Worse was to follow when they reached the cousin's farm. The dogs were called off quick enough, although Sam got a bitten hand, but the woman who had control of them was as suspicious as anybody could have been. Eaton's name was acknowledged only grudgingly, their claim to be officers of the King was greeted with a sort of grumpy hauteur, and she suggested anyone could have picked up a pair of Navy coats in any gutter. What's more, she said, news was abroad of two criminals who'd escaped, and probably there would be rewards. Sam, who had retained an extraordinary good humour throughout all this, smiled very broad and then produced his purse. Things began to change.
Even when the husband returned, however, negotiations dragged slowly. This man, less miserable than his wife but just as mercenary, could sympathise with their problem, so he said, if they would sympathise with his. He could see his way to hiring out two horses, but how would he ever get them back? If they rode to London then clearly he would lose the beasts for ever (he spoke of London as of some hell of vile and foreign dreadfulness), and if they went to Chatham and from thence picked up the stage, what then? He would have to trust them to leave them at an inn, he would have to trust the innkeeper not to sell them on but hack them back, and if the two gentlemen (said with remarkable disdain) were apprehended when they reached the town or on the road before, would he not be held responsible for aiding and abetting? Thus it was that they became the owners of two broken-winded nags, with blankets but no saddles, at a price a gipsy would have blushed to ask. A knockdown price, he told them earnestly, because they had been recommended by his kin. Nobody else would have had them for that money... They left in full dark, on a dire, moonless night with enough rain, at least, to wash their outer garments, and their progress was desperately slow. The wife had sold them supper the night before, and sold them bread and cold bacon and some beer for their sustenance, but by the time they saw the dawn they both felt starving. They figured out they were well to the west of Chatham, but they were still avoiding all but the smallest roads, so they could not be sure. After discussions they decided they might breakfast at an inn, but as they approached one, two men in army coats hove into sight the other side of it, and turned into the yard. Probably coincidence, almost certainly they were not seeking them, but neither was keen to risk it. They found a shepherd's hut beside a stream, hobbled the horses, washed, and slept a bit. Later that morning, six miles further on, they bought a breakfast off a farmer's wife, then slept an hour more.
By now one horse was lame, but both of them were determined that they must press on. While they had slept, the wife had sent a lad to seek her man, and Sam awoke to find him examining the crippled horse. He was a big man, ill-favoured, but a different proposition than they feared. As Sam shook Will awake a smile transformed his hairy face, and he greeted them right heartily. They'd sounded out the woman, who had heard of nothing suspicious on the road, and nor had he, apparently. Navy men en route to join a ship, they said, and he asked no questions, save where did they get so poor a horse and would they like a trade for her?
"If she's so poor, why trade?" asked Sam. "She's lame and damn near worthless."
The farmer nodded happily.
"I have a worse," he said. "She's due for knackering, but she'll last a day or two, by which I mean she'll walk to London easy, for what she is ain't lame. Your horse will soon find its feet given a day or two of rest, then'll suit me champion for a light job I've got on. And me wife'll throw another meal into the bargain, this one free. What say you?"
"Have you got a razor?" Will asked. Food sounded good, but some luxuries were even pleas anter to contemplate. The farmer, who was bearded, stroked his chin.
"Oh aye," he said, "I do. I have the steel, but not the application and I like my nose. We have a bit of soap though, and hot water, an' you want it?"
The deal was struck.
For logic's sake, and the sake of duty, both Will and Sam knew fine well what they should have done. With two horses that could achieve a reasonable pace, and no longer afraid to use the high road out of Kent, they should have struck out for the south Thames bank as near to London as the nags would take them without collapsing, then hired water men to pull them up to town. Biter, most probably, would be moored by the receiving hulk, and they could lay along her and present themselves as fit for work or punishment, as Kaye should deem appropriate. Neither of them could frankly contemplate such action.
"Sam," said Will, as they jogged along the muddy road near nightfall, 'if I said Dr. Marigold's what would you say?"
He knew Sam now, and they were friends. It fell into Will that he had never been so comfortable with one his own age. He trusted him to laugh, to mock at the suggestion; but he trusted him.
Sam mocked.
"Deborah!" he said. "My God, Will, one sight of that maid's quim and you were lost for ever! How will it sound at the court martial, do you think? 'I realised on the London road I had to get a look of it. I knew my good commander would fully understand.' It seems not fair I have to hang as well, just for friendship's sake!"
"There is Annette," said William. "You've paid more for the horses than I have, so I could treat you."
The rain had stopped but the road was like a bog. The heavy traffic of earlier had died away so the going was easier, but both men were exhausted. Light-headedness brought its own rewards.
"Aye, true," said Sam. "That is a fine prospect. You've not seen Annette yet, have you? Not "had the pleasure", so to speak. She is not plump and gorgeous like your one, more a whippet, muscle and lean flesh. Like this poor old horse was, maybe ten year ago: a very splendid, brisk, and noble ride! A treat indeed Annette would be. But talking of them will these old nags make it that far?"
"We could take a boat still," Will responded. "Abandon them at the ferry steps, or sell them, trade them for the passage, maybe. And I doubt we'll hang, Sam. Only Shockhead knows where we got to, and that was days ago. Or was it yesterday? And when will Shockhead bother to return?"
"Another one mad for the doxies," laughed Sam Holt. "Well, it is shame on us, for sure!"
Will did not argue, but for him it was not shame. It had wrenched his heart to leave her, and his heart was craving, now they were on the road to London, to take up with her where they had left it off. Her face was plain before his eyes, and her black eye was faded to pale brown, which meant, she'd said, she'd soon be put to whoredom if she weren't lucky; but even that was not what hurt him, it was just her absence. He had tried to sort it out in the days and nights since he had seen her, whether it was her beauty he was mad for or something else he did not understand, but it was questions still, not answers. All he knew with certainty was that he had to go to Marigold's and not the Biter, and that was all about it.
"On the other hand," he said, 'if we take a boat and see the Biter, might we not tend to stop? Out of sight is out of mind they say, but pulling past her when we ought to be on board ... Just possible someone might even see us."
Sam snorted.
"If you believe in miracles," he said. "There's a better reason for not using the water men though. The tide's against us, isn't it? It will be running hard out for hours yet, as I compute it, which will add to the expense. We've got the horses, they are paid for, so why not ride 'em? Although a hull beneath would ease my aching arse bones to be sure. I've rowed against the Thames ebb in my time, for longer hours than I've sat this blasted horse, but my bum's never been in half the state it's in today!"