EscapeWithMe Read Free Page A

square. Gone was the large glass-and-steel greenhouse-like enclosure
containing gift shops and boutiques. In its place at the center of the square
was a long, rectangular produce exchange surrounded by squat one-story stalls
in which sellers could display their wares. Sam walked a wide circuit around
the piazza, occasionally dodging carters with their loads of fruits and
vegetables. Everywhere she looked, people milled about, talking about the
exorbitant price of tea or the newest print from some shop on Drury Lane.
    Some people obviously weren’t there for the market. A couple
of hungover men emerged from a bathhouse and were bid good day by a hastily
dressed woman who quickly disappeared back inside. A very slovenly man sitting
outside a tavern was drinking from a half-empty bottle of alcohol, having
already vomited on himself.
    Sam turned away from the sight with a grimace and looked in
on the market again. Nothing obvious could tell her why she had woken in this
time and place. She touched the spot where the locket sat, wondering if she had
missed something. Deciding to look at it again, she found a secluded section of
the square under the archways of a stone-faced building and fished out the
locket.
    “Oh my God.” The inscription now read Bow Street .
    The locket could change itself, and it was leading her
somewhere.
    “I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t seen him in at least a
month,” a man said. The apprehension in the man’s voice drew her attention.
    Sam looked to the corner of the square where two men were
talking. The shorter one with greasy, graying hair was faced toward her. The
other had his back to her and was dressed impeccably—clean, straight clothing,
shined boots, and a well-shaped tri-cornered hat atop his head. His sandy-blond
hair was tied back with a black ribbon.
    “He doesn’t come around here ever since his lady friend from
Katherine Street was seen down in a sal at Lock Hospital.” The short one spoke
in a very thick cockney accent she could barely parse, and his slang was beyond
her comprehension.
    The tall man cursed and she had brief glimpses of his
profile as he paced. “Where else does he patron? Did he ever mention the faro
tables or a favorite actress from the theater?”
    “N-no sir,” the short man said. The tall man shoved him
against the wall. “I-I mean, yes sir.” He put his hands up in surrender. “‘He
were fond of Miss Younge. She’s to play Viola in Twelfth Night . Th-the
performance is tonight.”
    The tall man took a step back and all but glared at the
theater dominating the opposite corner of Covent Garden. He silently pondered
while the short man fiddled with his grimy coat.
    “Another asked after him yesterday,” the short one
volunteered. The tall man turned to the shorter one.
    “Did he give his name? His occupation?”
    The short man shook his head. “But I could guess, sir. He
was a revenue man, kept asking about ships and your man’s imports.” The tall
man smacked his gloves on his leg. “I say his brains were in his ballocks. How
would someone like me know what your man plays at besides liquor and whores?”
    “That’s enough,” the tall man said sharply.
    The short man mumbled what could’ve been an apology, but his
eyes lit up when he was tossed a coin. Sam didn’t hear what the tall man said,
and then he was walking in her direction. She tried to keep her eyes down, but
he was the first man she had seen to look that good in the period’s clothing.
When his gaze passed over her, his bright-blue eyes were upon her only a
second, but then he came to a stop and looked at her again. He had seen through
her disguise.
    Stupid Sam! She dropped the locket back under her blouse and
walked away, buttoning her trench coat as she went. She didn’t bother walking
in the direction of Bow Street, wherever it was. Just escaping the man’s
attention was enough for now.
    The throng of people shopping for vegetables was her best
chance and she made a