Gideon the Cutpurse

by Linda Buckley-Archer

  ‘What had he done that got his father so angry?’

  ‘I do not know. I heard the story from his servant. But what boy has done nothing of which he is ashamed? Nor is it uncommon that a parent asks more of his child than he has it in his power to achieve. And it seems to me that it is often the eldest child who suffers most in this way … Alas, Lord Luxon’s father died soon afterwards. It is a hard thing to have lost the respect of one’s father. It ate into Lord Luxon. I believe it is his tragedy.’

  ‘Why did you work for Lord Luxon if he’s such a bad man?’ asked Peter.

  ‘I had no choice in the matter.’

  ‘Will you tell me about it?’

  Gideon nodded. ‘If you like. It is not an extraordinary tale. Many children have had far worse fates.’

  Gideon took a few moments to gather his thoughts. Peter hoped they would not reach Lichfield before he arrived at the end of his story.

  ‘My mother and father and eight out of my nine brothers and sisters are all dead,’ he began.

  Peter gasped. ‘That’s awful!’

  ‘It happened many years ago.’

  ‘Then who brought you up?’

  ‘My mother until I was ten and then … someone whom I have no reason to remember with affection.’

  Gideon told Peter how his father, a skilled cabinetmaker, died when he was two, leaving his mother to bring up her large family alone. Shortly afterwards one of his elder brothers died suddenly and the whole family left Somerset to settle in Surrey, in a small village called Abinger where his mother’s only surviving sister lived. His mother remarried an Abinger man, Joshua Seymour, and they had two children – a boy, Joshua, and a girl. One March, when Gideon was ten, the village was blighted with a virulent outbreak of scarlet fever. After a bad winter when food had been scarce and bronchitis had already weakened several members of the family, the scarlet fever could not have arrived at a worse time. Only ten-yearold Gideon and his young half-brother Joshua, then six and a half, survived. The two boys watched ten members of their family buried in the same week. On her deathbed, Mrs Seymour wrote to the rector begging him to find a home for her two youngest boys. They were both, she wrote, honest, God-fearing boys who knew their letters and were not afraid of hard work.

  And so it was that the local squire acquired two slaves in all but name. Unpaid, mostly hungry and cold and regularly beaten, the Seymour boys had a wretched childhood but at least they had each other. Only when the Squire was away on business or on Sundays, when they were dressed in good clothes and displayed in church as an example of their master’s generosity, did they know any respite.

  On his fifteenth birthday, the cook gave Gideon a tankard of cider to celebrate the day. Unused to strong drink, Gideon sent a Japanese bowl crashing to the floor in the stone-flagged entrance hall the same moment that the Squire returned empty-handed from a frustrating morning’s pike fishing. The Squire dragged Gideon outside, tore the shirt from his back and beat him until he bled and then, when Gideon fainted, revived him with a bucket of icy water. Poor Joshua watched helpless from the scullery window, tears streaming down his face.

  That night Gideon vowed to run away and start a new life, swearing to young Joshua that he would come back for him at the first opportunity.

  ‘But why didn’t you tell somebody?’ Peter wanted to know. ‘Surely the local police or magistrate or whatever you call them could have made the Squire stop beating you. It’s against the law to beat children like that in my time. They’d put you in prison if you were found out.’

  ‘Against the law! If that were the law of this land, there would be more people in prison than without! But that is wondrous to hear – no hangings! no beatings! Why, the future must herald paradise on earth!’

  ‘Well, not exactly … So did you escape in the end?’ asked Peter.

  ‘I was foolish. I ran away that very night. I should have waited for the spring. I headed for London but did not get even as far as Esher.’

  Gideon described how he soon finished the provisions of bread and cheese he had brought with him. He avoided the roads in case the Squire’s men came after him. He became hopelessly lost crossing the interminable farmland under sunless skies and almost died of cold, sleeping rough under frozen hedgerows. Twice he begged poor farmers for something to eat but both times he was chased off their land. Finally, after ten days, weak from a feverish chill and lack of food, he came to a decision. He must either steal something to eat or die. He sank to his knees onto grass stiff with frost and prayed for forgiveness. He reasoned that he had promised to rescue Joshua, and that if he died his young half-brother would be forever at the Squire’s mercy.

