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The woods were silent, when just a moment before they had been filled with so much noise. The shot should still be echoing, Angelica thought, surely a man's life should not be ended so simply.
There was another sudden gunshot of a sound, as if to give her thoughts the lie. Sexby stepped forward, and clapped his hands together once more. He was smiling and his applause seemed genuine, appalling perhaps, but genuine. She swallowed, wondering why her gorge did not rise. Perhaps it was her male clothing giving her sinews strength, making her stomach iron, like Good Queen Bess.
"It was well done," said Sexby. "I did not think you had it in you."
She stared down at the crumpled form, that so little time ago had been a man, a threat, even. It was not the first man she had killed, and yet.
"He would have kept coming, madam," said Sexby, "He was of that sort. Too full of his own importance to recognise defeat. Too greedy for everything, even revenge."
"His name was Master Joliffe," said Angelica, "He was greedy." She laughed suddenly, bizarrely. A man's death should not make her feel free, but she did. She did.
"Then he should be fat with gold." Sexby's voice was speculative, as happy as she'd ever heard him. "What shall you do with your half?"
And that simple statement made her blink, and blush, and watch Sexby rifle a man's pockets in the flicker of the tiny fire, and feel as though she had never seen him before.
Such a casual equality he offered, that she was sure would turn again in a hairsbreadth, but was better than anything else she had been offered lately. Much better than the shared poverty of the streets, which did not even offer equality of circumstance - for if a man wanted something off a woman, he could take it.
"I head to London. My Leveller sympathies shall be fed, and so will Honest John's family," she offered lightly, and he glanced up. She caught her breath, at his darkling look. She supposed he did not approve.
"Shall you worship at the feet of a new God then?" he asked, "The Holy Trinity of Truth, Liberty and Justice."
She nodded, still smiling gaily, and at that his face seemed to soften a little, an expression at odds with his scars. She supposed, however, that she had scars enough herself on the inside. It was not so very strange. "And why should I not? I cannot continue as a footpad, and I will not be a whore. Believing in something means I will not be alone."
He snorted and rose, looming in the dark, Joliffe's purse in his hand.
"And does that matter to you, madam? We are born into this world in blood and pain and loneliness, and we leave it the same way. All between is as nothing."
Angelica found herself shaking her head, a spark of compassion ignited in her breast. Even for this man, this damaged, wounded man whose life she had saved, and who had saved her in his turn. Who epitomised the times so well.
"You're wrong. But even if you are not, is my way not better? Than blood and death and nothing more? We are here, we feel, and we bleed, but we love as well. These troubles we live through will not last forever."
She had an impulse, before his frown should turn to still darker thoughts. She dropped the pistol and seized his hand. She felt him flinch. The flesh of it was rough and dirty; it was not the hand of a gentleman. She supposed hers was no longer that of a lady, and so they were well matched.
She turned her face up towards his then and gently ran the pads of her fingers across the back of his hand. The human contact, so sweet, so innocent, was poignant to her. Killing Joliffe, of her own free will, her own choice, an execution for the people more than for herself, seemed to have made her bold.
"This is the hand of friendship, Sexby. I would not have you lonely."
There was something there, she thought, a flicker of humanity, a longing…
"And how should I repay you, madam?" His hand was dry and still within hers. "Shall I offer you my body, with all its lusts?"
She took a breath, but held on, knowing it a test. She wondered if she would have to throw herself aside seeking a pistol - but she did not think so. "Many would. What would you do?"
His hand turned in hers, offering itself palm up, and she grasped his fingers gratefully, letting out a breath she did not know she was holding.
"I would…" he said, his voice lower, more wondering, "I would say - not yet. First, I would offer you… all that I am."
And her eyes widened, and her breath came fast, but she did not let go.