The House Called Hadlows

by Victoria Clayton

  They came to the mouth of the hatchway and Sebastian began to climb down the rope ladder, a very difficult thing to do on a pitching ship. The smell in the hold was overpowering. Six inches of water, thick with rotting vegetable matter, splashed over his shoes. He took the small chest which the sailor handed to him and began to struggle up the ladder again.

  ‘Come on, Mr Jones. What’s up with you?’ called the sailor from below. ‘I’ve seen you go up that ladder like a brace of monkeys’ tails.’

  Sebastian attempted to go faster but he wasn’t used to the roll of the ship yet and it was his first encounter with a rope ladder. He was very interested to know what year this was and wondered how he could find out without raising any suspicions.

  ‘How long have you been at sea now, Mr Greville?’ he asked.

  ‘Eighteen years come this October, sir. I was signed on as cabin boy in 1671, when we were having all that trouble with the Frenchies.’

  Sebastian did some rapid addition.

  That made it now 1689. He tried to remember his history. 1660, Charles the Second, 1685, James the Second, 1689, William and Mary.

  So he was Midshipman Jones in the Navy of William of Orange. His history took him no further than this. He would have to try and pick up things as he went along.

  ‘Look, sir. London on the starboard bow.’

  Sebastian saw that they were now within sight of land and he could just make out the outlines of a city to the right of them.

  ‘The tide’s out, sir, we’ll have a long row in,’ said Greville. ‘I wouldn’t miss the sight of those jewels for anything, though.’

  There was a shout from above them. ‘Let the anchor go! Heave to!’

  At once a swarm of sailors appeared on the deck and Greville ran to join them.

  Sebastian hovered in the background, not having the least idea what a midshipman’s duties were when it came to anchoring a ship. Some of the sailors climbed the masts and hauled the sails up to the yardarms. Others threw ropes over the side and let out the anchor cable. Then the ship gave a shudder and slowly became still, apart from the motion of the sea. A small boat was lowered over the side.

  ‘Come on, Mr Jones, sir,’ said Greville, as he came over and picked up the chest. ‘We must look sharp. The captain’s in one of his moods and won’t stand no delay.’

  Sebastian went to the rails and began to climb down the ladder into the boat. Four sailors, including Greville, followed him, and last came a man in uniform decorated with gold braid, obviously the captain. The chests were lowered down to them in a canvas sling and then the boat was pushed away from the side of the ship.

  ‘Hold it!’ shouted the captain. ‘I’ll not go without the ship’s cat. It’s bad luck for the captain to be afloat without a cat.’

  The sailors cursed under their breaths and rowed back to the ship. The sling was lowered again and a great black cat with white paws sprang into the boat.

  ‘Right, take her away!’ shouted the captain.

  ‘Lot of superstition,’ muttered one of the sailors.

  ‘Get on with the rowing, Bates, and leave the talking to me,’ said the captain. ‘My father was a sea-captain and his father before him. Neither of them would set foot in a boat without a cat along of them and both died in their beds, which is more than can be said for most seafarers.’

  He tickled the cat’s chin with a stumpy forefinger.

  It was an extremely warm day and the sun was reflected blindingly off the surface of the water. The captain urged the men forward and soon they were glistening with sweat from the effort of rowing over the choppy water.

  Sebastian knew they must be on the Thames, but it looked very different from the last time he had seen it. Small buildings crowded down to the water’s edge in a ramshackle way, quite unlike the order of Victorian England. He soon saw a building which he recognized. Four solid walls of stone stood on a slight hill above the river and from the top a flag fluttered in the breeze. It was the Tower of London.

  They rowed past a dark and gloomy channel, the entrance of which was through a portcullis, studded with iron.

  ‘Traitor’s Gate,’ said Greville to Sebastian. ‘I pity the poor devils who’ve gone into the Tower that way.’

