The Witch Hunter's Tale(31)

In truth I was not angry with Will, for I knew he was right: He could not have dissuaded George from his offer. Like so many men who found success in business, once George settled on a course, there would be no changing his mind regardless of what contras presented themselves; challenges were to be overcome, not yielded to. Finally I released Will from my gaze and turned to Martha.

“Mr. Breary asked me to marry him,” I said.

“What?” Martha cried, her face the very picture of alarm and astonishment. “You didn’t … What did you say?”

“He wouldn’t have an answer,” I replied. “He wanted me to reflect on it until tomorrow.”

A look of uncertainty crossed Martha’s face. She had an opinion on the matter—and I had a good sense of what it was—but did not want to overstep her bounds. Though it undoubtedly took a heroic effort for her to hold her tongue, she managed admirably.

“He said he could better protect us from Joseph and Rebecca,” I said. “And I suppose he might be right.”

Of course I had no intention of marrying George, but I had said I would consider the matter. Martha stared at me with ill-disguised surprise, but before she could speak her mind, a knock came at the door.

“Who is out on a night such as this?” Hannah asked as she carried a tray of steaming chocolate into the parlor. “Are you expecting a mother’s call, my lady?”

“I’ll see who it is,” Martha said, and slipped out of the parlor.

She returned a moment later, a look of concern on her face. “There’s a lad here who says he’s Mr. Breary’s footman,” she said. “He has brought Mr. Breary’s cloak.”

Will and I hurried to the door, and found a young man waiting. He held a heavy wool cloak in his arms and looked at us expectantly.

“Why have you brought Mr. Breary’s cloak?” I demanded. “Did someone tell you he was here?”

“After you left, my lady, he dashed after you,” the lad replied. “I called to him, and said it was too cold, but he would not stop. I thought he must be following you, so I came here.” Martha, Will, and I exchanged worried glances. I think we all remembered the cry we’d heard as we neared St. Michael’s.

“Is he not here?” George’s servant asked at last.

“Get lanterns,” I said to Martha. “One for each of us. We must search for him.”

* * *

We hurried up Stonegate to St. Michael le Belfrey where we’d heard the cry. I prayed that the sound had indeed been the wind, and that George had ducked into an alehouse to escape the cold. It would have been the sensible thing to do, and (except for his marriage proposal) George was nothing if not sensible. I could only hope that his desire for my hand had not driven him to some new idiocy. Within a few minutes we arrived at a point where four narrow streets came into Petergate. We stopped and peered into the darkness each street offered. Miraculously, the wind hadn’t blown out any of the lanterns, and we huddled together as we considered our options.

“It could have come from any one of these streets,” Will said.

“Let’s search in pairs,” I said. I knew Will had a sword hidden in his cane, and I took some comfort from that, but it appeared that George’s servant was unarmed. “Will and Martha, you start there.” I indicated the nearest street. “The lad and I will look in the next one over. Don’t go too far in. We’ll meet back here. And if you hear anything, cry out.” I was not sure we would hear anything in the wind, but we had no other recourse.

Will and Martha nodded then disappeared into the darkness. The servant followed me into the second alley, and we held our lanterns high in an effort to dispel the shadows. The close-built houses crowded us from the sides and the eaves loomed above. George’s servant seemed a timid creature, and he began to fall behind. At that moment I realized that despite my frequent visits to George’s house, I’d never seen the boy before and had no idea if he truly was George’s man. Was it possible that I’d fallen into some sort of trap?

I whirled to face the lad and found him just a few yards behind, lantern held high, his hands otherwise empty. In the guttering light I could not read his face.

“You should take the lead,” I said. I would rather have a clear path back to Petergate if I needed to escape.

As he passed me, me we heard a voice cry out three times—there could be no mistaking this for the wind. I raced back to Petergate. I could hear George’s servant behind me as I tore down the street toward Will and Martha. I found them crouched over something—or someone. When I arrived, my fear was made real.