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Gwendolyn Llywelyn

Guest Gwendolyn Llywelyn

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An old woman sat upon a chair, huddled near her fireplace, in her modest house, within the colony of Pennsylvania, continent of North America, the world, the universe etc. Once soft hands now occupied themselves at stitching, formerly one of her least favorite activities. But her previous life was gone now. Fire snapped just as she pierced herself with the needle. It was hardly the court of the English monarch, but she was free. Gwendolyn was far happier here in her little house than she ever had been consorting with high society.


As a younger version of herself, Gwen had taken all of the jewels men had thrown at her at court and all the money she could grasp at. She whisked herself away to the New World. Let the crown have her father's estate. Let the crown have it's shallow courtiers, its whores draped in finery, its intrigues and backstabbers. Sure it looked like Eden, but one had only to look a bit closer to see it was full of snakes. The Welsh woman, a beauty in her younger years, had done well enough for herself at court, to other people's standards. For all anyone knew, she was dead. Her only regret was abandoning her children. But George would see to his child, she was certain, and Arthur was better off a baron.


On the ship over she had met a doctor, Thomas Johnson, who reminded her a bit of her friend. They were married and happy enough. All he knew of her past life was that she had once had many fine jewels to sell to get them through particularly tough times, gifts from the household she served when she was a maid. He knew nothing of the children she'd had before giving birth to his own, but she had been adamantly against the name Arthur, which resulted in their second son being named Richard instead, the oldest named after his father. Gwen had made a bit of money singing until Thomas became an established doctor, at which point he supported them well enough. He'd been a good husband, a good man. She hadn't been as in love with him as he deserved, but still, Gwendolyn thought she'd been a decent wife herself. And a much better woman since removing herself from the pressures of court. There was no one scrutinizing her every move, no ruin awaiting her tiniest mistake, no disappointment, no biting rumors, no worries concerning how sharply to reprimand powerful men for ogling her. There was no need to do anything she did not want to do, nor would there ever be again.


A burst of cold air infiltrated the house when the door was opened. A strapping young man with dark wavy hair tromped inside in his boots. "It's a girl," beamed Richard and ran to squeeze his mother. "A healthy little girl!"

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Gwendolyn passed by the shoppe windows on the Strand. She was not shopping. In fact, there wasn't really anything she required at the moment. George provided quite handsomely for her, it was getting difficult to figure out what to do with her riches. Did she honestly need another dress?


While the beautiful young woman continued in her idle wandering, a piece of paper blew, the wind sticking it to her skirts. Gloved hands reached down to remove the offending parchment. After a brief struggle, the flier was in her hands, ready to be read. There was a sketch of a smooth-faced man. Beneath the drawing had been written:


Wanted for the murder of Lord Alexander Merriweather- Young lad, short and plump with green eyes, dark hair. Reward of 500 pounds to his captor.


With a bemused smile, the lady crumpled up the paper and allowed it to resume it's course.

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