Gideon the Cutpurse (16 page)

* * *

Dr. Darwin took leave of the party and wished them Godspeed. The parson shook his hand warmly. He clearly had enormous respect for Lichfield's celebrated doctor. As Dr. Darwin passed Peter and Kate to walk through the narrow alleyway into Bird Street, he stopped for a moment to speak to Kate.
"And what, pray, do you foretell my distinguished grandson will discover?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"I do."
Kate hesitated for a moment and gave a sidelong look at Peter. "Then you must swear not to tell anyone," she said.
"Very well. I swear."
"Charles Darwin discovered something called
evolution
. He discovered that human beings weren't created, they
evolved
from apes. Once they found that out, it changed everything."
Dr. Darwin looked as if he had been given a strong electric shock. He gulped and said, "Why did you say it
changed
everything? Why not it
will change
everything?"
Peter clapped his hand to his forehead in exasperation.
"Slip of the tongue," said Kate hurriedly. "I told you I was tired."

* * *

Over a light luncheon the parson announced that in view of Gideon's discovery of the footpads and Ned Porter's escape, there was to be a change of plan. He had intended to drive Mrs. Byng's carriage all the way to her brother's house in Chiswick, but in the circumstances, he felt it would be safer to drive to Birmingham and catch one of the nonstop stagecoaches to London. It would be faster, for they changed the horses regularly at staging posts, and safer, as the stagecoach men were armed with blunderbusses. As he spoke, Gideon nodded strongly in agreement. The journey from Lichfield to Birmingham should not, he told them, take much above two hours. They were to set off at six, by which time Sidney and the driver should be fit for travel.

* * *

The sun came out after lunch and, with the exception of Gideon and the two invalids, the party decided to take a stroll around Lichfield. A warm, blustery wind had blown up and as they strolled through the pleasant streets thronged with the good folk of Lichfield, it gave the children much amusement to see what a strong gust of wind could do to a three-cornered hat, a wig, or a skirt the width of a small car. They half-expected to see some of the more fashionable ladies being carried up toward the clouds like brightly colored balloons.
Parson Ledbury gave them a tour of Lichfield Cathedral, scarcely lowering his booming voice, which seemed almost indecent in this hushed, vaulted, glorious space. Kate stood in the Lady Chapel, bathed in the tinted sunlight that streamed through the richly colored stained-glass windows, and offered up a silent prayer for their safe return to their own time.
Afterward they walked through the Cathedral Close, past Dr. Darwin's house, and on to the Minster Pond. It was the most normal thing the children had done since arriving in the eighteenth century, for both Kate and Peter were used to being dragged around historic towns on holiday. It was hard, though, not being able to go off and buy an ice cream or a can of fizzy drink.
Peter was lagging behind, convinced that he had seen a green woodpecker in a great elm tree overhanging the pond. He was standing, staring up into the lofty branches, shading his eyes, when he heard peals of laughter. Looking over at his companions, he saw that the wind had blown Parson Ledbury's hat onto the pond, where it was floating farther from the edge every second. After the longest stick the parson could find proved too short, he waded without hesitation into the murky water in his white stockings and buckled shoes and retrieved his hat. Water trickled down his face, and his stockings were streaked with green weed, but he seemed very pleased with himself.
"Upon my word that cools the blood!" he laughed, and taking off his hat once more, scooped up some more pond water and doused himself with it. Hannah shrieked and cried with laughter, turning quite pink, and Jack begged the parson to do the same to him--which he would have done had Hannah not cried, "No, no, sir, think of his condition. He could catch a chill in this wind!"
Peter joined in the laughter from some fifty yards behind, until he caught sight of something that made him stop at once. He stepped behind the trunk of the great elm tree and took another look to confirm his first impression. Farther around the edge of the pond, positioned between two bushes in such a way as to be invisible to his companions but clearly visible to Peter, stood the Tar Man. Peter shrank back behind the tree trunk, his heart thudding in his chest. He turned his head until he could spot him again, and he peered shakily across the water at the man he had hoped never to set eyes on again. He took in the crescent moon scar, visible even from here, the dirty black coat, and, above all, that air of detached cruelty and total focus on his prey. Peter was put in mind of a wary old lion stalking unsuspecting game at a waterhole on the savannah.
Before he knew what he was doing, Peter was running toward his friends waving his arms and whooping madly. "Come and see this woodpecker!" he shouted at the top of his voice. When he looked over at the space where the Tar Man had been, it was empty.

