One thing about this scheme – and Jeremy had no idea whether it approximated to the events of the Brighton coach robbery – was that it was, so far, silent. You had to think not only of the coachmen but of the passengers, who could be heard overhead moving about from time to time, scraping their boots on the roof, shouting to each other and laughing. But the brace and bit made virtually no sound at all. If at a later hour the saw had to be used, and later still the crowbar, the inside noise might increase; but even so it should not be above the acceptable level. What passenger or guard was ever likely to hear anything from inside the coach when they were jogging and wobbling and jolting along an ill-kept turnpike road with the horses trotting and a fair breeze blowing over all?
They had come down a gentle incline past Budge’s Shop with the occasional squeak and grunt of the brakes, and were now following the path of the valley. The sun shone with a mild warmth though it was the depths of winter; little yellow nosegays of primroses showed on the banks; rivulets of clear water crossed the road; cows and sheep fattened in the lush fields. The coach was a microcosm of civilized life crawling across the smiling, unheeding countryside. All that was different was three young men deep within the coach, sweating at their endeavours, perpetrating, or attempting to perpetrate, a crime that was punishable by death.
Changing places every ten holes, they bored twenty, forty, fifty, sixty. Jeremy, planning it all so carefully beforehand, had measured everything, and reckoned that about ninety holes would weaken the wood so much that it could be gently tapped out. If this were not so, the saw would be used to join one hole to the next until it all gave way. At seventy, when he took over himself again, he tried the wood, inserting his fingertips in the holes, pressing and pulling, but there was no hint of weakness yet. It reminded him of when he was sawing some tree or log at home. You could often saw nine-tenths of the way through and the one-tenth that was left would be as solid and as unyielding as iron. Only at the very last second when the saw had apparently nothing more to work on did the tree suddenly topple. Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip now as the possibility of miscalculation fretted his mind. Suppose this wood was harder than any other. Supposing one got so far and then . . .
‘Wait,’ said Paul, whose turn it was to keep a look out.
They had come to another toll-gate, where an outside passenger climbed down and two others got on. There was a lot of talk and some raillery. It was in a village, and Jeremy guessed it was Menheniot. If that were the case they would be in Liskeard within the hour. Much still to do. A high blast from the horn set the dogs barking, and the coach jerked into motion.
‘Go on,’ said Paul.
Drilling again. They had reached seventy-five and were slightly more than three-quarters of the way round the clock. That is to say the next hole Jeremy bored would be at about twelve minutes to the hour. Not every hole could be exactly equidistant from its neighbour: average gap was about an eighth of an inch, but here and there it widened, here and there the holes had actually joined together. Where the gaps were greatest would be the first places to attack, either with the saw or with additional borings, once the circle was complete.
Another hill was slowing them, slowing them to a stop.
‘Wait,’ said Paul.
Passengers were clambering off the coach. There seemed to be a discussion. Presently there was a tap on the door. Stephen lowered his window and his blind, as the knock was on his side.
Stevens. ‘Beg pardon, sur, the bridge be wanting strengthening acrost this yur stream; so if so be as you and th’other gentleman would care to walk acrost the footbridge downstream; we’d not disturb the leddy, sur; she could stay right where she’s to; but if you and th’other gentleman would walk; we’d not disturb the leddy.’ He peered in at the dark figure in the corner. ‘Twill be better when we get to Liskeard, ma’am; the road be not so pluff for a while then. She’s . . . no worse, I ’ope?’
‘The jolting of the coach is very disturbing,’ said Jeremy. ‘Dearest, you heard what the coachman said?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Paul in a faint voice. ‘Pray do as he says.’
The two men got out and joined the other passengers; they crossed the footbridge in a group and returned to the coach when it was safely over. Jeremy knew his face to be sweaty and flushed, and noticed some flakes of sawdust under Stephen’s fingernails.
‘How long before Liskeard?’ Jeremy asked the coachman.
‘’Bout twenty minutes, sur.’
They all climbed aboard and once again they were off.
