Chapter 8

William had been busy in the week following his arrival in London. He had made himself known at a dozen different law firms and brokers, all of whom had looked favourably on his letter of introduction from his godfather. To his surprise – and gratitude – Digby had been entirely true to his word, accompanying William on all his excursions around the city, and making himself helpful at every turn.

"I really don't know what I'd have done without you, Digby," William said, as they sat in the taproom of The Spaniards Inn, eating mutton stew and drinking pale ale.

"I've no doubt my efforts will be rewarded, young master," Digby replied.

He had taken to calling William "young master" in the previous days, and had repeatedly promised him he would make a gentleman of him. There was so much for William to learn and remember. He wanted to live up to the trust placed in him by his godfather, and he had written to the duke to tell him of his good fortune in meeting Digby.

"I'll be forever grateful, I really will," William said, for he had received several offers of apprenticeship from several notable firms and had the pick of positions.

"If a friend can't help a friend, what's the world coming to? I'll have the landlord bring us another drink," Digby said, signaling to the landlord, who nodded.

But despite his success in matters of business, William remained uncertain as to where his future lay. He had decisions to make, and he knew he could not remain at The Spaniards Inn forever. He would need lodgings, furnishings, a manservant, and all the necessities of a gentleman if he was to continue living in the capital – for that was certainly his intention now he had a taste for it.

"But I'm torn as to what to do, and which offer to accept," William said, despairing at the thought of making the wrong decision.

"You don't have to decide immediately. Let them come to you, let them offer you more. Never accept the first offer you receive, William. Be prepared to negotiate," Digby said.

William was learning to trust his advice. In all matters, William had felt himself led along the right path by his new advisor, who reminded him a great deal of Professor Murray. Digby's advice was measured and thoughtful. He never once forced the matter, but William accepted his words for their wisdom, and he was grateful to Digby for his patience in William's fear of making the wrong choices.

"But I've got to decide one way or another. And there's all the rest, too – what to do about lodgings, and a manservant. I need new clothes, and I'm yet to meet anyone or forge any permanent connections – except with you, of course, and that was merely by chance," William said.

It still amazed him to think of the good fortune he had enjoyed in meeting Digby as he had done so. His new advisor had been on the lookout for him, or so he had said, and had promised to remain at his side until William was properly settled in his new home.

"It'll come, William. But you can't spend your whole time worrying about the future. Live a little in present. Didn't the Duke tell you to enjoy yourself a little?" he asked.

William smiled. His godfather had been insistent on it, and he had given William an allowance for that express purpose.

"See what the capital has to offer, William. But be prudent, not all pursuits are of equal dignity,"the duke had said, and there had followed a warning about vice and its poison.

But William had no intention of seeking vice. He was content with his current situation, and would not have known where to seek pleasures the duke would not have approved of.

"He did, yes. But I…well…I'm not sure how to do so," William admitted.

"Do you fence?" Digby asked.

William was surprised to be asked such a question. He knew nothing of fencing, apart from having seen Maximilian practicing it in the long gallery at Burnley Abbey. Fencing was a pursuit of a gentleman, and not for the likes of a boy like William.

"I don't, no. I know little of it," William admitted, but Digby only smiled.

"It matters not. You can learn. If you can fence, you'll find yourself open to all manner of invitations. It's a noble pursuit – a sport of kings, and one I'm sure you'll take to," he said.

William smiled. He was willing to try, even as he feared he would show little by way of skill at the pursuit.

"But it seems so…extraordinary. I don't have a sword, or…whatever it's called," William said, realizing his own ignorance in the matter.

In the course of the week spent with Digby, William had found himself ignorant of many things. Digby was constantly explaining things – the correct etiquette for this or that, the way to dress, what to eat, and a myriad of things William had never before considered. Despite his aristocratic connections, there could be no escaping from his childhood roots. William was born the son of a seamstress, and since his arrival in London, his lack of a correct upbringing had been painfully obvious. His mother was not to blame for this, but William knew he would never be a natural gentleman.