  The boat drew up alongside the wharf and everyone got out. Coming down the hill to meet them were four men on horses. They wore flat black hats and crimson uniforms bound with gold. In their hands were long poles tipped with spikes. The captain spoke to one of them. Then the crew were instructed to fall into line. Escorted by the horsemen they made their way in procession up the hill to the Tower, the ship’s cat following behind.

  One of the horsemen said something to the guards at the main gate who then stood aside and allowed them to pass through.

  Sebastian found himself in a large courtyard. The main tower, which Sebastian had seen from the river, dominated many smaller ones within the high surrounding walls. Although he had lived in London all his life he had never been into the Tower and he looked about him with interest. The courtyard was full of men and horses and overhead flew several large black birds croaking harshly. The walls were black with dirt and age and slimy with the damp rising from the river. It was sombre and chilling and its history of treachery, intrigue, blood-shed and death seemed imprinted on the stones.

  Sebastian felt a pang of sympathy for all those who had come to this place, never to leave it again. He looked up at the narrow windows, and his attention was caught by a white face which stared down at him from behind the bars.

  Sebastian tried to imagine what it would feel like to be a prisoner, to lose the liberty which he normally took for granted. On an impulse he lifted his hand in a gesture of salute to the owner of the white face. There was a flicker of movement from the window which might have been an answering wave.

  Then the Keeper of the Tower came out to meet them. He spoke with the captain and then led them away to a door in the wall of one of the smaller towers. They mounted a narrow staircase which led them to a large room. On either side of the entrance stood two guards. The Keeper led the sailors in. It was a splendid sight. Crowns, sceptres, rings, coronets and insignias flashing with every colour, were laid on a low table. Before the table lay a huge dog. He bared his yellow teeth and growled as they approached. The sound of the Keeper’s voice quietened him and he lay without moving, watching them with one eye. The chests were put down and the lids wrenched open. There was a great deal of sawdust and beneath it were several small packages wrapped in silk. The Keeper unwrapped each one carefully. They were all diamonds, cut with a thousand facets, their cold blue light almost dimming the magnificence of the other jewels. The Keeper laid them on the table and everyone stood back to admire the priceless pieces of carbon.

  Sebastian looked at the brilliant jewels without much interest. He thought them beautiful but greatly overvalued. Then his eye was caught by an oval crimson stone, which stood out from the rest, being opaque and almost without lustre. And, as he looked at it, it seemed to glow a deeper red and he felt a strange sensation in his limbs. A surge of joy, pure and exhilarating ran through him like fire and suddenly he knew that he had found Saturn’s Stone, the Earth element of the Elixir of Life.

  “Well sir,” said the captain to the Keeper. “We must get back to the ship now for we sail for Spain in an hour.”

  “You’ll not go without some ale to quench your thirst?” said the Keeper. “There’s time for a jug or two before the tide turns.”

  The captain agreed and the sailors went down the staircase and back into the sunlight. Sebastian lagged a little behind them as they crossed the courtyard, thinking hard to himself. He now knew where the Stone was. But it was heavily guarded and the ship was due to leave in an hour. How could he manage to get hold of it, then?

  It seemed impossible.

  Just then, something landed on the cobbles by his feet. He bent and picked it up. It was a piece of paper wrapped round a chunk of masonry. He glanced around furtively. The sailors were
going through the door of the Keeper’s quarters and no one was looking in his direction. He read the strange, long-tailed writing on the paper.

  ‘If you be my friend, meet me in the private garden in ten minutes.’

  There was no signature. Sebastian looked up at the window where he had seen the face before. It was still there and again there was a slight movement behind the bars which might have been a wave.

  Sebastian stuffed the piece of paper into his pocket and went into the Keeper’s quarters. The sailors already had jugs in their hands and were drinking deeply.

  ‘I’d like to have a look at the other parts of the Tower before we leave, sir,’ said Sebastian.

  The captain looked at the Keeper who nodded.

  ‘Very well, Mr Midshipman. But see that you return within the half hour. I’ll not hold the ship if you’re late.’ He turned back to his ale and seemed to have forgotten already about Sebastian.

