Gideon the Cutpurse

by Linda Buckley-Archer

  ‘He lives, my Lord, and was in better health than I the last time I saw him.’

  Peter and Sir Richard could contain themselves no longer and rushed up to congratulate him.

  ‘Well done, indeed!’ exclaimed Sir Richard.

  Peter patted him on the back which made Gideon wince.

  ‘Whoops! Sorry!’ he said and then whispered: ‘We stand a chance of returning home now, thanks to you.’

  ‘So, Mr Seymour,’ said Lord Luxon, ‘it is time for you to claim your prize. Blueskin will be ill-pleased. He has set his heart on this curious device. But it is not the first time that you two have not seen eye to eye. There has always been bad blood between you, eh, Gideon?’

  Lord Luxon took out an ornate brass key from his pocket and unlocked the door of the crypt. The hinges groaned as he pushed open the double doors. He gestured for everyone to enter. They stepped from the bright sunshine into the dark and musty crypt and blinked. Peter’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light and he looked around him for his first sight of the anti-gravity machine since that first day in the valley in Derbyshire. Peter swung around. He could see no sign of it. The crypt was empty.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ Lord Luxon cried.

  Everyone looked at each other, confused and angry and suspicious.

  ‘Where is the machine?’ demanded Lord Luxon.

  No one spoke. The only sound was the gentle roaring of the wind through the great copper beeches in the churchyard. What small amount of light there was in the crypt suddenly diminished as the unmistakeable silhouette of the Tar Man appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Blueskin!’ exclaimed Lord Luxon.

  The Tar Man scarcely had the breath to speak and did not waste time with pleasantries.

  ‘He has not won! He is disqualified!’ he shouted. ‘My horse, who was the picture of health this morning, became suddenly sick. I should have known that little wretch was not feeding him grass! They have fed him some evil herb and he is too weak to race. I have run the last five miles.’

  Lord Luxon turned to Gideon.

  ‘I can scarce believe this! Mr Seymour, whose conscience is without smear or stain, has cheated? What do you have to say for yourself?’

  Sir Richard intervened.

  ‘As we are on the subject of cheating, apart from the small matter of Blueskin attacking Gideon during the race, I must tell you, Lord Luxon, that we found a nail driven into the hoof of the white stallion with the clear intention of laming the beast. An upset stomach is hardly comparable! Besides, it was neither Gideon’s idea to feed herbs to the horse nor did he execute or approve of the plan.’

  ‘Blueskin,’ asked Lord Luxon. ‘Do you know anything about a nail?’

  ‘I do not, my Lord. Although I have a suspicion that some of your Lordship’s friends – who have wagered princely sums on my winning the race – may well know more than I …’

  ‘I admit it is not an implausible explanation,’ commented Lord Luxon. ‘And do you deny attacking Mr Seymour?’

  ‘I do not! But surely there are no rules against one rider challenging another? I used no weapon. We are evenly matched, would you not say, my Lord?’

  ‘That is true enough. In fact I should say that you are as evenly matched as your horses …’

  ‘Except that Mr Seymour has ensured that his horse had the advantage!’

  Sir Richard exploded: ‘Do you expect us to accept the word of your henchman without question?’

  The remark appeared to anger Lord Luxon.

  ‘Henchman? What kind of term is that to describe Blueskin? What need have I for a henchman? He manages my estate. I suggest you choose your words more carefully, Sir Richard, given that you and your party are charged with a most dishonourable act.’

  Lord Luxon turned to Gideon.

  ‘Mr Seymour, did you embark on the race knowing of this vile plot against your opponent?’

  ‘I cannot deny that I did.’

  Peter was expecting an outburst of anger. Instead he detected in Lord Luxon’s expression the traces of a profound disappointment.

  ‘Then I must disqualify you, Gideon,’ Lord Luxon said flatly. ‘I declare Blueskin to be the winner by default.’

  ‘I must protest!’ exclaimed Sir Richard. ‘The race has not been won fairly, I accept that – but why impose a forfeit on one side and not the other? What of the attempt to lame Gideon’s horse? What of Blueskin’s attack on Gideon? And as for Gideon, it was not he who fed bitter herbs to the horse!’

