I am Castigated by Mistress James

Oh mistress mine! Where are you going?

William Shakespeare – Twelfth Night

When I returned to the shop, it was to find that the bailiffs had got there before me. There was a large motor-van drawn up outside the front door, with two men in brown coats leaning against the side of it and smoking. The smell of burning leaf hung around them like a rumour of bad news. This bad news had attracted a small crowd of onlookers, who were hanging around, leaning against the shop-front or standing in small knots in the street, gossiping among themselves. Glaring at them (as if that would do any good) I pushed open the front door of the shop and walked in.

A short stout man, wearing a formal suit of grey pinstripe, stood on one side, holding a parchment in his hand and nodding his head as he spoke, as if to reinforce the importance of his words by, so to speak, agreeing with them. His shrew-daemon echoed his actions. Opposite him was Mistress James, standing very stiff and upright, her pale face in striking contrast with her mourning dress, which was made of black silk with black lace trim. Elias Cholmondley was at his usual place behind the counter. It was fortunate that neither Mistress James nor the bailiff (for such I presumed him to be) could see Elias' face. I could, and the look of satisfaction that rested on it repulsed me. If it were possible, I loathed him more at that instant – which he clearly regarded as his moment of triumph – than at any other time before or afterwards which, when you consider what he was to do to me later, was quite an achievement.

It quickly became clear to me that the bailiff was in the process of spelling out to Mistress James exactly how far the firm of James and James had defaulted on its responsibilities to the Middlewich Bank; and also what the said bank was going to do in order to recover its assets.

'…You must understand, Mistress James, that I speak not for myself, but for the interests of the management and shareholders of the bank. The original Deed of Mortgage was perfectly explicit and precise in its terms. In return for the bank advancing you a very considerable sum of money, it became incumbent upon the house of James and James to make the appropriate repayments at the appropriate times. The bank has been lenient, Ma'am – generous indeed – in allowing you to miss a total of…' he consulted his parchment, 'four instalments which come, I believe, to a total of two hundred pounds sterling.' He paused and looked up from his parchment to Mistress James.

'Yes, Goodsir,' she said. 'The amount is correct.'

'We have, as I say, been generous – perhaps unwisely so. It is never a good idea, in my opinion, to allow defaulters such as yourselves very much latitude in, hem, catching up. As a rule, if a mortgagee falls behind with his repayments it is because he is in financial difficulties of a serious nature – so serious as, generally, to be irrecoverable. The situation goes from bad to worse, and a small debt quickly becomes a large one. That certainly appears to have been the case here.' He looked around at the bare shelves and cabinets of the shop's interior and nodded again, pleased to have had his point so well corroborated.

I spoke for the first time since entering the shop. 'Goodsir?' The man turned around and stared at me as if to say, and who are you, sir?

'Hello, Peter,' Mistress James said; and to the bailiff, 'This is Mister Joyce. He is the firm's craftsman.'

'A craftsman, eh? You will soon be needing to practice your trade somewhere else then, my man.'

'Will I?' Keep calm, Peter, Viola said.

'Yes, young man, I think you will. Has your mistress not told you?'

'Told me what?'

'That the business of James and James is in default to the Middlewich Bank, to the tune of two hundred pounds?'

'Oh?' I put on as foolish a face as I could. Mister Cholmondley grinned, unseen by anyone but me. 'That's a lot! When's the money to be paid?'

'Four months ago,' the bailiff replied sharply. 'I'd go and pack my things if I were you. You wouldn't want me taking them as well.'

'Sorry? What do you mean?'

'Peter…' said Mistress James, but the bailiff spoke over her. 'Everything here is the property of the bank. Everything.'

'Everything?'

'Everything. Unless I receive the sum of two hundred pounds by…' he consulted his gold hunter, making a serious matter out of the business of extracting the watch from his waistcoat pocket and opening the front cover to reveal its face, '…five-thirty, I shall take possession of these premises and require you to vacate them instanter.' He nodded again, impressed with his own Roman scholarship. 'The gentlemen outside will secure the bank's property and change the locks,' he added.

'Two hundred pounds…' I mused.

'Peter…' said Mistress James again

I took Chas Hurst's wallet from my pocket and opened it. The money (Lyra's money) lay there, tucked into a clip inside the wallet like the pages of a book. I extracted four fifty-pound notes from it and handed them over to the bailiff. 'Would this do?'

