The Stolen One

by Suzanne Crowley

  The other passengers leaned forward to catch my words. The long wagon to London had broken down on the second day of our journey, the farm cart being the only option for our motley crew of six. After two days together, any conversation was seized upon as fair game. Only one passenger remained aloof, a portly, beaked-nose gentleman, a Mr. Grove, who hadn’t opened one eye since we had departed Gloucester. Anna and I had walked there, a five-hour journey in the wee hours of the morning, carrying our heavy bags.

  When we’d reached Gloucester, Anna had handed me a time-worn letter. It was from Grace. “If you’ve gone against all my wishes, you selfish girl, and indeed gone to London, then I beseech you with all my good heart to find Mrs. Eglionby. And at all costs, stay away from the wolves of the court, especially Elizabeth the queen, for never have I known such a crafty mean-spirited girl.” It was simply signed “Grace Bab” and dated a year before. Good heart. Ha! Like I was going to do anything she bade me to do now. Thinking back on that letter now raised my hackles. “Is there anything else, anything you have kept from me?” I asked Anna.

  “No,” she whispered back forcefully. But I wasn’t sure I believed her.

  The snoring man’s wife, Mrs. Grove, a tiny, crane-like woman, who had more than made up for his lack of conversation with her incessant chatter, said, “What troubles your maid, dear? A lad perhaps? They always seem to be at the bottom of it.” She tapped her husband with her fan, but he didn’t wince one bit. My eyes were drawn to it, her beautiful fan. The tiny delicate painting reminded me of the hand-painted cup from the wooden chest. I carried it, with the other things, in one of our traveling bags. The other bag contained all our creations, every single one of them, as well as our many-colored threads, my sketchbook, Grace’s herbs, the lovely lute finally released from its peg, and lastly, my needles. My fingers ached, thinking of my stitching. I hadn’t missed a day in many a year, and now I’d missed three.

  “She just lost her mother,” I said, no longer feeling in any way that Grace had been mine. Good heart. I chuckled and let the reference to Anna being my maid fall by. Perhaps it would be more convenient for everyone to think so. A lady’s maid, Grace once explained, must be silent as the wind, and ever watchful—the truth gatherers, she called them.

  A queer lady, dressed simply in black silk, a mantilla over her head, crossed herself. She’d introduced herself as Mrs. Salinas. “Was it sudden?” she asked. “It’s a blessing when God takes one suddenly.” I assume she had been gathering her own truth, for she had not said a word the entire journey, though she’d been watching us with eyes black as coal. Her voice had an odd hardness about it.

  “It was long expected,” I said, gripping Anna’s hand. And now I could see this was the God’s truth. Grace had been leaving us for a long time.

  “Well then, why isn’t the lass wearing her mourning clothes?” asked Mrs. Grove.

  “Her death, although expected, came sooner than we thought. We’ll purchase something appropriate when we reach London.” The lie came easily off my lips. I had no intent whatsoever of donning mourning clothes for Grace.

  And then it was quiet a few moments, everyone coming to the same sudden thought, and all our eyes turned to the dark-eyed lady, wondering who she was in mourning for. She returned our stares, nodding at each of us, like the wise owl who has no intention of imparting his wisdom.

  I peered out of the wagon at the grassy slopes and quilted farmland we were leaving behind. Although Anna had thought our land the most beautiful of all, I couldn’t help but think that we’d seen beautiful vale after beautiful vale since we’d left Blackchurch Cottage. There was so much beauty in the world to discover. And London was sure to be the most beautiful of all. I turned around and saw a man running down the road, and my breath caught for a moment thinking it was Christian, but it was only a farmer running after a young calf.

  A wide-eared young lad, who sat in the back of the wagon with two crates of leeks and who I presumed by deduction came with the lambs, spoke up. “Me own mother died of the plague,” and everyone scooted away at his last word. “Five years ago,” he added. Mrs. Grove raised a handkerchief to her mouth and scooted closer to her husband. “It took her away in less than an hour.” I thought of Agnes and her quick death. What secrets had they shared, Agnes and Grace? Had Agnes known about me? Had this humble woman agreed to take the necklace to the otherworld? Or had Grace simply wanted to hide it forever and draped it on her cold neck before she was laid in the ground?

