The Devil's Surrogate

by Jennifer Jane Pope

  'Whoever it was,' Matilda said, her eyes suddenly filling with tears, 'they'll have done for her by now. Crawley was intending to hang me at dusk, unless he's changed his mind.'

  'I doubt he'll have done that,' Jane spat, breaking her silence at last. 'Like most men, he's only interested in two things, and enough gold usually means that money takes precedence over the other thing.'

  'Then maybe you've got more explaining to do than I thought,' Paddy said grimly. 'If you left an innocent girl to be hanged, whether she's a slave, a servant, or whatever, that's against all the laws I ever heard of. You'll be answering to a judge for murder, missy, and I'll wager it'll be yourself that's dangling on a rope before much longer!'

  'There was a time when I could shin up a tree twice as fast as that,' Hannah smiled. She peered up into the darkness of the foliage above her head, barely able to make out the pale outline of James's breeches. 'You make sure you tie that knot exactly the way I showed you now,' she warned, 'and not too tightly either, otherwise it won't slip through properly.'

  'I know,' he said, his voice muffled by leaves. 'That's why I'm taking my time. I can't see a damned thing up here, so I'm having to do it by feel.'

  'Now where have I heard that before?' Hannah chuckled to herself, and slowly bent over to pick up the coil of rope from which James had taken one end. Carefully, so as not to jerk at the hanging length, she began to pay it out across the grass and onto the road, peering towards the village as she did so and then looking up at the night sky. As long as the cloud cover remained, they had a chance of making this work, but if the moon broke through and Crawley saw the rope, he would guess something was up and probably rein in before reaching the appropriate spot. 'Have you done up there yet?' she called.

  There was a muffled thump, followed by a whispered curse, and James emerged from the shadows. 'It's done,' he confirmed, 'just as you said.' He too now looked down the road in the direction from which Crawley would be coming. The high trees on either side meant the hard mud trail was visible for only about thirty yards before it merged with the overall blackness on either side.

  'Now we move back,' Hannah instructed. 'Mind you, don't foul the rope, and we'll have to check and make sure we have it paid out straight before they get here. Have you got a kerchief, or something, preferably a light-coloured one?'

  'I've got this,' James said, pulling a square of pale linen from his jacket pocket. 'What do you want me to do with it?'

  'Lay it right here, in the middle of the road,' Hannah instructed. 'We'll be able to see it even in this poor light, so we'll know when that black-hearted bastard is level with the right spot.'

  'Very clever,' James grunted. 'But what about Matilda? That thing could hit her too.'

  'It like as not will,' Hannah agreed, 'but it's a chance we have to take. A broken bone or two will mend in time and at least she'll be alive... I hope,' she added beneath her breath as she began to walk backwards up the centre of the road, the rope trailing from her hands.

  'This is a little trick I saw used by one of Charlie boy's lads outside of Bath,' Paddy explained. 'We caught the bugger alive just afterwards, and later he showed us how it was done. It's all quite simple really, and it's not likely to do much harm, but the flash is quite something, and if anyone's standing too close they'll be more interested in knocking the sparks off their clothes than in anything we'll be doing.' He held up the crudely shaped bottle into which he had been carefully pouring the lamp oil from the pitcher they found in one of the other rooms inside the barn. Now he began forcing a piece of sackcloth into the neck he had also doused in the liquid. 'We light the fuse,' he continued, 'and then throw the bugger. The glass breaks and the oil catches fire as it spreads across the ground. But this is the best bit,' he added, taking up the square of linen he had torn from his shirt. 'We'll pour about an ounce of black powder into this and bind it to the bottle with a bit of twine.

  'And when the burning oil catches it, it goes off with a big bang?' Sean surmised.

  Paddy grinned. 'Actually, Sean me boy, there's not much of a bang, it's more of a big flash which scatters the burning oil in all directions. And in the darkness, I reckon the flash itself will do as much for us as any bang. If those bastards at the gate aren't expecting it, they'll be dazzled and shitting themselves. By the time they realise what's going on we can have them sorted out, and be through the gate and well on our way. Now those other two pistols you found in that end room, are they loaded yet?'

