“What’s wrong with Her Grace?”
Rachel chuckled. ’Tis but indigestion. Though she bellows as if she were dying. She’s large with the king’s second child, you know.” Rachel lowered her voice confidentially, but her white teeth gleamed as she grinned. “Do not speak of it, but I heard her confess to Sister Hectare that she worries she’ll belch in the archbishop’s face when he lays the crown upon her brow.”
As we walked, my new friend kept up a running commentary. But all I could think about was my mom, and how she might be close and I’d never know it. She might even live on this street, or just around the corner.
What if she’s miles and miles away from here? Or . . . or worse?
“Mistress?”
I was startled out of my stupor. “Please,” I said, forcing a smile, “call me Hope. After all, you did save my life today.”
“After you stopped Eustace Clarkson from taking my honor.” Rachel shuddered inside her cloak. “Things have been worse for my people since Will—Captain Lucie—left the city watch for the queen’s service. He protected us. Now, for some reason, Eustace has set his sights on me.” Her lips thinned in disgust. After a moment, though, she shook herself, as if trying to cast off the horror of what she’d endured. “So, you must be in London for the coronation, then?”
“No. Yes.” I stumbled on the uneven stones. I didn’t fall, but my boot heel splurched down dead center in a cold pile of horse poop.
Perfect.
I fumbled for our cover story. “We came from the country so my brother can handle some of our father’s business. While we’re here, however, I hope to find my cousin. Sarah de Carlyle. I know she was in town a few months ago, but . . .”
I trailed off as an insidious hopelessness snaked through me.
How will we ever find her in three days? This place is too big. There’re too many people. It’s hopeless.
We stopped in front of a green-painted gate set into a rock wall. The words MABRAY HOUSE was chiseled into a flat stone. My stomach coiled into a knot.
Oh God, please let them be here.
“You know,” Rachel mused, “I could ask Captain Lucie about your cousin.” She tilted her head in thought. “I must make haste now, as I am very late delivering the queen’s evening draught. But if you wish, you could come with me when I revisit the queen on the morrow. I do not know your cousin, mind. But the castle servants know everyone. They might be of help.”
I blinked at her. The castle. Someone there was bound to have news of her. I beamed at Rachel. “Yes! That’s awe—I mean yes. That would be most welcome. I’m so sorry I made you late. But I would love to go with you. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Rachel grinned and moved as though to embrace me. She checked herself, the smile dropping from her lovely face as she stepped back.
“For-forgive me,” she muttered to the ground.
It took me a second to get it.
“No.” I reached out and squeezed her in a quick hug. “I don’t care what religion we follow. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
As I let go, Rachel ducked her head, but not before I saw a tear glimmer behind her lashes. I began to feel lighter than I had in months. I had a lead on my mother, thanks to Rachel. A cold breeze gusted, bringing with it the smell of smoke and sewage, fish and tar and ice. The smells of the medieval world.
Rachel started as a distant bell rang in the gloaming. “Curfew soon,” she said. “I must away.”
After promising to come by and fetch me in the morning, she hurried off into the vicious London streets. As I watched her go, I thought about what I’d endured in only one day here. I realized Rachel was the bravest person I’d ever met.
Through the gate, I passed an herb garden gone to seed. In the cobbled courtyard, I stared up at the thatched roof and shuttered windows of the half-timbered house. Torches flamed on either side of a green front door. As I raised a hand to knock, the door jerked inward.
Light streamed from behind the familiar form, casting his features into shadow. A profound relief turned my knees to jelly.
“Collum” was all I could manage to say.
He stepped out onto the stoop, arms folded across his chest. His normal irritated demeanor seemed like play time at Chuck E. Cheese compared with this. He squinted, glaring at me. “Where,” he asked through stiff lips and clenched jaw, “the bloody fuck have you been?”
My head reared back as if he’d slapped me. Before I could respond, before the angry words could leave my lips, he reached out and snatched me to him. Strong arms wrapped me up, pressing me against his chest as he rocked me back and forth, murmuring into my hair. Shocked into an exhausted, melty state, I sighed and let my bruised head rest against him.
As if the embrace caught him by surprise, his arms dropped abruptly to his sides and he stepped back. “Get inside,” he said, his eyes scanning the street beyond the gate.