“Miss Eleanor, I’m just going to stretch my legs. I’ll be right outside if you need me.” The nursemaid stepped from the coach and again a footman closed the door.

Her father’s retainers turned their backs on her and began to whisper. She could tell because their heads moved closer and their lips were moving. They were probably gossiping about her. Eleanor hunched her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest. She hated everyone’s sad-eyed gaze—her family and the staff.

Eleanor repositioned herself. Her hand brushed the book resting on the bench beside her. She didn’t want to read, so she stared at the backs of the servants. Several boys entered and left the solicitor’s offices. They were all dressed the same: dark knee-length breeches, white shirts and stockings, dark coats, and they each carried a leather satchel.

Her father had once explained that these young men were employed as runners. Every important business in the city of London used young men to transport documents and correspondence, especially when the matter at hand was of a timely nature. Eleanor wasn’t sure what that meant, but it all sounded extremely important.

When she got bored watching the comings and goings from the solicitor’s, she slid across the bench and stared out the street-side window. Through the din of city noise, she picked out the voice of a costermonger hawking fruit. The thought of crunching a juicy apple made her mouth water.

Then some children, not much bigger than herself, with dirty faces and raggedy clothes, begged for coins from men dressed like her father. She reached into her pockets hoping to find a few coins she could give them. Drat, I’ve forgotten my pin money.

Next, a Goliath whose whale of a belly preceded him by a yard, strolled by, on the other side of the street. He wore a large, well-cared-for full-bottomed wig. His highly polished shoes boasted great silver buckles across their insteps and high poppy-red heels. Fountains of lace hung over each hand and a wide band of colorful embroidery played down the front panels of his coat, adorned his pocket flaps and circled his coat’s skirt. Eleanor felt sad when he disappeared around the corner. She waited … casting about for someone equally fascinating to watch.

She’d almost given up hope when a quite different sort of fellow came into view. He was boyishly slender, but with the face of a full-grown man. His stature and loose-limbed walk made her think of her gangly fourteen-year-old brother. His skin was the color of marzipan. He was dressed like sailors she’d seen down on the wharfs–not British navy men, more like the ones who worked on the ships that traded with India and the Americas. He wore no hat or wig. His smooth, glossy black hair shone like a raven’s wing. He’d pulled it back and tied it at the nape of his neck. A dull brown working man’s coat covered his chest and arms, his pant legs were wide, full, and ended mid-shin. His feet were shod in worn brown shoes. He had a slow, steady, rolling gate as he made his way along the street.

His eyes weren’t shaped like hers. She placed her finger tips on her eyelid, then shut and opened her eyes several times. Where hers creased, his didn’t. The way he gazed off so intently, he didn’t seem aware of anything going on around him. 

Eleanor spied three young men following Marzipan. They sent each other hand signals, winks and smirks. The biggest one had a disheveled appearance—oily, un-powdered hair, much of it hanging loose around his porky face. Even from where she sat she could see greasy spots decorating the front of his waistcoat.

The big slovenly fellow crowded Marzipan, who didn’t alter his pace or show any awareness of the trouble dogging his heels.

Eleanor was worried for his safety. Perhaps he is deaf, or dim-witted. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t noticed those men. That’s not fair. They should leave him alone.

The noisy street masked her escape. None of her father’s people noticed when she slipped out the street-side of the Barrett coach. Eleanor dodged the traffic and headed toward the men she’d been watching. She took up her observation post, with her back to the wall, near an alley, a few yards ahead of them. No one else on the street seemed to notice what was happening.

When they get close, I’ll trip the big one, and then Marzipan can get away.

As the three caught up with their intended victim—one on each side and one at his back—they began closing in on him. The largest of the three men, with the dirty hair and stained waistcoat stumbled over his own feet.

When he righted himself, he pointed to Marzipan and called out to his friends. “What we got ‘ere, fellas?”

The man coming up behind Marzipan was tall and skinny. He wore a coat of a rather loud shade of green. He reminded Eleanor of a string bean. He had a funny walk as if his legs weren’t the same length. It gave him a kind of skippy gate—like a lame horse. He tossed an apple up and down in his left hand, then he took a bite. He chewed and talked at the same time. Bits of partially chewed apple and spit flew out of String-bean’s mouth as he spoke, “look at them pants, would ya.”

The third fellow had pale reddish hair. He seemed younger than the other two oafs. His height put him barely a head above the Marzipan-man. “Look at them eyes, ‘e’s not one of us. I bet ‘e don’t speak the King’s English needer.”

Neither do they.

All three of them chortled as they coaxed Marzipan backwards down the alley.

Eleanor followed. Creeping along the wall. Hoping to be able to help the little man somehow. She looked around for something to use to hit one of the men.

“Maybe he’s lost. Maybe we should show him where to go?” the largest oaf said and guffawed.

He doesn’t look frightened. He mustn’t understand they mean him harm.

The three formed a triangle surrounding Marzipan. Red and the big one ended up in front. The big man’s arm shot out.

Marzipan moved so fast, Eleanor gasped. He was so light on his feet that he made his attackers look like they had buckets of wet sand in their boots. His quick footwork put the little red-headed one between himself and the largest man who’d grabbed for him.

As Marzipan planted one foot and raised his other high, he snapped the toe of his shoe into the redhead’s inner thigh. Red stumbled and Marzipan slapped him across the head. Red dropped to the ground.

O-o-o, wish I knew how to do that.

String-bean was next. He fisted his hands and swung wildly at his opponent. Marzipan shoved the String-bean’s hands away with the palm of his left hand. His right hand closed into a solid fist, his right arm shot forward over the top of his left and he connected with String-bean’s chin. The Bean’s head snapped back, he fell to the ground and didn’t move.

The big man wrapped his fingers around Marzipan’s left wrist. Marzipan trapped the big man’s gripping hand under his own right hand and shuffled closer.

Eleanor watched as Marzipan bent the big man’s wrist back. Then he laid his wrist atop his adversary’s, bent his knees, pivoted and dropped to the ground. The big man screamed as he went down.

Marzipan didn’t let go. He leaned forward. “Small and different not mean not capable. Good you learn now, so you choose longer life.”

Marzipan had an accent that Eleanor had never heard before. But he certainly spoke the King’s English.

He gave the big man’s wrist a final sharp twist and released it. He gazed around him at the men he’d felled, nodded in satisfaction, turned and walked away. With every step, he grew closer to where Eleanor watched transfixed. Everything else faded from Eleanor’s view.

Her eyes locked with Marzipan’s. She had to make herself speak now or he would go by and her chance would be gone.

Then he was next to her. She ran forward, blocking his way.

He took a short quick step away from her.

Eleanor slammed her eyes shut and waited to be hit.

“Little one.” His accented voice was deep.

Silence.

“Not harm you.”

Eleanor opened one eye, just a bit. He had a warm voice and kind eyes.

“What do you require?” Marzipan said

It seemed to take forever before she could make herself speak. I can do this.

He waited for her answer.

She opened her eyes completely and pulled her shoulders back. “T-t-teach,” a long pause ensued before she could get the second word to pass her lips, “me.”

“Miss Eleanor, where are you?” her nursemaid shrieked.

Eleanor looked back over her shoulder toward her father’s coach.

“Miss Eleanor?” The anxious voice of one of the footmen as he searched under the coach.

The footman spotted her. He and the nursemaid dashed across the street.

“What are you doing over here?” The nursemaid hugged Eleanor to her.

Eleanor extricated herself from the nursemaid’s embrace and turned back to finish talking to the Marzipan-man, but he had vanished.