Gideon the Cutpurse

by Linda Buckley-Archer

  ‘That is how Gideon chose his men: he bade them drink. Those who drank without regard to possible danger were left behind. The few who remained alert and watchful while drinking from their hand he chose for the attack.

  ‘God told Gideon to wait until the middle of the night before bidding his men encircle the camp. This Gideon did and then, on his order, the Israelites, each of whom carried a trumpet and a flaming torch inside an empty jar, made a terrible noise, blowing their trumpets and smashing their jars and shouting. The Midianites were so maddened and confused they began to kill each other.

  ‘Now do you understand what I mean us to do?’

  Peter nodded and smiled.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Gideon’s Strategem

  In which the Parson preaches a curious sermon

  and the party show their bottom

  It should have been a peaceful scene. The swallows swooped over a landscape turned pink and gold by the setting sun, crickets chirped in the long, dry grass and a warm breeze agitated the leaves of the great oak … But peaceful it was not. The wrecked carriage sat like a giant carcass in the road surrounded by scattered trunks, their contents strewn all about. Parson Ledbury was bound to the tree, a double length of rope wrapped around his broad girth. The driver and Sidney were tied to two wheels of the carriage. Kate, Hannah and Jack sat huddled together on one side of the tree whilst opposite them Ned Porter and the foul thugs who held them at their mercy sat around a wood fire. Whenever the breeze changed direction they were choked by smoke. Jack started to cough.

  ‘Hush, Master Jack, if we keep quiet and brave all will be well,’ whispered Hannah. ‘Put your face in my lap so you cannot see the ugly, wicked brutes and I will sing you a song.’

  Hannah tried to sing but her voice trembled so much she soon gave up and hummed quietly instead. She slowly stroked Jack’s back and, gradually, soothed by Hannah’s touch and with his head hidden in the folds of her skirt, Jack fell fast asleep. Hannah leaned over towards Kate and spoke into her ear.

  ‘I think he is not quite well. He has a slight fever. I do not like him being in this chill, evening air …’

  ‘Who said you could speak!’ barked the leader of the footpads who was striding towards them. ‘One more word and you’ll feel the back of my hand.’

  ‘I was only saying that the child— Oww!’

  Hannah cried out in pain as a handful of acorns smacked into her face from the other side of the fire.

  ‘Leave her alone, you great bully!’ shrieked Kate.

  The other two footpads looked on and laughed. Now he began advancing angrily towards her. Kate clenched her fists and for a split second a surge of adrenalin made her believe that if he so much as touched her it would be the footpad who would come off worse. But the footpad grabbed hold of both Kate’s arms as if they were two twigs and bent them behind her back until she cried out in pain. She struggled and screamed but he may as well have been holding a kitten for all the effect her kicks and wriggling had.

  ‘And the same goes for you, you meddlesome baggage,’ he growled. ‘If you can’t behave you’ll get tied up like the rest!’

  He held her against him and forced her to walk towards the others. She was dimly conscious of the Parson shouting something to her and Sidney straining against the ropes that tied him to one wheel of the carriage, but it was none other than Ned Porter who came to her aid.

  ‘Let her go,’ he said sweetly, his green eyes glinting in the light of the fire. ‘A gentleman of the road would not behave in such a low fashion, and while you’re with me I’d prefer it if you didn’t mistreat the ladies.’

  Ned gave a wry smile in response to the footpad’s defiant stare and waited patiently, arms folded and buckled foot slowly tapping. Unable to move, Kate became suddenly aware of the rank heat of the footpad’s broad chest. Through the fine cotton of her dress she could feel the thumping of his heart. Nausea and fear all but overwhelmed her. The footpad was like a pit bull terrier straining on its leash and she could sense his intense dislike of Ned Porter. His grip tightened for a moment and then he shoved her roughly back towards Hannah and Jack. Ned acknowledged Kate with a slight nod of the head. Hannah grasped hold of her hand and squeezed it. Kate felt a trickle of cold sweat drip down her back and closed her eyes.

