Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [81]
It reminded him of that night in France too much. Of being caught up in events that had taken a turn not expected, and which demanded actions more serious than ever anticipated. Do not challenge me, he silently said to two burly fellows who paid him too much attention as he trotted past them. Do not make me hurt you in order to protect myself.
He circled wide around Manchester, to the north, and joined yet more marchers heading south. When he entered the village of Failsworth, he realized he had been passing the stragglers, not the main column of workers. The greater number must have passed hours before. A few more stragglers moved through the village itself, their faces firm with resolve. The village’s few shops had been closed, and other than the low muffle of those shoes and boots on the lanes, all was deathly still.
One door remained open, that of the tavern. He dismounted and entered, glad that one person had decided to sell drink and food to the demonstrators passing, rather than march himself.
The tavern was not crowded, since the day was passing and those still en route to the city still had a few miles to walk. However, enough eyes turned to scrutinize him that his senses sharpened in caution yet again.
He ignored their interest and peered around for the owner. His gaze was arrested on the figure of a man in a corner. Seemingly oblivious to the oddness of the village today, the fellow read a book by a window’s light while he sipped at a pint that had probably lasted hours already.
The man did not look like he worked in a mill. Castleford walked over, convinced he had seen the fellow before in London.
The man looked up blankly. Then he sat a little straighter. “Your Grace!” He began scrambling to stand.
Castleford subtly cut the air with his hand to indicate the man should remain seated and also that he not speak so loudly. “I have seen you at the ribbons of Summerhays’s coach, have I not?”
The man nodded. He glanced askance at the nearest table, from where eyes watched.
Castleford sat with the coachman. “Where is she? Mrs. Joyes? Is she in this village?”
“No, Your Grace. She is at a cottage a bit up the road. I have been staying here, up above, and the carriage and horses are at a stable.”
“Have you seen her since you brought her to that cottage?”
The coachman shook his head. “She told me she would come for me or send word if she needed me. Just gave me the coin to buy a bed and food, and that has been the whole of it the last two days.” His gaze slid sideways again. “I am trusting the lady is of sound sense and is not planning to walk with them, like the wives and children seem to be doing? Some ladies get these reforming notions sometimes and can do foolish things.”
“I do not think that is her intention, but perhaps not for lack of sympathy.” Daphne had not come here to march with workers, but she may have come here because workers would be marching. “I have a map with directions, but perhaps you would just describe this house and how to find it.”
The coachman explained how to find the little lane that led to a cottage with a blue door.
The proprietor walked by to serve some beer at the neighboring table and overheard while he did. He paused and gave Castleford a good look. “You be looking for Mrs. Rolland, are you? Have you business with her?”
Castleford called him over, then placed a guinea on the table to calm any suspicions. “Is that who lives up the road at the cottage?”
“That be the tenant there. She has lived here, oh, some ten years now. No, eleven. She came the year my son was born.”
“I am not looking for her as such. I am here to meet with her visitor. Perhaps you have seen this friend of hers. A tall woman, very lovely and very pale.”
The proprietor’s smile showed two broken teeth. “That would be Mrs. Joyes. Lovely ain’t the half of it, now is it? She is back for sure. She was seen yesterday in Mrs. Rolland’s gig, on the road to Eccles.”
“You know her then. Mrs. Joyes. Has