Gideon the Cutpurse (13 page)

* * *

With infinite patience Gideon coaxed the horses down the tortuous dark path back to the main road. If Mrs. Byng could have seen the sorry state of her loved ones after only one day's traveling, she would have insisted they all return to Baslow Hall at once. As it was, Hannah did what she could for Sidney, Parson Ledbury, and the driver and wrapped Jack up in her cape and sat him on her lap. After all the excitement the little boy's teeth were chattering with cold and tiredness. He was such an uncomplaining child that it was easy to forget that Jack was not in good health. Sidney and the driver fell asleep almost as soon as the carriage started moving, but Parson Ledbury sat in silence in the darkness, crestfallen at what he had allowed to happen to his charges. After half an hour he reached up for one of his bottles of port and soon began to feel more cheerful. He resisted the temptation to offer some to Gideon. He may have arrived in the nick of time, said the parson to himself, but Mr. Seymour was only Mrs. Byng's servant and not to be trusted. No, by heaven, a leopard doesn't change its spots that easily.

* * *

As Peter and Kate had come through the ordeal relatively unscathed, they sat up on top with Gideon. It was their job to peer into the darkness and look out for branches that could slash at their faces or topple them off their high seats. Each time the carriage dipped into one of the deep ruts in the road, Ned Porter, who had been bound tight down like another piece of luggage, let out an involuntary groan. The motion of the coach had nearly lulled Kate to sleep, and she was now leaning heavily on Peter. He didn't mind; she was keeping him warm. He breathed in the night air, cool and sweet after the heat of the day, and looked up at the sky. Through fluttering layers of birch leaves he glimpsed the canopy of stars twinkling down at him from the other side of the universe and remembered what Dr. Dyer had told him about dark matter. Then Peter glanced up at Gideon's face, calm and intent as he balanced the reins between thumb and forefinger and talked to the horses.
This is not my time,
Peter thought.
I shouldn't be here. But I don't want to go back--not just yet.
"I'm glad you're traveling with us again, Gideon," he said.
Gideon's arm suddenly shot out and broke off a branch that would have smashed into Peter's face.
"I promised I would help you," he said.

* * *

Once they were back on the main Lichfield road, traveling became much easier. Peter started to feel drowsy. He decided that this beat driving in a boring car down a boring motorway glowing with orange streetlights any day.

* * *

Peter must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew a terrible metallic crashing sound made him jump. Next to him, Kate, too, woke up with a start. When he opened his eyes it seemed that he was looking at the world through smoked glass.
"Peter!" cried Kate. "We're blurring at the same time. Oh, this could be it! We're back!"
At first all Peter saw was a grid of yellow lines painted on tarmac. Then, as he looked up, it became clear where he was. He met the horrified gaze of a mother who had just allowed her overflowing supermarket trolley to crash into the side of a shiny red sports car. Her two toddlers were pointing at Peter and Kate and were trilling with delight. Delight, however, was not the first emotion the grown-ups were feeling. The irate driver leaped out of the sports car and started shouting at the mother.
"They should bring in driving licenses for those things! Why can't you look where you're..." When a boy and a girl in eighteenth-century costume floating a yard above Sainsbury's car park caught his attention, his voice trailed off in midsentence and his jaw dropped open in a peculiarly unattractive way. Kate could not resist giving him a little wave.
Peter cast his eyes around him, taking in the dull, overcast sky heavy with snow, the row of artificial Christmas trees on the roof of the supermarket, the growing group of shoppers who stood, rooted to the spot, staring at this bizarre apparition. Someone started to scream. One man took a camera out of his pocket and aimed it at Peter and Kate. Kate jerked her head around as the camera flashed. And then, as though someone had used a remote control to change channels, Peter now focused on that other scene, which had always been skirting around the edges of his awareness. This was the scene that consisted of a starry sky and swaying trees and horses snorting and stamping their feet. For a moment he could flick between the summer's night and the wintry car park at will. Then an anxious voice rose to the surface of his consciousness.
"Master Peter! Mistress Kate! You are fading. If it is your intention to leave this world, fare thee well.... I wish you Godspeed."
But at the sound of Gideon's voice, Kate and Peter were sucked back to 1763 with a sickening, lurching thump. Gideon had stopped the carriage and was staring at them, waiting for their forms to settle.
"No!" cried Kate accusingly. "Why did you call us back?"
"I am truly sorry, Mistress Kate, I meant only to wish you farewell," Gideon replied.
"What did you have to say that for?" hissed Peter. "It wasn't his fault."
Kate did not seem convinced, and said nothing. Gideon clicked his tongue and pulled on the reins, and the four horses strained against the weight of the carriage once more. They sat without speaking for a long time and then all three turned round abruptly when they heard Ned Porter speak. They had all but forgotten he was there. His voice was muffled for he could only manage to lift his head an inch or so.
"I had a feeling in my bones that it was those two. I've been told to keep a weather eye open for them. You've got a mighty valuable cargo there...Mr. Seymour."
"Who told--" Gideon stopped himself.
Ned laughed. "So it
is
you. You're in great demand it seems, Mr. Seymour--at least in some circles. Though I should not care to be in your shoes, not for a casket of diamond necklaces."
"Open your mouth one more time and you'll find a gag in it," warned Gideon.
Ned, however, would not be put off.
"I hope you had good reason to cross the Thief-taker and his henchman, for I do not rate your chances of getting away. The Tar Man has promised to wring the necks of every rogue between Lichfield and Covent Garden if they do not peach on you. Although a certain diamond necklace might be enough to persuade me to keep my mouth shut."
"Enough!" cried Gideon.
Ned did not utter another word, but Peter did not care for the amused expression that by the light of the moon he could make out flickering across the highwayman's face.
Kate leaned over and spoke softly into Peter's ear: "What did he mean? Who
is
Gideon? Parson Ledbury is very suspicious of him. Do you think
we
can trust him?"
Peter turned round to look at her, an expression of fury on his face.
"How can you say that after everything he's done for us?" he practically spat at her in a violent whisper.
"Okay, okay," mouthed Kate, holding up her hands in appeasement. "Sorry I spoke. And what's a thief-taker mean, anyway?"
"I don't know! And I'm not going to ask Gideon now."

