“I’m sorry, but it’s not there anymore, miss,” Leonard said, as though the Great Fire of London had been his fault. Knowing Leonard, this was entirely possible.
“Don’t vampires have any imagination?” Sarah asked tartly. “Take me where the house used to be.”
“Oh.” Leonard looked at Gallowglass, wide-eyed.
Gallowglass shrugged. “You heard the lady,” my nephew said.
We rocketed across London, heading east. When we passed Temple Bar and moved onto Fleet Street, Leonard turned south toward the river.
“This isn’t the way,” I said.
“One-way streets, madame,” he said. “Things have changed a bit since you were last here.” He made a sharp left in front of the Blackfriars Station. I put my hand on the door handle to get out and heard a click as the childproof locks engaged.
“Stay in the car, Auntie,” Gallowglass said.
Leonard jerked the steering wheel to the left once more, and we jostled over pavement and rough road surfaces.
“Blackfriars Lane,” I said reading the sign that zipped past. I jiggled the door handle. “Let me out.”
The car stopped abruptly across the entrance to a loading dock.
“Your house, madame,” Leonard said, sounding like a tour guide and waving at the red-and-cream brick office building that loomed above us. He released the door locks. “It’s safe to walk about. Please mind the uneven pavement. Don’t want to have to explain to Father H how you broke your leg, do I?”
I stepped out onto the stone sidewalk. It was firmer footing than the usual mud and muck of Water Lane, as we’d called the street in 1590. Automatically I headed in the general direction of St. Paul’s Cathedral. I felt a hand on my elbow, holding me back.
“You know how Uncle feels about you wandering around town unaccompanied.” Gallowglass bowed, and for a moment I saw him in doublet and hose. “At your service, Madame Roydon.”
“Where exactly are we?” Sarah asked, scanning the nearby alleys. “This doesn’t look like a residential area.”
“The Blackfriars. Once upon a time, hundreds of people lived here.” It took me only a few steps to reach a narrow cobbled street that used to lead to the inner precincts of the old Blackfriars Priory. I frowned and pointed. “Wasn’t the Cardinal’s Hat in there?” It was one of Kit Marlowe’s watering holes.
“Good memory, Auntie. They call it Playhouse Yard now.”
Our house had backed up to that part of the former monastery. Gallowglass and Sarah followed me into the cul-de-sac. Once it had been filled to bursting with merchants, craftsmen, housewives, apprentices, and children—not to mention carts, dogs, and chickens. Today it was deserted.
“Slow down,” Sarah said peevishly, struggling to keep up.
It didn’t matter how much the old neighborhood had changed. My heart had provided the necessary directions, and my feet followed, swift and sure. In 1591 I would have been surrounded by the ramshackle tenement and entertainment complex that had sprung up within the former priory. Now there were office buildings, a small residence serving well-heeled business executives, more office buildings, and the headquarters of London’s apothecaries. I crossed Playhouse Yard and slipped between two buildings.
“Where is she going now?” Sarah asked Gallowglass, her irritation mounting.
“Unless I miss my guess, Auntie’s looking for the back way to Baynard’s Castle.”
At the foot of a narrow thoroughfare called Church Entry, I stopped to get my bearings. If only I could orient myself properly, I could find my way to Mary’s house. Where had the Fields’ printing shop been? I shut my eyes to avoid the distraction of the incongruous modern buildings.