Gravedigging. Surely the bishop would react to this revelation? But no, his face remained impassive. While Letty continued speaking Caleb’s eyes darted about the room. He took in what he had not seen before: several decanters of spirits assembled in a neat row on a sideboard. The bishop clearly had a taste for fine living and while Caleb knew little of such things, he could guess that one or two at least would be full of Jamaican rum or fine French brandy. The kind of cargo sometimes brought in by smugglers…
Caleb’s palms had already begun to prickle when he glanced out of the window. In the courtyard at the rear of the palace Caleb saw a ginger-haired youth. He was neatly dressed in the same plum-coloured coat that the other servants wore. The bishop’s man then. Walking, not running. And yet…
It couldn’t be! He was surely mistaken? But no… As the lad turned and crossed the courtyard towards the house Caleb realized with a sickening jolt that this was the very same youth who’d punched Pa in the belly and dropped the stolen purse at his feet.
Caleb looked at the bishop. He opened his mouth to point out the lad, to say he was a thief, but something stopped his speech. Letty was still talking but it was Caleb the bishop watched. The man was corpulent, the flesh of his face puffed out, inflated with fat, like a pig’s bladder will inflate with air. Yet beneath – wasn’t the curve of his cheekbones, the line of his nose somewhat familiar? And the bishop’s eyes, boring into him, fixing him to the spot, like a weasel with a rabbit. No … not a weasel.
A wolf!
Caleb snatched up the bottle of coins and swung it at the bishop’s head.
To knock a man senseless is a ghastly thing. To split flesh, to break bone, to see him fold and fall, taking the table, the food and drink, a pair of chairs to the ground with him – it was enough to leave Caleb trembling. Hell! He’d struck a bishop! A man of God lay at his feet still, unmoving, save for a trickle of blood seeping across the slate floor. He’d just committed a hanging offence!
Letty looked at him as though he had taken leave of his senses. Her mouth dropped wide open and she croaked like a frog. It would have amused Caleb if their situation hadn’t been so perilous.
A man so large couldn’t fall without making a noise. There had been a crack and a thump and a clatter of plate and glass so loud that every servant in the palace must have heard it.
The ginger-haired youth had. He was coming at a run through the courtyard, entering the house, shouting, raising the alarm. If he came here to the study they’d have no chance of escape.
Already there were footsteps in the passage, coming from both the front and the back of the house, a way off yet but rapidly getting closer. Caleb ran to the study door, closed it and turned the great iron key protruding from the lock. Their only means of escape was through the window to the rear.
Picking up a chair and swinging it at the glass, he managed to say to Letty, “The bishop is part of this!” before it shattered, throwing shards across the cobbles.
Without a word, Letty was up on her feet and across the room, seizing a rug from the floor and laying it on the fractured glass in the window’s frame before climbing through. Caleb was a moment behind her and together they ran across the courtyard, out of the gates and over the water meadows towards the river.
It was not long before they were pursued. Letty and Caleb could move fast, but they could not outrun a horse. The ginger-haired lad was mounted and after them in a matter of minutes. If they could only reach the water and the woods beyond they might lose him but he was gaining on them with each step. The ground pounded with hoofbeats. Yet there were two of them and he was alone – was it possible they could overpower him? Caleb glanced back and with horror saw the lad wielded a knife and was pointing it directly at Letty as though this was a cavalry charge, and she the enemy.
They couldn’t avoid him. And yet they could, Caleb thought suddenly, take him by surprise.
Thrusting the bottle of coins at Letty, he kept running but as he ran he unbuttoned his coat, his stride breaking as he slipped it off one arm, then the other. The horse neared. It was almost on top of them when Caleb stopped, turned and flicked his coat towards its face.
The youth had not expected resistance, that much was clear. Startled by the coat’s movement, the horse reared, its hooves thrashing the air, clipping Caleb on the side of the head, knocking him back, before it fell, pulled over by its rider’s weight.
