Sometimes they talked, sometimes they rode in the silence of companionship, once they stopped at an inn and took some beer and bread and cheese. As they approached the outlying villages the roads grew busier again, and in places they wished they had not lost their weapons to the law, although they did in truth appear too dusty and unkempt to be prime targets for the robbing bands. By the time they reached London itself the pace had grown funereal, both horses limping and in urgent need of rest. They entered the road of Dr. Marigold's with great relief, but did not try to urge the horses on. When they dismounted stiffly in the yard, both beasts dropped heads immediately, one almost staggering as it balanced on three hoofs. An ostler sauntered up to them.
"Christ, sirs! Come far, have we? Them nags is bollocksed, beg your pardon!"
He had taken them for some sort of scruffs and neither of them, for the moment, cared. They wanted beer, hot water, food. And, for Will Bentley, Deb.
"Look after them," said Samuel, roughly. "Treat 'em like the King's own, they've done very well. Old Marge is in, is she? My friend here needs her, quick."
The way he spoke, the cut of his blue coat maybe, asserting through the highway filth of miles, made the ostler more aware of what they were, or might be. He stooped to pick up reins.
"Aye, she's in the usual place, I think. She may go armed though, isn't it, after last night's shenanigans. Go easy, sirs, is my advice."
His expression was expectant, his gay speech a question, scarcely veiled. From their blankness, he knew they did not know.
"Why, you have been away a pace!" he said. "Oh, such excitements as we've had, sirs! Indeed, some people think we all should carry guns, only Marigold won't pay, will he?"
Will had an odd sensation, of creeping flesh, of weird anticipation, though God alone knew why. Sam similarly, it would seem. Without a hint of warning he shot out his hand to seize the ostler's tunic, just beneath his adam's apple. Suddenly his face was pressed up to the man's, his expression intense.
"What excitements?" he demanded, low but sharply. "What's happened here? Tell quick."
The man pulled back, frightened, and Sam let him go.
"Pardon," he said. "There was an armed band, sirs, last night. There was shooting, and they took a maid. One of Mrs. Putnam's, he said he owned her, he said she'd run away. The leader of the villains, sirs, there was seven of them, our men were overwhelmed."
The cold in William's gut was horrible. No point in asking who it was, he knew. Sam, much more experienced, who knew such things were not uncommon where men used maids as earning things and would fight to save their property, thought he also knew, but asked.
"Deb? Was it the dark one, Deborah?"
The ostler nodded.
"And was she hurt?" said Will. "Was anybody shot?"
"Aye, sir," said the ostler, almost frightened by the intensity of the question. "One maid has died. Not that one, though, not the buxom one, she was just took away. A poor maid that was her friend and lost her teeth. She tried to stop it, sir, and she got bulleted in the face. Some might say "
"Oh God," said Will. "Oh God, oh God, Sam."
"Marge thought it were relief," the ostler mumbled. "But if you knew her, like ..."
"Come on, Will," said Sam, taking his elbow, gripping firm. "We'd best go in and talk to Margery."
Nineteen
Mrs. Putnam, that most jovial of women, no longer had a smile upon her face. They found her in her corridor at her table, from a distance looking as if nothing had changed. But when she saw tall Sam she rose, and when she recognised his companion she raised her arms then dropped them to her sides, a hopeless gesture.
"Mr. Sam," she said. "And Mr. Silence. Now here's a pretty turn-up for the books."
Will stood in front of her, but saw no comfort in her face. He tried to speak but had nothing to say.
"She is all right," she said. She put a hand towards him. "Not Cec, poor thing, but your one, Deborah. It was she they came for, but they wanted she alive. She will be back again, she might, you never know."
"What?" said Sam, Will staying wordless. "Margery, what can you mean? Why will she come back, is not she kidnapped by the little rogue?"
"What, do you know him?" Her face cleared slightly. "Why then, there must be hope! I only meant she's run away before, and could again." To Will she said, as if explaining, "When maids run off to London to earn a crust they don't go home again, do they? She'll turn up in some vile house or other when this man's sick of her or she gets free, and Marigold has spies aplenty, he'll find her out. Dr. Marigold thinks highly of Deb, as I've told you. You did not believe me though, I guess."
Some vile house, thought Will, horrified. Then thought, no, it's not so bad as that, because it must be Dennett who had got her.
"He'll have taken her back to that villain's near Sir A's!" he said to Sam excitedly. "Mistress, when did this occur? A small, ill-favoured man with dirty hair? No wig, pockmarks? Sam, it is Dennett for a thousand pound!"
"It was five or six of them or more," said Margery. "In cloaks and hats and such. The one who got her was exceeding small I think. I did not see to notice. Poor Cecily, you see. A ball "
Sam cut across her.
"But it means he wants her teeth!" he said to Will. "Else why come for her and risk Marigold's heavy boys? Christ, Will, that woman's teeth must not have took, and Deb was second string! Dennett's done like Margery says they do, he's combed the houses till he got wind of her. She'll be back in Surrey long...
He broke off. Will's face was sick. Sam continued carefully.
"If it was last night, Will, she's likely been at the magistrate's some good long time, all afternoon at least. Of course, there's no saying he'll have done the operation. There's no saying they could hold her down to even try. She's a good strong fighting girl."
"She's a devil for the running, too," Margery put in. "Whatever," she said, abruptly and direct to Will. "She's only a poor whore, ain't she? What matter if she an't got teeth, so long as she can eat? Some men like whores to have no teeth, some toothless maids find better ways to earn their bread than whoring. She is a good tough girl, I liked her and it's a crying shame. Poor Cecily is dead though, and that's far worse."
Will was distracted, he could not take it in. His bones ached, and his heart and head, he was exhausted, he was thirsty. Mistress Putnam, having said her piece, stood four-square in the passageway, uncompromising.
"Well," said Sam Holt, mildly, 'it is a crying shame, Margery, that is a fact. What o'clock is it, dost think? Midnight or later? We have had a long and bitter ride. Is there a bed that we can purchase for the night?"
"A bed?" said Will, bemused.
"With or without a trollop in it?" laughed Margery. "Annette is busy for the moment, but she'll likely strike a deal. What, both of you at once, for all the night? It is a narrow bed as you well know, Captain Sam!"
"Now stop!" said Will. "Sam, what are you saying? Stop."
There was real concern on Margery's plump face, but only for the state she saw him in. She reached out to touch him, but he almost flinched. Sam made a noise of sympathy.
"It seems a better way than going back on board, that's all," he said. "What if Slack Dickie wants a fight? I'd rather face that in the morning, wouldn't you?"
"What morning? When?" Will shook his head. "Sam, we have to ride to Surrey, to Sir A's! If we are quick, who knows, we might save her! Good God, man, Dennett is a murderer this time, you do not think to leave her to her fate?"