by Jo Macauley
Ralph had taken the lead, but there was such a crush that Beth struggled to keep the back of his head in view as he dodged his way through the throng. However, when he bumped into someone coming the other way Beth immediately recognized the indignant voice of the aggrieved party.
“Out of the way, you little toad, or I shall take my stick to you!”
“You do and I’ll land a tickler on your hooter, you miserable fat hog,” came Ralph’s retort.
“MISTER LOVETT!” Beth yelled above the din. She pressed forward, and now she could see not only Benjamin Lovett but William Huntingdon and some of the other players of the King’s Theatre.
“Beth!” Huntingdon greeted her. “Going back to collect your belongings? Be quick – ’tis spreading mighty fast.”
“It hasn’t reached the theatre, has it?” she asked, aghast. It was not only the Drury Lane Theatre she was worried about but the Pie and Peacock where she lived with Maisie, which was close by.
“No, but it must only be a matter of time.”
“How did it start?” John asked, distracted from his desire to go back to Somerset House by the chaos.
“They say ’tis something to do with Farrinor’s bakery near the Tower.”
“I heard t’was the perfidious French, and I do believe it to be so!” Lovett declared, his fleshy jowls wobbling with rage.
“Or the Dutch,” Matthew, the theatre prompter added. “We are at war with both, after all, and they say this is just the start – first a fire to cause panic, then an invading army to catch us while we are helpless!”
Beth glanced at Ralph and John, thinking of the conspiracies against the King. “Could it be true?”
“I know not, Beth,” Huntingdon answered. “There is such a panic afoot and so many stories abroad that anything could be true. All I know is that the fire is spreading as fast as any invading army could, and that you must do whatever it is you have to do then leave. We are told people are gathering at Moorfields, beyond the city. Join us there if you wish...”
“Thank you, Mister Huntingdon. We’ll be as quick as we can.”
They said their goodbyes, and Beth, John and Ralph continued to battle their way east, where possible taking to alleys and side streets to avoid the worst of the crush. Beth felt for John and his missing sister, but there were other things pressing on her mind now and eventually she could contain herself no longer. She came to a halt and called to John and Ralph.
“I ... I must go to Drury Lane and make sure Maisie is safe. I haven’t forgotten about Polly, but we have some time. Groby said he would be back this evening with proof that she’s safe, so until then...”
John patted her hand. “I understand. You’re right that Somerset House will be too busy right now for us to investigate, and I should check on my family. This fire is looking worse than we thought. Ralph, you should see that your own lodgings and possessions are not in danger too. We can all meet up again in a couple of hours’ time.”
“Ain’t hardly got no possessions to lose,” Ralph replied matter-of-factly. “But I should like to see Mister Culpeper’s all right. Weird old coot, but he’s looked after me.”
“Do what must be done then meet me back at Bloodbone Alley as soon as you can,” John said. “Then we’ll be ready for Groby.”
They went their separate ways, Beth doubling back along Aldwych. She was pleased to see Drury Lane was so far untouched. But beyond the tower of St Paul’s, which still rose majestically above the skyline of London, a sheet of flame and smoke rose. She could hear screams and shouts, creaking and thudding as buildings fell. But if the waterman thought Somerset House was safe, then surely the cathedral could withstand the raging fire?
“Beth!” cried Maisie, as soon as she walked through the door of the inn. “We were worried about you!” The younger girl came bounding up to Beth and threw her arms around her. “Have you been to see the fire? It won’t come this far, will it?”
“’Tis still spreading, but I hope it will burn itself out before it gets here.”
Big Moll was pouring ale from a jug into the tankard of a man sitting at a corner table. She stopped and looked outside on hearing Beth’s words. The panes in the window were opaque, like many of those in humbler buildings, but yellow and orange lights danced in strange patterns on the glass. “They say they’re pulling houses down in its path to stop it – and there’s the cathedral.”
“Aye,” said the old man she was serving with indifference, taking a swig from his beer. “Old Paul’s gonna put a stop to that there fire.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and got back to reading the news sheet by the light of the fire.
“But some say it’s God’s wrath,” said Maisie. “Because we’re all so sinful he’s sent down a terrible punishment.”
“People will always blame God when something goes wrong,” said Moll, pushing her sleeves higher up her brawny arms and plonking the jug down on the bar. “I’d look closer to home before I did that. Like that baker on Pudding Lane and his smouldering ovens...”
* * *
Not knowing how far or fast the fire was spreading, Ralph decided to stick to the river bank as much as possible on his way to Black Swan Alley. He hurried down Middle Temple Lane, hoping to get some sort of boat, but every craft seemed to be already out on the water and the number of people waiting for their return was so great that he found himself trudging along the water’s edge. The closer he got to London Bridge, the deeper his heart sank. The fire was moving through the streets like a raging monster. With a growing sense of unease, Ralph pressed on. He could see a boat stationed at Queenhithe Stairs, close to Walter Culpeper’s shop, and someone throwing bundles of belongings wrapped in sheets into it. From his low riverside vantage point he could see flames ahead, but not how far they had reached. He grabbed the arm of a man carrying a great sack over his shoulder.
“Black Swan Alley!” he pleaded. “Has it got as far as Black Swan? Three Cranes?”
“And further,” muttered the man before continuing on his way.
Ralph couldn’t get close. The warehouses and coal wharves along the river bank were one mass of flame and stinking smoke. Even from fifty yards away the heat made his face flush, and even though he saw the occasional gap he knew it would be impossible to pass through.