  The light was now beginning to fade and the fire glowed more brightly under the tree’s canopy. Bound tightly to a carriage wheel, the driver looked blankly in front of him – either resigned to his fate or feeling too ill to care – but Sidney’s face alternated between terror and fury. John, Ned’s accomplice, took delight in putting his face right up against Sidney’s and clicking his front teeth. He rubbed his hand, which still bore the traces of Sidney’s lately lamented incisors.

  ‘I hope I was tasty for I was the last dish those teeth will ever bite into!’ he said to Sidney, laughing heartily at his own wit.

  Sidney’s eyes narrowed and he struggled against his bonds.

  ‘Sticks and stones, dear boy!’ called out the Parson.

  It seemed to Kate that every second was a minute and that every minute was an hour. Kate wondered how long your heart could thump this frantically in your chest without it bursting? Where have Peter and Gideon got to? she asked herself constantly. Why haven’t they come?

  Deep breaths, Kate, deep breaths. It was her father’s voice that suddenly came into her head. She made herself breathe slowly, in and out, in and out, and felt a tiny fraction calmer. It was what her father had said to her when she had telephoned home in the middle of the night and had begged him to come and get her. She was in the last year of junior school, and her class was spending a week in an activity centre in the High Peak. He refused, saying that he would be doing her no favours if he did. Some kids from a rival school had made life so miserable for Kate in particular (her hair had always drawn attention) that on the second night she escaped and walked through isolated roads in the pitch dark to find a phone. Don’t act like a victim, he had advised. If you feel like crying, wait until they can’t see you. There’s a solution to every problem, he told her. Keep a clear head and work it out. You’re a smart girl, Kate, trust yourself because you know that you can … And so, with moths and daddy-long-legs fluttering around the yellow light of the telephone box, father and daughter talked through her dilemma. Half an hour later Kate broke back into the centre with no one any the wiser …

  The solution to that particular problem could hardly be replicated here, she thought, but the memory of it brought the shadow of a smile to Kate’s face. Her father had made the two-hour round trip before breakfast in order to smuggle a special package past reception. Later that morning, miles from the nearest corner shop, big kids were queuing up to thump anyone who gave Kate Dyer trouble in return for a share of the biggest stash of sweets any of them had ever seen …

  Deep breaths, Kate told herself, you’re going to be okay … There had to be some way out of this situation and she was going to find it … She sat quietly and took everything in …

  At first Kate had thought that the footpad who had grabbed hold of her was the Tar Man. He was a thick-set, bristly man with a dirty, grey ponytail. As time went on and she listened to their illhumoured banter, Kate gradually began to work out who was who. In fact this was Joe Carrick. The Carrick Gang was composed of the three Carrick brothers: Joseph, Stammering John and Will. Joe Carrick seemed to be the leader. He was in fact the youngest but it was he, above all, whom Kate feared. When Joe looked in her direction the hairs stood up on the back of her neck. He was aggressive, foul-mouthed and unpredictable: calm and reasonable one moment and ranting and raving over nothing the next. He was the one to keep an eye on. There was also a silent, skulking boy whose name she had not yet managed to catch.

  From what she could gather it was the Tar Man who had sent Ned Porter and the footpads to find Gideon Seymour and bring him back to London. But why, she asked herself, hadn’t the Tar Man come in person to get Gideon? What hold did he have over these
vicious villains who willingly carried out his orders?

  Ned Porter appeared none the worse for wear after his short spell in the magistrate’s cellar and strutted about in a sky-blue jacket with matching silk waistcoat, doubtless acquired from one of the good residents of Lichfield. Ned made it plain that he considered himself a cut above these loutish, unshaven footpads. As for the footpads, they, in turn, let him know that they were only here under sufferance because you could not say no to the Tar Man. They made it equally clear that if they did not get their fair share of the pickings it would be Ned Porter who would suffer the consequences.

  ‘If it is Mr Seymour that you seek,’ Parson Ledbury announced, ‘there is no point dallying here. I do not trust him and have told him so to his face. We have had a falling-out and he and Master Schock have ridden on to London alone.’

  The Parson is lying to protect Gideon! thought Kate. Does that mean he’s changed his mind about him? And then it occurred to her that it could be just to give Gideon and Peter the advantage of surprise when they came back.

