His road led him through a large courtyard, which generally served as a marketplace once or twice a week, although of course he never attended himself. A few sellers milled around – flower-sellers with baskets of colourful blooms, pie-sellers with trays of savory-smelling goodies, ribbon-sellers, match-sellers, and so on. They offered their wares to Henry as he passed by, and he smiled, shaking his head.
One of the flower-sellers came creeping up to him, smiling hopefully. She was a teenage girl, greasy dark hair looped behind her ears and braided down her back, laden with baskets of flowers, loose blooms and made-up posies.
“Buy some flowers, good sir?” she asked expectantly. “Present for your lady-love?”
Henry paused despite himself, laughing. “I haven’t got a lady-love.”
The girl pursed her lips, tilting her head to one side like a bird.
“Ah, sir, that’s because you don’t have any of my flowers to give her.”
Henry gave a bark of laughter at that. “Goodness, you’re sharp. Well, perhaps I will buy some. What flowers have you got?”
The girl eagerly held out her baskets. She had all kinds of seasonal flowers – not that Henry recognized most of them. Roses in all colours, of course. He wondered if Eleanor liked roses.
“Or there’s these posies, sir,” the girl suggested, holding out a tray. “I make them up myself.”
The posies were neat little things, stems wrapped in paper and tied with a thin strip of twine. The bunches of blooms were fist-sized, and there were a few collections of wildflowers in there, amongst the roses and fluffy daisies. Henry picked up one posy of wildflowers. It was beautiful, multicoloured, rough and natural and filled in with a few sprigs of lavender, giving it a fresh, savory scent.
“Not the roses, then, sir?” the girl asked, a twinge of disappointment in her voice. “Ladies like roses. Pink, white, or red are popular colours.”
“They’re certainly beautiful, my dear, but I think the lady I have in mind will like this one. How much?”
“Tuppence, sir.”
Henry gave her three pence, and she beamed at him. He was in the process of tucking his wallet away again when he felt an odd sort of itch at the back of his neck. The hairs there prickled, as if eyes were burning into his back.
Frowning, he turned around, looking for the source of the glare.
The marketplace wasn’t crowded in the slightest, and he noticed somebody out of place almost at once.
Only one man wasn’t walking around purposefully. He was a tall, lanky fellow, his clothes ill-fitting and greasy, his face grimy. He carried no tray or baskets, so clearly wasn’t a seller, and only lounged in the entrance to an alleyway, scowling out over the marketplace.
Scowling at Henry.
When their eyes met, the man scowled harder, and abruptly turned on his heel, disappearing into the darkness of the alley behind him. Henry only had time to notice a few aspects of his appearance – dark hair, an unkempt black beard, and a few lopsided patchwork pieces on his greasy tailcoat, which had certainly seen better days.
Then the man was gone, and Henry was left with nothing but a faint sense of unease.
And the flowers, of course.
He glanced back down at the flower-seller, who still hovered nearby, doubtless hoping for another sale.
“Do you know that man?”
She blinked. “What man?”
“The one standing there in the alley. He had patches on his tailcoat.”
The girl shot him a pitying look. “We’ve all got patched and darned clothes, sir. I think I know who you mean, though. That is to say, I’ve seen him around once or twice. I don’t know his name. He just seems to stand there and watch. I thought perhaps he worked for the Fairfax factory, over yonder.”
Henry shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Well, it hardly matters. Thank you for the flowers, and I wish you a full day of business.”
The girl beamed at that, dipping him a lopsided curtsey, and Henry walked away. He was already a few minutes late for his first official day of work, but then he was a partner, so surely he could be forgiven a little bit.
The Fairfax offices were only a short walk away – in fact, the factory could be seen from the courtyard – so Henry hurried towards it. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling of beingwatched. The itch between his shoulder blades didn’t quite fade. He kept turning around, half-expecting to see that grimy man with the patched tailcoat behind him, but there was nothing there except the usual sellers and pedestrians passing through the marketplace.
It was an unsettling feeling, and quite took the shine out of the day. Perhaps it was Henry’s imagination, but he could have sworn that the sun lost some of its warmth. He paused, poised to cross the road to the factory itself, and glanced over his shoulder one last time.
