Chapter 9
Ezra held the horse’s reins as he waited for Jessica and Tej to reach them, with Rhys standing nearby.
The guarded look had gone from Rhys’s face, replaced by something akin to anticipation as Jessica neared, while Ezra’s roguish smile continued to play about his mouth.
Both he and Rhys seemed to watch her with expectation, and a glance beside her confirmed that Tej wore a similar expression.
They wanted something from her, but she wasn’t certain what it was.
Whether or not she could give it to them, she didn’t know.
“Where’s the nearest coaching inn?” she asked.
“There’s the Doe and Dove,” Ezra answered. “A shade under five miles from here. Mail coaches travel through every few hours on their way to and from London.”
The sun was some time from setting, or so she judged, though she’d little experience determining sunrise and sunset outside of London’s familiar rhythms, where the smoky sky was barely visible above the buildings, and dim thoroughfares were illuminated by scattered lanterns and passing linkboys bearing torches to light the path for pedestrians and sedan chairs.
“You’ve four hours until the sun goes down,” Rhys said.
She ought to know that these men had an uncanny way with interpreting her thoughts.
They seemed to study her expressions and pauses the way scholars studied texts.
If they read her heart now, what would they learn?
Everything written within her was a jumble of words and feelings she herself couldn’t decipher.
Reaching for her pouch of valuables, her hand stilled. “I gave you everything I have of worth. There’s nothing to pay for my way back to London.”
“This should amply cover it.” Ezra immediately handed her a gold sovereign.
“With a substantial amount left over.”
“Consider it reimbursement, but just the same…” He rifled through a sack hanging off the horse’s back, and produced her ring and coral beads. “Never let it be said that the Brody Gang aren’t gentlemen, even if we aren’t gentlemen.”
“Those don’t have any worth. I purchased them from a rag and bone man in Spitalfields before I ventured forth on this assignment. My true valuables are at home.”
“Take them, just the same.” He carefully opened her closed fingers, and set the items in her palm. “Consider them souvenirs of an adventure.”
None of them seemed willing to address that this adventure was coming to an end. Was it? Making a decision now about her future didn’t seem possible. Perhaps once she was back in London, in her rooms with the familiar chaos of the city all around her, she could determine what was next.
Mowbray would certainly slander her ability to carry out an assignment—though it wasn’t slander if it was true. Nobody would care about the circumstances that brought her to abandon her mission, and even fewer would believe that her former employer had tried to kill her.
Dear God, the coldness in Mowbray’s gaze when he’d insisted the Guardian shoot her where she stood…she’d only seen that kind of brutality in the eyes of the most ruthless cutthroats in Seven Dials. But there had been the baronet, ready, nay, eager for her death.
And what he’d done to Ezra’s pack…the barbarity of it…killing men for no reason other than the fact that they were different.
But noblemen could do as they pleased, while commoners such as her were subject to the law and calumny. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if she came forward, accusing Sir Harold of attempted murder, and she wound up dancing from Tyburn Tree.
Yet her life was in London, and perhaps she could shove it back together in some semblance of order. The baronet mightn’t say anything, allowing her to resume her business—if anyone would hire her.
Could she keep silent, though, knowing what Mowbray had done to Ezra’s pack? But then, would anyone believe her?
“We can take you to the Doe and Dove,” Ezra went on.
“That might be dangerous for you—the law would likely be nearby.”
Ezra, Tej, and Rhys shrugged nonchalantly.
“We have enough friends to alert us to the sheriff’s presence,” Rhys said.
“And the Guardians prefer to keep apart from the law,” Tej added. “Their methodology doesn’t precisely align with rules and regulations.”
“So,” Ezra concluded, “we’re happy to accompany you to the inn.”
“As you like.” She placed the gold sovereign in her pouch and tucked that into her pocket.
How could she feel disappointed that Tej, Rhys, and Ezra didn’t object to her going back to London? She shouldn’t expect them to beg her to stay with them. Her journey was her own, just as they had their own path to follow, and neither converged.
They began to walk, Jessica attempting to match her much shorter stride to the men’s long-legged gait.
“The forest is becoming more familiar to me now,” she said to Tej, walking near her. “I recognize the sounds of various birds’ calls. I can’t identify which bird is which, nor would I know the difference between certain varieties of trees. Oaks are easy enough, but the others…” She shrugged.
