Gideon the Cutpurse

by Linda Buckley-Archer

  Sir Richard took note of Peter’s pale, tear-stained face and the way Kate sat, hunched up and a frown etched onto her forehead, her hands pulling distractedly at her handkerchief.

  ‘To be separated from your families and everyone you know,’ he said softly, ‘is hard enough but to have to witness the cruel incarceration of your friend as well must seem more than you can bear. Yet I tell you that you are not alone and that this will pass. All this will pass and you will know happier times again. In the meantime I promise you that Gideon’s stay in Newgate Prison will be short. John Leche is an excellent man and a fine lawyer. I am certain that he will prove Mr Seymour’s innocence to the world.’

  While Sir Richard tried to comfort Peter and Kate, a clerk of the court, wearing a dusty black robe, was hurrying out of the Old Bailey. The great law court was conveniently placed next door to the prison and the two buildings were linked by an underground tunnel. The clerk hurried across the street and into Newgate Prison where he approached the turnkey who had shown the way to Gideon’s cell. With a scowl on his face, the turnkey watched Peter climbing into the carriage.

  ‘Good day, Samuel,’ said the clerk. ‘You look displeased with the world this morning!’

  ‘Good day to you, Ethan. Nay, ’tis nothing. After nigh on ten years of protecting society from this den of thieves and felons, I am accustomed to the ingratitude of the public.’

  ‘Ay, Samuel, ingratitude is our lot in life. However, I have urgent business to attend to and must ask you to fetch a certain Gideon Seymour who is required to appear in court at two o’ clock.’

  ‘I have just come from him! He was brought here but last night! I happen to know that his friends have not yet had the occasion to hire a lawyer, let alone one who can appear at such short notice.’

  ‘That is as may be,’ replied the clerk, tapping the side of his nose, ‘but there are people interested in this case who have great influence … I should get him into court without delay, if you know what’s good for you. I hear that the straw men have done good business this day and rumour has it that there’s a thief-taker involved you would be foolish to cross. I also happen to know that the King is leaving the city tonight and the Recorder of London must send him reports of all forthcoming executions before sunset.’

  ‘Executions! What crime has Mr Seymour committed? He seems a gentle sort of fellow …’

  The clerk shrugged his shoulders. ‘What crime indeed …’

  For a moment the turnkey was tempted to run over to the carriage which was just moving away to tell the Parson about Gideon’s imminent trial. Then he remembered how Peter had called him an evil man and decided instead to return for a while to the Keeper’s Lodge. After another beer or two he would get around to escorting his prisoner through the dank tunnel that linked Newgate Prison to the Old Bailey.

  They had lain awake for hours. Sleep had finally released his wife from her torment but Peter’s father was still struggling to make sense of what the office girl had told them. How could this be true? How could his son be lost in a different century? And what, if anything, did Dr Dyer know? The last time he had punched someone he had been at school – and it had not got him anywhere then either. Dr Dyer had told him nothing. Yet he found himself agreeing with Inspector Wheeler – Kate’s father definitely had something he wanted to conceal.

  Slowly, so as not to disturb his wife, Mr Schock crept out of bed, got dressed and went downstairs. The brightly lit hotel lobby was deserted. He walked past the giant Christmas tree and through the automatic glass doors. Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve. It was a freezing, cloudless night and the stars shone down on rows of expensive cars in the hotel car-park. His breath came out in great clouds of steam. Were these same stars shining down on Peter? In the great scheme of things, he thought, our lives are over in the blink of an eye and yet there are times when each moment seems to last an eternity. He tried to remember what it felt like to be happy and free from worry but found that he could not.

  Mr Schock walked slowly up the steep road, his feet crunching on the icy tarmac. At the brow of the hill he stopped and looked across the valley, almost blue in the moonlight.

  ‘I hate you!’ Unless or until Peter were found those would remain his son’s last words to him. His course of action suddenly became very clear. If the police could not find his son then he would. He would go to the NCRDM laboratory. He would track down this NASA scientist and would make her tell him what she knew. He would do whatever it took to get Peter back. He would not stop until, one way or another, he had found his son and could tell him to his face that he was sorry and that he loved him.

