"Nothing, I wot; but Master Drayton, her husband, is not always so discreet as he should be, and Simon hath brought home some tale to his mother about Quaker children being harboured in the house. Your aunt ought to be told that this is known, and will soon become the talk of the town if they are not sent away."
"Would you like me to bring the children here, mother, to save Aunt Martha the trouble of them?"
The lady looked at her daughter, aghast with horror at the proposal.
"Audrey, you must not speak so lightly of such matters. For us to be suspected of any touch with these Quakers would mean ruin, and we might be thrown out of house and home, like so many clergymen's families have been, for it is known that your father always felt they were unjustly treated, though he signed the declaration that saved us from being turned into the streets like beggars. This is why I want you to go and see your aunt to-day, for if people think the Draytons are Quakers they may suspect us next. Oh dear! why will people go wild about religion like this man Fox? It is sure to bring disgrace upon somebody. As if the fire and the plague had not caused misery enough in London, they must now begin making fresh trouble about religion, just as I hoped things were getting more settled and comfortable."
"Mother dear, do not look so troubled about this. Surely God can take care of us and of London too. How is my father now?"
"Not much better, and I do not want him to hear about this, or it will make him anxious and unfit to catechise the children in church on Sunday morning. Now, Audrey, we shall have dinner at eleven, and then I should like you to go to your aunt, who lives in Soper Lane, and you can see for yourself who these Quaker children are, and find out whether your aunt still goes to the parish church, for I hear these fanatics call it a steeple-house, and will by no means join in the prayers as they are set forth in the prayer-book."
The errand in itself was not at all to the taste of a girl like Audrey; but the dim recollection she had of her aunt made her desirous of seeing her once more, and she could only wonder how and why it was that her mother had been silent concerning Dame Drayton, for they had but few relatives, and Audrey herself was the only child now. Two had died during the great plague, and she could only suppose that it was because her aunt lived in the City, and her mother still had a lingering dread of the plague returning, that she had not heard this aunt spoken of for so long a time.
Although they lived within easy walking distance of the City, and she knew her father sometimes went there on business, she did not remember ever having seen it herself, for they lived in the fashionable suburbs of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, and generally went to walk in the westerly direction among the fields and green lanes. The parish did not wholly belie its name as yet, for they lived in the midst of the open country, although so near London. Her old nurse was to walk with her, and call for her at Soper Lane at four o'clock, that they might reach home before sunset, for although their way lay through the best and most fashionable thoroughfares in the town, they were by no means safe from footpads. Although the Strand was the residence of many of the nobility, and Fleet Street had most of the best shops lining its footway, these were generally shunned by travellers after sundown—unless they were on horseback, armed and attended by two or three stout serving-men.
So Audrey and her nurse set out on their journey about half-past eleven, and less than a mile from her own home, Audrey was in a place altogether new to her.
"I wonder why we have not come this way to walk before," said the girl looking round at the handsome houses in the Strand.