Jeremy took the brace from under a cushion and brushed away more sawdust. ‘Not be finished by Liskeard – that’s certain now. You’d better stay in the coach then, Paul, ask not to be disturbed. I’ve never known – do they ever come to brush out the interior or anything of that sort, Paul?’
‘Never. Lucky if it gets brushed out at the end of the day.’
Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one. Four more would complete the circle.
‘It’s my turn,’ said Stephen.
‘Let me finish.’
In five minutes he had finished, knelt back in the confined space on the seat staring at the circle. Then he put his hand in the centre of the clock face and pushed. It remained immovable. Not by a single creak did it give the impression of being under strain. Jeremy exerted his strength. No result.
He handed the brace to Stephen. ‘Join up some of those early holes around five past and ten past.’
Paul said: ‘Let me try the saw at this side while Stephen is doing the other.’
‘All right. But use plenty of grease. And go gently.’
‘We’re slowing again,’ said Stephen.
‘It’s a long climb into Liskeard,’ Paul said. ‘This is the beginning. But the horses will manage it. We don’t need to stop yet.’
So for another five minutes they worked. By then the wood between five past and ten past was cut through in a continuous line; and the saw had joined four holes together at twenty minutes to the hour.
‘That’s enough,’ said Jeremy. He gave the wood another gentle push and thought he detected a slight yielding. But if it did yield now it would be an acute embarrassment, for it might want to fall forward into the coach, pressing the lining outward. ‘Leave it now. It’s a good two hours to Lostwithiel, and we should finish off within an hour. Certain. Important thing now is to get it tidy.’
Four minutes later the shrill note of the horn warned the inn and the post-boys that they were on their way, and a minute or so after that the coach was clattering into the yard of the King’s Arms. Then all was bustle and fuss and noise, climbing down, unloading luggage, bells ringing, porters carrying cases to and from the coach, steaming horses being unharnessed and led away, the fresh ones standing stamping their feet and shaking their heads, ostlers holding reins, shouting and joking among themselves, onward passengers trooping into the hotel to be greeted by Mr Webb, the incumbent, rubbing his fat warty hands and awaiting orders for the light meal they would have time to eat before the coach was due to leave again.
From all this hubbub only the inside of the coach was immune; all the noise and fuss and bustle circled and eddied around it. The blinds had of course been lowered, and the two gentlemen were peering out observing the scene. After a decent interval Lieutenant Morgan Lean touched his cap to the lady and climbed out. A post-boy, having lowered the step, was waiting to hand the lady down, but after a conference only the tall clergyman alighted.
‘My wife’, he said, giving the boy sixpence, ‘is not well and does not wish to be disturbed. I will take a light refreshment and have something sent out to her.’
‘Very good, sur. Thank ee, sur.’
So the two gentlemen followed the rest into the hotel, were quickly spotted by the innkeeper, who had a sharp eye for quality, and given preferential treatment. Mrs May was sent out a cup of beef tea and some butter biscuits.
A trying time. Nothing would hurry on the dragging minutes. After wolfing some sor
t of pie and drinking two glasses of French brandy: ‘brought over special, Reverend, brought over special, if you d’know what I mean’ – Jeremy paid his score and walked back to the coach.
‘D’you want to “retire”?’ he asked ironically.
‘Yes, by God I do!’ said Paul.
‘Then wait till Stephen comes back. We can’t leave the coach unattended. Where are the tools?’
‘Still behind my seat. I’ve wrapped them in the linen but they’re bulky.’
‘No one will look.’
In about ten minutes Stephen was back, the sweat starting from under his white wig.
‘God’s death!’ he said, when he was told what was proposed. ‘We have to risk capital punishment for the sake of your functions!’
‘Well, try it yourself!’ hissed Paul. ‘This whole escapade, by Christ, it is beyond endurance—’
‘Quiet,’ said Jeremy. ‘I’ll help you into the hotel and wait for you.’
The tall frail woman was assisted out of the coach. Her skirt and cloak were so full that they easily concealed any change in her size since she left Plymouth.
An anxious five minutes, and then they made a slow progress back towards the coach. Half way across the yard they observed Stephen and one of the coachmen in earnest conversation, even argument, with a fat elderly man at the door of the coach.