Dazed, Caleb was on his knees, pressing his hand to his cheek, feeling the blood run between his fingers. His sight had momentarily blurred and it was a few moments before he could look about him. The horse was on its feet, unharmed, untroubled by its fall, but the lad lay on the grass, not moving, his leg twisted at an impossible angle to his body. He had fallen on his own knife. It was embedded up to the hilt in his throat.
Letty was white with shock. “We’ve killed him! We’ve killed him.”
Horror hit Caleb like a fist but there was no time for regret. Cries came from the palace. They needed to get away.
Caleb had rarely ridden a horse and never something as fine as this. He put his left foot in the stirrup and hauled himself into the saddle. Reaching a hand out to Letty, he pulled her up behind him. Her arms about his waist, they set off towards the river, fording it, and coming out into the woods beyond. They could not move fast here but amongst the thick vegetation it was more difficult for them to be seen. They wove their way between trees, splashing through another stream, riding in silence, straining to hear the men that followed and then – oh Lord! – came the baying cries of dogs. Caleb’s heart sank, but the horse, clearly used to running with hounds, pricked its ears. It was hard for him to hold it in, for it fought the bit, dancing, sidestepping in its eagerness to be off.
They came to the edge of the wood. Beyond was a stretch of heathland. Caleb didn’t ride well enough to go at full gallop across it but close by was an ancient oak – a great lofty tree with a branch low enough for him to reach from the saddle of the horse. He reined the animal in beneath it and urged Letty to climb. Once she was safely up, he grasped the branch himself, and then, with all his might, kicked the horse in the rump so it went galloping across the heath, bucking in its excitement. Praying that it would not return to its fallen master like a dog, he swung his legs over the branch and began to climb.
The ruse worked. While Letty and Caleb clung to the oak’s rough bark, six men clad in plum-coloured coats passed beneath them, their dogs’ noses to the ground, not looking up. And the horse – bless its foolish, highly-bred hide! – disappeared over the horizon and carried on running in wild glee, thinking itself the leader of the hunt.
10.
Their reprieve couldn’t last long. As soon as the riderless horse was discovered they would be pursued once more. Clambering down from the tree, they splashed along from stream to river so that the hounds would find it harder to pick up their scent. Where the city buildings crowded closely together they emerged from the water and returned swiftly to their lodgings.
Caleb had wounded a bishop, perhaps killed him. The ginger-haired youth was certainly dead. They’d be accused of stealing the horse. If they were caught there would be no saving either of them from the gallows.
What were they to do now? Where in the world were they to go?
Without a word they gathered together theatre and puppets and, leaving a few coins as payment, slipped from the building.
They kept to the back lanes and to the alleyways, moving quickly, Caleb leading the way, thinking only that they must leave Torcester, that they must move on somewhere, anywhere, that they must get beyond the reach of those who would do Letty harm. But where? Think, think! Where had he been with Pa that he and Letty could be safe? Where in the wide world could they hide that Sir Robert would not find them? The man was like a spider, the threads of his silken web reached everywhere.
He paused for a moment to catch his breath, crouching in a doorway at the rear of a tavern with Letty beside him. He didn’t know the back roads, the narro
w paths as well as he’d hoped. He’d thought he was leading Letty out of the city, but now feared he was simply heading into the heart of the labyrinth. He was desperately trying to fathom which direction to go next when she asked him, “Why’d you hit him, Caleb?”
“The bishop?”
“Who else?”
“He’s related to Sir Robert, I believe. Brothers, maybe. Or cousins.”
“Never!”
“He has the same nose, the same high cheekbones. And the same eyes, that wolfish look. When I first saw Sir Robert at church he seemed familiar. That was why.”
“But Caleb, even if they’re related … it doesn’t make the bishop a villain.”
“Do you doubt me?”
“No! I just want to know what made you hit him.”
The crunch of bone. Split skin. Blood. Caleb’s flesh crawled recalling it. It was instinct that had led him. Had he been mistaken? He struggled to explain. “I thought what happened to Pa was bad luck – a terrible accident. That the thief was running scared, dropped the purse, lashed out in panic. But he was there at the palace – he was the lad that rode after us. Pa wasn’t taken by mistake – they chose him.”
