Darius’s committal to Chester Castle was thus far proving to be an ordeal for all concerned. Joshua had told Tabitha a dozen times that the transporting of a notorious murderer to the Michaelmas Sessions would be the most worrisome day of his life. ‘Only when that evil creature is secure in Chester’s dungeon will I be easy again,’ he said.
All the arrangements had fallen upon the constable, commencing with his duty to gather Darius and the key witnesses to the case at Chester Castle by nine of Michaelmas morning. Now, at last, they rattled off towards Chester in a well-ordered cortege. Sir John was carried at the head of the procession in his finest carriage, emblazoned with his coats of arms in shining gold. Around them rode the gentlemen: Doctor De Vallory, the higher servants, a few prominent neighbours, and to Tabitha’s surprise and pride, Nat Starling, mounted on Jupiter and wearing his best gold-laced coat and hat. Next in line was the prisoner’s conveyance, an ancient black mourning carriage with opaque blinds to hide its inmate from the curious. Then came the third carriage, carrying Tabitha and Jennet, along with Mr Dilks, whose gout prevented him from riding, with the labouring men, who might be called as witnesses to finding Master Francis’s body, sitting on the outside.
It was a dull, white-skied day, the air moist and heavy. The carriages rattled along the die-straight Roman road, passing many a fine brick farm and collection of cottages. Thankfully, Mr Dilks soon fell asleep, still weak from having recently been bled. Tabitha tried to assemble a clear statement in case the judge called upon her, but continual worries interrupted her thoughts. Joshua had advised her not to take Bess, so she had asked Nanny Seagoes – but she had fallen sick. When Nell Dainty called and offered to mind the child, Tabitha had been nonplussed. The woman had sauntered around her mother’s parlour, scrutinizing the fireplace and tea table, and even the contents of her mother’s lace-edged shelf.
‘So when is it you be leaving?’ Nell Dainty had asked bluntly.
She had an agreement with Dilks to stay until the start of this new-fangled year – no longer Lady Day in March; the new year was now to change to 1753 on the first day of January – but Tabitha was damned if she was going to give Nell Dainty that promise.
‘When I’m good and ready,’ she had replied.
Nell hadn’t faltered; only walked to the window, and examined the view with a discontented sniff.
‘Will you mind Bess for me, then?’
Mistress Dainty had nodded sourly. ‘I’ll bring my knitting. I might even clear some of those dandelions you’ve let sprout all over the garden.’
Venomous drab! Tabitha had bitten her tongue so hard she nearly drew blood.
‘The constable has said I might have to sleep over in Chester if I’m not called the first day.’
Nell lifted the tea caddy’s lid and inspected the contents. ‘Staying away all the night then, is it now? Well, if that’s what the constable wants; he’s a widower, I suppose,’ she’d said spitefully. ‘Get some more tea in, then. And leave plenty of chopped wood for a fire. If I need to do the doctor’s work, I’ll take the little maid with me.’
It was only now, when Tabitha had leisure to sit and reflect, that she wondered what the devil she had been thinking. How would Bess get on, abandoned to that cratchety busybody?
A rap came at the window, interrupting her thoughts. It was Joshua on horseback, looking tired and ill-shaven.
‘The roads are full today; we must stay tight together. We may be slower, but it’s safer. A few of the rabble have turned out to try to get a sight of the prisoner.’
Dilks woke, blinking peevishly. ‘They should think on their eternal souls and behave more decently.’
‘They know he is innocent,’ protested Jennet.
‘Now is not the time, Jennet,’ scolded Joshua through the window.
‘Here, take some barley water,’ said Tabitha. ‘Keep up your strength, girl, or I shall have to give you a dose of the doctor’s black remedy.’
Jennet gave a derisive laugh. ‘That vile stuff? It made me feel half-dead, so I threw it in a ditch.’
Rising to adjust the window, Tabitha saw that a press of carts and barrows had gathered around them. An old man standing at the roadside called out to the prisoner’s coach, ‘God have mercy on your wicked soul!’
Now a couple of beggarly lads jeered at it, throwing clods of earth. Joshua trotted his horse towards them, waving his constable’s staff. Then Tabitha saw his shoulders slump – what had he seen in their path?
