Red Rose

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The coachman gave his horses the signal to start, and the old traveling carriage, its blue paintwork faded, its coat of arms chipped and shabby, slowly moved past the tollgate and onto open highway again.

"That be the last un," he said with some relief. "We'll be drinkin' our ale in Lunnun tonight, me lad."

"Be it far, then?" asked the lad, a footman of a mere thirty years.

"Keep yer poppers open when we top yonder rise," his companion said, pointing his whip ahead a couple of miles to where the road disappeared over the crest of a hill, "an' yer’ll be able to see Lunnun spread afore ye."

The footman leaned forward eagerly, as if he thought the action would bring him sooner to his first view of London.

Inside the carriage, Lady Sylvia Marsh sat forward as soon as it jolted into motion again and scanned the countryside eagerly. "We must be getting close now," she said. "Surely we will be able to see the city soon."

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