  ‘You protest too much!’ shouted Lord Luxon. ‘You are a cheat, sir, or you aid and abet cheats …’

  It was at that moment that the Tar Man realised that the anti-gravity machine was nowhere to be seen. He interrupted his master, crying out in panic: ‘But where is the prize, my Lord?’

  ‘It is gone, as you can see! It is a mystery!’

  ‘Gone!’ exploded the Tar Man. ‘Then they have taken it! They did not trust us to hand it over – they have stolen our machine!’

  ‘The device was never yours!’ cried Gideon. ‘This is naught but a trick! If truth were known, Master Schock’s machine was never here in the first place!’

  ‘You go too far, Gideon!’ Lord Luxon was incandescent with fury. ‘Your arrogance is extraordinary! I have been your protector long enough. You leave my service against my will and to the detriment of the estate and you take it upon yourself to disapprove of my affairs at every turn. Enough is enough, Gideon. I shall court your good opinion no more. You are a liar and a cheat and – what is more – a thief. I will thank you to accompany me back to London. I shall deliver you into the hands of the magistrate where I will bring a charge against you of fraud and theft!’

  Although it was past one o’clock in the morning, Kate was still awake when she heard voices in the hall. She ran downstairs in her white nightgown. Peter and Sir Richard stood on the black and white marble floor and shrugged off their jackets. One look at Peter’s pale face and his bowed shoulders and she knew the result of the race without having to ask.

  ‘He lost, then. Where is he?’

  ‘He didn’t lose,’ said Peter. ‘But the machine was missing from the crypt and Lord Luxon accused us of stealing it. And because the Parson fed that stuff to the Tar Man’s horse to make him sick, Gideon was disqualified.’

  ‘Oh no!’ exclaimed Kate.

  ‘And there’s worse. Much worse.’

  ‘Tell me!’

  Sir Richard answered. ‘Lord Luxon has taken Gideon to the magistrate and has charged him with stealing his property. Gideon has been imprisoned.’

  ‘Gideon gave me these for safe keeping,’ said Peter.

  He could hardly get the words out. He held up the horn that Gideon’s father had given him and his small spyglass. Peter slumped onto the bottom step of the curved staircase, sank his head against the wrought-iron banisters and finally gave in to the tears that he had been struggling to hold back since seeing Gideon, his hands tied behind his back, being pushed into an open cart bound for Newgate Prison.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Newgate

  In which Gideon languishes in Newgate Prison,

  the children meet a famous author

  and a chance meeting leaves Kate overjoyed

  The coach driver stopped outside St Sepulchre’s Church. It was the bells of this church that tolled for the condemned on hanging days when a procession of carts took them on their final journey to Tyburn. Opposite St Sepulchre’s, on the other side of Newgate Street, they saw the high, stone walls of the infamous prison rise up before them. They walked through massive iron gates and stopped underneath the motto Venio sicut fur which Parson Ledbury translated for them as I come as a thief.

  Sir Richard turned to Kate and Peter. ‘It is not too late to change your mind. I understand that Gideon is your friend but there is no shame in turning away from such a place.’

  ‘No, no, I’m fine,’ lied Kate.

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ said Peter.

  Damp and d
espair seemed to leach out of the stones of the oppressive building. The walls of the entrance were decorated with the shackles and chains and iron fetters used to restrain the prisoners. Peter had expected Newgate Prison to be closely guarded and for there to be strict routines and procedures. Yet the opposite seemed to be the case. There were no guards in sight but a crowd of wretched folk were swarming in and out of the grimy forecourt. They saw mothers followed by ragged, hollow-eyed children, men and women of all ages, most of them in rags and many of whom seemed to be crippled or lame, or raving or dead drunk. No one appeared to be in charge. Instead there was an atmosphere of barely contained chaos …

  ‘We’ve got to get him out of here!’ whispered Peter to Kate.

  With sinking hearts Peter and Kate followed Sir Richard to the Keeper’s Lodge where he found a prison guard who was willing to take them to see Gideon. He was drinking beer with some other turnkeys, as they were called, and Sir Richard had to buy him another beer and pay him five shillings for the privilege. The turnkey took them to the Master’s side of the prison and into an inner courtyard where the holding cells were to be found.

