The Taming of the Rogue. Amanda McCabe

would make you say such a thing? When am I ever in trouble?’

      All the time, Anna thought. Southwark was ripe with trouble around every corner—especially for men like her father, who had business concerns in every narrow street and dark corner. Yet he’d never wanted to run away from it before. He seemed to enjoy trouble.

      Just as Robert did.

      ‘I will think about going to the country for a time,’ she said. ‘When business grows slow in the hotter weather. But for now I have things I must do.’

      Her father nodded, somewhat mollified. But his face still bore that guilty flush. ‘What are you doing today, my dear?’

      ‘It’s rent day, and a few tenants are still behind in their payments. I’m going to visit them myself and have a word with them. You must keep a watch on the rehearsal at the White Heron, Father, or they will waste away the whole morning.’

      He nodded, but Anna feared he was inclined to laze away the morning with them. She rose from her chair and kissed the top of his balding head. The old rogue—how she loved him, despite everything. He was all she had, her only family, and she was all he had, as well. She had to look out for him.

      ‘I will be back by afternoon, Father,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about a thing.’

      He reached up to pat her hand. ‘I don’t worry, Anna. Not while you are here.’

      Anna left the dining chamber and went up to her room to fetch her hat and shawl. As she pinned the high-crowned grey hat to her neatly coiled hair, she caught a glimpse of her pale face in the small looking glass. Usually she only took a quick look, to be sure she was tidy, but today she looked longer, studied herself.

      Her father had always claimed she was pretty because she looked like her mother, but Anna had never thought herself so. She saw the finely arrayed Court ladies, with their golden curls and rouge-pink cheeks, their white bosoms displayed above jewelled bodices. She saw the admiration they gathered from men, and knew she did not resemble them. Her hair, though thick and long, was brown and straight, her eyes too tilted and her chin too pointed. She was pale and thin, her gowns plain grey, as Rob had pointed out. Her lips were fine enough, but were too often pressed thin with worry.

      She was not a vivid beauty, likely to catch and hold the eye of a handsome devil like Robert.

      ‘He must have been very ale-shot last night,’ she said, and jabbed the pin harder into her hat. Perhaps she had been, as well—or at least drunk on the moonlight and on his words, the rare glimpse he’d given her of his past.

      But that had been last night. This was today, and she had work to do.

      Anna looped her wool shawl over her shoulders and reached for her market basket. Her father was still at the table with his beer when she went downstairs, looking uncharacteristically sad and reflective. Something was happening with him, she was sure of it. But she had no time to puzzle it out now; the mysteries of men would have to wait. She had business of pence and pounds today, and that she could decipher and understand.

      Men, she vowed, she would never fathom.

      Anna was nearly to Mother Nan’s bawdy house, her first rent-collecting stop of the day, when she caught a sudden glimpse of Rob through the crowd. He was taller than most of the people passing around him, the plumes on his cap waving like a beacon, and her heart suddenly beat faster at the sight of him.

      There was no time to prepare herself for seeing him again after last night, and she felt very flustered and uncertain. She hated that feeling. How dared he make her feel so discomposed?

      And—and how dared he not even notice her?

      As Anna watched him, pressing herself against the whitewashed wall in case he glanced her way, he kept walking quickly on his path, looking neither to the right nor the left but just straight ahead. The people around him, the crowded, quarrelling knots and tangles of humanity, made way for him as naturally as if he was a prince. They didn’t jostle him or grab his arm to entreat him to buy their wares, and no one dared try and rob him. It was extraordinary.

      Yet Rob appeared to be lost in his own thoughts. Under the narrow brim of his fine cap his brow was furrowed, his expression dark as a storm cloud. There was not even a hint of reckless laughter about him, only some intense purpose that drove him onward.

      Where on earth was he going? Anna was intrigued in spite of herself. In her world it never paid to be curious. Only minding one’s own tasks kept trouble away in this neighbourhood, and not even always then. And Rob always seemed to bring trouble with him.

      ‘Oh, what am I doing?’ she whispered, but she followed him anyway, as if her feet could no longer obey her. She hurried after him, keeping those plumes in sight as her guide. She had to be very careful not to let him see her.

      She had never known Rob to be like this before, so solemn and purposeful, so lost in his own thoughts. Was he in some sort of debt or planning a crime? Or perhaps he was planning to sell his new play right out from under her father’s nose.

      They left the most crowded streets behind, leaving the thick knots of people and the busy shops for the pathway that ran alongside the river itself. Luckily there were still enough people gathered there for her to stay out of sight, using them for shields. Boatmen plied their trade, looking for passengers to ferry to the opposite bank, and fishmongers announced their fresh catch.

      Robert kept walking, and Anna had to quicken her steps to keep up with him. They passed warehouses, close-packed merchants’ houses, and London Bridge came into view, with the boiled heads of the executed staring down sightlessly at the crush of humanity. Rob started to cross the huge edifice and Anna realised with a sudden cold shock where he was heading—towards the silent stone hulk of the Tower.

      Anna shrank back from its tall, thick walls and gates, its waving banners and the guards who patrolled the ramparts. She had never been there herself, but she had heard such terrible tales of what happened behind those blank walls. Pain and blood and fear as could only be faintly imagined in revenge plays were a reality there, and most who were swallowed up by it never returned. Even from where she stood, at a safe distance along the river, she could feel the cold, clammy reach of it.

      What business could Rob have there? She could well imagine he would do something to cause his arrest. Actors were always getting into fights and being thrown into gaol, and there had been rumours he had once fetched up in Bridewell. Yet surely no one, not even a bold player like Rob, would voluntarily go near the Tower?

      She hurried across the bridge herself and stood up on tiptoe, straining to catch a glimpse of him. She finally saw his plumes again, and to her relief he was not entering the dark environs of the Tower but continuing along the river on the other side. She ran after him, dodging around pedestrians to keep him in her sight as he made his way into the tangle of streets just beyond the Tower’s walls.

      He went past more shops and houses, not even glancing at them. Gradually the buildings grew farther apart, with large gardens and empty spaces between them and the road, until he came to what had once been the entrance to an old Carthusian monastery. A vast complex had once lain here, covering many acres and containing churches, dining halls, scriptoriums and butteries and barns. Now there were large homes, quiet and watchful behind their new gates.

      At one of them, a tall half-timbered place of solemn, tidy silence and glinting windows, Rob stopped at last. He glanced over his shoulder, and Anna dived into the nearest doorway to stay out of sight. As she peeked out cautiously, he sounded the brass knocker on the heavy iron-bound door. A black-clad manservant, as solemn as the house, answered.

      ‘He has been expecting you, Master Alden,’ the man said as he ushered Robert inside. The door swung shut, and it was as if the house closed in on itself and Rob was swallowed up by it as assuredly as if it was the Tower itself.

      Anna stared at the closed-up structure in growing concern. What was that place? And what business did he have there? She did not have a good feeling about it.

      A pale heart-shaped face suddenly