Gideon the Cutpurse

by Linda Buckley-Archer

  ‘When we were out walking this afternoon I saw the Tar Man. He was spying on us. And then, on our way out of Lichfield, we passed a tavern and I’m pretty sure I saw him again. He was sat at a table surrounded by a big crowd of men. But I might have imagined it was him …’

  Gideon’s tranquil expression vanished. After a moment he replied: ‘I asked myself why you were forever looking over your shoulder. Did you see anything?’

  ‘No, nothing. And I’ve told Kate to keep a lookout from the carriage, too.’

  ‘I had thought he was already in London and out of harm’s way,’ said Gideon. ‘But then, his employer has a hundred paid informants who could track you down from Land’s End to John O’ Groats if he so wished.’

  ‘Gideon …’ Peter hesitated before asking his questions for fear of offending him. ‘Gideon, if you don’t mind me asking, why is the Tar Man following you? Who does he work for? … And what did Ned Porter mean when he said that he wouldn’t be in your shoes for a casketful of diamonds?’

  ‘Ha! Ned Porter,’ growled Gideon. ‘I have a theory about that slippery villain now that I know the Tar Man has been in Lichfield. I’ll wager that Ned Porter’s miraculous escape has something to do with the Tar Man’s miraculous skill in picking locks. The Tar Man will certainly have put the word about that he would make it worth any rogue’s while to give him news of a certain Mr Seymour and two children with magical powers. And Ned saw you and Mistress Kate blur …’

  ‘But we don’t have magical powers! It’s not like that! We’re not witches or anything,’ cried Peter.

  ‘I know that, Master Peter, but if the Tar Man is to get a good price for his booty, it will be to his profit to excite interest in his magic box.’

  ‘But he said he’d sell it back to us!’

  ‘Ha! Do you think he would sell it to you if he could get a more handsome price elsewhere?’

  ‘Then what’s the point of us going down to London? We haven’t got any money – he’ll never give it to us. How are Kate and I ever going to get home?’

  For the first time Peter felt a terrible panic rise up from deep within him. He had not seriously considered before the possibility that he could not get back. Now the thought of being cut off from his home, friends, school, everything he knew or cared about, made his heart skip a beat. Never to taste ice-cream or peanut butter sandwiches again, never to watch television nor ride on a double-decker bus, never to finish the last fifty pages of The Lord of The Rings, never to see a jumbo jet thundering overhead above Richmond Green … never to have his mother take his face in her hands to kiss him goodnight. And then he remembered that the last thing he said to his father was ‘I hate you’. His throat constricted and tears pricked at his eyelids. He looked straight ahead without speaking. The summer landscape, instead of seeming wild and free and inviting as it did only a few moments ago, now appeared unbearably empty and unfamiliar.

  Gideon urged the horses to go faster and cracked the whip, which made the driver stir in his sleep and lean on Peter. The driver’s unshaved cheek grated on Peter’s neck and his breath smelled very bad. Gideon reached over and pushed the driver away from his young friend.

  ‘We will find a way to get you home, Master Peter, no matter how long it takes, we will find a way.’

  Peter bit his lip and nodded his head vigorously in thanks, not capable of speaking just yet.

  ‘You asked me who the Tar Man works for. And as it seems that our fates have been woven together, it is right that you know. The Tar Man and I had the same employer: Lord Luxon. He is Lord Luxon’s henchman.’

  Peter sat up, appalled at the thought that Gideon might have had to work alongside such a monster. ‘But why would Lord Luxon send someone like that after you?’

  ‘Lord Luxon believes that I know too much to be allowed to walk away from his service. He is very angry with me for having left his employ.’

  ‘But why? He can’t expect you to work for him if you don’t want to.’

  ‘He saved my life.’

  ‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean that he owns you!’

