Birthright

by David Hingley

  Breathing heavily, they returned to where Mercia had stopped just near the Moor Gate, surrounded by a crowd of curious spectators all sharing different versions of the chase. Doubtless the story would be further embellished by the time it was repeated in the taverns that night.

  ‘Did you see who it was?’ she asked.

  Nathan shook his head. ‘He was too fast. All I could see was a man with black hair.’ He looked at Nicholas. ‘Did you see anything?’

  ‘No. I nearly had him. Damn it!’ He punched one hand into the other in rage.

  A woman in the crowd spoke up. ‘At the last, when he barged through, he shouted at us in a foreign tongue.’

  ‘Spanish, I think,’ added another.

  ‘No,’ said a man. ‘Portuguese. I have been in Brazil, I know their speech. Saiam do meu caminho, he said. Get out of my way.’

  ‘Portuguese?’ said Mercia. ‘Why would he be Portuguese?’

  Nathan shepherded her away from the crowd, lowering his voice. ‘Whatever his origin, this was aimed to scare you. He shot two precise bolts, one past your head, one straight between us. If he wanted to hit us, he could have done. Someone clearly wants to worry you, but they do not want to kill.’

  ‘That is scant relief. But it shows we must be on the right track. Evidently somebody is very bothered by what I am doing. And still following me.’

  He shook his head. ‘That bowman was lying in wait. He knew exactly where you would be this afternoon.’ He looked at Nicholas, who was pacing round and round. ‘Mercia, it was Nicholas who asked us to meet here. And he was in your lodgings just before that intruder got in.’

  She scowled, waving a dismissive arm. ‘I do not think so. What would be the point? I met him by chance, Nathan, and he has helped so much. I hardly think … besides, there is no connection between him and North.’

  ‘Yes there is. Sir Edward Markstone.’

  She sighed. ‘How is that relevant? North was a crooked soldier Sir Edward was investigating, Nicholas a farrier in his employ. Now leave it. He is coming.’

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t catch him,’ said Nicholas, joining them. ‘I’m furious.’

  ‘You did the best you could,’ she said. ‘Better than me.’ She held up her skirts. ‘This rather held me back.’

  Nathan folded his arms. ‘We were wondering how that bowman knew where we would be.’

  ‘You think it was arranged?’ Nicholas cupped his chin. ‘Perhaps someone overheard something.’

  ‘Or someone said something.’

  ‘Nathan,’ warned Mercia.

  ‘Well I didn’t – hey!’ Nicholas took a step forward. ‘You’d better not be suggesting I had anything to do with this.’

  ‘No he is not,’ said Mercia, her eyes on Nathan. ‘Are you?’

  ‘No,’ said Nathan. ‘Very well, no!’ Next to him, Nicholas stood frowning. ‘But maybe, Mercia, this should make you think twice about trying to entrap that nobleman. Whoever is behind this, next time he may use more deadly force.’

  ‘I will not let him beat me, Nat. I cannot. But I do not know what to do for the best.’ She sighed in exasperation, looking to the clear blue sky. ‘Father, what should I do?’

  A commotion in the crowd caused her to look towards the wall. Someone was trying to push a way towards them through the protesting onlookers. Nathan and Nicholas both tensed. But the elderly woman who emerged was very familiar.

  ‘What is Bethany—?’ Mercia clapped her hand to her mouth as she saw the dark bruise that was forming on her maidservant’s cheek. Her white cap was askew, and she looked more agitated than Mercia had ever known. And then she noticed the empty space at Bethany’s side where Daniel should have been.

  ‘Mistress,’ cried Bethany, her voice shrill and shaking. ‘I couldn’t stop them. They’ve taken him, mistress. Lord forgive me, they’ve taken Daniel!’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘What do you mean they’ve taken him?’ said Nathan. ‘Who has?’

  ‘Some men came after you left.’ Bethany’s old face began to quiver. ‘He was playing on his little stilts. I chided him for it, he was damaging the floor.’

  ‘Bethany, tell us!’ Mercia was fighting every urge not to run straight back to the house.

  ‘There was a knock on the door. I thought it was you, but it was them. One searched the house, the other held me against the wall. I struggled, mistress, really I did, but he struck me.’ She felt her bruised cheek. ‘It dazed me, made me confused. When I came round I was sitting on the floor.’ She began to cry. ‘Daniel was gone.’

