And here, finally, is the start of my second Vallemont novel- the one I'm currently reading to turn into an audio book, which you can buy the digital text version of only, by pressing the button below:

It costs just £2.99 only and there is no P+P, because it will be emailed to you- the ideal Christmas Present!

An Unreasonable Request.

The Second Francis Vallemont novel.

by Frank Almond.

For Vik

Prologue.

Fenchurch Street, 7 a m, Wednesday.

He saw the maid come out and cross the street, and go down Mincing Lane, and didn't pay her much heed. Until she came right back out again and returned to the house. It was the speed of her coming and going that had attracted his attention. He left his position in the archway of St Gabriel's and hurried down to the corner of Mincing Lane, and saw a big red-haired man shambling away towards the bottom, where it runs into Tower Street.

"Now, who are you?" he said. He looked back across the street and wondered if he should follow him or stay watching the house. This man could be important or it could be nothing at all. How do you decide. And then he followed him.

The man turned right on Tower Street. He ran after him to catch up, but by the time he'd made it to the corner, the man had vanished, like the old were-fox himself. He shook his head and folded his arms.

"Well, I'll be- I lost him!" He laughed at himself. "Mister, you are no good at this."

And then he walked back up Mincing Lane. And his mouth broke into a smile, and then broke into a song. And his voice was a most wonderful, soft, lilting baritone.

"One evening, as I rambled,
Among the leaves so green,
I overheard a young woman,
Converse with Reynardine."

An Unreasonable Request.

Bennet Deering should not have been there. Her husband, William Deering  a Warden and  liveried member of the Worshipful Company of Skinners, thought she was going to Silver Street to see her sister, Mrs Ursula Clavell. And here she was, visiting a house in Hog Lane, Shoreditch. It was hardly the behaviour of a respectably married young woman. Shipley watched her go in the house on the corner, but could not see who answered the door to her, because the property was high walled and accessed by a round archway from the Lane, that led into a yard.

It looked like rain, or snow, was on the way, judging by the clouds gathering over Westminster way, so Shipley paid a lad to keep an eye on the place for him and described the woman he was interested in. And then he walked all the way back down the hill to Petty France to a tavern he knew, to have a pie and a pint. And ended up doing a turn as he was standing there up at the bar. He sang, "The Pangs of Love and Lovers' Fits"  in his best lilting baritone. And it went down well. He received a good applause and a request for another, but no coin. When he walked back up Norton Folgate to Shoreditch an hour and a half later the boy was still there, loitering around on the corner, looking blue-lipped and bedraggled. But at least the rain had held off.

"Did she come out?" he said, slipping him a halfpenny.

The boy jerked his head back from the man's beery breath and shook his head. 

He was a scrawny looking thing, dressed in rags, but he had a good pair of boots on him, though they looked two sizes too big for him.

"Where d'you nick these then?" said Shipley, giving one of the smart black knee length boots a kick.

"I never nicked 'em- and you better not say I did Mister! A lady give 'em to me," said the lad, turning a bit hostile.

"All right keep your hair on lad. I was only asking," said Shipley. "How much do you want for them?"

"A shilling," said the boy, without hesitation.

"You're having a laugh. Give you sixpence for them. If they fit me."

The boy quickly took one off and offered it to him to try on. "Here you are then Mister."

Shipley eased off his battered old ankle boots, which had nails coming through and let in the water. He was just about to slip his soggy hosed foot into the shiny black boot, when Mrs Deering came out from the archway and started coming across the lane, straight towards them, still pulling on her gloves. Shipley kicked down and tugged at the nice soft flappy uppers and the boot slipped up his leg as lovely as you like. ""Get the other one off!" he said. "I'll take 'em."

"Show me the money," said the lad.

Mrs Deering glided past them, she was wearing a black frock with a voluminous black cloak out over, and the hood up, but no jewellery, apart from her wedding ring, as far as he could see. But then he was on one leg and dealing with the boy when she swept past and set off round the corner and down the road to Bishopsgate at a brisk pace.

Shipley kicked his other old boot off and hopped on one leg. "Here, have my old ones- Thruppence!" And got the coins out and showed him the money!

"I wants four," said the owner of the boots, still wearing one, and holding out.

"Done," said Shipley and handed him the three pennies while he sorted another one out from his breeches pocket. "Go on then- take it off," he said.

The boy slid his foot into Shipley's old boot and started kicking off the other good boot he had just sold.  It flew off his filthy bare foot easily.

"Daylight robbery, " Shipley said, flipping the boy the fourth penny. And then he was hopping away in hot pursuit of Mrs Deering, still pulling on his shiny new boot.

