Gideon the Cutpurse (22 page)

* * *

The parson yawned extravagantly. "Upon my word, a more vexatious journey from Baslow Hall I cannot imagine! The stagecoach is a marvel of the modern age but does little for my aching back. Thank heaven we have arrived in civilization. It is wearisome indeed to go abroad fearing that every other fellow has his eye on your purse."
The parson stretched up his arms to relieve his aching back, and then reached down to touch his toes, which he would have managed were it not for the obstacle of his large belly. When he stood up again he found that a woman had planted herself in front of him.
"Won't you spare a farthin' for a poor widow wiv ten children to feed?" she asked.
She was so thin her bones jutted out from beneath her skin like furniture under dust sheets. She appeared to have no teeth, and she was swaying ever so slightly. Just visible underneath a frayed shawl, a baby was clamped to her bosom. The stench emanating from her was such that Kate, who stood right next to her, could not help retching. The parson reached into his pocket in search of a coin.
"And this must be the welcoming committee," commented the driver sarcastically. "Keep your money, Parson. I know her sort. She won't spend it on her poor starved children. It's gin she's after."
"So you'd begrudge me a drop of kill-grief, would you?" she hissed. "You in your fancy livery and a face like a pig's backside. What's it to you if the gentleman has a kind heart?"
The woman spat at the driver, and a large glob of spittle ran down his cheek. The driver wiped his face with his sleeve and pushed her roughly out of the way, and she and the baby fell in the mud.
Kate was mesmerized by the hate in her eyes. Hannah came forward and held out a penny, which the woman grabbed instinctively in a movement that reminded Kate of the way a chameleon shoots out its sticky tongue to catch a fly.
As the woman disappeared into the heaving crowd, Kate noticed the bruises on her arms and her bare, black feet. She turned to look at Peter, who was clearly thinking the same thing.
"So this is eighteenth-century London," he said.

* * *

Detective Inspector Wheeler crouched down and drew a line with his finger in the red dust gathered in a pile at the foot of the brick wall. He shone a torch at the wall where Dr. Pirretti's knife had effaced Kate's message. When he got up, his face was like thunder.
"Where are they now?" he asked Sergeant Chadwick.
"They arrived at the NCRDM lab half an hour ago."
"Then what are you waiting for?" barked the inspector. "Get me a car!"

* * *

The inspector stared around Dr. Dyer's office, his eyes resting on the piles of computer printouts covering the floor and the wall-to-wall photographs of deep space. Dr. Pirretti poured him a cup of strong black coffee.
"Sugar?" she asked.
"Two. Please."
A vein throbbed in his temple. His studied silence prompted the scientists to exchange anxious glances. Suddenly the inspector grabbed hold of the sides of Dr. Dyer's desk and leaned over it, glowering at the row of apprehensive faces.
"Don't insult my intelligence by trying to deny that you are all concealing something. If you know anything that could be helpful to us in our inquiries, I should like you to tell me. Now."
No one spoke. Inspector Wheeler turned to face Dr. Dyer. "What in God's name is going on?" he exploded. "There are two hundred police officers involved in this case. It has national press coverage. Pleas for information are still going out on local news stations four times a day. The Police Commissioner is breathing down my neck, insisting on an early resolution to our investigations. And, meanwhile, the one man who seems to know something, the father of the missing girl, no less, sees fit to keep this information to himself!"
"I..." Dr. Dyer faltered. He was at a loss to know what to say. He passed a hand over his forehead.
"Dr. Dyer," growled the inspector, "if you don't want me to charge you with obstructing the police in their inquiries, I strongly suggest that you start talking."
Dr. Dyer looked around wildly at his colleagues.
The inspector walked right up to Kate's father and leaned in so close that Dr. Dyer could smell his breath. Dr. Dyer tried his best not to flinch.
"Have the children been launched into outer space?" asked the inspector sarcastically. "Has NASA invented an invisibility machine? Have they been abducted by aliens? Tell me!"
"I...can't," said Dr. Dyer.
"What do you mean, you can't?" shouted the inspector.
"He means," interrupted Dr. Pirretti, "that the information is classified. You will have to go through the official channels at NASA if you wish to have access to this information, and I doubt whether they will agree to it. However, I should like to assure you that we do not mean to obstruct your inquiries in any way."
"Nor help them either," retorted the inspector.
"I can give you the director of research's number at Houston, if you like."
"Please do."

