‘If I can do that to you,’ he said, ‘then anybody can.’
‘But there’s nobody about, Mr Yeomans. The street is empty.’
‘I was here and you didn’t even notice me. Why was that? Were you half-asleep or was your mind elsewhere?’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘You were chosen, Ruddock. You were selected for this task because Mr Hale and I had faith in you. Keep your eyes open and your ears pricked. Look in every doorway, gaze up at every window.’
‘Yes, sir, I will.’
‘And don’t be caught out again.’
‘No, Mr Yeomans. Where will you be, sir?’
‘You don’t need to know that. Just do as you were told.’
The Runner vanished as quickly as he’d appeared. Ruddock blinked in the gloom and tried to work out where Yeomans had gone but it was impossible. He gave up trying and returned to his perambulation. A rider trotted by on a horse, hoof beats echoing. Two hazy figures came walking unsteadily towards him but, before they reached him, they let themselves into a house and shut the door. He was alone again. There was no sign of Yeomans and no movement of the curtains in the front bedroom of the print shop. After the noise and bustle of Covent Garden, the street was blissfully quiet. He schooled himself not to take it for granted. Bent on proving his worth, he was determined to remain alert.
It was almost an hour before he heard the faint crackle. It slowly grew in volume. Carried on the wind, the first wisps of smoke drifted into his nostrils. They seemed to be coming from behind the print shop. The crackle was now audible and he suddenly realised what had caused it. Ruddock exploded into life, charging across the street and hammering on the door of the shop with all his might.
‘FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The response was immediate. The curtains in the front bedroom of the shop were pulled back and the window flung open. The head of Diane Mandrake appeared, her nightcap tied in place.
‘Who’s down there?’ she demanded.
‘Look to your house, madam! It’s on fire!’
‘Good gracious!’ she exclaimed as she smelt the smoke swirling overhead.
‘Save yourselves!’ advised Ruddock. ‘I’ll rouse the neighbours.’
While she ducked out of the window, he ran in turn to the adjoining houses on both sides and raised the alarm. Lights were already appearing in other windows and some were opened. There was no missing the sound of the blaze or the stench of smoke now. Loud screams from the servants above the shop spread news of the danger far and wide and the whole street came out of its slumbers. People were soon rushing out of doors to add to the commotion. The fire had now got sufficient hold to send flames dancing in the air, lightening the sky and giving the shop an eerie glow. Ruddock was still shouting at the top of his voice when Yeomans came hurtling towards him. When he saw what was happening, the Runner went berserk and banged on the shop door as if trying to break it down with his fists.
It finally opened and the terrified servants came running out in their dressing gowns and nightcaps. Yeomans grabbed one of them.
‘Where’s Mrs Mandrake?’ he demanded.
‘She’s still inside with Mr Tite,’ said the woman.
‘Come on, Ruddock – follow me.’
Yeomans plunged into the shop with Ruddock at his heels. They ran through to the back of the house and saw that the outhouse was ablaze and that the flames had set the ivy on the back wall alight. Wearing dressing gowns but standing in bare feet, Diane and Tite were bravely throwing buckets of water at the fire but the wind kept whipping it up. Yeomans took control at once, taking the bucket from Diane, easing her across to a position of relative safety, then giving orders to Ruddock and to the other people who came surging through the house with buckets of water to lend their assistance. The noise was ear-splitting.
It was exactly a hundred and fifty years since the Great Fire of London but the tragedy remained fresh in the minds of its citizens. Though thatched roofs and other combustible materials might have vanished, terraced housing always posed a problem. Once a fire got a strong purchase on one property, it could quickly spread and destroy the whole row. That was why almost everyone in the street came to the rescue. Under the supervision of Yeomans, a small army of men and boys fought the blaze with frantic energy. Refusing to be left out of the action, Diane wielded a large wet mop as she tried to beat out the roaring flames threatening her property.
