Sovay (16 page)

When the boy had gone, he turned to Sovay. ‘Now how are you feeling?’

‘A little better.’

‘Have a swig of this.’

‘What is it?’

‘Brandy. Cognac. Smuggled from France. Very best quality. From the cellar of some sacked chateau, I have no doubt.’

Sovay shook her head but the Captain ignored her. He removed the cork with his teeth and handed her the bottle.

‘Sorry I haven’t got a glass, m’lady. Now, drink!’

Sovay was too weak to argue. She did as he instructed and felt the silk smooth liquor spread through her, raising her spirit and bringing strength back to her limbs.

‘That’s enough!’ The Captain reclaimed the bottle from her. ‘This is strong stuff.’ He took a nip himself, then stowed the bottle in his pocket.

‘Why do we need Toby?’

‘Because he’s the best cracksman in the business. His father was a locksmith, did you know that? He can break into anywhere, or out. Do you have a key?’

She shook her head.

‘Thought not. How else are we going to get you into your house? Now, hold on to me.’

He reached down to help her to stand.

‘I can manage, thank you,’ she said, and immediately fell back, dizzy. He put his arm round her and pulled her to her feet.

‘That’s it. Steady! Are you sure you are all right?’

‘Never better.’ She managed a weak smile.

‘More lilies than roses this time,’ his fingers stroked her cheek. ‘You are as white as linen.’

His touch threatened to take what strength she had left from her. She held onto the back of a chair.

‘I can walk without help once the dizziness goes.’

‘I’m sure you can,’ Greenwood said, surprised at her abrupt rebuff. ‘But the stairs are steep and you might break your neck trying. Is my touch really so loathsome?’

‘I did not mean that . . .’ She took a step to the door and her knees buckled. ‘Perhaps I do need your help.’

He put his arms around her and supported her down the stairs. Anyone seeing them would assume that she’d had too much to drink. It happened here, as everywhere, and would provoke no comment. Toby met them in the street, perfectly respectably dressed now in his ordinary clothes.

The Captain hailed a chair, paid the men and instructed them to go to Soho Square.

‘Toby will come with you,’ he said. ‘And see you safe into the house. Go well, Sovay.’

With that, he was gone. The chair moved off with a strange, lurching motion which made Sovay feel sick. To take her mind off it, she asked Toby about his father.

‘He was a locksmith. He tried to stay honest, but it ain’t so easy in that line of business,’ he told her. ‘Draws cracksmen like a magnet draws filed iron. Anyways, he was caught and transported. My ma ended up in the Fleet and us kids on the street. I look after ’em. Still do. I’m the oldest, see? I was small and quick and I’d learnt a thing or two in the shop, so Mr Slevin found me useful.’ He paused, wondering whether to confide in her. In his short life, he’d learnt to trust very few. ‘When I’ve got enough to go ’prentice, I’ll learn the trade proper.’ He paused, wondering whether to confide. ‘I like making things, seeing how they work.’

‘But how will you resist falling into crime, like your father?’

‘I’m intending to take a boat to America, when I’ve finished my time,’ the boy answered. ‘I’m thinking there’s more chance to be an honest man there.’

‘What about your brothers and sisters?’

‘I’ll take ’em with me. That way we all get a fresh start,’ he said with a smile, but the bleak look in his blue eyes suggested that he knew it to be a dream, an impossibility.

Sovay wished him luck and hoped that his ambition was beyond just fantasy. Anything to get him out of Mother Pierce’s clutches and her den of vileness. She thought of Dysart’s money in Turnbull’s vaults and an idea came to her that eased her heart and even served to soothe the ache in her head. But that would have to wait for tomorrow. Now, all she wanted was to find her own bed. The pain in her head was getting worse with every step the chairmen took. She could hardly see for it. Her arms and legs felt as though they were made of cotton. The events of the day were fast overtaking her, threatening to engulf her in a big black shadow. She must have drowsed for the next thing she knew, Toby’s hand was touching her shoulder.

‘Are you all right, miss? Only we’re nearly there.’

Sovay swallowed and nodded, really fearful now that she would vomit. Luckily, at that moment, the chairmen set her down.

‘You stay here,’ Toby said, leaning her against the railings by the front door of her house. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

He untied a cloth roll containing a set of twirls, his name for skeleton keys, and other types of tools, selected a pair of long, needle-nosed pliers and disappeared down the stairs to the basement. In what seemed like seconds he was opening the door to her.

‘Tell whoever it is that locks up to throw the bolts on the area door and take the key out of the lock.’