  ‘Nathan, what do we do?’ Mercia was frantic. Nicholas grabbed her as she made to run off. She pushed him away. ‘I have to do something!’

  Nathan took Bethany gently by the shoulders. ‘Did these men say who they were?’

  ‘They didn’t say much. But I know who they were.’ Her face set. ‘It was those Pelton brothers.’

  ‘The Pelton boys?’ said Mercia. ‘Those ruffians from back home?’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Nathan. ‘They followed me down.’

  Mercia snapped her gaze on him. ‘Isabel.’

  ‘They must have found out I left not long after I came down.’ Nathan helped Mercia from the hackney they had taken with Nicholas from the Moor Gate. ‘They would only have been a day or two behind. Enough time since to discover your lodgings.’

  ‘Then wait for me to leave and strike. My God, Nathan. I never should have left him alone.’

  ‘You left him with Bethany. You could hardly have foreseen this would happen so soon.’

  ‘Couldn’t I?’ She stopped under the sign of the Saracen’s Head, the faded Turkish visage mocking their approach. ‘What matters now is that we find him. But they will never be here. Even the Peltons know it is the first place I would look. ’Tis too obvious, even for them.’

  While Nicholas scoured the courtyard, Mercia entered the inn where she had stayed on the night of her father’s execution. It would have brought back bad memories, but today she had a singular purpose. The innkeeper was standing by his bar, talking with customers. The Pelton brothers were not amongst them. She did not expect them to be. The Saracen’s Head was the main coaching inn for Oxford; with no public coach scheduled until tomorrow, it would be a poor hiding place, and one the Peltons would know she would check.

  Recognising her, the innkeeper broke off his conversation and came over. ‘Do you need a room, Mrs Blakewood? Going back on tomorrow’s coach?’ He took in her worried appearance. ‘Is everything well?’

  She took him to one side. ‘Do you know the Pelton brothers? From up in Oxfordshire?’

  He scratched at his beard. ‘They’ve stayed here once or twice. They like their ale, that’s certain.’

  ‘They aren’t staying here now?’

  He shook his head. ‘You have business with them?’

  ‘You could say that.’ Across the room, Nathan was beckoning her over; she signalled to him to wait. ‘Have they ever mentioned anywhere else in London they might go?’

  ‘I don’t generally ask what folk get up to, Mrs Blakewood. What’s this about?’

  ‘Never mind.’ She excused herself and crossed the room to Nathan. A long-haired man beside him was turning a silver coin between his callused fingers.

  ‘Tell her what you told me,’ said Nathan.

  ‘I met them in an inn on my way down,’ the man said. ‘I was on the coach but they were riding by themselves. I lost out when the bastards cheated me at dice. Your man says you’re looking for them.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Bet I know where they are.’

  ‘Where?’

  He grinned. ‘Also bet you want them badly enough to pay for that.’

  Mercia sighed, reaching into her pockets, but Nathan kicked out the man’s legs from under him and pinioned him on a table, sending a tankard shooting to the floor. He rested his forearm on the man’s throat.

  ‘I already gave you a sixpence. You said you wanted to get back at the
m, well here is your chance. Where are they?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ gasped the man, his hair fanned out across the sticky table. Nathan pressed harder. An entering customer took one look and walked straight back out. ‘I think they’re in Uxbridge. At the George.’

  ‘Why?’ Nathan lightened his grip.

  The man clutched his throat. ‘They were talking with some fellow in the King’s Arms where we stayed. They wanted a safe house for a night, a flexible arrangement for whenever they needed it. They arranged it for the George. They thought I was passed out on the bench, but I heard every word.’

  Nathan looked up at Mercia. ‘See,’ he said. ‘It was worth coming here after all.’

  They needed horses, and fast: Nicholas took them to the aptly named Horse and Star, the same inn where she had found him at work just a few days before.

  ‘A safe house makes sense,’ she said as she waited in the yard with Nathan. ‘The Peltons could hardly take him up in public, certainly not on the coach. He would be kicking and screaming. Anthony will have given orders not to harm him. We can expect that much, at least.’

  Nathan nodded. ‘You think they’re making their way back on their own, bit by bit?’

