by Jane Feather
"Robbie, come in," Miranda said, stifling her laughter. She hauled on the back of his britches, pulling him back inside the litter. "You'll give Lord Harcourt a bad name, throwing insults when you're traveling under his livery."
They entered the city gates without challenge and Miranda leaned out of the litter, calling to the bearers to stop and set them down. "You may leave us here, and wait for us."
The head bearer looked askance at Lady Maude as she stepped from the litter." That all right, m'lady?"
"Yes," Maude said with a lofty wave of her hand. "Wait here." In truth, as she looked around at the chaotic scene and her senses were assailed with the smells and sounds of the streets, she wasn't sure it was all right, but when she glanced at Miranda, who seemed completely at home, despite her fine clothes, she felt better. It was the first adventure she had ever had, and might well be the last, so she would embrace it.
"Come." Miranda linked her arm through Maude's. "You'll be quite safe with me." Robbie hobbled beside them, unerringly directing them through the warren of narrow cobbled alleys.
Maude felt like a freak and wondered how Miranda could be so heedless of the glances they drew from carters, barrow boys, country folk heading for the city markets with flat baskets of produce balanced on their heads. Maude had never entered the city except in a carriage or litter, with Harcourt heralds going ahead, clearing the way. And such a lofty method of transport, enclosed in the carriage, isolated from the hurrying throng, was very different from being on foot. Down here, she was engulfed in the immediacy of the crowds of pedestrians, the sounds and smells of laboring humanity. She was aware of the uneven, pebble-strewn, mud-ridged cobbles beneath her thinly shod feet.
She so rarely walked anywhere, even in the gardens, that her feet encased in their silk hose and satin slippers soon began to ache. Around her, bare feet slapped heedlessly on the stones, surefooted feet in crude clogs and pattens clattered along, and she felt unbearably clumsy, as out of place in this world as if it existed in another realm.
Chip, on the other hand, was clearly in his seventh heaven. He sat on Miranda's shoulder, chattering cheerfully, taking off his hat to all and sundry, and when they reached a grassy triangle at a crossroads where a group of men with a dancing bear were entertaining a crowd, he jumped down expectantly and raced forward.
"No, I don't like working around dancing bears," Miranda said." They're so sad and ill-used."
"Besides, you're not dressed for it," Maude put in with a touch of acidity. She didn't want Miranda disappearing from her side, losing herself in a world that for her was so utterly familiar.
"I'll not leave you," Miranda said, instantly comprehending. "Just relax and enjoy yourself. There's so much to see."
That was certainly true. Reassured, Maude allowed her curiosity free rein. They climbed the hill toward Saint Paul's, pausing to examine the wares in the little shops lining the street, buying apples and gingerbread. Music came from an alley at the back of the church and Miranda instinctively followed the sound, drawn to it as by a magnet. The trio of musicians was playing in a doorway, the lute player accompanying his music with a ballad in a deep tenor. An upturned cap lay on the cobbles before them.
"Let's listen for a while," Miranda said, and they stopped in a doorway. Chip instantly jumped from her shoulder and began to strut in front of the musicians, his face assuming a long and mournful expression as he adapted his movements to the lyrical sadness of the music.
The musician playing the viol chuckled. "Let's see if he can dance properly, Ed." He strummed, struck a note, and the three men launched into an Irish jig.
Chip paused, listened, then began to dance. A crowd was gathering and Miranda sighed, but she was smiling. "I'll never get him away now."
"Anyway, we're almost there," Robbie said, sitting down in the doorway, nursing his foot.
The crowd applauded the monkey's performance and the musicians grinned. At the end, when they ceased to play, Chip dived into the crowd with his hat.
"Eh, we'll have our share of that!" the lute player declared, his eyes narrowing as he saw how successful the monkey was in his fee collecting. He jumped to his feet and went after Chip, who dodged him expertly, returning to Miranda's side, proudly proffering his coin-filled hat.
"Eh, that's ours," the man announced, his eyes widening as he took in Miranda's costume. Beside her Maude drew back into the doorway, terrified, convinced that this man was going to cut their throats for the contents of Chip's hat.
But Miranda was quite unperturbed. "You may have it all," she replied, taking the hat from Chip and bending to empty its contents into the musicians' cap on the ground beside them. "He was only having fun."
The lute player scratched his head, looking bemused, then he said, "No offense meant, m'lady."
Miranda grinned. "None taken." She linked arms with Maude again. "Lead on, Robbie."
They were halfway along a slightly wider thoroughfare when a voice shouted from ahead of them. "Miranda… Miranda…!" A young man was galloping toward them, as ungainly as a new-foaled colt.
