London in Chains Read Online Free PDF Page B

thought struck her: I start my work today! and it became impossible to go back to sleep.
    She wanted to jump up at once, but there was nothing to be gained by it, and it would wake Susan. The maid deserved better than to have her sleep disturbed to no purpose. Lucy lay staring up into the darkness for what seemed like hours, thinking about Parliament and seditious pamphlets, until at last the window over the stairwell turned grey and Susan stirred, yawned and sat up.
    The previous night it had been arranged that Thomas would walk Lucy over to Mr Browne’s shop. Cousin Geoffrey made a half-hearted offer to do it, but Thomas said it wasn’t on his way and, anyway, the place was difficult to find. Agnes, who was required to mind the shop while he was out, scowled at them resentfully as they set off.
    It was just after dawn, but already the streets were full of people: apprentices hurrying to work, children to school, and women to market; vendors on their rounds and tradesmen opening up their shops; craftsmen fetching this or that needed for the day’s work; ragged beggars pleading for alms. Lucy felt as overwhelmed by the noise and bustle and stink as she had been the afternoon before. She did notice this time, though, that the citizen-women all wore gowns – new or shabby; kilted up or loose and half-covered by aprons. She suspected that her skirt and waistcoat marked her out as a country bumpkin, and bit her lip. She had no money to buy a gown.
    Thomas walked very quickly, and Lucy struggled to keep up with him, particularly since she had put on footwear suited to the muddy streets, high wooden pattens that kept her petticoat-hem out of the mire but were clumsy to walk in. She was relieved when her uncle paused near the foot of London Bridge to talk to a vendor. The woman smiled and offered him what seemed to be a chapbook from the satchel-like apron she wore around her waist. ‘ Weekly Account , Master Stevens?’
    Thomas shook his head. ‘I’ll wait till Monday. I miss Britanicus , Kate, indeed I do.’
    â€˜We all miss him,’ replied the woman, returning the booklet to her apron with a sigh. ‘If he takes up his pen again, I’ll keep a copy for you, shall I?’
    â€˜Do that!’ Thomas ordered and walked on. He glanced at Lucy, hurrying after him, and explained, ‘I used to buy a copy of Mercurius Britanicus every Thursday when it came out, but, now, alas, I have to make do with A Perfect Diurnall on Monday.’
    Lucy was confused, and Thomas noticed. ‘Newsbooks, child! Ah, but you wouldn’t have seen a newsbook, would you? They’re not printed out in the country, and I never troubled to send any to your father. He would’ve reckoned it a terrible waste of money!’
    Susan had mentioned that Thomas was a great reader of newsbooks. ‘What is a newsbook, sir?’
    â€˜A sort of chapbook, or short pamphlet, that recounts the news of the week. Some call them mercuries, because many of them take the title Mercurius after the heathen god who carried messages. It’s an apt title for them, for, like the gods of the ancients, they are full of lies. To read them, one would think that all Parliament-men are wise and fair, and that only the malignants differ with them on any matter whatsoever!’
    Lucy wondered why Thomas bought them if they were full of lies, but they were now struggling to cross London Bridge and too busy trying to dodge the traffic to continue the conversation. She thought about it, though, staggered by the idea of buying a book every week to tell you what had happened. Her father owned two books: the Bible and Foxe’s Book of Martyrs – heavy and valuable volumes, which were treated with reverence. The only other printed materials Lucy had handled were the blackletter ballads she’d swapped with her friends – song sheets which cost a penny new but were passed from hand to hand for years. She wondered what