Sovay thanked him and asked him to come and see her tomorrow.

‘Where? At this house?’ Toby was hard put to hide his surprise.

‘Of course, at the house.’ Sovay gave him a tired smile. ‘Where else?’

The boy agreed, then melted into the night. Sovay was left in the black and silver silence of the moonlit square, staring into the dappled shadows under the great plane trees. It was as if she’d been dumped on her own doorstep by the fairy folk. It could have been a dream. Only the clothes she was wearing and the throbbing of her head served as reminders that the night’s events had really happened.

She closed the door carefully, locked it, removed the key and eased the bolts across. She was careful to make no noise, although the servants would have all gone to bed. She had told Lydia not to wait up, Wallace had the night off and was visiting his brother and Mrs Crombie slept like the dead. It was a good thing Sovay did not require a full staff. When her father was at home, there was a hall footman in attendance at all times.

In the safety of her room, she stripped off her brother’s clothes. Besmirched as they were with blood and mud, she could hardly put them back into his wardrobe. She would bundle them up and have them given to one of the beggars who were ever at the back door in search of scraps and cast-offs. In the future, if there were to be any more of these excursions, she would be wearing her own set of clothes. She put on her nightdress and climbed into bed. She badly wanted a bath and to wash the matted blood from her hair, but did not want to wake the house. It would have to wait until morning.

Mother Pierce sat in her private parlour counting her gold, all the while scheming. His Nabs had expressed an interest in the good Captain, and she would be sure that he got his information. Threaten her indeed! Who did he think he was? Try and buy her off? It would take more gold than
he
could offer. Getting too big for his boots, that one. Ideas above his station. She’d taken his money and she’d have him took and get more for her trouble. High tobies were as common as crows on the heaths they infested. She had no patience with their pretensions. She’d bring him down, that she would. By the time he found out who’d peached on him, he’d be swinging at Newgate.

CHAPTER
1
7

S
ovay hardly had time to bathe and dress before there was a violent hammering on the door.

‘There’s a boy downstairs,’ Mrs Crombie announced, much put out. ‘I told him you weren’t in a state to receive visitors, but he said he had to see you urgently.’

Sovay hurried downstairs, thinking to see Toby, but it was Skidmore she found when she came down, wearing out the carpet with his pacing. His dark curls stood out about his head and his appearance was considerably dishevelled. He was nothing like the dapper young fellow that she had seen the day before. His stockings were muddied and wrinkled, his coat was torn with buttons missing and what looked like dried blood stained the front of his shirt. There was a cut on his cheek and his hands were swollen, the knuckles bruised and bleeding. No wonder he had alarmed Mrs Crombie.

‘Skidmore?’ Sovay called from the stairs. ‘What ever is the matter?’

He turned and the look in his eyes alarmed her further. There was wildness there and a deep, burning anger. His colour was high, his dark skin flushed as if he was gripped by a fever.

‘It’s Gabriel,’ he said. ‘He’s been hurt bad. You better come, Miss Sovay.’

‘Where is he?’ she asked. ‘What’s happened?’

‘He was in a fight. In Clerkenwell. Where I live. We went there after we left Fender’s Field.’

Skidmore was about to say more, but Sovay interrupted him. It was impossible to know who was listening.

‘You can tell me about it presently. I’ll order the carriage.’

‘Gabriel told me who you were, miss,’ Skidmore said when they were settled inside. ‘He had to, he was that alarmed when we lost sight of you in the chaos and confusion. We searched and searched, but when we could find no sign, he came back with me to my lodgings in Clerkenwell. I have a room there in Dick Chapman’s house, he’s a printer and engraver. We arrived to find the place in turmoil. Dick’s wife and children crying in the street. Ruffians were smashing up his print shop. Others of ’em were up and down the street, busting up houses, throwing people out on the road. Women and children. It was a cowardly stroke. They knew most of the men would be at Fender’s Field.’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Didn’t reckon on us coming back so quick. We saw the fellows off, or so we thought, but a whole mob of them came back in the middle of the night. Bent on destruction, they were. And thorough. They smashed up the workshops and houses, dragged stock, machinery, furniture, everything into the street, making bonfires of what they couldn’t carry off. They didn’t care, threw an old lady down the stairs. Tipped a pregnant woman out of bed. There was a big fight but this time we got the worst of it. Gabriel got badly beaten, kicked insensible. He hadn’t come out of it when I left this morning.

‘As if that weren’t enough, this morning a couple of runners appeared, sharp at nine o’clock, and pounced on Mr Chapman. They accused him of printing seditious material and helping to publicise an unlawful assembly. Marched him off to the magistrate. They had pamphlets stolen from his workshop the night before as evidence. Mr Oldfield’s down there now, trying to get him out.’

