by Jo Macauley
It was John she was worried about. Groby on his own would be a handful, even for a skilled and experienced fighter like Strange. All their joking about Captain Jack aside, she knew John did possess courage – but it was hard to believe that would be enough against a thug like that. She hastily pushed an image of what might become him at Groby’s hands out of her mind...
She heard John saying something about Groby sending his men into the yard while they talked, but Groby had ideas of his own. Beth couldn’t hear everything that was said, but it was Groby himself, accompanied by John, who came into the yard while the other two waited at the entrance. Beth cursed silently to herself as Groby positioned himself by the cart. There was no risk of being seen as she was on the other side of the yard, and in almost total shadow. But her plans to make a surprise attack on the two henchmen were dashed. She could help John with Groby, but the others would be alerted immediately. If they could deal with Groby quickly enough the plan might still work...
Beth decided to wait to hear what he had to say before making her move.
“So, you came after all,” she heard Groby sneer in his unpleasant, rasping tone.
“I’ve kept my promise,” replied John. “Now you must keep yours. Release my sister.”
Groby laughed. “Ah, well you haven’t quite fulfilled your promise yet, have you, young sir? We still need to know the time, and the King’s precise route, and most importantly this place where you say we may conceal ourselves when he will be at his most vulnerable.”
“Very well. I ... I can tell you—”
“I haven’t finished,” Groby cut in harshly. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the little matter of an attempt by certain persons to follow my men to Moorfields?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” John said flatly. Beth was surprised at what a good liar he could be, but she knew Groby wouldn’t be fooled, and she was right.
He laughed again, though it sounded like the harsh cawing of a crow. “Ah, so there are other young people running around London trying to track a young crippled girl down?” His tone became darker. “To be clear – if there are any further such attempts to second guess us, I will order the girl killed on the spot. Now, tell me what I need to know.”
John sighed heavily and hesitated, as if having to force himself to answer. Beth held her breath. Would he really tell Groby the truth. She could see he had no choice. They had to do something to stop Groby before he actually got close to the King.
“His Majesty will leave the Tower in his carriage shortly before ten this morning,” John began, his voice shaking with the duress. “He will make his way to the Navy Board’s office close by here on Seething Lane, to inspect the plans for the new ship, the Royal Charles. His ... His carriage will go up Tower Hill and into Woodrofe Lane, which meets Crutched Friars. But about half way up Woodrofe Lane is Draper’s Alley. It is a place of decayed houses, boarded up and awaiting demolition, so there will be no one looking on. It is also open at both ends – and at the end opposite to Crutched Friars there is an escape route to Tower Hill and the river. Here...” To prove the truth of what he was saying, John produced his own copy of the itinerary. Beth realized he must have been carrying it with him all this time, in case of just such a crisis point.
Groby took a cursory glance at the document, nodding. “Very well. Even an escape route – you do think like a spy!”
Beth’s heart quickened. What was to stop Groby just killing John now, as well as Polly?
“Then you will release Polly?” John said hopefully.
“Ah, that would be a little premature, wouldn’t it, boy? When the King lies dead and cold, you will be repaid with her freedom. If the deed is not completed successfully, another will be found face that fate.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts’, Master Turner. Wait there a moment while I pass your helpful information on to my colleagues.”
Groby returned to the other men. There was a brief conversation, and when he returned, he was followed by the older man.
“It is arranged,” Groby growled.
“Good,” John said tightly, looking between the men. Beth could tell he was clenching and unclenching his fists, looking for a chance to try and strike out at Groby. She crouched, ready to join him. “I shall await my sister at our house in Bloodbone—”
“Not so fast.” The man lurking in the background stepped forward and spoke for the first time. She could see now that he was wearing a fine coat trimmed with lace, and wore a gentleman’s dark wig.
Beth had to suppress a gasp. It was Sir Henry Vale.
“Did you think we were going to risk our necks, boy?” said Vale, reaching into his coat. “And besides, what’s to stop you running off now and tipping off the authorities?” He produced a pistol and held the stock of it out to John, whose face blanched as he too realized who the man was.
“I – I can’t—”
“Oh, you can, Turner. It’s just a question of whether you will, isn’t it?” He forced the flintlock pistol into John’s hand and stepped back. “There, now. It’s loaded.” A slow smile spread on his face. His voice was like velvet. “You could shoot me dead on the spot should you wish to. You would like to do that, I’ll wager. But dear little Polly would then die too, of course. Though you’d never know about that because my friend here would kill you first. So it all comes down to this – whether you value your own life above that of your sister.”
Chapter Seventeen - A Plan
As soon as everyone had cleared Stonecutter’s Yard, Beth slipped from her hiding place. She had to follow them, try and figure out how to stop Vale’s plan.
Stay calm, John, she prayed silently. She just caught sight of the group disappearing out of sight, but she decided it shouldn’t be too difficult to find them. She didn’t know Draper’s Alley, but she knew it must be very close, because Woodrofe Street was just round the corner from where she was. Thanks to what John had said about an escape route at the other end, she also knew that it must be accessible from the next street.
