Maid of Secrets (2 page)

I’d lived my life more or less as I’d wanted these past
seventeen years. I could not imagine suddenly shackling myself to any man, for any reason. So, to me, Master James could only be a troupe master, nothing more and nothing less.

And he would owe me for this day’s work. I grinned as I hauled my gold-laden skirts up a short stone staircase to gaze over the Thames, the last lines of
The Beggared Lord
booming out behind me. Grandfather had always worried too much about the dangers the cities held for our company. And for what? London had welcomed us with open arms—and pockets—and I’d never felt more right with the world.

As my skills had sharpened dramatically over the past several months, I’d proven my worth to the troupe twelve times over. Soon Master James would promote me to lead the street thieves, and then I could begin keeping a portion of our profits for myself. Within three years—fewer if we kept to larger cities—I’d have enough coin to live anywhere,
be
anyone.

That thought was almost too much to think about. I hugged it to me close, a hidden dream.

Then I straightened, pressing my hands to the small of my back to counterbalance my heavy skirts, as acclaim for the Golden Rose troupe thundered through the courtyard behind me. I had no time for dreaming. There were riches to be sorted and sold, and plans to be made for our next performance. Master James relied on me more with each passing day. And if he hadn’t seen my work with Tommy, I’d be the first to tell him about it, and I’d bury my blushes in gold. Everything was moving forward the way it should, and I was at the pinnacle of my abilities: subtle, skillful, and—in my own way—wondrously free.

Two weeks later, they caught me.

“A moment, miss? A moment!”

I wheeled around, glancing back in surprise at the extraordinarily beautiful young girl who stood behind me on Thames Street. Her eyes were large and luminous against her fair skin, but curiously sad, liked bruised violets in the snow.

She stared at me expectantly, and I quelled my first thought, that she would make the perfect mark. Her dress was a vision of indigo pearl-sewn velvet, and her slippers—I would swear!—were made of satin, molded in a pristine dove grey as yet unsullied by the muddy streets. But young girls like her rarely spoke to me, especially when I was in costume. Today I was playing the role of a round and buxom washerwoman, certainly not the type of woman a well-bred girl would notice.

Why had she stopped me?

Quickly I checked to my right and left. A shadow passed just at the edge of my line of vision, and I narrowed my eyes at the lovely waif in front of me, guessing now that her pearls were made of paste and her dress was as mended as mine.
You’ll get no baubles from me, gypsy lass.

“Do I know you, miss?” I asked with a broad Westcheap
brogue, holding my heavy basket against my hip, well out of the girl’s reach.

She watched my hands, not my face, another tell. Something was wrong here. “Am I interrupting you?” the girl asked. “I can take your basket.”

Oh, I bet you could.
“ ’Tis no trouble. How can I help you, poppet?” I needed to get back to my task. Today we were running a gambit to get into the back rooms of the Whitechurch Arms. Troupe Master James had petitioned for lodgings at the inn earlier in the day, and had been turned smartly away for his troubles as if we were common thieves.

Not every inn welcomed actors into their midst. They thought us cutthroats and vagabonds; ruffians, villains, and curs. Incensed, our company had decided to teach the innkeeper at the Whitechurch Arms not to judge his customers prematurely, by stealing from his till. I was on my way to put our revenge in motion. My role would be to distract the innkeeper with my loud voice and boisterous antics, showing him outfit after outfit that I’d supposedly either washed, beaten, or brushed clean for his patrons, while other members of our troupe snuck in through the inn’s back entrance. But now this child stood before me. And she wasn’t moving.

“Are you looking for someone, miss?” I prompted her, not bothering to hide my annoyance this time.

“Oh, no!” she said, too quickly. Her gaze darted up to my face, shifted away, then came resolutely back. “I mean, I’m looking for a place, not a person. Do you know where the Crow and Pony Tavern is?” Her eyes slid away again, but I caught a look of sheer torture within them. I almost felt sorry for the poor thing. She was truly miserable at lying.

I lifted my hand from my basket to tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “Well, I—” I started, but no sooner had I begun speaking than the girl gasped like she’d been punched in the stomach, then buckled right in front of me. Quick as a breath her face went slack, and her body collapsed into the most awe-inspiring swoon I’d seen in the past five years.

“God’s eyes!” Momentarily forgetting everything except that this girl was a child with no one to care for her, I dropped my basket with a
thunk
and dove toward her, barely catching her in time before she went facedown into the mud. As it was, I yanked the girl back so heavily that she crashed into me, her hands grasping for mine as her eyes fluttered back open.

The moment our fingers touched, I knew.

Somehow I’d just been marked.

Oblivious to my sudden panic, the girl caught my gaze and held it, her face quivering in distress. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice broken with tears.

“Sorry for what? Who is doing this to you?” I jerked the girl to her feet, then shook her thin shoulders roughly, my lye-burned fingers looking painful and cracked against the fine fabric of her gown. “Who are you?” I demanded.

“Sophia!” she breathed. “But you must flee! I’d thought it was just a dream, but it’s coming true! I would never— Please know that I would
never
have done this had I known what they would do!”

It was already too late to ask her what in the bloody bones she was talking about, because steps were even now sounding
around me. The fleeting soft strides of someone else slipping away, and then the
thunking
crunch of authority.

“Unhand the girl,” came the terse command behind me, puffed with the weight of nobility. That’d be Sir William, sure as I was born.