"A foil, an epee, and a sabre, those are your weapons of choice," Digby said, rising to his feet, and beckoning William to follow.

"But are we to fence now?" he asked, thinking it quite incredible they should step out of the taproom and challenge one another to a duel.

"Why not? I can teach you. It'll do you good. As I say, a man who can fence is privy to all manner of social invitations. You might even find yourself invited to court," Digby said.

The thought was too incredible for words, but William followed Digby outside into the yard behind the inn where, to his immense surprise, Digby had all the necessaries for a duel.

"But did you expect us to fence? Is that why you brought all this with you?" William said, and Digby smiled.

"I told you, William – I'll make a gentleman of you. I promise as much to Professor Murray," Digby said, as he set about unpacking a box with chest pads and the weapons, whilst William watched in fascination.

He was reminded to write to Professor Murray and thank him for his introduction to Digby, but now his new friend turned to him, handing him the padding, and instructing him on how to dress himself.

"One doesn't wound, does one?" William asked, for he feared he might inadvertently be taking part in a blood sport.

In the past, he had watched Maximilian and his friends sparring with one another, but not close enough to see what actually occurred at a strike.

"No, it's only the tip. A touch is what's necessary. It grew out of military training, of course. One doesn't want to be injured in training for war, but one needs to know one has correct poise, posture, and strike. Fencing trains the swordsman for all of that, but it's become a sport in its own right," Digby replied, pulling down a mesh mask over his face, as now he indicated for William to stand opposite him.

William adopted the position he was told to, and now Digby postured himself, the hand with his weapon held out, and his other hand raised behind him, his legs apart.

"Do I defend?" William asked, raising his own weapon in a somewhat clumsy gesture.

"En garde!" Digby exclaimed, and he lunged forward, touching William on the chest with the tip of his sword, even before William could react against him.

"Oh…is that…I didn't realize," William said, as Digby raised his mask and smiled at him.

He was far older than William – older than his godfather, the duke – but strongly built, and agile, too.

"You need to defend yourself. Don't allow me to strike you. Keep your guard up, anticipate my movements," he said, as now he replaced his mask and raised his sword again.

William did the same, and with the "en garde!" he defended himself against Digby's attack. To his surprise, he found himself somewhat skilled in the endeavor, and deflected Digby's strike, lunging forward and pointing the tip of his weapon to Digby's shoulder.

"Is that a hit?" William asked, and Digby nodded.

"Yes, and an excellent one at that," he replied.

William was beginning to enjoy himself, and he pictured himself sparring with other gentlemen, making friends – or even enemies – through the tip of his weapon.

"Shall we go again?" William asked, and Digby nodded.

"With pleasure, yes," he replied, and now he replaced his mask, adopting the position William emulated, and raising his weapon.

"En garde!" William cried out, and he lunged forward, as Digby defended himself.

The yard at the back of The Spaniards Inn opened onto a thoroughfare at one side, leading up to Saint Paul's. A steady stream of people was passing by, some of whom looked into the yard with curiosity at the sight of William and Digby engaged in their duel. But as William defended himself, he was surprised to see a figure he recognized pass by. It was the woman from the market, the one he had saved from paying a shilling for a loaf of bread. He recognized her immediately, though now she was accompanied by another woman, the two of them deep in conversation.

"Got you this time," Digby exclaimed, touching William's chest with the tip of his weapon.

But William was not listening, as now his gaze was entirely taken up by the sight of the woman – Anne – walking off into the distance.

"I've got to speak to her," he exclaimed, for it seemed her appearance was meant to be, and a sign he could not ignore.

William had thought the woman to be lost in the vast metropolis, and yet here she was, right in front of his eyes. He could not lose the opportunity to speak to her, and hurrying out of the yard, he called to her from a distance.

"Anne," he shouted, as Digby rushed up behind him.

"Whatever are you doing, William?" he asked, for William had made no mention of his encounter in the market on the day of his arrival.

"I've got to speak to her," William replied, as Anne turned to him in surprise and smiled with a look of recognition on her face.