Spider Light(38)
These are the gates that shut off the lake
That turns the wheels
And drives the mill that Joe built.
Simon had added a ruder verse when they were older, dealing with the fate of the maiden all forlorn, who had given the miller’s assistant the horn, and been laid in the mill that Joe built. Remembering this as she climbed to the upper floors, Thomasina thought it a shame that Simon had not turned his abilities to something worthier than drinking, gambling and womanizing.
The massive machinery looked reasonably sound, although there were ominous patches of rust in places. The millstones were starting to dry out and crack from disuse. Proper workmen would have to be called in to overhaul all that, but Thomasina did not think any of it was beyond repair. She lit one of the candles and, shielding it with her cupped hand, went down the steps to the kiln room.
Had Twygrist always been filled with the little scufflings and scuttlings she could hear? But then really old buildings were never completely silent. As if in response to this, there was what sounded like footsteps overhead and Thomasina was suddenly aware of Twygrist’s lonely situation. She strode back to the foot of the stairs, and called out, ‘Is someone there? Who is it?’
‘Thomasina? It’s me. Simon. I saw you walking along the lane –I tried to catch you up but you were too quick. What on earth are you doing in here?’
‘Taking a look at the fabric. Checking the sluice gates and so on.’
‘Oh, I see.’ He came down the stone steps and stood at the opening to the tunnels, looking around. ‘Lor, do you remember how we used to come down here as children? I used to tell you ghost stories–you never cared much for them, but they always frightened me half to death, and—’
‘Why did you follow me here? There’s nothing wrong, is there? With Maud?’
‘There’s nothing in the least wrong with Maud, providing you discount the fact that she’s only half a furlong from raving lunacy. You’ll have to do something about her eventually, won’t you? Still, that’s your problem, old girl. My problem is sordid coinage. That’s why I followed you. To talk about it.’
‘Money? I’ve already given you—’
‘A thousand pounds, with the promise of another two if Maud conceives. Yes, I know that.’
‘And I paid your debts,’ said Thomasina dryly. ‘Very substantial debts they were as well.’
‘Oh, a man’s known as much by his debts as by his enemies,’ said Simon, carelessly. ‘I’ve heard Cormac Sullivan say that many a time. But that thousand wasn’t enough, Thomasina. And three thousand isn’t really enough either.’
They looked at one another. ‘You want more,’ said Thomasina at last.
‘A lot more.’
‘We could say another five hundred, perhaps.’
‘I think we’ll have to say a lot more than that.’ He moved closer, and in the candlelight his face looked sharper.
‘I was thinking we’d double the three thousand,’ said Simon. And, as Thomasina made a quick gesture of annoyance and refusal, he said, ‘And then a yearly payment of five hundred on top of that.’
‘It can’t be done,’ said Thomasina at once. ‘I’m sorry, Simon, I simply can’t afford it.’
‘Then,’ said Simon softly, ‘you’ll have to find a way to afford it. Because, my dear, if you don’t I shall make sure the entire county knows what you get up to with your plump little girls. There’ve been quite a few of them over the years, haven’t there?’ he said. ‘All the seductions of those pretty daughters of the local landed gentry. And all those trips to London to pick up street girls–Oh yes, I know all about that, Thomasina. An old school-friend saw you near Seven Dials in the summer–he recognized you from when he used to stay at Quire in the holidays. He was surprised to see you in that part of London. You were striding along with what he described as a very queer look in your eye, and he couldn’t imagine what you were doing there. But I can imagine,’ said Simon. ‘You were after the girls, weren’t you? The ones who don’t much mind if they do it with a man or a woman, providing there’s money to be made.’
‘No one would believe any of this,’ said Thomasina, but she felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. She thought: how much does Simon really know about me? Supposing this friend of his followed me? Along to the familiar turning off St Martin’s Lane, and into the place where the seven streets meet. Seven Dials. And from there into the little yard nearby. Number 17 Paradise Yard, that’s the address. I wrote it down, even though I’d never forget where my cat-faced girl lives.
‘I’ll bet there are a few whispers about you in Amberwood as it is,’ Simon was saying. ‘Believe me, Thomasina, it wouldn’t take much to fan the flames of those whispers, and inside a week you’d be a byword. And on top of that, I could tell them about your latest adventure, and that’s first-hand information, isn’t it? I can describe it exactly: how you’re paying me to make your newest little paramour pregnant. How we’re enjoying those cosy threesomes in bed together–except that Maud isn’t enjoying them, is she? You’ve had to lock her up to stop her running away, and I’m having to drink myself into insensitivity every night because oddly enough, Thomasina, I don’t much care for doing it to a female who finds it–and me–so repulsive. But I think you’ve got your way–I’ve heard her being sick on three mornings in succession.’