The Merchant of Vengeance

Chapter 2

You do not look well, Elizabeth,“ said her friend Antonia, as they sat upon a bench, embroidering together in the garden. ”Does my presence weary you?“

Elizabeth Darcie shook her head, brushing back a stray blond tress that had fallen loose from underneath her linen coif. “Nay, ‘tis not so, my good, dear friend. I am neither weary nor yet unwell, thanks be to God. I am but feeling a bit sad today.”

“I had hoped to cheer you with my company,” Antonia said, putting down her needlework on the stone bench. “Yet I perceive that I have failed.”

“Nay, I am grateful for your company, Antonia, truly,” Elizabeth replied. “If my mood is pensive this day, the blame lies not with you. I was merely thinking of our friend Portia’s impending marriage.”

“And this makes you sad?” Antonia cocked an eyebrow at her friend. “Is it for her that you feel sad or for yourself?”

“Nay, not for her,” Elizabeth replied, putting down her own embroidery with a sigh. “I am happy for Portia, truly. Thomas Locke is a most excellent young man. He has fine prospects. He is now nearly done with his apprenticeship and shall soon become a journeyman tailor. Already, his work is becoming known in fashionable circles. He shall do well. There is no doubt that he shall make something of himself.”

“Despite his rather humble origins, you mean,” Antonia said.

“Well, though some may hold it so, in my estimation, what his father does should be no reflection upon him,” Elizabeth replied. “Thomas is making his own way in life. And ‘tis not at all uncommon these days for a successful merchant or a guildsman to become a gentleman. Prosperity can do much to improve one’s social standing.”

“I am quite sure that Portia’s father had considered that when he consented to the match,” Antonia said dryly. “After all, ‘tis one thing to allow one’s only daughter to wed a tavern-keeper’s son, and a tavern in the Liberties, no less. ’Tis quite another to let her wed a journeyman tailor who shall doubtless have his own shop before long and may one day become a gentleman.”

“Aye,” said Elizabeth. “Some things are more easily overlooked when the prospects of success and social betterment are in the offing.”

“Unlike the prospects for a poor player who is not even a shareholder in his company?” Antonia said.

Elizabeth glanced at her with surprise, momentarily taken aback, then smiled wanly. “Am I so easily compassed, then?”

“Aye, by one who loves you well and knows your heart,” Antonia replied, taking her hand. “Tuck Smythe is also an excellent young man. However, unlike Portia’s young man, Thomas, he does not seem to have favourable prospects. He is also making his own way in life, as best he can, but as a poor player, I fear he can offer your father no reason to overlook his lack of social standing.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Did you know that his father is a gentleman?” Antonia’s eyes grew wide. “Tuck’s father? A gentleman? But you have never told me this!”

“‘Tis true,” Elizabeth said, nodding. “He told me so himself once. But he does not like to speak of it.”

“But why?”

“It seems that his father had squandered all of his money.”

Elizabeth explained. “‘Twas my understanding that he had barely avoided debtors’ prison and was living on his younger brother’s charity. ’Tis why Tuck is both poor and a player. He told me that he had always wanted to join up with a company of players, ever since he was a boy and saw a travelling troupe come through his town, but his father would not hear of it and threatened to disown him if he did. And so Tuck was sent to live and apprentice with his uncle, who was a smith and farrier. He lived with him until he learned that his father had gone bankrupt. With his inheritance gone, his father’s threat was rendered moot and Tuck had nothing to prevent him from setting out to follow his hearts desire. Thus, he came to London and became a player. He does not like to speak about his father. ‘Twas the only time he had ever even mentioned him, and then he never spoke of him to me again.”

“Poor Tuck,” Antonia said, shaking her head. “And yet… his father, for all that he may now be destitute, is nevertheless still a proper gentleman, is he not? That is to say, the heralds had granted him a coat of arms?”

Elizabeth clucked her tongue. “Aye, they did, but I know what you are thinking, and ‘twould never do,” she said.

“Why not?” Antonia asked “Your father wants nothing more than to make a good marriage for you. He has tried again and yet again to arrange a suitable match.”

