Timewatch (12 page)

Did she have the courage to drown herself, especially in this murky water reeking of its burden of noxious offal from privies and slaughterhouses? Footsteps sounded behind her.

“How beautiful the river looks. See the way the light moves, always changing,” observed a deep voice.

A tremor of fear stabbed her. Thieves and killers were everywhere. A lady alone stood a good chance of being raped and killed and her clothes stripped off her and sold.

She turned around and took a good look at the man. From his dark cloak of some rich material and well-brushed hat with a high crown, it was obvious that he was a gentleman. She swallowed and strove to make a light reply, but words would not come.

Seeing her distress, he said in a gentle voice, “I have observed you at the inn where I occasionally take my meals. It has come to my notice that you may be in some difficulties.”

She nodded.

“The innkeeper's wife was most unkind.”

His compassion broke down her inhibitions; she began to cry. The man slipped a handkerchief into her hand and held out his arm. “I would be honored to have your company over a meal,” he said.

Scarcely knowing what she was doing, she allowed him to lead her to an inn, where a serving girl seated them at a table in an alcove. Some finely dressed ladies in silken skirts and jackets, accompanied by fashionably dressed men in boots, breeches, jackets, and hats with plumes in them, sat on benches around tables loaded with food and drink. A fiddler was playing a merry tune. The smell of roast beef from the joint roasting in the enormous fireplace set Susanna's mouth to watering.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Paul Kerchoff, at your service.”

“And I, sir, am Susanna Morgan.”

After ordering roast beef with vegetables and a pudding to follow, Paul told her that he was a merchant doing business in London and abroad. In turn, she found herself pouring out her tale of Cromwell's men taking her father, Jeremy's escape to Amsterdam, her flight to London, and her discovery of her aunt's incarceration in prison. She omitted her most recent adventures. After all, he was a stranger.

When the meal came, Susanna found herself digging eagerly into the food.

They spoke little until they had almost finished their meal and Paul offered, “If you will allow me to be of service, I will send my man to inquire of your relatives.”

“I bid you thanks,” Susanna said, “but why would you do me such a kindness?”

“I, too, know what it is like to feel every man's hand turned against me when agents of the Czar hunted me across Europe.”

“Why would they do such a thing, sir?”

“Because in Russia I spoke out against the injustices I saw daily around me: injured war veterans forced to beg in the streets, children starving and subject to the most wretched conditions, and the nobility riding roughshod over everyone.”

“Are things much better here?” asked Susanna bitterly.

“You English have a parliament that bends even kings to their will. Given time, matters may change for the better in Russia, but nothing save a revolution will break the power of the Czar. That is the difference. But come, we have done here. Where should I take you?”

Susanna drew a long breath. What should she tell him? She had nowhere to go.

Her chin lifted defiantly. “I have no particular place to go, sir. I was hoping to find a position, but so far have been most unlucky in that regard.”

If he was shocked by her words, he did not show it. His dark eyes held such kindness—and something else—an admiration. “It is difficult for a woman alone.”

“Yes,” she whispered. She felt a quickening of interest in this man. He was no foppish Royalist or a petulant lord.

He laid a hand over hers. “You are very welcome to stay with me. Until you find a position,” he added hastily as Susanna shifted suddenly in her chair. “I might be able to help you in that regard. As a lady's maid or a governess, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

“If that is not to your taste, I may be able to find you something else.”

“You are very kind.”

“Then that is settled,” said Paul briskly as he rose from his seat and held out his hand to her.

His hand was firm, curling around hers in a grasp that was at once comforting and intensely moving. She drew a sharp breath. It would be best if she kept a firm rein on her emotions. Even though she found the man appealing, he might turn out to be one of those men who took advantage of women. Like Sir Gilbert? She felt an enormous relief that he had not taken her with him. He was nothing like Paul. As he paid the bill, she admired the breadth of his shoulders, the way he held himself.

