Josiah Hewlett could scarcely believe his luck. A month since his return from Liverpool, and there was still no sign the Peelers were looking for him. Even better, some of his old cronies were no longer avoiding him. Time, perhaps, to start rebuilding his position.
He listened with growing interest to the stocky man with the badly broken nose and scarred cheek.
When the man stopped, he asked, “Yer certain? One o’ de Clare’s boys is at St Anne’s? An’ ’Owell arranged it?”
His informant laughed. “Yers, an’ ’e shares t’ same room as ’Owell’s bruvver.”
Taking a draft of his beer, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “T’ vicar mus’ be blind.”
Or a party to it, thought Hewlett, his mind turning over the various ways he could use this information.
“Know where ’e’s got t’ other brats