“Aye, much to our mutual regret,” Elizabeth replied. “I have told you of the disaster that was so narrowly prevented not so long ago, thanks to Tuck and his friend Will. I shudder to think now that I could easily have been killed by that impostor posing as a nobleman. As a result, it seems my father has learned his lesson and has at long last stopped trying to arrange a marriage for me.

Besides, I told him that I would sooner die a spinster than wed a man I did not love.“

“But if you were to tell him that Tuck’s father is a gentleman, then surely he would be more amiably disposed toward him,” Antonia said.

“Just so long as I conveniently neglected to tell him that Tuck’s father is also destitute, you mean,” Elizabeth replied. She shook her head. “‘Nay, I could never do that to him. I could not mislead my father so, nor would Tuck stand for it even if I could. He is proud and honest to a fault. And for all of his insufferable pomposity, Father tolerates Tuck now, in part because he is indebted to him and in part because he knows now that Tuck is honourable and would never do anything against his wishes. Father trusts Tuck, as he trusts me. In truth, I do believe he trusts him more than he trusts me. ’Tis the only reason he allows our friendship, albeit he does not entirely approve.”

“But you would like it to be much more than just a friendship.” said Antonia.

Elizabeth sighed. “I do not know. In truth, I am not certain what I want.”

‘Well, do you love him?“

“At times, I think I do. And yet, at other times, he vexes and exasperates me so, I think that if I were a man, I could take a club to him and beat him senseless!”

Antonia laughed. “That sounds very much like love to me.”

“Oh, and you know so much about it!”

“‘You might be surprised at what I know,” Antonia said slyly.

“You may be older, Elizabeth, but do not forget, I am the one who is married.”

“Everyone is married,” Elizabeth replied dismissively. “Marriage merely teaches a woman what it means to be a wife. I have not observed that marriage has much to teach a woman about love.”

“Once married, a woman can learn to love her husband, even if she does not love him from the start,” Antonia said with a shrug.

“I suppose that one can also learn to love a tonic of tart vinegar and scurvy-grass if one must drink it daily,” Elizabeth replied dryly. “However, that still does not make it a pleasant-tasting brew.”

“You shall make a fine spinster, methinks,” Antonia replied.

“You already have the tongue for it. Here I am trying to help you with my best advice, and you abuse me for it.”

“Forgive me, Antonia,” Elizabeth said. “‘Twas unkind of me, I know. I am simply in a dreadful humour. Perhaps ’tis my lot in life to be a spinster.”

“Oh, what arrant nonsense,” said Antonia. “You have had more than your share of suitors. And if you had not frightened all of them off with your shrewish tongue. and wilful manner, then you would have an army of them still. Why, you could have a husband at any time you chose, if only you would behave more amiably toward those who came to court you. The trouble with you is not a lack. of suitors. What you seem to want, Elizabeth, is what you cannot have.”

“And what is that, do you suppose?”

“You want a man, but you want him only on your terms. What you want is a husband who is not a husband, one who is strong enough to tame you, but at the same time does not attempt to rein you in. You want a man with whom you can discourse as an equal, and to whom you do not owe obedience, unless it be your choice.

You want someone who can provide for you, but at the same time with whom you can feel passion.“ Antonia shook her head. ”Elizabeth, my dear, you do not want a husband. ‘What you want is a lover.“

“Antonia! That is a scandalous thing to say!”

Antonia merely shrugged. “Nevertheless, ‘tis true. ’Tis what you truly seem to want. And ‘twould seem that Tuck. Smythe could be all of those things for you, save one. He could not provide for you. But then, you have your father to do that, at least for the present. Then, when he finally tires of supporting you and puts his foot down once and for all and insists upon your taking a husband, why then, rake one who can provide for you and does not make too many demands. And then keep Tuck as your secret lover.”

“Antonia!” Elizabeth was shocked. “You cannot possibly be serious!”

“And why not, pray tell?”

“You mean that you would wish me to be unfaithful to my husband?” Elizabeth asked, astonished at the very suggestion.

“What I would wish is for you to be happy,” Antonia replied calmly. “If you could find your happiness in being faithful to a husband, then I would wish no more for you. But if not, then I would wish for you to find some means whereby you might find the happiness you seek. I was merely suggesting one path that you could take. The choice is yours.”

“Could…” Elizabeth hesitated and glanced at her friend askance. “Could you ever be unfaithful to Harry?”

