Free The Silver Blade by Sally Gardner Page A

nearly took her breath away.

    ‘Do you know who it’s from, my dear young lady?’ asked Mr Trippen.

    Sido felt her heart beat faster, felt her words freeze on her tongue.

    ‘I believe the handwriting, if my eyes don’t deceive me, is that of a young Hamlet,’ said Mr Trippen.

    ‘By Hamlet, you mean Yann?’

    ‘I do indeed. Mr Margoza wrote to me to ask if I would make sure this was personally delivered to you here. He feels Mr and Mrs Laxton might not think it proper or wise for you to correspond with him. He also wrote that if you agree with them, then he won’t write again.’

    The expression that crossed Sido’s face told Mr Trippen all he needed to know. Sido was in love with Yann, and he with her. Just as he had suspected.

    ‘If you’re worried about the safety of sending such a letter, all I need tell you is that Mr Margoza has arranged the whole thing. My task is by far the more pleasurable: to make sure it gets into your fair hand.’

    ‘Thank you,’ said Sido, and she smiled. ‘I have never written a letter before. I tried and it sounded so stiff. Anyway, it ended in the fire.’

    ‘Now, as for the writing of letters, one has to make a start. To that end, there is always the “Dear So-and-So” to rely on, but once that is said, an acre of white paper can be most off-putting.’

    ‘That is where I was having trouble.’

    ‘Be brave, as the great bard would say. Nothing can come of nothing. No good worrying too much about politeness and etiquette. My advice is to speak what’s in your heart. Be yourself.’

    So started the secret exchange of letters that made London bearable for Sido, made cloudy skies sunny, and gave her the greatest happiness she had ever known.

    They wrote of everything and nothing; with each letter they ventured deeper, like two people wading out to sea, hoping when the time came they would know how to swim. After more than twelve months of correspondence Yann had finally written to tell her he loved her.

    I n April 1794, Sido first saw the strange man. It happened after she had been at the Trippens. She had arrived to find the whole household in nothing short of uproar and Mrs Trippen in a terrible state.

    ‘Mice is what’s done it,’ said Mrs Trippen, standing on a chair while her daughters were similarly arranged round the breakfast room, leaving the son and heir to try to catch the little thing.

    ‘My dear enchanting girl,’ she cried, ‘we are waiting for Mr Trippen to return with the cat who resides on Drury Lane, known for its expertise with mice. In the meantime I suggest that you climb on the table.’

    Sido, who had no fear of mice, went over to where the mouse in question was busily cleaning its whiskers, looking rather fat and unconcerned about humans on chairs. She remembered well the mice at the convent and one in particular she had become fond of. Bending down, she startled the creature by throwing her shawl over it and taking it outside.

    Mr Trippen came striding in. ‘I have Mr Tibbets!’ he cried with gusto. The cat, a ginger tom, looked a vicious flea-ridden thing. Nevertheless he had a commanding presence, enough to revive Mrs Trippen’s flagging spirits.

    ‘We are indeed at sixes and sevens,’ said Mr Trippen, taking Sido upstairs. ‘It is unpardonable, I know, but mice are a very common problem, alas.’

    Sido tried her best to keep a solemn face, but was quite defeated and burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Mr Trippen, it doesn’t matter. I believe they even had mice at Versailles!’

    ‘You think so?’

    ‘Yes.’

    ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now I know I am on a par with royalty, I feel somewhat better.’

    After her lesson, Mr Trippen saw her, as always, to the door, where two footmen waited with a sedan chair to take her back to Queen Square. It was as she was leaving Maiden Lane that she first noticed him, a large man, his face hidden by a three-cornered hat. Although she couldn’t see his features, there was something