Tite was in despair. ‘It’s hopeless!’ he cried. ‘We’re done for!’
Fearon and Higlett didn’t stop running until they were hundreds of yards away. Having started the fire in the shed attached to the house, they’d hurdled over the fences of a dozen gardens until they reached the side entry in the street at the back of Middle Row. There was no time to enjoy their handiwork. They had to make do with the sound of the blaze and the howls of despair. When they’d sprinted until their lungs were on fire, they allowed themselves a respite.
‘We did it,’ said Fearon, gasping for air.
‘There won’t be a print shop tomorrow – just a pile of ashes.’
‘That will please him.’
‘We deserve a big reward for this, Abel.’
‘I’ll make sure we get it.’
‘We took risks,’ said Higlett, ‘a lot of them.’
‘He’ll know that.’
‘We did what he wanted.’
‘We don’t know that yet.’
Higlett was indignant. ‘Yes, we do. That fire will burn down the shop.’
‘But has it killed Mrs Mandrake? That’s what he really wants. You saw his orders. He didn’t want her coming out alive.’
Anxious, perspiring, almost dropping with fatigue, Diane was still very much alive. She continued to make her contribution with the others, wetting her mop every time it began to smoulder. Water had now reached the seat of the fire and sapped its resistance. Flames no longer licked away so hungrily at the back of the house. Thanks to the concerted efforts of dozens of people, the blaze was finally brought under control and, ultimately, quelled completely. When it was no more than a hissing pile of wood, a ragged cheer went up.
Nobody had worked harder than Yeomans and Ruddock, strong men who battled the fire with a skill born of experience. They were as relieved as anyone that their efforts had been successful. Yeomans put an arm around his companion.
‘Well done, Ruddock.’
‘You led the fight, sir.’
‘Yes, but you raised the alarm. That probably saved lives.’
‘I was only doing my duty, Mr Yeomans.’
‘You went beyond that,’ said the other. ‘Mr Kirkwood will hear of this.’
‘Thank you, sir!’
Ruddock was thrilled. For a change, he would have good news to take back to his wife after night duty. Yeomans was treating him like a hero and the chief magistrate would learn of his prompt action. It helped him to ignore the singed patches on his coat and hat, the weariness of his body, the cloying stink of smoke and the trickling of sweat down his face.
Diane, meanwhile, was thanking her neighbours in turn for their help. She was a popular figure in the street and had already received a lot of sympathy for the way that the shop window had been smashed. The fire had been a far greater blow for her.
‘How did it start?’ asked a man.
‘I wish I knew,’ she replied.
‘Was it some kind of accident?’
‘Oh, no – this was deliberate.’
He was aghast. ‘You could have been burnt alive.’
‘I think that that was the intention.’
When the man staggered away to pass on the news to others, Diane went over to Yeomans who was stamping on the last embers to make sure that the fire was out. By the light of a lantern, she could see how parts of his sleeves had been burnt away and how his eyebrows had caught fire at some point.
‘I owe you a huge debt of gratitude, Mr Yeomans,’ she said.
‘I feared that som
ething like this might happen, Mrs Mandrake.’
‘Were you standing out there all night?’
‘I had a man on patrol in the street.’
‘Yes, I noticed him. He woke me up by yelling.’
‘Ruddock woke up half the street,’ said Yeomans with a tired smile. ‘He showed his true mettle tonight – and so did your neighbours.’
‘They wanted to save their own houses as much as mine.’
‘Who can blame them?’ He looked down. ‘You should not be out here in bare feet, Mrs Mandrake.’
‘There was no time to find my slippers.’
‘You were brave to join in the fight.’
‘This is my property, Mr Yeomans. I’ll defend it to the death.’
‘Do you have any idea who started the fire?’
‘I wish I did.’
‘It’s probably the same man who smashed your window. Who is he?’
‘Seek him in hell, sir, for that’s where the devil resides.’
