Gideon the Cutpurse (34 page)

* * *

The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of a densely wooded part of Hampstead Heath. They had concealed the carriages as best as they could and had come on foot to the place where Dr. Dyer had hidden the antigravity machine. One of Sir Richard's grooms had stood guard over it since morning and had waited here with Molly and a fast horse provided for Gideon's escape. It had been a difficult day for Molly, and her relief was plain when she was reunited with Kate. After all the jubilation and congratulations, the tears and the laughter in the two carriages, a somber mood had descended on the company. This was to be good-bye. Gideon must go into hiding, and Peter, Kate, and her father were to return to their own time if they could. Nor could they spend any time on long good-byes, for the soldiers would be fast on their heels. Dr. Dyer removed the bracken he had used to conceal the antigravity machine and positioned Kate, Peter, and Molly around it.
Kate broke away and hugged little Jack and Hannah.
"I hope King George has cured you of the scrofula, Jack. Make sure to grow lots more cabbages--if the rabbits eat them, you know what you can threaten them with!"
"Were I to live to be a hundred, I should never meet a finer person than you, Mistress Kate," said Sidney. "God bless you and Godspeed!"
Kate kissed his cheek, and Sidney put his hand to the spot where she had kissed him and kept it there. "Have a happy life," she said. "I hope all of you have happy lives!"
The parson kissed Kate's hand. "I shall forget all about America, but I shall not forget you," he said.
Kate was beginning to become tearful again, and for once Peter did not blame her. He followed Kate's example and shook everyone's hand warmly, even Sidney's.
"Good-bye," said Dr. Dyer. "I cannot thank you enough. And I know that Kate's mother and Peter's parents, too, would join me in my heartfelt thanks."
"You have been so good to us, Sir Richard," said Peter. "Thank you for everything you have done."
"I count it a privilege to have known you," replied Sir Richard. "I shall often think about the time you spent with us, and I shall dream of a future with you all in it."
Everyone suddenly became aware of horses' hooves.
"Quick!" said Sir Richard. "There is no time to lose."
Peter, who had so much to say to Gideon, was not going to get the opportunity to say anything at all. He glanced over at his friend, who stood side by side with Joshua, whom Peter so resembled.
"Peter," said Dr. Dyer. "We must go."
The three of them and Molly clustered around the antigravity machine. Peter looked up at Gideon and tried to smile. He had not even been able to say good-bye. He saw Kate holding her father's hand, and then he looked back at Gideon. The thought came into his head that in the short space of time he had known him, Gideon had done things for him that his own father never had. He had rescued him, probably saved his life; not only that, he had put his own life in danger. He had been a true friend. He had been there when he needed him. Gideon had
trusted
him. And now, because Gideon had come to his and Kate's aid, he was going to be alone and on the run. An impulse came over Peter that was too strong to resist. He
couldn't
go without saying good-bye, without saying thank you.
"Ready?" asked Dr. Dyer.
Kate nodded her head and tightened her grip around Molly's collar, but Peter suddenly darted toward Gideon, arms outstretched. Kate saw Dr. Dyer move his hand toward the starter switch and she screamed at Peter.
"Peter! No!"
Peter swung around just in time to see the Tar Man spring, seemingly from nowhere, into the position Peter had just vacated. Molly's snarl alerted the rest of the party to the intruder. Gideon's warm smile vanished and he instinctively threw Peter back toward Dr. Dyer and Kate. The Tar Man glanced over at Gideon, and for a brief moment there was an unfathomable look in his eyes. The tips of Peter's fingers sank into the liquefying edges of the antigravity machine. It was too late. A wave of nausea swept over Peter before he was flung backward, every atom repelled by the arcane functioning of the device. He looked up, and in that split second before all was lost, he saw the Tar Man, dark eyes burning, triumph and terror etched in equal measure on that hateful face; he saw Dr. Dyer, eyes wide with horror; and then he glimpsed Kate, his Kate, who had sworn never to leave without him. Her hand reached out toward him and her mouth was open in a scream that rang in Peter's ears long after it had stopped. And above them all, emanating from the reflective dome at the top of the machine, he saw--or did he imagine that he saw?--a pulsating wave of fluorescent spirals that shot into infinity and vanished.
Hannah and Jack screamed. Gideon and Joshua stepped forward to lift Peter from the ground. He stood, unsteady on his feet, his eyes fixed to the spot where the antigravity machine had been. The Tar Man traveled to the twenty-first century, and Peter was stranded in 1763. No one spoke. The only sound was that of horses' hooves drawing nearer and nearer every second.