“But you said the bishop liked your Pa.”
“And so he did! Only yesterday he said he was a good man. Was a good man, Letty. As though he already knew Pa was dead.” Caleb cast his mind back to the previous spring. “His regard was a sham. Pa was flattered by him. The bishop admired Pa’s new theatre, he spent an age asking about the frame: wanting to know how Pa had got the idea, how he’d managed to build it, whether he’d done it all himself or employed a craftsman…”
Caleb stopped. What did any of it amount to?
Yet Letty was nodding thoughtfully. “Sir Robert would have needed a clever man, someone who could take charge: supervise the building on the island. Your Pa would have been perfect for them.”
“The bishop saved his life and Pa was so grateful, as was I. They played us for fools. Transportation was their intention all along.”
They could talk no more. There were dogs. Barking. Yelping. Distant, but getting louder. The manhunt had turned back towards the city.
Caleb and Letty ran first down one alley, then another. Paths twisted and turned and Caleb became ever more confused. They sloshed through filth, mud, waste – both animal and human. Speed seemed of more importance than discretion and yet with every step the hounds came nearer.
They could hear the shouts of men now too. The cries of women, the excited shrieks of children. People were turning out of their houses, leaving their shops to see what was the cause of so much noise and fuss. Slamming doors. Questions. Word spreading from mouth to mouth.
“Bishop’s been attacked.”
“The bishop?”
“Who by?”
“Darkie.”
“Redhead whore.”
“Did they come this way?”
“No. But if I see them I’ll yell.”
The cause did not matter. Innocence or guilt was immaterial. A chase was afoot and who could resist the thrill of the hunt? With every second that passed, more people joined the pack.
Turning another corner, Caleb at last knew where he was. He’d brought them to the edge of the city. Ahead lay the street that would take them to open fields but the way was blocked. At the end of the alley stood a man, a large stick in his hands. His face was turned away so they ducked into the shadows, pressing themselves flat against a wall, edging back. But before they were quite out of sight he saw them.
“Down here!” he yelled. “I see them!” He lumbered in pursuit, shouting all the while.
They were running flat out now, every remaining scrap of caution thrown to the winds, shoving aside the elderly man in their path, emerging into a broad street. Pursuers were behind them, a hostile crowd ahead.
“Them! That’s them!”
Ducking sideways into the back yard of a large house, they sent chickens flying. There was but one entrance. One exit. Oh God, they were trapped! But no – there was a gate! Yanking it open, Letty tried to run through but instead Caleb seized her by the hand, pulling her the other way towards the coach house, where an empty carriage had been parked, its horses released from the shafts so they could be fed and watered. Squeezing in, crouching on the floor, their pursuers ran on through the gate. For a moment they were safe, but this respite could not last long.
“Where now?” asked Letty.
Caleb had no answer to give her. He hung his head while his mind raced. Think, think, think.
And then the smell of coffee drifted in on the breeze.
They were not far from Porlock’s. Indeed it was just around the corner. Porlock’s. Where the whole damned business had begun.
All Caleb’s fevered, panicked thoughts were gone. He knew with perfect clarity where he and Letty must go next.
11.
Once more Letty looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. “We need to get the hell out of here, Caleb, not sit about sipping coffee!”
“I don’t want to go there for a drink! Letty … a man of business – what does he care about most?”
She laughed bitterly. “Making money.”
“Exactly! And those men – those underwriters – they have been tricked. Made fools of. Do you not think they’ll wish to know it?”
“They’re gentlemen. Would they listen to the likes of us?”
“Their purses have been touched. Where money is involved I think they might make an exception…”
They were agreed. It was a wild, desperate measure, but – if only they could get there without being caught – to Porlock’s they would go.
