Chapter Thirty-Five
The George, one of London’s great coaching inns is one of the treasures of London. It is the last remaining galleried inn in London and is now owned by the National Trust but leased to a private company who use it as a public house. The building was mentioned by Charles Dickens in Little Dorrit; it dates from 1677 and its rooms overlook a cobbled courtyard.
The Coach Roads to Brighton by Geoffrey Hewlett, 2014
I woke in a sweat and troubled of mind. Rising before dawn broke, I washed my megrims away before sitting by the window watching for the sky to lighten until, at last, we were ready to leave for the coach. Charley and another lad walked alongside us with our boxes loaded onto a hand cart. We had said a melancholy goodbye to Prickship who was very despondent at our leaving him, but by the time we got to the coach we were more cheerful, or at least Mrs. Campbell became so; I was anxious all the time about Cecilia’s letter and the terrible news it contained. I kissed Charley goodbye and laughed at his blushes as I waved him off. Initially, we had the coach to ourselves, so we made it comfortable; if the gentleman lawyer was coming he had better make haste. There were four further passengers booked along the route at a place called Kennington, but they were not to be inside with us. At the last moment Charley’s pa looked in and said we were still waiting for our lawyer but then, as a horn blew, he climbed up onto his high seat and gathered the reins - just as the tardy passenger clambered into the coach. We were off.
Our companion was very gentlemanly, doffing his hat and removing his gloves to shake hands. Mrs. Campbell thawed her gimlet eyes and chatted and simpered for all she was worth. His name was Sir Magnus Crisp. He was clearly an important man and we were reassured that he would be pleasant company – much more pleasant than if it were just Mrs. Campbell and me!
The coach lumbered through the congested streets, heading for London Bridge and as we crossed the great sullen river, I allowed myself a little hope for reaching Lewes safely despite the frightening pictures conjured up by Charley’s pa.
Sir Magnus kindly kept us advised of all that was worth seeing and after we got used to the jolting and creaking, we settled down to watch the world lurch by at such speed that it made me feel quite woozy. We left behind the bustle of busy thoroughfares, and as we were then going through quiet and lonely woodland, we all stopped our chatter and I, at least, was looking through every copse and behind every bush for a highwayman. Sir Magnus had placed a gun in the luggage sack over our heads and I felt very anxious when he got up and lifted it down, putting it carefully on his knees.
‘Nothing to worry yourselves about, ladies, but this area is notorious for robbers and it is best to be prepared,’ he said. ‘If you look to your right in a few moments, you will see the gibbet where the nefarious Jonas Pike ended his days. I should cover your noses if I were you - the air will doubtless be a little ripe.’
I tried not to look but my eyes were relentlessly drawn and I gasped in horror as I saw what remained of a man hanging in strips and tatters, his flesh shredded and mottled by scavenging birds and the weather. ‘Ripe’ was not the word I would have used, but even with my knowledge of putrefying flesh, I retched. Mrs. Campbell didn’t turn a hair as she announced that she had seen it all before onboard ship when men had been hanged. Irritated by her manner and all the making-up to our companion, I cut in with, ‘I can’t believe your husband, Captain Campbell, would have left a man hanging until he dropped, Madam.’
She looked coldly at me before admitting that he would have been cut down as soon as he was dead. Sir Magnus Crisp looked from one to the other of us and a little smile played on his lips. After that, she didn’t speak to me until Charlotte began to murmur and even then, it was with an acid tongue that she requested I hand down her changing things.
We stopped at Kennington and she took Charlotte into the public house to feed and change her clouts in the lady’s lounge. The coach didn’t stop for long, but it was long enough for the baby’s comfort and to pick up the extra outside passengers.
After Kennington, the air cleared and the countryside was pretty, but we had not gone far before we had to alight for the first time to allow the coach easier passage up hill and down dale. We passed through the delightful villages of Brixton and then Streatham, but every time we had to get out, it meant walking in the draught of the dry road and rolling wheels, so were soon very dusty. The relentless jolting of the carriage was also having a bad effect on my neck and shoulders.