A minute later, they were stuck tight in the middle of the market crowd, inching down the slope of Handbridge towards the river. The ancient Dee bridge, barely a wagon’s width in extent, was filled with a great crowd, jostling among packed carts and carriages. At the further end, a herd of cattle was being sluggishly counted off the bridge through the tollgate. As the clamour grew riotous, a few opportunist hawkers began crying their wares.
Tantalizingly close, at the far side of the broad river, Chester Castle stood on a steep green hill, a mass of square castellated towers, mighty walls and semi-circular bastions. Tabitha had never ventured inside its walls before; her curiosity stirred, along with the natural apprehension of any free spirit on entering a prison. Nat circled back and doffed his hat to her as he passed. Squeezing open the glass, she called after him, asking how long their progress might take. She watched him caress Jupiter’s neck with long soothing strokes and heartily wished it was her own throat he touched.
‘Perhaps ten minutes, or it could be half an hour. Saxton is trying to hurry the toll-men.’
His gaze met hers and held it in a long look that said more than a hundred cumbersome words. Then, to her annoyance, a boy with an overloaded barrow pushed up behind them, and Nat was forced to pull away again.
Ten minutes later, they rattled on to the bridge, surrounded by marketgoers. At her first sight of the castle Jennet had again begun bewailing Darius’s fate, prompting Mr Dilks to start up a lecture on the Devil, until Tabitha heartily wished that Old Nick himself might make a visit and carry off the parson. In spite of the stink from the riverside tanneries, she stood again at the window, admiring the straight line of Nat’s back in the saddle. He was certainly one of the most engaging men she had ever met.
Would Nat know where she might best sell the skull timepiece? she wondered. That morning, pulling it out of its hiding place under her mother’s eaves, she had been impressed anew by its elaborate gold chasing and its hefty weight of solid silver. Swinging it back and forth on its chain, she had at first intended to bring it to Chester to pawn, for she was much in need of funds. But it was too notable an object for the pawnbrokers of Chester, and she wished in no way to risk a spell in the cells herself. Instead, she decided to wait until she could lay it out with a trusted second-hand man off Covent Garden.
A sudden high-pitched scream cut through the hubbub, and she leaned out to peer through the crowd. The sound had been made by a horse, ahead of them on the bridge. Cries of protest erupted, along with the clash of metal horseshoes on stone cobbles. A melee of carts, carriages and frightened people pressed dangerously close on the bridge. Momentarily, she glimpsed the cause of the chaos.
‘Jennet,’ she said, reaching for the girl’s hand. ‘Mr Dilks, Sir John’s carriage has hit the parapet.’
The grand armorial carriage had twisted sideways, blocking the only exit to the Chester gate. Then Tabitha saw why: the lead horse of Sir John’s carriage was rearing in its traces, screaming and terrifying the rest of the team. Mr Dilks pushed her aside, hogging the window glass.
‘Should we get out?’ Jennet asked, clutching at Tabitha’s skirts like a child.
‘I think not. It’s too great a crowd.’ At that moment, they felt their own carriage rock as the barrow-boy attempted to force his way past them. Tabitha went to the opposite window, where people were crying out in alarm, fearful of being crushed against the parapet.
Jennet sat down, trembling and very pale. Looking out again, Tabitha saw that the boy had climbed
on to his own handcart to avoid being crushed by the surging mass. Then, all in a fleeting moment, she saw a swarthy woman in a chequered shawl mount the parapet and dive down into the river below, showing curiously large bare feet.
‘Mother Mary,’ she whispered to herself, wondering if they must soon follow suit and leap into the fast-flowing river. Would it be worse to tumble into the water inside the coach or trust to their own limbs and dive unencumbered? Then a loud ‘Huzzah!’ rose from the crowd and a man cried out, ‘They’ve cut the traces. The beast has galloped all the way to the Market Cross.’
A flash of red signified a band of soldiers arriving from the castle. To a chorus of commands, they were soon at work shifting Sir John’s carriage.
