Stalls and shops were beginning to close for the night as goods were removed from display and taken inside. Candles were lit in lamps and wall-sconces, and cressets hissed at their reflections in puddles underfoot. A few traders had already put up their boards and the streets were wearing a deserted air. Lights flared suddenly in windows, behind horned panes, and cobbles grew ever more treacherous as daylight waned. Twice I nearly slipped as my foot encountered some piece of slime which had missed the sewer in the middle of the street, and both times I just avoided falling. Common sense urged me to turn back towards the bridge, but once more, the thought of Lillis made me press stubbornly forward.
As I passed along Small Street, I saw the glow of light from Master Herepath's house, and the idea of Cicely Ford, snugly within, made me breathless. My heart beat faster at the remembrance of her gentle face and quiet, dignified way of talking. It was with difficulty that I overcame my inclination to linger, like some love-sick youth, in the forlorn hope of seeing what might be her shadow outlined against the lighted panes. I forced myself to walk on, around the comer, into Bell Lane. Candles were lit in all the houses but one, which stood shuttered and empty, and which I guessed to have been William Woodward's cottage; or, to be more exact, Edward Herepath's cottage, which he had not yet rented out again.
Glancing round to make sure that I was unobserved, I tried the latch; but although it lifted, the door would not yield. I noticed a keyhole and realized that it was securely locked, but what else had I expected if the house was unoccupied? And why, indeed, had I come looking for the cottage at all? Hadn't it simply been an excuse for walking down Small Street so that, just for a moment, I could feel close to Cicely Ford? I was suddenly filled with contempt for my callow behaviour and hastened on along the lane.
I was so absorbed in my self-disgust that I walked straight past the entrance to Broad Street and suddenly found myself beyond St John's on the Arch, in Tower Lane. As, with a muttered curse, I pulled up short, I became aware of the muffled shifting of hooves and the snuffling of horses, accompanied every now and then by a soft whinny of pleasure. Glancing to my left, I saw the open gates and courtyard of a livery stable. At the same moment a man appeared, carrying two pails which he dropped with a clatter on the cobbles. They were plainly both empty, and I judged him to have been feeding and watering his charges before locking them up safely for the night.
I gave him 'good-evening' and he grimaced.
'It's going to be a cold night, friend.' He sniffed. 'It's drying fast, and I smell frost in the air. We've seen the last of the rain for a day or two, I reckon. Can't say I'm sorry. The dampness doesn't suit me. But I don't like the cold, neither. I'm away home as soon as I've locked up here, and if you've any sense, you'll do the same. I live in Wine Street. Stay a moment and I'll walk along with you.'
I shook my bead. 'I missed my turning. I'm retracing my steps to Broad Street. I've lodgings in the Redcliffe Ward.'
‘I'll still come with you. It's not very much out of my way.'
So I waited while he locked and bolted the big gates from inside before emerging from a wicket, which he also locked, going back twice to make sure he had done so.
'You're very careful,' I remarked as we turned into Broad Street.
He dragged the hood of his cloak over his head. 'You need to be nowadays, so many thieves as there are about. I don't know what the country's coming to,' he continued in a grumbling voice. 'It wasn't like it when I was a lad.' It was on the tip of my tongue to suggest that his father had probably made just the same complaint, but I stopped myself in time. Why waste breath in argument with a stranger, and one, moreover, I should utterly fail to convince? For judging by the thinning of his lips and the sour lines of his face, he was a man obsessed by the little unfairnesses of life, embittered by its petty irritations.
'You've been robbed yourself?.' I asked instead, anticipating a reluctant denial. But I was wrong. As so often before, I had jumped to too hasty a conclusion.
'The stables were broken into one night last year and Master Herepath's bay was stolen.'
My attention quickened. 'Master Edward Herepath of Small Street?'
'Of course Master Edward!' The tone was short. 'That ne'er-do-well, Robert, never had the money to mount himself, and depended entirely for his horseflesh on his brother.'
'Was this theft before or after William Woodward's disappearance?'
My companion's head turned sharply towards me.
'Oho! You know about that, do you?' He shrugged. 'Well, and why not? 'Tis natural people still talk about it. A weird and terrible thing to have happened. And since you ask, there's no harm in telling you. Master Herepath's bay was stolen the very night that William Woodward disappeared.'
'The very same night?' I stopped dead in my tracks, although I was unaware of doing so until my new-found acquaintance twitched irritably at my cloak.
'Come along! Come along! It's almost dark and I don't fancy being abroad after dusk. Yes, yes! William Woodward and Edward Herepath's horse disappeared together.
A free, strong animal it was, too. Light bay with black points and a white snip between its nostrils.' I resumed walking like a man in a dream, trying to assimilate this new fact and what, if anything, it might mean; by which time we had arrived at the High Cross and the parting of the ways.
'I'll bid you good-night then,' my companion said, turning left into the lower half of Wine Street. 'And if you're wise, you won't loiter. The city's plagued with thieves and footpads during the hours of darkness.'
He had hurried away before I could question him further, but at least I knew where to find him. And I consoled myself with the knowledge that I should have got very little from him then, anxious as he was to seek the safety of his roof before any dangers of the night befell him. I stared at his retreating figure for a moment before turning my feet towards High Street and the bridge.
I was first conscious of danger when I was almost halfway across the bridge, approaching the chapel of the Virgin. To begin with it was no more than the rising of hairs on the nape of my neck. l stopped and peered backwards through the darkness, but there was nothing to be seen except the row of houses and shops on either side of me° Nevertheless, I freed my right arm from the folds of enveloping cloak and renewed a tight grip on my cudgel. At the same time, I realized how deserted the bridge was in comparison with the other streets of the city.
Here and there, a rushlight glimmered fitfully behind a window, but for the most part, the thrifty denizens of the bridge were saving their candles until later in the evening.
My friend from the livery stable had been correct, the weather was on the change; the dank mists of the past days were dispersing. A wind had arisen, tearing the pall of cloud to reveal, every now and then, a fugitive moon riding high in the heavens. In one of the gaps between houses, I caught a glimpse of the swift current of water, the reflection of a few lone stars caught in its ripples. The surrounding darkness was less dense than it had been, and shadows were more pronounced. Yet although I stood stock-still in the middle of the road, I could see nothing moving. With a shrug, I decided that my unease stemmed only from my imagination.
Foolishly, I had expected danger to come from behind: it had not occurred to me that any attackers might be lying in wait. I should, however, have thought of it, for there was no other route by which I could return to Redcliffe without going many miles out of my way. But it was only when I saw two bulky shadows fill the narrow gap between the chapel's outside wall and the house immediately facing it, that I realized my fears had been justified. It never crossed my mind that this pair of hired bravos could be intent on waylaying anyone but myself, and I was right. One of them raised a lantern to illuminate my face and immediately let out a yelp of triumph.