  ‘Soon after Lord Luxon took me in,’ said Gideon, ‘his father, the old Lord Luxon, died. We lived in Tempest House, in Surrey, a mansion with thirty rooms, set in a thousand acres. Within a year Lord Luxon had taken against nearly all the servants and those employed to run the estate. I think he still felt his father’s disapproval of him through their eyes and it was true that many of them were too used to thinking of Lord Luxon as a wayward boy to treat him in the manner which their new master demanded. Lord Luxon got rid of all them all one by one and hired new ones. He trusted me, above all, for I owed him my life and I had a talent for bookkeeping and handling the staff. By the age of nineteen I was all but running Tempest House. In return he paid me well and arranged for my half-brother Joshua to be apprenticed to a well-known artist and engraver, Mr Hogarth, at his studio in Covent Garden Piazza.’

  ‘What’s Joshua like? How old is he?’

  ‘He is nineteen. You remind me a little of him. You have the same colouring and both of you are slow to smile but when you do …’

  ‘Thanks, Gideon! My mum always says I take life too seriously …’

  Gideon laughed and then looked sad. ‘Joshua can catch a likeness better than anyone I know … Mr Hogarth is in ill health and Joshua is anxious about his position. Joshua does not understand … why I left Lord Luxon’s service … In the letter that was waiting for me at Baslow Hall, he wrote to warn me that my employer was angry that I had left … He also told me that Lord Luxon had arranged with Mr Hogarth that he should leave his employ and move to Tempest House. Lord Luxon promises to entrust Joshua with the task of making a set of drawings of his various properties and those of his friends … My brother, of course, is flattered and delighted to be accorded such an honour. But he must not go! He must not go! Lord Luxon does this to draw me back into his web and I do not like to think of the role that Lord Luxon intends for poor Joshua … Nowadays his mind forever teems with plans and stratagems … He is not the man he was …’

  Gideon fell silent and would not speak for some time. Peter wished the driver would stop snoring.

  ‘And what about the Tar Man?’ asked Peter when he dared. ‘Why on earth did Lord Luxon employ a thug like him?’

  ‘Lord Luxon took to gambling. He spent his time in the company of wastrels and scoundrels who cared nothing for him but who lived off his generosity. He became a member of White’s Club in St James’s. Within a year he had built up a mountain of gambling debts. As I kept the accounts I soon realised that he was losing a king’s ransom every night. Finally I had to tell him that he was only weeks away from ruin but he did not seem to care. “Don’t lecture me like an old woman, Seymour,” he told me, “but fetch me a short, sharp blade, I fancy I have a plan.”’

  Gideon stopped and sighed heavily.

  ‘What was the plan?’

  ‘To my eternal shame, Master Peter, I became a cutpurse for him. I did not know how to refuse him – then. He would invite his fair-weather friends down to Tempest House for days at a time. They would drink too much and gamble all night, waging bets of hundreds, even thousands of guineas on the most foolish things – racing snails and dropping feathers from ladders and suchlike. It turned my stomach to see how Lord Luxon, whom I had admired so much, was living up to his father’s prediction. I believed he had it in him to be a fine and honourable gentleman. At the end of each night I would be sent for, and if any of his guests had won too much, I would be sent after them to bring back their winnings to Lord Luxon.’

  ‘You stole the money back!’ exclaimed Peter.

  ‘I did, Master Peter. I was Lord Luxon’s cutpurse. For nearly a year I did as he bid. I never came even close to being caught. My victims would scarcely feel the breath of air as I brushed past them; only later would they reach down and find their purses cut. I have stolen diamonds from a countess’s neck and pulled gold watches from the pockets of sleeping gentlemen, too drunk t
o stir – and no doubt I shall burn in hell for it.’

  Peter did not know what to say. No wonder Parson Ledbury did not trust him if he had known Gideon to be a thief. Conflicting emotions coursed through him and he struggled against a feeling of disappointment and disbelief. Gideon the Cutpurse – this did not tally with how Peter had come to think of him. Gideon the Brave, Gideon the Strong, Gideon the Dependable, yes – Gideon the Cutpurse, never.

  ‘But Lord Luxon made you do it, didn’t he?’ exclaimed Peter. ‘It wasn’t your fault!’

  ‘He commanded me to do it and yet it was in my power to refuse him. I was weak and did what I was bid.’

  ‘But he might have done something bad to you if you’d refused …’ Peter rejoined.

  ‘Yes, but who is to know if I might have saved my master had I stood firm. He told me that I was a thief when he saved my life and now, by becoming a thief once more, I could save his.’

