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So now here she was, inches away from total exhaustion, waiting for Moll to appear. She had told Father she had some preparation to do for Grandma in her mixing room for Grandma was not expected home until the next day. The light of the candle stood upright, there being no hint of a breeze to filter through the cracks in the stone. The blinds were lowered but not her defenses. She leaned her arms on the bench and rested her head until she heard Moll scratching at the door. With an effort she dragged herself up. “What a day.”
“You could say that again” Moll agreed heartily, “and it is not done yet.”
“What is the matter?” she said, something about Moll’s demeanor setting alarm bells clanging in her head.
“First things first,” Moll replied, settling her bulk on a stool. “Do you know what the Spaniards were fighting over?”
“No? Enlighten me.”
“You.”
“Me? Why would they do that?”
“I have heard it from several sources that DeGuerra took exception to the way Corvacho kept calling you the English cock-sucking whore—”
“So I am a cock sucker now?” Lucinda pulled a face and shuddered.
“In Spanish it sounds even worse. DeGuerra asked him to stop. Corvacho refused. It turned into a fight. I am also informed they are not overly fond of each other. Something about DeGuerra seducing Corvacho’s wife.”
“That part sounds very plausible.”
“The upshot being it turned into a fight.”
“So according to your sources, DeGuerra was defending my honor?”
“Yes.”
“Yet according to McCrae, DeGuerra is still the prime suspect and using me to put them off the trail.”
“McCrae is wrong. It is not DeGuerra. Corvacho is our man. I can prove it was him.”
“How?”
Out of long ingrained habit Moll looked over both shoulders double checking they were not being observed, even though they were the only two people in the tiny outhouse. She fished inside her doublet, untying a knot adroitly with one hand.
“This.” She dropped a purse onto the work bench. “It is Corvacho’s. Take a look inside.”
“How did you get this?” She put her fingers to her temples. “On second thoughts, I don’t wish to know.”
“I switched purses. The fight gave me the perfect cover. Shall we say belongings were inadvertently mixed up in all the mayhem?” Moll shrugged and put on her most innocent face. “If you really must know I carry a few spares. If you simply take a purse the owner is more likely to notice its absence but if you replace it with a purse of a similar color and fabric, they do not notice until you are long gone. Go on. Have a look, and then tell me I have it all wrong.”
Her face changed into a serious expression as Lucinda untied the drawstring of the leather purse and gently shook the contents onto the bench. First a gold coin rolled out, Spanish by the look of it, then a few shillings, groats and farthings.
“Put your hand in,” Moll instructed, anticipation bunching her shoulders up near her ears. Lucinda reached into the purse, her fingers gently probing, only to stop dead when they connected with something soft inside. Her heart ticked faster as she grasped it between her thumb and forefinger. She held her breath as it slid from the mouth of the purse.
“Dear god,” Lucinda whispered as she laid it on the bench.
One long thick coil of raven black hair.
“There’s more,” Moll said, reaching into the purse and extracting another lock of hair, which was also black but very short and tightly coiled. “The matching pair.”
They both stared down at the table. No words could convey the horror.
“This is definitely Corvacho’s purse?”
Moll nodded.
“Yet the color of the hair does not match any of our friends.”
