Gideon the Cutpurse

by Linda Buckley-Archer

  After a while Stinking John nudged Ned and pointed to Will.

  ‘What ails thee?’ he asked.

  Will Carrick was weeping into his brandy.

  ‘It’s on account of Four String George.’

  ‘What kind of name is that?’ asked Ned. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Was,’ replied Will, tearfully. ‘He was scragged at Tyburn, this April last. We called ’im Four String on account of the coloured ribbons he wore at the bottom of his breeches. He was a bingo-boy all right. When he was lappy after a few glasses he was the merriest man in England. Lord, I do miss him.’

  The footpad sniffed noisily and streaks of clean skin appeared where he wiped away the tears. ‘Give us a wipe, Joe.’

  His brother threw him a handkerchief that might have been white once.

  ‘The dead are dead, Will,’ said Joe. ‘It’s the living you’ve got to worry about.’

  ‘He m-m-made a g-g-good show at Tyburn, though, did F-F-Four String,’ said Stammering John. ‘He n-n-never showed no fear. The crowd loved ’im. Once J-J-J-Jack Ketch had the noose round his n-n-neck they pulled on him to g-g-give him an easy end. They honour their own the Tyburn crowd.’

  Will cried all the more at the memory of it and soon he and Stammering John were sobbing on each other’s shoulders.

  ‘And now he’ll be burning in hell and the rest of us will soon be joining him!’ said Will between sobs.

  ‘And we’ll n-never see our m-m-mother again who is in heaven and she’ll be waiting all eternity for her d-dear boys to join her,’ howled Stammering John.

  Despite her fear, Kate laughed silently in the dark and then forced herself once more to picture the kitchen at her farm in Derbyshire.

  ‘I d-d-dreamed last night that we was d-done for and that all the folk we had ever hurt were c-c-crowding round and a-pushing against us, crushing the v-very breath out of us. P-P-Parson Ledbury, sir, would the Lord forgive men as w-w-wicked as us? Is there any hope for us?’

  The Parson looked down at them and paused a while before replying. He took a deep breath and, tied up though he was, endeavoured to stand taller.

  ‘It is time,’ he boomed, resplendent in his underwear and bald head, ‘that you wretches make your peace with God before it is too late. Our Lord is all-forgiving but for Him to forgive you must repent! Come to me and repent your sins as little children!’

  Joe Carrick stood up unsteadily.

  ‘Hold your tongue, Parson, this is no time for Sunday sermons.’

  The Parson’s brandy, however, seemed to have released his brothers’ appetite for spiritual matters and they insisted on untying Parson Ledbury so that he might speak to them at his ease.

  ‘Have it your own way,’ snapped Joe and collapsed heavily back down to the ground.

  The footpads did indeed sit at the Parson’s feet like attentive children (except for taking the occasional slug of brandy) and even Tom crept down from the tree to listen. It seemed that the more the Parson called them the wickedest wretches in the whole of Christendom the more they cried but the more they liked it – and no one noticed Kate’s form blending into the shadows and finally disappearing into the night altogether.

  As they edged closer to the giant oak tree, keeping the carriage between them and the footpads as much as possible, Peter had the sudden impression that they had come across some sort of travelling circus. He caught glimpses of a circle of upturned faces, illuminated by the fire and transfixed by the comic figure of the Parson, wigless and half-dressed, who was making sweeping gestures towards heaven with his powerful arms. And then, on the other side of this little scene, he saw a whole troop of horses, tethered peaceably together for all the world as if awaiting their turn to trot around the ring. All the same, Peter was sure that if any member of this particular audience spotted them, they would be done for.

  It was Gideon who first noticed Kate and he slapped his hand over his mouth to stop himself crying out in fright. He watched as her form slowly settled, and finally regained enough composure to clap his hand on top of Peter’s head and twist it around until his eyes fell on his friend.

  ‘Kate!’ shrieked Peter, nearly jumping out of his skin.

  ‘Sshh!’ hissed Gideon. ‘Be quiet, I pray you, we are within earshot.’

  Kate shook her head violently as though coming out of a dream.

  ‘How did you get here?’ said Peter in a loud whisper.

  ‘I blurred, of course,’ Kate replied.

  ‘That was well done indeed, Mistress Kate,’ Gideon said softly. ‘You could not have bettered your timing – although I cannot deny that the sight of you in that terrible state turns my insides to water.’

