I went home with my dog, Hoppy, one pot of honey, three duck eggs, a cut lip and a bashed nose.
Instead of sympathy, all I got from Aunt Meg was, ‘Where is the fish, Billy? You didn’t get the fish? Now what shall we do?’
‘Big Tom was lurking by the fish stall, and I didn’t want any more of this,’ I said, catching blood drips in my hand.
Just then, Mother came through the back door and saw me. She dropped her laundry basket, grabbed a clean rag and dabbed at my face.
‘Those ruffians again?’ she asked.
I nodded. ‘Big Tom. He tore my jerkin, too.’
‘Never mind,’ said Mother. ‘Jerkins mend, so do lips and noses.’
I smiled. It made my mouth sting.
‘He didn’t get the fish!’ wailed Aunt Meg. ‘What will we have for dinner?’
‘We’ll have fish!’ said Mother, crossly. She hates it when my aunt falls to pieces, as she calls it. Mother is strong-minded. She has to be, with Father away so much.
‘Billy and I will go to the market together while Susan is having her nap,’ she said. ‘There will be plenty of fish left.’
Susan is my little sister. She’s quite sweet, but everyone fusses around her because she’s always getting sore throats or fevers.
‘I’ll put Hoppy in his doghouse,’ I said. ‘Another walk would be too much for his gammy leg.’
As Mother and I set off, I told her what happened.
‘Big Tom and his mates were throwing stones at a kitten,’ I said, ‘so I picked it up and put it behind a wall. Then they started on me, so I punched Big Tom.’
‘Good boy, Billy,’ said Mother. She likes kittens. ‘I’m glad you stand up to those ruffians.’
I stopped talking then, because my lip hurt.
I call Aunt Meg’s cottage ‘home’ but it’s not really our home. I hate it here. It’s all grass and trees and cows, and there’s nothing to do. I wish I was back in London. It’s the finest and biggest city in the world. From our house in Little Thames Lane it’s a long walk to the countryside. Thank goodness.
But we must stay here, because London is full of plague. The last outbreak was in 1593, when I was little. All I can remember are bells being rung during burials, and seeing carts taking bodies away.
When it broke out this time, Mother stopped me seeing my friends. No visitors came, and people wouldn’t speak to others without covering their mouths and noses. Everyone is terrified they’ll find huge buboes swelling under their arms, or hideous black spots. If they do, they’re likely to die horribly. Hundreds of people have died already. There are red crosses on doors all over the city warning, ‘Plague here – keep away’. That’s why Mother decided that we should come to stay with her sister at Kinglake Manor.
Sounds grand, does it not? Me – William Watkins of Kinglake Manor.
Of course, we’re not staying in the manor house! Aunt Meg and Uncle Jem live in Gate Cottage on the Kinglake estate. My uncle is the gamekeeper and my aunt does sewing for the ladies of the big house. She’s pretty, and fun when she’s not fretting about fish.
It’s not my fault I’m unhappy here. Big Tom and his mates make my life miserable. They call me ‘maggot head’ or ‘Willy goat brain’.
I know why. I cannot catch frogs with my bare hands or trap rabbits, and I’ve no wish to climb trees to steal apples.
Catch frogs? I’m sure I could, but who would want to? As for trapping rabbits, it’s not worth it. Uncle Jem keeps us supplied with meat. And I’m definitely not going to steal fruit, or anything else. I’d never take the chance. Imagine being locked up and whipped or, worse – hanged! Zooks, even being put in the pillory for people to pitch rotten cabbages at you would be bad enough.
So they pick on me because I’m different. I don’t want to be a farmhand or butcher, like them, or go to sea like my father. I want to be a player. I want to be a player, acting on the stage at the Globe playhouse in London!
I remember telling Uncle Jem about my ambition.
‘That’s stupid, lad,’ he said.
‘It’s not,’ I told him. ‘I’ve even stood on the stage.’
‘Ha! You’re jesting!’ he said.
‘It’s true,’ I said. ‘I help at the Globe.’
‘Doing what, lad?’
‘Anything. They call me Billy-Odd-Job,’ I said proudly. ‘And Master Burbage and Master Shakespeare said that one day I can have a part.’
He didn’t believe me. But they did say so. And I believe them. One day, I’ll have a part in a play by Master William Shakespeare!
As Mother and I crossed the bridge into town, I said, ‘I wish we were back in London.’
‘So do I,’ she said, ‘in our own lovely house, with Jane helping to look after us, but we can’t be.’
Jane was our maid and not more than a year older than me, so she was fun. She left London, too, to live with her family in Kingston, a village further up the River Thames.
Mother smiled. ‘At least you have Hoppy.’
That’s true. I’d never have had him if I’d stayed in London.
We crossed Limping Lane, which made me smile, because that’s what Hoppy does. Limps! Actually, he runs with a funny little hop, because of his gammy leg. He was attacked by a big dog when he was a pup. The stable man at the manor gave him to me.
Hoppy’s the cleverest little dog in the world. I’ve taught him to beg, shut the door, and dance on his hind legs. If I clap twice, he bares his teeth and growls, looking so fierce. Yet the only thing he would ever bite is a bone!
I looked at the tiny cottages and tiny lanes in the tiny town. How much longer would we have to stay with Aunt Meg? I was bored in the country. I missed helping at the Globe. How would I ever become a player if I never went near the playhouse? The plague was ruining my life.