They went outside where his coachman was waiting. They said little as they journeyed to the outskirts of London until they came to a substantial-looking house set in a small park of several acres. Paul's house was exquisitely furnished with elaborately carved oak furniture and colorful Turkey rugs.

“Susanna, this is my housekeeper, Mrs. Zeman,” said Paul, beckoning to a thin middle-aged woman of plain looks, with a rigid stance and pursed lips. A look passed between her and Paul—not exactly that of master and servant, but not a look between equals—something between the two.

“Take care of Miss Morgan,” said Paul. “I must go out again on business.”

The housekeeper nodded, then showed Susanna to a plainly furnished bedroom and called a maid to bring some covers for the bed.

“I shall have cook prepare a posset for you. It will be served in the parlor.”

Susanna thanked her and then, as she had nothing to unpack, waited a few minutes and went downstairs into the parlor.

It was a pleasant room with a fire crackling on the hearth. Shortly after Susanna had sat down on one of the padded chairs, Mrs. Zeman glided into the room and set a posset on a small table beside Susanna. With the fire and the hot drink of milk, sherry, and spices warming her, Susanna felt herself relaxing for the first time in days.

Then the housekeeper did an astonishing thing: she sat down, too. In any other household, she would have been severely reprimanded or even lost her position.

“You are in trouble,” Mrs. Zeman murmured.

Susanna was dumbfounded. What kind of household was this that a servant should be so forward?

As if reading her mind, the housekeeper gave her a tight little smile. “You will find matters different here. You are not the first person in difficulties to be brought to this home,” she said. “There have been others. Mr. Kerchoff has a kind heart. I was the first that he rescued. If it had not been for him, I should have died.” Looking at Susanna she said, “These are troubled times. The Thirty Years' War is ravaging the countries of Europe even as the civil war in this country is wreaking havoc upon many. It is no shame to be brought low through no fault of your own.”

Susanna's eyes filled with tears. She found herself blurting out to this woman—just as she had to Paul—the circumstances that had brought her here.

“You are safe now,” Mrs. Zeman said softly. “We will talk again soon,” she added as she stood up.

Who were these people? Susanna felt embarrassed that she had disclosed so much of herself to a servant, but then Mrs. Zeman did not act like a servant.

Her eyes growing heavy, Susanna fell asleep.

She awoke to the sounds of someone coming into the room. It was Paul. As he greeted her, she noted his look of weariness.

“Mrs. Zeman has been seeing to your comfort?” he asked, going over to the fire and rubbing his hands together.

“She has been most kind,” said Susanna cautiously. After a pause, she added, “She told me that you rescued her.”

“It was a terrible time for her and many other Jews in Poland. Even though King Wladislaus IV was not hostile to Jews, many Poles resented them because of their money and influence and accused them of being killers of Christ.

“I had met Miriam once in the course of doing some business with her father. A few years later, I encountered her coming out of a shop. She looked fit for the boneyard, so emaciated and ill she looked. I might have passed her by without recognizing her except for her eyes, which still had a certain fire to them, a look of dauntless refusal to give in. She told me that she had been put out of her lodgings a week past because she could not pay the rent. I told her that I was leaving town that night and invited her to come with me. She has worked for me ever since. Her services have been invaluable.”

“Truly, she has suffered, but Jews are not allowed to live here, not since they were expelled from England by King Edward in the thirteenth century!”

“So they were, but some, mainly Spaniards and Portuguese, live here secretly now. They fled from the Inquisition in their native lands. Even though they became New Christians, people still thought of them as crypto-Jews, killers of Christ.”

“But how … ?”

“Many of these are rich merchants who pass themselves off as Catholics. Since some of them perform certain secret services for the government, they are allowed to stay.”

Susanna's mind reeled. She remembered when her father had taken her, Jeremy, and Aunt Arabella to the playhouse to see
The Merchant of Venice.
How the audience had booed Shylock the Jew with his hooked nose and beady eyes, who had insisted upon his pound of flesh!

She looked up to see Paul gazing steadily at her. “You are offended?” he asked.