  Arriving at a small farm close to Oxshott, Gideon observed the house from a distance until he saw the farmer walk off into the fields with his dog. He crept into the farmyard and, drawn onwards by the tantalising smell of baking, found himself at the kitchen door. His heart pounding, Gideon peeped in through the grimy window. On the scrubbed wooden table he saw three pies. There was no sign of anyone. Gideon slowly pushed open the door, which creaked alarmingly, and stole into the kitchen. He almost changed his mind and got ready to run out again but then he remembered Joshua. He grabbed hold of one of the pies. Fresh out of the oven, it was red hot and he was forced to drop it back onto the table with a loud clatter. Convinced he had alerted the house to his presence, Gideon froze, straining to hear footsteps, but all was silent once more. Then he snatched a spoon off a dresser and broke through the thick suet crust. A cloud of steam rose out of the pie, along with an irresistibly savoury aroma. He lifted a spoonful of meat and rich gravy to his lips and blew on it to cool it down. What bliss it was to feel hot food in his belly. He swallowed another spoonful and then another and another, knowing that he ought to make his escape while he had the chance.

  It was the deep growling of the dog that he heard first. The farmer’s wife, who had been tending a sick calf in the barn, had seen Gideon enter the kitchen and ran off after her husband to fetch him back to deal with the intruder. Now the farmer stood at the kitchen door, wielding a scythe in one hand and restraining his dog with the other. The dog, a large mongrel with a rank, shaggy coat, was baring its teeth and straining to leap at Gideon’s throat.

  ‘No food has passed my lips these five days past! Have mercy!’ cried Gideon.

  It took the farmer half a second to make up his mind and then he released his hold on the dog. Gideon hurled a wooden stool at the animal and dashed into the inner hall and out through the front door. He headed into the barn and jumped onto a pile of firewood stacked at one end. The dog was at his heels and, with the adrenalin rush of fear spurring him on, Gideon hurled himself upwards and managed to catch hold of one of the supporting beams. His legs hung precariously above the dog’s snapping jaws. After several attempts he succeeded in swinging both legs over the wooden beam. He locked his ankles together and inch by inch started to heave and slide himself over to the nearest corner of the barn where he could see chinks of light breaking through gaps in the rough slate roof.

  The farmer, whose shrivelled face told of a life full of hardship, started to shout at Gideon to come down, telling him that there was no escape and that he’d teach him to steal his supper.

  ‘What is he doing to our roof?’ shrieked his wife as Gideon thumped desperately at the slate tiles with his bare fist. They heard the crash as first one and then three or four slates smashed onto the cobbles in the farmyard below. Gideon hauled himself through the hole he had made and clambered up the steeply pitched roof. He straddled the ridge, one leg over each side, and looked down at the irate farmer far below, as he tried to get his breath back. The foul dog barked incessantly. Then Gideon noticed two things in quick succession. He watched the farmer stoop down and pick up a stone and take aim. At the same time, in the narrow lane in front of the farmhouse, Gideon could see an elegant figure on horseback wearing a splendid sky-blue jacket. The gentleman’s attention had clearly been drawn by all the commotion. The s
tone whizzed through the air and found its target. Half an inch nearer and Gideon would have lost an eye; as it was, the stone stung his cheekbone and it was his grip that he lost. Gideon slithered down the roof, grasping hold of the edge of the hole he had made as he did so. The sharp slate cut into his fingers and his legs jerked this way and that trying to find a foothold.

  Suddenly two tiles gave way under his weight. Gideon slid down the roof, his nails screeching down the slate, as his fingers scrabbled after anything to hang on to. This is the end, he thought. My neck will be broken. This is punishment for my wickedness.

