The Stolen Prince by Anne Stevens

Author:Anne Stevens [Stevens, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781520305998
Google: IffUswEACAAJ
Publisher: Independently Published
Published: 2017-02-07T07:17:06.188000+00:00

He is the oldest amongst them, but fear lends wings to his heels, and he in the lead, fumbling the concealed dagger from his sleeve, even as he runs. The Duke of Norfolk is too old to keep up with the chase. The streets down to the river are narrow, and choked with people. He cannot ride. Instead, he stands, and clutches at the crucifix hanging at his throat.

“God’s speed, Cromwell,” he prays. “God’s speed to you!”

8 The King’s Rain

Miriam Draper hears the commotion a moment before she sees what is afoot. Two liveried men, wearing breastplates have appeared at her front door, and are demanding, loudly, to see her husband. They do not sound as though they want to take him to the tavern for a drink; rather that they want his presence for far more sinister ends.

The girl, Little Mary, says he is not at home, and is cuffed to one side for her trouble. She is a street urchin, and no fool. Rolling with the slap, she slips around the men, and takes to her heels. Miriam smiles, knowing she is running to Austin Friars. In a few minutes, Master Cromwell’s men will be here to help.

It only remains for her to hold these ruffians back for a few minutes, and she and her household will be safe. She opens the bedroom door wide, and leaves the wooden latch bolt handy. It is meant to provide privacy, not security, and a strong man will be able to shoulder it open with a couple of strong shoves.

“Pray, good sirs,” she calls from the second floor landing, “How can I be of service to you, gentlemen?”

“Will Draper, wench,” one of them shouts up. “Send him forth, for we have business with him.”

“I am Mistress Draper, gentlemen,” she says. They start up the first flight, and she holds up a staying hand. “My husband is not here. I beg you to listen to me. He is abroad, on Master Cromwell’s work.”

“You lie!”

“No, sirs,” she says, in her best simpering voice. “He often leaves me alone for days on end. All for Cromwell.”

“Fear not about that,” the second man says, laughing, “for your Master Cromwell will have no need of him, soon enough. My comrades are finishing with that rogue, even as we speak.”

Miriam catches her breath. It is possible that Cromwell and his men are too busy to come. They may be fighting for their lives, at this very moment. She keeps her nerve, and smiles down at the advancing men. After all they are only two, she thinks.

“I understand,” she says, “but my husband is still abroad, good sirs, and not due home for a week.”

“Is he cowering up there,” one shouts. “Hiding behind your skirts, madam? Come, let us see, Dick.” They advance a few more steps, and are within a few feet of Miriam. Each has a short sword in his hand, and each is ready to do murder.

“On my oath, sirs,” Miriam says, and plays her last card.

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