  Perched ahead of Crawley, Harriet was the first to see the two figures standing in the middle of the road ahead. They were still too far away to be recognisable in the gloom, but Crawley, spotting them a moment later, hailed them regardless, confident of their identities.

  'You've brought the gold, old woman?' he called out.

  Harriet recognised Hannah Pennywise's crackling voice immediately. 'I've brought the half as I said in the note, Master Crawley,' she called back. 'You get the other half when I've got my granddaughter back. You have my word on that.'

  'The word of a murderess and a witch?' Crawley said disdainfully. 'You expect me to accept that?'

  'Take it or leave it, Jacob Crawley,' Hannah retorted. 'Besides, even if I were a murderess, it'd make me no worse than you, and probably a whole deal better.'

  'Bold words, old woman.' Crawley wound an arm around Harriet's neck, and she heard the sound of a pistol being cocked behind her. 'You see well enough in this darkness, I hope, well enough to see that I have the slut Matilda right here before me?'

  'Aye, I see well enough, Jacob Crawley,' Hannah responded. 'Just like your kind to hide behind a woman.'

  'But not behind her skirts this time. Step forward, and show me the gold.'

  'Let the girl down first.' This time it was James Calthorpe's voice.

  Crawley laughed. 'You take me for a fool, do you?'

  'A fool, no,' James replied.

  'Then step forward with the gold.'

  'Why don't you come forward?' Hannah suggested. 'You've got Matilda there to hide behind and your man is carrying a pistol, as well as the one I can see in your hand.'

  'And I'm sure your own hands are empty beneath that shawl, Mother Pennywise,' Crawley said. 'However, even though I think the lad is also hiding a weapon behind his back, I doubt that either of you would risk hitting this bitch. Even a trained shot wouldn't chance that.'

  'Then come and see your gold, Crawley,' Hannah urged. There was a blur as something arced through the air to fall with a dull chinking sound on the roadway a little ahead of Crawley's horse. Peering towards it, Harriet could see something pale lying there, but it did not look like a bag or a purse.

  'We'll step back a pace, Master Crawley,' Hannah's voice came again. 'I wouldn't want you thinking we was breathing down your neck while you counted your evil gains, now would I?'

  Paddy counted four figures as the little wagon steadily approached the main gate, two standing against one of the pillars and the other two squatting alongside a small fire over which a dark kettle pot had been hung from a crude spit. If they had been proper soldiers, he reflected critically, the two by the fire would have been immediately on the alert even though the slow progress of the vehicle would cause them little alarm. He glanced at the other side of the gate where the small timbered gatehouse stood, its door ajar, a light burning inside. There might be other guards within, and then again there might not, but it was best to assume the worst. 'I count four, Sean,' he whispered over his shoulder.

  Behind him, crouched in the confines of the seriously overcrowded wagon, Sean held a lantern shielded by a thick piece of sacking, the flickering taper within it a more reliable source of igniting the fuse of their homemade bomb than any flint.

  'There's also a gatehouse, not much more than a shed, I'd say, with a light inside. Could be there's more of them in there, but I can't tell. You see the fire?'

  Sean leaned against Paddy's shoulder, taking care not to expose himself too much. 'Aye,' he confirmed, 'I see it, and I se
e the two by it, but I don't see the other two.'

  'They're away by the left side of the gate. No, don't bother looking. I can take the pair of them easy enough once you throw that bottle towards them.'

  'Not at the fire?'

  'No,' Paddy said firmly. 'Those two are sitting in its light, so the flash won't affect them like it would if they were sitting in darkness. When I give the word, you lob that thing towards the gate and then put a shot into the nearest one by the fire. I'll take the second one, and then we'll see about the others. You've got three shots back there and I've got two, let's make them all count and we'll have one spare.'

  'Unless there's more of the buggers in the hut,' Sean pointed out.

