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Unable to help myself, I remarked, ‘It sounds like Mary was a scapegoat. Why did William get off scot-free? They should’ve hung him.’ A few of the women in the group murmured in agreement.
Thomas smiled amiably, his eyes sweeping my face. ‘Well, she wasn’t that innocent. The jury went through all the evidence—’
‘But that was probably made up of men. Of course they were going to be on William’s side,’ I interrupted.
‘That’s a valid point,’ said Thomas, casually leaning against the wall of the cell. ‘Her case was debated for years afterwards, and in the nineteenth century, it was re-examined more sympathetically. Many believed she was wrongly accused and just a “poor lovesick girl”.’ He used air quotes.
‘Well, there you go ...’ I began, ready to make some more pointed remarks on Mary’s behalf, but Thomas cut me off before I could.
‘If you like, we can discuss it more after the tour,’ he said politely with a wink. ‘Let’s move on, shall we? We’ve got some more rooms to visit.’
I shuffled after the group, kicking myself for opening my mouth. Now Thomas definitely had me on his radar. He kept staring at me with a mulish expression whenever he said anything, probably thinking I was going to start a feminist rant.
When he told us about a 7-year-old orphan girl who had been imprisoned during the Victorian era for stealing a pram and sentenced to hard labour, I thought I might. But I kept quiet even though I felt like saying something cutting about the injustice of it. Isabel’s session last night had really fired me up.
At the end of the tour, we were able to explore the prison at our leisure, so I peeled off from the group and wandered back the way we’d come. I wanted to examine the 900-year-old crypt underneath St George’s Tower again. There were some engravings on the pillars holding up the arched roof that I hadn’t had a chance to look at during the tour.
I thought I was on my own in the cold, dimly lit space, but a deep voice said, ‘Did you know this is the most haunted space in Oxford?’ I almost had a heart attack. As Thomas emerged from the darkness with a ‘wooo’ noise and wiggling his fingers, I frowned.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ I said.
Thomas smiled. ‘Just me,’ he replied genially, and I relaxed. There was something about his manner that made it difficult to be uppity with him.
‘Who’s it haunted by then?’ I asked.
‘Brother Bernard, the drunken monk, apparently.’
I snorted. ‘Have you seen him?’
‘No, never. But then again, I’m pretty oblivious about stuff like that. Probably a good thing since I’m down here a lot,’ he said.
‘Yes, probably,’ I agreed.
He threw me a quick glance. ‘So what’s your deal? You seem like you know some stuff by the way you were challenging me about poor Mary back there.’
‘Challenging’ him? I simply had a differing opinion to the history books.
‘I’m a historic researcher,’ I replied a bit defensively.
‘Ah, makes sense. Are you at the faculty over in George Street?’
I nodded warily.
‘My cousin works there. Do you know Eleanor Jackson?’
I couldn’t lie. ‘Yes, I do.’
Thomas gave me the once-over, taking in my cap and dowdy sweatshirt. I could see the wheels turning in his head. Damn, he wasn’t stupid. And he was hot. No wonder Eleanor was offering him up as a distraction from Jeremy.
I started edging towards the passageway. ‘Anyway, I should get going.’
‘Yeah, I’m off too. After you,’ he said, waving me in front of him.
I trotted along in silence with Thomas practically breathing down my neck but when we reached the entrance, he jumped in front to open the door.
As I stood in the courtyard, blinking in the late-afternoon sunlight, Thomas materialised beside me.
‘So I’m heading to the pub. Did you want to come with?’
