TIME QUAKE (38 page)

Kate tapped the side of her nose. ‘That would be telling.’

Peter and Parson Ledbury looked so crestfallen, she relented. ‘Yes, yes, I do. I promise.’

‘I am most gratified to hear it!’ said Parson Ledbury.

He turned to Hannah. ‘Hannah, Sir Richard cannot spare you, so I will accompany Mistress Kate and Master Peter in his carriage and six myself.’

‘Oh, I had forgotten about Sir Richard!’ Kate exclaimed. ‘How is he?’

‘He is much improved,’ Hannah replied. ‘I do not doubt that he will soon be up and out of his bed for all his doctor tells him to rest.’

‘If all goes well, pray tell Sir Richard that we shall return with the device on the morrow.’

‘Yes, Parson, I will. And I shall buy the biggest goose in High Holborn to celebrate your homecoming. Should I set a place for the Tar Man, do you think?’

‘Pish pash, Hannah, has last night’s excitement stripped you of your common sense? Do you see Sir Richard agreeing to entertain the Tar Man at his table?’

‘Even though he
is
Gideon’s brother?’ asked Peter.

‘Enough unto the day are the troubles thereof,’ said Parson Ledbury. ‘Let us first hope that the rogue will not lead us astray . . .’

As the clock struck three, Hannah placed the veil on Kate’s head and accompanied the children to Sir Richard’s carriage. She handed Peter a basket piled high with bread and cheese and apples and, ever so delicately, put her arms around Kate as if she feared she might break.

‘God bless you, Mistress Kate. Bring back the machine as fast as you can so that we might send you home to your family.’

She leaned over and kissed Peter, too. ‘Look after her, Master Peter.’

‘Don’t worry, Hannah, I will. I shan’t let go of her, no matter what. I’ll bring her safely home, I promise.’

Kate smiled up at Peter and squeezed his hand in gratitude, but he did not notice her gesture for he could not feel her fingers gripping his.

‘Goodbye, Hannah!’ called Kate as the carriage pulled away. ‘Thank you!’

As the six horses turned in unison to leave Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Peter stuck his head out of the window and looked back at Sir Richard’s house. Hannah was still standing wistfully on the doorstep, but he also saw Sir Richard standing looking down at them from an open upstairs window, one arm in a sling. Peter shot his hand up in greeting, and gave him the thumbs-up sign, and hoped that Sir Richard had seen them as they left behind the green oasis of Lincoln’s Inn Fields and entered the never-ending stream of city traffic.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-T
HREE

Tempest House

In which the two brothers co-operate, Gideon
resumes his career as a cutpurse and
Tempest House plays host to some unexpected visitors

And so it was that for the first time in over two decades, Gideon and his elder brother set off on a journey together. Neither wanted the other to drive the cart as both preferred to be in control of the horses. In the end, and to Gideon’s relief, the Tar Man decided to take his own horse and rode sometimes behind and sometimes in front, as the fancy took him. Each time the Tar Man overtook the cart, or waited while Gideon drove past, he would taunt him with some barbed comment, for the pleasure of provoking a reaction from his younger brother. Gideon barely managed to keep his temper and the Tar Man could see him brace himself each time he drew near. At this point the Tar Man would change tactics, opening his mouth to say something and closing it again as soon as he saw Gideon glance up at him, jaw clenched in irritation. Then the Tar Man would smile good-humouredly, or even whistle, which would exasperate Gideon to the point of fury. It was in this way that Blueskin kept himself amused while they followed the path of the
Thames, past Westminster and St James’s and then, when city started to turn into country, past the pretty village of Chelsea with all its fine, large houses, before proceeding to Putney and Mortlake. By the time they reached Richmond, early in the afternoon, Gideon felt exhausted, but was too proud to ask the Tar Man if they might stop awhile. By the time they reached the riverside at Twickenham, Gideon could go on no longer and pulled on the reins so that cart and horses drew to a halt outside the Swan Inn, opposite Eel Pie Island. The Tar Man rode back to the cart.

‘’Tis a fine prospect, Gideon, but we have not come on a grand tour, we have business to settle at Tempest House . . . Or do I detect fatigue in my brother’s features?’

‘The horses need water,’ retorted Gideon quickly, stroking the black nose of the Tar Man’s horse whose hot breath tickled his ear. ‘And there is no need to remind me that we are brothers with every sentence – I have grasped the truth of it, I assure you!’

The Tar Man smiled. ‘Ay, grasped it like a nettle! I shall fetch us some vittles. I know the innkeeper here of old and his wife is a tolerable cook.’ The Tar Man leaned close to Gideon and scrutinised the purple and yellow bruise that covered half of his face. His eye was still very swollen and had the look of raw meat. The Tar Man reached out to pat it gently, making Gideon flinch. ‘You’ll live! But I shall have the landlord bring table and chairs to the bank, else your face might drive away custom.’

Gideon did not respond. In fact, it was his face that was causing him least trouble. His ribs and his back were a different matter, however. With every jolt and pothole in the road he winced with pain. The fight had only taken place the previous evening yet, to Gideon, it seemed half a lifetime ago.

While the Tar Man went to the inn in search of refreshment, Gideon unharnessed the horses and led them to the banks of the
Thames. It was a different river here, pretty and fringed with tall trees. In the city the river was thronged with watermen and sailing boats but here it was a quiet stretch of water inhabited by ducks as much as men. The horses waded in amongst the weeds and drank. A pair of swans and their cygnets, almost full grown, swam nearby on the ribbon of bright water that separated the inn from Eel Pie Island. Gideon looked over in the direction of Ham House on the other side of the river, and saw the old ferryman tugging at the oars of his boat. A heron flew past and landed at the foot of a great willow on the island.