  'Aye,' Paddy agreed, 'unless there's more of the buggers in the hut. In which case, I spy a couple of muskets propped against what I'd say is a water keg just this side of the fire there. I'll keep this nag going and you make a dive for them.'

  'What if they're not loaded?'

  'They ought to be.'

  'But what if they're not?'

  'If they're not, and there are more of the sods inside, then we're in a pile of shit, Sean Kelly, so you'd better start praying right now!'

  Hannah's booby trap plan might well have worked out perfectly, however, as she remarked years later when once again telling the story of that night, if you expect the unexpected, then it no longer is the unexpected, and the truly unexpected when it happens will thwart the best laid plans.

  It began well enough... Crawley advanced slowly, his man staying just behind him so Matilda - as Hannah and James still believed Harriet to be - remained in any line of fire the old woman and the miller's son might have. The small kerchief seemed to glow brightly in the darkness and Hannah felt certain Crawley must realise it was not the purse she had tossed towards him. But his mind was clearly on how he intended to retrieve the gold without exposing himself to a clear shot, and the only way he could achieve that end was to move past the purse while continuing to use the girl as a shield. Meanwhile, Silas Grout would dismount to collect the money. The only doubt in Hannah's mind was whether or not Crawley's greed would extend to the remaining gold, or whether once he had the half of it in his hands, along with the initial payment she had sent to the graveyard, he might decide to settle for that. If he did, both she and James would be utterly exposed.

  'Are you ready?' she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

  'Ready,' came the hoarse reply, James's tremulous voice betraying his anxiety.

  Hannah hoped his hand would be steadier when the moment came. Her own knuckles closed even more tightly over the stock of the miniature blunderbuss, and she prayed the old weapon would fire the first time. She peered to her right, afraid Crawley must at any moment see the rope trailing off to the side of the road. Another two yards... another yard...

  Crawley seemed to sense something. She saw him pull back on the rein with the one arm, the hand in which he also clasped his pistol, his other arm still around his hostage's neck.

  'Now!' she shouted.

  Behind her, James pulled up the rope and jerked on it with all his might. It drew taut and up in the tree a knot slipped undone, loosing its grip on the short length of cord that held back the old stump. The branch, suspended from a second rope attached to an even higher treetop on the opposite side of the trail, swung downwards and across, gaining momentum as it went and striking the side of Crawley's horse, hitting both its leg and the girl's and knocking everything sideways.

  The startled steed reared up, whinnying noisily and tipping both occupants out of the saddle. In the same moment Crawley's pistol discharged skywards with a loud report, and Hannah, stumbling forward, raised the muzzle of her father's pistol as she pulled back on the trigger. There was an even louder report and a flash of powder, followed almost immediately by a scream of pain from Silas Grout, all but drowned out by a louder shriek from his horse as the spray of small lead balls seared through both man and animal.

  James was now running past Hannah, his young legs overtaking her in a few strides, and raising his own weapon towards the black figure of Crawley who was even now pulling himself upright. One good shot and it would be over, but even as James was steadying himself another silhouette suddenly came streaking out from between the trees. The figure crashed into him and sent him sprawling facedown on the road. His weapon discharged as he hit the ground, the ball hissing off into the nearby branches, and then complete pandemonium broke loose. James and the furiously spitting newcomer rolled around in the dust, horses whinnied and screamed, and Hannah stumbled and fell to her knees, a searing pain tearing across her ankle and instep. Dimly, the old woman saw the naked girl rise to her feet, tottering uncertainly with her arms still bound to her sides. Then she saw Crawley grabbing for her again as he drew a second pistol from beneath his cape and for a moment Hannah felt certain he meant to use it on the girl.

  'No!' she screeched, trying to hobble forward again, but Crawley was more interested in dealing with any further threat to himself. The naked and bound prisoner was no danger to him, whereas Hannah and James might still be. He swung the weapon around, ignoring the struggle on the ground, and aimed at Hannah.

  She saw the flash, the bright orange ball emerging from the barrel, and quickly fell sideways. She felt the air from the ball as it passed inches from her head just a second before she hit the ground, knocking the breath out of her old lungs, and slipped into unconsciousness.