* * *

When they reached Lichfield, Gideon asked the nightwatch--a bent and decrepit old man who would have been lucky to hold his own against a child, let alone a hardened criminal--for directions to the magistrate's house.
It was past midnight when they arrived at a substantial four-story house built of thin red bricks. Parson Ledbury rapped firmly on the door with his good fist. When there was no response, the parson's thunderous bellowing echoed around the small front yard, and this did not fail to arouse the irritable magistrate from his slumbers. A pair of wooden shutters on the second floor opened.
"Who the devil makes such a noise at this hour?" shouted a voice from inside the dark house. Then the shutters creaked closed again and they could hear movement in the house and see candlelight through the wooden slats. The company waited in subdued, exhausted silence. Above them a million stars shone down from a sky swept clean by a warm southwesterly wind. The three spires of Lichfield Cathedral, inky black against the night sky, were sharply silhouetted against the twinkling universe beyond. Presently the magistrate appeared at the door. He peered out into the darkness, bleary-eyed and dressed in a long nightgown and turban. His tiny wife and a burly-looking servant carrying a lantern appeared at his side, and all three cowered in the hall.
The magistrate protected his guttering candle from the wind and looked out suspiciously.
"A good evening to you, sir," said the parson, stepping toward him. "Our party has been attacked by a highwayman whom we have captured and whom we now deliver into your custody."
"A highwayman, indeed? Let me see the scoundrel! Give me the lantern."
His servant took his master's candle and gave him the brass lantern, whereupon the magistrate began to inspect each member of the company one by one as if on a military parade. He held the light up to their faces, and when he got to Kate, the sight of the magistrate's mistrustful, hawklike features made her want to laugh. She kept as still as a statue until he moved on to scrutinize Sidney's bloodied face, and then she allowed herself to giggle silently--and a little hysterically on account of her tiredness--under cover of the night. The magistrate stopped when he got to a young man trussed up like a chicken with some old rope.
"Is this he? Is this the highwayman?" he asked.
When he was informed that this was indeed the infamous Ned Porter, the magistrate could scarcely contain his excitement.
"Upon my word!" he exclaimed. "Ned Porter is wanted in five counties. What a fine catch you bring me, ladies and gentlemen."
Ned remained smiling and pleasant even when he was bundled roughly into the magistrate's cellar without a candle, and even when the coach driver spat at him. Then he wished everyone a good night as the trapdoor was bolted down on top of him.
"Is there anything more profoundly distasteful," exploded Parson Ledbury, "than a base criminal who apes the good manners of his betters. The sooner the world is cleansed of Ned Porter, the happier will I be. When is the next hanging day, may I ask, sir?"
"There is the small matter of his trial first, Parson," commented Gideon.
Parson Ledbury shot a withering look at Gideon and then turned to the magistrate.
"I will return in the morning to give you my full account of this rogue's offences against our property and persons. And now, if you will permit us, we will seek out our lodgings for the night. Perhaps your servant can accompany us to the George Inn."
The magistrate bid them good night, looking very pleased with his unexpected booty, and ordered his servant, still in his nightclothes, to take the party to the George Inn on Bird Street.

