Royal Mistress Read Free Page A

as any of my apprentices—if not me.”
    Tom saw John appraise his customer’s apparel and knew by the genuine smile that the mercer had discerned from the fashionable gown that Tom was a man of means. Mercer Lambert was deferent with members of the gentry, Tom was relieved to note; the man had not guessed the real purpose of his visit.
    “You are kind, Master Lambert—if I have the pleasure of speaking to the owner of all this,” he gushed, and he airily waved his hand to encompass the shop, “but I had only just stated my business. I did not know this young lady was your daughter. Mistress Lambert, your servant,” he said, nodding to her. “I would be happy to see the worsted you recommend.”
    “Then I shall leave you to Jane,” John said, bowing and rubbing his hands, which always made Jane cringe. When her father anticipated a worthwhile sale, the gesture never failed to annoy her. She hurried past Tom toward the shelf of wools. “And thank you for choosing my humble shop, Master . . .” John raised a questioning eyebrow, expecting the man to give him a name, but Tom merely nodded in acknowledgment and quickly followed Jane.
    “Thank you for not saying your name, Master Grey,” she said as they fingered three different bolts of blue cloth. “I was seen inyour company the other day, and ’twas reported to my father, you see. He was not kind.” And she lowered her eyes to the cloth, her hand going protectively to her ill-used cheek. “What do you want of me, sir?”
    “I know not why, Jane, but I cannot get you out of my head. If you tell me where you live, I can send a message there to arrange another meeting.”
    “In truth it cannot be here or Father will suspect,” Jane replied, titillated by the notion of a secret tryst. “Our house is the largest on the east side of Hosier Lane before Watling Street, anyone can tell you which. Mayhap somewhere quiet, like”—she thought quickly back to other times when she had allowed an ardent young man to kiss her and rumple her bodice, and made up her mind—“like the churchyard behind St. Paul’s.” It was quiet, and the buttresses created shadowy shelters for young lovers. “Send me a message with but the day and time and I shall be there.”
    She took a deep breath to calm herself; she could not believe she was arranging a rendezvous with this stranger and under her father’s rather long nose. But it seemed that God had answered her nightly prayer for the love of a handsome young man and had sent Tom to her. Perhaps now she might know the delights of the romantic love depicted in the old poems. Secrecy was of the essence, she knew; she would worry about the more mundane aspects of courtship, like obtaining her father’s permission, once she and Tom had expressed their love for each other.
    She felt more alive than she had in several months, and as she counted out three ells of the midnight blue wool for him upon a tacit agreement that he must buy something, her palms were sweating and her mouth felt dry.
    Tom grinned, delighted he had secured an assignation so easily. He took the measured cloth and walked boldly up to John, who was now seated on a high stool, working on his accounts. “How much do I owe you for three ells of this worsted, Master Lambert?”he asked pleasantly, undoing the pouch at his belt and jingling the coins. “And how much for your daughter?” was on the tip of his tongue to add, but he buried the mischievous urge.

    N ot a week later, the cloak on his spare six-foot frame running with rain, William Shore, a mercer from Coleman Street, stood on the same spot as Tom Grey had and heard the creaking of the wooden sign above him in the gale. He noted the fine carving on the door to Mercer Lambert’s shop before pushing it open and stepping into a far more lavish establishment than his own. Hanging his dripping cloak on a peg near the door, he smirked as he estimated the wealth of his fellow mercer spread before him in the