Read Online Burning Bright by Tracy Chevalier - Free Book Online Page B

skirt, she turned it over and over before at last starting to make out the words. When she recognized “Astley,” she understood what it was and thrust it at her husband. “Oh, take it, take it, I don’t want it!”
    Thomas Kellaway fumbled and dropped the paper. It was Maisie who picked it up and brushed the dirt from it, then tucked it into the stays beneath her dress. “The show tonight,” she murmured to Jem.
    He shrugged.
    â€œDo you have those tickets on you, Jem?” Anne Kellaway demanded.
    Jem jerked his hand from his pocket as if he’d been caught touching himself. “Yes, Ma.”
    â€œI want you to take them to the theatre now and hand them back.”
    â€œWho’s handin’ back tickets?” called a voice behind them. Jem looked around. Maggie Butterfield jumped out from the wall she’d been idling behind. “What kind of tickets? You don’t want to be handin’ back any tickets. If they’re good you can sell ’em for more’n you bought ’em for. Show ’em to me.”
    â€œHow long have you been following us?” Jem asked, pleased to see her but wondering too if she had witnessed anything he’d rather she not see.
    Maggie grinned and whistled a bit of “Tom Bowling.” “Not half a bad voice you’ve got, Miss Piddle,” she said to Maisie, who smiled and blushed.
    â€œAway you go, girl,” Anne Kellaway ordered. “We don’t want you hanging about.” She glanced around to see if Maggie was on her own. They’d had a visit a few days before from Maggie’s father, trying to sell Thomas Kellaway a load of ebony that he quickly spotted was oak painted black—though he was kind enough to suggest that Dick Butterfield had been hard done by someone else rather than trying to cheat the Kellaways. Anne Kellaway had disliked Dick Butterfield even more than his daughter.
    Maggie ignored Jem’s mother. “Have you got tickets for tonight, then?” she asked Jem coolly. “Which kind? Not for the gallery, I shouldn’t think. Can’t see her”—she jerked her head at Anne Kellaway—“standin’ with them rascals. Here, show me.”
    Jem wondered himself, and couldn’t resist pulling out the tickets to look. “‘Pit,’” he read, with Maggie peering over his shoulder.
    She nodded at Thomas Kellaway. “You must be makin’ lots o’ bum catchers to buy pit seats, and you only a couple o’ weeks in London.” A rare note of admiration crept into her voice.
    â€œOh, we didn’t buy them,” Maisie said. “Mr. Astley gave ’em to us!”
    Maggie stared. “Lord a mercy.”
    â€œWe’re not going to see that rubbish,” Anne Kellaway said.
    â€œYou can’t give ’em back,” Maggie declared. “Mr. Astley’d be insulted. He might even throw you out of his house.”
    Anne Kellaway started; she had clearly not thought of such a consequence from giving back the tickets.
    â€œCourse if you really don’t want to go, you could let me go in your place,” Maggie continued.
    Anne Kellaway narrowed her eyes, but before she could open her mouth to say that she would never allow such an impudent girl to take her place, a deep drumbeat began to sound from somewhere over the river.
    â€œThe parade!” Maggie exclaimed. “It’ll be starting. C’mon!” She began to run, pulling Jem along with her. Maisie followed, and fearful of being left alone, Anne Kellaway took her husband’s arm once more and hurried after them.
    Maggie raced past the amphitheatre and on toward Westminster Bridge, which was already crowded with people standing along the edges. They could hear a march being played at the other end, but they couldn’t see anything yet. Maggie led them up the middle of the road and squeezed into a spot a third of the way along. The Kellaways