Overcoming an urge to put a consoling arm around her, Yeomans took off his hat and used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. He glanced at the blackened brickwork.
‘You can’t stay here, Mrs Mandrake.’
‘That’s my business.’
‘I beg you to move elsewhere.’
‘If friends took me in, that would only put them in danger.’
‘This was the most terrible warning yet.’
‘I’m fully conscious of that, Mr Yeomans.’
While she could never like a man she found so repellent, she had to admire the way he’d behaved in an emergency. While she was angry that he’d disregarded her refusal to have him near her shop at night, she was also extremely grateful. Tite and the servants were heavy sleepers and they occupied the rooms at the side of the house. But for the intervention of the officer placed outside by Yeomans, they could have been killed and the whole property destroyed.
‘I ask one favour of you, Mrs Mandrake,’ he said.
‘What is it?’
‘If you change your mind, please let me know. I can arrange accommodation for you elsewhere. You’ll be safe and sound.’
‘I thank you for your kind offer but my answer remains the same. Besides,’ she continued, ‘if I did consent to move out, it would not to be somewhere of your choosing. It would be to the home of good friends.’
Peter and Charlotte Skillen had just finished breakfast when the messenger arrived. They read the letter with an amalgam of fear and outrage.
‘They set fire to the house?’ said Charlotte, trembling.
‘There was a precedent, my love. Think of Mr Paige’s lodging.’
‘I do feel for poor Diane. What a hideous experience!’
‘By the grace of God,’ said Peter, ‘she survived and so did the others in the house. Anyone else would have passed on the news with their hand shaking but, as you can see, the calligraphy is firm.’
‘I must go to her.’
‘You’re needed at the gallery. Leave it to me.’
‘Do whatever you can to bring her back here, Peter.’
‘My efforts will be in vain.’
‘We must be able to help somehow.’
‘I’ll find a way.’
‘Her servants must be worried out of their minds.’
‘And so must Mr Tite,’ he said. ‘I’m sure that he’s an efficient print-seller but that doesn’t fit him to protect his employer in a crisis and to put out a fire. It may well be that neither he nor the servants agree to remain there.’
She winced. ‘Diane can’t be left completely alone.’
‘She won’t be, my love.’
Paul Skillen returned to the cricket ground in St John’s Wood but it was not to watch the game. He was drawn there by the coincidence that three of the suspects they’d identified had actually been there on the previous day. On reflection, he decided that it was not so much of a coincidence. Cricket had an enthusiastic following among the privileged classes. People who had no trade to keep them occupied on a daily basis found it an ideal way of passing their leisure time. It was a social as much as a sporting event. Members of the lower orders did attend in numbers, and there was an inevitable smattering of pickpockets, but the prevailing tone was set by the aristocracy and the gentry.
Since he had no intention of spending the whole day there again, Paul had gone in disguise, donning the costume he’d first used when scouring the taverns near the riverside. It made him completely invisible to the quartet with whom he’d sat during the first day’s play. Conclusive proof of the effectiveness of his disguise came when he walked to within a few yards of Gilbert Reddish. Waiting for his friends, the man didn’t even spare Paul a glance.
The crowds descending on the ground were as large and vociferous as on the earlier occasion. Speculation as to the likely winner of the match was rife and Paul heard loyal supporters of both sides engaged in lively argument. He had his own opinion about the likely outcome but it was irrelevant. His task was simply to watch and listen for anything useful he could pick up.
Reddish was getting impatient. The match would soon be resuming but there was no sign of his friends. He looked at each new vehicle rolling up but could not see Sir Humphrey Coote’s coach. Eventually, a carriage swept into view and he was hailed by its three occupants. Reddish went across to greet them and there was some cheerful banter. Paul was not close enough to overhear it. As the four friends brushed past him, however, he did pick up one exchange.
‘You’re devilishly late, Sir Humphrey,’ said Reddish.
‘It’s a privilege of rank.’