  While Sir Richard was briefing the lawyer in his chambers in Middle Temple, Parson Ledbury took Peter and Kate for lunch to a ‘chop house’ at the corner of Fleet Street and Hanging Sword Alley. Having given Gideon his shirt, the Parson’s outfit provoked a few curious looks but he did not let this bother him. He did his best to cheer up the children and convinced them that Mr Leche would have Gideon out of Newgate Prison in no time. He ordered beef and oyster pie for everyone which even Peter, who was not overly keen on eighteenth-century fare, admitted was delicious. This was followed by a lemon syllabub which Kate quite liked and Peter could have done without. As Peter did not appear to care for the dessert, Parson Ledbury asked the serving wench to bring some cheese for him. She brought him a fat slice of Stilton which Peter would have eaten had he not noticed the half a dozen weevils which shared the plate.

  ‘Starving ourselves will not help Mr Seymour suffer the pangs of hunger,’ commented the Parson, which instantly made Peter and Kate regret having let a morsel of food pass their lips.

  While Parson Ledbury attacked a second helping of syllabub, Peter looked through the diamond-paned window at the street outside. A golden-haired dog trotted past and suddenly the incident with Molly and the Van der Graaf generator came back to him. It seemed so long ago. How, if they couldn’t get hold of the anti-gravity machine, were they ever going to get home? 1763 was rapidly losing any charm it might once have held for him.

  Meanwhile Kate could not resist eavesdropping. Two gentlemen at an adjacent table were having an animated conversation. A large, bulky fellow who had spilt gravy down his shirt and who spoke in a booming voice even louder than Parson Ledbury’s, was being questioned on all manner of subjects by his young companion. His neck and face were badly scarred and he was blind in one eye. His companion had untidy dark hair and a pronounced Scottish accent. The large man seemed to hold strong opinions about everything under the sun.

  Every so often, when the older man said something particularly witty, the young one would hastily scribble down his words in a small blue notebook.

  ‘Parson Ledbury,’ Kate whispered, ‘I think we’re sitting next to Dr Samuel Johnson!’

  ‘Upon my word, you don’t say! We must introduce ourselves at once!’

  He twisted around in his seat and called out: ‘Pardon me for interrupting you, gentlemen, but do I have the honour of addressing Dr Johnson, creator of the first dictionary of the English language?’

  The large man confirmed that he was indeed Dr Johnson and that he was the author of such a book. The Parson told him that he had recently had the pleasure of talking with Erasmus Darwin in Lichfield. Dr Johnson nodded politely and commented that he was a fine doctor who deserved his reputation and while he could not say that he found his company altogether agreeable there were doubtless many who did … The Parson went on to describe their meeting with King George and told Dr Johnson that a copy of the Dictionary could be found in the King’s own library. Dr Johnson seemed most flattered and invited the Parson and his companions to join them at their table. He introduced the young Scotsman as Mr James Boswell and invited the Parson to present himself and his young friends.

  On hearing that Peter and Kate were recently arrived in London he asked Kate how she found the city.

  Kate giggled a little and grew pink and then pulled herself together and said solemnly: ‘Well, Dr
Johnson, I say that when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.’

  ‘Prettily put, Miss Dyer, most prettily put. Mr Boswell, I think you would do well to write that down …’

  Mr Boswell obediently copied down the sentence while Kate grinned from ear to ear. What is she up to? wondered Peter. When Mr Boswell had finished writing he told them that he was about to depart on a long trip to the continent but that he would miss London exceedingly. The Parson agreed that travel was an excellent way of broadening one’s mind but advised him to avoid the temptation of copying foreign fashions. It was not, he said, admiration that he felt on seeing someone dressed in the continental manner but the strong desire to push its wearer into the mud of the street.

  Dr Johnson laughed appreciatively and said: ‘I have recently returned from France and must confess that I find the French a gross, ill-bred, untaught people … what I gained by being in France was learning to be better satisfied with my own country. And you, Master Schock, how do you find London? Do you not think it earns its reputation as being the greatest and most civilised city in the world?’