  ‘How could you say no to that?’ said Peter.

  ‘Indeed, that is what I told myself. But there is not a day that goes by when I do not regret what I did. On the eve of my twentyfirst birthday I told Lord Luxon that my conscience would not allow me to steal for him any longer. I thought he would turn me out of Tempest House but for the second time he surprised me with his compassion for he agreed to me resuming my former duties. The space that I left was filled shortly afterwards by the Tar Man who inspired fear in everyone he encountered. The Tar Man brought with him two qualities which hastened, I believe, my master’s fall. The first was his desire to take vengeance on his fellow man for the misfortunes life had heaped upon him – and you know his sorry history for I have told you. The second was the Tar Man’s knowledge of London’s vast army of villains whose influence stretches over the city and beyond: pickpockets and footpads, highwaymen and plumpers, cutpurses and assassins.’

  ‘You don’t mean you actually worked with the Tar Man?’

  ‘Our paths rarely crossed but, yes, we had the same employer for over two years – until Mrs Byng’s brother, Sir Richard Picard, wrote to his sister on my behalf asking if she could offer me employment at Baslow Hall. Sir Richard bought several horses from Lord Luxon and, as I made all the arrangements, he got to know me well. Lord Luxon would not accept my resignation but I left, to his great anger, some three weeks since.’

  ‘Well, I can see why you don’t want Joshua to work for him . . . But … but … you’re not still a cutpurse, are you?’ asked Peter, feeling the need to be clear on the point.

  Gideon looked so saddened by his question Peter wished he could have crawled into a hole for asking it. Nevertheless Gideon replied.

  ‘No!… No. I am not,’ he said and cracked his whip over the horses’ heads and looked straight ahead without speaking.

  The carriage rumbled on through mile after mile of farming country. Rain had not fallen in this part of Staffordshire and the roads and fields were dusty and parched. Sometimes they passed labourers in cotton smocks, toiling in the heat, their faces blackened by the sun. In one field Peter saw a great flock of rooks, easily a hundred or more, all gathered together. The large black birds were grazing on what was left after a pea crop had been harvested. An empty wagon had been left abandoned in the middle of the field and a lone rook perched on its end. The rook opened its white beak and made a raucous caw! caw! sound and bobbed its head to one side towards the carriage, occasionally flapping its wings. The sun sparkled in its black eyes and Peter fancied it was talking about them. The other rooks were silent and paused from rooting about in the earth to stare up at the lone bird. They appeared for all the world as if they were listening to a speech.

  ‘Look,’ said Gideon to Peter, ‘a parliament of rooks.’

  The driver, who had been slowly coming round for the last half mile, was suddenly wide awake. ‘Mr Seymour, sir!’ he cried. ‘Listen! It is the front axle if I’m not mistaken.’

  Above the caw! caw! of the rook, an ominous creaking and splintering of wood was audible. Gideon and the driver looked at each other in alarm.

  ‘It’s going to go, sir! You mark my words.’

  A moment later, as one of the wheels juddered over a rock in the road, the axle broke in two with a terrible CRACK! The carriage lurched heavily and Gideon reined in the horses who shied and kicked and whinnied in fright. Someone flung open the carriage doors and screams and shouts came from within. Startled by the noise, the rooks flew into the air in a dense black mass, circled the carriage three times and alighted noisily in a giant oak tree to one side of the road. A dreadful caw! caw! caw! caw! from a hundred beaks resounded over the fields and seemed to make the very air vibrate. Inside the carriage little Jack covered his ears with his hands and buried his face in Hannah’s skirt.

  An hour later the party listened disconsolately to the driver’s judgement that after two failed attempts to brace the axle, there was no way on earth the carriage would be in a fit state to get them to Birmingham.

  ‘I am hungry, Hannah,’ said Jack.

  ‘And so are we all,’ lisped Sidney. ‘And thirsty.’

  ‘I have some good red apples, Master Sidney, crisp and juicy. Here, there are enough for everyone.’

  Hannah handed them out and Peter and Kate tried very hard not to exchange glances as Sidney tried to bite into his without the benefit of front teeth. Hannah tactfully offered to cut it into segments for him.