Yet he and Letty were so easy to identify! Her red hair. His skin. With such a hue and cry in the city there was not a soul who wouldn’t raise the alarm the very second they were seen. It seemed impossible, but the attempt must be made.
For a time they were blessed by providence, for they managed to leave the carriage and cross the courtyard without being observed. Keeping their heads down, walking slowly and steadily as if merely going about their daily work, they passed into the street and along it, rounding the corner without anyone giving them a second glance. Across the square was Porlock’s. Gentlemen were coming and going from there, but their minds seemed only on their own business, not on the pursuit of a pair of vagabonds. Letty and Caleb were within a few yards of the front door when a a man’s yell stopped them.
“Stand still!” He wore a plum-coloured coat. A mastiff on a length of chain was barely restrained at his side. “Stay where you are or you’ll feel his teeth. Don’t move.” He turned his head a little, calling over his shoulder, “They’re here, lads. Come get them.”
Two more of the bishop’s men entered the square carrying sticks. If they’d been constables, Letty and he would have been taken straight to gaol. By the look in these men’s eyes, Caleb doubted they would ever reach there alive.
“Run! Get inside!” he shouted. Letty darted towards Porlock’s but she had not reached the door and Caleb had not gone more than two steps when he heard the sound of a chain being dropped and the scrape of claws on stone. With an eager yelp, the dog bounded towards him.
Caleb turned to face it. As it took a great leap, jaws agape, aiming for his throat he swung the theatre from his shoulder. As he fell backwards with the force of impact the dog’s teeth sank into sack and wood. It did not at first realize its mistake for its jaw was locked, its instinct telling it to hold on hard to its prey. It growled and shook its head from side to side, smashing the theatre against the cobbles, reducing Pa’s masterpiece to firewood and rags.
Caleb had rolled sideways and tried to stand but the bishop’s men were on them now, laying hands upon Letty, pawing at her, swinging a stick against Caleb to knock him back down. He cried aloud, in pain and desperation, “The Linnet!”
Letty followed his lead. As her arm was forced behind her back she screamed, “The Linnet was scuttled.”
“There was no
storm!” Caleb yelled. “You have been robbed!”
The men’s shouts and the commotion all around them were so loud Caleb thought they had not been heard. A great mob of people rained blows upon him with fists and sticks. His arms were over his head so he did not see the gentleman who stepped through the door of Porlock’s.
But he did hear a voice cutting through the chaos, “Desist! Leave the man alone. Let him speak.”
It was with great reluctance that the bishop’s men ceased their attack. But in time they and the dog were brought under control. Whoever had spoken carried enough authority to quell them. As they drew back, he stepped forward and Caleb, getting to his feet, saw before him a gentleman smartly but not gaudily dressed. A gentleman who regarded him with keen interest.
“The Linnet, did you say?”
“I did, sir.”
“And who might you be?”
“Caleb Chappell, sir. And this is Letty Avery.” She stepped forward and slid her hand through Caleb’s arm.
“What do you know of it?” asked the gentleman.
Letty said, “My father was one of the crew.”
“And he spoke to you of the shipwreck?”
“No, he didn’t. But we found out some things. It didn’t happen the way they said in that affidavit.”
The gentleman studied them for some moments. At last he said, “Mr Brimming is my name. I am a magistrate, but I am a man of business too. I was one of the ship’s underwriters.”
“Then you have been deceived, sir, and your money stolen,” Caleb told him. “Do you wish to hear more?”
“I do, but not here in the street. Will you step inside?” He addressed the bishop’s men: “You will wait here. You may yet be needed.”
Picking up the remains of the theatre, Caleb and Letty followed the gentleman into Porlock’s Coffee House.
“Mr Johnson, Mr Bowers?” Mr Brimming nodded towards two other men, who stood as he spoke their names. “Will you come with me?” Addressing Caleb and Letty, he said, “These gentlemen too are underwriters. We are three of those who paid out a considerable amount of money when the Linnet was lost. There is someone else upstairs I believe would be most interested to hear what you have to say. Come, follow me.”
Hell and High Water Page 19