LUCKILY Matthew Musgrave, who had given Wilfred permission to go, asked no questions beyond inquiring whether he had settled things to his satisfaction.
“I had some difficulties,” said Wilfred, “but everything is all right now.”
Wilfred lodged with Musgrave, but they would often both come round to the hostelry where Ian was. On one of these occasions a number of men were seated round the fire with tankards of ale, when a big burly fellow came in and asked mine host to draw him a tankard. Catching sight of Matthew, he went up to him and clapping him on the back, he asked how things were going.
“Well enough, thank you, Andrew, and how is all with you, now that you have settled down near the old place again?”
“Oh, not so badly; it is harder work than at Holwick, but it’s good being near one’s own folk.”
Ian started slightly at the name of Holwick, but no one noticed and he guessed that this must be Andrew Woolridge. He waited a moment and then cautiously entered the conversation. “Where is Holwick?” he questioned.
“It’s not very far south from here,” said Andrew, “on the Tees a few miles from Middleton.”
“What were you doing there?” asked Ian.
“Oh, I was working at Holwick Hall, Master Richard Mowbray’s place.”