The Christmas Wassail Read Free Page A

now. It was just a man I thought I recognized for a moment, but I can’t put a name to the face. Probably my imagination, anyway, and I’m certainly not fighting my way through this press to find out.’ I stood up. ‘I should be going. I promised to be home an hour ago. Adela will be furious with me, and not without cause. Are you coming?’
    Burl nodded and also got a little unsteadily to his feet. We shouted our goodnights to the landlord and other friends before supporting each other out into the street. The bells of nearby All Saints’ Church were tolling for Vespers. It was later than I thought.
    As we rounded a corner of the ale-house, Burl almost bumped into somebody coming from the opposite direction.
    He gave a loud belch and mumbled his apologies. The woman, cloaked and hooded, with the hood drawn well forward to cover her face, shrank back in alarm, but whether from a desire not to be recognized or from the stink of Burl’s ale-laden breath I shouldn’t have liked to hazard a guess. But a lantern, hanging high in the porch of the church, showed her clothes to be of an excellent quality. She was plainly a woman of fashion and some wealth; not the sort to be walking abroad after dusk – although the hour was still early – without a maid in attendance.
    I thought at first that she must be going into the church for the service, but she hurried past. Turning to say my farewells to Burl, I was astounded to see her push open the door of the Green Lattis and make her hesitant way inside. There were quite a few women in there, among the rowdy crowd of men, but not of her sort. They were the hucksters, who sold bread around the Bristol streets, washerwomen, who swabbed the floors of the local breweries, spinners and several who belonged to an even older profession, but not one who had any pretensions to being a lady. I was mystified and more than a little intrigued.
    â€˜See who that was?’ Burl breathed excitedly.
    I shook my head. ‘Her hood was covering her face.’
    â€˜Well, I caught a glimpse of it just as she turned her head away’ – he squeezed my arm, his strong fingers biting painfully into my flesh – ‘and I’d swear it was Lady Marvell, Sir George’s wife. Talk of the Devil!’
    â€˜I thought you knew nothing about the family. At least, you were talking as though you didn’t just now.’
    â€˜Didn’t think I did, but I’d forgotten. A few weeks back, Jenny pointed out a woman to me that she said was the knight’s wife. And I’d swear that woman we’ve just seen was her.’
    â€˜And what would Lady Marvell be doing going into a place like the Lattis?’ I asked scornfully. ‘Alone, after dark!’
    â€˜You can scoff all you like,’ Burl retorted sulkily, aggrieved that his revelation had fallen flat. ‘But I’m telling you, it was her.’ He hunched his shoulders as a cold wind suddenly blew up from the Backs, and pulled his thin cloak more firmly around him. ‘I must be off. You’re right! The women ain’t going to be pleased.’
    We separated, he to walk down High Street and across the bridge into Redcliffe, and I to make my way across the road to Small Street, my steps lagging a little as I steeled myself for Adela’s wrath.
    I thought I felt a hint of snow in the air. It had certainly grown colder since earlier in the afternoon when I had entered the Green Lattis on my way home from a satisfactory day’s peddling of my wares around the town and its immediate environs. The approach of Christmas was always a good time for selling, a time when most folk were prepared to spend an extra few groats for things they really didn’t want, and my purse was full. That, at least, should please Adela and soften her very righteous anger. I knew that she and Elizabeth had planned to spend the afternoon making the kissing bush from the branches of holly and