Elephants and Castles

by John Patrick

Shipton was pleased with the key. He tied a string through its heart-shaped handle and wore it as a necklace. He didn't seem surprised by the state of his house and Nick made no mention of the corpse.

  'I expected they’d be tryin' to find that stone' Shipton commented.

  'You knew? Thanks for the warnin’!' Mary was unimpressed.

  'Hey, it wouldn't matter. He doesn’t know you, does he? An’ this way I’m out of here in a few days and we’re all ‘appy. Now what about the wine? Did you find a bottle?'

  'Wine! We got chased by men with clubs!'

  'Shit!' He paused and thought for a moment. 'So does that mean no? You didn't bring me a bottle? You do, you mean no, don't you?'

  'Yes, I mean no.' replied Mary through gritted teeth. 'We weren't thinkin' 'bout your bloody wine!'

  'Shit! Maybe you could nip back an'...'

  'No! I ain't nippin' nowhere!'

  Shipton hissed. 'Well, any'ow, suppose I’d best be 'avin' me stone back now, if you don't mind.'

  Samuel was hesitant. He caressed it in his pocket.

  'I’m gonna need it if I’m going to get better... and get the 'ell out of 'ere.'

  Mary nodded and Samuel reluctantly handed it over.

  Shipton squeezed it tightly in his hand. 'This little gem is gonna do me a whole lot of good.'

  Mary and Samuel spent the next few days smuggling as much food and water as they could to Shipton. It wasn't easy. Miss Pewtersmith was keeping a close eye on them and had boundless imagination when it came to finding them chores. Thankfully her long mornings in bed gave them a chance early in the day to get things done.

  But Shipton's initial improvement wasn't maintained. As each day passed, he became weaker and less coherent. He stopped eating and was again only managing mouthfuls of water with help. He developed fever, tremors and was moaning and shouting nonsense. There was a risk he would be heard. Samuel suggested he might be possessed by demons but Mary clipped him around the head and told him to stop being so stupid.

  The road at the front of the house had quietened. The flood of carriages had reduced to a trickle and only few pedestrians walked briskly by. The road was a major route out of the city but it seemed most who had planned to leave had already gone. Add to that the sight of a nearby house bearing the dreaded red cross and Monnington Street had become another place to avoid. Even the church of Saint Michael across the street, which had seen a roaring trade until now, had ceased all services. The clergyman had agonised but in the end he decided to put himself and his family first. He left his blessings behind and deserted his flock for the country. He left the church in the hands of a warden who unlocked it in the morning and locked it up at night. Worshippers came and went but instead of overflowing into the street now they came in ones and twos, a family at the most. They kept their heads down and sat as far apart from each other as they could. They prayed hard to escape God's punishment. As they left the church they took a wide birth of the dark suited figure lurking outside. Wooldridge paid no heed. His focus was on the activities at the house across the road.

  Mary knelt by Shipton and tried again to give him water. There was no movement from his mouth. She shook his shoulders but the rambling rubbish he’d been talking for days had stopped completely now. She propped him up and poured the water between his lips. This time there was no swallowing and barely a splutter in protest. The water ran back from his open mouth, trickled down his neck and soaked into his grubby shirt. His eyes were glazed and distant. He smelt of sweat and urine and the hay he lay on was soggy and crawling with insects.

  Mary turned to Samuel. 'I reckon we're losing him Sam. He ain't drinkin' this. I don't know what else to do.' She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. 'I ain’t never looked after a sick person before. Pigeons and chickens but never a person.'

  'We’ll have to tell Mum and Dad.'

  'No. Then Miss P will find out and she’ll chuck us all out. We'll have to...we'll have to go see Auntie Fran. She’ll know what to do.'

  Samuel rummaged through Shipton's pockets until he found the red stone. They covered him up again and climbed back down the ladder. As they reached the ground the front doors of the carriage house creaked and then shook violently.

  Samuel shot an anxious look at Mary. 'Who's tha…?’

  Mary pushed her hand over Samuel's mouth and gestured for him to keep quiet. She grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side of the shed. Outside footsteps crunched on the dirt, moving around the side of the building. Mary pulled her brother down and they huddled together under the window out of sight. The steps paused and a shadow came across the opening above them. Mary squeezed Samuel tightly against her. This couldn't be Miss Pewtersmith; she would have just barged in through the side door. Thoughts of the Scotsman with his dagger filled Mary's head once more. Had he come looking for the stone? The footsteps started again, moving towards the small side door. It was unlocked. Samuel crawled across the doorway and slid a hand up towards the iron bolt. It was stiff and hard to move at the best of times. It wouldn't budge. The door opened a few inches and a streak of sunlight lit up specks of spiralling dust. Mary grabbed her brother and pulled him back towards her. The children sat together motionless. The door opened a little more. Samuel’s heart was pounding. He looked around for a weapon to defend himself. Behind him was a small iron shovel. He grasped it tightly. Wooldridge stepped into the building. He stood a few feet inside the door and inspected the carriage house. Before him were scattered tarpaulins, wooden crates, boxes and a ladder to the upper level. Against the opposite wall was a mound of horse blankets. He stepped forward to have a closer look. Samuel rose to his feet clutching his shovel. Mary grabbed his arm and shook her head violently. Samuel paid no heed. He wriggled his arm free from her grip and crept silently behind Wooldridge and raised the shovel above his head.