  The eyes of the occupants who were awake swiveled around looking for the telltale signs of the plague, until I spoke up.

  “Has anyone ever seen the good queen?” I rubbed my flea-bitten ankles together. I dared hope that none of them saw our old tattered, muddied shoes, hidden under our fine skirts.

  “Good queen. Ha,” Mrs. Salinas snorted. “Why, she’s burned many a good soul at the stake, that she has.”

  Mrs. Grove frowned at her. The lad spoke up again, “’Tis treason to speak of the queen as such. I’d give my heart for the good lady. I saw her once near Cheapside. And she smiled at me, she did.”

  “Why, you are a little liar,” Mrs. Salinas said, laughing, “for it’s known she’s got rotten teeth and never smiles. Some say she’s really a man, you know. A man-child was switched with the real baby Elizabeth.”

  Mrs. Grove leaned forward and hit her on her knee with her fan. “Hush, I’ll hear no more talk of this.” And then she turned to me with a wide smile. “William and I”—she shouted his name in his ear and he roused a moment but fell asleep again—“have seen her ourselves—”

  “Oh, do tell me,” I said before I could stop myself. “Is she very beautiful?”

  “Oh yes, my dear,” she answered. “She’s noble, elegant, and of the most regal bearing. Some say she’s the most lovely queen in the world. And she did smile at us, she did, and has the most beautiful teeth, white as pearls. And her hair, why, it’s as red as yours!” she exclaimed.

  “It’s a wig,” Mrs. Salinas interjected. “The queen’s. I’ve heard she’s as bald as a newborn babe.”

  “She’s a full head of hair,” Mrs. Grove insisted. “She’s still young, you know. Strong constitution, I hear, rides every day, and hunts, and enjoys the pursuits of any king, she does. She may marry yet and bear us a dozen heirs! Bald!” She snorted and then eyed me again. “But your maid there could do well with learning to arrange your lovely hair better.” My hand flew up to my unruly hair in embarrassment. “A gentle lady you may be, but if I may say, in London well-to-do ladies wear their hair more smartly. A fine caul so as not to cover all your lovely hair would do. Or perhaps some boxwood combs, or pearls? No hood for you yet, I presume. A hood is for married ladies, you know. A man wants to see what he’s getting before the marriage, I daresay,” and she laughed, a short loud bark. She tapped her husband’s belly again. “Am I right you are in search of a husband?”

  I laughed. “Not a husband, I assure you.” It was something else I sought.

  She watched me for a while with deep interest, her eyes occasionally flitting over to Anna, who had fallen asleep to the rocking of the wagon. “I wonder, though, your bringing such a pretty maid as her.”

  “Why, whatever do you mean?” I drew my arm around Anna protectively.

  “Every woman knows you never have a maid prettier than you, for your man’s eyes might be turned. They simply can’t help themselves, now can they?” And even my mouth dropped open at that.

  “As I said before, I’ve no interest in a husband, just like Queen Elizabeth,” I said, smiling.

  “Oh, but you are not a queen, are you?” Mrs. Grove responded with a thin smile.

  “Bah,” Mrs. Salinas spoke up. “She can always place her love in the Lord, as I have.”

  “I have no interest in that, either,” I said quickly, thinking of Father Bigg’s long, monotonous homilies before Grace stopped taking us to church.

  “It’s a husband you want, my dear,” Mrs. Grove said. “You’ll
come to know it soon enough.”

  “Don’t abandon the Lord,” the dark lady said. “For he’s your true husband. Men can’t help but disappoint you. It’s their way, I guess. Even sons.”

  I changed the subject. “Pray tell me, where can I buy the hair pieces you so wisely suggested?”

  The lad spoke up. “The market at Leadenhall, ma’am.”

  “And what would you know?” Mrs. Grove responded. “You filthy little lad. A nice lady like her at Leadenhall. Ha. Why she’d ruin her lovely shoes, she would,” and I pulled my feet farther into the hay at this. “Leadenhall. Full of cows and muck. Fa, hold your tongue.” And just as she finished, one of the little lambs leaned over and nipped her. She screamed at the lad, “Get your filthy beasts to behave!”