* * *

The next morning the party woke late to find that the torrential rain that had disturbed them during the night had not abated. The George Inn did not offer luxurious or even comfortable accommodation. Nor was it particularly clean. They had shared rooms--and beds. Parson Ledbury, Sidney, and Peter were crammed into one, whilst Hannah, Jack, and Kate took the other. After half an hour of the parson's stomach rumbling from lack of supper, not to mention his snoring and Sidney's whistling through his missing teeth, Peter had crept down to join Gideon and the driver, who were sleeping in the barn with the horses. It might have stunk enough to make your eyes water, but at least Peter had escaped the worst of the fleas and the constant dripping of rain through the leaky roof.
"This bread is more chalk and ashes than flour," growled Parson Ledbury. Gideon and the driver, despite his injuries, were seeing to the horses. The rest of the party drooped over a bare wooden table eating a meagre breakfast. The mood was subdued. The parson's face was puffy and pale and his hand badly swollen. Everybody was scratching madly. Jack had pulled up his shirt and was peering at the pattern the itchy red bites made across his chest.
"You're worse than a band of monkeys," said the parson. He tried to laugh but his heart wasn't in it. He was watching Sidney, who stood at a casement window in the low, dark dining room that smelled of damp. He was examining his injured jaw and his teeth--or lack of them--in a small looking glass. There was no denying the fact that his face was a mess. Sidney looked mortified. Even Peter felt sorry for him. The parson heaved himself up and strode over to the window. He patted Sidney roughly on the back.
"Never fear, my lad, I know of a shop in St. James that can fit you with wooden teeth prettier than those you have lost. Your dear mama will never know the difference."
Sidney nodded his head, yet it was difficult to tell who was more upset--Sidney, or the parson, racked with guilt at his failure to keep his cousin's family safe.
The appearance of Gideon and the coach driver shook the parson out of his despondency, for he was not a man to remain downhearted for long. He turned and greeted them.
"How do find your head this morning, Martin?" he asked the driver.
"No worse than if I'd supped half a gallon of cider, sir," the driver replied. "And it'll be an adventure to tell the little ones."
"Well said, Martin. You shall receive an extra shilling at the end of the month."
"Thank you, Parson," said Martin, tipping his hat in acknowledgment. "We got him good and proper, did we not, sir?"
"Aye, that we did, Martin."
Thanks to Gideon!
thought Peter indignantly.
"'Tis a pity his sidekick got away with your gold, sir," added the driver.
The parson slapped his thigh. "Ha!" he roared. "Well, you need not worry on that account, for see what I have here!"
The parson pulled out a purse bulging with coins from his waistcoat pocket and jingled it so that everyone could hear the clink of metal.
"
This
," he said, "is my gold. Ned's accomplice ran off with the counterfeit coins that I had procured expressly for this eventuality. Those coins are worthless. I told you we were more than a match for any gentlemen of the road!"
Everyone laughed and cheered and thumped the table. Only Gideon did not seem to want to join in.
"Why the sour face, Mr. Seymour? Do not tell me that you of all people disapprove."
Gideon swallowed his irritation. "With respect, sir, aside from it being punishable by death, is there any better way than carrying counterfeit coins of announcing to the world that you do indeed have something worth stealing?"
"Pish pash, sir. You worry like an old woman. With Ned Porter behind bars, his accomplice would not dare come within a mile of us."
"Then let us hope he does not have any friends...."
"So, Mr. Seymour, you would have me hand over my hard-earned gold to that ruffian?"
"In which case, sir, you would perhaps concede that there are occasions when even good men are sometimes pushed into breaking the law of the land?"
The parson did not reply.
"If you will permit me, sir," continued Gideon, "I should like to ride ahead to scout the county. I am persuaded that Ned Porter is not the only villain hereabouts."
"Can I go with you?" Peter burst out.
"A capital idea. Take the boy for some exercise," said the parson. "The remainder of the party can rest while I complete my business with the magistrate. Meet us back here before noon."
"But...," said Kate, looking pleadingly at Peter.
"Gideon can't carry two on his horse," said Peter reasonably.