* * *

Detective Inspector Wheeler gave Dr. and Mrs. Dyer and Mr. and Mrs. Schock each an enlarged color photograph to look at and sat back in a scuffed kitchen chair waiting for a reaction. The photograph depicted a boy and a girl in eighteenth-century dress, floating at shoulder height in a supermarket car park.
"Oh my Lord!" gasped Mrs. Dyer. "It's Kate!"
"What's going on?" demanded Dr. Dyer. "Where and when was this taken?"
"Are you implying that this could be Peter?" exclaimed Mrs. Schock.
Everyone was speaking at once.
"I think perhaps you'd better tell us what this is all about, Detective Inspector," said Mr. Schock.
"I only wish I
could
tell you what this is all about," said the inspector. "But you've answered one of my questions already, Mrs. Dyer. The girl in the picture appears to be your daughter. Now, this is clearly a somewhat unusual image and we would have dismissed it as a hoax except that there are apparently several witnesses to the incident."
The policeman observed the four heads as they bowed over the kitchen table. This was a strange case and no mistake. He had now ruled out kidnapping. The Schocks were well off but not seriously wealthy, and there would have been a ransom note by now if the children had been kidnapped. As for the other possibility, that Peter had run away, he could not rule it out entirely, as the boy was obviously angry at some level with both parents. But he had never run away before and why should he take Kate with him--a girl he had only just met? No. It did not add up. As for a madman of some description suddenly taking it into his head to harm these children, conceal them, and then escape from the lab without any witnesses at all within a time gap of what--three or four minutes at most? That idea beggared belief. He kept coming back to the same conclusion: These children had simply disappeared into thin air.
The photograph was the first lead in the case--and what a lead! What possible conclusions could he draw from this bizarre picture? And yet he still had this hunch--which he could neither explain nor share--that the children were safe. He was also increasingly convinced that the girl's father was holding back some information, and it was Dr. Dyer's reaction above all that he observed.
"But where was the photograph taken? How did you get hold of it? Where is she now?" Mrs. Dyer was becoming extremely agitated. Dr. Dyer put an arm round her shoulder. The inspector looked at him.
He seems shocked,
thought the inspector,
but excited too. Really excited. Just what exactly are you hiding, Dr. Dyer?
"The subeditor of a local newspaper in rural Staffordshire faxed it to me this morning. They were planning to publish a piece on a supposed sighting of ghosts--"
At this, Mrs. Schock burst into tears.
"I'm sorry if this is upsetting, Mrs. Schock," said the inspector. "May I continue?"
"Of course. I'm sorry, please do," she replied.
"There is actually not much more to say at this stage. The man who took this photograph swears that he saw two ghosts in Sainsbury's car park. The subeditor at the newspaper thought she recognized Kate and checked with me before publishing it. I've confiscated the photograph and the negative and have implied that there is a logical explanation for this. I'm sure my sergeant will think of one to satisfy them presently.... Three officers are on their way to Staffordshire as we speak. Rest assured that you will be informed of any developments."
"But could the boy be Peter?" asked his father. "And how are they floating? And what on earth are they doing in eighteenth-century costume?"
"I couldn't have put it better myself," said Inspector Wheeler. "If any of you know how to explain this, I will be delighted to hear it, because for the present, unless I accept that these figures are ghosts--which I certainly don't--I have no idea what to make of this picture."
"Can I keep hold of this photograph?" asked Dr. Dyer.
"Be my guest," replied the inspector. "Here, have an envelope to put it in. Please keep it confidential, though. I don't want the press to get hold of it before we've had a chance to investigate."

* * *

Driving away from the Dyers' farm, the inspector made a call to the officer in charge of surveillance at the NCRDM laboratory. "Let me know if Dr. Dyer turns up this afternoon--I'd be interested to know if he's got a large brown envelope with him."

