"How is she?" Winston threw off his wet cape and reached for the tankard of sack she was handing him.
"I think she's starting to understand he's dead now. I guess it just took a while. Now I think it's time you told me a few things yourself. Why're you taking her? Is't because you're worried the Roundheads might send her back home to be hanged?"
"Is that the reason you want to hear?"
"Damn your eyes, Hugh Winston. You're not in love with her, are you?"
He smiled and took a sip from the tankard.
"You'd best beware of her, love." She sighed. "That one's not for you. She's too independent, and I doubt she even knows what she's doin' half the time."
"And how about me? Think I know what I'm doing?" He pulled back a chair and straddled it.
"Doubtless not, given what you're plannin' next." She plopped into a chair. "But I've packed your things, you whoremaster. The girls're already sorry to see the lot of you leavin'. I think they've taken a fancy to a couple of your lads." She laughed. "But they'd have preferred you most of all. God knows, I've had to keep an eye on the jades day and night."
He turned and stared out in the direction of the rain. "Maybe you'll decide to come over someday and open shop on Jamaica. This place has bad times coming."
She leaned back and poured a tankard of sack for herself. "That's a fool's dream. But you're right about one thing. There're dark days in store here, not a doubt. Who knows how it'll settle out?"