  When they heard that Gideon had left for London the footpads were keen to take the loot and the prancers (as they called the horses) and head off back to London themselves. After all, Will commented, it had been over a month since they had seen the inside of the Rose Tavern in Drury Lane. Ned Porter, however, remained unconvinced by the Parson’s explanation for Gideon’s absence.

  ‘Even a man of the cloth is capable of a little deception when it suits him, so you will forgive me, Parson, if we tarry a while in case Mr Seymour and young Master Schock have a change of heart. For I can scarce believe that they would leave their lovely companion behind – even in such distinguished company.’

  Here he made a show of bowing to Kate, sliding one leg forward and dropping his gaze to the ground while he fluttered a handkerchief in his right hand. Joe Carrick raised his eyes to heaven in disgust at such affectation.

  So the disgruntled footpads threw themselves back on the ground and were obliged to wait while Ned engaged the Parson in conversation prior to relieving him of his valuables. Kate wondered how long it would be before the Carrick Gang’s patience broke. Soon everyone’s stomachs started to rumble and, as the footpads had not eaten since the previous evening, Stammering John, who was their best shot, was sent off with his catapult to find something tasty for their supper. The boy, who looked older than Peter and Kate but was a good three inches shorter and was all skin and bone, went with him. He had large, dark eyes in a mobile face whose expression was one of constant anxiety. His shoulders were hunched up towards his ears as though anticipating the next blow.

  It was Stammering John’s catapult that put the rooks to flight. Believing them to be birds of ill omen, he had taken a potshot at them as they roosted in the great oak tree. When he and the boy returned with four plump, young rabbits, they found that Ned Porter was still lecturing Parson Ledbury. Kate remembered the Parson’s remark about Ned aping his betters at the magistrate’s house in Lichfield and it suddenly became clear to her how much the Parson’s insult had got under his skin. The Parson refused to respond in any way, a tactic which was, to his great satisfaction, driving Ned wild.

  ‘You are wrong, indeed, to dismiss me as if I were some common thief. If misfortune had not overtaken my family, I should have gone into the professions. I could have been a doctor, or a lawyer, or indeed a parson …’

  Joe Carrick gave a loud burp. His two brothers roared with laughter.

  ‘Pardon me, your lordship,’ he said. ‘I did not mean to offend your fine sensibilities.’

  ‘Give us a s-s-sermon, then, Ned,’ called out Stammering John.

  Ned flew around with such ferocity that even Joe Carrick was taken aback. He grabbed hold of John by the neck and cocked his pistol. The other brothers immediately stood up but Ned was in no mood to back down. Beefy Will Carrick, who was lame in one leg, stopped skinning the rabbits next to the fire and limped over, holding his bloodstained knife at the ready.

  ‘Those that pitch themselves against Ned Porter only discover their mistake when it’s too late.’ Ned’s blazing eyes bore into Stammering John until he dropped his stare. Only then did Ned let go of his collar. Joe motioned the others to sit down.

  ‘Where’s this diamond necklace, then, Ned?’ asked Will, breaking a long silence and trying to change the subject. ‘Let’s fork him. Look in his jacket.’

  ‘Look under his wig, more like,’ said John, Ned’s sidekick, known to the rest as Stinking John to avoid confusion. ‘That’s where he hid it the last time.’

  With that, Stinking John whisked off the Parson’s wig, revealing his bristly, white scalp. There was no necklace.

  ‘You are an educated man,’ said Ned to the Parson, ‘and will have as little taste as I for the company I am currently obliged to keep. However, let me offer you some advice in your dealings with these fellows. It will avoid much unpleasantness if you tell us without more ado where you are concealing the necklace and your money. The Carrick Gang are not known for their mild manners.’

  Kate looked at Joe Carrick who was tapping his foot impatiently. Oh tell him! For goodness’ sake tell him! They’ll find it soon enough anyway!

  The Parson did not speak and for a moment the only sound was Will Carrick’s knife as he skinned and jointed the rabbits. There is a man, thought Kate, who knows how to use a knife. The Parson’s internal struggle was evident. It went against everything he held dear to give in to these villains but it was plainly useless to resist. He glanced over towards Sidney as if by way of apology and then gave a heavy sigh.