  “It’s Cheapside,” the dark-eyed lady spoke. “Cheapside you want. They have beautiful things. I can take you if you wish.” I could hear a hint in her voice of high seas and foreign lands.

  “Fa,” Mrs. Grove said. “As if a lovely lady such as our miss would accompany the like of you. Why, I’ve never heard such a thing. What would you know of fine things, anyway?”

  I suddenly became aware of a terrible odor. The lad whistled while Mrs. Salinas sat forward and peered over the mules, who snorted in anticipation. Anna roused awake next to me. “Whatever is that smell?” I finally asked, being the only one to acknowledge it.

  “Why, it’s London, my dear!” And with that Mrs. Grove finally hit her husband hard enough so that his eyes opened up.

  CHAPTER 10

  It was not the shining glory that I’d long imagined—London, that is—but I assured myself the nicer elements would be found within its walls. We entered the city by way of Southwark with all the other travelers: men whipping their cattle, shepherds with their flocks of sheep, ladies with over-full vegetable baskets, and even well-dressed dandies. I peered at them, studying their elaborate dress, noticing every fold, stitch, and pattern. But it wasn’t long before the odor I’d smelled earlier became even more foul.

  “It’s the river,” Mrs. Grove explained. “The privies, you see.” She discreetly covered her nose with her fan, while Mrs. Salinas just sat forward, seemingly determined to endure it. Mr. Grove and the big-eared lad didn’t seem to notice.

  Anna sat up, peering around, her eyes wide. I took in everything too, my hand over my mouth in surprise and horror. Despite our finery, I’m sure we appeared to all as complete country idiots who’d never left the village. But I didn’t care. I was here.

  We soon approached a great stone and arched bridge. “London Bridge,” one of our travelers murmured. “Keep your eyes down, ladies,” Mr. Grove announced. But both Anna and I immediately looked up. There were several decomposed heads piked on the tower. Anna moaned and put her head on my chest.

  “Bloody William Wallace was the first traitor piked, and not the last, I assure you,” Mr. Grove said. “With all the wild heretics running about.”

  “Barbarism, pure barbarism,” Mrs. Salinas said. “They were only speaking their true faith.”

  “People have been killed for less,” Mrs. Grove said. “It’s best to keep one’s mouth shut in London, that’s for sure. Why, it’s only the nobles, I must say, that end up on the pike. Those lower born who find themselves in trouble end up in the Thames with the piss.” She aimed her stare straight at Mrs. Salinas.

  The wagon lurched as we neared a great gate. “I’ve lived most of my life in London, thank you very much,” Mrs. Salinas responded a moment later. “With all types of people, high and low, and I’d rather be in the river than up there.” She threw her head back toward the bridge.

  “Me papa once saw himself twelve heads at once,” the lad piped in, and the lambs bellowed at his voice. “Tshh, tshhh,” he cooed to them, and I immediately thought of Christian. My heart lurched a moment, imagining the pain I must have cost him. And poor Uncle Godfrey. I didn’t think they’d be able to come after us. They had no one to help on the farm, and now they had our land too. They’d have to let us go. I turned my head back toward the gate and put my arm around Anna.

  “Three gates, my dear,” Mrs. Grove said. “They look for pox and any sign of the plague. You can hold your heads high, though. I’m sure the two of you have not been near low diseases as such. High! High! Dears, there you go.”

  I felt Anna tremble next to me, but neither of us as much as blinked. We were both very good, I now knew, at keeping secrets.

  A half hour or so later, after much slow going over cobbled streets, we entered Arnott Street. It was teeming with people, cows, wagons, and carts. Our handler cracked his whip and a path finally cleared. Everywhere street vendors called out their wares. “Apple biscuits, one shilling!” “Come see the bear baiting, scariest of all!” “Mutton pies, two for one!”

  The odor of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, as did the smell of slow-cooked meats. My stomach growled. We hadn’t eaten a thing all day. I’d been too embarrassed to pull out the crusty pieces of bread we’d hastily packed that morning, and I didn’t have the heart to eat Christian’s pears, which I’d grabbed at the last second. But more than that, I didn’t want to waste one shilling of our money. If Grace had kept a stash of coins, that was another secret she took to her grave. Our future was now in our bags.

