Forged in the Fire by Ann Turnbull Page B

“Please, where is Throgmorton Street?”
    She directed me, and was also able to describe Edmund Ramsey’s house, so that as I came into the street I knew it at once.
    Despite what I’d said to Nat, the sight of the great door did somewhat intimidate me. But I was no servant, and these were Friends; so I stepped up boldly and knocked.
    A maid answered the door. She was simply but more finely dressed than I, and I half feared she might direct me to the back entrance. But she was pleasant spoken, and when I asked for Will she let me into the hall, which was panelled with a woven wall covering – green, with a damask pattern of birds and flowers.
    From upstairs I heard music being played – and that surprised me.
    The stairs were wide and polished to a deep shine. She led me up them, saying, over her shoulder, “He’ll be in the drawing room, with the family.”
    We reached the landing. Now we were outside the room the music was coming from.
    The door was open. She knocked, but was not heard: the music – a fast, merry tune – continued. I came to stand beside her and looked in and saw a grand bright room hung with damask fabric and lit by candles, and a group of people gathered around a keyboard instrument. There were several girls, one of them seated and playing; and Will stood among them, turning the pages for the player, who was a fair, pretty girl – the prettiest girl I had ever seen. She was playing fast. Her small white hands flew about the keys, and as she played she glanced up at Will, and the two of them laughed together. Will looked healthy, and well cared for, and the girls were like butterflies in their wide-skirted silk gowns: one gold, one green, and the musician in yellow as bright as her hair.
    I stared at this scene – and suddenly one of the girls saw me, and said something, and they all looked up, startled. The music stopped.
    Will gazed at me for an instant without recognition; and I knew he was seeing a country Friend come visiting in her heavy woollen skirts and black hat and sturdy shoes – one who meant nothing to him.
    And then he knew me. A look of utter astonishment crossed his face. “Susanna!” he exclaimed – and he broke through the group and hastened towards me.
    I turned and fled. I didn’t want to be reunited with him in front of these girls. I’d had my answer. He was not ill. He did not need me. All I wanted now was to be gone, out of this house.
    The maid had left. I ran down the stairs, reached the door, and grappled with the latch.
    â€œSusanna! Don’t go!” He was close behind me.
    But the door was open. I was free. I plunged out into the street, and began running back the way I had come, towards the Exchange.
    He followed me, shouting, “Su! Wait! It’s dark…”
    It
was
growing dark now, and that helped me escape. I darted behind a sedan chair carried by two serving men with link boys holding torches, and then around a group of maids laden with baskets. When I glanced back I could no longer see him.
    I hurried on, head down, choking with tears. In my mind, I still saw him standing beside the yellow-haired girl, the two of them laughing together, the keys giving up their sparkling music under her hands. That’s where he belongs, I thought; not with me. That’s what he meant when he wrote:
my circumstances are quite changed
. And I knew I should never have come.

William
    I ran after her as far as the Exchange, but she had gone. It was almost dark. Lamps had begun to appear above doorways all around, and the candlelit shops in the Exchange glimmered enticingly. Could she have run in there, I wondered? No. She’d have darted down some alley.
    I stared about me, desperate. The streets were still busy; people were hurrying home from work and shops. I looked down several side streets and stopped passers-by and asked if they had seen a country girl in a high black hat, but