Chapter 13
After locking the front door behind myself I took the short path to the street, narrowly avoiding the low-hanging branch in the front garden. It was truly dark now, and the fog was thicker than ever. I realised I should have brought a lantern with me, but fortunately the occasional streetlight cast a dull gleam through the fog, and it was enough to find my way.
Soon after, I was wishing for not only a lantern but also a pistol. I'd noticed three shapeless figures dogging my footsteps, keeping to the shadows to avoid being seen, and generally acting like a group of thieves about to set upon my person. It didn't help that I carried little in the way of valuables or money, because they would likely be so upset at the lack of loot as to cut my throat without a second thought. A florin or two in my pocketbook wouldn't save me, and I shuddered as I pictured my lifeless body tumbling into the Thames, to be found the next day by a scavenger or a boatman. If anything, I was more scared in that moment than I had been at Lady Snetton's house, when I'd been standing still and waiting for the spirit to attack me.
I was tempted to stop, to see whether the men continued past me, but if they were bent on mischief that would only bring matters to a head even sooner. Instead, I increased my pace, despite the darkness, and so it was that I happened to slip on a patch of mud and end up flat on my back in the road. Winded, I drew in lungfuls of breath and stared helplessly at the yellow fog swirling overhead. Then three faces appeared, looking down at me. They were rough sorts with whiskers and soot-streaked cheeks, and I braced myself for the attack.
"'Ere, mister. Give us your 'and."
Dazed, it took me a moment to process the request, and then, cautiously, I extended one hand towards the newcomers. One of them took my wrist in a firm grip and hauled me to my feet, while the others brushed me down vigorously with their bare hands, removing the worst of the mud.
"You want ter be careful out 'ere, mate. Pitch dark an' 'orse shit everywhere."
The others nodded in agreement, and I gazed at them in surprise. Far from attacking me, they seemed eager to help. Even so, a small part of me still feared a confrontation, and I decided to be as generous as I could. "Thank you all, kind sirs," I said, reaching for my pocketbook. "Would you please accept a small token of my gratitude?"
"Nah, that's orl right, mister. You walk more carefully, you 'ear?"
The men melted away before my fingers located my wallet, and as I fished inside my empty coat I realised why. During the vigorous brushing-down, they'd relieved me of it with expert precision. I examined the area where I'd fallen, just in case, but was not surprised to find sign of neither wallet nor money.
I checked my other pockets and discovered the pages from the journal and the note inviting me to the tavern had disappeared also. In the darkness the men probably mistook them for five pound notes, and on that troubling thought I left the area in some haste. For, when the footpads discovered they held worthless paper instead of a fortune in currency, they might return with a lot less of their good-natured cheer.
As I approached the high street I passed an alleyway, and here I saw a sheet of paper flapping gently in the wind. It had been discarded, and was now half-glued to the damp, muddy road. I took it up, and in the dull gleam from a nearby streetlamp I discovered it was a single page from the journal. I cast around further, and soon located the somewhat crumpled note from the mysterious stranger.
Of the other pages, and the robbers, there was no sign at all.
Having folded the tattered pages, I tucked them away and crossed the high street, avoiding a lumbering horse and cart. There were many more pedestrians here, and I relaxed a little as I sought the tavern. It was not hard to find, despite the fog, as the rowdy patrons were singing a bawdy song which carried the length of the main road. As I got closer I saw light spilling from the crowded interior, with a dozen or more drunkards lying in the street outside. There were urchins with filthy faces amongst them, one of whom ran up as I approached.
"Spare a few coppers for a tot, sir? It's a cold night, it is."
"I'm sorry, but I've just been robbed," I said gently.
"Stingy bleedin' toff," muttered the boy, and he ran back to join the others. He made a comment, gesturing in my direction, and the rest jeered at me with their high-pitched voices.
I entered the tavern, where I was met by a blast of warm air and noise from the crowd. The place was packed, and there was barely room to move. Somehow, serving girls managed to push their way through the patrons with trays full of tankards, and when one of them passed me on her way to the bar at the rear of the establishment, I followed in her wake.
On the way I kept an eye out for the stranger I was supposed to meet. Most in the tavern were clearly workers of one sort or another, and I must have stood out like a gold buckle on a cart horse in my relatively fancy attire. I attracted some attention, along with the occasional comment, but luckily most were deep in conversation and ignored me. I was hoping to find someone dressed in a similar fashion, so that I might introduce myself, but when I reached the bar and turned back to the entrance, I found I
