“You are quite right, my lady,” he said with a bow. “I mistook your servant for someone else. This is no place for respectable women, so I did not see you as such. I don’t know how I could have been mistaken.”
I took Martha’s arm and began to guide her toward the door. I knew Tom was trying to find a way to regain the upper hand in the confrontation, and this would be our best chance to escape. I saw Martha look back, not at her brother, but at the figure in the corner whom we took to be Thomas Penrose. I nudged her forward. Penrose could wait until we returned with more weapons than just my wits. As we neared the door, Tom’s voice followed us.
“It’s a small city, my lady. I’m quite sure we will see each other again … soon.”
At his words, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up; I knew that he spoke the truth.
Chapter 18
Once we reached the street, Martha and I walked quickly, retracing our steps toward the Pavement. Neither of us spoke, but we each cast hurried glances over our shoulders, fearful that we might be followed. When we reached the relative safety of the crowds in the Pavement, we slowed our pace but kept moving toward Coneystreet, which would take us home. As we passed the Angel, one of York’s finest inns, I grasped Martha’s arm and stopped.
“A glass of sack would suit me quite nicely right now,” I said. “Would you care for one?” She gulped and nodded her assent.
As soon as we entered the inn, the hostess ushered us into the dining room. She took us to a table at the window looking out on the street, but as soon as we sat, I regretted it. Sitting in front of the large window, I felt exposed and worried that Tom might catch sight of us. I knew such fears were groundless—he could never attack us in so public a place—but I nevertheless asked the hostess to seat us away from the window. She brought us our drinks and asked if we would be dining. At that moment I realized that I was famished and asked her to bring us whatever was hot and ready. She disappeared into the kitchen, and Martha and I could finally speak in private.
“My God,” she said, exhaling heavily. “That was an unwelcome surprise. How did he insinuate himself into the garrison, and as a noncommissioned officer, no less?”
I nodded and swallowed half my sack in a single draught. “We were lucky to escape. The question is where this leaves us. I think it gives us an advantage at least for the moment. So long as he’s in uniform and surrounded by his men, he’ll have to play the sergeant’s part. The last thing he’d want is to be imprisoned for abandoning his post, so he will have to spend most of his time doing the work of a soldier.”
“Not Tom. He won’t let that stop him for long. He can change his clothes and disappear into the city easily enough. I’ve seen him do it.”
“Then I’ll alert Sergeant Smith immediately, and ask him to double the guard on the house. I don’t know what else we can do.”
“You could tell your brother about Tom,” she said evenly. “Now that we know where to look, he’ll be easier to find. It would be safer for you. I saw the look in his eyes—he’ll not forget what happened. He means to kill us both.”
“And I saw the look he gave you. I won’t have you tried alongside that rogue just to save myself from danger. The guards can protect us until we figure out a better plan.”
“Thank you, my lady,” she murmured. Though she tried to hide it by clearing her throat and looking away, for a moment I thought Martha might cry tears of gratitude, and it warmed my heart.
“But I’m afraid that this complicates efforts to question Penrose,” I said. “Even if we bring Will or one of the guards, I don’t relish the thought of another row with Tom. Next time we might not escape without violence.”
“We can avoid the Black Swan entirely by coming to the shop first thing tomorrow morning,” she said. “If we arrive early enough, we can catch him before he goes out. Men like him are not early risers.”
“We’ll do that, but it will have to wait until Monday. His shop will be closed tomorrow, and after Sunday’s service we’ve each got a christening to attend. You’ll be with Mercy Harris, and I’ll be at Abigail Stoppard’s.”
“Surely we could go after the christenings,” she protested. “He lives above the shop, we could see him even though it’s closed. He might be out again, but we could get lucky. It’s worth a try.”
I laughed. “After the baptism, you will join in the drinking,” I said. “I’ll be at Abigail’s all night, and while Mercy’s poor, you might be surprised what her friends will do on her behalf.”