To the Tower Born - Robin Maxwell Read Free Book Online

father’s couriers come in from everywhere. But where I learn most everything is on Totehill Street. The shopkeepers are best for juicy tidbits, but the prostitutes are helpful, and the cutpurses know much more than you would imagine. I think,” Nell continued, “that if you asked your friends the almsmen what they really knew about the inner workings of Westminster, they would tell you a sight more than stories about the old days as hide tanners or royal dog keepers.”
    “I never considered such a thing,” said Bessie, turning on her side and propping her head on her hand.
    “By my reckoning, there is an entire world of intelligence lurking beneath the one we see. A network, of sorts. Imagine the intricate crisscrossing of avenues and buildings in London.” Nell was warming to her subject. She sat down in front of Bessie, her eyes glittering excitedly. “Westminster—the palace and abbey, and our little street of shops inside the wall. And without, Totehill Street and the alleys jutting from it—St. Paul’s, the Strand, the Tower of London. The wharves and docks and warehouses. The Thames itself with ships sailing in and out, to and from the whole world. ’Tis like”—Nell closed her eyes, and her hands in front of her moved slowly apart—“a great and intricate web that you can see with your eyes. Very coarse and solid and dirty and filled with clamor. But underneath it all”—
    she opened her eyes again—“is a second web. Invisible to the eye. But just as real.”
    Bessie was transfixed, enthralled by her friend’s description.
    “This is the web of intelligence. Wherever there is a person along the web, there is a small repository of information. Two women talking across the backyard fence share their information with each other, a tidbit they heard from a friend who works as a laundress at the palace. One of those women will tell it to her husband, who will go to the alehouse that night. By next morning the tidbit—its details likely changed along the way—will have spread through an entire neighborhood, with every husband telling every wife, who, in turn, spreads the word at the baths, or the well, or the Wednesday market on Totehill Street. Not only do the shopkeepers hear, but farmers from the surrounding countryside who’ve come to sell their wares. That is how news moves through London and beyond its walls.”
    “And I presume you are the ‘Mistress of the Web,’ ‘Lady Spi-der,’ who creeps along the gossamer strands gobbling up every tidbit of intelligence.”
    “Come, don’t be unkind, Bessie.”
    “I’m not at all unkind. What you say is altogether sensible. I simply marvel that my best friend thinks in such a way. Oh!” Bessie cried, suddenly sitting up. “I never told you why I’ve come here in such a hurry today. You are invited on Progress to Wales to see my brother.”
    “I am?” said Nell, her jaw slack, her eyes twinkling. “I am?!”
    “Yes, yes!”
    Nell crushed Bessie in a hug.
    “Oh my goodness,” said Nell, suddenly sober. “How can I go?
    Who’ll mind the store? Who’ll mind Father?”
    “Nell, there’s a whole staff to make sure he’s fed, and dressed in clean linen. And Jan de Worde can see to the bookstore. Your father will want you to go. You know he will.”
    “He will. Yes. Oh goodness!”
    Nell jumped up and stood silently at the bedside, though
    Bessie knew her mind was a whirlwind. She could not help but smile, seeing her friend so excited. “Do you have enough to wear?” Bessie asked.
    “I don’t know.” Nell raced to her cupboard and flung open the door. It was crammed with gowns, some plain for work-days, some pretty for coming to court. She pulled out a tawny kirtle and a moss-green overdress and held them up to herself.
    “How many outfits will I need?”
    “Quite a few.” Bessie stood next to Nell, examining the contents of her wardrobe. “Why don’t we look at them one by one and see what you have?”
    t had been the most