Sovay listened gravely to Skidmore’s headlong account. What had happened had affected him deeply, and when they entered Vine Street, with its small brick-built houses, she saw for herself the source of his distress. The bonfires were still smouldering. Charred chairs and tables, beds and bedding, had been raked out but much of it looked beyond saving. Women clustered in doorways, wiping their eyes on their aprons, silent children clinging to them, while the men stood about, as rigid and wooden-faced as puppets, all their livelihoods gone up in smoke. Some did not even have a place to live any more; their dwellings were burnt-out shells.

Yet these people had cared for Gabriel, even paid for a doctor to attend him. It was not smoke from the fires that made Sovay’s eyes sting as she entered the house where he lay. Mrs Chapman, a tall, slender dark-haired woman with a delicate face, took her to him. She was followed closely by a couple of pretty flaxen-haired children who looked up at Sovay with huge blue eyes and would not leave their mother’s side.

‘He’s come round a bit, miss,’ Mrs Chapman said, ‘and he’s taken some water.’

Gabriel’s head was bandaged, his left eye swollen shut. Sovay ordered the coachman to put him in the carriage.

‘We will not trespass on your hospitality any longer,’ she told Mrs Chapman. ‘You have enough troubles. Is there any news of your husband? Mr Skidmore told me that he had been arrested.’

Mrs Chapman shook her head. ‘Not yet, although we are hopeful. Algie has great faith in his Mr Oldfield.’

Sovay nodded. ‘He is a good man.’

Mrs Chapman would not accept any payment, even for the doctor’s fee.

‘All I can do is thank you, then, for your care of Gabriel.’ Sovay held out her hand. ‘Mr Skidmore knows where to find me if there is anything that I can do.’

Back at Soho Square, Sovay had Gabriel carried up to his room and sent for the doctor to attend him. The doctor gave him a careful examination but declared his colleague had done a good job and there was little more that he could do.

‘He’s a strong young man,’ he pronounced. ‘And there is nothing broken. Rest is the best cure for him. Leave him to sleep and when he wakes, give him strong beef tea. I’ll leave drops for any pain he may have.’

Gabriel didn’t wake until late afternoon. Sovay checked on him every half-hour until told not to do so by Mrs Crombie.

‘He’ll wake in his good time,’ she said. ‘You heard what the doctor said. He doesn’t need you fidgeting in and out disturbing his rest. Lydia has volunteered to stay with him,’ Mrs Crombie sniffed, not quite approving, although the girl’s concern was genuine enough. ‘She can sit here with some sewing. She’ll let you know if there is any change.’

Sovay came back later to find him sitting up in bed sipping beef tea, the cup tiny in his big hands.

‘Gabriel! Are you all right?’ Sovay went over to the bedside. ‘You gave us quite a fright.’

‘I might have been hurt in my body, Sovay,’ he smiled at her, ‘but I’ve been salved in mind and spirit. I’ve been talking with Skidmore and Chapman and their circle of friends. I’ve never heard men talk more sense. They spoke of nothing new. I’ve heard the same ideas and views expressed at Compton. Hugh has talked to me for hours and I’ve always admired his strength of belief, his passion, but listening to these men was different. They spoke to the very heart of me, Sovay.’ He put his cup down and clasped his hands in front of him. ‘They are ordinary men. Like me.’ He paused. ‘I am not of your class, and never will be, do not aspire to be. I just want to live in equality. Your family can vote, can stand for Parliament if they want to, because they own land and property. Why can it not be the same for me?’

I
cannot vote, Sovay thought to point out, although she didn’t want to tax his strength further by debating with him now. Women were little short of slaves, no matter how privileged. If she married, all her wealth, all her property, everything she had would belong to her husband, down to her very person. Votes or no, Gabriel was still a man.

‘Such basic liberties are denied to me as well, and all of my gender, no matter how rich and landed,’ she said quietly. ‘We have that much in common.’

‘That is true,’ Gabriel conceded. ‘There is much that is wrong with the world and it will be a great struggle to redress it.’ He looked at Sovay. ‘I have not the words to explain well, but it is as though I have been walking blindfolded, never noticing anything but where my feet were planted. Now, the bandage has been taken from my eyes. For the first time, I can see clear.

‘I know that some would think me well placed. Your father is a kind master and a fair one. I have an education thanks to him, and I am grateful, but I’ve always felt betwixt and between. I count you and Hugh as my friends . . .’

