Wicked Company by Ciji Ware Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ciji Ware
the day’s events had brought to pass, Sophie pushed the entire situation from her mind, fervently hoping that neither the clergymen of St. Giles nor Lord Lemore would do anything else to cause them further trouble. Meanwhile, she dutifully produced a small playbill announcing in the largest type she could find a concert presenting:
For the FIRST time in Edinburgh!
The CLAN ROBERTSON SINGERS
Presenting the famous Highland Bard
RORY ROBERTSON and his HARP
and his balladeer grandson
HUNTER ROBERTSON
and Mother Robertson
Singing Highland and Lowland Favorites!!!
When Sophie had set the type that listed the date and admission prices, she prayed that her superlatives and exclamation points would be sufficient to draw a crowd large enough for Hunter at least to cover his expenses. As she trudged around the town posting her handiwork, she thought about poor playwrights who, she’d heard, actually wound up owing money to the theater management, instead of reaping profits for their efforts.
The next day, Daniel McGann drifted down the alley to speak with another bookseller about his recent contretemps with the local clergy. Alone in the shop, Sophie heard the door open and the sound of masculine laughter. As she emerged from the printing chamber wiping her ink-stained hands on her apron, she felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of Hunter Robertson pointing at the placard she’d put in her window announcing his concert. He was flanked by two young men, one of whom was rather stylishly attired.
“Aha!” Hunter exclaimed to his companions, flashing the smile that had lingered in Sophie’s memory. “Here’s the clever wee lassie whose broadsides have garnered me notice all over Edinburgh! Not only does she write brilliantly at the tender age of sixteen, but can set type as if she were twice her age—as she informed me the day I met her. What’s more,” he added gallantly, “she dances like an angel!” Sophie found herself blushing to her auburn roots. “Sophie McGann,” Hunter continued, “may I present Mr. James Boswell and Mr. William Creech—longtime residents of this fair city who have kindly befriended me.”
Will Creech and Sophie exchanged smiles. They were practically the same age and had known each other for ages. Creech was currently attending the University of Edinburgh and often browsed through the volumes in their shop.
“Will and I are two bookworms of long acquaintance, eh Willie?” she laughed. Her attention focused on the other, elegantly dressed visitor.
James Boswell’s name was familiar to her not just because his father was a famous judge, but because she had heard rumors about the twenty-year-old heir to the Auchinleck estate south of Edinburgh. Boswell had engaged in a torrid affair with a Catholic actress ten years his senior and had subsequently run off to London in the midst of his law studies, much to the fury of his stiff-necked, kirk-going father. She had it from some local gossip that the wayward lad was now dutifully pursuing his legal education locally, under Lord Auchinleck’s watchful paternal eye.
“I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance,” Sophie nodded to Boswell, wondering that such a portly, round-faced law student had proved irresistible to the flamboyant actress, Anna Cowper. “Welcome to our shop,” she added, ignoring as best she could the pillaged bookshelves surrounding her guests.
“Did the raiding clerics leave you your stock of printed plays?” Boswell asked, glancing at the plundered shelves.
“So you’ve heard about our recent visitors,” Sophie replied. “Yes… a few.”
She found herself comparing Creech’s sharp features and Boswell’s rather doughy countenance with Hunter’s; his straight nose and high cheekbones recalled engravings she’d seen of Greek warriors. Then she remembered his look of anguish when he had acknowledged he could not read. In that painful moment of truth, Hunter’s demeanor had been free of any effort
For the FIRST time in Edinburgh!
The CLAN ROBERTSON SINGERS
Presenting the famous Highland Bard
RORY ROBERTSON and his HARP
and his balladeer grandson
HUNTER ROBERTSON
and Mother Robertson
Singing Highland and Lowland Favorites!!!
When Sophie had set the type that listed the date and admission prices, she prayed that her superlatives and exclamation points would be sufficient to draw a crowd large enough for Hunter at least to cover his expenses. As she trudged around the town posting her handiwork, she thought about poor playwrights who, she’d heard, actually wound up owing money to the theater management, instead of reaping profits for their efforts.
The next day, Daniel McGann drifted down the alley to speak with another bookseller about his recent contretemps with the local clergy. Alone in the shop, Sophie heard the door open and the sound of masculine laughter. As she emerged from the printing chamber wiping her ink-stained hands on her apron, she felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of Hunter Robertson pointing at the placard she’d put in her window announcing his concert. He was flanked by two young men, one of whom was rather stylishly attired.
“Aha!” Hunter exclaimed to his companions, flashing the smile that had lingered in Sophie’s memory. “Here’s the clever wee lassie whose broadsides have garnered me notice all over Edinburgh! Not only does she write brilliantly at the tender age of sixteen, but can set type as if she were twice her age—as she informed me the day I met her. What’s more,” he added gallantly, “she dances like an angel!” Sophie found herself blushing to her auburn roots. “Sophie McGann,” Hunter continued, “may I present Mr. James Boswell and Mr. William Creech—longtime residents of this fair city who have kindly befriended me.”
Will Creech and Sophie exchanged smiles. They were practically the same age and had known each other for ages. Creech was currently attending the University of Edinburgh and often browsed through the volumes in their shop.
“Will and I are two bookworms of long acquaintance, eh Willie?” she laughed. Her attention focused on the other, elegantly dressed visitor.
James Boswell’s name was familiar to her not just because his father was a famous judge, but because she had heard rumors about the twenty-year-old heir to the Auchinleck estate south of Edinburgh. Boswell had engaged in a torrid affair with a Catholic actress ten years his senior and had subsequently run off to London in the midst of his law studies, much to the fury of his stiff-necked, kirk-going father. She had it from some local gossip that the wayward lad was now dutifully pursuing his legal education locally, under Lord Auchinleck’s watchful paternal eye.
“I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance,” Sophie nodded to Boswell, wondering that such a portly, round-faced law student had proved irresistible to the flamboyant actress, Anna Cowper. “Welcome to our shop,” she added, ignoring as best she could the pillaged bookshelves surrounding her guests.
“Did the raiding clerics leave you your stock of printed plays?” Boswell asked, glancing at the plundered shelves.
“So you’ve heard about our recent visitors,” Sophie replied. “Yes… a few.”
She found herself comparing Creech’s sharp features and Boswell’s rather doughy countenance with Hunter’s; his straight nose and high cheekbones recalled engravings she’d seen of Greek warriors. Then she remembered his look of anguish when he had acknowledged he could not read. In that painful moment of truth, Hunter’s demeanor had been free of any effort