Antonia laughed. “Oh, Elizabeth! Harry is my father’s age, and

I am but eighteen! What do you think?“

Elizabeth stared at her friend as if seeing her for the first rime.

“You mean to say that… that you have…”

“Had a lover?” Antonia said, raising her eyebrows. “Aye, several.”

“Several!”

“Well, two, to be exact,” Antonia said. “Does that amaze you? Do you think less of me now that you know? Does it make you think I am a strumpet?”

“Nay, Antonia, I would never think that of you!” Elizabeth replied. “But in truth, I.. I do not know what to think!”

“For all that you are older, Elizabeth, you know so little of the world,” Antonia said. “Do you truly believe that men are faithful to their wives? Who do you suppose patronises all the brothels in the Liberties?”

“Why. I have never even thought about it,” Elizabeth confessed. “I would have thought that… well.. men who had no wives, I suppose.”

“You mean men like Tuck?” Antonia asked mischievously.

“I cannot believe that Tuck would ever set foot within a brothel,” said Elizabeth with firm conviction.

“Yet he is employed within a playhouse,” Antonia replied. “And ‘tis well known that whores ply their trade in playhouses. Why, the men who own the playhouses often own the brothels that can be found close by.”

“I cannot believe that Tuck would ever even venture into such a place,” Elizabeth said.

“Well, perhaps Tuck is one of the rare men who would not,” Antonia replied. “Indeed, he is as upright as a maypole. And any fool can plainly see he is in love with you. Nevertheless, he is still a man, and sooner or later, a man will have his passion wane should it remain unrequited.”

Elizabeth glanced sharply at Antonia. “Are you suggesting that

I should requite his passion?“

Antonia chuckled. “I was thinking more that you should indulge your own, my dear.”

“And if I were to do that,” Elizabeth replied, “which is not to say I would, mind you, then what if one day I should marry another, a man who could provide for me, as you suggest? ‘What then would I say to my proud husband on his wedding night?”

Antonia raised her eyebrows innocently. “‘Why, you would lower your eyes demurely and inform him that you were afraid and meekly ask him to be gentle with you.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Indeed! And do you suppose that he would fail to perceive that I was not a virgin?”

“Men are not very perceptive, as a rule,” Antonia replied dryly.

“And there are ways to make a man perceive that which you would wish him to perceive.”

Elizabeth looked sceptical. “I should think that ‘twould take a very foolish man, indeed, to be so gulled.”

“Men are often quick to call us women foolish,” Antonia replied, “and yet ‘tis men who are often made to play the fools. On the morning of your wedding, all you need do is pay a visit to a cunning woman and procure from her a bladder cut from a small sheep and filled with blood. Then, as you prepare to receive your new husband in your wedding bed, conceal your counterfeit virginity within, and as your husband consummates the marriage, the resulting flow shall surely satisfy him of your purity.”

Elizabeth stared at her friend with open mouthed astonishment. “God’s mercy, Antonia! You take my breath away and nearly leave me speechless! However do you learn such things?”

Antonia shrugged. “The same way that you have learned them now. One woman passes on wisdom to another. ‘Tis the ancient way.”

“And the woman who passed this wisdom on to you,” Elizabeth replied, “would not be a woman by the name of Granny Meg, by any chance?”

It was Antonia’s turn to look surprised. “And how would you know of Granny Meg?”

“Mayhap I do not know so little of the world as you may think,” Elizabeth said with a touch of defensive smugness. “As it happens, I have had occasion to consult with Granny Meg myself.”

“You? Gone to see a witch?”

“Do you find that so surprising?” asked Elizabeth, a bit annoyed that she should be thought so innocent, especially by someone younger than herself.

“What did you go to see her for?” Antonia asked. “Was it to obtain a love potion?”

“I hardly think I should require a love potion,” said Elizabeth.

“From what I can see, love brings naught but trouble to its victims.”

“What then? What did she give you?” asked Antonia eagerly.

“Was it a charm of warding? A binding spell to hold off your father’s wishes for you? Or did she, perhaps, work a spell of divination to foretell your future?”

“Never you mind what Granny Meg did,” Elizabeth replied. “‘Twas between the two of us, and let that be an end to it. I would ›not have said as much save that you were so smug in thinking you knew more than I did about everything. In any event, some things are best left unspoken, and so I shall say no more.”

