Richard stopped and stared momentarily at the great curls of mist blustering over the turbulent sea, wafting in a pervading stench of salt and rotten fish. Tumultuous, antagonised waves dragged their claws down the shingle beach before rising high and spitting their stony content at the shore, clambering and scratching ever nearer to the beachfront houses. Richard had prayed on numerous occasions that the day would come when an official inquest into the ownership of the Priory Ground would be irrelevant because the sea had finally claimed back what had once belonged to it. But that day had not yet arrived.
He slowed his pace when at last the Priory Bridge came into view. Darkness had almost settled and the light was fading fast. The waxing moon, just two days away from its ripe fullness, had wholly failed to penetrate the dense choking black clouds that had rolled in from across the channel.
Crossing the stone bridge and entering the Priory Ground, Richard tugged down his clerical hat, shielding his face. He walked slowly as the first houses drew closer. A fat droplet of water struck his hat, followed quickly by another then another. He looked above him: the melancholy clouds could hold their load no longer and the rain began to fall around him. Richard tucked the shawl inside his coat and continued his journey, taking just a cursory glance at the spot from which he had fallen from his horse, having first been showered in her effluence. He ground his back teeth in recollection, as the Black Horse appeared before him, still encased in its wooden shutters.
Richard sunk into the shadowed awning of the blacksmith’s workshop opposite, from which hiding place he watched and waited.
He had worried about being recognised, but there was little chance of that; the paths and alleys were tonight abandoned and when, on the odd occasion, someone passed him, their journey was in such haste that his presence was ignored.
The rain increased its ferocity, descending in long vertical sheets that whipped and changed direction according to the whim of the brawling clouds above. The cold was beginning to seep beneath Richard’s clothing and sting his skin; he hoped that he wouldn’t have to wait much longer.
A short while later, his patience was rewarded. Squinting through the hazy mix of rain and mist, Richard saw the street door to the Lovekin house open. Joseph, quickly followed by Eliza, darted out along the short path to the gin palace. Moments later, the oil lamps inside were lit, radiating like beacons against the gloom. Richard smiled. It was almost time. He just needed to be patient a little longer.
He watched as four fishermen bundled into the gin palace—enough to keep the two proprietors occupied for a while. He moved out from under the awning and, keeping his hat tilted down over his face, Richard passed the large illuminated windows of the Black Horse. Taking a chance look inside, he just caught sight of Joseph and Eliza serving drinks from behind the bar.
He continued to the Lovekin house and stopped beside the parlour window. Through the shutter slats, he could just make out the three girls: the younger two were playing with a wooden toy in front of the fire and Harriet, sitting in an armchair, was engrossed in some sewing.
Richard tapped lightly on the shutters, startling all three girls and sending Harriet to her feet. ‘Harriet—it’s me, Richard,’ he called.
Following a rattling of the door bolts, Harriet cracked the door open with a frightened look on her face. He watched as recognition replaced the fear in her eyes with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.
He smiled. ‘Hello, Harriet.’
‘What ever do you be doing here on a night like this?’ Harriet asked. ‘Have you come to arrest me?’
Richard laughed. ‘After what you did for me? You saved my life, Harriet. I just wanted to return this to you,’ he answered, handing over the shawl.
Harriet took the clothing, surprise evident on her face. ‘You be a-coming all this way in this’ – she indicated heavenwards – ‘just to be giving me back my shawl?’
Richard nodded, raised his hat and said, ‘And I will now bid you a good night.’ He smiled and began to head back in the direction from which he had come.
‘Wait!’ Harriet called.
Richard smiled briefly then turned. ‘Yes?’
‘Won’t you be a-coming in—dry yourself for a moment in front of the fire? I can be putting on a drink for you,’ she called.
Richard shook his head. ‘No need, honestly.’
‘Please, Richard,’ Harriet pleaded.
Taking small steps back towards the house, Richard beamed. ‘Very well—just for a short while.’
Harriet stepped to one side and let him in.
‘Good evening, girls,’ Richard greeted.
Keziah and Ann stared bleakly at the stranger.
‘Who do you be?’ Keziah challenged.
‘He be a friend of mine who’s beazled out from all this nasty weather, so you two need to be a-going to your beds.’
Keziah shot a curious look at him, but silently obeyed and herded her younger sister towards the stairs.
Harriet moved closer to Richard. ‘Let me be putting your coat by the fire,’ she offered, gently touching him on the shoulder.
Richard removed his coat and handed it over, noticing that the same sparkle in her eyes, the glint that he had first witnessed after his accident, was there again. She carried