As they came up the coachman – it was Marshall, the senior of the two – said: ‘Ah, Reverend May, sur, a little difficulty ’as arose, as you might say. I trust your wife is enjoyin’ ’er journey with us, sur? I trust you are finding everything to your satisfaction, ma’am.’
Paul did not reply, but made a noncommittal movement of his head.
Marshall said: ‘Ye see, sur, Mr May, sur, as the fourth passenger was supposed t’ve joined us at Torpoint and then could not and sent a message, t’say as ’ow as ’e were going to join us at Liskeard instead, and seeing as ’ow as ’e ’asn’t turned up ’ere neither; and this gent, this Mr – this Mr Rose – thank ee, sur – this Mr Rose d’wish for an inside place on this coach it only seem right that ’e should ’ave it!’
‘Mr Jewell is sure to turn up,’ said Stephen angrily. ‘He told me—’
‘Well, there be but two minutes left, sur. And seeing as there is no sight nor sound of ’im . . .’
‘Did Mr Jewell pay for his seat?’ Jeremy asked.
‘Oh, aye, sur, tis a condition of booking, to pay in advance.’
‘Then I do not think you can re-sell his seat.’
Mr Rose, who had a mulberry complexion that contrasted noticeably with the silver whiteness of his hair, beamed over the top of half-moon spectacles.
‘Beg pardon, Reverend Sir, madam, beg pardon, I’m sure, it is just that as the seat appeared vacant I thought to avail myself of it. Normally I would not concern myself with the cold airs of January but I have a touch of the old cholicky gout and so an interior seat is well worth the extra expense. I trust I shall not be unwelcome in your company or trouble you greatly with my presence. Of course, if the original traveller were still to turn up . . .’
Sixty-odd. Leather breeches, top boots, blue coat with white waistcoat, unstarched white neck cloth, broad-brimmed beaver hat. Jeremy’s tongue froze. If this man came with them the whole elaborate plan was doomed. It would even be unrepeatable, for the guard would notice the holes when he came to take out the cash-boxes; they would see that an attempt had been made and failed; no such attempt could ever be made again. And the obstacle, the unforeseen obstacle to all their plans stood there beaming, all 230-odd pounds of him, solid, irremovable, emanating good will – and spelling ill fortune. Of course the original traveller would not turn up, for he did not exist. They had all agreed that to bring a fourth person into their schemes – lacking someone of their own age, disposition and commitment – would be a mistake. Now they found that their decision had been a greater mistake.
Jeremy said: ‘I have to tell you, sir, that my wife is with child and has suffered already from the effects of this journey. What alone has made it tolerable has been the room she has been allowed, to lie back and occupy two seats on the journey so far. I personally’, he said to Marshall, ‘should be pleased to pay something extra to continue to have this additional convenience for my wife.’
Marshall hesitated and coughed into his hand to hide his embarrassment. The fat Mr Rose looked taken aback, for it was clear that his apologies had been merely by way of introduction and had not meant to be taken seriously. No one seemed quite sure what to say next. Mrs May leaned against her husband and looked frail.
Stephen said: ‘Mr Jewell – when he left word he would not be joining the coach at Torpoint, he said he would for certain join it either at Liskeard or at Dobwalls, he said. So you’d not be able to have an inside seat for very long, sir, seeing that Mr Jewell will be surely turning up at the next stop.’
Mr Rose showed his false teeth in another beaming smile. ‘But that is as far as I go, sir! That is as far as I go! If the little lady would be so kind . . . You’ll appreciate that but for this cholicky gout I should not at all think of inconveniencing her . . .’
In perhaps five seconds every choice open – and its consequences – flashed through Jeremy’s mind. He turned to Paul.
‘My dearest, we cannot be inhospitable to a gentleman in need. Perhaps you may feel restored after your refreshments and your brief rest. At least, let us be accommodating to the coachman and to a fellow traveller. Let us try. If you feel worse we shall have to give up our journey and resume it tomorrow.’