Antonia’s eyes grew wide. “Oooh, ‘twas something nasty, was it not?”

“Twas some black magic that she worked for you?”

Elizabeth said nothing. She merely looked away.

Antonia’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh! I knew it! ‘Twas something dark and terrible!”

It was, of course, nothing of the kind, but Elizabeth was not about to tell Antonia that. She merely gave her a sidelong glance and said, “I shall not speak of it.”

Antonia gasped and shrank away from her. “Elizabeth! What have you done? You have involved yourself with witchcraft! Oh, how could you?”

“Why, I have done no more than you,” Elizabeth replied. “Nay, I never!”

“You never what?”

“I never went to Granny Meg!” Antonia said.

“You said you did!”

“I never did!” Antonia protested. “I merely asked you how you knew of her!”

“Antonia! You told me that you had been to see a cunning woman, that ‘twas she who told you of the trick to counterfeit virginity!”

“I never told you that I had been to see a cunning woman,” Antonia replied. “I said that you should go to see a cunning woman if you wished to fool a husband into believing that you were a virgin when you were truly not; I never said that I had gone to see a cunning woman myself!”

Elizabeth folded her arms and scowled at her friend. “Antonia, you purposely led me to believe that was just what you had done!”

“Well… perhaps I did,” Antonia replied, “but I did not lie!

And I did not mean to deceive you.“

“I think that was precisely what you meant to do,” Elizabeth said. “And I can see that I shall have to be more careful what I tell you in the future.”

“Oh, that was unkind!” Antonia said. “Elizabeth, I would never betray your trust! Surely, you must know that!”

“I am not certain that I do,” Elizabeth replied. “But I suppose that we shall see.

Time shall tell how well you keep a confidence.

“I shall never tell a soul, I swear it!”

“If you do, Antonia, then I may go see Granny Meg about another sort of charm,” Elizabeth replied.

Antonia brought both hands up to her mouth. “Elizabeth! You wouldn’t!”

“See if I would not!”

Antonia swallowed hard, her eyes very wide. “I shall be as silent as the grave, I swear!” She crossed her heart.

“Well, then we shall speak no more of it,” Elizabeth said, once more picking up her embroidery.

Antonia swallowed hard again and nodded, resuming her own needlework. A moment later, she gave Elizabeth a sidelong glance and softly said, “Was she very frightening?”

“”Who?“ Elizabeth asked, without looking up.

“You know. ”

“I thought that we agreed to speak no more of it.”

Antonia threw down her needlework. “Oh, Elizabeth, be reasonable, for mercy’s sake! You simply cannot tell me that you have been to see a fearsome witch and then not tell me what it was like! ‘Tis hardly fair!”

Elizabeth suppressed a smile. “Well, for one thing, she was not fearsome. ”

Antonia leaned forward eagerly. “You mean to say that you were truly not afraid?”

“Oh, I was afraid… at least a little,” Elizabeth replied, “but when I met her, I did not find her fearsome.”

“Was she very ugly?”

“‘Nay, she was beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” Antonia asked with surprise. “But I had heard that she was old!”

“Well, beautiful in the way an old woman can be beautiful,” Elizabeth said. “Her hair was white and very long, and her face was aged, and yet nearly unlined by age. Her eyes were blue as periwinkles, clear and bright, and you could still see what a beauty she must have been when she was young.”

“I had thought that all witches were ugly old crones,” Antonia said. “Do you suppose ‘twas a spell? That she had made a pact with the devil?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I could not say. But she did not seem evil in the slightest. Quite the contrary, she was very kind.”

Antonia pursed her lips and nodded knowingly. “‘Tis how they get you,” she said in a low voice.

“I do not think she got me,” Elizabeth replied. “After all, I am here, am I not?”

“I meant… your soul,” Antonia said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I do not recall pledging my soul or signing anything in blood,” Elizabeth said. “There was no talk of the devil, nor did she demand any tokens of me. ‘Twas nothing at all like what I had expected. ’Twas more like going to visit a kindly old maiden aunt or grandmother.”

“That must be how they fool you,” Antonia said, nodding. “I did not have the sense of being fooled,” Elizabeth replied.

