* * *
The problem, of course, was that we had no idea where to look for them. While Stephen Daniels was able to take some of Martha’s caudle and did not seem to be in any danger, neither did he wake long enough to tell us anything of use. Our best—and perhaps only—hope of finding Will and Tree lay with Helen Wright. Martha and I were preparing to depart when Hannah called to us from upstairs. I found her in Elizabeth’s chamber, which looked out over the street. Hannah stood at the window, peering toward Stonegate.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I noticed a man standing in that alley about an hour ago.”
I looked in the direction she indicated, but all I saw was an empty street.
“Just wait,” she said. “Every few minutes he’ll poke his head around the corner and look toward us. He’s not selling anything, not doing anything, just standing there watching.”
I waited for a time, and just as Hannah had promised a figure appeared around the corner before withdrawing into the alley. I could not be sure, but for a moment I thought it might be Mark Preston. I went in search of Martha.
“We’re being watched,” I said, and described the man in the alley. “If we leave, we’ll surely be followed.”
“And we cannot be seen going to Helen Wright’s,” Martha said. “Is there anyone watching the alley behind the house?”
“I don’t know, but we’d be foolish to assume that we can just leave by a different door.”
I considered the problem before us. When the solution came to me, a smile spread across my face.
“Dig through the closets and find two ragged coats,” I said. “The worse the better. Tear the seams if you must, but make sure we look like beggars. I’ll explain while we change.”
* * *
Martha and I slipped out the back door into the courtyard that lay between the house and the stable. The wall separating my yard from the neighbor’s stood about eight feet high, so together we rolled an empty barrel across the yard and Martha climbed on top. Without a moment’s hesitation, she scaled the wall and pulled me up after her. I heard fabric rip as I dropped into my neighbor George Chapman’s courtyard, but I paid it no mind for it only improved my disguise.
We walked to the back door and I began to pound on it with all my might. Within moments Chapman appeared, his face already bright red with apoplexy. He’d been my neighbor, and thorn in my side, since my arrival in York. Even the most charitable soul would describe him as God’s own ape; I lacked such charity and instead called him the most base-witted man in all of York. He peered through the window at us, trying to figure out how two beggar-women had gotten into his garden.
“Mr. Chapman, it is me, Lady Hodgson,” I called out. “Open the door!”
He squinted at my face, utterly confused by this turn of events.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Martha sighed. She reached out and tried the doorknob. To Chapman’s surprise and consternation, the door swung open, and Martha and I slipped past him into his kitchen. Chapman sputtered and spat but found no words appropriate to the situation. One of his maidservants, a pale, thin-faced girl, stared at us in astonishment.
“Good day, Betty,” Martha cried. “We must be going!”
With Chapman close behind and still choking on his rage, Martha and I passed through the house toward his front door. We paused for a moment to wrap ourselves in our scarfs and then stepped into the street. From the corner of my eye I saw a figure emerge from the alley and stare at us intently. I turned to Chapman, who now stood in the doorway, utterly fuddled by our sudden appearance and immanent departure.
“Thank you, sir,” I cried out. “The poor widows of St. Helen’s will be eternally grateful for your generosity!” Martha and I curtsied deeply and turned toward Stonegate. I affected a limp, dragging one leg behind me and Martha hunched over as if the entire world lay on her shoulders. Together we made an ancient and decrepit pair; at least that was our hope.
Martha and I passed the alleyway, not daring to look anywhere except straight ahead. When we reached Stonegate, we turned left and slipped into a grocery. Now we would find out if the spy had recognized us. We peered through the window toward my street and after a moment breathed a sigh of relief; nobody had followed us.
“Well done,” Martha said approvingly. “I wouldn’t have expected such sneakingness from a gentlewoman.”
“I have a fine teacher in such things,” I responded. “Now let us go to Helen Wright’s.”
The rest of the trip south was uneventful, at least until we reached Micklegate Bar. Even before the gate was in sight, we knew that something was amiss, as carts trying to leave the city were lined up for over fifty yards. We bypassed the carts and discovered the problem. Members of the Town Watch were searching every cart and questioning all the men as they tried to leave the city. Any doubt as to the reason disappeared when we saw a man and a young boy pulled down from their cart.