The breath rushed out of Meg and she dropped the broom. The girl barely came to her shoulder. She had dark, abundant hair, wide brown eyes, and a pink mouth shaped like Cupid’s bow.
“Why are you skulking around here?” Excitement made Meg speak with the cant of the street she had learned from Davy and Peter. “Who is your marker? Speak, minion!”
“I do not understand you,” said the girl, her eyes wide with terror.
“Your accomplice, thief. Where is he?”
“I am no thief! I am Lady Violetta Puttock. I saw you pick up that nest and thought you might help me too.” She fell to her knees, threw her arms around Meg’s legs, and uttered a cry of pain.
Meg winced. The girl had struck her head on the stones in her pocket. At every step they bumped against Meg’s thighs. She could already feel the bruises.
“Be careful,” said Meg. “I have very hard bones.”
The girl sat back, rubbing her head. “Maybe it was a mistake to come here.”
Meg considered her fresh, healthy features, her fine cloak and blue damask gown, only a little muddied. This Violetta was well cared for.
“Then go back home to your family,” she said roughly.
The thrush’s plaintive song came to her ears. Had she discovered her nest was gone?
“I cannot. My father, Sir Percival Puttock, will force me to marry a man I hate!” Tears spilled from Violetta’s eyes.
“There are worse fates than being married,” said Meg, misquoting Gwin. “Why do you hate him? Is he old or ill-favored?”
“No. He is young and you might call him handsome. But he fawns upon me in a most offensive manner with flowers and love-tokens and flattery.”
“How could you not love a handsome man who gives you gifts?” asked Meg.
“He always holds my hand to keep me near him,” Violetta complained. “He studies me as if he were diagnosing a disease, for he is learning to be a doctor.” She wrinkled up her nose. “He will spend every day letting blood, sniffing bottles of urine, and prescribing strange physick.”
“Do you love someone else?” asked Meg. Violetta’s distress was truly a mystery to her.
“I haven’t had the chance! But I could. Indeed I wish to.”
Even damp with tears, Violetta’s face was still pretty. When Meg cried her face swelled and her eyes grew rheumy. Violetta had a rounded figure, narrow at the waist, and small, delicate hands. A green thorn of envy pricked Meg.
“What is the name of this offensive fellow?”
Violetta let out a deep sigh. “Thomas Valentine.”
Thomas Valentine. The name was like music; it made Meg’s lonely heart stir.
“If I were you, I would far rather be Mistress Violetta Valentine,” she said, drawing out the syllables, “than Lady Puttock. Even if your Thomas had a wen the size of a ducat on his forehead.” The idea caused Meg to laugh merrily.
Violetta pouted. “I see you have never had the misfortune to be tormented by a lover.”
“I see that you scarcely know what suffering means,” Meg shot back.
“But I do! My father locked me in my room after I refused to marry Thomas. When my maid opened the door I escaped, stole some coins from him, and ran away.” Her little chin was thrust out in defiance.
“Then keep running,” said Meg. “If you stay here he might find you.”
Violetta shook her head. “I have come all the way from Stoke Farthington and cannot go another mile.” She considered the room with its neat bed, stool, washbasin, table, and chair. Narrow beams of light peeked through the shuttered window. “This place will suit me.”
“It will cost you two shillings a night for supper, bed, and breakfast.”
Violetta smiled. “Two shillings? That’s not much, is it?” She opened a little velvet purse and tumbled the coins into Meg’s hand.
“Is this all your money?” asked Meg. She counted five shillings, four groats, and three pennies.
“I had to pay the coachman two crowns.”
“Two crowns? You were robbed!” Meg said, anger rising in her.
“I know nothing about money. I’ve never had to buy anything for myself.” Violetta looked as if she would cry again. “I suppose I shall have to sleep on the church steps.”
Meg sighed. She could hardly turn Violetta away. A kitten would have a better chance of surviving on its own.
“My mistress might hire you in the kitchen, for the fair begins soon and we will have many customers.”
“Shall I learn to make pudding and pies, confections and conserves?”
“No, you’ll learn to pluck poultry until you sneeze your head off and chop onions until your eyes are on fire,” Meg said. “Do you have any possessions or were you cheated of those too?”
“I hid my bag beneath the trellis.”
Meg thought for a moment and said, “Climb out this window. It faces the mews and no one will see you. Fetch your bag, go to the front gate, and ask for Mistress Overby. Tell her that her kindness is mythical. No, I mean legendary. Alack, just say you are my cousin.”
Meg tied a sheet under the girl’s arms and lowered her from the window. She weighed not much more than a sack of grain.
When Violetta was halfway down, Meg remembered something. “Psst! When you greet my mistress, do not stare at her teeth or note her girth.”
Clutching the sheet with both hands, Violetta nodded.
When Gwin summoned her to meet her “cousin,” Meg picked up Violetta and spun her around, feigning joy.
“By the veil of the Virgin, it’s a miracle how you found each other!” said Gwin with a grin so wide it showed all her teeth and her gums as well.
Meg felt a twinge of guilt for deceiving her mistress but deemed it a small wrong because Gwin was so delighted.
Meg was showing Violetta the kitchen when Master Overby returned from an errand at the brewery. Gwin accosted him, still fluttering with excitement.
“Meg’s cousin is here! All the way from Stoke Farthington the pretty maid came. She is called Violetta, after the flower. Where is Stoke Farthington?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been there,” said Master Overby. “Didn’t Meg tell us she had no living kin?”
“What does it matter!” said Gwin. “Let them be cousins if they will.”
“I’ll be keeping my eye on them both,” said Master Overby. “This town is full of country-bred cheats who come here thinking to make an honest man their mark.”
Meg glanced at Violetta and wondered if she was as innocent as she seemed.
“Pishery-pashery!” said Gwin. “There cannot be a wicked bone in her body if she is cousin to Meg. I’m already fond of her.”
“You’ve always been soft,” grumbled Overby.
“And you’re hard as a stone,” said Gwin with a low growl.
Meg heard the sounds of wet kissing. Blushing, she quickly steered Violetta outside.
“Speaking of stones,” Violetta said, “why do you have them in your pocket?”
Meg was caught off guard. Had Violetta reached into her skirt while they were in the kitchen? Was she a thief after all?
“Don’t ask questions and you won’t be told lies,” she said, glowering. It was the line she used on overly curious patrons of the Boar’s Head. “Away with you.”
Violetta looked stricken as she turned and ran inside.
The stones pulled Meg’s shift tight over her shoulders, tugged at her waist, and weighed her down. Her legs ached with bruises. How foolish she was for thinking she could keep herself from growing taller! She wondered if her mother had put stones in her pocket before she disappeared into the Thames. Had she changed her mind at the last moment and struggled to be free of the muddy depths? Meg shuddered. She reached under her skirt, tore the pockets from her shift, and dropped the stones among the cobbles.
With a lightness in her step she went indoors, found the thrush’s nest, and tucked it under the eaves outside her window, hoping the bird would return and lay her eggs there.