I noticed that our companion kept his gun by him and maintained a watchful eye whenever we passed through copses or thickets, which was nearly all the time. I could feel the increasing pain in my back, shoulders and neck and wished that I was anywhere other than in this shuddering contraption. Whilst it was dirty tramping alongside the coach, at least I could stretch the aches and stiffness away. We passed through Croydon and Godstone, stopping where necessary to water the horses and to allow us to buy some small refreshment at roadside inns, but there was always a sense of urgency to be on our way as soon as possible. After Godstone we left the heavy toil of the North Downs before heading to East Grinstead and our companion was able to describe the route and the nature of the towns and villages we passed through. When the coach was on hard, high ground we travelled at some speed; but it was when we dropped into valleys that had ghylls or streams at their base that we were liable to get stuck in deep mud, and again to have to get out of the coach while the men encouraged the horses to pull through the sticky clags; it was either that or dig us all out!
I was thankful to get through the worst of the highwayman’s haunts and it was with great relief that we came out of a wet Ashdown Forest. Looking ahead, I could see the South Downs where the hard chalk surface would allow us to pick up some of the time lost while we were stuck in the mire. But as we came near Chailey, the ground dipped again into woods and bog; once more we were compelled to scramble to the ground. Well, Sir Magnus and I got out, leaving Mrs. Campbell to feed Charlotte as we picked our way alongside. Apparently, we were unlikely to meet with highwaymen there as we were now too far from the riches of London and the local people were too poor to be worth robbing. I was greatly relieved to hear this and, for all my anxiety, I couldn’t help but feel excited. I began to talk to my companion of some of my recent adventures. He was quite taken by what had happened to me and made me promise to call on him, care of The Star in Lewes, should I ever be in need. I didn’t know whether he meant his legal services or services in general. I felt him to be an honourable man and I agreed to stay in touch. At the back of my mind, once Beth was returned to me - as surely, she would be - was the thought that I might have to fight the Coads for her care. He said he would be in Lewes every six or so weeks and would send me word at the Elwoods if he had time to venture from his lodgings.
When we came to the tiny hamlet of Offham and the final toll house, I was sitting on the edge of my seat almost overcome with impatience. At last we pulled up at The Star in Lewes and our tortuous journey was over. I thanked Charley’s pa for getting us safely home and hoped I would see him again sometime. Sir Magnus Crisp had already disappeared and once our luggage was dropped off into the hotel, I had a brief moment to look around and sniff the familiar and welcoming air of wonderful, wonderful Lewes.
Chapter Thirty-Six
One notorious highwayman whose body was hanged in chains at Kennington was Jerry Abershaw described as a ‘debonair crepe-masked highwayman who was remarkable for his audacity’. He was hanged on 3rd August 1795; his body remaining in place as a warning to others.
The Coach Roads to Brighton by Geoffrey Hewlett 2014
The main bar at The Star was heaving with big, loud gentlemen who all seemed to be shouting, and I had to push my way through. As I did so, I felt my arm pulled and angrily turned to berate my accoster. It was Billy-alone.
‘Oh, Billy, thank heaven!’ I cried. ‘I am so glad to see you.’ I clutched at him, relief flood
ing over me.
‘Me too, Miss, I be that glad to see you safe and back with us, an’ you lookin’ so different, like,’ he said. ‘I have the carriage waiting for you. Will you come now? Mrs. Elwood is beside herself and desperate to see you, and Farmer Elwood too. They been waiting for days - we expected you afore, like.’
He was looking hard at me and I suppose he was shocked at seeing my hair which, though partly hidden by my hat, was obviously shorter than when we last met. He had changed too; he was taller and didn’t look so boyish. There were lines of maturity round his mouth and eyes and I was shocked to see a sadness in his look despite his warm welcome. I asked after Cilla, hoping that they were together still.
