Much Ado About Murder by Simon Hawke Page A

from the plague was probably the single greatest danger to the city, especially with so much shoddy construction and the buildings piled up so closely against one another. And in the event of fire, there was usually not much that could be saved, for the only recourse was to fight it with hooks and buckets brigaded from the wells, and the buildings, for the most part, were so cheaply made that they went up like kindling.
    As he came out into the street, Smythe nodded to the bellman as he went by, then stood there for a few moments, enjoying the cool night air. The stench of the streets was somewhat tempered on this night by a good, strong breeze coming in off the river, for which Smythe was thankful. He did not know if he would ever become fully accustomed to the city's smells. The little country village where he grew up was clean and fresh compared to London. Here, everyone simply threw their refuse out into the streets, so that the cobbles were almost perpetually covered with a coating of slime, which was rinsed away only by a hard rain, though not even a good downpour would wash away all of the refuse piled up and stinking in the streets. And the streets that were not cobbled were almost continually churned into a quagmire, so that navigating them became a challenge to man and horse alike. Here, where Smythe stood, the filth drained down into a depression that ran down the center of the street, and that in turn drained into Fleet Ditch, which stank so badly that it made the eyes water and sting.
    He hopped over the ditch as he crossed the street, thinking perhaps to wander down by the river for a while, but then he looked back and saw Molly coming out of the tavern, wrapped in her threadbare, brown woolen cloak, her cap upon her head. She did not see him where he stood. It looked as if she were going home for the night, and Smythe thought that perhaps he should offer to escort her, for being abroad alone in London's streets at night was not safe for a woman. Especially a woman as young and pretty as Molly. However, before he could go across the street and make the offer, Smythe saw her meet a man who had apparently been waiting for her outside.
    In the darkness, as the man came up to her, Smythe did not get a very good look at him, but he seemed to be a tall, long-legged fellow, dressed in high boots and dark breeches, a long dark cloak, and a wide-brimmed, rakish hat. From the way the cloak poked out at the bottom, Smythe could tell that the man also wore a sword.
    The dark stranger and Molly acted as if they knew each other as they walked off together down the muddy, refuse-strewn street. Out of curiosity, Smythe followed. He liked Molly, as did all the players, with whom she was quite popular for her vivacity, ready smile, and quick, sharp wit. They all felt rather protective of her. On more than one occasion, he had seen patrons of the Toad and Badger try their luck with her, but all to no avail. Molly's heart was spoken for. He had heard it said that Molly had loved a soldier who had gone away some time ago to fight in foreign lands. Now, after the events of earlier that day, it was evident to him who that soldier must have been. Anyone could clearly see that Molly and Ben Dickens had a strong mutual attraction. Anyone, apparently, except for Molly and Ben themselves. For some reason, they seemed either unable or unwilling to admit it to themselves or to one another. And to a point, Smythe could sympathize.
    There were certain things that he and Elizabeth could not say or admit to one another, too. Of course, their situation was not really the same. Master Henry Darcie's daughter could hardly be courted by a lowly player. Sometimes it seemed as if she might as well be one of the queen's glories, for all the chance he had with her. Indeed, she often seemed as far above him as one of the queen's ladies in waiting, though as a successful merchant guildsman's daughter, Elizabeth was not quite as inaccessible. Pursuing one