  Time itself seemed to slow down and in that instant Gideon saw everything with a terrifying clarity: there was the dog, foaming at the mouth in a frenzy of excitement; next to it the farmer who was craning his neck upwards, an expression of triumphant expectation on his face. And then there was the clip-clop of hooves as the fine young gentleman rode his black mare into the cobbled yard … It was at that moment that Gideon glimpsed a rusting pulley attached to an iron bar that jutted out of the barn wall. Instinctively Gideon shot out his arm and seized hold of the bar. He swung like a pendulum perhaps six feet above the yard. This was the dog’s chance. It leaped up and sank its teeth into Gideon’s left calf, opening up a gaping, bloody wound as the animal fell back to the ground. Screaming with the pain of it, Gideon struggled to lift up his knees out of reach of the dog.

  ‘Call that dog off, sir!’ shouted the young gentleman. ‘The lad cannot defend himself!’

  Startled at the gentleman’s sudden appearance, the farmer turned around to look at him. ‘What is it to you, my Lord? This thief stole my supper!’

  ‘And he must pay for his supper with his legs? Here, take that. It will buy you a dozen suppers.’

  The gentleman threw down onto the muddy yard a handful of coins which the farmer’s wife quickly retrieved.

  ‘Call off your dog at once if you don’t want to feel my whip on your back.’

  The farmer scowled at the gentleman but made no move. Gideon, who was fast losing his grip, was by now no longer able to raise his knees. The dog attacked again. This time the other leg. Gideon let out an agonised scream as its teeth tore into his flesh. A shot rang out as the gentleman fired his pistol into the air and the petrified dog sped out of sight. The gentleman positioned his horse under Gideon and commanded him to drop.

  ‘You’d better come with me. Can you ride?’

  ‘Was that Lord Luxon?’ asked Peter.

  ‘It was he. He saved me.’

  ‘He can’t have been that bad if he’d do a thing like that.’

  ‘On that day and on many others I have seen him display great character. When I asked him afterwards why he had shown me such kindness he told me: “Any fool could see you were starving. I do not condemn you for trying to keep alive even though there are those who would.” I have never forgotten it. It is one of the sorrows of my life to have witnessed how Lord Luxon squandered the fine qualities he was born with.’

  ‘Were you badly injured by the dog?’ asked Peter.

  Gideon pulled down a stocking for Peter to see the scars running like white rope up his calf.

  Peter gulped. ‘That’s bad. That’s really bad. You’re braver than me. I couldn’t have stood that.’

  ‘No. Physical pain is over as soon as it stops. Other things take longer to heal.’

  The three spires of Lichfield Cathedral rose up majestically above green meadows. They rode past the cathedral pond and onwards towards the George Inn. As they rode into the yard Kate ran out to greet them. ‘The Parson’s just returned with the news. Ned Porter escaped from the magistrate’s cellar during the night!’

  I was starving. I had never known hunger like it before or since. Anyone who has not felt hunger clawing away at his entrails until he fears he will go mad will not comprehend what I felt. I believe I would have done anything for a mouthful of that beef pie. I knew it was nourishment prepared by a stranger’s hand and never intended to sustain me but the temptation was too great.

  I had not thought of my mother in all the days since I had run away and yet it was then that her face appeared to me. In another moment, I said to myself, I shall be a thief, let the Lord forgive me. And then I remembered Joshua and I ate.

  I have often wondered since, what my fate would have been had I resisted, for that first crime led to others. Would I have died that bitter winter or would I have led a better life?

  The Life and Times of Gideon Seymour,

  Cutpurse and Gentleman, 1792

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A Parliament of Rooks

  In which Detective Inspector Wheeler is perturbed

  by a photograph, Kate talks to a famous scientist

  and Peter sees something very shocking

  Peter’s mother was talking to the head of the Hollywood film studios who were financing the film she was working on. Mrs Schock told him that she would not be returning to California until Peter was found. She listened to what he had to say and then put the phone down slowly with a quiet click.

  Peter’s father was waiting for her in their car outside the hotel, the engine running. They were due to see Detective Inspector Wheeler at the Dyers’ farm at half past two.

  ‘How did he take it?’ Peter’s father asked as he drove off.