  ‘I like the French!’ exclaimed Peter. ‘We go there for holidays and I’ve got a French penfriend! And their food is brilliant and they’re good at football … And as for London being civilised …’

  Peter was momentarily lost for words as all the things he missed about his own time and all the things he hated about 1763 flooded into his head. The anguish that he had felt since his arrival seemed to boil up inside him like lava pushing against the cracking membrane of a volcano. He could contain his anger no longer. Oh no, said Kate to herself under her breath. She sensed what was coming. Dr Johnson, Mr Boswell and the Parson waited expectantly for Peter to continue …

  ‘Civilised! … I don’t even know where to start … Where I come from we don’t have open sewers running down the street and serve cheese with animals living in it. There are toilets that flush and supermarkets where you can get good, clean food and what wouldn’t I give for a bottle of Coke and some ice-cream … or a Chinese takeaway and a good film … oh, you wouldn’t understand … But you can go for a ride in the countryside without getting attacked by highwaymen or footpads and if someone does try and rob you, you can telephone 999 and a police car will come and arrest them … And you can walk down the street without seeing hundreds of starving people and cripples. There are doctors and hospitals if you get sick and people aren’t so poor they’re forced to steal and get put into prison where they’re treated worse than any animal …’

  ‘Peter,’ said Kate softly, ‘it’s not their fault … They don’t know …’

  The Parson, for once, was lost for words. Dr Johnson exchanged amused glances with his young companion.

  ‘Decent provision for the poor is a true test of civilisation and your concern does you credit,’ he said. ‘But tell me, 999, police cars? Here are some terms which do not appear in my dictionary … Perhaps you would be good enough to elucidate, Master Schock?’

  ‘The police stop people breaking the law. Police cars are how they get about … And a car is like a carriage only without horses and much, much faster. When they are after someone they have flashing lights on top of their cars and their sirens wail.’

  ‘Their sirens wail?’

  ‘Yes, they go nee-noo, nee-noo, nee-noo …’

  Mr Boswell and Dr Johnson burst out laughing.

  ‘Nee-noo, nee-noo, nee-noo!’ they cried gleefully until tears ran down their faces.

  ‘Master Schock is feverish and I fear his imagination has become overheated …’ said Parson Ledbury swiftly. ‘However, you must excuse us, gentlemen, pressing business awaits us …’

  The Parson stood up and practically lifted Peter out of his seat but he would not be silenced and continued angrily: ‘And your dictionary, Dr Johnson, has meant that millions of schoolchildren have to waste hours and hours learning stupid spellings when they could be playing football …’

  The Parson pulled him away and Kate followed behind, giving a nervous little wave to Dr Johnson as she closed the door behind them.

  ‘Extraordinary!’ said Mr Boswell.

  ‘A hot-headed young fellow,’ commented Dr Johnson. ‘Fancy liking the French … but he had bottom.’

  The three of them slipped out into Fleet Street. It was hot and steamy and the streets were busy. Parson Ledbury plucked off his wig to mop his bristly head with a handkerchief.

  ‘By your leave!’ shouted a chair-man, and they all knew by now to get out of the way quickly. They squeezed against a wall while the sedan chair thundered past.

  ‘Well, Master Schock,’ said the Parson sadly, ‘you have given the good Doctor something to think about, at least. I grasped but half of what you said but I understood that you disapprove of your forebears … Are we so uncivilised?’

  ‘No! …. Well, yes, some things are better in our time. But a lot of things are much worse. We can fly to the moon but we’re destroying our own planet. To be honest, until I saw Gideon in Newgate I was beginning to prefer the eighteenth century. I am sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  ‘You spoke from the heart, Master Schock. There is no cause to be sorry.’

  They made their way back towards Middle Temple to rejoin Sir Richard. The Parson walked ahead, forging a path through the bustling crowds. The air was thick with the cries of street hawkers, the rumble of heavy wagons and the barking of dogs. On the opposite side of Fleet Street a girl stood on a box singing a ballad. Her voice was so clear and so sweet, quite a crowd had gathered around her. To their amusement a dog was howling, trying to sing along with the girl.

  Kate laughed. ‘Can you hear that dog?’