I have to give the man some credit for his self-control. Without, so it seemed, blinking an eyelid he took the banknotes from me, unfolded each one in turn, and held it up to the light, checking for the foil strip, the serial number and the signature of the chief clerk of the Great Bank of London.

'That would appear to be satisfactory.'

'Oh,' I said, 'you'd better have this month's money too, hadn't you?' I gave him a further fifty-pound note, which he checked as carefully as he had the previous four.

'Thank you, Mister Joyce.'

'May I have a receipt, please?'

'It is not usual.'

'Nevertheless, Goodsir, I should like an invoice. For the avoidance of any future misunderstandings, you know.'

Grumbling slightly, the bailiff took a small receipt book from his pocket, opened it and wrote that the Middlewich bank had received – paid with thanks – the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds in settlement of outstanding arrears of mortgage payments in respect of the property occupied by the firm of James and James of Shoe Lane, Oxford. He tore out the slip of paper and offered it to me, but I indicated that he should give it to Mistress James, who had been standing stock-still and silent during our interchange.

The bailiff turned to leave. 'Thank you Mistress James, Goodsirs. If I could just press on you the importance of making future repayments on time? You will, in due course, be receiving an account for the expenses we have incurred in making this call on you. Good day.' And with a final nod, he walked out of the door into Shoe Lane. We heard him telling the broker's men outside to pack up and go. I glanced at Elias Cholmondley. Gobsmacked. Yet again, that was the perfect word.

'Would you come to the office with me, please?' Elias Cholmondley lifted the counter flap and I followed Mistress James through the back of the shop, past the workshop and up the stairs to the first floor. Mistress signed to me that I should enter. I went in and waited while she passed through the doorway, her skirts rustling against the frame, and closed the door. She turned and faced me, her face silhouetted against the light from the window so that I could not read her expression. I supposed that she had invited me into the office to thank me for what I had done.

'Mister Joyce!'

'Mistress?'

'Mister Joyce,' she repeated, her voice shaking and unsteady. 'What exactly are you playing at?'

I was confused. 'Mistress, I have paid off the mortgage arrears.' Why did she ask?

'How? Where did you get the money?'

'I... I'd rather not say, Mistress.'

'You would rather not say. You would rather not say! What did you think you were doing?'

I had realised that her voice was shaking, not with relief at her escape from penury, nor the release of pent-up emotions, but with terrible anger. 'Mistress, I was trying to save the shop. Master's shop.'

'Do not say his name! You must not say his name! You are not fit to speak it!'

'No, Mistress. But…'

'But?'

'I had to do something to help.'

'Did you? Where did you get the money? You will tell me!'

'Mistress, please!'

'You will!' She had stepped up close to me. We were only one or two feet apart now.

'I sold, I mean I pawned, something.'

'What?' Mistress James' voice was low, but there was no mistaking the fury in it. I was beginning to be seriously frightened. 'What was this something? Where did you get something that could be pawned for two hundred and fifty pounds?'

'It was… it was left to me.'

'An heirloom? Where does Peter Joyce of Tring get an heirloom of such value? Your family does not possess such a thing, does it? Tell me, did you not steal this something? Well?' My fear was rapidly turning to outrage. How dare she accuse me of theft!

'No, Mistress, I did not! It was left to me by Ly… by Professor Belacqua. When she died.'

'And not before, eh? Are you quite sure?' Mistress James' voice was bitter.

'No.'

'And so, Mister Joyce, you have pawned this something for two hundred and fifty pounds…'

'Five hundred, Mistress.' I held out the wallet.

'Do not interrupt me again!' She struck her hand against mine, forcing me to drop the wallet to the floor. 'Peter,' Viola whispered urgently in my ear. 'Don't you see what's happening? Can't you see how she feels?'

No, I could not.

'So,' Mistress James hissed, 'for the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds this… boy thinks that he has bought the well-respected house of James and James lock, stock and barrel. A fine bargain, don't you think? What a superb discount, to purchase the best clockmaker's in the city of Oxford for only two hundred and fifty pounds! You must think you're a splendid fellow, Mister Joyce! What a very shrewd man of business you've become!' The colour was rapidly rising in her cheeks.

'It's not like that!' I protested feebly.