The company from Netherlea made a sorry procession up to the castle, leading the skittering horses while the militia hauled the carriage up the drawbridge. At last they came into the first of the castle courtyards. Tabitha looked about at the half-ruined dreariness of it: the square Roman towers, curtain walls, ancient chapel and the prison. Even the once magnificent Shire Hall, seat of the ancient Earls of Chester, was in need of repair.
‘It is very quiet here,’ Mr Dilks said testily. A moment later a stout man in a dressing wrapper and bed cap emerged from a doorway.
‘Faithful Thomas,’ Mr Dilks remarked. ‘He is behind-times to be slouching about half-dressed at this hour.’
As she dismounted from the carriage, Tabitha overheard Mr Thomas beg Sir John’s pardon.
‘Nay, it is not the assizes today, your lordship. They are still to be held at Old Michaelmas Day on the tenth of October. The Justices don’t come here till the tenth – there was a declaration that the assizes should remain as they always was, in the Old Style. We have been made all topsy-turvy, even before you came along. Parliament forgot we elect our Lord Mayor at St Denis’s Day, and now there must be another Act of Parliament to put it right.’
Across the way, Nat caught her eye; Tabitha gave a tiny shake of her head, signifying disbelief. De Angelo had printed the wrong date of the assizes in hundreds of almanacks, and apparently brought them all to confusion.
‘Do you jest, sir?’ Sir John was growling like an old lion, telling the gaoler he’d be damned if he would take any further responsibility for the prisoner.
‘Throw him in the Black Hole, for all I care. And throw that almanack writer in there with him, for wasting our time.’
All turned to survey the battered mourning coach, its blinds still drawn and quiet within. At Mr Thomas’s signal, the turnkey and three guards marched over in readiness to accompany the prisoner to his cell. Tabitha held Jennet tight, wary of the girl’s making some lamentable spectacle.
But when the turnkey opened the carriage door, musket in hand, no one emerged. Stepping inside, he gave a cry for assistance, and half-carried the tottering form of Godfrey, the mild-mannered Netherlea gaoler, out on to the cobbles. The poor fellow was dazed and bound about the eyes and wrists. The doctor hurried forward to loosen his bonds and sit him up to get some air.
Amid cries of ‘What Devil’s work is this?’ a series of articles were carried from the carriage, each telling their own tale: here was Darius’s coat, and here a chisel and file, of the type he handled daily in his work. Finally, the iron chains were lifted out and cast upon the ground.
‘Fetch ale for this man,’ Sir John cried, and Godfrey drank noisily, struggling for breath.
‘When did the attack occur, my man?’ Sir John was struggling to contain his fury.
‘It were by Ord Farm, before we come to Handbridge, my lord. That ruffian hit me on the head, bound me and tied a blindfold upon me. From the sound of him, he used his tools to set himself free and pulled on fresh clothes. I fear some wicked accomplice hid those articles in the well of the coach.’
‘A curious coincidence,’ Nat said quietly, ‘that we were shortly after delayed on the bridge.’
‘Yes, Nathaniel,’ Sir John agreed wearily. ‘The timing is remarkable.’
Tabitha did not have time to think before she spoke.
‘Begging your leave, Sir John. And sirs,’ she added. ‘When we were on the bridge I saw a swarthy woman in a chequered head cloth. It is possible – no, I am sure of it.’
‘Tabitha.’ Sir John eyed her reprovingly. ‘Explain yourself.’
‘Her feet were bare. I saw them as she, or it might have been he, leapt off the bridge into the Dee. Bare-naked they were, and very large and dirty.’
When Joshua and a band of soldiers had been dispatched to search the river and its environs, Sir John announced they might all take their leisure until four o’clock, when at least some of the party must return to Netherlea.
Tabitha looked into the coach and picked up one of Darius’s boots. As she had guessed, a hobnail was missing, of just the size of that stud of metal she had found by her mother’s fireplace.
A low whistle drew Tabitha towards a doorway outside the Gaoler’s quarters. It was Nat, beckoning to her to join him.
‘Tabitha, I’m taking the London coach now. If there’s no trial, I must be on my way at once.’ She gazed at him, feeling witless – and wondering again why he needed to leave in such haste. ‘Well done. You had the sharpest eyes of all. Will you write to me?’
