A Murder at Rosamund's Gate - By Susanna Calkins Page 0,12
happily. Truly William, with twenty years behind him, was fast becoming the handsomest man she knew. His boots were of fine black leather, and his cloak was of soft spun linen.
When she remarked upon his finery, he laughed. “Yes, my master often allows us to trade our services to men in town. He let me work for Master Brumley, whose good wife made me this cloak. I brought something for Mother, too.” This spoke well of Will, for most guildsmen were strict about allowing their apprentices to work for themselves.
The three continued on, chattering all the while. Several young men, making merry with a leather flask, passed by them, no doubt off to the playhouses for a bit of afternoon fun. Since the Puritan ban on theatergoing had been lifted four years ago, plays were even allowed on the Lord’s Day and during Lent.
Lucy sighed, wishing she could spare the three shillings required to attend, but such coins came dear. Will went frequently, but she suspected that he might have been less drawn to the plays and more to the actresses who cavorted about. The only time he’d taken her to the Globe, he’d also pointed out a comely orange seller who might have been another of his lady loves. Perhaps, Lucy thought, in that regard Bessie would be good for her brother, although she could not imagine he’d be ready to settle down.
When they reached London Bridge, Lucy caught herself humming a few words of a popular song.
London Bridge is broken down,
Dance over my Lady Lee,
London Bridge is broken down,
With a gay lady.
Not for the first time, Lucy wondered what poor Anne Boleyn had been thinking as she was being carted to death across this very bridge. What had it been like, knowing that her husband, the king, had ordered that her head be chopped off once she reached the other side? Had she cried on the shoulder of her faithful attendant, Lady Margaret Lee? How despairing she must have felt, that God had not seen fit to give her a male heir. That pitiful queen would never know, of course, that her daughter, dear Queen Bess, would bring such an era of peace and prosperity to England.
As they neared the south end of the bridge, Lucy willed herself not to look up. She knew, from the few other times she had passed through the south gate, that the rotting heads of criminals were set on pikes, warning all who would commit crimes against the king and the people of the realm. It sickened her, hearing the crowd jest and make fun.
“Mind the fresh ones,” they would poke each other, “lest you get a bit of gristle on your clothes.”
Instinctively, Lucy gripped Will’s arm and buried her face in his shoulder. She felt him pat her cheek and was comforted by his touch.
At the crossroads by St. Mary Overy dock, as Bessie was about to take her leave, William caught her hand. “Now, you will be careful, won’t you, lass? We can’t have our girls running about alone, can we?”
Lucy watched him then whisper in Bessie’s ear and saw her nod before she walked away.
Suddenly, she felt quite irritated with her brother. “Don’t you even remember Cecily at all? Weren’t you promised to her?” She stamped her foot.
Will kicked a tuft of dirt. “We were never promised, and you know it.”
“Are you courting Bessie now?”
“I like Bessie. She’s very sweet.” Will touched her shoulder. “Lucy, before Father died, long before the Troubles, he told me that he did not want me to be a farmer. He wanted me to learn a trade, make some money, and support Mother, you, and little Dorrie. That’s what I’m trying to do. I’m just not ready to settle down with anyone. Bessie understands that.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“I am! Besides, Lucy, I want to master my own trade!” he said, throwing his head back, looking like a young lion. “I don’t want you to be serving gentry your whole life. I want something better for you, too. You should have a dowry.”
“Well, if I live with you, I won’t need a dowry,” Lucy said, catching his excitement, her earlier annoyance forgotten. “You can buy me books instead. I shall learn to write books myself. Then you can set me up as a lady pamphleteer, and I can bring in my own income.”
Will stopped and stared at his sister, horrified. “Lucy!”
Lucy giggled, lest he think her mad. “Nay, Will. I was just teasing. I think