“This is a midland hawthorn.” He scooped up a leaf and held it up for her inspection. “You can tell by the shallow-lobed leaves. In May, it produces pink flowers. They say it’s bad luck to cut down a hawthorn tree.”
“And that’s a sycamore,” Rhys added, pointing to a tall, domed tree. “Back in Wales, we’d carve love spoons from the wood, and give them to our sweethearts if we wanted to court them. You’d decorate them with a horseshoe for good fortune or a dragon for safeguarding.”
“It matters little to Lady Vixen,” Ezra threw in. “With a well-sprung and swift mail coach, she’ll be in London tonight. Hawthorns and sycamores don’t signify in the city.”
Jessica fell silent, heat prickling along the back of her neck and the small of her back. Now it seemed as though Ezra was eager to be rid of her. Very well. She needn’t be a millstone around anyone’s neck. She never had been before, and she wouldn’t now.
She picked up a slim fallen branch, no wider than a quirt, and swatted at bracken growing along their way. If Ezra noticed her irritation, he said nothing. Instead, he hummed a tune she vaguely recognized—then realized it was the ballad often sung in praise of the Brody Gang.
“There are a few stops we need to make along the way,” he said, in pause between verses. He added, “Fear not. We’ll have you at the Doe and Dove with time in abundance.”
Part of her wanted to simply march on ahead, Ezra and the others be damned, yet her understanding of the forest wasn’t that extensive. Getting lost on the way to the coaching inn because of pride and stubbornness would be the height of folly.
“Whatever suits your fancy.” Her words came out clipped. Damn and hell, she didn’t want him or anyone to know that his easy dismissal of her rankled.
Judging by his shrewd smile, he readily took the measure of her annoyance.
They walked on in silence, until rhythmic noises sounded ahead, thunk thunk, underscoring the fussing of chickens. The scent of woodsmoke drifted on the cool air, and the grainy smell of oat porridge cooking.
Stepping from the woods, they emerged at the edge of a clearing.
Ezra secured the horse to a stump before turning to a small house standing in the middle of the clearing, neat as a napkin folded in the middle of small but well-tended fields.
The beginnings of crops were poking up from the soil, though the growing season was still early, and not much seemed ready to harvest. A handful of brown and white chickens pecked at the earth.
The house itself would fit inside Jessica’s own cramped rooms back in London, yet a woman and children of various ages filed out the door.
The woman cradled a swaddled babe in one arm, while she held the hand of a toddling child.
The third, a barefoot young girl of about nine years, in clean but oft-mended skirts, trailed after them holding a basket full of laundry, which she set down on the ground when she saw the newcomers.
The woman and children’s clothes hung off of their bodies, shoulders poking through the fabric of their garments, torsos barely filling out shirts and bodices, ankles raw and bony. The clothing had to be second- or thirdhand, certainly not fitting the slim forms wearing them now.
Ezra, Jessica, Tej, and Rhys approached, several dozen yards between them and the cottage.
A man in threadbare and patched clothing appeared from the other side of the house.
He carried a well-worn axe on his shoulder, adjusting his grip on the handle as the group drew nearer.
The man peered at them with caution, his whole posture rigid.
A brown and white dog trotted beside him, barked twice, then broke into a run toward Ezra.
Jessica lifted her hands in readiness. Fighting off an angry dog wasn’t part of her typical skillset, but she could learn on the job.
The animal was only doing its protective duty, so she could find a way to slow it down and give Ezra, Rhys, and Tej time to get to safety.
Maybe she could grab it by the ruff, or trip it, or wrap her hands around its muzzle.
She started to move in front of Ezra, but he dropped down to one knee at the animal’s approach. The dog launched itself at Ezra. Instead of warding the animal off, he flung his arms wide and the dog careened into him.
It covered Ezra’s face with swipes of its tongue, tail wagging, whining in eagerness to press itself close to him.
Jessica lowered her hands, shooting glances at Tej and Rhys, who looked back at her with amusement in their eyes.
“Be at ease, Molly,” Ezra said on a laugh. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“But you never stay long enough, Brody.” This came from the farmer, striding closer. A wide smile creased his face. His skin had been darkened by the sun, which gave him the weathered appearance of an older man, despite the sinewy strength of his body.
He approached Tej with his hand outstretched. The two men shook hands, and the gesture was repeated with Rhys.