* * *

The driver declined the parson's offer of a seat inside the carriage, saying that he would feel more at ease riding on top. Squeezed between the driver and Gideon, Peter watched the driver's head droop as he grew drowsy, and soon the motion of horses had lulled him to sleep. Only when he started up a slow, rhythmic snoring did Peter dare tell Gideon what was on his mind.
"When we were out walking this afternoon I saw the Tar Man. He was spying on us. And then, on our way out of Lichfield, we passed a tavern and I'm pretty sure I saw him again. He sat at a table surrounded by a big crowd of men. But I might have imagined it was him."
Gideon's tranquil expression vanished. After a moment he replied, "I asked myself why you were forever looking over your shoulder. Did you see anything?"
"No, nothing. And I've told Kate to keep a lookout from the carriage too."
"I had thought he was already in London and we were out of harm's way," said Gideon. "But then, his employer has a hundred paid informants who could track you down from land's end to John O' Groats if he so wished."
"Gideon..." Peter hesitated before asking his questions, for fear of offending him. "Gideon, if you don't mind me asking, why is the Tar Man following you? Who
does
he work for?...And what did Ned Porter mean when he said that he wouldn't be in your shoes for a casketful of diamonds?"
"Ha! Ned Porter," growled Gideon. "I have a theory about that slippery villain now that I know the Tar Man has been in Lichfield. I'll wager that Ned Porter's miraculous escape has something to do with the Tar Man's miraculous skill in picking locks. The Tar Man will certainly have put the word about that he would make it worth any rogue's while to give him news of a certain Mr. Seymour and two children with magical powers. And Ned saw you and Mistress Kate blur--"
"But we don't have magical powers! It's not like that! We're not witches or anything," cried Peter.
"I know that, Master Peter, but if the Tar Man is to get a good price for his booty, it will be to his profit to excite interest in his magic box."
"But he said he'd sell it back to us!"
"Ha! Do you think he would sell it to you if he could get a more handsome price elsewhere?"
"Then what's the point of us going down to London? We haven't got any money--he'll never give it to us. How are Kate and I ever going to get home?"
For the first time Peter felt a terrible panic rise up from deep within him. He had not seriously considered before the possibility that he could not get back. Now the thought of being cut off from his home, friends, school, everything he knew or cared about, made his heart skip a beat. Never to taste ice cream or peanut butter sandwiches again, never to watch television nor ride on a double-decker bus, never to finish the last fifty pages of
The Lord of the Rings
, never to see a jumbo jet thundering overhead above Richmond Green...never to have his mother take his face in her hands to kiss him good night. And then he remembered that the last thing he'd said to his father was "I hate you." His throat tightened. He looked straight ahead without speaking. The summer landscape, instead of seeming wild and free and inviting as it had only a few moments before, now appeared unbearably empty and unfamiliar.
Gideon urged the horses to go faster and cracked the whip, which made the driver stir in his sleep and lean on Peter. The driver's unshaved cheek grated on Peter's neck, and his breath smelled very bad. Gideon reached over and pushed the driver away from his young friend.
"We will find a way to get you home, Master Peter. No matter how long it takes, we will find a way."
Peter bit his lip and nodded his head vigorously in thanks, not capable of speaking just yet.
"You asked me who the Tar Man works for. And as it seems that our fates have been woven together, it is right that you know. The Tar Man and I had the same employer: Lord Luxon. He is Lord Luxon's henchman."
Peter sat up, appalled at the thought that Gideon might have had to work alongside such a monster. "But why would Lord Luxon send someone like that after you?"
"Lord Luxon believes that I know too much to be allowed to walk away from his service. He is very angry with me for having left his employ."
"But why? He can't expect you to work for him if you don't want to."
"He saved my life."
"Yes, but that doesn't mean that he owns you!"
"Soon after Lord Luxon took me in," said Gideon, "his father, the old Lord Luxon, died. We lived in Tempest House, in Surrey, a mansion with thirty rooms, set in a thousand acres. Within a year Lord Luxon had taken against nearly all the servants and those employed to run the estate. I think he still felt his father's disapproval of him through their eyes and it was true that many of them were too used to thinking of Lord Luxon as a wayward boy to treat him in the manner that their new master demanded. Lord Luxon got rid of them all one by one and hired new ones. He trusted me, above all, for I owed him my life and I had a talent for bookkeeping and handling the staff. By the age of nineteen I was all but running Tempest House. In return he paid me well and arranged for my half brother, Joshua, to be apprenticed to a well-known artist and engraver, Mr. Hogarth, at his studio in Covent Garden Piazza."
"What's Joshua like? How old is he?"
"He is nineteen. You remind me a little of him. You have the same coloring and both of you are slow to smile, but when you do..."
"Thanks, Gideon! My mum always says I take life too seriously."
