Page 28 of By Marsh and By Moor (Marsh and Moor #1)

It wasn’t clear whether Wallace even heard him. He seemed to be in a world of his own.

“He must be feeling so hurt. That’s my fault. I’ve hurt him. He said so himself, the last time I worked up the courage to leave him. Not that I managed to stay away very long. He said I’d broken his heart. I was lucky he took me back. “

“Stop. Stop. Those are all just lies he’s told you.”

“I don’t know what to do. I feel as though I’ll never escape. Wherever I go, he’ll be there. I’ll spend the next three months fleeing across town from place to place until he’s worn me down.”

“Maybe he’ll finally get a ship and go back to sea.”

Wallace didn’t look convinced.

“Or else… maybe we could leave London.”

Wallace’s gaze flew up to meet Solomon’s. “Leave London?”

“Yes, why not? After all, what’s holding us here?

We’ve no families.” Solomon could think of several things holding him in London, but he pressed on.

“I know you’ve never been further than Epping, but I’ve been all around the country a dozen times.

Leaving London is nothing to me. We could leave tomorrow. ”

“We?” Wallace repeated.

“Yes, I’d come with you. Unless… you’d rather I didn’t?”

Wallace’s expression softened. But he was shaking his head. “You can’t leave London. You love living here. And you’re head ostler now. You’ve wanted that for years.”

Solomon noticed that he didn’t say, I can’t leave. Indeed, a glimmer of hope had crept into his face.

“Course I can,” Solomon said. “There are other towns. Other jobs.”

Wallace turned this over in his head. “I suppose I could go back to Epping Forest.”

“I think that’d be the first place Vaughan would look for you—not that I’m saying he will,” he added hastily, when Wallace blanched. “But better safe nor sorry, eh? Besides, do you really want to go back to Epping? I mind you said you left for lack of work there.”

“That’s true.”

“Better a large town, anyway.” In the countryside, they’d be hunted from parish to parish as vagabonds.

“Birmingham, maybe? Or Manchester? I’m acquainted with both places.

But…” He trailed off. “Vaughan knows that.” At the thought of those long winter evenings, spilling his guts out to Vaughan, his stomach sickened.

“You really think he’d come after me?”

Yes, Solomon thought, remembering the intensity in Vaughan’s eyes, the fervour in his voice. And Vaughan had been halfway round the world with the Navy. He’d think nothing of a short trip across England. But… No. Would he really go to those lengths? Surely not.

“His source of income is here in London. I expect he’ll just find some other poor fellow to help him in his tricks.”

Wallace swallowed. In a small voice, he said, “Will you hate me if I say I’m jealous of that other fellow?”

There was a silence.

Eventually, Solomon said, with cheerful determination, “What you need is a fresh start. How about… Barnstaple, for instance?”

“Where’s that?”

“It’s a river port on the Bristol Channel. A long, long way from London, deep down in the West Country. No stage coach route goes there.”

“If it’s so far away, how comes it that you’ve heard of it?”

“My parents were born there, as was I. I’m sure I’ve never mentioned it to Hugo, though.

” He turned the idea over in his head. “It’s weaver’s country.

Wool and worsted. There must be work there.

A coaching inn, a carrier’s yard, a gentleman’s stables…

My parents always spoke of it as a prosperous place. ”

Wallace was sitting up straighter now, his shoulders less slumped. “All right. All right! Why not?”

They arranged to meet at the pie shop that same evening, when Solomon should have seen to his affairs at the Crown. But then he ran into a problem.

“No, you can’t have your wages now, Master Dyer,” Sykes, the chamberlain, said. “You’ll wait till quarter day like everyone else. You think I want people running off whenever they please, leaving us high and dry?”

The next quarter day was Lady Day, a little under a month away. It was true that, in the general run of things, Solomon could not expect to be paid until then, but he had thought Sykes might make an exception.

“But I must leave as soon as may be. It’s an urgent… family matter.” And it was, for Wallace was surely his family, as much as or more than the people he had cut himself off from.

Sykes looked skeptical. “This is the first I’ve ever heard of you having a family.

You’ve never mentioned them in the eight years you’ve been here.

” He shook his head. “Now I can’t stop you walking out of here tonight, but you’ll be going without your”—he consulted his ledger—“twelve pounds, three and six in back wages.”

Solomon’s heart sank. Without that money, he and Wallace had scarcely enough between them for one person to make the journey.

That evening at the pie shop, Wallace looked dismayed when he heard the bad news, but he put on a good face. “Oh well, it can’t be helped.”

“I’ll come and join you as soon as I can,” Solomon promised.

“You needn’t—”

“I’ll be there. I swear, I won’t leave you alone. And I’ll bring your back wages too. Sykes owes you one pound ten on Lady Day.”

Wallace looked happier. “Well, all right then. I won’t deny it’ll be good to have you with me.”

“You’d better take the stage—we’ll have enough for an outside ticket if we pawn some of our things.

I’ll redeem them on Lady Day. Now listen: the nearest stage coach route to Barnstaple runs through Taunton, but don’t get the stage there directly.

If Vaughan makes inquiries… Get the stage to Bristol and then another cross-country.

Or even better, walk out of Bristol and then take a carrier’s cart or something. ”

“All right.”

Solomon tried to remember everything he had ever heard about Barnstaple. “There’s a bridge over the river there. Let’s say you should leave word for me at the first alehouse south of the bridge.”

They talked over their plans again several times, but finally there was nothing more to discuss.

“You’d better get back to the Crown,” Wallace said. “They’ll be wondering what has become of you.”

That was true. It was late, the evening stagecoaches would begin to arrive in less than three hours, and Solomon hadn’t slept yet. But he didn’t move.

“I’m sorry, Wallace.”

“What? What have you to be sorry for?”

“I meant, I’m sorry I never noticed anything was wrong. I’m sorry I let so much time go by and never tried to discover what had become of you.”

Wallace was shaking his head. “Don’t be daft. There’s no call for you to say that.”

They both fell silent—reluctant to take their leave of one another, not knowing when they’d next meet.

After a moment, Solomon said, “Hey, remember that post-horse service we used to dream about setting up together?”

They hadn’t any more money between them now than they did then, but Wallace didn’t point that out. His expression softened. “Yes, I remember.”

He was sitting up straight, looking much better than before, and Solomon was overcome by a wave of optimism. “It’s good to have you back.”

Wallace reached out to put a hand over Solomon’s where it lay on the table. “Thank you, Solomon. You don’t have to do this. If ever I can do the same for you—”

“I know.” Solomon gripped Wallace’s hand, then let go reluctantly. He got to his feet. “I’d better get back to the Crown. See you soon in Barnstaple, then?”

“See you in Barnstaple.”