  In the house James was satisfied that the place was now secure. He had boarded up the entire ground floor leaving the grand rooms dark and airless. As the home had been built on a gentle incline, the cellar kitchen door opened at ground level onto the back garden and this was to be their only access to the outside world until they locked themselves away completely. The kitchen windows here bore thick iron bars so James was willing to leave them uncovered, and Elizabeth was grateful for the air and the daylight.

  James sat at the table in the kitchen. He had Mister Jarvis’s weapons laid out before him again. He had never fired a gun but Mister Jarvis had shown him how his pistols worked and he had learnt a little from his father before his death in the Civil War. The sword seemed a simpler option though and he wondered which he should chose if the time came.

  The kitchen door crashed open and Mary came flying in. 'Dad, there’s a man…there’s a man' she gasped, 'in the carriage house!'

  'Mary, slow down girl. We didn't get a word of that.' said Elizabeth, still organising the store of food.

  'He’s got Samuel…he’s hurtin’ ‘im! Dad, quick!' she grabbed her father's arm and pulled him to his feet.

  James grasped the sword from the table. He charged out of the door and across the driveway towards the carriage house. Inside he found Wooldridge holding Samuel by his throat against a wooden beam. Samuel’s shovel lay on the floor. Wooldridge bore a spade-shaped dust mark on the back of his jacket.

  'You’d better tell me where it is, boy. I’m growing very tired of this.' He tightened his grip on Samuel's throat and watched his face turn a deep purple and his eyes bulge.

  James charged in and swung his weapon wildly at Wooldridge; but he was no swordsman. Wooldridge released Samuel and ducked out of the way. The blade crashed into the beam above his head, spitting oak chips back into his face. James hoisted the sword high into the air and brought it hurtling down again like an axe. Wooldridge slipped effortlessly out of its path and the sword clattered into the cobbles: sparks flew, half of the blade broke away and tumbled across the stone floor. Wooldridge had been hoping to avoid attention. He'd planned to get the stone quietly and slip away l
eaving nobody to tell of his visit. This was the last thing he wanted. He'd have to leave and find another way to get the stone. He moved towards the door.

  But James wasn't finished. Mister Jarvis had been right. This disease was getting ugly and he had to protect his family. He dived at Wooldridge and seized his arm. He drew the remaining half of the sword back ready to plunge. But Wooldridge was slick and even half of the sword was still long and cumbersome up close. Wooldridge brought his elbow crashing into the heart of James’ chest, expelling every last gasp of air from his lungs. He span around and landed a fist into James' face, knocking him off his feet. James lay wheezing on the cobbles.

  Wooldridge straightened his jacket and snarled at Samuel. ‘I’ve not finished with you yet boy.' He pushed Elizabeth out of the way and left.

  Elizabeth ran to Samuel. He was on all fours coughing and fighting for air. James staggered to his feet.

  Miss Pewtersmith stood disapprovingly in the doorway. 'You’re up to no good you two. You're gonna get us all killed.'

  From the balcony above there was a rustle and gentle cough, thankfully unheard by all but Samuel and Mary.

  An hour later Wooldridge stood in the bright airy drawing room of the London home of Judge Collins. The tall picture windows looked out over precise box hedges that divided immaculate rows of purple and yellow flowers. A small army of gardeners busied themselves tending the plants. In front of the window sat Annabel Collins her long blue dress covering much of the French sofa, a small book of English poetry sat idle on her lap. Wooldridge stood with his head bowed and hands crossed behind back.

  'What? I don’t understand. You’re telling me you can’t retrieve this stone from a couple of children?' She spat the words at him. 'What sort of a man are you?' She rose to her feet and poked her index finger into his chest. ‘I need that stone before we leave London. We would have gone days ago except for you.'

  Wooldridge screwed up his toes and gritted his teeth. How he wanted to reply, but he knew better.

  'God alone knows why my father keeps you on. You did him one favour in the war and you think he owes you a debt for a lifetime?'

  'Sorry Madam. I came close but there were people there who could have recognised me and traced me back to you. I wouldn’t …'

  'Shut up! Shut Up!' she screamed 'I don’t need excuses. You know what I want. If there are people in the way just deal with them for God’s sake!' She returned to the sofa. 'I can persuade my father to delay for just one or two days more.' She picked the book up from the floor and began to thumb through the pages. 'If I don’t have that stone by then I’ll ensure my father’s loyalty to you is well and truly over.' She waved him away as is wafting at flies. 'Go... and do whatever it takes.'

  Chapter 16