Freeing Ebony

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Henry left before sunrise the next morning. He’d decided to forgo the carriage his father had offered him and ride on horseback instead. If he wanted to truly blend in he couldn’t be seen exiting a privately owned carriage. Information was given to men who were perceived equals. Henry knew his true identity would compromise it. He was to go under the alias of ‘Peter Winterberry’. It was the name in which he would be writing to Ebony so he decided it was perfect.

He’d secured his satchel of belongings to the horse tightly. The bag contained a few changes of clothes (nothing too particularly fancy), writing tools and enough money to tide him over until he returned home.

His mother had been tearful when he left and his father had warned him to be careful.

Henry stopped in a few towns along the way for food and a place to sleep. A rainstorm had kept him inside for a day but he’d still managed to get to Suffolk within a week.

His father had given him the location of Lord Pembroke’s residence so Henry had an idea of where Ebony’s village was. He rode through several little clusters of homes and shops before he came to a town that most definitely was Ebony’s home village. He knew because the sign on the tavern said ‘Seaver’s Tavern, Distillery & Inn’. It was sometime in the afternoon so Henry didn’t think it too inappropriate to go inside and order a pint.

The houses in Ebony’s village were tiny and tatty and several needed repairs. Broken windows were boarded up and he could smell the faint scent of sewage. In the distance on a large hill, Henry could see a large Tudor mansion. Lord Pembroke seriously needed to invest in his land. That was what made Ethridge so prosperous. Sebastian always made sure to know what the people needed. If the people were happy, their businesses prospered which meant rent was paid and Ethridge boomed. It was simple really.

Henry tied his horse to the hitching post. He would find somewhere to board the brown stallion later. He took his coin pouch from the horse’s back and went inside the tavern. Instantly he was hit with the smell of tobacco and ale. There were chairs and tables scattered about the small floor of the tavern occupied by men playing cards. The bar was to the left of the tavern which also housed the staircase up to the rooms above stairs. Henry could not see any women, so he figured that this was not the brothel in which Celeste was kept. That would be too easy.

A man stood behind the bar wiping classes with a dirty rag. He was a portly fellow with a full head of greasy black hair and inquisitive blue eyes that peered at Henry just as soon as he walked into the tavern.

Henry straightened his simple, black coat and walked up to the bar, taking a seat on one of the stools before it.

“You sure you’re old enough to be in here, boy?” the barman muttered as he put the glass he was cleaning down.

Henry was not a boy, he was in his mid-twenties for goodness sake! Sure, he had a youthful face but he was not a child. “Yes,” he replied firmly. “A pint if you please,” he ordered, setting a coin on the bar for the man to take.

“Coming right up,” he replied, happily pocketing the coin. He placed a cloudy glass underneath the nozzle attached to a keg and filled it up with golden brown liquid. He placed it in front of Henry and Henry fought the urge to gag. The glass looked like it hadn’t been cleaned properly in years.

Henry placed his hand on the handle and pulled it towards him. “I’m after some information, perhaps you can help?” he asked.

The man’s bushy, black eyebrows furrowed. “Why kind of information?” he replied cautiously.