Free The Stolen One by Suzanne Crowley

sat forward, seemingly determinedto endure it. Mr. Grove and the big-eared lad didn’t seem to notice.
    Anna sat up, peering around, her eyes wide. I took in everything too, my hand over my mouth in surprise and horror. Despite our finery, I’m sure we appeared to all as complete country idiots who’d never left the village. But I didn’t care. I was here.
    We soon approached a great stone and arched bridge. “London Bridge,” one of our travelers murmured. “Keep your eyes down, ladies,” Mr. Grove announced. But both Anna and I immediately looked up. There were several decomposed heads piked on the tower. Anna moaned and put her head on my chest.
    “Bloody William Wallace was the first traitor piked, and not the last, I assure you,” Mr. Grove said. “With all the wild heretics running about.”
    “Barbarism, pure barbarism,” Mrs. Salinas said. “They were only speaking their true faith.”
    “People have been killed for less,” Mrs. Grove said. “It’s best to keep one’s mouth shut in London, that’s for sure. Why, it’s only the nobles, I must say, that end up on the pike. Those lower born who find themselves in trouble end up in the Thames with the piss.” She aimed her stare straight at Mrs. Salinas.
    The wagon lurched as we neared a great gate. “I’ve lived most of my life in London, thank you very much,” Mrs. Salinas responded a moment later. “With all types of people, high and low, and I’d rather be in the river than up there.” She threw her head back toward the bridge.
    “Me papa once saw himself twelve heads at once,” the lad piped in, and the lambs bellowed at his voice. “Tshh, tshhh,” he cooed to them, and I immediately thought of Christian. My heart lurched a moment, imagining the pain I must have cost him. And poor Uncle Godfrey. I didn’t think they’d be able to come after us. They had no one to help on the farm, and now they had our land too. They’d have to let us go. I turned my head back toward the gate and put my arm around Anna.
    “Three gates, my dear,” Mrs. Grove said. “They look for pox and any sign of the plague. You can hold your heads high, though. I’m sure the two of you have not been near low diseases as such. High! High! Dears, there you go.”
    I felt Anna tremble next to me, but neither of us as much as blinked. We were both very good, I now knew, at keeping secrets.
     
    A half hour or so later, after much slow going over cobbled streets, we entered Arnott Street. It was teeming with people, cows, wagons, and carts. Our handler cracked his whip and a path finally cleared. Everywhere street vendors called out their wares. “Apple biscuits, one shilling!” “Come see the bear baiting, scariest of all!” “Mutton pies, two for one!”
    The odor of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, as did the smell of slow-cooked meats. My stomach growled. We hadn’t eaten a thing all day. I’d been too embarrassed to pull out the crusty pieces of bread we’d hastily packed that morning, and I didn’t have the heart to eat Christian’s pears, which I’d grabbed at the last second. But more than that, I didn’t want to waste one shilling of our money. If Grace had kept a stash of coins, that was another secret she took to her grave. Our future was now in our bags.
    The farmer pulled in the reins and called the mules to a stop. “Here we are, ladies and gent.” He was an oily-faced fellow, big armed and big bellied. He helped us down. Then the lad got down, gently lifting his lambs one by one. He winked at Anna, touched his cap at me, then walked off down the street herding his flock.
    “Well, miss,” Mrs. Grove said as her husband worriedabout their bags, “it was lovely visiting with the likes of you.” She kept her eyes away from Anna. A mere maid wasn’t worthy of a good-bye, I suppose. She nodded and then walked off with her husband.
    Anna tugged on my sleeve. “The letter,” she croaked. “Mrs. Eglionby.”
    I ignored her and