  Sebastian went back into the courtyard and approached one of the guards who were tending the horses.

  ‘Can you tell me where the private garden is, please?’ The guard looked at Sebastian’s uniform and then touched his hat respectfully.

  ‘Yes, sir, you’ll find it through that door over there. The prisoners will be coming out for their exercise in a minute or two, if it’s one of them you want to speak to.’

  ‘Is it allowed then?’ asked Sebastian in surprise.

  ‘Not to everyone. But a commissioned officer in his Majesty’s Navy — I’m sure it would be all right. This is not a common prison house, you know. We have the best families in England in here. And there’s not much anyone could do for them if they tried. There’s only one way out of here on foot and I defy anyone to get past those guards.’

  Sebastian thanked him and went through the door the guard had pointed to. He found himself in a walled garden filled with trees and flowers, a strange contrast to the dark stone which surrounded it. Almost immediately another door opened and a group of men came in with two guards. The men looked tired and pale and their fine clothes were creased and worn.

  One of them broke away from the group and walked over to Sebastian.

  ‘Brother Jack! It’s good to see you,’ he said, shaking Sebastian warmly by the hand. Then, with a gentle pressure on his arm, he led Sebastian over to a clump of trees which afforded some seclusion.

  Sebastian saw that he was hardly older than himself but his face bore the marks of one who had suffered a great deal.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ said the prisoner as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘I felt when I saw you in the courtyard that you might be a friend. And it’s a friend I need badly at this moment. Will you help me?’

  ‘Yes, gladly, if I can,’ replied Sebastian.

  ‘Tell me then. Are you for King James?’

  ‘Er — I hardly know,’ said Sebastian. ‘I’ve been at sea for some time,’ he added untruthfully. ‘I’ve rather lost touch with the way things are in England. But I’m for anyone who’s a prisoner, anyway.’

  ‘You have a strange way of speaking,’ said the prisoner. ‘But somehow I feel I can trust you. Listen then. Some horsemen are waiting for me at the foot of Tower Hill. I had made an arrangement with one of the guards at the main gate, who is a loyal supporter of King James and hates the Dutch upstart. But I heard this morning that his loyalties have been suspected and he has been replaced. I cannot now leave this hateful place. But,’ here he lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘I have heard from my brother that the king is to land in Ireland this day week. All his subjects must make haste to go at once to Londonderry and lay siege to the town. It is vital that this message should reach them in time if we are to rid England of the Prince of Orange. Will you then take this letter and give it to the men waiting outside these walls?’

  ‘I will,’ said Sebastian. ‘But tell me, how do you come to be a prisoner here?’

  ‘I plotted, with others, to assassinate the Prince of Orange. We were betrayed and I am to be executed for high treason.’

  He spoke the words proudly, but Sebastian saw the fear which, despite himself, came into the boy’s face.

  ‘Come. We must make haste. Do this and you will for ever earn the gratitude of the supporters of King James.’

  ‘I think I have a better plan,’ said Sebastian. ‘Suppose you and I were to change places? We are about the same height and both dark. If you put on my uniform you could leave the Tower with the other sailors. They have drunk a fair amount of ale by now I should think, and they are anxious to get back to the ship before the tide turns. There’s a good chance that they might not notice the exchange. Once through the gate, you could slip off and join your friends.’

  ‘But that would leave you a prisoner in the Tower under sentence of execution!’

  ‘I know. But I have a very good reason for wanting to stay longer in the Tower. I haven’t time to explain but believe me, you would do me a service if you agreed to my plan. Would the guards notice if I took your place?’

  ‘No, I think not. New warders were assigned to the cells yesterday. They would be unlikely to notice the change for as you say we look not dissimilar and they have not yet become accustomed to my face or speech. But I cannot let you do this thing. You may be tortured on the rack!’

  ‘Don’t let’s waste any more time arguing,’ said Sebastian, as he began to take off his clothes. ‘I too have friends who might be able to help me escape if things go wrong. Come on, my mind’s made up.’

