OCR Text |
Show Page 165 "Perhaps that is why he tells lies about the woman." We sat on stools before the fireplace at the Davidsons', for I had made Richard follow me there so that I could clean Twig's face and soothe his wounds. Harwood and Walter had joined us. Margaret still sat with little Francis. Though his furrowed face did not show it, I knew Walter was glad Twig was home again, for he had said nary a word about him running off, an action for which Twig could have been whipped or branded. "Perhaps we should hear the boy's story from the start," Walter suggested. With a nod from Richard, Twig began his tale. Twig had known Rose in London when they were both living on the streets. Rose sustained herself in much the same way as Twig and his friends-by picking pockets and scavaging, but also, I suspected, by whoring, though Twig described this only as "going off with men." Rose was often in and out of Bridewell. The prison was the last place Twig had seen Rose, since the Duty boys had been kept there for a time ere being shipped to Virginia. "If this be true, she most likely forged the church references the Virginia Company required of its prospective brides," Harwood said sourly. "Go on." When Twig was perhaps six or seven, Rose had had a child, |