  As is inevitable with stories told over and over again through the years, the account passed down to the great grandchildren of two Irish troopers of the 7th Regiment, Southern Mounted Fusiliers, made much of the fire fight that took place that night at the gate of the Grayling estate.

  In reality, the skirmish was over almost before it began. Paddy's homemade bomb ignited in front of the two guards by the gate itself with a spectacular loud whoosh of flames and sparks, and landed near enough to catch the clothing of both men in a wave of fire. In the end, it was said neither man suffered fatal injuries, but for the next few minutes they were preoccupied with rolling around on the ground in an effort to extinguish themselves. When the first man by the fire fell with a pistol ball through his shoulder, his companion was already on his feet and running into the trees, ignoring the muskets that, in any case, proved unnecessary to Paddy and Sean's cause.

  There was indeed one further guard inside the hut, but he emerged with his hands held high, presumably having already seen his confederates easily vanquished, which made him more than willing to open the gate for the wagon to pass through. First making sure they had collected all the weapons, Paddy then ordered the fellow to walk ahead of them for the better part of a mile before finally releasing him, either to return to the estate, or more likely to take to his heels in another direction.

  'That,' Paddy announced as the wagon rolled on its way, 'is why the English need us Irish over here to fight their fecking wars for them. About as much use as a fart in a fishing net,' he added scornfully.

  Back at the inn, however, the mood was far less jocular. As they approached the Black Drum, they saw the courtyard was lit by several lanterns and that a row of horses stood along the hitching posts, the liveries on their saddlecloths all too familiar.

  'Dragoons,' Paddy said. 'Looks like they sent men up from Portsmouth after all. Shame we've done most of their dirty work for them.'

  Inside, at the small side bar, Thomas Handiwell, Captain Hart and a Lieutenant of Dragoons, a thick- set northerner named Trueman, were holding a council of war. Paddy, not wishing to cause unnecessary embarrassment in front of the two soldiers and the dragoon sergeant hovering around them, asked to speak with the innkeeper in private.

  The confrontation between Thomas and Jane was a terrible scene indeed, and Paddy temporarily left father and daughter to their own devices while he sought the maid, Annie, and asked her to take charge of the two former captives. When he returned, Thomas was waiting alone outside the saloon.

  'I'll thank you to
keep my daughter's part in this terrible thing between us,' he said curtly, 'at least for the time being. I realise, of course, that the law must be done, but I should like some time to think.'

  'Of course, sir,' Paddy replied gravely. 'After all, she's only a wee chit of a girl, when all's said and done.'

  'Chit of a girl, my arse!' Thomas declared vehemently. 'She's been behind all these damned highway robberies, and on top of that, she's tried to get an innocent girl killed, albeit in place of another almost certainly innocent girl.'

  'I thought the girl would have been dead by now,' Paddy said.

  Thomas shook his head. 'No,' he replied. 'There was a delay for some reason and the so-called execution was postponed until morning. Lieutenant Trueman and four of his men have gone to the church to demand her release.'

  'Then that's something to be thankful for, at least.'

  Thomas reached inside his jacket and extracted a small leather purse, which he offered to Paddy. 'This is for you and your... err, colleague.'

  Paddy looked at him diffidently. 'Most generous of you, I'm sure, sir, but Sean Kelly and me, well, we were only doing what Parliament pays us to do. And if my mind were to become, shall we say a little cloudy concerning certain events and people this night, well, I'd hate it to be thought it was because gold had fuddled it. On the other hand, sir,' he went on, 'if a man was to offer a body a good drink or two, well that could easily be excused now, couldn't it? After all, Sean and me are good and true Irishmen, and it would be an insult to the hospitality of the house to refuse an open ale tap.'

  James knelt beside Hannah, holding her hand and patting her wrinkled cheek. He gave a sigh of relief when she finally opened her eyes. 'Thank God!' he breathed. 'I thought for a moment he had killed you.'

  'Matilda!' the old woman croaked. 'Where is she?'