Free The Opening Night Murder by Anne Rutherford Page A

your supper. It will take a few years, but when you’re old enough you’ll be a fine man, with a job and a place in the world.”
    “But what will become of you, Mama?”
    “I’ll be all right. I’m always all right, so no worries about your mother. Do you understand?”
    Piers made a reluctant mumble of assent. She knew he would do as he was told, but also knew she would have to keep pressing him in the right direction if he were to succeed at an apprenticeship.
    As soon as they were rested, she nudged her son to his feet and they began walking south, to the other side of the river and Bank Side, where the next day she imposed on Maddie’s goodwill for the night. She found Maddie stiff with anger, still unhappy at having been left by one of her girls. She crossed her arms over her ample chest and didn’t reply to Suzanne’s request for a temporary bed. The other girls in the room gawked in silence to see what would happen next, each of them fascinated and amused by the proceeding. Suzanne knew how silly she must look in her breeches and doublet, but kept her chin up as if she’d chosen the outfit from a closetful of fine gowns.
    She said, “Horatio is still your customer. He comes here when he’s a need. I haven’t stolen that.” Horatio had a policy of never sleeping with the women attached to the troupe, so he had always had a need that brought him to Maddie’s. Suzanne joining the troupe hadn’t changed that, and Horatio had visited Maddie’s as often as he ever did. “He’s not touched me once since I left, and you know you see him twice a month, just like before.”
    The frown on Maddie’s face smoothed out, and she gestured for Suzanne and Piers to go upstairs. “Your old room happens to be empty today. One night only, and then you’re on your own again.” Suzanne was glad for this one night.
    Then the next morning she begged her former employer for pen, ink, and paper to write to her former suitor and ask if Farthingworth would take her son. She wept as she wrote, knowing that if this letter accomplished her goal it would be years before she saw Piers again, but she pressed on because it was the only thing that would ensure his survival.
    The following weeks she and Piers spent on the streets. Suzanne engaged in as much commerce as she could cadge around the periphery of Maddie’s house, servicing her customers on a pile of rags tucked into an alley. Privacy there depended mostly on luck, and so her revenue was little and spotty, but in breeches and doublet she was able to sell herself as either girl or boy.
    Piers occupied himself however he might in a given day, loitering with the fiddle player on Bank Side, clearing tables at the Goat and Boar for tips, or hawking prepared food for a merchant on Maid Lane. Whenever he came to her with money, she prayed he hadn’t gotten it by stealing, but she never asked, and accepted that he’d worked for it. At night they slept on that pile of rags, rolled in a blanket together for warmth.
    After three weeks had passed, each day before venturing onto Bank Side to sell herself she checked in with Maddie to learn if there was a reply to her letter north. Piers began to speak hopefully of rejection when they’d had two weeks of disappointment.
    But finally one afternoon Maddie handed her a letter enclosed in a real envelope sealed with green wax. The thingwas terribly fancy, and it made her nostalgic for her father’s house and the niceties of her childhood. Quickly she shook her head clear of the memory, broke the seal, and pulled out the pages. She read:
    My friend, Suzanne;
    She couldn’t imagine how Stephen could still consider her his friend, particularly since he never had before, but took the salutation as promising.
    I am in receipt of your letter regarding your son, Piers. Frankly, I find myself taken aback that you even remember me. I had the impression you thought me beneath notice. The night you confessed your condition was surely a difficult