His eye met Paul’s. They both knew that after they reached Dobwalls there was two hours before they stopped in Lostwithiel. Stephen was not so sure of his geography and seemed about to continue the argument, but Jeremy stopped him with a gracious lifting of his hand.
‘Your concern, Lieutenant, is greatly appreciated. But I think in this we must . . . take this decision.’
By now all the other travellers were on the coach. The Reverend Arthur May helped his wife up the step and followed her in. She took the seat whose seat-cushion concealed the tools; he took his place beside her.
‘After you, sir,’ Lieutenant Morgan Lean said grimly and the fat man heaved himself in and took the seat opposite Paul. The whole coach creaked with his weight. After Stephen had got in Marshall folded up the step after him and climbed on to the driver’s seat where Stevens was already flicking his whip. The post-boys relinquished their grip of the horses’ heads and the coach drew out of the yard, lurching and rattling upon the rutted road.
Chapter Eight
I
Mr Rose was a lawyer, and not at all thin-skinned. In spite of his protestations, he did not seem concerned that his conversation might disturb the lady. He lived in Liskeard, he explained, and had been up at five that morning, examining witnesses for the defence in a case of a man recently charged with obstructing a Customs & Excise officer in the performance of his duty, a matter shortly to be heard before a special jury at Launceston Assizes. He was also advising on a case in which two boys were charged with stealing a two-year-old colt valued at £10.10s.0d. and a month-old-calf valued at £2.12s.6d. He was off to Dobwalls now to interview a rich widow of sixty-seven whose affairs he handled and who had set her mind on marrying one of her footmen, aged twenty-two.
Diamond eyes sparkling over the tops of the crescent lenses, he emanated good will but, fortunately, little apparent curiosity as to the business of his fellow travellers. For the most part it was Jeremy he addressed himself to, while Paul lay back under his veil with his eyes closed and Stephen leaned moodily staring out of the window.
Jeremy said, yes, and no, and indeed, sir, and thought: this is a new and unanticipated risk – that this man with his lawyer’s eyes will be in close proximity with us as far as Dobwalls, and will be very well able to remember and describe us. It was not just their clothes he would remember, as the coachmen would, but the colour of their eyes, the shape of their faces, their hands, the flaws in thei
r teeth.
Yet somehow he personally was now too far committed to turn back . . . How long to Dobwalls? How long from Dobwalls to Lostwithiel? And was there a further risk at Dobwalls of some other interfering fool wishing to travel inside? And if so, how could he best be discouraged? In those split seconds of indecision in the hotel yard he had reasoned that it was better to allow this fat old man to stop their work for forty-five minutes than to rouse comment among the other passengers or thought in the mind of the coachmen or the guard. It could hardly be suspicion, but it might just make them think a little more about the three passengers inside and their exclusiveness and the drawn blinds.
‘. . . Failure of all these banks,’ Mr Rose was saying. ‘The Tamar Bank at Launceston, Cudlipp & Co., Hill & Co., Pearce, Hambly & Co. Caused great distress in the area. Poor people have found themselves altogether without victuals. Many others, hitherto in a respectable way of life, persons who have scraped and saved to gather together a few pounds by frugality and by forbearance from the simplest enjoyment, such persons have found themselves living almost upon bread and water, bread and water, sir, finding at a single stroke their little all vanished and themselves reduced to the same state as the improvident, the careless, the lazy, the spendthrift, the drunkard and the glutton. D’you know, sir, I blame Mr Pitt for this! If he were alive today he would observe the fruits of his financial contrivings!’
Dobwalls to Lostwithiel. About nine miles. Two hours to work? Much less because of stops. But one hour would suffice – with luck. It would all depend on the strength of the cash-boxes. Cash-boxes belonging to the bank of Warleggan & Willyams – something to give him the extra motive power – perhaps it was emotive power – to undertake this rash and dangerous adventure.
Through the curtains of his bedroom he had that morning seen the boxes being loaded, before the passengers joined and the rest of the luggage. The boxes had not looked too formidable; but if they proved unopenable in the short term it might be possible to carry them away. That would be very dangerous despite travelling rugs and coats and skirts.
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