We struggled back through the throng and I pushed and shoved to make them move out of my way. I wasn’t the meek and mild woman who had left this town.
‘I have to settle Mrs. Campbell and Charlotte into rooms at The White Hart,’ I said. ‘We wrote from London to book, but I thought to bring them to South Farm first to introduce them.’
‘Mrs. Elwood particular asks that you bring them with you. I’m to see their bags are taken to their room and say the carriage will bring them back later, like’.
‘Billy, I have missed you so. How is everyone?’
‘Mrs. Elwood wants to tell you everything herself, Miss. I promised faithfully to bring you home and not to chatter on the way.’
He didn’t look at me, but I knew he was anxious, fidgeting and keeping his eyes on the floor instead of at me.
‘Alright, Billy, I won’t pester you,’ I said. ‘Let’s get back home.’ How I relished saying that word – home.
In no time we were away. The Elwoods’ carriage was a good deal more comfortable than the one we had travelled from London in.
My heart quickened as the horses drew nearer to South Farm and as we clattered into the stable yard, I was so overcome that I felt almost breathless.
Billy jumped down and held the horse’s heads as both Mrs. Campbell and I stepped out. Charlotte had slept through the last hours of our journey and was just beginning to murmur - I left them with Billy and ran to the front door which stood open and waiting for me. Cecilia and Farmer Elwood were in the drawing room and as I ran in they rose and came towards me with their arms outstretched. We all clung together; I was so thankful to be back with them. Then I stood back and cried, great gulping sobs that wouldn’t stop, full of relief that I was home at long, long, last, even though it was a home that didn’t have Beth in it.
Cecilia crumpled into a chair and it was then that I noticed how white and dreadfully thin she was. I pulled myself together and knelt at her side, filled with fear for Beth and sorrow for what Cecilia had been put through. Billy came in with Charlotte in his arms and introduced Mrs. Campbell to Farmer Elwood while I tried to get some control over my emotions.
Farmer Elwood was speaking to Mrs. Campbell; I heard him welcome her and offer refreshments. It was late in the day and brandy and wines with small tarts were brought in but still Cecilia had not spoken. We just looked at each other; she unable to tell me how Beth had gone and I unable still to believe it.
‘What happened?’ I finally asked, my voice quivering.
John Elwood replied as Cecilia buried her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
‘We went to Coad Farm, Esther, as soon as the stable boy raised the alarm. By the time we got there, and it was only an hour after you rode out of South Farm, they had gone and you with them. We found no trace of Beth or you. The place was deserted, the range was cold. We searched every room, every barn, every hayrick.’
I nodded and explained that I had only been there for a few minutes, which was all it took to bind and throw me into a cart.
I felt someone at my side; it was Cilla, with a small tray and a glass of brandy. I took it and hugged her.
He continued, ‘We called in men from other farms, the justice’s men and the constabulary, and searched the district nearby but it was as if you had never been there. We found no tracks. Flossy was found wandering down the river - clearly, she had been turned loose from somewhere, probably Coad Farm, but we did wonder if in fact you had never made it to the farm. Perhaps you’d been intercepted on the way, so we widened the search but still found nothing. We have been living in a nightmare ever since. My dear wife has been ill and at one point I feared for her life, she was so distraught. Esther, we thought you were dead, and Beth, too. Our only hope throughout has been that no bodies have been found, which made it seem possible you were both still alive.’
His face reddened and his eyes glistened. I could see how devastated he, Cecilia and the whole household had been for all the weeks I had been gone. It explained why Billy looked so sad. Farmer Elwood motioned to Cilla and she took the brandy round again to everyone in the room before he went on with his explanation.
