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can’t say,’ Betsy said after a moment. ‘The room was crowded … I didn’t see him fall.’
    ‘But you saw him die.’
    Hannah’s tone was sharp. Betsy returned her gaze and nodded. ‘It was quick. I’m sure he didn’t feel much pain.’
    But Hannah dismissed that impatiently. ‘What I’m asking you, Betsy, is this: is there something they’re not telling me?’
    ‘Why should there be?’
    ‘Because for the past week – maybe longer – Tom was scared witless, that’s why!’
    Betsy felt her pulse quicken. ‘Scared of what?’
    ‘Of who, more like,’ Hannah said. ‘That’s what I’d like to know. Some rook or biter he’d cheated, or owed money to – I don’t know what lay behind it, and I don’t care. But if he died by another’s hand there’s men I can call upon, would slit the devil’s throat if I asked them to!’
    ‘Whatever Tom died of, it wasn’t by any means I could see,’ Betsy told her. ‘He was among his fellows when he keeled over. There were plenty who witnessed it.’
    ‘Well, it seems mighty strange to me,’ Hannah said. ‘Of late, ’twas like he was looking over his shoulder – when he wasn’t sousing himself. Jumpy as a hare, too. The night before he died he was gibbering like a bedlam fool. I couldn’t get a scrap of sense out of him. He even talked about doing a flit, to the Bermudas.’
    The baby shifted on her lap, and Hannah glanced down. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fetched up in that warren,’ she muttered. ‘He had a foggy past behind him, did Tom Cleeve.’ Looking up at Betsy, she added: ‘Did you know ’twas me got him that place at the Duke’s new theatre? First honest job he’d had in years!’
    Betsy shook her head.
    ‘Aye, even if I had to lift my skirts for free, to seal the bargain,’ Hannah said in a harsh voice. ‘But it paid off: at least we had a wage coming in … and now, this!’
    She was a bitter woman. But Betsy would not summon words of comfort, for she knew how empty they would seem. In any case, it seemed Hannah had more to say.
    ‘So you take my meaning, mistress,’ she went on. ‘If you hear of anyone who was dogging Tom, I’d be obliged if you’d send word to me.’
    In her mind, Betsy had a clear picture of Tom Cleeve, standing by the scene-room door staring after James Prout, and looking badly shaken by the news of Long Ned’s death.
    ‘I’ll help you any way I can, Hannah,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Yet you make me curious: you say Tom seemed terror-stricken, the day before he died?’
    Hannah gave a nod. ‘It’s no use asking why, for I don’t know. Whatever he was blathering about made no sense.’
    ‘What was he blathering about?’
    ‘Ned Gowden,’ Hannah replied, and frowned. ‘You remember Long Ned?’ When Betsy gave a nod, she added: ‘That’s why I knew ’twas all gibber, for he hadn’t set eyes on that cove in years.’
    ‘Then they knew each other?’ Betsy asked.
    ‘Knew each other? They were thick as thieves at one time,’ Hannah told her. ‘And thieving’s the right word: what those two got up to don’t bear thinking about!’
    Clearly Hannah had not yet heard of Long Ned’s death. Then it was hardly a surprise, stuck here as she was with her children. Fashionable Covent Garden may have been only a mile away, but it seemed like another country. Betsy decided to break the news.
    ‘Long Ned died,’ she said.
    Hannah jerked as if she had been struck. ‘When?’
    ‘Two days ago, in the bathhouse in Covent Garden. He was working there.’
    The other stared at her. ‘I like not the sound of it,’ she said, becoming agitated. ‘I thought ’twas nothing, Tom babbling about Ned, I mean. He spoke of the Fire, too; but who doesn’t talk of that, or dream of it?’
    The baby had finished feeding and rolled her head sleepily. Hannah got heavily to her feet, carried the child to a corner of the room and laid her down. The twins had stopped fighting, and were looking at her