  Parson Ledbury had warned Peter and Kate what to expect. He told them about the terrible stench, the roaring and howling of the prisoners packed in rooms far too small to contain them, the ‘hellcat women’ who screeched abuse at passers-by and the multitude of hands that reached out through the windows in the hope that someone would drop money into their palms so that they could buy bread from the jailers. Peter and Kate knew Newgate Prison was going to be hard to stomach, yet it did not prepare them for the gut-twisting reality. Oh, the nauseating, putrid, poisonous stink of it! The Parson handed out the vinegar-soaked handkerchiefs which Hannah had supplied to put over their mouths and noses. The turnkey pulled the Parson out of the way just in time as the contents of a chamber pot splattered in front of them. He bawled at the wild-eyed prisoner up above who responded in kind with a stream of oaths. And the noise! Sir Richard had described it as the Newgate roar – a maddening cacophony of sounds: voices bellowing, shouting, howling, swearing, singing, calling from one cell to another … and then the clanking of chains, tankards being banged against metal bars, heavy doors clanging shut … It made Kate’s ears ring and her nerves jangle. A hand suddenly shot out from a grated window and grabbed hold of her dress. She screamed with the shock of it, wanted to cover her ears and eyes, wanted above all to get out of there. She started to tremble uncontrollably. She did not want to go any nearer, did not want to see Gideon in this hellhole and be powerless to do anything to help.

  ‘Please take me out of here,’ she said simply to Sir Richard.

  Sir Richard nodded. ‘Tell Gideon I’ll come and see him tomorrow,’ he said and escorted Kate back to the carriage.

  The Parson and Peter continued to follow the turnkey down a series of corridors.

  ‘This is the cell you require, gentlemen …’ said the turnkey.

  He unlocked a door and they walked into a room smaller than an average classroom. As Peter stepped inside, the stench, the noise and the heat struck him like a blow to the head. They all stood in a narrow gangway, metal bars between them and the thirty or forty prisoners, young and old, men and women, who remained here twenty-four hours a day. Some of them were shackled to the wall or the floor, some of them sat or lay on the bare wooden shelves that served as a bed, but most of them were on the move. A woman was slumped against the bars in a drunken stupor, her jaw hanging open and a bottle of kill-grief clutched loosely in her hand. Peter saw a squat man with bulging eyes creep up behind her and deftly remove the bottle of gin from her grasp.

  Peter could not see Gideon at first. The cell was a snake pit, bodies writhing and weaving between each other. Peter was aware of a curious noise which was noticeable over and above the general din. He couldn’t pinpoint it until he looked down and then he saw what it was. The floor was covered with a thick carpet of lice and whenever anyone moved their feet there was a crunching sound as a few more were crushed into the ground. Peter shuddered.

  Parson Ledbury and Peter breathed through their handkerchiefs, their eyes darting everywhere for a glimpse of Gideon.

  ‘These conditions are intolerable!’ said the Parson to the turnkey.

  ‘They get used to it – if they don’t die first,’ the turnkey replied.

  Suddenly Peter spotted him. Gideon seemed to be the only prisoner who was completely still. He stood leaning against the far wall. His eyes were closed and, miraculously, Peter saw the faintest trace of a smile pass over his features. Someone must have stolen his shirt and his boots for he was dressed only in a pair of breeches. His encounter with the Tar Man had left its mark: one eye was still badly swollen and large purple and yellow bruises were clearly visible on his chest. Peter cringed as he saw that Gideon was having to stand in all these lice in bare feet.

  ‘Gideon!’ he shouted.

  Gideon’s eyes shot open and looked in his direction. His face lit up but instantly turned serious. He pushed his way towards the metal bars.

  ‘You should not have come,’ he said. ‘I would have wished to spare you this. I am ashamed to be seen in this place …’

  Parson Ledbury had already taken off his jacket and was now pulling off his shirt which he pushed through the bars to Gideon.

  ‘Here, Mr Seymour, it is too big, but you are very welcome to it,’ said the Parson.

  Gideon took it gratefully and immediately put it on.

  ‘You are very good, Parson. Thank you.’