“Well, of course not! For if you knew that you were being fooled, then you would not be fooled, for to be fooled, you must not know it, whereas if you knew that you were fooled, then you were never truly fooled, were you?”

Elizabeth glanced at her with an irritated expression. “I have absolutely no idea what you have just said. And in all likelihood, methinks, neither have you.”

“Well, at least it has taken your mind away from contemplating Portia’s wedding.”

Elizabeth grimaced. “Indeed, it had, until you just mentioned it once more.”

“Oh. Drat. Well then, let us speak of something else.”

“Aye, let us do so, by all means.”

“Have you heard what they say about her intended’s father?”

“I am glad to see that we are not speaking of Portia’s wedding any longer,” Elizabeth said wryly.

“I was speaking of Thomas Locke’s father, not Portia’s wedding.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Very well, then. What do they say? That aside from owning a tavern, he is also a brothelkeeper? That is hardly news, Antonia, we all knew that already. ‘Tis certainly no secret.”

“Nay, this is something different.” Antonia leaned closer and added in a conspirational tone, “They say he is a ruffler!”

“What, you mean a criminal? A thief?”

“Not just a thief,” Antonia said, pleased to see she had once more surprised her friend. ‘They say…“ She leaned still closer, looking around cautiously as if they could be overheard. ”They say that he is a master of a thieves’ guild!“

“A thieves’ guild!” Elizabeth frowned. “Antonia, that is absurd! How could thieves possibly have a guild? ‘Twould be against the law!”

“Nevertheless, they do,” Antonia insisted. ‘They meet in secret. And they say that Charles Locke is their master. Or one of them, at the very least. It seems that there are several masters in the guild, one for the alley-men, one for the pickpockets and the foists, one for the sturdy beggars, one for the sharpers, and so on. But they say that Charles Locke is one of the main leaders of them all.“

“Where in Heaven’s name do you hear all of these things, Antonia?” asked Elizabeth. “Who has been filling your ears with all this arrant nonsense? And pray do not tell me you got it from some cunning woman, for we know that is not true, either!”

“‘Tis the truth, Elizabeth!”

“That you got it from a cunning woman? Nonsense. Granny Meg would never have aught to do with the spreading of such rumours. And I know of no other cunning woman in the city.”

“Nay, I know ‘tis true because I read it,” said Antonia. “You read it?”

“Aye, here in this pamphlet, see?”

Antonia reached inside her embroidery basket and pulled out a slim pamphlet that was sharply creased from being folded. It had a crude black-and-white illustration on the cover, a woodcut depicting what appeared to be a room inside a tavern, with men seated at wooden trestle tables, smoking pipes and drinking from large tankards. There were a few bawdy-looking women in the crowd, some sitting on the men’s laps, others standing around in postures that did not seem very ladylike. And holding forth from ‘what appeared to be a sort of pulpit on one side of the room was a bearded man with long hair and dark clothing, one hand raised dramatically overhead, forefinger extended, the other also raised, but slightly lower and clenched into a fist. The title of the pamphlet was The Guild of Thieves, and the subtitle read, Bringing to Light the Notorious and Secret Practices of Divers Thieves and Scoundrels and their Underworld Guild of Cozeners and Coney-Catchers, Written by Robert Greene.

“Wherever did you come by this?” Elizabeth asked, examining it.

“I bought it at a bookstall in Paul’s Walk last Sunday,” Antonia replied. “It makes for most fascinating reading. And it mentions Thomas’s father by name.”

“By name, do you say?”

“Aye, right here, do you see?” Antonia indicated the passage.

“And Master Greene would never write it if ‘twere not true.”

“Well, perhaps not,” Elizabeth replied sceptically, “but I see by the title here that this is all about the ‘notorious and secret practices’ of this supposed thieves’ guild, and I should like to know just how secret these practices could be if they were notorious. And I should also like to know how Robert Greene should happen to know all about them, unless he were a thief himself and a member of this guild. And one would think that if he were, why then, his fellow thieves and scoundrels in the guild would not take very kindly to his ’bringing to light‘ all of their secret practices.”