  ‘Yes. They’ll have made a similar arrangement further up, High Wickham perhaps. Fortunately Uxbridge is not too far from here.’

  ‘Horses,’ said Nicholas, leading three out. ‘But I need to pay something for them.’

  ‘Give the landlord this.’ Mercia handed him a golden guinea. ‘Is it enough to borrow them for the night?’

  Nicholas stared at the golden coin: dated the year before, it was one of the first batch of guineas issued. ‘I should say so.’

  ‘Good. Then shoe them and let’s go.’

  While he was readying the horses Nathan paced the yard. ‘It will be dark soon,’ he said, ‘and there are highwaymen about. We need to get started.’

  She called across to Nicholas. ‘Can we get a gun?’

  ‘For a price.’ Nicholas set down the hoof he was holding. ‘I’ll ask Welshie.’

  Finishing with the horse he took a half-crown from Nathan, returning five minutes later with a pistol and shot. ‘Good job that lot don’t ask questions.’

  Mercia held out her hand. ‘Give it to me.’ Nicholas laughed nervously. ‘I mean it. This is my son we are chasing. I cannot expect you to shoot anyone for him, so I will take it.’ She took the gun from his hands. ‘Is this loaded?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, a respect on his face she had not seen before. ‘You know how to use it?’

  She looked him in the eye and set the pistol to a half-cocked position. But she had to pass Nathan the gun to mount her horse, and in spite of her protests, he kept it for himself.

  They powered out of the city, forcing their way through the Holborn crowds. Once they had left the London traffic behind, they rode quickly. Mercia spurred her horse as fast as she could.

  ‘’Tis near twenty miles to Uxbridge,’ shouted Nathan, drawing alongside her. ‘The horses will tire at this pace.’

  She kicked her horse still faster. ‘They will cope.’

  They galloped through a series of villages – Kensington, Shepherd’s Bush, Acton – startling all they passed into turning their heads and following them with wondering eyes. Further into the countryside the woods came in close, but they never once met a highwayman, not even after the sun had set and the waxing moon had risen. By then they were passing Hillingdon and were almost at their goal. Coming into Uxbridge they flew past the vast Place House, where nineteen years earlier, in the midst of civil war, envoys sent by King and Parliament had faced each other across a table of futile truce. Their failure to reach an unwanted accord had prolonged the bloody war, sad news for those like Lawrence Goodridge who had paid the sorry price.

  Tonight his sister, grown up, rode into the large courtyard of the George Inn where the parliamentary commissioners had made their base. The rambling tavern surrounded the yard, its gabled roofs and leaning walls seeming to beckon the traveller in to be swallowed whole, never to emerge. It was a wickedly suitable hiding place.

  Dismounting to the muddy earth, Mercia left her panting horse with a stable boy, forcing herself to wait while Nathan and Nicholas did the same. After what seemed an age they joined her, but as she stepped on the stairs that led up to the entrance, Nathan drew her back.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘If they are in there and they see us, they may scare. Who knows what will happen then.’

  She paused with her right boot hovering over the middle step. ‘You are right. What shall we do?’

  Behind them Nicholas cleared his throat. ‘What do these Peltons look like?’ he asked. They turned round and he shrugged. ‘Well they don’t know who I am, do they?’

  Ten minutes later he was back outside.

  ‘They’re in there all right. Ugly bastards, singing to some arsworm of a fiddler and playing at dice. But there’s no sign of the boy.’

  ‘There must be rooms here,’ said Mercia, looking up at the inn’s top floor. ‘We need to find which is theirs.’

  ‘I asked one of the serving maids. She won’t say.’

  ‘Can’t you turn on the charm?’ said Nathan.

  ‘I did.’ Nicholas smirked at him. ‘Why don’t you try?’

  Mercia cut off his response. ‘I have a better idea. Nicholas, you play at dice, do you not?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Then here.’ She threw him a few pennies. ‘Go and play. Find which is their room. And win us back the cost of hiring that pistol while you are at it.’

  She sat under cover of her thick mantle, Nathan facing away from the Peltons at her side. The inn was busy, but they managed to squeeze onto a rickety bench, pretending to enjoy their ales. The smell of burning logs mixed with the malt and hops, the heady mixture teasing her nose, making her want to sneeze.