Suddenly, he slapped his forehead and doubled back. I must be losing my touch, he laughed to himself. He grabbed the boy, who was hobbling away down Hog Lane,  by the shoulder and pulled him round to face him. "Who lives in that big house on the corner that lady just come out of?"

"It belongs to the Drapers," said the boy.

"Drapers? You mean the Company owns it?" said Shipley.

The boy nodded. "All sorts goes on in there my mum says," he said.

Shipley smiled and ruffled his hair and then wished he hadn't, because the boy had a rash. He wiped his hand on his coat sleeve. "Thanks son. Stay safe," he said. And then Shipley was off again, following Mrs Deering all the way down the road and back into the City, under the Bishopsgate tower house, down towards Threadneedle, then left into Gracious, past the Leadenhall, and, finally, into Lombard Street. Where she turned into that big house on the corner, crossed the cobbled horse Yard to the front door, knocked and was admitted.

The follower crossed the street and leaned against the corner of Gracious and Lombard, having a good long look at the property. There was a high wall around the frontage, but an ungated entrance into the yard for a carriage and horses to pass through. He could see the stabling over on the left. And then there was a way round to the back- all nicely cobbled, like the yard- but it was the house itself that was so impressive to Shipley- it was almost all glass! They must be worth a few shillings, he said to himself. Three storeys high, nice gardens round to the rear by the look of it- what with the tall trees out back coming up over the roof and the shrubbery and patch of lawn round the side he could make out- three high gables, four stacks of chimneys- and hundreds of leaded glass windows, some stained with symbols of animal heads, hearts, ships and flowers- roses. Very pretty, he thought. A really nice property. Now, I wonder who lives there?

Houseman House, Lombard Street.

Lady Houseman was upstairs, lying on a couch in the rear window recess, reading a pamphlet her friend Dorcas Martin got for her from Pauls. It was about keeping birds, exotic ones. And was called: "The Husbandry and Domestication of Various Eloquent Birds From the New World,"  by Tobias Wardyworth.  A friend of hers in Fenchurch Street had recently acquired a red and green parrot, though it had died after only a few weeks, but Lady Houseman had been quite taken with him, or her, and was thinking of keeping one herself. If she could persuade her husband to buy her one. According to the pamphlet she was looking at, the best ones came from the New World. She had her heart set on a blue and gold one and these were called macaws. The exciting thing about parrots was that they could be taught to talk, and since Lady Houseman had not been blessed so far with any little Housemans, despite years of trying with her husband, Sir John, it would be company for her while he was overseas on his numerous business trips. Although, naturally, she would have preferred a baby. Her husband was a Goldsmith, but he was also a merchant investor, with shares in various trading companies around the world, and knew shiploads of sea captains, or whatever the collective noun was for those gentlemen.  So, if anyone could get her a macaw it was him- even if he couldn't get her pregnant! She was just planning how she could manipulate him into having the idea that they needed a parrot when she heard the knock and then someone being ushered into the hall.

She threw the pamphlet aside and rushed over to the balustrade to look down and see who it was. She was hoping it was her special friend, Francis Vallemont, but it wasn't- it was her new friend Mrs Deering!

"Bennet!" she cried. "What a lovely surprise!"

The groom at the door took Mrs Deering's cloak and went to hang it up under the stairs. In the cloak room.

"Lady Houseman! I hope you don't mind. I was passing and thought: I'll just call in and see if my friend, Lady Houseman is at home," said Bennet.

Bennet had lovely, wavy red hair, which Lady Houseman was quite envious of,  because her own hair was just black.  And that was never in fashion. That's why she now had twenty-three wigs- at the last count- and all of them fashionable light colours, everything from light auburn to a sort of purply pink! And, of course, lots of blonde  ones.

"Well. As you see, I am," smiled Lady Houseman, who had the most extraordinary turquoise blue eyes, rather like the colour of a macaw's wings. She descended the elegant carved staircase and the two young women embraced and performed air kisses on each other, because they were both wearing heavy white ceruse make-up, lashings of kohl blackening around their eyes and on their eyelashes, and bright scarlet lipsticks. "And how's William? Oh- what did he bring you back from Copenhagen?"

"A silver fox," said Mrs Deering, widening her lovely light green eyes and grinning excitedly.  She pouted. "But it's still at the warehouse, until William can get it out for me."

"Oh I could die for one of those!" exclaimed Lady Houseman, who already owned a full-length hooded sable, a mink wrap and various less expensive or smaller furs-  two martens, a fox, an ermine stole; as well as dozens of accessories, such as mink gloves, several shoulder bags, purses, and, of course, fur boots. "I can't wait to see it. Are you going to wear it to the Merchant Traders' dinner next month?"

"Just you try and stop me!" said Bennet Deering.


Music I kept playing: Sandy Denny's version of Reynardine.