“But Master Greene is not a thief,” Antonia said. “He is a respected master of the arts! I should have thought that you would surely know of him, Elizabeth, for he has written numerous plays, many of which were staged at the very playhouse where your Tuck once worked, and in which your father has an interest.”

“Well, my father does not speak much of playhouses of late,” Elizabeth replied dryly. “Ever since the Lord Admiral’s Men began to play together with Lord Strange’s company at the Rose, the attendance at the Burbage Theatre has been greatly in decline. My father has witnessed the value of his investment dwindling steadily. That Tuck has left the Queen’s Men, together with his friend Will Shakespeare, has only served to strain relations further with my father. Not that Tuck’s departure from the company made much difference one way or another, for he was never an important player, but Will had become their resident poet and was beginning to make a reputation for himself. Now, Philip Henslowe has both him and Christopher Marlowe, which greatly increases his ability to stage new productions at the Rose, whilst the Burbages are in danger of losing their lease, in which event Father would likely lose all the money that he had invested with them. So even though Tuck and Will have done my father good service in the past, we do not speak of them these days, nor do we speak of playhouses or companies of players in this house.”

“Oh. I see. Well then, I can tell you that Master Greene is a university man and a respected, well-known poet who has written a considerable number of these pamphlets with an aim to keeping the honest citizen informed of the ways in which the criminals of the underworld conduct their shadowy practices, so that good people may avoid being robbed and cozened.”

“The underworld, is it?” said Elizabeth. “It all sounds quite dramatic. What makes you think. that he is not simply making it all up?”

“Well, he did not make up Charles Locke, did he?” Antonia countered. “He is real enough. As is Moll Cutpurse, whom he also mentions in this pamphlet.”

“And what would you know about Moll Cutpurse?”

“I know that she is real, because Tuck has met her. He has told me so.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Did he, indeed? And just where and when, pray tell, did you two have this conversation?”

“Why, at the bookstall, when I purchased this,” Antonia replied. “He was buying one, as well. It turns out that he is a great admirer of Master Greene and has read nearly all of his pamphlets about cozeners and coney-catchers.” She hesitated. “He asked about you, of course.”

“Ah. How good of him.”

“As it happens, ‘twas he who recommended that I purchase this,” Antonia continued blithely.

“Indeed? And why did he do that, do you suppose?” Elizabeth asked, trying to mask her irritation. She felt irritated that Antonia had met Tuck at St. Paul’s, and at the same time it irritated her that she felt irritated.

“Why? Oh, I suppose because I told him that I was looking for something new to read and then asked him what he was going to purchase,” Antonia replied, as yet unaware of Elizabeth’s reaction.

“So now it seems you both have an interest in common,” Elizabeth said dryly, wondering even as she said it why her irritation with Antonia was growing. She had always enjoyed Antonia’s company before, but now it seemed she was only getting on her nerves. Elizabeth told herself that it was not as if she had any sort of claim on Tuck Smythe, after all. Their relationship, Such as it was, was ill defined, if indeed it could be said to be defined at all. Was it possible that she was feeling jealous of her friend? Though she was young and very pretty, Antonia was a married woman. But then Elizabeth reminded herself that Antonia had also just confessed to having taken lovers. And if she could so easily be unfaithful to her husband, could she not just as easily be unfaithful to a friend? Or had she been already? It was a disquieting thought, and Elizabeth found herself looking at Antonia in a new and not very favourable light.

“Elizabeth, I do believe that you are jealous,” said Antonia, as if suddenly reading her mind.

“Nonsense. Why should I be jealous?” asked Elizabeth, crying to keep her tone neutral and hoping that her face was not turning red. ‘Tuck is free to meet with anyone he chooses, and at any time he pleases. As are you, I suppose.“ She flinched inwardly, wishing that she had not added that last comment. It had sounded tart even as she said it.

Antonia glanced at her and raised her eyebrows. “You are jealous!” she said. “And I do believe you disapprove of me.”

“Not so much of you as of your behaviour,” admitted Elizabeth, somewhat reluctantly.

“My behaviour,” Antonia repeated. “Do you mean my behaviour as it regards my husband or my behaviour as it regards Tuck Smythe?”

“I do not know that there was anything in your behaviour as it regards Tuck Smythe that anyone could fault,” Elizabeth replied. “Or was there?” She kicked herself mentally for that. It had sounded less like a question than an accusation. She felt exasperated. Why did she keep doing that? What on earth was the matter with her?

