The Coins of Fate #3
They took off. The children fell into a line behind her with Francis and George bringing up the rear. They’d nearly reached the end of the street, when a man stepped around the corner to block their path.
“Halt!” he barked as he brandished his musket, the barrel gleaming in the firelight. “From where you hail, you and this ragamuffin lot?”
Moll’s stomach dropped, but she jutted her chin and replied, “Manchester, sir. We’re straight this very day from Manchester.”
‘Twas clear the man doubted her. He took a menacing step forward.
“There you are, Moll,” a distinct voice boomed from behind. “I’ve been searching everywhere.”
Moll whirled as the moneylender stepped through a cloud of smoke to arrive at her side.
The man with the musket relaxed. “De Hause? You know this lot, then?”
“Yes,” the moneylender replied at once. He clamped a heavy hand over Moll’s shoulder and gave it a warning squeeze. “’Tis my cousin, Moll, from Manchester.”
“Then you’d best hurry and leave this place. We’re sealing the streets.” With a nod, the man pushed past them and vanished into the smoke.
Moll heaved a breath of relief, but the moneylender gave her little time to relax.
“This way.” He waved them forward, toward the Thames. “Make haste. We’ve not a moment to spare.”
They didn’t need to be told twice. They ran, this time following Brian De Hause as he led them through many a smoke-filled street and past several panicking crowds.
At last, they arrived at the Dowgate quays, and there, the moneylender stopped before a large, well-kept barge.
“I’ll be but a moment,” he murmured, then brought his fingers to his lips to let out a shrill whistle.
On the barge, two burly men in leather hauberks appeared from around a stack of oak barrels. At a whistle of their own, several men on the boat rushed to lower the gang plank and they strode ashore as the moneylender stepped forward to greet them.
Moll watched, leery. ‘Twas difficult to swallow.
Her throat burned from the smoke, the stench of it clung to her clothes, her hair.
She turned to the children and eyed their soot-covered faces.
‘Twould be a miracle if they could escape London unscathed.
Around them, men and women shouted, demanding passage to the boats lined up on the quay.
George and Francis exchanged worried looks with her, but then, a movement caught her eye and she whirled to see Brian de Hause had already returned.
“You’ll be safe with them,” he assured as he waved them forward. “They’ll see you out of London and further north.”
Out of London. She’d wanted nothing else but to leave London for over a year, but she couldn’t let herself feel the relief, the excitement of a wish fulfilled—not yet, not until they had left the town far, far behind.
The moneylender pressed a small leather bag into her hands. “Alas, I cannot help you more, Moll.”
More? She clutched the bag tightly, her throat closing with emotion. ‘Twas strange the only compassionate man she’d met in London would prove to be a moneylender. “Brian de Hause, you are a merciful, honorable man,” she choked. “This is a debt I cannot pay.”
There was only kindness in the man’s eyes as he stared down at her in the gathering gloom. “No debt stands between us, Moll. I only wish I could do more. Now, go.”
He didn’t wait to be thanked. With a terse bow, he strode away and vanished into the crowd.
“This way,” a burly man from the barge ordered. “Step carefully, now.”
As several beefy men held off the crowd surging behind them, seeking to board, Moll and the children ran to the boat.
Moll counted as their feet hit the deck. Six. In all, there were six children. Six to feed and shelter. With a shaky breath, she gripped the railing, her stomach roiling.
The day had started out like so many others…but now? She was a widow, free of Thomas, free of the cruelty and the pain, but also without means to find food and shelter, with only the clothes on her back, and with only a small bag of coins to shield them from disaster.
Numbly, she followed a bargeman to an open space between a stack of boxes and barrels.
“Stay here,” he barked.
As they sank to their knees, Moll glanced over the children’s pinched, worried faces. Six of them. How could she care for them all?
Let them close the streets first. We can’t have ye on the wrong side now, Moll. Bertha’s voice suddenly rang through her mind. The children await ye. Have no fear, take them all. Aye, the more the merrier. ‘Twill only melt his heart all the faster, aye? He thinks he’s a lone wolf. Pah!
Moll shivered. ‘Twas far too much of a coincidence. The old woman had known…but how?
Have no fear? ‘Twas easier said than done.
And melt his heart? She clenched the money bag tighter. She must have meant the moneylender? The man was a Godsend, surely, but the coins wouldn’t last long, not with six mouths to feed—seven, including her own. Fear crawled down the back of her neck.
The sound of soft sobs broke into her thoughts. ‘Twas the children. Tears of her own threatened, but she couldn’t afford to cry, not now. She was their strength.
Summoning a bright smile, Moll squeezed the youngest boy’s hands.
“We’ll be fine. I promise, poppets,” she assured them all. “I’m your ma now.”