* * *

Half an hour later Inspector Wheeler returned briefly to Dr. Dyer's office to inform them that NASA had been singularly unhelpful and that he would be contacting the Foreign Office to ask them to pursue the matter vigorously. No sooner had he swept out the door than the telephone rang. Dr. Jacob answered the call and put his hand over the receiver.
"It's Houston," he said. "They want to speak to you at once, Anita."
Dr. Pirretti took a deep breath, reached out her hand to take the phone, and then changed her mind.
"Tell them I'll ring them back later."
She ran her fingers through her wavy dark hair. "Now what?" she breathed.

* * *

The Honorable Mrs. Byng's brother, Sir Richard Picard, owned a grand five-story house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, five minutes' walk from the Blue Boar Inn. Gideon hired a hackney coach for a shilling and went on ahead to the house with the luggage. He asked Tom to help him before he took his leave of them. The rest of the party were glad to stretch their legs and go on foot.
"Richard is an accommodating fellow," commented the parson to Peter and Kate. "I have no doubt that he would be happy to have you in his house until you can find your uncle. Indeed, Richard will doubtless assist you in your search."
Kate and Peter smiled and nodded in thanks.
"This is going to be tricky," said Peter to Kate when the parson had turned his back.
"Don't worry," replied Kate. "It's just going to take a very long time to find this particular uncle. Anyway, we might have the antigravity machine soon, if we can find the Black Lion Tavern, that is."
Peter frowned. "That's not going to be the problem. It's whether we can persuade the Tar Man to hand it over."
"I know," Kate replied. "I've been thinking the same thing. But at least he told you where to find him."
"Yeah, but what does he want in return? He's not going to say, 'Of course you can have your machine back--no problem at all!' What have we got that he wants? We don't have any money, that's for sure."
Kate suddenly clapped her hand to her mouth. "Oh, no!" she said. "We
have
got something that he wants. Or rather, someone."
Peter looked at her, puzzled, and then understood what she meant. Peter clenched his fists tight.
"Well, we're not going to give Gideon up to him no matter what he does to us!"

* * *

That first walk along eighteenth-century Holborn made such an intense impression on Peter and Kate that they could scarcely take it all in. They stepped into the street and joined the great crowd that streamed eastward and westward along High Holborn. All around them was the din of a thousand conversations, of hawkers selling their wares, of infants crying, of a gypsy playing his fiddle, of church bells, of horses snorting, and of wooden axles creaking. They walked along, craning their heads first upward, gawping at the fine high stone buildings and the huge colorful shop signs hanging from iron brackets, and then downward at the cobbled street as they tripped over a loose stone or sank ankle-deep into a muddy hole, spattering their clothes with stinking filth. Several times they became separated from their companions, and it was only the beacon of Jack's blond hair, shining in the sunlight as he rode astride the parson's shoulders, that saved them from becoming utterly lost in the heaving mass of people.
They rubbed shoulders with beggars and merchants, servants and laborers, street urchins and courtiers. Soon they began to pick out details in the ever-changing scene: black beauty spots on powdered white faces, greasy ponytails and three-cornered hats, wigs and turbans, cascades of lace flowing from wide sleeves, white stockings and polished black boots, exquisite embroidered court shoes with pointed toes and satin heels that had no business treading in the dirt of the street.
Every few yards a stallholder would accost them.
"Who will buy my lovely roses? Two a penny, four a penny!" cried a flower girl.
"Hot pudding and gray peas!" called out a plump woman stirring a pan of unidentifiable green mush.
They all soon learned to step aside when they heard the shout: "Chair!" or "By your leave, sir!" Saved by a quick shove from Parson Ledbury, Sidney was nearly trampled underfoot by two bearers carrying a sedan chair. This one must have belonged to a great family, for it was upholstered in brocade and a coat of arms was embroidered in gold thread on the door. The two chair-men, who wore liveried uniforms, ran at breakneck speed through the street with their heavy burden--far too fast to be able to stop if anyone got in their way. As it raced by, Kate caught through the window a glimpse of turquoise taffeta, a painted fan, and ropes of pearls draped over creamy skin.
Peter felt Kate grab hold of his hand.
"This is something else, isn't it?"
"You're not kidding," Peter replied, and he thought, although he could not bring himself to say it, how much he would have loved his mother to be here. Once when she had been working on an historical film, she had shown him around the set. His mother had been so proud of all the authentic details that they had used. He could imagine the exact expression, the wide eyes and half-open mouth, that would have come to her face if she had been here with him and could have experienced all of this. A pang of sadness entered his heart, and for a moment he trudged along and desperately did not want to be in Holborn in 1763 with Kate and the Byng family. He wanted to be with his family, not a stranger in a time that was not his own.
When they had to cross the road, treading over the foul-smelling central gutter, they took their lives in their hands, darting among lumbering wagons, elegant chaises, carriages and four, and hackney coaches. Halfway across they saw a magpie pecking at a dead cat, his meal forever interrupted by the constant procession of vehicles.
At last the parson took them up a narrow street past a noisy tavern, where a woman in a revealing red dress sidled up to Sidney, took him by the arm, and said, "Come, my young sir, let us drink a glass together."
Sidney's jaw dropped and he stared at her, speechless. The parson grabbed him by the other arm and pulled him forward. The woman loosened her grip and laughed.
"Another day perhaps, my lord," she called out after him.
Suddenly they stepped out into the sunlight and saw the great expanse of calm green that was Lincoln's Inn Fields. Children were playing, a cow was grazing, and some ladies holding lapdogs were sitting on a bench. Around the edges of this tranquil square stood tall, elegant terraces. It was to one of the grandest houses, on the west side, that the parson led them. They walked through an ornate iron gate, flanked by two giant urns. The parson rapped on the door with a brass knocker in the shape of a dolphin, and a footman in full livery pulled open the heavy door. Finally they had arrived at their destination.

