The Shakespeare Stealer Read Online Free

for he never pulled back the hood, except by accident. I did, however, memorize every square inch of the back of his cloak.
    I despaired of that day ever reaching its end, but of course it did, and with it our journey. Just as the sun rounded the corners of the Earth, we came around a bend in the road and before us lay a landscape of stark steeples and thatched roofs glowing golden in the last rays of the sun—more buildings than I had ever seen in one place. “Is this London, then?” I asked, forgetting in my astonishment the commandment to hold my tongue.
    Unexpectedly, the stranger laughed. “Hardly. It’s only Leicester.”
    â€œI’ve heard of that,” I said, feeling like an ignorant lumpkin.
    Before we quite entered the town, we turned off the road and down a narrow lane to a substantial house surrounded by a high hedge. The stranger guided our horse down a cobbled walk to a stable nearly as imposing as the house.
    I was scarcely able to believe that we had reached our destination, but the stranger dismounted and snapped, “Don’t sit there like a dolt; get down!” My legs were in such a condition that they buckled under me. The stranger seized my arm and all but dragged me to the rear of the house.
    As we came around the corner, we nearly collided with a husky youth who was headed for the stable. He stepped aside quickly and bobbed his head apologetically. “You’re back, then. I’ll see to your horse, sir.”
    â€œGive her an extra ration of oats. She’s had a hard trip.”
    â€œRight, sir.” The boy tried to be on his way, but the master stopped him.
    â€œAdam.”
    â€œYes, sir?”
    â€œYour place is in the stable. Stay out of the kitchen.”
    â€œI will, sir.” He hurried off.
    â€œLazy swad,” the man muttered. We entered a spacious kitchen, lit not by rush lights but by actual candles. A plain young woman in a linen apron and cap was busy at the fireplace. “We’ll be wanting supper, Libby,” the man told her. “The boy will have his in his room.”
    â€œThe garret?” the girl asked.
    The man nodded brusquely, turned, and was gone.
    The girl looked me over curiously. “Where are you from?”
    â€œBerwick-in-Elmet.”
    She raised her eyebrows as though I’d said I came from the Antipodes. “Where’s that ?”
    â€œUp Yorkshire way. Near Leeds.”
    â€œI see,” she said, as if that explained something—my appearance, perhaps, or my speech. “Well, come. Best get you to your room.”
    â€œI’m to have a room of me own?”
    â€œIt looks that way, don’t it?” She picked up a candle and led me through the pantry and up a set of steps, which in my exhaustion I was hard put to climb, to a small attic room. “Here you are. It’s not much.”
    It could have been a pit full of snakes for all I cared. The moment she was gone, I blew out the candle and collapsed on the bed. I expected to be shaken awake at the crack of dawn, but when I finally woke, the sun was streaming through the gabled windows. I leaped up, hardly knowing where I was, struck my head on the low ceiling, and sat down again. For several minutes I remained there, holding my head and letting my mind adjust to these new and strange surroundings.
    A pewter bowl of cold meat, carrots, and potatoes sat beside the bed. I gobbled it in a trice, then tried standing again. My legs felt uncertain, and my foot still pained me. Hearing footfalls on the stairs, I straightened myself and tried to look as though I had been up for hours and awaiting my master’s call. But my visitor was only the stableboy. He thrust my bundle of clothing into my arms. “I’d put on something clean if I was you,” he said. “You smell.”
    It seemed wicked to don my Sunday garb on an ordinary day, but it was all I had. The bundle had been tampered with, untied and