Kate scowled at him. "But you're a townie. You don't know how to ride a horse."
Everyone looked incredulous, as if she had said Peter couldn't use a knife and fork.
"I'm sorry," Kate said quickly. "I was joking. I just wanted to go too."
"It will be my pleasure to keep you company, Mistress Kate," said Sidney, smiling his ragged smile at her.
Kate raised her eyebrows at Peter, which he correctly interpreted as meaning: I'm going to get you for this.
Peter was not sure whether it was tact or merriment that prompted Gideon to look away while Peter tried to mount Midnight. It took him a good five minutes, and then Midnight promptly threw him off again. Why, oh why, thought Peter, had his parents always said no to riding lessons? Gideon finally took pity on him, climbed up himself, and reached down to pull Peter up. When Gideon said that Peter could hold on to him if he felt unsteady, Peter refused, saying that he had a good sense of balance. However, when Midnight headed off at a gallop, Peter couldn't help grabbing hold of Gideon's shirt. Five miles later Peter's legs, stretched out over Midnight's muscular back, were sore and stiff, and he felt a little seasick, but he was beginning to get the hang of this riding business. He started to enjoy himself.
"Imagine a carriage moving on its own without horses, only much, much faster," Peter said to Gideon. "And then imagine roads that are smooth and hard and never get muddy. When we drove up from London to Derbyshire it took less than three hours--and that was in the middle of winter."
Gideon looked suitably impressed.
"And so," Peter continued, "if we were attacked by a highwayman in our time, all we'd do is call 999, and then within minutes a car with flashing lights and sirens full of armed policemen would arrive to rescue us."
"And how would they deal with the highwayman?" asked Gideon. "Would they carry him to a magistrate or would they hang him?"
"Hang him? Oh, no! No one gets hanged nowadays. Not even murderers. Not even mass murderers. The police would cart him off to prison. He'd probably have to stay there for the rest of his life, though."
"I once had the misfortune to visit someone in Newgate Gaol. If your prisons are as foul as Newgate, it would be more merciful to hang him."
"Why? What was it like?"
"It is hell on earth. There is the foulest stench that makes those with the strongest stomach retch. And the air is thick with cries and moans that make your heart stop with the horror of the place. But worst of all is the look in the eyes of those who have languished there any time. Please, God, I never have the occasion to see Newgate Gaol again. But tell me, can it be true that in your time the authorities hang
no one
? No matter what crime they have committed?"
"Yes," Peter replied.
"But if bad men need not fear Jack Ketch and his noose, are not the streets thronged with assassins?"
"I don't think so--well, I've never seen one."
Gideon grew thoughtful and then rode Midnight to a vantage point on high ground where they could see for miles around. Midnight was breathing hard and his flanks were steaming in the cool, misty air. They dismounted to give him a rest. Rain dripped onto their backs from a great oak tree under which they were taking shelter. Suddenly Gideon let out a great cry that rang out over the surrounding fields strewn with poppies. "Nine! Nine! Nine!"
Peter started to chuckle quietly, but when Gideon turned to him to comment that calling "999" did not work in these days, Peter positively exploded. Tears ran down his cheeks and he could scarcely breathe. Gideon, momentarily affronted, pushed Peter over into the wet grass.
"All this is fancy!" Gideon shouted, laughing himself. "'Tis naught but the imaginings of a mischievous"--here Gideon rolled Peter over with the toe of his boot--"young"--another roll--"rogue!"
"But it's true! I swear it's true! I meant that you call 999 on the telephone."
"This tel-ee-phone again," said Gideon in mock exasperation. "Confound your tel-ee-phones."
"It's not difficult to understand," said Peter, miming the actions. "You just key in a number--999 if you want the emergency services, but everyone has their own special number--and then you put the telephone to your ear and you speak to someone who is...somewhere else."
Gideon laughed out loud. "Enough! The future is a foreign country to me. Unless I see it with my own eyes I shall not believe it."
"But I've hardly started yet," protested Peter. "I haven't told you about television and computer games and DNA and the Hubble telescope and nanotechnology..."