  The boy hesitated and then began to remove his cloak.

  In less than a minute he was dressed in the midshipman’s uniform and Sebastian was resplendent in a green cloak and breeches and purple hose.

  ‘I’ll not forget this,’ said the boy. ‘Remember that John Fitzpatrick will always be your friend. I’ll not rest until I know that you’re safely out of here. Take this ring. The stone is hinged and inside is a phial of poison. A few drops will give you sleep and forgetfulness for a while. The whole will make you sleep for ever. I pray that you will not need it.’

  Sebastian slipped the sapphire on his finger.

  ‘Goodbye,’ he said, ‘and good luck!’

  Together they left the shadows of the trees.

  ‘Prisoners will return to their cells,’ called the guard.

  Sebastian, keeping his head turned away from the guard, joined the silent procession which filed slowly through the gate. He followed the rest of the men up some stairs and down a long corridor. One by one, the prisoners entered their cells and the doors were locked behind them. When they came to a cell which no one claimed, Sebastian stepped boldly inside and the door closed behind him. He heard the key being turned in the lock and then the footsteps went away and he was alone.

  The cell was a dismal place, bare and dirty. A bench and a stool stood against one wall, a wooden frame with a mattress against another. The floor was hard stone and the only light came from the narrow window. Sebastian went over to it and looked out.

  He saw the door of the Keeper’s quarters open and the sailors come out. From the way they staggered across the courtyard, it was evident that the Keeper had been liberal with his hospitality. A slight figure in dark blue slipped across the courtyard to join them. They paused for a minute to talk to the guards. A burst of laughter floated up to Sebastian’s window. Then they passed through the main gate and disappeared from sight. It occurred to Sebastian then that he had not seen the ship’s cat.

  The sound of a key turning in the lock drew his attention. The door opened and in came a warder, wearing a slightly less elaborate version of the guards’ uniform. He carried a wooden trencher and a flagon.

  ‘Luncheon, your lordship,’ he said with something of a sneer. ‘Though why they bother to waste good victuals on traitors and suchlike, I’ll never cease to wonder. There’s plenty of loyal, god-fearing citizens that would give their eye-teeth for a meal like this. And wine too. Ale’s good enough for us commonfolk. Quality be damned!’

  And he spat on th
e floor and banged the food down on the bench. Then he went out, locking the door behind him. Sebastian picked up the trencher. Pieces of meat floated in a thin gravy. It looked and smelt most unappetizing. Suddenly he felt sick and a little afraid. Perhaps it had not been such a good idea after all. All he had done was to give himself more time. The problems were still there, and for the moment seemed insurmountable. The heat in the airless cell grew oppressive, and through his mind ran pictures of the rack and the executioner’s block. It had all seemed so different when he had been standing in the garden with the strange, courageous boy who had been willing to risk his life for his ideals. Sebastian picked up the flagon. Perhaps the wine would give him some courage. The dark red liquid gleamed in the flagon, exactly the colour of the Stone in the jewel house. The sapphire ring on his finger gleamed in answer. And suddenly he had an idea.

  Half an hour later the warder returned.

  ‘You haven’t touched your food,’ said the warder as he picked up the trencher and the flagon. ‘Nor the wine neither. Rather starve to death than face the axe, eh?’ He laughed unpleasantly.

  ‘It’s too hot to eat and wine won’t quench a thirst like mine,’ said Sebastian. He saw the way the warder’s eye glistened as he looked at the wine. He was obviously intending to drink it himself as soon as he got back to the kitchen.

  ‘Stay a while,’ said Sebastian, as the warder turned to go. ‘It’s lonely without anyone to talk to, day after day. You look like a man of the world. I’m sure you’ve a tale or two to tell.’

  The warder hesitated, his eye still on the wine.

  ‘I’ve work to do yet and other mouths to feed besides yours.’

  ‘Aren’t there others to serve them? I’d have thought a man like you could have done better for himself than waiting on prisoners. With your build you could be a soldier in the king’s army.’