nut shells.”

“Mine, then,” she said. “But first, William—” she resisted his immediate pull toward Sheere Lane “—let us go and see the puppets.”

He knew when he was beaten. “Your servant ever, madam.”

As they crossed the Fields, walked down to Fleet Street and then along the Strand toward Charing Cross, she wondered if tonight would be the night to tell him. It would change what was between them, and she was not sure she wanted that, this time of happiness to end. Yet she knew there could be happiness after too. Coke was not a man like Rochester. He would not disclaim his paternity. Indeed, she felt the captain would attempt to rush her to an altar—and she was not sure how she felt about that. She’d been a widow for ten months. Should she not last at least the year?

She glanced at him. He looked content. There would always be that darkness in his eyes, which she had noticed the very first time she met him. He had seen too much in his life. As had she.

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