There was no way she could rest. She finished up her work, threw her shawl around her shoulders and let herself quietly out of the house. Her boot heels rang against the swept stones of the pavement. Beyond the light of the guttering streetlamps was the black swathe of steep pasture in front of the crescent, and beyond that, to the south and east, the rest of the city – a shadowed labyrinth in the darkness. The pinprick sparkle of lanterns looked like a feeble echo of the stars above. Alice would have sighed at the beauty of it, but knowing that only gave Starling a sour taste in her mouth, and she turned her eyes away, refusing to be beguiled. She walked so briskly to the Moor’s Head that she was breathless when she arrived, and damp beneath her clothes. It was stifling as ever inside the inn, ripe with the stink of people, of sweat and dissolution. Dick Weekes was there with some of the old crowd, and Starling was happier to see him than she would ever admit. She got a drink from Sadie and sauntered over to his table.
He was laughing at some joke, but fell serious when he looked up and saw her. He was all russet brown and handsome; lips curved into a subtle pout. Starling hated the feeling that seeing him gave her – a pang of some deep longing or other. The touch of his hands, perhaps, or his desire for her. The way he would let her talk, on and on, propped on one elbow above him after their love play.
‘It didn’t take you long to find your way back in here,’ she said loudly, above the din. ‘I’m surprised the missus let you out, tonight of all nights.’
‘What’s special about tonight?’ said Dick, frowning.
‘Oh, nothing. Only I imagined she’d be somewhat rattled, after her visit to the Alleyns today.’
‘Bring your arse to anchor, wench,’ said old Peter Hawkes, who as ever could not tear his eyes from her red hair and tight bodice. Starling shrugged and pushed herself a space on the bench beside Dick. The other men at the table turned away, uninterested, and Dick only looked blank.
‘You mean, you didn’t know?’ said Starling. ‘She never told you she was going? Or had been?’ She shook her head slowly, arching her brows. ‘Such secrets, so early in a marriage.’ Dick’s nostrils flared. How he hated to be teased.
‘I’ve not seen my wife yet this evening. But I’m sure she will tell me herself, when I do,’ he said curtly.
‘Perhaps. Perhaps I shouldn’t have let her secret out. But then, I’m more allied to you than to her, I suppose.’ Starling let her hand rest on his thigh, and leaned closer to speak into his ear. ‘I’ll need some more strong wine. As strong as you can make it.’
‘You’ll not have it. Not from me.’ Dick took a long drink, then stared down into his cup as if to close himself off from her. ‘Let it rest, Starling. Let the poor bugger rest, won’t you? What’s he ever done to you, anyway? What has all your scheming brought about? Nothing at all, that’s what.’
‘He’s a murderer. He killed his betrothed, my sister…’
‘Who says so, apart from you? Who in the whole country of England says so, apart from you?’ His words were hard, and they stung her. ‘Who even thinks Alice Beckwith is dead, apart from you? She’s probably living in some northern county, happy as a lark with husband and bairns, and all the while you stew away like some witch at her cauldron, plotting to avenge a murder that never took place!’ He pointed an angry finger at her. A tiny worm of doubt twisted in Starling’s gut, just for a second.
‘Alice would never have left just like that… I know the truth of the matter,’ she said.
‘So you say. But it wouldn’t be the first time a woman was wrong, now would it? You think you were a sister to her, but you weren’t. You’re some vagabond’s brat, taken in as a hobby. Of course she’d leave you, if she saw fit. Do you know how ridiculous you sound, going on and on about her? Do yourself a favour, and give it up. It’s not just him you hurt, you know. I was there myself the other day. Mrs Alleyn… she sickens alongside her son. Because of you.’
‘It’s his own guilt that sickens him – I’ve heard him confess, so I have! I only want the truth to be known.’
‘No, you don’t. You don’t want to hear the truth, that’s your problem. Alice Beckwith got hot for another man, and ran off rather than face up to her benefactor. Will you spend your whole life trying to pretend it was otherwise?’
Starling was shocked into angry silence for a moment.
‘You’re wrong,’ she said at last, but Richard ignored her. ‘I’d have known if she had another lover.’ She took a long swallow of her beer, though her stomach was clenched tight and she found it hard to swallow. Still Richard kept his eyes in front of him, and Starling could only look at the side of his face. She suddenly felt frightened, and couldn’t say why. A curl of brown hair hung in front of his ear, and before she knew it she had reached out and tucked it back for him. Dick twisted about, and knocked her hand away.
‘I meant what I said, Starling,’ he said coldly. ‘There’ll be no more of that, between you and me.’ She stared at him, her mouth falling open. ‘Take Mr Hawkes here out the back, if you must rut. He’s always wanted to dance the blanket hornpipe with you, haven’t you, Hawkes?’ Peter Hawkes leered at her, and dipped his grizzled chin in assent.
‘You’re a devilish good piece. I’d like to see if you’ve the ginger hackles down below, as well as up top,’ he said.
‘My thanks for the offer, sir.’ Starling rose from the bench. ‘But I’d rather couple the old horse in the stable than have you touch me.’ She walked away with her head up high, so that Dick wouldn’t see the knife he’d stuck into her, wedged between her ribs. She felt the wound of it go deep; it made her breathless.
‘Aye, wench, but only take a look and you’ll find I’m hung just like that horse that’s caught your eye!’ Peter Hawkes called after her, and the men dissolved into laughter.
She chose a soldier, little more than a boy, already drunk and half slumped in a bench with his comrades. The brass buttons on his jacket were brightly polished, but his breeches were stained here and there with spilt wine. He had soft blond hair, like a baby’s, and gentle brown eyes all befuddled from drink. His voice wavered between a boyish squeak and a man’s tenor. She drank with him and his friends, and draped herself over him, ever closer, until in the end she was sitting in his lap. She let his tentative, uncertain hands quest upwards from her hips to the narrow span of her waist, and then even further. When she judged him quite far gone enough she whispered in his ear, and helped him to stand. As she led him towards the back door she looked over at Dick and saw him watching her, scowling, his eyes dark and angry. Just as she’d hoped. She shot him a spiteful smile as she lifted the lad’s arm and placed it around her shoulders.