“I do not think that there was anything wrong in my behaviour toward him,” Antonia replied. “But ‘twould seem you are afraid there might have been. Or may yet be, more to the point. Is it because you suspect that I may have designs upon him?”

“Oh, Antonia, do not be ridiculous!” Elizabeth replied, sensing the telltale flush in her face even as she spoke. She wanted nothing more than to end this conversation. It was absolutely maddening.

“Ridiculous, am I?” Antonia replied. “Well, do you want to know what I think?” And she proceeded to tell her without waiting for a response. “I think that you like Tuck a great deal more than you truly care to admit. And though ‘twould be the height of folly,

I dare say you may even love him. Nay, hear me out,“ she quickly added, raising her hand when she saw that Elizabeth was about to interrupt. ‘There is much about Tuck to commend him to any woman, as you well know. He is strong and handsome, honest to a fault, amiable and agreeable and possessed of a good heart. But regrettably, he is also a player and poor as a church-mouse, which means that he would never be considered suitable, not by your father certainly and, if you have any sense at all, not by you, either.

So then where does that leave you? As far as I can see, it leaves you with but three choices. The first would be to realize that you could not have a future together, for your father would never agree to the match, which would mean that tile only sensible thing for you to do would be to forget all about Tuck and wait for the right sort of man to come along, one that could be acceptable to both you and your father. However, I have never known you to be particularly sensible, so I rather doubt that you would choose the sensible course.“

“I see,” Elizabeth replied dryly. “And what would be the second choice?”

‘The second choice,“ Antonia continued, ”would be the romantic one, in which you would throw all caution to the winds and defy your father, absconding with Tuck to some far-off place where the two of you could begin a new life together, with both of you as poor as church-mice and struggling to survive as best you could, hoping that you could somehow live on love. And while I do think that you have a romantic side, Elizabeth, I do not think it overshadows your practical nature, though it does tend to interfere with it somewhat. Aside from that, methinks that Tuck would never agree to such a plan, for ’twould place you at a decided disadvantage and take you away from the sort of life to which you have grown accustomed, not to mention that ‘twould also take him away from the life of a player, which is what he has always wanted. You would both wind up unhappy, and you would only make one another miserable in the end.“

“I suppose we would,” Elizabeth agreed with a grimace. “And so what is the third choice?”

“The third choice is the practical alternative,” Antonia replied. “And that is to take Tuck as a lover, indulge your passion, allow it to run its course, and then, when it is spent, get on with your own life and let him get on with his. And ‘tis that choice which seems to me to be the best for you. If you think it over, and then discuss it plainly and honestly with Tuck, I suspect that in the end you will both see that I am right.”

Elizabeth was not quite sure how to respond to that, but before she could gather her wits to respond in any way at all, the sound of running footsteps accompanied by an anguished, sobbing cry made them both look up to see Portia come running in through the stone, ivy-covered arbour entrance to the garden. They both jumped to their feet as Portia came running up to them, holding up her skirts so that she would not trip, her hair in disarray, her face wet with the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. She came rushing up to Elizabeth and threw her arms around her, sobbing into her shoulder.

“ Portia!” Elizabeth exclaimed with concern, as she tried to comfort her. “Dear Heaven, Portia, ”What has happened? What is wrong?“

“Oh, woe is me, for I am the most miserable girl who ever lived!” Portia wailed. “My life is over! My one chance for happiness has flown! Father has called the wedding off!”

“He called it off?” Antonia said. “But ‘twas to take place within a fortnight! I thought that he approved of Thomas and gave all his blessings to the match! Whatever could have happened to make him change his mind and call it off?”

“A disaster has happened!” wailed Portia. “A most untimely, untoward, and unfair disaster! Father has discovered that Thomas’s mother was a Jewess, and so that means that Thomas is himself a Jew! He has called off the wedding and has forbidden me to see or ever speak with Thomas again! Oh, fie! Oh, unbid spite! I think that I shall die!” And with that she buried her head in Elizabeth’s shoulder and started sobbing once again.

Antonia met Elizabeth’s gaze and shook her head. “And you thought you had problems,” she said wryly.