“Will! Help me,” Meg cried as the bailiff swiftly bound her wrists with a leather thong. She berated herself for being so heedless. Had she seen him in time, she could easily have outrun him.
Summoned by Meg’s shouts, Will followed her and the bailiff all the way to the Wood Street prison.
“Listen to me, you wretched catchpole,” Will said to the bailiff. “This man is no criminal. It’s Roger Ruffneck you should be arresting.”
“Stop barking at my heels, cur,” replied the bailiff, jerking Meg forward. She had concluded he was the same rudesby who came looking for her at the Boar’s Head, frightening Gwin.
“Keep your hands off my friend, you yellow-bellied sapsucker!” said Will.
Meg strained toward Will. “There’s truth in the charge. Ruffneck and Weasle—their testimony will convict me.” Her tone was low and urgent. “Find someone to defend me!”
“Mistress Ruffneck will testify against her husband.”
“Yes, but she saw me rob him, and I gave her the loot. They will turn her words against me—”
“Oh drat,” said Will. “How did we come to be in such a pickle?”
“And Ruffneck will be so angry, he is sure to harm her.”
“Away with you!” said the bailiff, menacing Will with his knife.
Will easily skipped out of his reach. “All will be well, Mack! I’ll borrow money and get you out just as you did me.”
“Don’t ask Burbage, or he will take us for base cheaters,” Meg called after him.
The Wood Street clink was as horrible as she remembered it, dark and damp and filled with the noise and stench of human misery. The heavy door thudded behind her and the bolt fell into place. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could see shapes that stirred, groaned, and subsided again into shadows and stillness. The floor was made of planking and strewn with filthy straw like an untended manger. Bilboes were fixed into the stone walls. At least she was not chained to them. High on one wall was a small grate at the level of the street. It was the only source of light and air. Meg had stood outside that same grate to pass food to her poor father.
She sat down, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her chin on her knees. Surely Will would find a way to get her out in the morning. But what if he did not? She would be taken to court, convicted of assault, and returned to prison. Would she die here like her father? The chill of despair crept over her and she began to cry soundlessly.
At the rustling sound all her muscles tensed. From the shadows emerged a boy on his hands and knees. His eyes reflected the scrap of light that came through the grate.
“You don’t look like a murderer,” he said. “Are you a jarkman?”
“I am not a killer or a forger. Why are you here?” she asked.
“I was nabbed for robbing a peddler. My cuffins left me high and dry. They’ll find another foist, one who won’t get himself caught.” He brushed away a tear. “That Davy Dapper was no true mate! Nor Peter Flick.”
Meg leaned forward. “I know those cozeners well. Did they corrupt you?” She felt anger rising in her. The boy was no older than twelve, the age she had been when Davy and Peter deserted her.
He shrugged. “My father tried to teach me but gave up and sent me to their school. Now I wish I had never learned their crafty tricks.”
“Have you told the magistrate your story?”
“Yes. He said I was an errant brat and as guilty as Adam.” Suddenly wary, he frowned. “How do you know my cuffins?”
“It’s a long story. What is your name?”
The boy hesitated. “I am called Grabwill Junior.”
“Is your father Nick Grabwill?” Meg asked in astonishment.
“Yes. Now who are you?”
“Never mind. Why doesn’t he help you?”
“He brings me food sometimes. But he is afraid of being caught himself.”
“So Nick Grabwill is still thriving by hook and by crook!”
“How do you know my father?” the boy demanded.
“Have you ever heard of Long Meg?”
Grabwill Junior’s eyes, the only part of him Meg could well discern, grew even wider. “Who has not heard of Long Meg? He is hated and feared by Davy and Peter and their band.”
“He?” asked Meg.
“Davy and Roger believe Long Meg is a roarer named Mack who disguises himself as a tavern maid to cover his deeds. Others say Long Meg is a woman begotten by the devil.”
“And what do you say?” said Meg, hiding her smile.
The boy scratched his head. Fleas were already biting Meg too.
“No woman is strong enough to do what Long Meg does,” he said.
“Who says she is a woman?”
“My father. One night a few years ago, a strange cuffin made him steal women’s clothing. Soon after, Long Meg began to rough up every rakehell that went to the Boar’s Head.”
“Indeed!” said Meg. She enjoyed hearing about her own exploits. “But why does your father believe Long Meg—or Mack—to be a woman?”
The boy leaned closer and spoke as if conveying a great secret. “Because he peered at the fellow as he donned the skirt and saw that he lacked a yard. You know, a staff.” He pointed to his own lap.
In the darkness Meg blushed. “By my beard I don’t believe it!”
Young Grabwill shrugged. “My father has the eyes of an owl. He can see in the pitch dark. But he is old and no one heeds him anymore.”
“Do you know Roger Ruffneck?” asked Meg, hoping to hear something that might aid her at the next day’s trial.
“I hate him with all my guts!” The boy’s sudden cry caused the other inmates to clank their chains and curse. “He said my father had not raised me to fear God, but he would remedy that by beating me. He broke my arm. See, it is still crooked.”
He held out his misshapen arm. Meg ached at the thought of his suffering.
“I was glad when Long Meg beat up old Ruffy.” The boy smiled. “He said a horse trod on him. But he spends all his days grumbling against Mack and devising his death.”
“When I see him in court tomorrow, I swear it will be the end of him!”
“What? Are you Mack?” Grabwill’s voice was soft with wonder. “Long Meg!”
“We are one and the same,” said Meg.
Now five people knew her secret. Nick Grabwill had been the first. The second was Violetta, who remained her devoted friend. The others—Jane, James Burbage, and now this boy—had responded with admiration, even awe. Why was she afraid of what Will might think?
“Junior! Boy?” The whispered voice came from the overhead grate.
Young Grabwill ran over to the wall and stood on tiptoe. A flattened loaf of bread fell through the grate into his waiting hands. “Father! You will never guess who is here. Mack! I mean Long Meg.”
“That she-devil?” came Nick Grabwill’s voice. “Let me see her.”
Meg approached the grate. She could barely make out the shape of the old curber, black as the night around him.
“So you’ve been caught at last.” He sounded smug. “Not as clever as I am, are you?”
The thief had known her secret for years. Meg was half-afraid of the power it gave him. And then, with a flash of insight, she saw how he might be her best hope.
“Nick Grabwill, I pray you go at once to the Boar’s Head Inn and ask for one Will Shakespeare.”
“Why should I do your bidding?”
“I’ve done you no harm, and I can do your son much good.”
Grabwill laughed. “It’s too late for that. I’m leaving before I get caught.”
“Wait! The same villain is the author of your son’s misfortune and mine,” said Meg in a low and urgent voice. “With your help I can turn the tables on him in court.”
“You tricked me once. You won’t again.”
“Listen, Father! Mack is an upright carl. I trust him.”
Nick Grabwill ignored his son and withdrew his face from the grate.
Meg jumped, grabbing the grate with her fingers and bracing her feet against the wall. “Nick!” she shouted into the night. “Go to Will Shakespeare and tell him what you know about me. Tell him everything.”