The Bawdy Basket by Edward Marston Page A

Hoode. ‘She has ethereal qualities.’
    ‘Well, they are not in demand among Westfield’s Men.’
    ‘I am sorry to leave you, Lawrence, but I go to a better life.’
    ‘How can you say that when you are taking a leap into the unknown?’
    ‘I take it without the slightest hesitation.’
    ‘For whom?’ asked Gill. ‘Does this enchantress have a name?’
    ‘She does, Barnaby. She is Mistress Avice Radley.’
    ‘How long has this foolish romance simmered? A fortnight? A month? A year?’
    ‘Two days.’
    ‘Two days!’ echoed Gill in disbelief.
    ‘The most wonderful two days of my life.’
    ‘And the worst of ours, it seems,’ added Firethorn. ‘Would you really turn your back on us for the sake of a woman you have known but two days? Merciful heaven! You could not even learn to fondle her paps properly in so short a time, let alone get to know the rest of her body with requisite thoroughness. It takes at least a decade to understand a woman’s true character. I learn new things about Margery every day.’
    ‘Yet you married her without the slightest fear.’
    Firethorn’s face darkened. ‘Fear came soon afterwards, I assure you.’
    ‘That will not be the case with me.’
    ‘Stop him, Lawrence,’ cried Gill, puce with anger. ‘He must not be allowed to break his contract like this, especially for some simpering dame with a pretty face. Does she know the havoc she is creating? My whole career is at stake here. I rely on Edmund to tailor roles to my particular needs. I’ll not have him whisked away from me.’
    ‘No more will I,’ asserted Firethorn. ‘However many lawyers it takes, we’ll hold you to your contract. Be warned, Edmund. Defy us and we’ll take you to court.’
    ‘Proceed, then, if you must,’ said Hoode.
    ‘You’ll not only lose the case, you’ll be faced with a crippling fine that you cannot afford to pay.’ He wagged a finger in Hoode’s face. ‘Do you wish to invite financial ruin?’
    ‘That will not occur,’ said Hoode blithely. ‘Avice is a wealthy woman. She has promised to meet any costs that are incurred. Regardless of your protests, we mean to be together soon.’
    ‘Sharing a cell in Bedlam,’ sneered Gill.
    ‘Tasting a love and freedom I have never known, Barnaby. Scoff, if you will,’ he went on as both men sniggered, ‘but I am resolved. Avice, too, is resolute. If it is the only way to secure Edmund Hoode, she is prepared to buy the Queen’s Head outright.’ He grinned inanely at them. ‘Now, do you see what a paragon among women I have found?’
     
    Bartholomew Fair was an annual event, held on the broad acres of Smithfield, and mixing commerce with entertainment so skilfully that visitors came flocking from far afield. It had been founded almost five hundred years earlier by Rahere, jester to King Henry I. The story went that Rahere had been taken ill during a pilgrimage to Rome, reflected on the errors of his ways and became determined to amend his character. Accordingly, he founded a priory and hospice dedicated to St Bartholomew. The fair that washeld for three days from the eve of St Bartholomew’s Day, late in August, was the greatest cloth fair in England. Even when he became Prior, the reformed jester, Rahere, still acted as Lord of the Fair and frequently performed his juggling tricks for the amusement of the crowd. The influence of the Church over the event had long since declined but the spirit of Rahere survived. Jugglers, dancers, clowns, acrobats, puppeteers, wrestlers, strong men, freaks and performing bears were just as much a part of the fair as the hundreds of stall holders who came to sell their wares.
    Though there were still two days to go, some of the participants had already started to converge on London and a number of booths were being erected. Among the early arrivals was Moll Comfrey, a pert young peddler whose large basket was filled to the brim with pins, needles, combs, brushes, assorted trinkets and rolls of material