She nodded. ‘And will you make enquiries about who printed the almanack?’
‘Nothing will prevent me.’
Without quite knowing how it happened, she was suddenly locked in his arms and their lips met in a sudden, plunging kiss; then he pulled away as fast again, looking down into her face with a breathless smile.
‘What was that?’ she asked.
‘The seal on my contract to return, lady. I shall be back for more.’
TWENTY-THREE
A Riddle
Lo! Here I stand with double face,
My name exalted in high place;
A creature, symbol or a crown,
Identifies me round the town.
I see below me all mankind:
In search of comfort of a liquid kind,
While some give out that I entice
To lust, and luxury, and dice,
And diverse oaths on me inflict,
Because they find their pockets picked.
Though I’m a comforter to many lives
’Tis said I steal health, wealth and wives.
The 29th day of September 1752
Michaelmas (New Calendar)
Luminary: Sun sets at 6 apparently, allowing for refraction.
Observation: Saturn sets at 9 at night.
Prognostication: Men of viperous and sordid principles will be active.
Happy to be at liberty, Tabitha and the rejoicing Jennet set off up Bridge Street, picking their way through milling shoppers, wooden barrows and straw baskets strewn with every sort of commodity. The barking dogs and ceaseless din of hawkers crying their wares gave Tabitha a chance to collect her wits before she spoke to the girl.
Where had Darius run to? She found herself eyeing dark corners of the galleried rows that stretched above the shops and bundled shapes behind lines of laundry and heaps of goods. No, once Darius had reached the river’s shore, he must have struck out into the countryside. Or would he linger here, in the faceless crowds, where a stranger would not be remarked upon? Having witnessed his escape unnerved her; she recalled his vicious black eyes raking her countenance and was surprised to realize how much peace of mind the prospect of his imprisonment had brought her.
They halted at a linen stall but nothing pleased Tabitha in the prim array of shirt pieces and handkerchief squares.
‘I want a drink,’ she said, glancing down one of the town’s gloomy passageways. ‘The White Lion should be lively.’
She failed to mention that The White Lion was the inn where Nat would wait for the London coach. She could still feel a lingering but pleasing soreness upon her lips, and even more powerfully, a hastening within her body, like the release of a wheel that might spin away, who knew where.
r /> The inn was as she remembered it: smoky, comfortable, and crowded with men. She looked about for Nat but saw no sign of him. It was difficult to believe that a mere six – or was it seven? – weeks had passed since she had walked through those doors in all her flash rig-out, straight off the London coach. Again, heads turned to inspect both her and Jennet: idle, lingering, drunken appraisals. It made Tabitha want to spit in those wretches’ eyes to see how they leered at the girl. Jennet was no more than a child; and as for herself, dressed in her mother’s homespun, she was scarcely looking for business.
Settling her charge down on a stool, she went to confirm that the London coach had left on time, and to order a brandy for herself and a barley water for Jennet. On her return, two ill-favoured carters were attempting to coax Jennet to drink from their ale jug. The younger one, a snub-nosed baboon, said, ‘You two turned plenty of heads when you come in here.’
‘Aye, and no doubt you two turned plenty of stomachs,’ Tabitha snapped back. ‘Be off with you.’ With surly expressions, they disappeared.
‘I didn’t fetch you any brandy,’ she said tartly, ‘for I can see you are tipsy enough with joy.’
Jennet nodded, beaming. ‘It’s like a miracle. Like Darius said, it was foretold in the stars that he would never go to trial.’
Tabitha rapidly downed the rough spirits, enjoying the pleasant burn in her gullet.
‘And what do you suppose he meant by that?’
‘That he is innocent, of course.’ She suddenly brimmed with laughter. ‘The way you spoke to those two men.’ She giggled.
‘That’s what most of them deserve. You need to know that before you throw yourself at a young devil like Darius.’
Jennet sipped her barley water, eyeing her friend. ‘You told me you were ill-treated in London. Is that why you don’t like men?’
Tabitha laid her head back against the panelled wall and closed her eyes. Why in Hell’s name had she told the girl that?
‘And how did you get away from that dreadful place?’ Jennet insisted.
The Almanack Page 15