by Mary Nichols
‘Tom it is.’
‘You have the description of the two who stole Mr Wright’s chair?’ Davy’s enquiries about chairs had elicited the information that a Mr Wright had hired out his chair to a couple of men who said they proposed to carry their mistress themselves. He had insisted on a deposit but that hadn’t made a bit of difference; they had not returned the chair.
‘Yes, but if they used that to kidnap Miss Gilpin it is undoubtedly in the river by now.’
‘Perhaps, perhaps not. They might decide it is a good ruse and use it again.’
‘Then we are looking for a stolen chair as well.’
‘Yes.’
* * *
The stink of the river became stronger as they neared it. The river was full of merchant ships at anchor waiting to load and unload at the Custom House, lighters, coal barges, the private barges of the rich, pleasure craft bedecked with bunting and numerous ferries plying from one bank to the other. And along the muddy shores barefoot urchins picked over the flotsam and jetsam washed up there. The two men went up the steps on to London Bridge. The old houses on it had been falling down for years before the authorities decided to pull them down and build new piazzas where the fashionable came to shop for ribbons and trinkets, hats and gloves and even wallpaper. He took no notice of the vendors crying their wares as he hurried across. He prayed he had interpreted Miss Gilpin’s letter correctly and she was being held near the river. It would be better to effect her release before the appointed time for handing over the ransom. And when he did find her he would have something to say about young ladies who thought they could travel alone about town with impunity, however capable they thought they were. Let this be a salutary lesson to her. First he had to find her.
* * *
Charlotte was indeed near the river, but not at Lambeth. Early that morning she had been tied up again, gagged and dumped unceremoniously into a chair, probably the same one in which she had been abducted, and taken by her kidnappers to a new place of concealment, even less savoury than Molly’s den. Here they waited out the day. Her gaolers were taking no chances, would not even untie her bonds except to allow her to eat and they stood over her while she did it and replaced gag and ropes the minute she finished. As dusk fell, Grosswaite arrived.
‘She’s not to be exchanged,’ he told the two men. ‘I’ve instructions to take her on board.’
‘What about our pay?’ Bert demanded. ‘You said we’d have a slice of the ransom money.’
‘Nothing to stop you,’ Martin said. ‘We can make sure of that before we do as the gaffer asks.’
Charlotte tried to speak, but could make nothing but grunting noises. Grosswaite laughed and removed the gag. ‘You got something to say, me hearty?’
‘Who is the gaffer?’ she demanded.
‘You will find out later. I think you might be pleased to see him.’
‘The only person I will be pleased to see is my father.’
‘Her pa won’t hand over the money without a sight of her,’ Hector said.
‘Then we’ll give him a sight of her. Bring her out.’
She struggled ineffectually as they replaced the gag and carried her down to the water’s edge where they dumped her into a rowing boat. The two men climbed in and took up the oars while Grosswaite untied it from the bank and jumped in after them. In a very few minutes they were in the middle of the oily, black, stinking river and the men were rowing upstream, past the anchored ships with their navigation lamps casting a lurid glow, past darkened warehouses and alleys, past waterside taverns which spilled light on to the wet streets that led to the water’s edge.
They pulled in to one of the landing stages where Grosswaite left them, then they rowed on. Charlotte had no idea of the time, but felt it was getting close to the hour when her father was supposed to deliver the ransom money. But the men had no intention of handing her back to him. How could she warn him? What could he do if she did?
The men stopped rowing, but did not draw into the bank. They simply sat in midstream and waited, dipping an oar in now and again to steady the boat and keep it on its station.
* * *
Half an hour later, a small skiff pushed out from the shore and, as it neared, Charlotte saw, by the light coming from a moored barge, her father sitting in it nursing a rather heavy sack. It drew alongside, rowed by Grosswaite.
‘Your daughter, Mr Gilpin,’ he said. ‘Now we’ll have that sack, if you please.’
‘Not until my daughter is in this boat with me.’
