Chapter Eleven: Spotted
"Come along, my dear. The coach is waiting. That's enough labor for one day, don't you think?"
"Oh yes, Madame Abigail. And thank you for the opportunity!" Though she tried to appear eager and grateful, Lady Eleanor Luke couldn't help yawning loudly behind her hand as she followed Abigail Folger down to the street. The long day in the warehouse sorting bales of wool had taught her a great deal about England's most important product.
"Do all these warehouses hold nothing but wool for shipment?" The slim blonde beauty asked, pulling her cloak tighter around her neck. It was a gray and chilly afternoon, and rain was threatening as the daylight faded.
"No, no, no!" the wealthy widow laughed, helping the young girl climb up into the waiting carriage. "All kinds of things, all kinds of precious goods from all over the world. Bristol is our second largest port after London, you know. Everything of value that enters this country has to be inspected and stored in warehouses like these."
That gave Eleanor something to think about. If a darkly handsome, villainous rascal like Heath Blackwell had really stolen the Irish gold, he would have had to ship it back to England in a sailing vessel. The goods would have to be stored somewhere. But where?
The Widow Folger's large, luxurious coach gave a heavy lurch and began rattling down the narrow street. On either side, Eleanor saw nothing but warehouses - row after row of long, low sheds stuffed with products from all over the world. A person could search each one for weeks, she thought, resting her cheek against the cool glass. Without a clue, she had no chance to uncover the illicit treasure. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack!
"I shouldn't wonder if we're in for some rain tonight," the Widow Folger grumbled. "And I have to be out in the foul weather. I have to pay a call on an old friend to discuss sheep breeding!"
"Do you want me to come along?" Eleanor sat up straight and smiled to show she was eager to help. It was the least she could do, though really she felt she'd had enough talk about sheep for one day. She felt positively drained.
"You are a sweet girl, aren't you." The Widow gave a low chuckle. "Actually, my dear, it's better that you don't come. My friend is actually rather a naughty old rogue and - well, two's company and three's a crowd."
"Oh, I see." Eleanor felt a blush stain her cheeks in the warm darkness of the carriage. She hadn't ever imagined a woman Abigail Folger's age would still be interested in men! That gave her something else to think about. Yet for the moment, she was content to rest her head back against the window pane, and watch the crowds scurrying here and there. So many people in a busy city like Bristol, she thought, yawning deeply. All in such a hurry . . .
With her eyes half shut, already thinking about a bath and bed, Eleanor didn't really notice the faces in the scurrying crowd. Not until one skinny, sly-looking young man with sneaky expression on his fox-like face caught her eye. Without even noticing it, Lady Eleanor suddenly realized she was staring right into the face of George Boleyn!
"Something the matter?" Widow Folger enquired, as Eleanor shifted her position in the coach.
"Just a crick in my neck," the blonde beauty said, apologetically. The Widow Folger instantly made room for her, of course, allowing her to snuggle in close and putting her warm cloak around Eleanor's shoulders. It was so embarrassing, sagging into Abigail's warm embrace, resting her head on the older woman's firm shoulder. But the sight of George Boleyn had been most upsetting. He was devious and cruel, and he knew far too many of her secrets. What was he doing in Bristol? Was he looking for her?
Eleanor couldn't do anything but close her eyes, and pray to God she hadn't been spotted. She needed to think, to plan how to deal with this new threat. But her thoughts drifted into vague images of danger and foreboding. And the swaying of the coach soon lulled her into a fitful sleep.