Instead of following, she skirted round to the right where she caught sight of a narrow little lane running parallel with Woodrofe Lane. That had to be Draper’s Alley. But just as she was about to cross Crutched Friars, she noticed a red glow in a shop doorway across the road and froze, still hidden in the shadows of the tall buildings behind her.
She realized the red glow was a man’s pipe, and she could just see his dark form fidgeting in the doorway. After a few moments, he leaned forwards and looked left and right. Instinct told Beth that he was one of Vale’s own spies. Strange’s men wouldn’t allow themselves to be so easily spotted. If he even sniffed that Beth was following his master, or suspected any other moves against Vale and his gang, then he or others like him would slip away and tell the people holding Polly to carry out their misdeed.
All her senses were heightened now. There had to be more than one. She scanned the street, and looking up Poor Jewry Lane she saw two men standing outside a butcher’s shop. They were not trying to hide, but seemed to be wearing workman’s clothes and just casually chatting as if on their way to the docks or warehouses for an early start. But as Beth watched she noticed that both were actually spending more time glancing up and down the street than looking at each other.
Beth edged along the wall, stopping every few seconds to check that doorways and windows were clear. Eventually she reached a point where she was as sure as could be that she was out of sight of suspicious eyes. She slipped silently across Crutched Friars at a narrow point and into Draper’s Alley. It was just as John said – derelict. People had been using it to abandon their rubbish, and Beth was grateful for this because the old boxes and broken bedsteads made good hiding places. She took a few paces into the alley and dipped down between two wooden crates. She could hear hushed voices, but not what was being said. It would be dangerous to try to get closer, but she had to.
With a racing heart, she crawled from her hiding place on he
r hands and knees. Just as she was about to hide behind a stinking pile of sacks filled with rotting vegetables, her hand caught a loose potato on the ground and flicked it across the lane. It bounced and bobbled in virtual silence – until it hit a stick and sent it spinning across the ground. The voices at the other end of the alley instantly fell silent.
“Someone’s there...”
It was Vale. But Groby, of all people, saved her.
“Nah, I saw it. Just a rat, sir.”
Their hushed voices resumed their earlier conversation, and Beth was finally able to breathe again as she hid herself behind the sacks and peered over the top. Vale, Groby and the other man were standing in a circle around John.
“As soon as the King’s carriage passes,” Vale was saying, “you shall step out, waving. I know you have met the King – and your precious spymaster Strange will probably be with him anyway – so should not cause alarm. You will say the wind has changed direction and is blowing the fire towards the Navy Offices, and you have been sent to tell His Majesty’s procession that the meeting has been cancelled and the offices evacuated.”
“B-but someone’s bound to realize the wind hasn’t changed, that the fire is not coming this way...”
“That matters not. By this time you will be close to the King. You will reach into your coat ... and I hardly need to tell you what to do next,” Vale sneered.
Beth had been taught that plans rarely worked out exactly as expected, and the true test of a spy was how to think on your feet when the unexpected happened. Avoiding attracting any attention this time, she crept silently out of Draper’s Alley. It was time to think on her feet...
* * *
The King didn’t normally reside at the Tower; Beth guessed he wanted to be close enough to the fire to help co-ordinate the fight to halt its progress. Security around the perimeter was every bit as strong as Beth would have expected. However, as soon as a special password Strange had given them was mentioned, her path was cleared as if by magic. She was led into the guardhouse, a large barrack-type building just inside the main entrance, and past a number of soldiers putting on helmets and metal breastplates. One caught her eye because he was surprisingly small for any sort of soldier, let alone the King’s own guard.
“You don’t have to be big to be in the elite guard,” said a familiar voice. “Just very, very good.” It was Strange. “Isn’t that right, Hawkins?”
The soldier saluted, and smiled at Beth. She realized that although he was not much taller than her, like her he had an athletic build. In fact, he had given her an idea ... Beth quickly returned his smile and turned to Strange.
“Where is Turner?” he said.
“I’ve got something to report,” Beth said anxiously.
“Let’s go where we won’t be disturbed...”
* * *
“I see,” Strange said once she’d finished. “John finds himself in a most trying position.” To say the least, Beth thought. They were in a little office at the back of the guardroom. There was a rough sketch of the King’s route that morning pinned to the wall, and Beth saw that it had various small “x”s marked on it. She guessed this was where Strange’s own men were posted, and realized she must have walked right past one of them without even knowing.
“I hope he will keep his head,” Strange continued, “I confess I sometimes wonder about him.”
“He will cope. We just need to determine a way to help him.”
It came out a little more sharply than Beth had intended and she braced herself for a reprimand. But the faintest of smiles momentarily deepened the wrinkles on Strange’s weathered face.
“Loyalty. I like that.” He glanced up at the map. “But from what you say, I think I now must, reluctantly, put soldiers into all the streets on the route—”
“No, sir. I think know how to save Polly without any danger to the King.”
“You surely don’t wish me to cancel the trip or change the route? That would only alert Vale and may well trigger Polly’s death.”
“No, no changes. Everything must go ahead as planned.”