‘Lewes people searched for you both for miles around. Everybody knew the smugglers had gone too far this time and good, law-abiding folk have sought you up and down in every village, every barn and outhouse, even in Kent where there is another gang of smugglers. We received word from a Lewes man, who knows them, that it was not their doing. When we finally pinned down Farmer Coad and his sons, they flatly denied having seen you or being involved with anyone who might do you harm. They had alibis.’ He swallowed another drop of brandy before going on. ‘But then, we had a small breakthrough, and between then and the time we received your letter, Cecilia has gradually recovered her strength and we have all learned to hope again.’ He pulled his handkerchief from a pocket and blew his nose loudly. ‘That was the worst part – the loss of hope.’
I raised my eyes to his, my voice steady. ‘What was the breakthrough?’
He turned to Billy. ‘Would you tell Esther what happened, Billy?’
‘Aye, yessur, I be out in fields one day overlooking the sheep. It were about three weeks after you disappeared. I saw someone creepin’ ’long the hedge and I watched for a while afore I realised it be that young Coad boy. He was watching me watching him and then he legged it and I couldn’t catched him. I went back to where he was first off and found a piece of a bill and on the back was some writing. It was tucked into your boots. I brought it back to Mrs. Elwood and she sent for the Master.’
‘Here, Esther, is the piece of paper. Perhaps you would like to read it yourself?’ Farmer Elwood passed it to me and I read it aloud:
Beth is with me and we be leavin’. They will kill us if they find me like they killed my ma. DON’T TELL. If her mama comes back I will know. She is safe with me. I asked a friend to writ this. He will tell me any news.
There was no name on the bottom of the scribbled note, but I could hear him saying those desperate words. I looked around, weary unto death and unable to move my limbs. Cecilia reached out to me and I collapsed into her arms and wept.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Notice is hereby given that the Lewes One Day STAGECOACH or CHAISE sets out from The Talbot Inn in the Borough on Saturday next, the 19th instant. When, likewise, the BRIGHTHELMSTONE STAGE begins. Performed (if God) permits James BATCHELOR
Sussex Weekly Advertiser and Lewes Journal 1750/1806
I had been at South Farm for two days and I was still unable to comprehend how Job Coad could have spirited Beth away and kept her safe without anyone knowing or telling. His family - Farmer Coad and his two brothers - must have sought him high and low, wanting to get to him before he told everything he knew about their way of life, and their crimes. How could a young boy hide with a small child? How could he feed her, dress her and not be noticed by someone?
As I lay in my bed, unable to get up and unable to stop crying, I eventually concluded that he must have had accomplices and especially one that was female. Only a woman would be able to care for Beth in a way that would not draw attention; a woman perhaps who was claiming that Beth was her niece, or a childless woman desperate for one of
her own. The idea pushed itself into every corner of my brain and I decided it was time to stop lingering abed and get on with looking for a woman who could harbour a child without raising anyone’s suspicions.
I rose, washed and combed my short curls before heading for Cecilia’s rooms, bursting in full of determination. I found her lying on her daybed. She was dreadfully pale, and it came as a further shock to realise not only how much she had suffered but how much she continued to do so. I rang the bell and asked Cilla to bring some of my special tea if there was any left, also requesting that Freddie and the baby be brought to us. It was time to get back some sense of normality if we were to make a plan and carry it through.
Freddie had grown since I was taken. He hid behind Mary-Jane’s skirts at first instead of running to me as he would normally have done. I dropped to the floor and called to him gently before he suddenly rushed at me and put his little arms tight around my neck.
He smelled so good, my heart nearly burst with love for him as I stroked his blonde curls. Mary-Jane laid Felicia in a crib alongside Cecilia. She was fast asleep and only whimpered a little as she was turned; she was not so tiny now, either.
‘Thank you, Mary-Jane,’ I said. ‘I am glad to see you are well. I will look after the children for now and call you when they are ready to return to the nursery.’
‘Yes, Miss, happy to see you, Miss.’ Everyone still called me Miss.
I pulled Freddie up onto my knee and when Cilla returned with the tea tray, he was very pleased to see the sweetmeats.
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