Vega nodded. “You’ve been generous with both your time and your expertise. I appreciate it no end.” She added, almost at the last moment, “I’m guessing you and Master Michaels are not the sort to want to come to London. But I’d be glad to arrange a table and supper for you, if you wished to. While I’m singing there, of course.”
It made Vivian laugh. “Oh, the idea. It amuses. I suspect not, but I will ask Cadmus rather than brushing it off. A good afternoon to you, then, and I’m glad I could be of some clarification.”
Half a minute later, Vega found herself back outside, and the only thing she could think of to do was go back to London and her notes.
Chapter 22
MARCH 15TH EXPLORING LONDON
“What’s the timing today? I thought we might walk along the river and Embankment. Then you’d be in a suitable spot to get a cab. Or the Tube, but I know you’d rather not.” Farran had met Vega just outside the Blackfriars stop. Now, he wasn’t sure about what she was thinking. She’d dressed for the weather and a substantial stroll, but she looked more spruced up than she had on Saturday, in a rather becoming green frock. Not that Farran was the most adept at that sort of thing, since most of the women he knew, other than those at Ormulu, tended to dress neatly, but not. Well, not like whatever that was.
She turned to him, smiling. “Oh, that sounds fine. Further than that, didn’t you say, in your note, if I wanted?”
“Several historical sites that aren’t strictly relevant to what we’re doing, but they’re interesting and we’re here.” Farran gestured. “Longer route this way.”
“I don’t really feel the need to stand on Blackfriars again. I heard some stories about it. Curses and ghosts.” Vega tilted her head, then waited for Farran to show where they were going. Hedidn’t want to offer his arm, since the streets were busy enough to make that impolite to everyone else. But she stayed right beside him, and he kept her on the inside of the street, to avoid her dress getting splashed. “Do you think there’s any truth to that sort of tale?”
“Ah, that’s a question for a less crowded street. Here, let’s cross. We’re going to the church, there.” Farran indicated the church on the other side of the street.
“St Bride’s?” Once they’d got across the street, Vega peered at the sign.
“Older than it looks. Or rather, the site is. There’s been a church here since the 6th century, but it’s the healing well we’re interested in. This one is a Christopher Wren, rebuilt after the Great Fire, but there are several earlier ones. And a strong association with Fleet Street and journalists, of course. And the printing press, before that; Caxton’s press was closer to Westminster, but his apprentice set up here. Wynkyn de Worde, appropriately named, don’t you think?” Farran peered, then gestured. “Along this side of the church, there’s an alley.”
The alley was narrow, but clean enough, and at the far end there was a gate. “I gather the well’s been dry for some time, but there’s likely water deeper. The Fleet is a river, of course, covered over the last century. You can imagine it, though, there were docks along here at one point.”
“Exactly how much reading did you do about this part of our tour?” Vega was smiling as she said it. “Don’t stop, please. I’m trying to decide how much I should apologise for your late nights reading up. Or are you getting up early?”
“Staying up later, mostly. Or there’s a good stretch between supper and bedtime, honestly, if I don’t have to make a show of being social.” Farran shrugged. “Not really a morning person, though I can manage it when I have to.” And he’d enjoyed doing the reading, knowing he’d share it with her, that she seemed tolike the stories and bits of trivia and making the buildings come alive.
“Really? I was thinking Saturday you were the sort of person who’d be up and about and cheerful about it. I, of course, prefer to see morning only from a very late night.” That, at least, had been true for a long time. All her family tended to be night owls. It went well with stargazing, and all the associated magics and rituals. Then she took a breath and paid attention to what she was feeling. Farran made no attempt to go into the church, and it wasn’t really the church they were interested in. “Oh!”
“The water?” Farran asked.
“Yes. Not just the usual damp of England or of London, but a more purposeful sort of water.” She took a step back and forth, as if getting a sense of the changes under her feet, almost a dance. “Especially now we’re a little away from the Thames. It’s a very loud note in the chord, right at the bank. There must be lore about the river, specifically?”
“Rivers. I could lend you a book about it?” Farran said.
“Bring it round to the club tomorrow night?” Vega offered it quickly, fast enough he wasn’t entirely sure she’d thought it through. “I’ll make sure you can get one of the small tables, if you like. Bring a friend, or they can seat someone there if we’re tight on space.”
“I’d not want to keep anyone out of a seat,” Farran said. “If you’re sure.” Then he added, more softly. “I wasn’t sure if it’d be a problem. Or a distraction. Of course, you’re far too professional for that.”
She smiled, so it was probably all right. Then she leaned over and touched his arm. “I am. But I’d like to know you’re listening. I mix up the sets, of course. It’s different from last time you were there.”
“Doing the same songs over and over again, in the same order, that would get boring, I suppose. Even if they’re a littledifferent every time. One of my friends thinks that about my work, how can I go look at another piece of silver plate, or another snuff box, or whatever? But they’re all different. And their stories are, especially. Who owned them, what else is in the auction with them.” Farran wasn’t sure how to ask about what he wanted to know, but this would do for a topic, probably. Hopefully.
“That’s just it. You can put songs together in different ways. Someone will hear a song one way. And then the next time, you add something that builds on a theme, or a turn of phrase, and the two are more together than they were on their own.” She turned her free hand up. “Like constellations and planets, if that makes sense to you. They’re in relationship to each other, and we’re in relationship to them, but it’s also always changing.”
Farran nodded slowly as she finished explaining. “I like that. And what will I hear if I come tomorrow, then? Or will it be different Saturday?” That got her into a conversation about balancing the three sets, and what she had in mind. The ballads, done in jazz style, had become decidedly popular. There would, of course, be a set of those, but also some jazz standards. Then it’d depend a bit on the mood of the crowd. He enjoyed hearing the way she laid out the decisions, though he had to reassure her twice she wasn’t boring him.
They came around to the next place he’d wanted to stop. “That there is St Dunstan’s-in-the-West. It used to have a clock with Gog and Magog beating the chime with clubs, but that’s been taken down. But there are statues of King Lud and his sons. And they’re working on the restoration of one of Queen Elizabeth, the only one, they think, carved during her reign.”
Vega blinked at him. “But she had a terribly long reign, didn’t she? Surely there must have been other statues.”
“You do ask the sensible questions.” That got her to blush slightly, and Farran wasn’t sure what to do with that fact. Hewent on a bit quickly. “That’s what the history says. I agree it’s implausible. First, you’re right that there should have been more. And second, statues take a fair bit of time to make, but they also tend to survive better than many other forms of art. They might shatter in a fierce fire, or crack if something falls on them, but paintings or even objects are far more fragile.” He shrugged once. “If we’re both still in London, we could come back to see it when it’s back on display. A few months, I gather.”
“How do you ever know these things?” Vega said. “All right, if we can’t see it, where next?”
“I thought we’d wander along past the Temple Church, then down to the Embankment. That’s a Templar church, of course, so full of lore, but not actually relevant to what we’re doing. Or at least I’m fairly sure. Entirely the wrong period and area of focus and all that. Two blocks that way, though we’ll go up to Fleet Street to go across.” Farran pointed out where they were going. “And well, the auction house staff know the conservators, and what pieces are getting particular attention. The big one. There are dozens of people working on pieces that were damaged in the flooding at the Tate, though, along with other work. That sort of thing. It’s not a very large world, when it’s all said and done, and keeping up with the gossip is part of the job.”