  All of a sudden Kate started to thump Peter, banging her fists on his chest. Peter pushed back, bewildered, until Kate’s arms dropped to her sides. Tears ran silently down her face.

  ‘What have I done to you?’ whispered Peter angrily. ‘Whatever’s up, why are you taking it out on me?’

  ‘She cannot help herself, Master Peter, can you not see how she trembles?’

  ‘Where were you?’ Kate asked Peter. ‘I thought we were all going to die! I thought you’d gone. I thought you’d blurred back to the twenty-first century. Why did you have to go off with Gideon again? You didn’t give me a second thought.’

  ‘How can you say that? That is so unfair …’ said Peter.

  ‘Is it? Don’t you know what it feels like to be left behind? Isn’t that what you say your dad does to you? That’s the trouble with being an only child, you don’t think about anyone else’s feelings …’

  ‘It’s impossible to ignore your feelings, the amount you cry!’

  ‘In my family, letting your feelings out doesn’t mean that you can’t be brave or strong … I suppose you think that keeping them all bottled up and getting screwed up on the inside is better?’

  Outraged, Peter opened his mouth to reply but Gideon put his hand on his shoulder and said sharply: ‘This is not the time for arguments. Our companions have need of us.’

  Some people might actually be pleased that someone is trying to rescue them, Peter thought furiously. But not Kate!

  ‘Mistress Kate,’ Gideon continued. ‘Is anyone hurt? Do they have the necklace? Tell me everything that has happened.’

  When Kate had finished speaking Gideon declared that they would have to make their move quickly before Kate’s absence was noticed. They were all crouching, huddled together about twenty feet behind the carriage. The bonfire crackled and spit and its orange glow spread out towards them over the rough grass.

  ‘Wait here,’ Gideon said softly. ‘I intend to recover Mrs Byng’s necklace.’

  Peter and Kate both looked alarmed.

  ‘But it’s you that they want, Gideon!’ whispered Kate.

  ‘Then they shall have to catch me first,’ he replied.

  Peter and Kate watched Gideon as he headed for the far side of the great oak. Their argument was not forgotten but this was not the time to pursue it. Gideon appeared to glide over the moonlit meadow. He did not make a sound. The children crawled nearer to the carriage on their hands and knees so they could follow his progress. A smell of fresh, damp grass rose up from the cold earth.

  Peter rubbed dirt onto his face. ‘Camouflage!’ he hissed.

  ‘You’ve been watching too many films.’

  ‘I’ll be lucky if I see another one ever again …’

  ‘Keep your voice down!’ whispered Kate. ‘Anyway, there’s not much point me blacking my face when I’m wearing a great big, flouncy dress like this …’

  Peter and Kate crept forward a little further. Parson Ledbury was telling the footpads about the prodigal son and snatches of his story floated towards them. Will and Stammering John hung on his every word, reprimanding the son and sympathising with the father.

  ‘Ay, ’tis a child’s fate to stray and a father’s to forgive,’ said Will.

  ‘I n-n-never had a f-f-father,’ said Stammering John.

  ‘Ev
en the lowest, the most wretched, the most undeserving … the foulest smelling fellow,’ commented the Parson, pointing up to the stars, ‘need never feel he is without a Father up in heaven …’

  Joe Carrick sucked on a rabbit bone, feigning indifference, but listened nonetheless. By now Will was slumped on the ground, insensible to everything. Opposite them Ned and Stinking John looked on. Neither had drunk any brandy. Ned’s gaze rarely left Joe and his hand rested on his pistol.

  Will Carrick groaned and appeared to roll over into the dark shadows. None of the footpads noticed but Peter did. He nudged Kate and pointed.

  ‘What’s Gideon up to?’ he hissed.

  Kate shrugged her shoulders. After a few seconds Will, his face scarcely visible under his hat, reappeared and stood up. Peter held his breath. An owl hooted.

  ‘Brrrrr …’ Will said and shivered. He turned up the collar of his jacket. ‘The ground is damp,’ Will continued, mumbling incoherently. He limped in front of the Parson, so drunk he could scarcely keep upright.

