A Mystery of Errors by Simon Hawke

of both men and women… it was a visual feast, a writhing tableau of endless fascination.
    And then the play would begin.
    From the moment that the first player stepped out onto the stage, Elizabeth became transported to another world, one that seemed even more real than the romances that she read, for these were living, breathing people bringing to life real characters upon the stage. And if, much of the time, these characters seemed less real than stagy, she did not mind and nevertheless allowed herself to be carried away by the illusion. For as long as the play would last, her gaze would remain riveted upon the stage, and if there were other gazes riveted upon her from some other vantage point, she was unaware of them and could thus forget them.
    But now, there was a new drama unfolding that she wished she could avert her gaze from, for it was
her
drama and the ending she foresaw was not a happy one. Somewhere along the way, someone had gazed at her particularly long and hard, and favorably, and unbeknownst to her, her father had been approached, discussions had been initiated, and a marriage had been arranged.
    She had no idea who Anthony Gresham was. Apparently, it was not really her concern, so she hadn't been consulted. What little knowledge she had was painfully sketchy. The mysterious Anthony Gresham was young, supposedly well set up, and handsome, although she had long since realized that, to her father, any eligible young man from a socially prominent family was certain to be "well set up and handsome." His father was a privateer, one of Drake's celebrated Sea Hawks, who was in line, so it was said, to receive a knighthood. She knew next to nothing of such things, but she knew that the idea of marrying his daughter to the son of a knight would send her father off into transports of ecstasy. There was little else that he would need to know or care about.
    Chances were, she thought, that she was just as much a mystery to this young Anthony Gresham as he was to her, although it was certainly possible, even probable, that he had at least seen her, perhaps during one of her visits to The Theatre with her father. Yes, she thought, that had to be how it must have happened. The socially prominent son of a knight, or knight-to-be, could certainly not be expected to marry a young woman sight unseen, regardless of her father's wealth. She, on the other hand, was expected to do her filial duty to her parents and marry someone whom she not only did not love, but had never even seen.
    And if, as her mother claimed, most girls "her age" would gladly trade places with her in an instant, Elizabeth felt equally certain that she would trade places with them just as readily, even if they were of the poorest and most common stock. As she sat alone in her room, feeling miserable and lost, she entertained the notion of what it would be like to run away somewhere and find a job in some distant town or village, working in a tavern or an inn, or as a seamstress with threadworn fingers or a laundress with waterlogged skirts and wrinkled hands. Perhaps that was precisely what she should do, she thought, dramatically. Pack up a few belongings and then run away in the middle of the night. That would certainly teach them a lesson. And it would serve them right.
    The only trouble was, she had no idea where to go or how to get there. And so she sat, and wept in anger and frustration.
    Chapter 4
    LONDON WAS EVERYTHING HE HAD expected and much more. A recent census had reported the city's population as over 120,000 and it seemed to Smythe as if they were all out on the streets at once. Cobblers, drapers, merchant tailors, younkers, ironmongers, weavers, goldsmiths and ropemakers, skinners, saddlers, tanners, vintners and apothecaries, discharged soldiers, dyers, pewterers and cutlers, hosiers, stationers, haberdashers, whores and grocers, barbers, balladeers and barristers, scriveners, booksellers, pickpockets and portrait painters and cozeners of