i b8cff8977b3b1bd2 by Unknown Read Free Book Online

objections, Arthur Tyndal’s bearing had been unmistakable.
    But the opposition would be surmounted, he was sure of it. Confidence surged back, as it ever did after a period of heart-smart and misery. God will help me, he thought, if, to be sure, it be His Will. And went to bed.
    For Elizabeth, in after years, those summer months at Groton merged into a vivid memory of two days. One was the glorious feasting and dancing with which they had celebrated King James’s birthday, and the other was the August day of her own great wickedness.
    Elizabeth’s troubles began as soon as she opened her eyes and heard rain hissing down the latticed panes. She crept out of the trundle bed she shared with Martha, now that Thomas Fones had returned from London and occupied the big bed with his wife and the baby. Elizabeth went to the window and cast one despairing look at the grey teeming sky. Jack had promised to take her to the Fair at Boxford today. He and Harry had already slipped over there themselves after lessons with Mr. Nicholson, and Elizabeth’s ardent heart had thumped over descriptions of the Fair’s attractions. There was a dancing bear, and a juggler who could balance a sword on his nose, there were mummers and cock-fights, there were booths that sold gingerbread toys and pink pigs made from marchpane. Jack had said he would give her a penny to buy some. Her mouth watered when she thought of the melting sweet almond taste of those little pigs. She had dreamed of them last night, had seen herself sharing one with Jack while they made a wish. And now it poured, “Rain before seven, clear by eleven,” old Lern, the reeve, had said the other day when the Manor folk were still bringing in the harvest, but it hadn’t cleared then. And it wouldn’t today. She felt it, Elizabeth, looked miserably at Martha who still slept, and at the drawn brocade curtains around her parents’ bed. Her father inside there was snoring rhythmically. If be were not there she would have crept in to her mother for comfort.
    Elizabeth mournfully yanked her little linen shift from the stool where she had flung it last night; she pulled it over her head and then her thin blue wool gown. She bothered neither to wash her face nor comb the tangled masses of dark curls. She had an urgent errand in the kitchen, and no idea just how late it was. She slipped out of the bedchamber and down the crooked stone back-stairs into the buttery. It was empty; on the oak counter fresh-baked loaves of . bread were neatly ranged for serving, a keg of ale was already dripping at the spigot where someone had drawn off a mug for breakfast, but through the open door into the great kitchen she could see Nannie Podd, the head cook, stirring a pot ever the fire. This was bad luck. Podd was a cantankerous old woman, who disliked children and resented intrusion in her domain. Elizabeth edged through the buttery door, holding her breath and praying that the cook would not notice her while she tried to see the spot where she had hidden the sampler and dish last night. She had put them behind the broom by the hearth because that was where the goblin would look, and she had said the charm three times. But the broom had been moved. On the bricks there was no sign of the rolled-up sampler, or of the dish of bread and cream.
    Perhaps Puck had taken them away to finish the work? . . . She gave a jump, for she felt a sharp pain in her right ear while fingers jerked the lobe, and Lucy’s voice said crossly behind her, “What mischief are you up to now, Bess? What do you here at this hour?”
    “N-nothing.” said Elizabeth, squirming. The cook turned around, her under-lip thrust out, her fat cheeks glistening beneath the mobcap. “Goodmorrow, Mistress Lucy, Oi’ve the sage ready steeped as ye ordered - ah - “ she added with malice, catching sight of Elizabeth. “Miss Goody-body! And dew ye be arter that mucky ould bit o’stitchery Oi found hidden wi’ a bowl of slops behoind me