‘And why come in a carriage? You’re so intent on travelling in style that you always prefer your coach.’
‘Someone had a greater need of it than me,’ explained Sir Humphrey. ‘I’ve loaned it for the day to Guy Penhallurick.’
‘Why can’t I come with you?’ asked Higlett.
‘It only needs one of us.’
‘But why must it always be you?’
‘I was picked out, wasn’t I?’ said Fearon, tapping his chest. ‘When he bought my release from Newgate, he thought it might be work for two of us. I recommended you. Otherwise, you’d still be in there for another year. Be grateful, Sim.’
‘I am, honest.’
‘Then stop bickering.’
‘It’s just that I’d … like to see him.’
‘What’s the point?’
‘I want to know who he is and what he looks like.’
‘I can tell you that.’
‘You can’t tell me his name,’ challenged the other, ‘because you don’t know it. All you tell me is that he’s very rich and dresses well. I want to know more, Abel. I want to know his name and what he’s going to do with us.’
‘You ask too many questions.’
‘What if he double-crosses us?’
‘He hasn’t done that so far,’ Fearon pointed out. ‘We killed Paige and we got a lot of money for doing so. I expect even more for last night’s work.’
They were in the room above the tavern. It was almost noon and time for Fearon to keep an appointment. Higlett made the mistake of demanding to go with him and was hurled to the floor. He yelled in pain when he was kicked.
‘There’s no need for that!’ he protested.
‘It’ll teach you to keep your gob shut.’
‘Why can’t I even get a glimpse of him?’
Fearon raised his foot. ‘Do you want another kick?’
‘No, no,’ cried the other, cowering on the floor.
‘I’ll see you when I get back – and no more questions.’
He went out and slammed the door behind him. Rubbing his back where the kick had landed, Higlett struggled to his feet and crossed to the window. He waited until he saw his friend come out into the street. Then he put on his hat, tripped down the stairs and followed him at a safe distance.
When Peter got to the shop, it was in turmoil. The servants were crying, Tite was trying to persuade D
iane Mandrake to leave the house and she was packing the prints into a series of boxes. At least she was making no attempt to keep the shop open for business. Peter saw that as a wise move. Clearing the others out of the way, she took her visitor into the back room.
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ she warned, ‘and you can save your breath. I’m staying here.’
‘But this place is obviously a target.’
‘That doesn’t worry me. I’m concerned about Ben Tite and the servants, of course, and I’ve said that I won’t force them to stay. It’s their decision.’
Peter offered all the arguments he’d rehearsed on his way there but she was adamant. He changed tack and asked to see the fire damage. She took him into the garden and showed him the charred remains of the outhouse before indicating the marks on the brickwork.
‘Who ever lit that fire did me a favour,’ she said with a half-laugh. ‘The whole of that wall was covered in ivy and it was starting to penetrate the brickwork. It’s pernicious stuff. As you see, it was obligingly burnt off for me.’
‘That was not the purpose of the blaze,’ he said. ‘The ivy was an incidental casualty. You were supposed to have been killed.’
‘I realise that. Fortunately, I was roused from my bed.’
‘Did you hear the crackle of fire?’
‘I didn’t but, luckily, someone did.’
‘Who was it?’ asked Peter.
‘The man patrolling the street,’ she replied. ‘He was put there by Mr Yeomans. They’re largely responsible for the fact that my house is still standing.’
Peter was astounded. ‘What was Micah Yeomans doing here in the night?’
‘He was showing a concern for my safety even though I’d spurned his help. He’s an insufferable man, Peter, but a courageous one to boot. He and his officer fought the fire as if they were trying to save their own homes. Yeomans even got his eyebrows singed in the process.’
When she gave him a more detailed account, he had to admire what the Runner had done. In the confusion and the pandemonium, Yeomans had asserted his authority and got everyone working systematically. Without him, it was clear, far more than an outhouse and some ivy would have been destroyed.
Steps to the Gallows Page 20