  ‘Pardon me, Parson!’ he said, slurring his words. ‘Call of nature …’

  Will then proceeded to trip up, landing on the floor in front of Ned. He leaned heavily against him as he tried to pick himself up. The bonfire illuminated the handsome face of the highwayman. Ned heaved him off bad-temperedly and Will grunted as he vanished into the darkness to do his business.

  Moments later Gideon reappeared out of the night as if by magic. He sat down next to Kate and shrugged off Will’s jacket and hat.

  ‘It wasn’t Will! It was you!’ exclaimed Peter.

  Then Gideon held up Mrs Byng’s necklace and released it, letting the rope of diamonds trickle onto Kate’s lap. Kate picked it up and dangled it from her fingers. It was heavy and still warm from being in Ned’s pocket. The diamonds sparkled blue and white in the light of the moon.

  ‘For safe keeping,’ he said to her.

  ‘Wow!’ she replied.

  ‘’Tis a pity I could not have taken his pistol, too, but he held it in his hand.’

  Peter could just make out Gideon’s expression as he stood with his back to the moon and he could see that his friend was allowing himself a broad grin of satisfaction.

  Gideon did not need to tell Kate the story of his namesake as she already knew it. If it were possible, he explained, to convince Ned and the footpads that they were surrounded and outnumbered, then they stood at least a chance of frightening them off without too much of a fight. Gideon would ride in circles around the encampment, galloping first this way and then that, blowing his horn, while the children would shout and make as much noise to startle them with whatever they found to hand.

  Gideon gave Kate his knife.

  ‘Crawl under the carriage, Master Peter, and stay there until the signal. Mistress Kate, you must cut through Master Sidney’s bonds and tell him that help is at hand.’

  The children nodded and Gideon disappeared once more. Kate’s dress made crawling impossible.

  ‘Grrr! I am so sick of being a girl in the eighteenth century!’

  Peter frowned at her and put a finger to his lips. Frustrated, Kate scowled back at him. Then she tried to gather up the full folds of her skirt and lift them above ground level but when she did that she couldn’t see in front of her and she put her knee on a dry branch which broke with a loud crack. Both children froze and peered through the spokes of one of the carriage wheels at Ned and the footpads lounging around the fire. The Parson had stopped speaking and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Joe Carrick turned his head around lazily, half conscious of a noise he could not explain, but then a gust of wind buffeted the oak tree and the fire crackled and spit and he turned back unconcerned. However, things did not remain calm for long.

  ‘Where is it?’ shouted Ned so that every face turned to look at him.

  ‘What are you yelling about now?’ growled Joe.

  ‘Who has it? It is you, Will Carrick, is it not? You filched it not a moment past!’

  ‘Quick! Cut Sidney loose!’ whispered Kate urgently to Peter. She thrust the knife at him. ‘I can’t move in this stupid dress. Something’s going to happen. I know it is. We’d better be ready.’

  Peter gave Kate the thumbs up and scampered to the far side of the cart. ‘Don’t move!’ he breathed into Sidney’s ear. ‘Gideon’s on his way.’

  Sidney nodded his head a fraction to show he had understood and braced his arms so that they did not spring apart when Peter had finished cutting the rope.

  Ned leaped over the fire to where Will was snoring gently and kicked him in the ribs. Will cried out with the pain and shock of it and sat up with a start. He had pulled his knife out even before he had come to his senses and brandished it in Ned’s face.

  ‘Get away from me, you puffed up peacock, or as God is my witness I’ll take your eye out,’ he said.

  Ned did not flinch. ‘Hand it over!’

  ‘Hand what over?’ asked Will, eyeing Ned’s pistol.

  ‘This is the last time I do a job with the Carrick Gang. I’d sooner throw in my lot with a herd of pigs …’

  A shot rang out and there were gasps and stifled screams all around. Ned clutched his chest and swayed back and forth for a long moment. Joe’s pistol smoked. Stammering John stepped forward, uncurled Ned’s fingers from his pistol and gave him the gentlest of pushes with the tips of his fingers. The highwayman crashed backwards into the grass. A large, dark stain covered half of Ned’s sky-blue jacket. No one spoke. The only sound, apart from the crackling of the fire, was the slow rhythmic snore of little Jack’s miraculously untroubled sleep.

  Parson Ledbury knelt down to see to Ned who was barely conscious.

  ‘You are determined to enter the gates of hell, I see,’ he said to Joe.