  ‘By Heaven, Lady Luck is against us!’ exclaimed the Parson. ‘Still, we passed a village not more than two miles back, where we can hire a wagon from one of the farmers. What say you, Mr Seymour?’

  ‘The village was Shenstone, Parson Ledbury. A very small hamlet indeed. If we push on a little further, I believe we will reach Aldridge where we are more likely to be able to procure a carriage of the size we need. I fear that we must all walk there for we dare not risk dividing the party.’

  ‘Mr Seymour,’ said Hannah, ‘I do not like the look of Master Jack – see how his eyes are turned glassy. I fancy he has one of his fevers coming on. And, pardon me for saying so, but surely Master Sidney and Martin would be ill-advised to go for long walks over rough country …’

  ‘Come, Mr Seymour,’ interrupted the Parson, ‘take that anxious look off your face, it is broad daylight and we are in open country. Surely you cannot doubt that Martin, Sidney and I are capable of defending the women and children for half an hour! Go! And take Master Schock with you!’

  Gideon did not look convinced.

  ‘I do not like this place,’ he replied. ‘It is true that we are in open country and that makes it difficult to surprise us and yet this works against us too – we stand out against this landscape … We could not have chosen a more exposed spot if we had planned it.’

  ‘Pish pash, Mr Seymour,’ exclaimed the Parson. ‘We have learned our lesson. And besides, if we all go to Aldridge with you, who is going to guard our valuables?’

  Gideon sighed and walked towards Midnight. ‘Come, Peter,’ he said. ‘The sooner we start, the sooner we will return.’

  Kate shot Peter a withering look and whispered sarcastically: ‘Well, don’t mind me, will you? I can always have a nice chat with Sidney.’

  Peter shrugged apologetically. ‘What can I do? It’s not my fault you’re a girl and have to wear long skirts …’

  ‘Don’t say another word!’ said Kate under her breath.

  Then she sighed and gave a weak smile in the direction of Sidney who was giving her coy, furtive glances and seemed very pleased at the prospect of having Kate all to himself again.

  Midnight galloped towards Aldridge. Holding on to Gideon’s shirt to keep himself steady, Peter turned around to look back at the companions they were leaving behind. Hannah, Jack, Sidney and Kate had set off for a stroll over the fields. The driver was seeing to the horses and the Parson was sitting against the oak tree, his hands clasped over his belly and his hat over his face. Above him, the branches were laden with rooks. Every so often one of them would fly up and settle down again on a diffe
rent branch. Because the farmland that stretched for miles around was flat, the tall oak tree was a prominent landmark. The broken carriage, piled up with luggage at the foot of the trees, was clearly visible from a great distance. The party seemed horribly exposed. If the footpads are nearby, thought Peter, they will be a sitting target. And he could tell by the speed at which they were galloping, that the same thought had occurred to Gideon.

  ‘We shall not ride to Aldridge,’ said Gideon. ‘We shall stop at the first farm and pay them to fetch a carriage for us. We need to get back as quickly as ever we can. It is likely that someone cut through the axle before we set off. The Parson has a pistol but I fear he is not a fighting man and the driver has not recovered his strength. We need to act quickly and keep a steady nerve.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Pandora’s Box

  In which Dr Pirretti shows her true colours

  and Gideon tells the story of his namesake

  Sergeant Chadwick watched the four figures striding across the playing fields. He nibbled on a bar of chocolate and took out a pair of binoculars from his coat pocket. He hesitated before telephoning Detective Inspector Wheeler at this time in the morning but decided that his boss would be angrier still if he did not phone.

  There was a spring in Dr Dyer’s step as he guided the two NASA scientists and Tim Williamson over the sodden grass towards Kate’s school. ‘I hope this is early enough not to draw attention to ourselves,’ said Dr Dyer as he looked around at the deserted hockey pitches.

  When they reached the towering rear wall of the school he pointed to some worn stone steps leading to a coal cellar. Someone had stretched some wire across the steps in a half-hearted attempt to keep the girls out. Dr Dyer stepped over it and motioned for the others to follow him into a dank little alcove.