Standing in the hall, Amos noticed an air of bustle: men walkedquickly from room to room and held brisk conversations as they passed on the stairs. It gave an impression of busy efficiency. Many aristocratic army officers were idle and insouciant, everyone knew; but perhaps Northwood was different.
The sergeant returned and said: ‘Follow me, please.’
He led Amos into a large room at the front of the house with a window that faced the west facade of the cathedral. Northwood sat behind a large desk. A big fire blazed in the hearth.
Sitting close to the desk, wearing a lieutenant’s uniform, clutching a sheaf of papers, sat a man Amos knew: Archie Donaldson, a Methodist. Amos nodded to him and bowed to the viscount.
Northwood wore no wig and had short, curly hair. His nose was large and his face had an amiable look, but his eyes appraised Amos with sharp intelligence. I’ve got about a minute to impress this man, Amos thought, and if I fail I’ll be out of here in no time. ‘Amos Barrowfield, my lord, Kingsbridge clothier.’
‘What’s wrong with Sergeant Beach’s uniform, Barrowfield?’
‘It’s been dyed with rose madder, a vegetable dye which is pink rather than red and fades fast. That’s all right for regular soldiers, but the cloth for sergeants and other non-commissioned officers should be coloured with lac dye, which comes from a scaly insect and forms a deep red – although it’s not as costly as cochineal, which gives the true bright “British red” and is used for officers’ uniforms.’
‘I like a man who knows his business,’ said Northwood.
Amos was pleased.
Northwood went on: ‘I suppose you want to supply the militia with cloth for uniforms?’
‘I’d be glad to offer you a hard-wearing, weatherproof sixteen-ounce broadcloth for private soldiers and sergeants. For commissioned officers I propose a lighter, superfine broadcloth, equally practical but with a smoother finish, made from specially imported Spanish wool. Fine cloths are my specialty, my lord.’
‘I see.’
Amos was in full flow. ‘As to prices—’
Northwood held up a hand for silence. ‘I’ve heard enough, thank you.’
Amos shut up. He guessed he was about to be turned down.
But Northwood did not dismiss him. He turned to Donaldson and said: ‘Write a note, please.’ Donaldson picked up a sheet of paper and dipped a quill in the inkwell. ‘Ask the major to be so good as to speak to Barrowfield about cloth for uniforms.’ Northwood turned to Amos. ‘I’d like you to meet Major Will Riddick.’
Amos suppressed a startled grunt.
Donaldson sanded the note and handed it to Amos, not troubling to seal or even fold it.
‘Riddick is in charge of all purchasing, assisted by the quartermaster. He has an office in this house, just up the stairs. Thank you for coming to see me.’
Amos bowed and went out, hiding his dismay. He had impressed Northwood, he thought, but it had probably done him no good.
He found Riddick on the upstairs floor at the back of the house, in a small room foggy with pipe smoke. Will was there in a red coat and white breeches. He greeted Amos warily.
Amos summoned up as much bonhomie as he could. ‘Good to see you, Will,’ he said cheerily. ‘I’ve been talking to Colonel Northwood. He wrote a note to you.’ Amos handed over the note.
Will read it, his eyes resting on the paper for longer than seemed necessary for such a short message. Then, making a decision, he said: ‘I tell you what, let’s discuss this over a pot of ale.’
‘As you wish,’ said Amos, though he did not feel the need of ale in the morning.
They left the house. Amos assumed they would go to the Bell, which was only a few steps away, but Will led him downhill andturned into Fish Street. To Amos’s dismay he stopped at Sport Culliver’s establishment.
Amos said: ‘Do you mind if we go somewhere else? This place has a bad reputation.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Will. ‘We’re only going in for a drink. No need to go upstairs.’ He went inside.
Amos followed, hoping none of the Methodists happened to be watching.
He had never been here before but the ground floor looked reassuringly like any other tavern, with little indication of the wickedness that took place elsewhere on the premises. He tried to take comfort from that, but he still felt uneasy. They sat in a quiet corner and Will called for two tankards of porter, a strong beer.
Amos decided to get straight down to business. ‘I can offer you plain broadcloth for the uniforms of recruits at a shilling a yard,’ he said. ‘You won’t get a better price anywhere. The same cloth dyed with lac for sergeants and other non-commissioned officers, three pence more. And superfine, for officers, British red, only three shillings and six pence a yard. If you can do better with another Kingsbridge clothier, I’ll eat my hat.’
