Free The Silent Woman by Edward Marston Page A

you!’
    Leonard had more to say but no breath with which to say it. He staggered to a halt and let his smile and his wave convey his message. Clustered around him were the other well-wishers, calling out their farewells and their encouragement. When the waggon and its cargo were swallowed up in the seething morass of people in the Bailey, a sudden grief descended on the watching group. Touring had its hardships but it was preferable to being left behind. As the company now headed west along Holborn, it left unemployed men and weeping women in its wake. Set apart from the former by virtue of his occupation, Leonard sided instead with the latter and copious tears trickled down his face. Westfield’s Men made the Queen’s Head an exciting place to work. It would seem dull and lifeless without them.
    One observer was impervious to the general melancholy. Theman with the trim attire and the well-barbered black beard was pleased with what he had witnessed. He had singled out Nicholas Bracewell at once and studied him intently. All that he needed to know was the route the company had taken out of the city and that was now clear. They had followed the line of the city wall as far as Newgate then swung left to take the Uxbridge Road. There was no hurry to follow them. He could judge their pace and how far it was likely to take them by nightfall. His pursuit needed to be stealthy. Their progress would be remarked by all whom they passed on the way, so it would be easy to pick up their trail by enquiry. Westfield’s Men were a memorable spectacle.
    He estimated that their first day on the road would take them into the Chilterns. Beaconsfield was probably too close a destination and Stokenchurch too far, so they would find some intermediate spot to spend the night. That was when he would strike. He carried dagger, rapier and club, but it was the knotted cord in his capcase that elected itself as the murder weapon. Putting his foot in the stirrup, he hauled himself up into the saddle and patted the leather bag, which held the cord. It would lie quietly in there like a snake in its lair until it was allowed out to strike with its deadly fangs. Nicholas Bracewell was evidently a strong and alert man who would need to be taken unawares. He was a far worthier target than the innocent girl whose life he had so casually snuffed out. She had been no match for him but Nicholas was a quarry he could be proud to hunt.
    He would enjoy killing him.

Chapter Four
    M orning brought no relief from a night of suffering. Anne Hendrik awoke from a troubled sleep to find that Nicholas Bracewell had left. His bed had not been used and his room had been stripped of all his possessions. As she stood alone in the small, bare, forlorn chamber, she was hit by an onrush of guilt that made her sway and reach out for support. She had been too quick to condemn him, too slow to give him the benefit of the doubt. Years of trust and understanding had been vitiated in one burst of anger, and he had been forced to sneak away from her house in the middle of the night like an outcast. It was a severe punishment for a crime that might not even exist.
    What had Nicholas actually done? Twenty-four hours earlier she had thought him the best of men and could call up a thousand examples of his goodness and reliability. Then a young traveller staggered into the house in search of her lodger and all was lost. Evidently, the messenger was bringing a call forhelp, and it had sent Nicholas off to Devon, albeit by a winding route in the company of Westfield’s Men. Anne Hendrik’s first thought was that a woman was certainly involved. Shorn of her male attire and laid out on a stone slab, the girl had the look of a maidservant whose short hair and thickset features allowed her to conceal her sex. Her borrowed clothing had quality and her horse good breeding, so she had clearly worked in a prosperous household. No man would dispatch such an unprotected creature on such a difficult