  ‘Well, he made the right kind of sympathetic noises but the delay in shooting has already cost them a quarter of a million dollars. It sounds like there’s already a long queue of people willing to step into the breach.’

  ‘I bet,’ said Mr Schock. ‘I thought it wouldn’t be long before the vultures started to circle overhead.’

  The narrow road clung to the shoulder of a high peak and suddenly a magnificent vista swept into view. The previous night’s snow still clung to the high ground despite the sunshine and a bitter cold wind buffeted the car. Mr Schock tried not to think about Peter and Kate being caught out in these conditions – or worse.

  ‘He said that as I’d lived and breathed this film for five years, no one could really replace me. Which hasn’t stopped him terminating my contract. He’s appointing another producer this afternoon.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Mr Schock, resting his hand on hers.

  ‘Are you? I didn’t think you would be. I’m not. You can replace a producer but you can’t replace a mother. The film as good as robbed Peter of his mother from the age of seven.’ She tried hard not to cry but the tears came anyway. ‘I wish I’d stayed at home with him; I wish I’d walked him to school; I wish I’d invited his friends over for tea and made them chocolate brownies and now … and now I might never see him again to say that I am sorry for being a bad mother.’

  The tyres squealed as Mr Schock pulled over to the side of the deserted road and switched the engine off.

  ‘Don’t say that!’ he shouted at his wife. ‘We are not going to give up hope. Peter’s out there. I don’t know where, but he is. And you are not a bad mother. Sure, your career hasn’t made things easy for any of us but you’ve only got one life and if you’d have stayed at home with Peter I believe you would have gone mad. Don’t torture yourself like this – neither of us is a perfect parent but we love him and we’ve done the best we can in the circumstances. I know he misses you but he’s proud of you too. You will see Peter again and when he grows up he will understand.’

  Beneath an overcast sky Parson Ledbury and Gideon talked earnestly in the cobbled courtyard behind the George Inn. Peter and Kate were each perched on a dolphin – a low post to which horses could be tethered at the entrance to the narrow alley that led from the courtyard into Bird Street. The three spires of Lichfield Cathedral could be seen towering above the rooftops. Peter had been telling Kate about the footpads’ abandoned camp and then Kate had told Peter how the magistrate had arrived with the shocking news of the highwayman’s escape minutes after Gideon and Peter’s departure.

  ‘So how did Ned manage to get out of the cellar, then? There weren’t any windows, were there?’

/>   ‘No, and the trapdoor was padlocked from the outside. The magistrate took the only key to bed with him. It’s a total mystery,’ said Kate.

  ‘Didn’t they hear anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If we were locked up I bet we could blur our way out,’ remarked Peter.

  ‘You’re right! That’d be so cool! I’m going to try it out when I get the chance … By the way, you haven’t blurred since the supermarket car-park, have you?’

  ‘No,’ replied Peter.

  ‘No, neither have I,’ said Kate. ‘It’s weird because I was beginning to think it only happens when you are either about to fall asleep or about to wake up. But it didn’t happen to me last night or this morning.’

  ‘Have you tried to blur again on purpose?’ asked Peter.

  ‘No, there’s always been someone around. I just hope we can manage to blur our way out of this without the machine because I’m telling you, I don’t want to meet the Tar Man again if I can help it.’

  ‘When we get back to our time, do you think we’ll start blurring back to the eighteenth century?’ said Peter.

  ‘Ooh,’ said Kate. ‘I hadn’t thought of that …’

  ‘It’d be great in history lessons,’ said Peter. ‘“Who can tell me the date of the French Revolution, boys?” “If you’d just give me a moment, miss, I’ll go back and check. Anything else you’d like to know while I’m there?”’

  Kate suddenly looked serious. ‘What do you think would happen if we let slip what we knew was going to happen in the future? I mean, do you remember the way Mrs Byng talked about America, like it was this unimportant, wild country. She said the best thing about America was that it saved money on prisons – you could just transport criminals there to work on the plantations.’

  ‘I thought they sent prisoners to Australia,’ said Peter.