* * *

"Go! Go now! Go with Gideon!" Sir Richard managed to say. "Take this gold and send word when you can."
He put a bag of coin into Gideon's hand. Gideon mounted the horse, and the parson pushed Peter up behind him.
"Take this," said the parson, thrusting Mrs. Byng's diamond necklace into Gideon's hands. "Deliver it to my cousin and tell her that I have offered you the use of Hawthorn Cottage for as long as you need it."
"You would trust me with Mrs. Byng's necklace?"
"I misjudged you, Mr. Seymour," said the parson. "I would trust you above all men."
Gideon met the good parson's gaze and bowed his head in thanks.
Joshua reached up to grasp Gideon's hand.
"I'll send word when I can," Gideon said. "Sir Richard has promised to find a position for you."
"You can count on me, Gideon, be assured of that, but if you do not leave on the instant, I shall be visiting you once more in Newgate Gaol! Go now and Godspeed to you both!"
Gideon dug his heels in, and the horse galloped into the cover of the wood. Peter held on to Gideon and looked over his shoulder, his mind blunt with shock. He had a last impression of a forlorn group, still as statues, too stunned to do more than watch them disappear into the trees.

* * *

Sir Richard and the parson thought it best that they all walk out to meet the soldiers who had come to arrest them. No doubt they had discovered the carriages, which had been hastily and not very well hidden. Sidney, Joshua, Hannah, and little Jack followed behind, all of them shaken by what they had just witnessed. There was, as the parson said, no point skulking in the undergrowth when half of London could testify to what they had done. However, they were surprised to find not soldiers but the King's messenger with an escort of men.
The messenger recognized Sir Richard at once and dropped down off his horse. With a low bow he put a rolled parchment that carried the King's seal into Sir Richard's hands. The parson stood side by side with him.
"His Majesty King George III is pleased to grant Mr. Gideon Seymour a pardon and bids you instruct him that he is a free man."
The parson and Sir Richard exchanged glances. The messenger was exhausted and out of breath. He had ridden for three days and two nights to deliver the King's pardon, only to see it greeted with crestfallen expressions. He had hoped for something better.

* * *

Gideon urged Sir Richard's bay mare through Hampstead Heath under cover of the trees, and then, by the quietest routes he could find, they made for Highgate Hill. He turned around frequently to check on Peter, who would not respond to anything he said. Peter's forehead bounced against Gideon's back; he was awake, but his eyes were firmly closed, and he was conscious only of fluorescent spirals rolling sickeningly and without end across the landscape of his mind. Kate's scream still resonated in his ears.
"Do not lose heart, my young friend," said Gideon. "We might be on the run, but you must not doubt that we
will
find a way to get you home."