She sensed that the answer was important to him, so she answered carefully, “I have never met a Jew before, but if you have seen fit to make one your housekeeper, that is your prerogative.”

Paul nodded gravely. The silence stretched out. “I have given some thought to your situation,” he said. “By your leave, I will ask Mrs. Zeman to teach you such skills as you may need in the future.”

“Thank you, sir,” was all that Susanna could find to say.

“And now to dinner,” said Paul, leading the way into the dining room, where a varied repast had been set out for them.

After they had finished a satisfying meal, Paul asked, “Do you play chess?”

“I have some small skill there, sir. My father taught me how to play.”

“Then, if you are agreeable, we shall have a game.”

When they had finished a game, which Paul handily won, he said, with a glint of laughter in his eyes, “You have an unconventional way of moving your pieces, but for all that, you may make a fine player yet.”

“Many thanks, sir, but I acknowledge that you are far superior.”

He laughed and admitted, “Perhaps so, but are you teachable?”

“I think you may find me an apt pupil,” said Susanna softly, looking up at him. A log fell, sending a shower of sparks upward and illuminating Paul's face. He was looking intently at her. Warmth that had nothing to do with the fire on the hearth surged through her.

Paul parted his lips as if to speak, then thought better of it. “I have some letters to write. If there is anything else …”

“No, I … I am quite comfortable here.”

He stood up, bowed, and left the room.

The next morning after Susanna had finished her breakfast, Mrs. Zeman joined her and said, “The master has left town for a few days. He has asked me to acquaint you with some housewifely skills.”

Why had Paul not told her of his leaving? But then he probably gave no more thought to her than he would a lost puppy that he had rescued. And what sort of “skills” was Mrs. Zeman going to teach her?

“Do you know how to make a posset or a syllabub?”

When Susanna shook her head, the housekeeper said, “There is nothing like a good hot drink to ward off the chill of winter. We will begin with a syllabub.”

Mrs. Zeman led her into the kitchen, where the cook was dozing in a chair and a scullery maid was washing dishes. With a flick of her fingers, the housekeeper dismissed them. She pulled out a pot into which she poured cider, sugar, and a little nutmeg. “Now stir that while I pour in some cream,” she said to Susanna, who reluctantly took the proffered ladle.

Was she reduced to being a servant now? Angered, Susanna stirred the liquid so hard that some of it splashed out of the pot.

Mrs. Zeman merely pursed her thin lips at this show of temper. She lifted the pot onto the large wooden table standing in the center of the room. “Now we let the syllabub stand for two hours,” she said.

“Sit down, Susanna,” said the housekeeper, pointing to a wooden chair. “You may think me unkind, but it is to your advantage to learn those things that would gain you favor in the eyes of an employer.”

“But what can I do?”

“Can you sew?”

“No.”

“Then being a lady's maid or a seamstress is out of the question. I gather that you have never cooked?”

Susanna shook her head.

“Can you read and write?”

“Yes, I can. And I even know some French and Latin.”

“Then you might become a governess or teach in a village school, but one must have references for that.”

Susanna heaved a great sigh. “Nothing seems quite suitable,” she murmured.

“Suitable! You are without family or fortune. You must take what you can and be thankful, else it's the streets for you, my girl.”

“I will never, ever resort to such a thing, of that you may be sure!”

Her dark eyes flashing with anger, Mrs. Zeman said, “Like you, I once had a family and bright prospects. Then my father died, his partner absconding with all his money. My suitors left, looking for girls with fortunes. My mother and I were forced to leave our house and live in lodgings. We took in sewing, barely keeping body and soul together. Then my mother began coughing up blood and died. Alone, I could no longer afford even our meager lodgings. I slept in the streets for a week. That is when the master found me. You are fortunate that he takes an interest in you.”

“Maybe I will marry,” said Susanna defiantly.

“Yes, you might—you're pretty enough—but you would still need to know how to bake bread, make preserves, and know which herbs are good for certain illnesses so that you may treat your family …”