"Luke! Oh, Luke!" Dropping Maude's arm, she raced toward the youth.
"We've been so worried about you!" he exclaimed, hugging her with one arm, reaching the other to receive Chip, who leaped into the crook of his elbow. "But I'd never have recognized you in those clothes, if it wasn't for Chip and Robbie." He stared at her in awe, seeming not to see Maude, who had approached cautiously and stood slightly to one side.
"I saw Chip first. I was leaning from the window looking along the street and I knew it had to be Chip, it looked so like him with the coat and hat and all, and then I saw Robbie, and I rushed downstairs and managed to open the door… it was locked, you see, and I couldn't find the key… but then I found it on a hook by the kitchen, which I suppose I should have thought of, but anyway…" He paused. "Anyway, here I am, and Mama Gertrude and Bertrand will be so pleased."
"I found 'er," Robbie put in. "I went to the 'ouse an' I found 'er and brought 'er back." He glared at Luke. "You didn't find 'er, Luke."
"No… no, I know I didn't," Luke said impatiently, then his eye fell on Maude. He stared in disbelief.
"Oh, this is Lady Maude," Miranda said, drawing Maude forward. "She's Lord Harcourt's ward."
Luke couldn't manage to do more than bob his head. "Is she coming to see the others?"
"Yes, so let's go. Come, Maude, don't look so bewildered."
"We're lodging in the house with the gray shutters," Luke said, accepting Maude now as just another of Miranda's frequently puzzling appendages. "Above a cobbler's shop and it's very cramped with all of us, but it's very cheap and we can work the streets… only there's so much competition," he added with a sigh. "Sin
ce you and Chip left, the takings have gone down dreadfully. And it didn't help to spend a night in gaol, and we had to pay the fisherman a guinea to look after our belongings."
"Gaol?"
"We were picked up as vagrants because of some hue and cry over you and Chip."
"Oh, how dreadful. And I thought you'd taken the tide and left me behind."
"Never mind, you're back now," Luke said cheerfully, leading the way through the dusty cobbler's shop and up a narrow, creaking staircase.
The single room above the cobbler's shop was so full of the troupe's clutter that it would be hard for anyone unaccustomed to such conditions to imagine how twelve people could squeeze themselves into the space. But Miranda had no such difficulty. She stood on the threshold, Luke grinning behind her like a retriever who's brought home the dinner.
Faces looked up at the opened door. Looked, blinked, then as Chip leaped into the middle of the room jabbering wildly, there was a collective exclamation. Miranda was engulfed. Mama Gertrude scolded, alternating slaps and pinches with kisses. Others demanded explanations, Bertrand complained at all the trouble she'd caused, even as he beamed at her and patted her head.
And Miranda began to feel that she had never left them. She slipped into the welcoming maw of her family, swallowed up in the babble of their familiar voices, the richness of familiar scents, the aching comfort of familiar faces. Then with a guilty start, she remembered Maude.
"Maude." She fought her way out of the combined embraces and turned back to the door. Maude was looking both forlorn and distressed but she couldn't resist Miranda's apologetic smile, her warm, "I didn't mean to neglect you. Come and meet my family."
"Holy Mother!" Mama Gertrude said, finally taking in both Miranda's clothes and her companion. "It's unnatural, that's what it is. Unnatural."
Maude didn't know what to do or what to say. She felt as if she'd strayed into some totally alien world. She couldn't imagine how all these people could get into this one small space; they all seemed both larger than life and bursting with life.
"So, who are you, child?" Mama Gertrude demanded above the renewed cacophony as the impact of Maude's presence was felt. She stood back, holding Maude by the shoulders, examining her. "Lord love us," she murmured, then turned back to Miranda. "Lord love us, but look at those clothes!" Suddenly she laughed, her massive bosom quivering beneath the loose and rather dingy linen robe she wore over her chemise and petticoat.
"Ah, but it's a heap o' trouble she's caused us, an' I'd like to know what's goin' on 'ere," Bertrand declared.
"Well, I'll tell you as best I can." Miranda perched on the corner of a rickety table and recounted her adventures to a rapt audience. "And when I've completed the task, Lord Harcourt will fee me with fifty rose nobles," she finished.
"That's a fortune, by God!" Jebediah exclaimed, for once without a hint of pessimism. "Yes," Miranda said simply.
"And what else does this Lord 'Arcourt want of ye?" Bertrand demanded.
"Nothing," Miranda said stoutly. What was between herself and Gareth had nothing to do with the task she was performing for him.