* * *

By late afternoon everyone had washed, put on a change of clothing, and eaten a late lunch. Sir Richard Picard was busy at the Treasury Offices in Downing Street but sent word that he would be back by eight to join them for a celebratory supper. Gideon asked the cook to give Tom something to eat before he left, and the kindhearted woman prepared him a feast of bread and chicken and ham washed down with a glass of cider. Peter and Kate sat with him in the dark basement kitchen. He ate greedily but could not bear to look anyone in the eye, although when Kate asked if she could hold his pet mouse, he took it out and let it scamper on his head and shoulders and run up his sleeves.
"She won't go to no one else," Tom explained. His voice was breaking, and he hit squeaky high notes and rumbling low ones in the space of a few words.
Gideon asked him if he had somewhere to go.
"Yes, yes, sir. I..." His voice trailed off.
"Where?" inquired Gideon. "To your parents' house?"
"I have no parents. Lodgings...I have lodgings," he muttered.
Peter and Kate said good-bye to the boy, and when Kate held out her hand he was too shy to take it and took a step backward. Peter was pretty sure he was close to tears.
Tom can't want to go home,
he thought.
It can't, in any case, be much of a home if he left it to hang around with the Carrick gang.
Gideon gave Tom a sixpence and they watched him slip out the back door into the alley behind the terrace of houses.
"Poor wretch," commented Gideon. "God in his wisdom gives some of his children a heavy burden to bear."

* * *

Hannah insisted that Peter and Kate rest awhile after their long journey, but neither of them were tired and Kate soon joined Peter in his tiny attic room. They needed to decide how and when to approach the Tar Man without putting Gideon at risk. They couldn't agree, and after a while they stopped talking. Peter broke the silence.
"Kate," said Peter. "I'm sorry I went off with Gideon without you, but I wouldn't have gone back without you. Not deliberately, I mean. Don't you believe me?"
"I'd like to believe you, but...I don't
know
. I can't imagine anything worse than being cut off, all alone in 1763 with no hope of getting back."
"All right, then," said Peter, "I swear. I'll swear on anything you like, I'll not go back without you."
"You'll swear on anything?"
"Yes."
"Then let's make a blood pact. Give me your knife."
Kate took Peter's knife and, without flinching, pricked the tip of her finger with the point of the blade and squeezed until a bulging drop of blood appeared. She smeared it onto the palm of her hand. Then she wiped the blade carefully on her handkerchief and handed it back to Peter, indicating that he should do the same. When he had finished, she grasped his hand and held it tightly in hers.
"Say after me," she said. "I swear on my life."
"I swear on my life."
"That I shall never return to the twenty-first century without you."
"That I shall never return to the twenty-first century without you."
"There's no getting out of that promise," she said.
"I don't want to," he replied.