Damn my eyes.

I carefully made sure Sophia, if that was truly her name, was steady on her feet, then turned to face Sir William, ready to spin myself out of whatever trouble I’d stumbled into. I could play the role of a rollicking washerwoman as well as any other part I’d learned. It was something of a specialty of mine.

I opened up my mouth to let fly a string of expletives, but Sir William raised his hand abruptly, cutting me off. “Your presence is demanded by the Queen,” he said.

Hadn’t expected that.

“The Queen!” I burst out, masking my alarm with a roughneck London cackle. I raised my brows and thrust my hip out, eyeing Sir William up one side and down the other. “The Queen ’erself, ’e says. Well, I doubt that, I surely do. Wot would the Queen want with me, eh, bonny?”

I beamed at Sir William with a gape-mouthed grin, wishing for all the world that I’d lost a few of my teeth already. “But what a
fine
man you are, my lord. Do I know you? Might you simply ’ave a fancy to buy me an ale—is that what this is about?”

Sir William took a step back. “I beg your pardon?”

The guards that were with him tried to remain unperturbed, but I caught a stifled laugh, a nervous shuffle. I bore my gaze down on Sir William and took a long step forward,
jamming my fists onto my padded hips, amply stuffed with rags.

“It is, isn’t it!” I crowed. “You ’ad but to ask, my lord. Ol’ Sally is always thirsty.” I grinned back at Sophia, only to find that she was also staring at me, stupefied.

This might actually work.

I returned my attention to Sir William, advancing on him with a wide smile, making a show of adjusting my apron over my round belly before I reached out to squeeze his arm. “What a right strong man you are.” I grinned. “I’m happy to spend an hour chattin’ with you.”

Sir William was looking at me with growing alarm. “I am
ordering
you to come with me to the Queen’s court,” he intoned harshly. “Or failing that, to her Tower. It is your choice.”

“The Tower!” I threw up my arms at that, thrusting my padded belly forward like I was going to dissolve into a puddle of jollity. This was going to be one devil of a costume to flee in, but one did what one had to do. “There’s no need for any of that. You can tell me everythin’ right ’ere. What is it then, eh?” I winked broadly, reaching up to chuck him under the chin. “What stories do you want to whisper in my ear?”

“I
beg
your pardon!”

“You won’t be the first, love, an’ you won’t be the last.” I fluttered my hands at him with an indulgent chuckle. “But carry on! We can talk where’er you like. Just be sure there’s a pint of ale for ol’ Sally when we get there, will you, my lor’?” I stooped to pick up my wash.

“Leave that.”

“Leave it! Leave it, ’e says,” I protested, to mask my growing
alarm. “Then you’ll be ’avin’ both ale
and
shillin’s for me, you better believe. Orderin’ a good, honest woman to leave her clothes in the middle of the road where any sort of unnatural people might come across them. As I live and breathe, the Queen ’e says. As if the Queen would ’ave anything to do with the likes of ol’ Sally—”

I kept up my grumbling as Sir William turned, scowling, to lead us through the courtyard. The guards fell into a loose phalanx around me, but not so close that I couldn’t make a dash for it when the opportunity arose. I felt like I was being watched, but the panic-stricken Sophia had fled, and there were only the stares of the curious passersby.

We turned into the rough-and-tumble New Fyshe Street just where the lane widened into a town square of sorts, and I made a slightly wider arc than the rest of them did, so that the structure of our group got even looser. And that’s when I saw him.

Troupe Master James McDonald was leaning up against a market stall, looking for all the world like he was the proprietor of a cart of trenchers, pots, and wooden spoons. He glanced over at our group lazily, apparently not even registering my presence. But I knew better, of course. When I hadn’t arrived at my appointed place for our ploy against the Whitechurch Arms, Master James had doubtless come looking for me. That was just his way. He took care of his own.

And even though I hated for him to step in to help get me out of this mess, I couldn’t deny my pleasure at seeing him there. Together, we’d beat this snare. Together, we’d find a way out. And together—

Then the stall next to Master James suddenly went up
with a blazing whoosh of fire and the
ratatat
of fireworks, setting the horses in the square to madness and the stall-keepers to screaming hysteria.

It took only a second for me to realize what had happened. And then I was running too.

“Fire!”
I screamed, diving through the guards, loosening my girdle beneath my skirts as I galloped in huge, lurching strides. I whipped around a corner and tossed my padded false stomach into a doorway. I rued the loss of the disguise, but there was nothing for it. I had to move.

I heard the guards behind me, and knew I’d never beat them in a race of sheer speed. My skirts were too long without the padding to billow them out, and my legs were too short. But while I was new-come to London, I wasn’t without resources. I already knew places nobody wanted to go.

I pounded down another passageway and out onto a narrow street that backed up to the Thames. Gutted, rotting fish carcasses pooled in narrow ditches, waiting for a good rain to carry away what the street cleaners always missed, and I rushed along the foul-smelling passage without a moment’s hesitation.

Where had I gone wrong?
My costume had been perfect and my manner carefully honed. Out of all the Golden Rose actors, I’d been the one Troupe Master James had chosen to approach the innkeeper, after all. So how had that chit of a girl known who I was?

I didn’t stop until I reached the Thames proper, my long dark hair flying freely now, my wig and cap long gone. Then I heard a sound rife with wrongness. It was naught more than
a whisper of movement, but enough to cause me to immediately shift away—