  She watched from under her hood as Nicholas wormed his way into the Peltons’ game. For the next few minutes he rolled the dice, making bets, dragging his arm across the table to collect his frequent winnings, until the Peltons’ drunken mood turned sour. One of the brothers produced a knife; Mercia nudged Nathan to ready the pistol, but it turned out to be a challenge, double or nothing, for Nicholas to lay out his hand and play the game of stabbing the knife back and forth between his outstretched fingers. She tensed when he took up the knife, but he made easy work of it, from endless practice while cooped up on the ships, she supposed. The younger Pelton stood up, outraged, but his bald elder brother pulled him back down.

  ‘We don’t have the money with us,’ he spat, loud enough for his drunken voice to carry over the crackling fire. ‘You’ll have to take what you’ve got.’

  Nicholas sliced a corner of wood from the table. ‘I don’t think so. I’m guessing you have what you owe in your room.’

  The bald Pelton growled. ‘You’re not going up there.’

  ‘Why not?’ Nicholas leant on the table, pushing himself half up. ‘Got something precious hidden away?’

  Bald glanced at his brother, almost imperceptibly, but Mercia saw the signal for what it was. ‘Come, then,’ he snarled, leading Nicholas through a lopsided wooden archway into the back room. After a few seconds his brother followed. Setting down their ales, Mercia and Nathan followed him in turn.

  The sparsely furnished back room was cold, even through her mantle: the warmth of the drinking area seemed unable to pass the archway. Crossing the slippery flagstone floor, they climbed up the wide staircase that led to the lodgings above. At the top was a galleried landing; halfway down the narrow space, the two Peltons had Nicholas hemmed in.

  ‘Thought you could beat us, did you?’ The elder brother’s shaven head was pockmarked and squashed, his nose askew, broken from one of his many fights. ‘We’ll teach you southern princock some manners.’

  ‘Good luck,’ called Nathan, cocking the loaded pistol. He strode down the landing, pointing the barrel at the younger brother’s head.

  ‘What’s
this?’ said Bald, staring at the gun. Nicholas drew back his fist, but Nathan shook his head.

  ‘I believe you owe this man money,’ he said. ‘So take us to your room.’

  The elder Pelton spat on the floor, defiant. ‘You pussies want my brother’s arse for the night, that it?’ He looked at Nathan. ‘Wait a moment. I know you.’

  ‘Now can I punch him?’ said Nicholas. Nathan gave a curt nod and Nicholas jabbed at Bald’s face, cracking his head against the wall. He groaned but remained conscious.

  ‘Which room?’ barked Nathan. The younger brother stared, but then his gaze flicked briefly to the last door down. Mercia pushed past and tried the handle. It was locked.

  She lowered her hood. ‘Open it.’

  ‘Shit,’ said the younger Pelton.

  ‘Good. You know who I am. So you will understand I am quite prepared to get him to shoot you if you do not open this door, right now.’

  ‘No one’s in there,’ mumbled Bald, rubbing the back of his head.

  She looked at Nathan and shrugged. ‘Shoot him.’

  Slowly, Nathan brought the gun to point directly at the younger Pelton’s forehead. His forefinger teased the trigger.

  ‘Wait!’ cried Bald. ‘Wait.’ He stumbled along the landing to join Mercia by the door. Nathan followed him with the pistol, Nicholas holding the knife he had pocketed downstairs at his younger brother’s throat.

  As Bald unlocked the door, another swung open adjacent. A young woman emerged, tying up her front-closing bodice. She glanced at the scene before her and retreated back inside, calmly, as though she were used to such events. But the distraction gave Bald his chance. He pushed his door open just wide enough to slip through; once in he slammed back on it hard, but Nathan thrust out his arm and the fragile door rebounded. Through the gap, Mercia caught sight of Daniel tied to a chair. Seeing his mother he began to scream.

  ‘The bastards,’ she cried. She pushed against the door with a superhuman strength, Bald fighting her on the other side, but then Nathan was pushing too, and Nicholas, and together they flung the door back, sending Bald flying to the ground. An old woman lying on the bed leapt up to run past, but Nathan threw out his foot and she tumbled to the floor, joining Bald with a crash. As he covered them both with his gun, Mercia made short work of the poorly tied knots holding Daniel.