'I wonder what else the fine Mister Joyce thinks he has bought with his two hundred and fifty pounds. What do you think, eh? Do you think you have bought me as well?' She took hold of her lace collar with both hands and pulled downwards with great force, tearing the silk of her dress and the camisole beneath, and exposing her bosom to me. 'There!' Her voice was becoming increasingly shrill. 'Is this what you want? Is this what you have paid for with your two hundred and fifty pounds?'

'Mistress, please.' I turned away, ashamed.

'Oh! Am I not sufficiently attractive? Perhaps this rich young man finds me a little too old? Too shrunken? Too worn? How young does he like the whores he purchases with his money?' Perhaps he would care for something a little fresher? Perhaps he thinks he has bought both the mother and the daughter! Should I call for Emily now? Will you use her here in the office, over this chair maybe, or will you take her upstairs to your attic and enjoy her there? What would you like to do with your property?' Mistress James turned away from me and stood bent over with her arms across her chest, her body heaving with great sobs of anguish.

'Go now,' said Viola, so I did, closing the office door softly behind me. There was nothing that any of us could say. I returned downstairs and Elias Cholmondley passed me in the passageway, returning from using the privy in the back yard, I suppose. He glared at me, but did not say a word. It seemed that I had saved the shop, but lost the trust of both Lyra and Mistress James. After supper, which was a cold, silent meal, I went directly to my room and sat staring at the wall. I had not known that I could feel so wretched.

But it was no time-ghost who came to me that night, and slipped between the sheets of the bed, and clung to me in the darkness, weeping.

'She got her titties out for you, did she? And Master James not dead more than a couple of weeks! Bloody hell, Peter, you're a fast worker!'

'Eff off, Jim! Shut the effing hell up!'

'Now, now, boys. Language!' Carrie joined us in the back garden of their flat, with a tray of cakes ('from the teashop. They won't miss 'em!') and a pot of tea.

'Eh-up lads! Ladies present!' said Jim, grinning widely.

'Give me that book back!' I made a dive for the exercise book, but Jim lifted it out of my reach and I sprawled over a chair and landed on the grass, next to the pile of scrap metal – sorry, the Ridgeworth Steamer – which Jim had moved from the front of the house to the back. Jim laughed, Carrie laughed – stars above, Viola laughed… Eventually I laughed too, but I knew I'd be feeling the bruises later.

'Did Viola explain it to you? Why Mistress was so upset?'

'Yes', I told Carrie. 'I see it now. But at the time I was so full of myself, so glad to have got rid of that silly little bailiff and so… sad at losing the alethiometer that I didn't think about her feelings.'

'Good. And you've not lost the alethiometer. You'll be able to buy it back one day. Hurst's is a good outfit. They'll look after it for you.'

'I know. But where am I going to get five hundred pounds?'

'You'll do it somehow,' said Jim.

'Jim'll give you the money, when he makes our fortune. Won't you, Jim love?'

'Aye, illumination of my soul, inspiration of my dreams!' Carrie blushed. This was my cue.

'How's your book going, Jim?'

Jim stood up. 'Behold, Aragrim the Valorous goes forth on Holy Quest to do sacred battle with the foul esprits of the Dark! Many will be his trials, and arduous!'

'And will he conquer in the end?'

'Yeah, verily, but at a dreadful, unspeakable cost to himself.'

'Does he have any companions on this quest of his?' As if I needed to ask.

'Do you need to ask? They are Small, the half-wit, Cram, the dwarf, Forge, the Wizard of Dubious Art, not to mention Fergus Nidd, craftsmith and creator of subtile magickal devices!'

'Talking of which,' trying to stop Jim in his flow, 'what about this subtile device?' I kicked the pile of metal, which subsided with a rough creak. 'Where do we start?'

'We start… with this!' Jim held up a pressure gauge. 'We don't want the boiler exploding, do we?'

No, we did not.

'So, Mister Instrument Maker, why don't you fix it?' And he threw the gauge over to me.

'Oh Jim,' I thought! 'It's all so uncomplicated for you, isn't it? Sharing a flat with Carrie, living on her earnings from The Rose teashop, writing your book – which will either sell in the millions or die, unregarded by publishers, agents or readers – enjoying the sun and the rain alike, and making love to your paramour whenever she wants!' (Which, I suspected, was quite often.)

Why couldn't I be like you?