Presently the Tar Man reappeared, followed by a boy carrying a table, the landlord carrying two chairs, and a serving wench carrying a large tray. The furniture was arranged, the dishes were piled on the table, and the Tar Man gestured to Gideon to join him. The landlord had provided good bread and a ham baked in hay, and roast parsnips. They both ate greedily, having had little else that day. Once they had taken their fill, the two men stretched out their legs and, with a tankard of ale in their hands, listened to the water lapping on the bank. The mellow sun shone down and the air was warm and balmy. They did not talk, and the significance of this shared meal that brought them together after so many years apart did not escape either of them. Gideon looked at his brother’s profile as he gazed out over the Thames. He thought of some of the terrible things he had seen him do, of his reputation as Lord Luxon’s henchman, of the beating he had given him the previous day. And then, despite everything, Gideon detected a flicker of comfort in a corner of his soul. He was not, after all, the last remaining child to share the same mother and father. He was not alone. When the Tar Man turned, at last, to look at him, Gideon thanked him for the meal and the Tar Man saw that he meant it.

The Tar Man must have grown tired of taunting his brother, for he mostly rode on ahead now. For mile after mile, through Esher and Cobham, and into the rolling Surrey hills, Gideon listened to the rumble of the cartwheels and found that questions were bubbling up in his mind. The sun was low in the sky and they were nearing their destination before he resolved to put them to his brother. They had stopped at a shallow brook and Gideon stood next to the rippling water watching the horses tear up fresh green grass.

‘Were you guilty of the crime that they hanged you for?’

The Tar Man wheeled around, startled and outraged at the question.

‘What does that matter now? And would you believe my reply?’

‘Yes,’ said Gideon. ‘I would believe you.’

‘Our mother did not.’

‘Is that why she did not go to Tyburn?’

‘Why do you ask me? I cannot pretend to know her mind! All I know is that when the noose was placed around my neck, I was alone, and I had received no word from her.’

‘You were barely more than a child. Her silence must have been hard to bear.’

The Tar Man mounted his horse. ‘Did our mother ever talk of me?’

‘All she would say was that the eldest had been lost to her in an accident. The memory was so painful to her that we were never to speak of it.’

‘She hated the sight of the scar that you gave me.’

‘I
gave you?!’

‘You were playing in the hayloft. I walked into the barn an instant after a scythe had escaped your grip – you were too young to understand what you did. Our mother did not believe me then, either . . . Yet I have had cause to be grateful. That scar has served
me well.’ The Tar Man lifted his hand to his cheek. ‘Though in the twenty-first century I was tempted to have it removed . . .’

The Tar Man picked up the reins and clicked his tongue. The black horse started to trot down the road.

‘I thought you had got the scar in some fearsome fight!’

‘Like the rest of the world . . .’

With a shrug of his shoulders the Tar Man moved on.

‘Nathaniel! Wait!’

Of all the names he had gone by over the years – the Tar Man, Blueskin, Vega Riaza, and worse – none had pricked him like the name he had been given at his christening. Nathaniel. It came to him that the last person to address him by his own name was the hangman as he placed the noose around his neck when he was fourteen years old. In most ways Nathaniel had died that day. The Tar Man found himself overwhelmed and, although he stopped, he did not turn to face Gideon but, instead, inclined his head a little.

‘Nathaniel! Do you truly intend to help the children?’

‘If Mistress Dyer provides the code, I shall return them to their own time.’

‘Will you remain in the future?’

‘I may. I may return and pause while the scythe strikes the barn door before I open it. I may return and prove my innocence. But I shall not count my chickens before they are hatched. It remains to be seen if Mistress Dyer has mastery over the device. We shall soon find out . . .’

All at once the Tar Man slid down off his horse and walked towards Gideon. His mood had changed like quicksilver.

‘Yet I am minded to tell you a secret. I have shared it with Tom, why should I not share it with you? Come here. Put your arm around my shoulders.’

Gideon looked at him suspiciously.

‘Come! Trust me – you will be astonished! I have learned to navigate time even without the device.’

Gideon approached the Tar Man and tentatively did what he was told. He stood side by side with his brother and curved his arm around his shoulders. He felt the rough cloth of his brother’s black jacket under his fingers and smelled the beer on his breath.

The Tar Man took a coin out of his pocket. ‘See – this is the head of a Roman Emperor . . .’

‘What—?’

‘Do not speak! Wait and be amazed . . .’

The Tar Man held the coin between the palms of his hands as if he were praying. Gideon became aware of the horses snorting and pawing the ground nervously as if they sensed something was amiss. Then he began to feel giddy. Gideon gripped the Tar Man’s shoulders more tightly and looked at his brother whose eyes were screwed tight shut in concentration. He listened to his long, slow breaths and saw his chest rising and falling. Then luminous spirals formed in Gideon’s mind and all at once he was aware that the light had changed and that the temperature had dropped steeply. Sheets of freezing rain splattered them. Both men opened their eyes.

‘By the devil, that wind cuts straight through you!’ said the Tar Man, then added quickly: ‘Do not let go of me. Keep hold of my arm.’

Gideon did as he was told. A wintry dawn met his eyes. They stood on a straight road that crossed uncultivated land. There were fewer trees and the shallow brook had disappeared. The sky was the colour of lead, with sickly yellow streaks towards the horizon.