The spymaster frowned. “Beth, I have given you a great deal of latitude. Now, your team is scattered and in danger, and I have specific intelligence of the threat to His Majesty. If anything were to go wrong because one of my young spies asked for indulgence, just how long do you think my head would remain attached to my neck?”
“B-but you must hear me out, sir. You must!”
His steely grey eyes bore into her for a moment. “Then tell me of your plan.”
Beth sighed in relief. “First, I need to see one of your guards...”
Chapter Eighteen - Assassination
John’s legs were stiff and sore from crouching in his hiding place, but he daren’t move. Groby had placed men at the other end of the alley to prevent casual passers-by from entering, and to alert them to anyone that Strange may have sent. He felt the wooden stock of the pistol against his ribs with every breath – a constant reminder of the terrible dilemma he faced. He had lost track of the time but he knew it couldn’t be long before he would be required to make the terrible decision. Unless Beth arrived with Strange to save the day, he would find himself face to face with the King, pointing a pistol. He could hardly believe that they had forced him into this position, where he might have to betray his oath to protect the King. Would he fire? Could he? And even if Beth and Strange did arrive, what if they hadn’t traced Polly first? What if Ralph wasn’t able to stop Groby’s men from harming his sister? John worried he might find himself having to ignore their intervention and still kill the King to save his sister’s life. His stomach twisted with the impossibility of the quandary he was in.
Then he heard a nearby church bell chiming quarter to the hour. Nine? Or the fateful hour of ten? The answer was quick in coming.
There was a sudden shuffling as Groby and Vale adjusted their positions beside him and began to ready themselves.
“Any minute now,” Vale told his henchman.
John felt a strong hand come down hard on his shoulder and fix it in a vice-like grip. “The moment approaches, lad. Your sister or the King. Be ready.”
John’s hands felt cold and limp, despite the warm sunshine that had now broken through the clouds, and his whole body began to shake. Even if he did try to shoot the King, how true would be his aim? Should he miss deliberately? Questions kept swirling in his mind.
Then he heard distant voices – strident, urgent. Soldiers barking orders, echoing off the walls at the bottom of Woodrofe Lane. And soon after came the clip-clopping of horses’ hooves on cobblestones, and the clatter of carriage wheels.
The King’s carriage.
He raised his head and peered over the upturned table that was his hiding place. He could see it now: a large open carriage painted a shiny black with trimmings of gold leaf. The four horses wore colourful plumes that swayed and nodded as they moved; two drivers in royal livery sat at the front. There were three other people inside the carriage beside the King. Two wore scarlet robes lined with white ermine, while the third wore much drabber, plain clothes. He had his back to John, but just from his outline John knew it was Strange. The King himself was partly obscured by the people surrounding him, but John could see that he wore purple robes also trimmed with white fur, including a voluminous hood pulled over the flowing black locks of his trademark black wig. Four mounted soldiers rode in front of the carriage in pairs, and six behind. They carried spears aloft with purple ribbons fluttering near the tips, and wore gleaming silver body armour. Swords hung from their belts. John knew these were the men who would fall on him and hack him to pieces the instant he discharged his gun at the King...
But where was Beth?
The horses and carriage rattled to within a few feet of the alley. To John in his terror, the sound of the hooves and wheels rumbling along the stony surface was suddenly deafening, filling his head with such noise it threatened to overwhelm him. He was suddenly paralysed, and the gun al
most seemed to throb against his chest as if it was willing him to use it.
Groby’s voice snapped him back into reality. “Now, Turner! Now – or, by God, your sister’s life!”
John sprang up and ran, but it no longer felt like it was his own body surging towards the King. It was as if he floated like a ghost, like this was a dream.
The carriage continued, but heads turned, voices shouted.
“Mister Strange!” John shouted, suddenly finding his voice. “I am with Sir Alan Strange, the spymaster, and I must warn the King of a threat to his life!”
The carriage was almost past him now. Why didn’t it stop?
Just when he thought his chance had gone, an order was barked and the carriage rattled to a halt. The King’s back was towards him, almost within pistol-shot.
“I am here by the order of the King’s spymaster!” John repeated. It seemed to cause some confusion and hesitation among the guards, and gave him precious seconds to get closer. As he did so, he slipped his hand inside his coat and gripped the handle of the pistol. It felt heavy and alien against his sweating palm. As the King rose and began to turn to see what was happening, Strange rose too, putting himself between John and the King – but John could still see the back of the King’s hooded head. He glanced back at where Groby and Vale were hiding, but knew he wouldn’t be able to alert the guards without ruining any chance of seeing Polly alive again. He whipped the pistol out and aimed.
May God forgive me...
To his amazement, Strange ducked as soon as he saw the pistol, while the King continued to turn around. John tried to focus. He tightened his finger on the trigger, but his head was ready to explode – a swirl of screams and flashing lights – and he froze. He knew in that moment that nothing could ever make him betray the King. He aimed the gun away into the air, hoping desperately that in the mêlée he could alert the guards to where Groby and Vale lay in wait. Then, a guard dashed towards him with a cry, and finally John fired.
