Chapter 4
Carlisle, England, March 1808—seven-years ago
“Will that be all, then, Gus?” Mary wiped the damp rag over one of the pub’s roughened tabletops, then brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek with the back of her wrist.
“Aye. Ye can go on home noo, Mary.” Augustus, the Hog and Toad’s heavily-set owner waved her off, his Scottish burr thick and rumbling.
Mary eagerly hurried behind the counter at the far end of the large, open pub and removed her work-worn apron. It must have been at least half of four in the morning, for all the pub’s patrons had already ventured drunkenly home and Mary’s eyes felt like someone had thrown sand beneath their lids. She placed the damp rag and her apron over an old wooden stool, eager to depart her place of work and return home to Papa.
That evening’s performances had gone as well as could be expected for her modest pub plays. She smiled to herself. Just over a year ago, someone had come into the pub and watched her perform. He had been so impressed with her that he had invited her to join his cast in Shakespeare’sOthello. Since then, she had worked both at the pub and in the local theatre. Combined, she worked all the days of the week, sometimes in both places in one day. It was trying, but she was rather proud of herself. The pub was by no means a pleasing position, but it paid well enough to help support Papa and to save a few meagre coins.
One day she would have saved enough coin to travel to London to become atrueactress.
“Yer earnings,” Gus grunted as he neared her.
Mary accepted the precious coins and quickly placed them in the pocket of her threadbare cotton dress.
“Thank you. Good night, Gus.” She pulled her out-of-style pelisse off the peg beside the rear door and slipped her arms into the sleeves.
“G’night, Mary.” He lifted one thick, callused hand to tug on his forelock.
She turned to smile over her shoulder at the large man as she looped the buttons through their awaiting holes. She pulled her black mantle off the next peg and put it on as well, the dark material covering her to the very tips of her half boots. The mantle disguised her well enough in the darkness of night, though Mary rarely saw a soul on the streets of Carlisle so late—or early—to warrant any amount of concern on her part.
With one last wave, Mary lifted the hood to cover her dark auburn hair and opened the door into the night. She pulled her mantle closer together at her throat as the cold wind threatened to seep within. She had forgotten her gloves that morning, but it hardly mattered. Her hands were so badly callused from her work, no glove could protect them from chapping in the cold air of winter.
She hurried herself along the cobblestoned street, her soft footfalls echoing off the short, narrow buildings around her. It had been two days since the last rain, but the dampness still hung in the air, giving the night an eerie, light fog that seemed to hang about the ground around her ankles. The chill raked its cold fingers up her calves and down into her half boots, making her long for the hot coals in her father’s modest fireplace.
The moon hung lazily in the sky, casting its milky-silver glow over the land. While the sight was beautiful, it had become commonplace for her. What she truly longed for were the beautiful sights of London.
She knew what actresses faced in London, how they endured lurid advances and were treated as whores or taken as mistresses. Mary believed herself of a strong constitution, however, and could withstand such advances. Being an actress might have its challenges in London, but not only would it provide a living for her and enable her to live life in the company of others, it would also allow her to fulfil her life’s passion of performing.
Perhaps one day she would marry and have children, but she was as likely to be a man’s kept mistress as a smithy’s or a cobbler’s wife. Such was a fine enough life for her.
“Ooooh,” a breathy exclamation came from somewhere behind her.
Mary swung around to see three silhouettes stumbling out of the innyard and her heart skittered in her chest. They were men that Gus had forcibly removed from the pub earlier in the night, as they’d begun to verbally abuse the other patrons.
She quickly turned around and increased her pace. Mary had had experience dealing with drunken men and inappropriate advances, but such had always been in the public eye and with fewer men to defend herself against. She had no desire to fight these men off on her own, so she sped along the cobblestones.
“Look-ey wha’ we got here, gennelmen,” one of the men slurred.
Mary turned to look over her shoulder as one man slipped on the damp cobblestones and fell to his knees on the hard ground of the thoroughfare. The other two men brayed with laughter at their fallen comrade, and Mary quickly turned and continued.
At the curve in the road was a tall stone archway that led to the long, narrow path to the fields of Lord Winning’s estate. The walls of the walkway were nearly shoulder-height, and opened up into the night’s sky, and at the end of the path was an iron gate. Such a narrow route could increase her peril, but it was the only way home without turning back and walking toward the intoxicated toffs.
The men’s laughter swiftly died. In the silence, she could hear their footfalls coming up behind her, the fallen man evidently once more on his unsteady feet.
“It’sss thewenchf—from the pub.” The voice was much closer now.
Mary had always disliked her role as the pirate wench in her pub performances, but Gus was adamant that she continue in that role once per week, as it brought in customers. Mary was now more certain than ever that it attracted thewrongsort of customers.
“Wha’ should we do with ‘er? Eh?” one of the other men said.
“I think weee should t—tup ‘er, wot, wot?”
A shiver went up Mary’s spine. She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer that the “manoeuvres” that her father had taught her once she had begun work at the pub actually worked to fend off these drunken louts.
“Hey, preddy wench, stop a minute!” The voice was yet closer, almost upon her heels.
