“Do you attend all your clients’ revels?” she asked.
“It compensates in some measure for the funerals,” I said. “Though the headaches the morning after are no treat. You’ll see tomorrow.”
* * *
As Martha and I walked home in the fading light, I explained her place in the christening of Mercy’s baby. She would carry the baby to the font, tell the priest what to name her, and then return to Mercy’s.
“How long will the drinking last?” she asked. “I’d rather not wander around the city at night.”
“No, I don’t think either of us has that luxury anymore. I’ll send one of the guards with you, and ask Will to accompany me to Abigail Stoppard’s house.” I was relieved to see that Sergeant Smith himself was standing at my door when we arrived. Martha went inside and I explained my desire to double the guard.
“I can have a second man here starting tomorrow morning,” he said, but a note of concern crept into his voice. “Is there anything we should worry about, my lady?”
“I am afraid so. We have learned that the man who threatens me is well armed, and has disguised himself as a noncommissioned officer with the garrison.”
Sergeant Smith grimaced. “I’ll have to pay my men more. It’s one thing to face down a lone ruffian, but if he’s armed and in uniform, things are much more difficult.”
“Of course,” I said, and described Tom in as much detail as I could.
“I’ll tell my men to watch for him,” he said. “And arm them with pistols. That should give him pause if he shows his face around here.”
I began to close the door when I heard the sound of someone running toward my house and a woman’s voice crying, “Lady Hodgson!” A few seconds later, Margaret Goodwin arrived at my door. I led her inside and took her to the parlor as she tried to catch her breath.
“Margaret, what is it?” I asked. I knew it had to do with Anne and that it must be important. I felt a sinking in my stomach. Had something happened to her? Martha heard the commotion and appeared at the door.
“I just saw Anne,” Margaret said between breaths. “She came to the shop a few minutes ago.”
Questions tumbled out. Did she say where has she been? How was she? Where is she now? Was she still pregnant? Did she say what had happened to her child? Margaret tried to answer, but in her excitement her story tumbled over itself.
“Slow down, Margaret. Tell me exactly what she said.”
Margaret took a deep breath and gathered herself. “She came to the shop and called to us from the street. She refused to come inside, for fear of being trapped. She said that Rebecca Hooke is a murderer. She heard her confess as much to James.”
“Did she say what she meant? Who did she kill? Was it Stephen Cooper?”
“No, my lady, she didn’t say,” she said, as she began to weep. “I asked about the baby, and she refused to tell me anything.”
“Is she still at the shop?” I asked, my heart racing. If Anne was right about the Hookes, she would need as much help as she could get.
“No,” she said, looking even more miserable. “She heard voices from down the street and before I could stop her, she ran off. She was so scared. I didn’t know where to turn except you. What can we do?” I looked at Martha, and she shook her head. I had no answers, either.
“Where might she have gone?”
“I don’t know. She only said a few words before she fled. What am I going to do?” Tears coursed down her cheeks, and my heart ached on her behalf. The fear of losing your only child endured even after she had grown.
“You should go home,” I said. “If she came to you once, she might come back. If she does, hide her there, and send for me immediately. Tell her that I can protect her from the Hookes. And if we learn anything, we will tell you right away.”
Margaret wiped at her tears and nodded. I knew it was not a satisfying answer, but given the situation, it was the only one I had. I embraced Margaret at the door and returned to the parlor, where Martha waited.
“Rebecca Hooke is a murderer?” Martha said. “Could she have murdered Stephen Cooper?”
“Stephen Cooper, or the infant in Coneystreet. I have no idea. The Lord knows she’s vicious enough to kill Stephen and the child both.”
“Now what do we do?” she asked.
I looked out the window at the lengthening shadows. It would do no good to go in search of Anne tonight. “There is little we can do except wait and pray that we find Anne before the Hookes do.”
* * *
I awoke the next morning to the church bells calling the city’s residents to worship. With one of Sergeant Smith’s guards in the lead, Martha, Hannah, and I walked down Stonegate toward St. Helen’s for the morning service. I am ashamed to admit that I let my mind wander from the service. I stood, sat, and knelt with the rest of the congregation, but I paid no attention to the priest’s words. Soon enough, he dismissed us for the morning, and we filed out of the church.