  ‘I am not very good, Mr Seymour, and I have come to ask your forgiveness for what I did yesterday. I fear that my interference is responsible in part for your sorry plight.’

  ‘Do not blame yourself, Parson,’ replied Gideon. ‘I have been a thorn in Lord Luxon’s side for too long. I have been expecting something of the sort – it was only a matter of time … However, I do regret, most sincerely, our failure to win back the machine for Peter and Mistress Kate.’

  ‘We brought you some food,’ said Peter.

  He then thrust the bundle of bread, cheese and roast chicken and the flagon of wine they had brought through the bars. This was a mistake because invisible hands immediately snatched it and Gideon’s dinner was dispersed throughout the cell with lightning speed, causing unseen scuffles within the mass of bodies.

  ‘No!’ cried Peter uselessly. ‘Give it back!’

  The turnkey laughed. ‘You cannot expect good table manners from wild dogs …’

  The Parson glared at him.

  Gideon said resignedly: ‘You cannot blame them. They have been here longer than I and if they have no money they cannot buy food. Half of them are starving.’

  Parson Ledbury looked sadly at all the faces crowded behind the iron bars – anger and hatred, misery and utter hopelessness stared back at him.

  ‘Mr Seymour,’ said the Parson, ‘we have come to tell you that you are not abandoned. We shall do everything in our power to secure your release. Do not lose hope.’

  ‘I shall not lose hope. I am innocent of the crime of which I have been accused. I put my faith in God and in my friends. And I thank you for coming with all my heart, Parson Ledbury, but please, I would ask you to leave now. I do not wish Master Peter to linger here – Newgate has a habit of persisting in men’s dreams.’

  ‘As you wish,’ replied the Parson, ‘but I shall return with Sir Richard on the morrow.’

  ‘Goodbye, Peter,’ said Gideon. ‘Tell Mistress Kate that she must not lose hope.’

  ‘But I wanted to stay. I wanted to keep you company for a while …’ Peter started to protest.

  ‘Mr Seymour is right,’ said the Parson. ‘We will be better employed hiring the finest lawyer in London to represent him at his trial.’

  They caught the attention of the turnkey and asked him to let them out. At the last minute Peter turned around and said to Gideon: ‘What were you smiling at when we arrived?’

  Gideon managed another smile. ‘They have locked up my
body but they can imprison neither my mind nor my soul. I was taking a stroll by the stream in the valley where you caught the trout, feeling the sun on my head and breathing in the good air.’

  On their way out Parson Ledbury asked the turnkey how much he would charge to put Gideon into a less crowded cell and to get him some decent food to eat.

  ‘Twenty guineas for a room with five prisoners, or five hundred pounds will buy you the best lodgings in Newgate …’

  ‘Twenty guineas! Five hundred pounds!’ exclaimed Parson Ledbury. ‘Why, that is a king’s ransom! Here, have five guineas on account. I will return tomorrow when I shall give you the rest. I shall expect to see Mr Seymour in more salubrious surroundings and with a good dinner inside him.’

  ‘But what about the people who cannot afford to pay you?’ asked Peter. ‘What happens to them?’

  ‘Why, they should have thought of that before they took it into their heads to break the law.’

  ‘But it’s not fair!’ shouted Peter, burning with righteous rage and tears welling in his eyes. ‘It’s wicked to treat human beings like that! You are an evil man! You should be in that cell, not Gideon …!’

  The Parson interrupted Peter and pulled him firmly away.

  ‘Thank you, Master Turnkey. Until tomorrow.’

  When they were out of earshot of the turnkey he continued: ‘It would be wise to resist provoking the man on whom your friend is dependent for his every need …’

  Peter and the Parson joined Kate and Sir Richard in the carriage.

  ‘How was he?’ Kate asked.

  ‘How do you think?’ Peter replied bitterly. ‘It was the most disgusting, horrible place I’ve ever seen … They’d stolen his shirt and his boots. It stank worse than the elephant house at the zoo. The floor was crawling with lice … I don’t think he wanted me to see him like that …’

  Sir Richard opened the door and called up to the driver: ‘Take us to John Leche’s chambers, Middle Temple!’