'Are you leaving now, sir?'

'If you wish.'

Prudence took his hand and led him out of the door, ignoring the salacious whispers and muted laughter of the other customers. Outside darkness had fallen. The cold night air revived the preacher.

'Where to now?' she asked. 'Do you have a chamber?'

The preacher shook his head. His lust cooled. He did not wish to be caught in some tavern stable and carted back into the city for punishment.

'Let's go somewhere,' he declared thickly.

Prudence pointed down the street to the mouth of the alleyway.

'In the fields beyond, stands an old, ruined house.'

'What house?' the preacher slurred.

'Simon the miser's. Burned down it was, killed the old miser. They say it's haunted but,' Prudence peered up at him, 'it's not. I've been there.'

The preacher grasped her hand more tightly. 'Come on girl!'

Such a place suited him. It was beyond the city in a place where no sheriff's men, bailiffs or constables would patrol. Slipping and slithering they went down the alleyway; the line of raggle-taggle houses gave way to a stretch of common land. The preacher slipped an arm round Prudence's waist.

'It's black as hell's pit,' he hissed. He stopped and fumbled at her breasts. 'I want to see what I buy.'

'Oh, you shall,' she whispered coyly and snuggled closer, a wild scheme already forming in her mind. She recalled how the downstairs parlour of the old miser's house was littered with thick pieces of wood. A sharp blow to the head and she'd empty this gull's purse and be away. And what could he do? Report her to the bailiffs?