‘It will be more convenient for you to join her, I think,’ Grosswaite said. ‘There is no room in this for three of us.’
Henry stood up, intending to step from one to the other. Grosswaite grabbed the sack from him and then pushed him backwards into the water. Charlotte uttered a cry muffled by her gag and endeavoured to stand up as Grosswaite jumped across into the bigger craft, leaving the other to float away. What with Grosswaite trying to keep his balance in the dangerously rocking boat and Charlotte on her knees leaning over the side trying to locate her father coming to the surface, it looked as though the boat would capsize and all its occupants would be tipped into the river.
* * *
Alex had been searching the riverside all day, but that had produced nothing but false leads. No one in the many taverns and quays along the waterfront had seen the lady or the two men. It had taken a long time to persuade the owners of the warehouses to allow him to search them and some refused altogether, which meant he had to gain entrance by stealth. He found nothing, not so much as a scrap of cloth or a comb. Frustrated, he met Davy, who had been searching the opposite bank, but he had been equally unsuccessful.
There was nothing for it but to go home, discard his disguise and make his way to Long Acre to accompany Henry to the rendezvous in the hope he could effect a rescue, only to be told that Mr Gilpin, too impatient to wait for him, had already left with a heavy canvas bag. He had cursed and set off after him, hoping fervently he would not be too late.
* * *
He arrived on the scene just in time to see Henry go overboard. He did not hesitate, but divested himself of his coat, boots and sword and dived in, striking out for the spot where the man had disappeared. Reaching it, he dived again and again, but it was too dark to see anything and he had to rely on feel. Assuming Gilpin would be carried down river, he moved a little way from the spot, but there was nothing to mark where he might be. It was pure luck that his hand made contact with the material of a coat and, grabbing it, he hauled the man to the surface. Towing him, he swam back to the shore and pulled him up out of the water, where he lay exhausted beside him in the mud for several seconds before he had strength enough to sit up. Henry Gilpin was coughing up huge amounts of water, but he was alive and Alex could turn his attention to the rowing boat. It had disappeared into the darkness, taking Charlotte with it.
He cursed roundly. He could not have left Gilpin to drown, but in saving him he had lost his prize. He looked about him. Where was Davy? Had he followed him into the water? But Davy, like so many seamen, could not swim; he would surely not have been so foolish. Had there been more of the gang hidden and keeping watch in case Gilpin tried to doublecross them? They might have taken Davy captive. The loss of Davy and the loss of Miss Gilpin combined to set his temper boiling and he was inclined to take it out on the coachmaker. That worthy was sitting up now and weeping noisily.
‘I told you not to go meeting anyone until I was in place to oversee the transaction,’ he said. ‘I would certainly not have sanctioned getting into a rowing boat. What madness made you do it?’
‘I didn’t know he would push me in, did I? Now I’ve lost Charlotte and my money. And I am soaking wet. Where were you when you were needed?’
‘Right behind you,’ Alex said tersely. ‘Otherwise you would have drowned. Did you recognise the m
an who rowed you out or see who was in the boat with your daughter?’
‘It was too dark to see properly and I only had eyes for Charlotte. They had her gagged and tied up, you know. It made me so angry. My poor little girl... We have to rescue her, Captain. I would give anything to see her safely back and those men hanging from Tyburn tree.’
‘And so you shall if I have my way. Now we had better get you home so that you may change into dry clothes. And I must do the same.’
‘But what about Charlotte?’
‘I will come back just as soon as I am in clean linen. I smell like a sewer.’
He stood up and hauled Gilpin to his feet. ‘Where is your carriage?’
‘I left it in the care of Humphreys, my coachman, behind that warehouse over there.’ He jerked his head in the direction he meant.
‘Let us hope the both coach and coachman are still there,’ Alex said, leading the way.
Henry did not need to be told that the equipage would be a great temptation to the thieves and vagabonds who inhabited the area and that Humphreys would hardly be able to defend it on his own. On the other hand, Gilpin would have been in even greater danger if he had chosen to walk, especially carrying five hundred guineas, which was exceedingly heavy.