  Peter asked Kate what had amused her so much when she answered Dr Johnson’s question.

  Kate grimaced. ‘I probably shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s one of Dr Johnson’s famous sayings – you must have heard it: when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. I couldn’t resist it.’

  Peter screwed up his forehead while he thought about the consequences of Kate repeating Dr Johnson’s own saying to him before he had, in fact, said it. Except that Kate had already heard it in order to repeat it. So who said it first – Kate or Dr Johnson? And would the answer to this question be different if they returned to their own time?

  ‘Don’t!’ Kate laughed. ‘You look like your brain is going to pop …’

  Caught in the throng behind them a dog was barking incessantly. Kate stopped and put her head on one side.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Peter.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ said Kate. ‘For a minute, I thought … No, it’s nothing.’

  The Parson’s attention was taken by a stall selling spinning tops and painted wooden figures – soldiers and gentlemen and farmers and even Jack Ketch, the hangman at Tyburn.

  ‘Mistress Kate,’ he asked, ‘which shall I choose for young Jack? A farmer, would you say? Or a soldier like his father?’

  Kate picked up a rosy-cheeked farmer. ‘This one – so he can remember his visit to King—’

  She never finished the sentence. A lightning streak of honey-coloured fur passed in front of Peter’s eyes as a Golden Labrador launched itself at Kate’s chest. She was instantly knocked backwards onto the flimsy toy stall which tipped over, sending all the wooden figures clattering onto the granite cobblestones. The dog barked ecstatically and its long pink tongue licked every inch of Kate’s face.

  The street hawker struggled to put his stall upright at the same time as fending off two small boys who were attempting to make off with his goods. The Parson had grabbed hold of the dog’s solid middle and was heaving it off Kate. Peter’s attention, however, was elsewhere … He was staring at the red-haired man with a freckled face who had come to a sudden halt in front of them. A name – could it have been Molly? – was fading from his lips.

  Kate tried to recover herself and stood up, panting heavily. She wiped her face with the back of her
hand.

  ‘It can’t be …’ she said, looking at the yellow Labrador that was struggling to escape from the Parson’s grasp. Bewildered, she glanced over at Peter and as she did so her eyes met those of the man with the red hair. They gazed numbly at each other and the rest of the world seemed to fade silently away. Father and daughter each stared out at this familiar stranger as if from a great distance. For a long moment no one else existed and the only sound Kate heard was the beating of her own heart. Suddenly Kate let out a deep, shuddering gasp from the very core of her being and the world came flooding back. She became aware of Molly’s frantic barking.

  ‘Dad!’ she screamed and flung her arms around him.

  ‘The Lord be praised!’ exclaimed Parson Ledbury, letting go of Molly so that she could leap around Kate and her father like a young puppy.

  Peter watched the scene, a huge grin on his face, not quite knowing what to do with himself. How had Dr Dyer got here? It was nothing less than a miracle! And then a feeling pushed its way into his mind and took form without Peter wishing it to – but it came anyway. Why hasn’t my father come? he thought. If Kate’s father can find his way back, why can’t mine?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Straw Men

  In which Dr Dyer explains the

  disappearance of the anti-gravity machine

  and Gideon’s situation goes from bad to worse

  They wanted to be able to speak freely and could not do so with Sidney present. Sir Richard had the idea to ask his neighbour to take Sidney with him to the cockpit in Bird Cage Walk where he often spent the evening. He gave his nephew three guineas to bet on the cockerels and made him promise faithfully not to tell his mother. Sidney, whose parents had always forbidden him to frequent such places and had never allowed him to gamble, was even happier when his uncle explained to him that Master Schock had wanted to go but he had felt that he was too young for such a venue …

  So it was that the rest of the party gathered around a candlelit table in Lincoln’s Inn Fields to celebrate the arrival of a man not due to be born for another two hundred years. Dr Dyer was clearly overjoyed that, against all the odds, here he was sitting at the same table as his daughter. As they ate, he continually put down his fork to hold Kate’s hand in order to convince himself that he was not dreaming. Molly lay on Kate’s feet gnawing at a knuckle of veal and refused to be moved from her beloved Kate even when she got pins and needles.