Maid of Secrets Read Free Page A

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 growingalarm. “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 upwith 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 thana whisper of movement, but enough to cause me to immediately shift away—
    And then I was facedown against the stone ledge of the river wall, a wickedly sharp blade a bare inch from my eyes. My neck was locked down so tightly, I feared it would snap like a chicken’s.
    “Sorry, but I canna chase you all day.” It was a girl who held me down, her voice as plain and flat as a board. She