* * *

Halfway up Highgate Hill, Gideon stopped and turned the horse around so that they could both see London spread out before them.
"Look," he said.
Peter looked. He took in the great dome of St. Paul's and the Monument, a tall white column surrounded by a cluster of city churches. His eyes traveled over all those parts of the city that now held such vivid memories for him: Holborn, Covent Garden, Lincoln's Inn Fields, and, toward the west, St. James's Park and Buckingham House. How different it was from the London of his time. Would he ever see his London again? Would he forget what it looked like? Would he forget what his mum and dad looked like? He swept the thoughts away. He could not think about all that now. Instead he inserted, in his mind's eye, the Post Office Tower, Canary Wharf, the Houses of Parliament. He made himself conjure up the sounds of his century: the incessant roar of the traffic, the background grumble of overhead planes, sirens, car radios, the ringtones of mobile phones.... Suddenly, despite himself, a broad grin appeared on Peter's face.
"The Tar Man will be terrified of the twenty-first century!"
Gideon's blue eyes focused on the city stretched out beneath them. A cool wind blew strands of blond hair from his face.
"Do not underestimate him; he is more resourceful than you know. I fear it may be the twenty-first century that will be terrified of the Tar Man."

Author's Note

When writing about the eighteenth century in
Gideon the Cutpurse
, I have tried, wherever possible, to be historically accurate and to offer a glimpse of what it might have been like to live in 1763. However, this is above all an adventure written to entertain, and not a history textbook, and I hope readers will enjoy distinguishing between historical fact and historical fiction.

Acknowledgments

I began writing
Gideon the Cutpurse
for the best of reasons: because I wanted to. It is very easy to start a novel, less so to finish it. And if, over the course of five years, the germ of an idea grew into a series of novels, it is in large part thanks to those who enthused me in the first place, those who encouraged me to keep at it, and those who lent me their literary talents to help me get it ready to go out into the world. Looking now at the list of people I have had the pleasure of meeting, it strikes me that although writing is necessarily a solitary occupation, it certainly has its compensations!
I feel that I should first acknowledge my debt to the historian Lucy Moore, whose works on eighteenth-century criminal London caught my imagination in the first place. I heard her speaking on the radio one morning in June 2000, and by the end of the afternoon, I had already planned out the story of
Gideon the Cutpurse
in broad brushstrokes. I consulted many works on the period, but books that rarely left my desk are Liza Picard's
Dr. Johnson's London
and Michael Brander's
Georgian Gentleman.
I should also like to thank David Lewis for lending me his copy of
The Newgate Calendar--
without this often gruesome book I should never have created one of my favorite characters, the Tar Man.
For their constant encouragement and literary expertise my thanks are due to my novelist friends: Stephanie Chilman, Kate Harrison, Jacqui Hazell, Jacqui Lofthouse, and Louise Voss. I should also like to thank my first adult readers, Heather Swain, Liz Facer, Anne-Marie Nation-Telleray, and Catherine Pappo, and my first young reader, Rachel Walsh. I am extremely grateful for all their comments. Thanks, also, to all in the Department of English and Comparative Literature at Goldsmiths College for their support and, in particular, to Blake Morrison, and to Maura Dooley for all her insight and encouragement. I should also like to thank Maura's daughter, Imelda, for her reaction to the book. I am grateful to Brigitte Resl for translating Queen Charlotte's dialogue into German.
I am indebted to the Arts and Humanities Research Council for supporting my continuing research into story development at Goldsmiths College. My grateful thanks.
Without my involvement with and help from PAWS (Public Awareness of Science), an organization that promotes the depiction of science in the arts, I doubt whether I should have dared to write about time travel
--
albeit fictional! My thanks to Barrie Whatley and Andrew Millington at PAWS.
I feel especially fortunate to be represented and published by a literary agency and a publisher who have shown such belief in
Gideon the Cutpurse
and its sequels. My grateful thanks to: Caradoc King, Judith Evans, Christine Glover, and Linda Shaughnessy at A P Watt, and to Ingrid Selberg, Venetia Gosling, Joanna Moult (London), and Elizabeth Law (New York) at Simon & Schuster.
Finally, I should like to thank my husband, for his endless encouragement and curiosity about the universe, and also my children, Louis and Issy, who have at various times been my guinea pigs, critics, and editors.
Gideon
was written for them, and it was through reading the novel to them in installments that the plot was refined and developed. There is a large part of all of them in this story.

L. B.-A.