* * *
They had found the coach and climbed thankfully into it and were soon deposited at Gilpin’s Piccadilly mansion. Alex had seen him safely indoors and then had hurried to Mount Street to change. When he had emerged, the gentleman was gone and in his place was a shag bag, once again wearing the filthy clothes Davy so abhorred and a greasy black wig tied into a seaman’s tail, on which was perched a seaman’s cap. Thus disguised, he had set off again for the waterfront.
There was an urgency in his step, but he refrained from breaking into a run and drawing attention to himself. It would immediately be assumed by anyone who saw him that he was a thief running away from justice and there would be a hue and cry. He would be arrested and having to explain himself to a magistrate would take time he could ill afford. He was doing his best to keep a cool head, but the glimpse he had had of Charlotte in that boat, making it tip dangerously while she searched the inky water for her father, haunted him. One of the men had dragged her in board none too gently and now she was gone again.
He cursed the kidnappers, he cursed Gilpin for being so gullible, he cursed Davy for disappearing just when he needed him and he cursed himself for not being able to locate her sooner. No carefully nurtured young lady, even one as independent and spirited as she was, should have to endure that treatment, and he would be doing his best to rescue her even if he had not met her and admired her. And that was what made it personal. Very personal, he realised with sudden insight.
* * *
He went back to the place where she had last been seen and climbed into a ferry which was tied up at one of the landing stages. ‘Row where I tell you,’ he commanded the ferryman.
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
‘Davy! Where the devil have you been?’
Davy picked up the oars and pulled out into midstream. ‘It occurred to me, my...sir, that I’d do better on the water and not in it.’
‘You were undoubtedly right. Did you discover anything?’
‘The lady was taken aboard the Vixen, moored in the river at Blackwall.’
‘That old East Indiaman. I didn’t know she was still afloat.’
‘Seems she is, though the Company sold her to a private trader. She is only waiting on her full complement of crew and the next tide to set sail. I was on my way to tell you of it.’
‘What the devil are they playing at? This is no ordinary kidnap, you can be sure. If they take Miss Gilpin out of the country...’ He paused as the outline of the Vixen loomed out of the darkness with its mooring lights fore and aft. It was a large merchantman of some nine hundred tons. It had once been gilded and decorated with highly coloured paint, but that had faded to be almost indiscernible. Some of the coloured windows that had graced the stern had been replaced by plain glass. She was lying low in the water, obviously almost ready to sail. There did not seem to be much activity on board, but they could hear the off-duty sailors singing and laughing in the bowels of the ship. The rest of the crew, including the officers, would be enjoying their last hours ashore before returning to the ship. ‘We’ve no time to lose. Davy, make for the shore. It’s time we went back to sea. Get yourself taken on the strength, they always need good seamen.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘Find a crewman who’ll let you take his place. Use your best persuasive powers. You know what to do. I will join you as soon as I’ve been home and dressed appropriately for a second lieutenant and appraised Mr Gilpin of our plans. Once on board, do not reveal that you know me. If we can get Miss Gilpin off before she sails, so much the better, but if not, we will have to sail with her.’
* * *
Davy took the ferry back to its landing stage where he left to try and join the crew of the ship and Alex took the boat up river to Whitehall Stairs where he could land nearer Piccadilly and Mount Street. He had to hurry if he was to board the Vixen before she sailed. He could have hired a chair, but decided it would be just as quick to use his own feet. Once home, he donned the dark-blue officer’s uniform he had worn when a mere lieutenant, packed his sea-going kit in a bag and wrote a report to the Gentlemen, telling them what he proposed, then he hurried to Piccadilly.
* * *
Henry Gilpin had changed his clothes, but he had not gone to bed and was distractedly pacing his drawing-room floor when Alex was announced. He swung round. ‘Have you found her? Is she safe?’