Gideon laughed and then looked sad. "Joshua can catch a likeness better than anyone I know.... Mr. Hogarth is in ill health and Joshua is anxious about his position. Joshua does not understand...why I left Lord Luxon's service.... In the letter that was waiting for me at Baslow Hall, Joshua wrote to warn me that my employer was angry that I had left. He also told me that Lord Luxon had arranged with Mr. Hogarth that he should leave his employ and move to Tempest House. Lord Luxon promises to entrust Joshua with the task of making a set of drawings of his various properties and those of his friends. My brother, of course, is flattered and delighted to be accorded such an honor. But he must not go! He must not go! Lord Luxon does this to draw me back into his web, and I do not like to think of the role that Lord Luxon intends for poor Joshua.... Nowadays Lord Luxon's mind forever teems with plans and stratagems. He is not the man he was."
Gideon fell silent and would not speak for some time. Peter wished the driver would stop snoring.
"And what about the Tar Man?" asked Peter when he dared. "Why on earth did Lord Luxon employ a thug like him?"
"Lord Luxon took to gambling. He spent his time in the company of wastrels and scoundrels who cared nothing for him but who lived off his generosity. He became a member of White's Club in St. James's. Within a year he had built up a mountain of gambling debts. As I kept the accounts, I soon realized that he was losing a king's ransom every night. Finally I had to tell him that he was only weeks away from ruin, but he did not seem to care. 'Don't lecture me like an old woman, Seymour,' he told me, 'but fetch me a short sharp blade. I fancy I have a plan.'"
Gideon stopped and sighed heavily.
"What was the plan?"
"To my eternal shame, Master Peter, I became a cutpurse for him. I did not know how to refuse him--then. He would invite his fair-weather friends down to Tempest House for days at a time. They would drink too much and gamble all night, waging bets of hundreds, even thousands, of guineas on the most foolish things--racing snails and dropping feathers from ladders and suchlike. It turned my stomach to see how Lord Luxon, whom I had admired so much, was living up to his father's prediction. I believed he had it in him to be a fine and honorable gentleman. At the end of each night I would be sent for, and if any of his guests had won too much, I would be sent after them to bring back their winnings to Lord Luxon."
"You stole the money back!" exclaimed Peter.
"I did, Master Peter. I was Lord Luxon's cutpurse. For nearly a year I did as he bid. I never came even close to being caught. My victims would scarcely feel the breath of air as I brushed past them; only later would they reach down and find their purses cut. I have stolen diamonds from a countess's neck and pulled gold watches from the pockets of sleeping gentlemen too drunk to stir--and no doubt I shall burn in hell for it."
Peter did not know what to say. No wonder Parson Ledbury did not trust him if he had known Gideon to be a thief. Conflicting emotions coursed through Peter and he struggled against a feeling of disappointment and disbelief. Gideon the Cutpurse--this did not tally with how Peter had come to think of him. Gideon the Brave, Gideon the Strong, Gideon the Dependable, yes--Gideon the Cutpurse, never.
"But Lord Luxon made you do it, didn't he?" exclaimed Peter. "It wasn't your fault!"
"He commanded me to do it, and yet it was in my power to refuse him. I was weak and did what I was bid."
"But he might have done something bad to you if you'd refused," Peter rejoined.
"Yes, but who is to know if I might have saved my master had I stood firm. He told me that I was a thief when he saved my life, and now, by becoming a thief once more, I could save his."
"How could you say no to that?" said Peter.
"Indeed, that is what I told myself. But there is not a day that goes by when I do not regret what I did. On the eve of my twenty-first birthday I told Lord Luxon that my conscience would not allow me to steal for him any longer. I thought he would turn me out of Tempest House but for the second time he surprised me with his compassion, for he agreed to my resuming my former duties. The space that I left was filled shortly afterward by the Tar Man, who inspired fear in everyone he encountered. The Tar Man brought with him two qualities which hastened, I believe, my master's fall. The first was his desire to take vengeance on his fellow man for the misfortunes life had heaped upon him--and you know his sorry history, for I have told you. The second was the Tar Man's knowledge of London's vast army of villains, whose influence stretches over the city and beyond: pickpockets and footpads, highwaymen and plumpers, cutpurses and assassins."
"You don't mean you actually worked with the Tar Man?"
"Our paths rarely crossed but, yes, we had the same employer for over two years--until Mrs. Byng's brother, Sir Richard Picard, wrote to his sister on my behalf asking if she could offer me employment at Baslow Hall. Sir Richard bought several horses from Lord Luxon and, as I made all the arrangements, he got to know me well. Lord Luxon would not accept my resignation, but I left, to his great anger, some three weeks since."
"Well, I can see why you don't want Joshua to work for him. But...but...you're not still a cutpurse, are you?" asked Peter, feeling the need to be clear on the point.
Gideon looked so saddened by his question that Peter wished he could have crawled into a hole for asking it. Nevertheless Gideon replied.
"No!...No. I am not," he said, and cracked his whip over the horses' heads and looked straight ahead without speaking again.