We went downstairs and peered into the street. Sergeant Smith had not yet escaped from the tailor’s shop. “The street is clear,” Will said, and the three of us slipped out the door and closed it behind us.
“Martha, how are you at locking doors?” I asked.
“In truth, I’ve never tried it, but why not?” she said. With Will and me once again shielding her from view, Martha went to work on the lock. A few minutes later, we heard a click and she stood up, proud as could be. “It’s not so different,” she said with a self-satisfied smile. Will ducked into George Cawton’s shop and emerged a moment later with a visibly relieved Sergeant Smith.
“He sold me two new suits,” he said. “If you’d not intervened, I have no idea how many more I would have bought.”
When we turned onto my street, the guard saw us and called out, “Lady Hodgson, you have a visitor. He says he has a message from the Castle.”
A small figure stood next to him, though from the distance I could not tell who it was. We drew closer, and two things became clear. First, my visitor was a small boy who had not had a bath in some months, and second, the guard held him tightly by the neck. Despite the pain he must have suffered, the only trace of discomfort on the boy’s face was the slow clenching and unclenching of his jaw.
“Let him go!” I cried out. The guard looked surprised but complied. I looked at the boy’s neck and saw marks from the guard’s fingers that would become bruises the next day. I turned angrily to the guard. “Did you consider the boy dangerous?” He seemed taken aback by my concern for the boy. “Were you afraid he might overcome you and storm my house?”
“No, my lady,” he said. “But he’s just an urchin.”
I squatted next to the boy and cupped his face in my hands. His brown eyes were flecked with green and shone with intelligence, not unlike Birdy’s. “Who sent you to me?” I asked.
“Samuel Short, the jailor.” He showed no deference at all. Clearly he’d learned his ill manners from Short.
“Are you his boy?”
He thought about the question before answering. “He’s not my father, but he cares for me,” he said. “My mother died in the jail and he took me in.”
“What is your name?”
“Samuel calls me Tree, because I’m already taller than he is.”
“All right, Tree, come inside. Give me your message, and I’ll see what food we have for you.” At the prospect of a meal—from a gentlewoman’s larder, no less—his eyes lit up. As we passed the guard, I glared at him and he lowered his eyes. I whispered to Martha, “Take the boy to the kitchen, feed him well, and keep an eye on him. He’s not a danger, but he is poor enough that he might not be above pilfering.”
“Follow me, Tree,” she sang out, and we trooped to the back of the house.
Hannah set a plate of cheese and bread and a mug of small beer before the boy, and he told us his story.
“Samuel sent me with a message. He says that the soldiers captured a lady trying to flee the city last night. They brought her to the Castle, and when Samuel locked her up, she asked him to send for you.” Martha and I exchanged confused looks. We had assumed the message would be about Esther.
“Tree,” I said, “when you say that the soldiers captured a lady, do you mean a gentlewoman, like me?”
“No. Like her,” he said, indicating Martha. “She weren’t dressed so nice as you.”
“Do you know her name?” I asked.
“She wouldn’t tell anyone. That’s why they locked her up.”
“How strange,” I murmured. “What did she look like?”
Tree looked at me blankly. “She looked like a lady. Could I have some more cheese? It is…” He paused, searching for a word to describe his meal. I nodded and Hannah began to refill his plate. While he ate, Martha, Will, and I withdrew to the parlor.
“Who could it be?” Martha asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But it might not be related to Cooper’s murder. It could be one of my clients, or a friend’s maidservant.” Martha looked disappointed.
“I suppose you’ll want company on a visit to the Castle?” asked Will.
“That would be lovely, thank you,” I said with a smile. “Have some food before we go. We’ll walk back with Tree.”
Chapter 21
Tree chattered incessantly during the walk to the Castle, asking the most impertinent questions about life in my house. Did I really have servants to empty the chamber pots? What good did wearing such rich clothes do me? Did my children mind having to go to church? What happened to my children? Why, with so much food in the house, were we not fat? Was Will my husband? My son? My suitor? Why did he wear such uncomfortable clothes? Will and I did our best to answer and educate him, but it soon became clear that for Tree, the joy lay more in devising the queries than waiting for an explanation. After a few minutes, I realized that in this he reminded me of no one so much as Birdy. To my surprise, this discovery drew me not deeper into melancholy; rather, it lifted my heart, especially as I watched him gambol through the streets, finding wonder and adventure in a world that I had come to take for granted. As we approached the Castle gate, I started to produce my letter with the Lord Mayor’s seal, but when the guards saw Tree, they opened the gate for us as if we followed the Lord Mayor himself rather than a skinny child.