‘Rose, if ever I flee it will not be because of you.’
‘So when you flee why will it be, Tom? Why will it be?’
And that I couldn’t answer.
The water was heavy but we were nearly home. We had reached the stables now, and saw a row of horses, like lords in a gallery watching a play they had already seen, staring at us. Rose fell silent. I felt guilty for the lie I had told about my mother’s death. I needed to tell her the truth about me. At some point, I would surely have to.
Just as we were reaching the cottage, we saw two women in the street. One of the women was Old Mrs Adams. She was shouting at another. Hell-turding away.
Rose knew the other woman from Whitechapel Market. Mary Peters.
She was a quiet woman, with a sad look about her. She was probably forty. Which, back then, was an age you could not take for granted you would reach. She wore widow’s black all the time.
Old Mrs Adams was leaning in, spitting mad words at her, but Mary turned to stare her down with such a silent fury the old lady backed away like a cat suddenly scared of its prey.
Then Mary kept on walking down Well Lane towards us.
She didn’t seem the least bit disturbed by her encounter with Old Mrs Adams. Rose, I noted, seemed to tighten a little at the sight of Mary.
‘Good morrow, Mary.’
Mary smiled briefly. She looked at me. ‘Is this your Tom?’
Your Tom.
It felt embarrassingly good. To know Rose had spoken of me. To feel as if I belonged to her. It made me feel solid, real, as if the space I occupied was meant to be occupied by me.
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ Rose blushed a little. Faint pink, like the morning clouds.
Mary nodded. Took it in. ‘He’s not there today. You and Grace will be pleased to hear this.’
‘Really?’ Rose seemed relieved.
‘He has a fever. Let’s hope it is the pox, eh?’
I was confused. ‘Who are we talking about?’
Mary shrank back a little, as if she had said something she shouldn’t have.
‘Just Mr Willow,’ Rose said. ‘The warden from the market.’
Mary was walking away. ‘I shall see you there later.’
‘You shall.’
As we carried on towards the cottage I asked Rose about Mr Willow.
‘Oh, don’t worry. He is a little strict, that’s all.’
And that was all she said. The next thing I knew she was talking about Mary. Rose said that she had come to the area a few years ago and was a very private person. She wouldn’t be drawn into talking about her past so there wasn’t much to tell.
‘She is a kind woman. But she is a mystery. Much as you are. But I will solve you. Tell me something I do not know. A small thing. A crumb.’
I could buy all the gold on the Strand and I would still rather be living in a small cottage on Well Lane if it meant living with you, I didn’t say.
‘I saw a boatman fall in the Thames just yesterday, right below Nonesuch House, with all the crowds there watching, and all I thought was how I wished you were there to see it too.’
‘My sense of amusement isn’t as cruel as yours.’
