He contemplated his misfortune and the cause of it. It was not in his nature to accept any part of the blame his actions caused. In his mind, it was all the fault of that interfering clergyman, that damned Howell fellow, and the youths who’d simply refused to accept the fate he’d decided was theirs. Well, he’d lay low in Liverpool until it was safe to return to London. Then he’d see to Howell and the rest.
It started to rain, leading to a scramble for the tarpaulin covers stowed beneath the seats. A fellow traveller said something, grinning, evidently expecting a response, but Hewlett couldn’t make out a single word.
“Sorry, mate. Didn’t ’ear yer proper. What’d yer say?”
Giving him an odd look, the fellow said, “Frum Lunnon, then. Oi sayed t’ help git t’ canvas rigged. Oi dasn’t need a
