London in Chains Read Free Page A

Instead, it seemed that she was expected to work as a servant, unpaid, and to be grateful that she had a place at all!
    When she last saw Uncle Thomas, at home in Leicestershire, he had teased her, saying that a girl as pretty as her would certainly marry a fine gentleman, and then she would have to be kind to her poor old uncle. Six years ago; before the war, before . . .
    Your place is with Susan. Would Agnes have said that two years ago, before . . .
    She’d known that the rage would bring the memories down. She held on to the window frame, seeing the soldiers’ faces, feeling their hands on her, hearing . . .
    She swallowed the scream, though it churned in her stomach. She swallowed several times more to try to settle it. Then she went over to the washbasin, poured in some water from the pitcher and washed the cold sweat off her face. By the time she dried her hands she’d almost stopped shaking. She sat down on the bed and inspected the mud on her petticoat, then glanced about for something to brush off the worst of it.
    There was nothing suitable in the loft. She would have to go back downstairs, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. If Agnes said anything more to her, she would hit the woman, and she knew that if she did, she’d have to go straight back home. London might not be what she’d hoped, but going home would be worse.
    Understand this, miss: you’re no heiress. Your place is with Susan.
    It suddenly struck her that perhaps this was nothing to do with what had happened two years before. Agnes had lost her son; her daughter had married and moved out. Now her husband had proposed putting a stranger into the place that had been occupied by their children. Agnes might very well dread that, without any sense that Lucy was defiled and dirty, unworthy of Hannah’s maiden bed.
    Lucy drew another deep breath, this time in relief. She didn’t have to hate her aunt, and she might yet find a way to make a new life for herself. She made a fierce vow that she would not settle for a servile dependency: she would find a way – somehow! – to be mistress of her own life. She checked that her hair wasn’t coming loose and repinned the white coif that kept it decently covered, then went downstairs.
    Uncle Thomas and Cousin Geoffrey and his man had returned from the stable and were sitting in the parlour with mugs of beer. Thomas waved a hand at Lucy as she descended. ‘There you are, my girl! All well?’
    He sounded nervous and embarrassed. Lucy hadn’t been sure whether he’d approved the decision to send her to sleep with the maid: now she was. She curtsied. ‘Aunt Agnes says that your maid Susan is at the market, sir, but has been told to expect me.’
    Thomas nodded, relieved. ‘I’m sorry you can’t have Hannah’s room, sweet, but your aunt wants to let it.’
    â€˜Oh?’ asked Geoffrey, surprised.
    â€˜We could use the rent,’ admitted Thomas. ‘Trade in this town has gone to ruin, Geoff, to ruin! If I make enough in a week to pay my costs, I bless God for my good fortune!’
    â€˜Lodgings are dear,’ said Geoffrey thoughtfully. ‘I was told by one I met on the road that he’d paid ten shillings and sixpence a week for two rooms, and he had to supply his own coal and candles.’
    Thomas nodded eagerly. ‘Aye! I’ve been told I could get as much. Since the war ended, all England’s coming to London to solicit Parliament.’
    Geoffrey smiled. His own errand was to solicit Parliament – or, at any rate, a parliamentary clerk – for the right to buy a strip of land. It had belonged to a supporter of the king and was now at the disposal of Parliament. He raised his mug to his host. ‘I’m grateful, Uncle, that my lodgings are free.’
    Agnes had appeared in the doorway just before he said this, and Lucy noticed her sour expression: she, obviously,