saying where the boy had
gone, only that he was not expected back for several hours - had
come as a blow to Hannah. Toby was a bright lad, sometimes too
quick with his lip, but dependable and honest enough, if you didn't
count poaching the odd rabbit or two, which nobody in their right
mind would. Billy Dodds, usually all but inseparable from Toby, was
the obvious substitute, the only real alternative, Hannah knew, and
she hoped the lad was even half as bright as his friend. 'You do it
just after they lower the coffin, you understand?' she
repeated.
Billy nodded.
'Yeah, I hand the bag over and give him the note and tell him I'll
be outside the inn an hour later. That's it, isn't it?'
'Yes, that's
exactly it,' James said reassuringly. 'Everything else is in the
note, so all you have to do is deliver it and then get away and
come back here to the cottage. I'll be watching, and so will most
of the village, so you won't be in any danger.'
'I just don't
much like the look of the fellow,' Billy muttered. 'Looks like he's
already dead, if'n you ask me.'
'And acts like
he should be,' Hannah agreed, 'so you just make sure you get your
tail out of there as soon as you've delivered bag, note and
message.'
'And I get a
half-crown for this?' Billy asked suspiciously.
Hannah and
James nodded in unison as she delved into the folds of her skirt
and pulled out a coin. 'And this is a shilling of it,' she said,
pressing it into Billy's grubby palm. 'Mind you,' she added
fiercely, 'you let us down and I'll not only have it back off you,
I'll have the skin off your back and maybe something else to boot.
You understand me?' One look at the expression on Billy's face was
enough to answer her question.
Crawley's new
recruits had finally seemed to lose interest in her, if only
temporarily, but in truth Harriet realised she had passed beyond
caring any more. Her body ached in every joint and muscle, but even
those pains had subsided to a dull numbness that mimicked that of
her brain, and although she felt exhausted in every way, she knew
also that sleep would not come now, nor would she dare surrender to
it even if it did.
Her mouth felt
dry and sour, her tongue stiff and sore from the constant assault
of the metal prong, and she wondered if any of them would bother to
think about giving her water. Probably not if Crawley intended to
hang her. Dully, she looked up, craning her neck towards the narrow
slit of glass... it was still daylight outside, she saw, but the
combination of dirt and weeds growing up against the side of the
building made it impossible to even guess at how far the day had
advanced, or even whether it was sunny.
Sunset. One of
the men - or had it been Crawley himself? - had said they would be
hanging her at sunset, but somehow the prospect had failed to
penetrate her general horror. Now she began to consider this, and
as she did so, tears formed in her eyes, tears that were not for
herself but for Oliver, her father. If they killed her, who would
care for him? Who would tend the farm? Thomas Handiwell was a good
and kind man, but she doubted his interest would continue beyond
her death, for his only duty to her father would have come through
her if she had agreed to his proposal of marriage.
Thomas. Jane.
Jane Handiwell. Was it really possible that Jane was...? But of
course it was, for had not the girl told Harriet so herself? Yet
she still found it hard to believe it even though she knew Jane
hated her personally and saw her as a threat to her inheritance of
the inn. But hate, suspicion, jealousy, all those were
understandable even if they were not Christian, whereas robbery and
kidnapping, and on such a scale... Jane Handiwell, Ellen Grayling,
Mary Watling and especially Kate Dawson, who outwardly appeared to
be such a mousy and characterless individual... it seemed to
Harriet that the entire world must have gone mad.
Crawley was
certainly mad, she knew, though mad in a cold and zealous way
carrying with it a power
gone, only that he was not expected back for several hours - had
come as a blow to Hannah. Toby was a bright lad, sometimes too
quick with his lip, but dependable and honest enough, if you didn't
count poaching the odd rabbit or two, which nobody in their right
mind would. Billy Dodds, usually all but inseparable from Toby, was
the obvious substitute, the only real alternative, Hannah knew, and
she hoped the lad was even half as bright as his friend. 'You do it
just after they lower the coffin, you understand?' she
repeated.
Billy nodded.
'Yeah, I hand the bag over and give him the note and tell him I'll
be outside the inn an hour later. That's it, isn't it?'
'Yes, that's
exactly it,' James said reassuringly. 'Everything else is in the
note, so all you have to do is deliver it and then get away and
come back here to the cottage. I'll be watching, and so will most
of the village, so you won't be in any danger.'
'I just don't
much like the look of the fellow,' Billy muttered. 'Looks like he's
already dead, if'n you ask me.'
'And acts like
he should be,' Hannah agreed, 'so you just make sure you get your
tail out of there as soon as you've delivered bag, note and
message.'
'And I get a
half-crown for this?' Billy asked suspiciously.
Hannah and
James nodded in unison as she delved into the folds of her skirt
and pulled out a coin. 'And this is a shilling of it,' she said,
pressing it into Billy's grubby palm. 'Mind you,' she added
fiercely, 'you let us down and I'll not only have it back off you,
I'll have the skin off your back and maybe something else to boot.
You understand me?' One look at the expression on Billy's face was
enough to answer her question.
Crawley's new
recruits had finally seemed to lose interest in her, if only
temporarily, but in truth Harriet realised she had passed beyond
caring any more. Her body ached in every joint and muscle, but even
those pains had subsided to a dull numbness that mimicked that of
her brain, and although she felt exhausted in every way, she knew
also that sleep would not come now, nor would she dare surrender to
it even if it did.
Her mouth felt
dry and sour, her tongue stiff and sore from the constant assault
of the metal prong, and she wondered if any of them would bother to
think about giving her water. Probably not if Crawley intended to
hang her. Dully, she looked up, craning her neck towards the narrow
slit of glass... it was still daylight outside, she saw, but the
combination of dirt and weeds growing up against the side of the
building made it impossible to even guess at how far the day had
advanced, or even whether it was sunny.
Sunset. One of
the men - or had it been Crawley himself? - had said they would be
hanging her at sunset, but somehow the prospect had failed to
penetrate her general horror. Now she began to consider this, and
as she did so, tears formed in her eyes, tears that were not for
herself but for Oliver, her father. If they killed her, who would
care for him? Who would tend the farm? Thomas Handiwell was a good
and kind man, but she doubted his interest would continue beyond
her death, for his only duty to her father would have come through
her if she had agreed to his proposal of marriage.
Thomas. Jane.
Jane Handiwell. Was it really possible that Jane was...? But of
course it was, for had not the girl told Harriet so herself? Yet
she still found it hard to believe it even though she knew Jane
hated her personally and saw her as a threat to her inheritance of
the inn. But hate, suspicion, jealousy, all those were
understandable even if they were not Christian, whereas robbery and
kidnapping, and on such a scale... Jane Handiwell, Ellen Grayling,
Mary Watling and especially Kate Dawson, who outwardly appeared to
be such a mousy and characterless individual... it seemed to
Harriet that the entire world must have gone mad.
Crawley was
certainly mad, she knew, though mad in a cold and zealous way
carrying with it a power
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