"Don't be a fool, girl!" Bertrand suddenly leaned forward and boxed her ears, not hard but with a degree of emphasis. "Don't talk rubbish! You've no experience of the nobility, girl. He'll have his way with you and discard you when he's had enough."
Maude cried out in shock, but Miranda merely rubbed her ear, not in the least surprised or put out by the blow. Bertrand was always one to act first and reflect later. "You're wrong," she said flatly.
"He hit you," Maude said, her voice almost a whisper. "He hit you, Miranda."
"A flea bite," Miranda said cheerfully. "It's Bertrand's way."
"I think I want to go." Maude backed toward the door, regarding the room's occupants as if they were caged lions.
"When are you coming back to us?" Luke asked in a bewildered tone.
"I don't know." Miranda spoke the truth quietly.
"So you don't know 'ow long it'll take fer you to do this job?" Raoul asked, heaving himself away from the wall where he'd been leaning, massive arms akimbo, his bare chest gleaming with perspiration in the close room.
Maude shrank back as the strongman approached. She didn't think she'd ever seen such a giant before.
"No," Miranda said. "But if you stay in London, I'll come and see you often."
"We're 'ard-pressed without you. Takin's are down summat chronic," Bertrand declared. "An' they'll not get better 'angin' around the city. Competition's too strong."
"Aye," Mama Gertrude agreed, "but the girl's got another job to do. An' a right good un, if what she says is truth, an' our Miranda's never one to lie." She took Miranda's face between her large hands. "Finish the job you're doin', child. Earn your fifty rose nobles, then come back to us."
Maude coughed and Miranda said suddenly, "Maude, how would you like to see us earn our bread? In fact, you can help." "Help?"
"Yes, you can play the tambourine while Bertrand's trying to get an audience together. You'll be such a draw, a real lady playing for us! Come on, it's time you saw something of the world outside your bedchamber, and if you're going to spend your days in a nunnery, you might as well have some memories to take with you."
Maude looked around the circle of faces. And suddenly they didn't seem so alien. They took on their own individual characteristics and she saw the person behind the features. They were smiling at her with good-natured acceptance, all except for the old man they called Jebediah, who looked dour and miserable, as if expecting Armageddon at any moment.
"Oh, yes, play the tambourine!" Robbie piped up. "I'll play the castanets. I'm good at that, but they don't make good music alone so someone has to play something else and usually everyone's too busy."
Maude looked at the small face, transformed by excitement and anticipation, and a warmth bloomed in her belly, spreading through her veins. She could help this child, give him pleasure, do something useful. Miranda was watching hex with a strange little smile as if she could read her thoughts, and when Maude said, "Very well, if you wish it," Miranda merely nodded.
"You'd best get outta that gown," Raoul pointed out, flexing his massive biceps. "Can't tumble in that, stands t' reason."
"Yer clothes is all in 'ere." Gertrude rummaged in an osier basket. " Try them boy's garments. Folks like the britches."
Maude giggled when Miranda pirouetted in front of her, clad in a lad's britches and jerkin. "It's shocking, Miranda."
"It draws the men," Miranda said with a shrug. "Once they realize I'm a woman, it has 'em salivating like a rutting stag." She grinned at Maude's expression. "Forget you're a lady for an hour or two, otherwise you won't enjoy it.
"
And Maude to her astonishment found it very easy to forget. While Bertrand stood on his box and began to harangue the passersby, she played the tambourine, Robbie beside her clicking his castanets. Various members of the troupe offered examples of the entertainment to come and as people slowed, paused, Maude felt a surge of pride at her part in drawing the audience. Chip danced in front of them, mimicking Bertrand with such wicked accuracy that the audience began to laugh, to settle their feet, adjust their postures, with the telltale signs that they were prepared to stay put for a while.
Miranda judged the moment, then began her turn, with Chip adding his mite, tumbling with her. She was constantly criticizing and assessing her performance as she moved, was conscious that she was less than perfect, and aware that if she hadn't religiously practiced in the confines of her bedchamber she would be even less so. But it was so exhilarating to be back doing what she'd done ever since she could remember, feeling the blood racing in her veins, the stretch of her muscles, the supple snap of her body, hearing the heady approval of the crowd.
She walked on her hands among the audience, blatantly tantalizing the eager, laughing men with the lines of her body in the tight-fitting britches and jerkin.
And then a hand grasped her ankle, halting her progress. Her eyes at ground level took in a pair of thigh-length riding boots, the folds of a long riding cloak brushing the boots. But it was the feel of the fingers around her ankle that told her.
"Milord?" she whispered.
