The Lady's Slipper Read Online Free PDF Page B

rooted to the spot. His eyes watered and his hands stayed glued to his hat, kneading the felt brim with his fingers.
    A riding crop came down heavily on the trestle like a musket shot. It swept everything onto the cobbles in a great clatter so that people turned round to stare at the commotion. The bottles and phials shattered and liquid dribbled away in scented rivulets, exploding an odour of lavender and roses. Flowers fell in the dust to be crushed underfoot by the passing handcarts and wagons. The old man fumbled as he untied the purse from his belt.
    Richard saw the gnarled fingers hand over a leather pouch fat with the day’s takings. It was unfair. He knew he should challenge Geoffrey. But he also knew that should he confront him he would risk a penalty himself. And he had worked hard over months for his purse this day, in all weathers–harder physical work than he had ever done in his life before. He had no desire to cross Geoffrey again; that chapter of his life was closed now, no point in reopening old wounds.
    The old soap-seller looked grey and tired. His back slumped as he felt in the dirt for the lumps of soap, anything he was able to salvage. Crestfallen, he filled his poke with the broken bottles and dusty bundles. Uneasy, Richard watched him load the mule. A sickness gnawed in his belly. I am a fine friend, he thought, a spineless maggot who lets an old man be bullied and robbed in broad daylight. Somehow the incident had diminished him, made him shrink inside himself.
    Geoffrey climbed onto the mounting block and onto his horse, the twisted whalebone riding crop in his hand. He did not even glance at the old man as he jogged past. His two servants followed behind his big bay mare with the loaded packhorses. He jostled past the people and livestock, flicking the cattle with his crop if they got in his way.
    ‘Stop.’ Richard felt a voice come out of his throat as if it belonged to someone else. Somehow he had stepped into the path of Geoffrey’s horse. The horse startled and let out a whinny, trying to side step.
    ‘What do you think you’re doing? Get out of my way.’
    Richard stood his ground. He lifted his head and took a deep breath.
    ‘Thou hast treated the soap merchant ill. It is not seemly to treat people in such a way.’ There, it was out. He had said it plain.
    ‘And who are you to tell me how a gentleman behaves?’ Geoffrey’s tone was one of mild annoyance. He looked Richard up and down; a suggestion of a well-disguised sneer on his lips, before it gave way to the shock of recognition. Geoffrey’s horse, sensing something amiss, tossed its head.
    Richard realized he would have to carry this through, now that he had begun. ‘The man deserves proper payment for his goods.’
    ‘You,’ Geoffrey snapped, and Richard found himself addressed like a servant. ‘Richard Wheeler. I see now who you are. Remove your hat when you address me.’
    ‘I shall take off my hat only if thou removest thine.’
    By now a curious crowd of tradesmen and stallholders had gathered round, anxious to be a part of whatever little drama was unfolding in the corner of the square. There were several short intakes of breath when Richard refused to take off his hat.
    ‘Do you dare to insult me?’ said Geoffrey. ‘I said, remove your hat.’
    ‘All men are equal. I defer to no one, and no one defers to me. Give the soap-seller fair payment.’ It felt good to be doing something. To feel his character expand to fit the clothes. He repeated, ‘When thou removest thy hat, then I shall remove mine.’
    He heard a few murmurs of agreement from the crowd. They had seen so many changes of rule in the last few years that they were ready to be on whichever side was winning.
    Geoffrey’s cheeks grew blotchy and his lips tightened. Richard saw the knuckles stand out white against the reins and round the leather handle of the crop. Geoffrey raised his arm in a sudden movement.
    The crop flashed through the air.