Man Behind the Façade. June Francis

let us not lose hope. Tell me, by what means did you travel here?’

      Rebecca accepted the change of subject and removed her hand from his arm. ‘On horseback. I had two of the children up with me and Margaret, the eldest, rode pillion with Simon.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’ve just realised he will need his horse and mine cannot bear four of us.’

      ‘I suggest the two youngest children travel in the wagon where Tabitha can keep an eye on them.’

      Rebecca seized on the mention of a woman. ‘Tabitha? You have a woman in your troupe?’

      He smiled. ‘I couldn’t manage without her. She cooks for us and takes care of the costumes, as well as telling us exactly what she thinks of our performance. She also acts as a prompter if any of us should forget our lines. She is good with children and I’m sure the pair of you will rub along.’

      Rebecca felt a pang of envy that he should think so highly of this woman. ‘What is she like?’

      ‘Young and pretty. She was in dire straits when we came upon her in Coventry, a couple of years ago. Some quick action was called for and we carried her off. It soon proved that we had made the right decision.’

      Rebecca found herself almost hating this paragon of virtue despite never having set eyes on her. ‘I look forward to meeting her,’ she said stiffly, thinking that although Phillip had told her there was no room in his life for a wife, he still had a man’s needs. Really he should not have kissed her if he had a mistress! The pleasure she had felt earlier at the thought of travelling to Oxford in his company evaporated, but she could hardly say that she had changed her mind about doing so.

      ‘Shall we make haste?’ said Phillip. ‘It’s a good four leagues to Oxford and I want to be there in plenty of time to make ready for this evening’s performance.’

      When they reached the house, it was to find Simon talking to the woman from the neighbouring cottage. When he saw Rebecca and Phillip, he brought the conversation to an end and approached them.

      ‘There you are! I was wondering what had happened to you, Rebecca. Has Master Hurst divulged our plan to you?’

      ‘Indeed he has,’ said Rebecca, deciding to make no mention of her father’s apparition. ‘I will go and see if the children need help getting ready.’

      She went indoors, thinking she must also don a pair of riding breeches under her skirts. She was greeted by eight-year-old Margaret, who was fair-haired, with a spare frame and a fussy manner. ‘There you are, Aunt Rebecca! Father says that we are going home today.’

      ‘Indeed, we are, love,’ said Rebecca, forcing a smile. ‘Are you not pleased?’

      The girl nodded. ‘I hear we are to be travelling with a Master Hurst who owns the shipyard where your father worked.’

      ‘It is his brother who owns the shipyard,’ corrected Rebecca, ‘but the rest is true. I’m sure you will like him.’

      ‘Is he the man who is with Father now?’ whispered Elizabeth, the younger daughter who was small and chubby.

      ‘Aye, it is. You and James will be riding in a covered wagon. Is that not exciting?’ said Rebecca.

      ‘What d’you mean a covered wagon?’ demanded Margaret, pausing in the act of fastening her shoe.

      ‘Master Hurst is a member of a troupe of travelling players and they are going to Oxford to perform at St Giles’s fair,’ answered Rebecca.

      ‘How exciting!’ cried Elizabeth. ‘Will he drive his wagon right up to the house, so Mama can see us arrive?’ she asked, her brown eyes sparkling.

      ‘I—I—I want to go home,’ said four-year-old James, pressing himself against Rebecca and hugging her knees. ‘I—I—I mith Mama.’

      She lifted him up on her knee. ‘I know, sweeting, and I would have risked the highway on our own to take you there, but your father would not allow it. Fortunately, Master Hurst is to escort us, so all is well.’ She kissed his rosy cheek. ‘You do know that you must be on your best behaviour? I do not want Master Hurst regretting his offer.’

      ‘I be good,’ said James, nodding solemnly.

      If only I could believe that, thought Rebecca wryly, aware that four leagues was a long journey for a small boy. Well, she would just have to hope for the best. Few women would like to have two boisterous young ones thrust on them for such a journey, but hopefully this Tabitha would accept the situation without complaint.

      After a breakfast of bread, butter and eggs, washed down with small ale, they made their way outside. The horse was saddled up and, after taking their farewell of their father, the two youngest children were lifted on to the back of the horse by Phillip. He took it upon himself to lead the beast before Rebecca could protest that she was quite able to do that herself. She pecked Simon on the cheek and he slipped several coins into her hand, saying they were for anything the children might need on the journey.

      She thanked him and set out to walk beside the animal with Margaret next to her and Phillip the other side. Elizabeth chattered to her sister in a high voice that informed Rebecca that she was a little nervous about being up on the horse without Rebecca to cling on to.

      They had not travelled far when Phillip suggested that the children might like to hear a story. Instantly they chorused agreement, as did Rebecca, who was far from averse to listening to one of his tales to while away the journey. She was surprised when he launched into the fable of the tortoise and the hare. By the time he had finished they had arrived at the church in Witney and James was clamouring to get down and wanting to be a tortoise.

      ‘And the moral of this story is—?’ asked Rebecca.

      ‘You tell me,’ responded Phillip, raising his eyebrows.

      ‘Don’t be over-confident or look down on others who appear less able than yourself. This isn’t one of your own creations, is it?’

      Phillip’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve heard it before?’

      She nodded. ‘If I’m not mistaken, it was written by a Greek slave hundreds of years ago and you won’t find it in any book written in English.’

      ‘I wager Beth Raventon told you that. I know she stocked a Latin translation in the London shop and she is extremely well read.’

      Rebecca smiled. ‘I wouldn’t deny it. I have a lot to thank Beth for. She has been extremely generous with her time and sharing her books with me.’

      ‘I was told the story by Frederick, who was my mentor when I first left the shipyard. You’ll be meeting him soon and it’ll probably surprise you to hear that Frederick was a scholarly cleric who has travelled widely, including to Greece and its islands. He translated the story for me to turn into a play, as well as some of the Greek tragedies.’

      ‘Tragedies?’ She pursed her lips. ‘There doesn’t sound much to amuse one in such plays.’

      ‘You’d be surprised,’ he said with a grin. ‘There was also comedy in the Greek theatre, but it didn’t really become popular until after the Peloponnesian Wars and was known as the New Comedy.’

      She was impressed. ‘You surprise me, Phillip. I never expected to hear of such from your lips. Do all strolling players know of the Greek plays?’

      ‘No, but I have visited Greece and one of its islands myself,’ he said, doubly taking her by surprise. ‘But some like Frederick studied at Oxford. Here he comes now,’ said Phillip.

      Rebecca turned to see an elderly bald man limping towards them. ‘About time you made an appearance, Pip,’ he grumbled. ‘We need to be on our way. The road will be busy and we don’t want to be held up.’ Even as he spoke, his rheumy eyes were on Rebecca and the children. ‘These are them, are they? They look a motley crew. Let’s get the young ’uns inside the wagon and they’d best behave themselves.’

      Elizabeth gazed up at