‘Please,’ Theo said. ‘We would appreciate it.’
Pitkin sat, looked round the table from under his curls. ‘Michael told me what you wanted. I’m game to give it a try.’
‘You’ve heard us talking. These are murderers we are dealing with. It will be dangerous.’
‘I want to do it,’ he said firmly. ‘Michael says they are killing Englishmen for the French. That’s not just murder, that’s treason and they’ve got to be stopped.’
‘We don’t have a viable plan yet,’ Theo said.
‘While we’re making one I’ll cut your hair,’ Flynn said, eyeing Pitkin’s curls. ‘They’re the most recognisable thing about you.’
While Flynn set to work with comb and scissors they thrashed out a plan. Jared and Will would stay at the Grange. Will because he was still not strong enough if things came to a fight, Jared, because Theo trusted him to protect Laura more than anyone he knew. He, Perry, Flynn and Pitkin would tackle the Mermaid.
Almost twenty four hours later Theo lay uncomfortably along the top of the high wall that ran along one side of the loke, or narrow alleyway, that formed the eastern boundary of the inn. From there he could see into one of the small side windows with a view of the bar where Harris the landlord stood putting tobacco into the lead boxes that stood on each table for the customers to fill their clay pipes.
Perry was outside nearer the front, wedged comfortably enough beside the wood store with a clear view of about a third of the interior through an unshuttered window.
As Theo tried to ease his stiff neck Flynn came in and went up to the bar. He was dressed like a traveller in the kind of decent but everyday clothes a tradesman of the middle sort might wear and he dropped a battered valise at his feet as he spoke to the landlord.
The man drew a pint, then nodded towards a table almost opposite Theo’s window. Flynn strolled over, sat down with his back against the wall and made himself comfortable as the landlord called something back to what Theo assumed was the kitchen beyond.
They had agreed that Flynn would take a room and order food which would give him an excuse to linger downstairs. His story, should anyone start a conversation, was that he had walked along from Blakeney because someone had recommended the Mermaid’s food and had said that the beds were well aired in comparison with most of what he’d find in the port.
Pitkin was hidden behind a wind-blown hedge ten yards away, waiting for some more customers to come in. They had no idea what to expect, but Perry was a magistrate in case anyone needed arresting and Theo was more than ready to get into a fight with someone. Over what, in his present mood, he did not much care.
Two men came in, farm labourers by the look of their gaiters and boots, followed a few minutes later by a trio of fishermen who wearily slumped at the table nearest the fire, only reviving when the landlord brought over a stoneware bottle and three small, thick glasses.
On his way back to the bar he crossed with a maid coming out of the kitchen with a plate of what looked like stew. She put it down in front of Flynn, produced a heel of bread from one apron pocket and a knife and fork from the other and then leaned her hip against the table.
Flynn could apparently flirt with the best of them because she lingered for a minute or two, giggling, before a jerk of the landlord’s head sent her back to the kitchen with a saucy look over her shoulder.
Theo was beginning to wonder whether Pitkin had lost his nerve or fallen in a drainage ditch when the door opened and he walked in. Like Flynn, he was dressed in clothes a respectable clerk might choose for travelling and was carrying a valise that, from the way he was handling it, was heavy. He looked tired and a little wary as he walked up to the bar, glancing around him but not lingering on Flynn longer than on any of the other customers.
The landlord turned from knocking the tap into a fresh barrel and Theo could read his lips.
‘What can I do for you, sir?’ He drew a tankard of ale and put it down in front of Pitkin who glanced around and then leaned forward. The landlord did the same.
They had agreed that Pitkin would say he had been recommended by a sailor in Blakeney to try at the Mermaid for a ship that would take him across.
Theo saw the jerk of Pitkin’s head seawards and guessed he had just asked the question. Harris scratched his ear, picked up a tankard and began to polish it, but he was looking at Pitkin who, from the movement of his head, was still talking.
Then the landlord moved closer, said something and Pitkin nodded and moved to a table out of Theo’s sight. He could only hope Perry could still see him. The landlord went out into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later. The back door banged and a small figure scuttled down the loke to the coast road and vanished.
Now what? Theo thought, shifting to try and get a particularly lumpy piece of flint away from his rib cage.
Half an hour passed. Flynn got into conversation with one of the fishermen and was invited to join a rowdy game of shove ha’penny. Theo noticed that he managed to find a position where he could look across to Pitkin as he played. The valet was as protected as he could be, given that Flynn had a knife in his boot and a lethal throw with it. Theo’s eyelids began to droop
A scuffling of feet startled him almost to the point of falling off his narrow perch. Theo saw what looked like the kitchen boy vanish into the shadows of the yard, then the back door slammed. The landlord left the bar, came back and went over to the part of the room Theo could not see, presumably to talk to Pitkin.
The valet came into sight, walked up to the bar and handed over some money and Flynn finished his game amidst laughter and the exchange of a handful of coppers. He picked up his bag and went up the stairs as Pitkin, with a nod to the landlord, went to the front door.
Theo swung down from the wall, biting back a curse as his numb right leg buckled under him, then he was limping down the loke to the front where Perry was already waiting in the shadows. Flynn would be climbing out of a window, no doubt.
‘He’s walking back towards Blakeney,’ Perry whispered.
‘Then we follow in a moment. See if anyone tracks him from the inn first.’
They waited, but no-one came out of the Mermaid so they set off after Pitkin, just keeping him in sight, treading on the tussocky grass at the side of the road which was silent, but hard going.