CHAPTER III
Coby brushed the dust from her hands and wiped her brow with the back of her cuff. There, that was the last of the chests from the wagon. Most people assumed a life in the theatre was a life of idleness; indeed she had thought the same, once upon a time. Now she had arm muscles like a washerwoman and more blisters on her feet than a Bedlam beggar. Realising she was alone for the first time in a month, she bolted the door to guarantee herself a few moments’ privacy. She stripped off her doublet, lifted up her shirt, and loosened the upper lacing of her corset, wrinkling her nose at the ripe smell of unwashed flesh. She had managed to keep a couple of spares hidden in the costume trunks, but changing into them – and washing the used ones and herself – was not so easy. Fortunately all the company smelt at least as bad after a warm spring on the road, so no one had noticed. Yet. She exchanged the foetid garment for a clean one she had left amongst her tailoring supplies, pressing