  The farmer pulled in the reins and called the mules to a stop. “Here we are, ladies and gent.” He was an oily-faced fellow, big armed and big bellied. He helped us down. Then the lad got down, gently lifting his lambs one by one. He winked at Anna, touched his cap at me, then walked off down the street herding his flock.

  “Well, miss,” Mrs. Grove said as her husband worried about their bags, “it was lovely visiting with the likes of you.” She kept her eyes away from Anna. A mere maid wasn’t worthy of a good-bye, I suppose. She nodded and then walked off with her husband.

  Anna tugged on my sleeve. “The letter,” she croaked. “Mrs. Eglionby.”

  I ignored her and turned to Mrs. Salinas. “And which way is Cheapside, may I inquire?” I had no intention of honoring Grace’s request.

  “But you won’t be buying any tortoise combs or pearled cauls, now will you? No money is my guess.”

  “Perhaps not right away,” I said, wondering what gave us away. “It’s food we are more in need of, my dear Anna and I. Can you recommend a respectable establishment?”

  “Not for the likes of the two of you,” she said, looking us over from head to toe. I was highly offended, but she added, “You’d be quick pickin’s anywhere around here, and all of London, I must say. What were you thinking, bringing such a tender thing, your sister, and you yourself, fresh scrubbed from the country?”

  “She’s my maid,” I insisted. “Not my sister,” I said, turning my head away from Anna so she wouldn’t see my words.

  “You can’t pull anything over me,” she responded. “I’ve seen everything in my life, and I know when something is not what it is. You two have been raised together, sister or no. And you have some resemblance, I believe. Come with me, before the pickpockets and miscreants get you. I’ll give you a hearty meal before you go on.” She started to walk away. We stood there, rooted.

  A man stumbled up to us, dirty and reeking of sour ale and worse. “Why, look what the country wagon just delivered us. Two sweet gillyflowers!” He lurched for Anna. We picked up our bags and ran after the lady, who had not even looked back.

  We followed her down one street after another. She kept her back straight as a tombstone, every now and then glancing at us and tilting her head for us to hurry. I stumbled a few times, my head turned this way and that looking at the spectacle of people and animals, taking in the sounds and smells, good and bad. Anna kept her head down, overwhelmed, it seemed, with her surroundings.

  Finally we reached a timber-framed home among a row of like-looking houses. Mrs. Salinas tapped at the heavy wooden door, and not long after, it opened. A mob-capped maid curtsied, and our lady pushed past her breezily. We followed her in.

&nb
sp; “A cold meal, please, Maisy,” she said, taking her gloves off and handing them to her. The maid peered at us with big eyes, bowed, and left the room.

  We were in a keeping room, austere but finely furnished with carved mahogany chairs, a long trestle table, and even a gorgeous handwoven tapestry hung along a long wall. I stared at it, looking at the figures prancing in an orchard grove. I stepped closer to examine it, for I had long heard of tapestries, but had never actually beheld one. I ran my hand over it, feeling the woolen warp and weft and imagined what kind of hands might produce such beauty.

  I heard something in the corner of the room. A little dark-headed boy with piercing blue eyes was sitting very quietly on a chair. He couldn’t have been more than four or five.

  “It represents the harvest season,” Mrs. Salinas said, and I startled. “Fall.” I looked back at the tapestry, looked at the beautiful dancers beneath the trees, looked for Christian. Fa! As if he was there.

  “Sit down, girls, you must be exhausted.” Mrs. Salinas said.

  “No, thank you,” I began. “I feel as though I’ve been sitting forever. My bum is as flat as a potato cake.” Maisy, who had returned to the room as quiet as a dormouse, stifled a giggle. And then Anna suddenly lurched forward as though she were about to fall. I ran to her and helped her into a chair at the table. She slumped over, her hands on her ears.

  “My word,” Mrs. Salinas exclaimed. “Ava!” she screamed. “Bring some ale!”

  I stroked Anna’s back softly. “It’s her ears. They give her much pain.” I felt strangely at ease telling the lady one of our secrets. “She needs to lie down, flat. She feels as though the world is turning.” Anna moaned, and started to rock. “Can we lay her down somewhere?”