For her part, Elizabeth wondered why Will no longer lived with us, but soon she was overcome by the prospect of moving. I told her about my own youth in the country, and all she could expect. It seemed a grand adventure to her, and for that I gave thanks.
The end of the month loomed before us, and while I did not know what the Lord Mayor would do if we ignored his order, I did not want to find out. The day before we were to leave, a knock at the door echoed through the halls of my now-empty house. As with every other knock, I said a prayer that it was Will, come home at last. And, as on every other occasion, the Lord denied my petition. This time it was Stephen Daniels and Helen Wright.
“I’d ask you to join me in the parlor, but the only furniture left are the beds and the dining hall chairs,” I said.
Helen looked around my home and shook her head in amazement. “When I heard the news, I could hardly credit it. But you really are leaving.”
“With all that has happened, it seemed best not to test the Lord Mayor’s patience,” I replied.
“I suppose not,” she said. “So you will leave York to enjoy the country life? It hardly seems to suit you.”
“I will be rejoining family and friends from my youth, so it will be like a homecoming,” I said. My words sounded hollow, and I knew that the emptiness of the room was not entirely to blame. Each night I prayed that the Lord Mayor would offer a reprieve—or, in my less charitable moments, that God would call the Lord Mayor to His bosom—but I did not think I would be so fortunate.
“When will you return?” she asked.
“Upon the Lord Mayor’s death,” I replied. “And how long could that be?”
“He is an ancient man with a young and lusty wife,” Helen replied. “Perhaps she will jumble him into his grave.”
“There are worse ways to die,” Stephen commented with a wry smile.
“I wonder if I could ask a favor of you,” Helen said. “It could serve us both.”
I nodded.
“Take Stephen with you,” she said. “He will help keep you safe during your journey.”
I looked at Helen in confusion. If I was right that he meant more to her than an ordinary servant, why was she doing this? Before I could pose the question, Helen answered.
“He cannot stay in York, either. The deaths at Ouse Bridge gaol turned more than a few men against him, and many are bitter at his release from the Castle. The law is a fickle thing, and who is to say that it won’t turn against him? I should very much hate to see him hanged.”
“You will send him away from you?” Martha asked. I had not heard her enter the room.
Tears appeared at the corners of Helen’s eyes. “My business, my home, everything I have is here. And I do not have estates to which we can flee.” She smiled to show that she did not begrudge me my wealth.
“And it is not forever,” she continued. “Just until memories have faded. The men who died were young and without families. Thousands like them have died in the wars, and we pay them no mind. The city will forget soon enough.”
I considered Helen’s offer. I had hired a soldier to drive the carriage south, but I would rather have Stephen. I did not know what he would do once we reached Hereford—he seemed ill suited for a country life—but that was a question for another day.
“We would welcome his company,” I replied, and with that our party was complete.
* * *
When the time came for us to depart, Samuel and Tree came into town to see us off. I had suggested—and Elizabeth had begged—that Tree accompany us, but neither he nor Samuel would consider it.
“I’m well enough here,” Tree had said. “And without me, Samuel would have nobody at all.”
I could not argue with that.
And so, with an aching heart, I climbed into the carriage. Elizabeth, who had insisted on riding outside with Stephen Daniels, shouted to the horses, and we began the long journey from York to Hereford. I did not bother to fight the tears that ran down my cheeks as we left the city behind. I cried for the mothers who would suffer without my aid. I cried for Martha and for Will. And I cried because I loved the city, and I did not know if I would ever return.