‘She is safe for the moment, Mr Gilpin.’ He went on to explain what he had discovered and what he proposed to do. ‘I would appreciate the loan of your carriage to take me to Blackwall and a driver to bring it back,’ he said. ‘There isn’t a moment to lose. If you do not see me and your daughter before dawn, you will know we have been obliged to remain on board and sail with her.’
‘Oh, my God! My poor, poor Charlotte.’
‘As you say, poor Charlotte, but rest assured I will protect her with my life and all might yet be well. Take heart.’
Henry gave orders for the horses to be harnessed and his coach brought to the front door. As Alex climbed in, a bag of money was pressed into his hands. ‘You might need this. Use it as you see fit. And, Captain,’ he added with heavy emphasis, ‘remember at all times, my daughter is a lady and treat her as such.’
Before Alex could protest at this cutting and, in his view, unnecessary, admonition, the coachmaker had shut the door and directed Humphreys to take Captain Carstairs to the East India dock.
* * *
Alex had known where to find the carousing officers of the Vixen, a tavern close to Perry’s yard and it was there he had asked the coachman to leave him. He went inside and asked if he might join them, telling them he had a mind to serve on the Vixen. He was in luck because the second lieutenant’s wife was close to giving birth to her first child and he jumped at the chance to return to her, especially as Alex paid him well and he would not need to seek another berth for some months. When the barge came to row the men to the ship, Alex was with them.
* * *
Charlotte sat on the edge of a cot in a tiny cabin, too numb to weep, too numb to take in her surroundings, too numb even to speak, even though that dreadful gag had been removed. Her mind was full of the image of her father disappearing into the blackness of the river and not surfacing. He had almost certainly drowned. The horror of it took away some of the worry about her own situation. The two men who had rowed her to the ship and prodded her to climb into the chair let down for her, had been paid off and rowed away again. Grosswaite had come aboard with her and handed her over to the first mate, who told her his name was Miller. He had not been rough with her, but made it plain she had no cho
ice but to do as she was told. ‘Behave yourself and you will be well treated,’ he had told her, removing her bonds and the gag from her mouth. She had soon realised that if she managed to escape from him, there were others who would soon stop her and what could she do except jump overboard to almost certain death? She was not yet ready for that.
He had helped her down the companionway to the lower gun deck and down again between decks to a small cabin where a lantern swung gently on its hook above a narrow cot. There was a porthole, but she could see nothing through it but the flickering lights of other vessels.
‘What do you want with me?’ She had never been so frightened in her life and yet she knew she must not show it. ‘Mr Grosswaite pushed my father into the Thames and drowned him, so how is anyone to pay a ransom for my return?’ Her words came out thick with misery.
‘I don’t know anything about drowning and ransoms,’ he said. ‘My orders are to look after you and see that you are comfortable.’
Comfortable! How could she be comfortable given the situation she was in? She held herself in check until the door closed on him, then she put her head in her hands and wept. Her tears were for the loss of her father, overriding her own plight. Why did they have to be so cruel to him? He had obeyed their instructions and brought the ransom money, so why push him into the water? He had been her only living relative and without him there was no one who knew of her plight. She had never felt so alone.
The tears dried up with a final sniff and she looked about her. To her left was the door to the cabin, to her right, the porthole. Beneath it was a cupboard. She rose to investigate and discovered it contained a basin, a jug and a chamber pot. At the foot of the cot was a chest intended for clothes, but it was empty.
There was another cot on the opposite bulkhead. How she wished Barbara were with her to share her predicament, but that was a selfish wish; she had to bear it alone. Returning to the cot, she lay back and gazed up at the light, swinging gently with the movement of the ship at anchor. She would have to rely on her own resources to free herself. But how? Ideas followed one another, from bribing a likely sailor into launching a boat with her in it, jumping overboard and attempting to swim ashore or setting fire to the ship so that everyone would have to be taken off. All were discarded as impractical and in the end she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.