you with my company," Antonia said, putting down her needlework on the stone bench. "Yet I perceive that I have failed."
"Nay, I am grateful for your company, Antonia, truly," Elizabeth replied. "If my mood is pensive this day, the blame lies not with you. I was merely thinking of our friend Portia's impending marriage."
"And this makes you sad?" Antonia cocked an eyebrow at her friend. "Is it for her that you feel sad or for yourself?"
"Nay, not for her," Elizabeth replied, putting down her own embroidery with a sigh. "I am happy for Portia, truly. Thomas Locke is a most excellent young man. He has fine prospects. He is now nearly done with his apprenticeship and shall soon become a journeyman tailor. Already, his work is becoming known in fashionable circles. He shall do well. There is no doubt that he shall make something of himself."
"Despite his rather humble origins, you mean," Antonia said.
"Well, though some may hold it so, in my estimation, what his father does should be no reflection upon him," Elizabeth replied. "Thomas is making his own way in life. And 'tis not at all uncommon these days for a successful merchant or a guildsman to become a gentleman. Prosperity can do much to improve one's social standing."
“I am quite sure that Portia's father had considered that when he consented to the match," Antonia said dryly. "After all, 'tis one thing to allow one's only daughter to wed a tavern-keeper's son, and a tavern in the Liberties, no less. 'Tis quite another to let her wed a journeyman tailor who shall doubtless have his own shop before long and may one day become a gentleman."
"Aye," said Elizabeth. "Some things are more easily overlooked when the prospects of success and social betterment are in the offing."
"Unlike the prospects for a poor player who is not even a shareholder in his company?" Antonia said.
Elizabeth glanced at her with surprise, momentarily taken aback, then smiled wanly. "Am I so easily compassed, then?"
"Aye, by one who loves you well and knows your heart," Antonia replied, taking her hand. "Tuck Smythe is also an excellent young man. However, unlike Portia's young man, Thomas, he does not seem to have favourable prospects. He is also making his own way in life, as best he can, but as a poor player, I fear he can offer your father no reason to overlook his lack of social standing."
Elizabeth sighed. "Did you know that his father is a gentleman?" Antonia's eyes grew wide. "Tuck's father? A gentleman? But you have never told me this!"
"'Tis true," Elizabeth said, nodding. "He told me so himself once. But he does not like to speak of it."
"But why?"
"It seems that his father had squandered all of his money."
Elizabeth explained. "'Twas my understanding that he had barely avoided debtors' prison and was living on his younger brother's charity. 'Tis why Tuck is both poor and a player. He told me that he had always wanted to join up with a company of players, ever since he was a boy and saw a travelling troupe come through his town, but his father would not hear of it and threatened to disown him if he did. And so Tuck was sent to live and apprentice with his uncle, who was a smith and farrier. He lived with him until he learned that his father had gone bankrupt. With his inheritance gone, his father's threat was rendered moot and Tuck had nothing to prevent him from setting out to follow his hearts desire. Thus, he came to London and became a player. He does not like to speak about his father. 'Twas the only time he had ever even mentioned him, and then he never spoke of him to me again."
"Poor Tuck," Antonia said, shaking her head. "And yet… his father, for all that he may now be destitute, is nevertheless still a proper gentleman, is he not? That is to say, the heralds had granted him a coat of arms?"
Elizabeth clucked her tongue. "Aye, they did, but I know what you are thinking, and 'twould never do," she said.
"Why not?" Antonia asked "Your father wants nothing more than