‘I hope you do!’ Sovay reached for his hand on the covers, wanting him to know that it would always be so.

‘But we can never be equals, not as things stand at the moment. A steward is in a strange position, above the servants and the labourers, but not of the house. We own no land and have no prospect of ever owning any. We always have to work for others. I’m determined to make my own way. Be my own man. I will not be going back when this is over. My father is still relatively young. He can manage very well without me. So can Compton.’

He sat back, exhausted, his piece said. Lydia, who had been listening with quiet attention, looked stricken, and for once, Sovay could think of nothing to say. His words had shocked her, shaken a complacency that she had not even realised existed within her. She had never heard him speak at such length before, or with such passion. Indeed, she experienced a stab of envy for the fire that had ignited within him and burned with such a pure flame.

She would miss him cruelly, so would everyone at Compton, including her father and brother, but to object, to seek to dissuade him would sound childish, petulant, or worse, would sound as though they had some kind of claim upon him and that he had a duty to remain. It would not do to act the chatelaine.

‘What will you do?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know yet. I want to travel about the country. Spread the message of liberty. I can turn my hand to many things, blacksmithing and wheel-wrighting, working with animals, working on the land. All I know is, I cannot go on as before, watching from the side, blocking my ears and eyes, stopping the channels to my heart at what is going on around me, at what is happening to my fellow man. But,’ he smiled, ‘that is for the future. For now, I intend to stay here to see this thing out.’

‘I’d never stop you from leaving us, Gabriel, or try to dissuade you from doing other than your heart dictates, but I have to say,’ she smiled back at him, ‘I’m mighty relieved that you do not intend to go on the tramp quite yet.’

From her place by the window, Lydia nodded her agreement with vigour. She did not want him to leave either. Her dreams for the future did not include traipsing about the country like a tinker’s drab.

That evening Mrs Crombie announced the arrival of Mr Oldfield and his clerk. The lawyer came in, Skidmore behind him carrying files. Sovay showed them into her father’s study. They had come straight from the magistrate’s court in Bow Street. Oldfield’s first words were to enquire after Gabriel, but he hardly listened to the answer. He seemed distracted, his mouth set grim in his pale face, his eyes ringed with tension and fatigue.

Sovay sent Wallace upstairs to tell Gabriel that the lawyer and his clerk were here. Wallace returned to say that Mr Stanhope insisted on coming down to meet them. He wanted to know what had happened to his friends. Much against Mrs Crombie’s advice, he was helped down the stairs by Wallace and Perkins with Lydia bringing up the rear with a pillow and blanket. He was settled on the chaise longue with a cover about him, his face quiet and composed, his cheeks as pale as the bandages binding the wounds to his head.

‘These were not isolated acts.’ Oldfield tapped the files. ‘These are not isolated cases. They were coordinated from a central point. The attack on the meeting, the rampage of the Volunteers, the arrests. None of this was coincidence. The list of those taken by the runners, Skidmore!’ His clerk handed him a document from the bundle he carried. ‘Those named are moderate men, reasonable voices. The hotheads were left alone. It is all part of a scheme.’ He turned to his clerk. ‘If one removes the damper from a fire, Skidmore, what will happen?’

‘The fire will flare up, sir,’ the boy replied. ‘It will rage out of control.’

‘Exactly!’ Oldfield said and smiled at his clerk. He turned to Gabriel.

‘Your friend, Chapman, is safe for the moment. I had him released on a detail. The runners sent to arrest him seized the wrong matter. Instead of pamphlets full of incendiary material written to incite the nation to revolution, they took away self-improvement tracts and advice on home economy. He might not be so lucky a second time. The officers will be better prepared the next time they come knocking at his door. Others were not so fortunate. The case against them will likely not stand up at trial, but the way things are, they may be imprisoned for months, even years, before they see the inside of a court.’

‘I thought there were laws against people being held without trial?’ Gabriel interjected.

‘Indeed there are. Or were. The writ of habeas corpus has been suspended. A new law enacted. Prisoners can be held without trial for an indefinite period. I detect a plan in this, a pattern.’ He used the furniture on the desk to demonstrate, moving them like men on a chessboard. ‘If the moderate leaders are removed,’ he took away the pen holders and laid out a row of steel nibs on the blotter, ‘then their more revolutionary brethren will come to the fore and take to the streets, demanding the release of their comrades and threatening general insurrection. Against them, loyalists will be set.’ He took more steel pens and arranged them in opposition. ‘The same pattern will happen all over the country, one group set against another. If both groups are armed, paid for by Dysart, then . . .’