  ‘My gold is in a wooden casket with the brandy. Mrs Byng’s necklace you will find in my jacket.’

  Joe and Will untied the Parson so they could get at his jacket. Joe pulled off the Parson’s jacket and Will pulled down his trousers for good measure. Hannah looked away out of respect although not before noting with satisfaction that the washerwoman at Baslow Hall had done a fine job with the Parson’s undergarments. The footpads soon found the necklace and their mood improved instantly. Joe and Stammering John searched through the chests and cases that were littered around the broken carriage and split open the crate of brandy. Joe took out the bag of gold coins and weighed it in his hand.

  ‘A tidy sum,’ he said. ‘I reckon near on fifty guineas, give or take.’

  ‘Fifty-seven guineas,’ admitted the Parson through gritted teeth.

  ‘Look how she sparkles,’ said Will appreciatively, as he examined Mrs Byng’s diamond necklace. ‘Even after the fence has taken his share we’ll get a king’s ransom for this one.’

  ‘It’s not going to the fence,’ said Ned. ‘We’ve had our orders. The rhino we can share out between us. The necklace is going to the Thief-taker.’

  Will opened his mouth and shut it again as though he realised that there was no point arguing with Ned.

  ‘The Thief-taker will make it worth our while,’ said the highwayman, reaching out his hand for the necklace.

  Will reluctantly dropped it into Ned’s hand then limped over to Joe and said in a whisper everyone could hear: ‘We don’t have to hand it over. You can tell him we never found it …’

  ‘Ay, that was n-n-never part of the b-bargain,’ said Stammering John.

  ‘Use your head, lads,’ said Joe, staring at Ned. ‘Remember Four String. The Thief-taker gets to know everything in the end. One way or another.’

  Will grunted.

  ‘And remember when Laurence Rose was tried at the Old Bailey,’ continued Joe, ‘it was the Thief-taker what paid the straw men to swear he was somewhere else at the time. And they don’t come cheap. We might need him one day. That’s what he would have us believe, eh, Ned?’

  Ned did not reply. Kate looked over at him. He stood on the opposite side of the fire to the footpads, whistling softly as he nudged a large log further into the flames with the toe of his boot. He seemed as relaxed as if he were on a picnic but Kate noticed how his hand hovered over his pistol.

&n
bsp; ‘Oi, lads, who wants some of the Parson’s bingo!’ called out Stinking John as he walked over towards the fire carrying three bottles of brandy in each hand, dangling the stems between his fingers. He gave Ned a meaningful wink.

  ‘Bring your cups, boys, this’ll keep out the cold. Tom, you keep a lookout. Up the tree with you.’

  So he’s called Tom, thought Kate. The boy scrabbled up the tree using the rope that once more bound the Parson to get his footing. Tom wedged himself between the trunk and a low branch and stared out over the fields. Below him Ned, Stinking John and the footpads sat around the fire and drank, mostly in silence, wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands and spitting into the fire. It was nearly nightfall and the flames cast a yellowish glow on the villains’ faces. Behind them their long shadows stretched into empty darkness.

  ‘Did you ever see an uglier bunch of men in your whole life,’ whispered Hannah to Kate. ‘They’re enough to turn milk sour. Though I don’t include Ned in that …’

  ‘What’s a thief-taker?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Don’t you know that, Mistress Kate? Why, it is someone who recovers property that has been stolen, though mostly for the reward, and sometimes, if it is worth his while, he will hand over the villain too. Though ’tis said that more often than not the thief-takers are worse than the rogues they live off. The magistrates need them and the villains fear them and the thief-taker plays one off against the other. The one they speak of must be mighty powerful to hold footpads like these in his thrall …’

  Will had constructed a make-do spit out of branches, and the smell of roasting rabbit was making the footpads dribble. Now that their attention had shifted for a while from their captives, Kate felt a little easier. The boy, Tom, however, seemed to have his eye on her. Every time she looked up, his gaze met hers before he looked away. Suddenly Kate had an idea. She edged backwards deeper into the shadows and half-closed her eyes. She was going to try to blur. What else could she do? Whether she could relax enough in this predicament was a different matter …