  Stammering John crossed himself. Joe gave the Parson a murderous look. Oh, please don’t provoke him! said Kate to herself, willing him to keep quiet. Luckily for the Parson, something distracted him. Fearing he was to be next on Joe’s list, Stinking John shot up and made a dash for the horses.

  ‘I’m not a squeaker!’ he shouted as he mounted one of the horses. ‘You’re welcome to my share of the rhino. Don’t shoot me, that’s all …’

  Stammering John took aim with Ned’s pistol and looked up at Joe for a decision.

  ‘Save your powder,’ said Joe. ‘He won’t cause us no trouble. He wouldn’t dare. Stinking John always was lily-livered.’

  ‘Have you g-g-got the necklace, Will?’ asked Stammering John.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he replied.

  ‘I knew you had,’ laughed Joe. ‘There’s no point denying it. You never could bear for anything to be taken off you. The way you forked him as if you was as drunk as a lord! Handsome!’

  ‘Eh …?’

  Will was interrupted by Stammering John. ‘W-what was that?’

  They all listened. Gideon’s horn sounded in the distance – and then they could hear galloping which stopped abruptly only to restart again a moment later. Then the horn sounded again but this time it was nearer. Peter came to his senses, remembering what he was supposed to be doing, and sprinted out from under the carriage into the darkness. He kept on running, knowing he had to shout something, but couldn’t think at first what it was Gideon had told him to say. Then it came to him. ‘Ahoy there!’ he shouted. The phrase sounded a little on the nautical side but that is what Gideon had said.

  ‘Heave to, you slackers! My grandmother, God bless her soul, could walk faster than you landlubbers!’ bellowed Gideon, sounding for all the world like a ship’s bosun. ‘It’s a fair old march to Lichfield and we have a dozen more shipmates to find before you can peel your boots off!’

  Gideon’s words rang out in the dark.

  ‘By Heaven, it’s a press gang!’ exclaimed Will under his breath. ‘There’s a stroke of bad luck and no mistake.’

  ‘I d-d-don’t want to serve in no Navy,’ said Stammering John. ‘King George can keep his precious America –
I don’t want to dd-die in some God-forsaken land full of c-c-convicts and savages.’

  ‘No more do I,’ said Joe. ‘Sounds like there’s a fair few of them. Fetch the prancers and be smart about it.’

  ‘Left, right, left, right, left, right …’

  ‘Quickly, lads, they are almost upon us!’

  Drunk and unsteady on their feet though they were, fear pushed the Carrick Gang to career around the camp grabbing hold of their scattered possessions and the goods plundered from the carriage. Scarcely pausing to draw breath they shoved everything into saddle bags and threw them over the horses’ backs. Will could find neither his jacket nor his hat and took out his bad temper on Tom whom he cursed roundly. In the confusion Will and Stammering John bumped heads so hard they both fell over backwards, howling in pain.

  ‘Shut your faces, you numbskulls,’ growled Joe, ‘if you don’t want to blow the widd.’

  Peter joined in with Gideon, making his voice as deep and rumbling as he could: ‘Left, right, left, right, left, right, me hearties!’

  Underneath the carriage, Peter’s efforts brought a smile to Kate’s face. She was attempting to restrain Sidney who was struggling to get up to show he was not afraid. She clung on to his hands.

  ‘It’s not worth it, Sidney,’ she said, ‘they’ll be away in a minute. They’ve already knocked your teeth out. I don’t want to see you hurt any more!’

  At her words Sidney stopped struggling and Kate felt his fingers squeeze hers. She gently but firmly pulled her hands away.

  Parson Ledbury was straining to catch what Ned was saying to him and so did not even look up as the Carrick Gang made off with his precious horses, nor did he notice Joe Carrick kicking Tom away as he attempted to clamber up beside him.

  ‘I’ve had a belly full of your scrawny features,’ Joe shouted at Tom. ‘We’ve had nothing but bad luck since you arrived. Go on! Crawl back to the stinking ’ole you came from!’

  When Tom hesitated Joe slapped the side of his head so hard that he fell to the ground, rolling over and over in the dry leaves. When he came to a halt he covered his head with his hands and would not move. Kate watched, fascinated, as she glimpsed a small white mouse appear from under Tom’s collar. He stroked it with one finger, then gently took hold of it and slipped it into his pocket.