He tried going inland, skirting round the fire and coming to Black Swan Alley down New Queen’s Street, which it hadn’t yet reached, but that too proved impossible. He hurried to the highest point in the area, pushing through the tide of people carrying their belongings down to boats waiting on the river. It was a spot where he could see between the buildings towards his home – but he couldn’t see the alley itself. All that was visible was a forest of leaping flames and the occasional black outline of a building. Old Walter Culpeper was a little deaf and couldn’t get about as well as he used to.
Ralph closed his eyes and resorted to something he hadn’t done for years. He prayed.
Chapter Ten - Kettles and Pans
“It must burn itself out soon!” Ralph groaned as they wended their way towards Cornhill through the fleeing crowds. He and Beth had met up once more while both on their way to Bloodbone Alley a couple of hours after they’d departed. He’d had to abandon his hopes of getting to Culpeper’s, but with Beth’s encouragement he still held out hope that the old man and his shop were all right. The warm wind had not dropped, however, and little sparks, burning slivers of wood and paper drifted above their heads.
They only got as far as the Royal Exchange. Looking beyond it Beth saw a three-storey house engulfed in flames that were quickly spreading. She was a fair distance away, but still had to hold a hand in front of her face to ward off the heat. Then, without warning, there was a crack like a large gun being fired, and the overhanging top floor of the house toppled into the street. All the onlookers involuntarily jumped back. The whole building began to crumple now, with a horrific shrieking sound from the twisting and breaking timbers. There were urgent warnings to get back – t
his area was quickly becoming unsafe.
“The river!” shouted Ralph over the roar of the flames. “It’s the quickest way.”
The banks of the Thames were as busy as Cheapside on market day, but with an added layer of panic and desperation as people tried to get places in the few available craft.
“This doesn’t seem real,” said Beth. “’Tis like a dream.”
“Nightmare, more like,” said Ralph. “Blimey – hide your eyes, young lady!”
Despite the warning, Beth instinctively looked to see what Ralph had spotted. A man was clambering into a lighter, a pile of goods balanced precariously in his arms. He must have left his escape ’til the last minute, because the only thing that preserved his modesty was a sheet wound around his body. He’d obviously been so desperate to hold onto his possessions that he couldn’t spare a hand to keep the sheet in place. In the scramble to get aboard it had slipped lower and lower – until it finally ended up floating in the river and the man was naked in the boat! Beth could see his pink bottom wobbling as he tried to keep his footing. A woman shrieked and a couple of men burst out laughing, the sound echoing across flowing waters that reflected the oranges, reds and yellows of the inferno. At least, she thought, there could be some humour amid all this horror...
Once they had gone beyond the Tower they finally left the fire behind, even though they could still hear and smell it. But at Bloodbone Alley, another strange sight met their eyes. Most of the people around here were out of their houses, many up trees and poles or even on roofs, watching the distant spectacle like an audience at a play. Beth and Ralph found that John was still indoors, though, silent and pale, awaiting news of Polly with his family. At their knock, he came outside to talk to them out of earshot.
“Nothing?” Ralph asked.
John shook his head. “What if she’s not at Somerset House? What if they’d been keeping her at a house that’s now caught up in the middle of the fire? What if they fled and left her there? They must know she can’t run, but I wouldn’t put it past them to simply—”
“John, John...” said Beth resting a hand on his shoulder. “Polly is useful to them so I’m sure they’ll want to keep her safe.”
“That’s right,” Ralph agreed. “And we ain’t seen no bodies nor heard of no deaths at all, and we’ve been right up to the fire.”
“Has it reached St Paul’s?” John asked.
“No,” Beth replied. “It’s only a matter of time – but surely it can’t touch such a building as that?”
“Well, I didn’t like the look of all that wooden scaffolding round it for the repairs...” said Ralph.
“It will burn, I’m sure of it,” said John. “Then Strange will have no way of signalling to us. Why hasn’t he made contact in some other manner? Does all this mean nothing to him?”
Beth gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It means something to us. We’ll do all we can to find her. We’ll stay up all night if necessary. Groby’s men might be delayed by the fire, but I believe they’ll come.” She just hoped there was nothing in her voice that told John she wasn’t quite as optimistic as she was trying to sound. This fire had changed everything and turned London upside down. It could well be that Polly’s safety was the last thing on the kidnappers’ minds if they were caught up in it.
John sighed, and rubbed his brow. He looked sick with worry, obviously thinking the same thing. “I don’t know. What if ... what if I have no choice but to do as Groby asks? I have to do everything I can to save Polly. She’s my sister – my blood. I know it’s my sworn duty to protect the King, but what if—”
Beth’s eyes widened in alarm as she cut him off. “No! Don’t think like that, John. We’re going to stop Groby. You can’t let these conspirators get the better of you.” She eyed him closely, but he just had a faraway look in his eyes. A look that worried Beth...
Once John’s family had reluctantly retired to bed, John snuck Beth and Ralph in to wait for news with him. John sat in an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair by the door, while Beth and Ralph settled on two other chairs in the small room. There was some sporadic, whispered conversation at first, as Beth filled John in on what they’d seen of the fire on the journey to his house. But soon the words dried up and the three of them sat in uneasy silence, bathed in candlelight and staring at the door, struggling to stay awake. Several times Beth felt herself nodding and jerking her head back up, checking to see if the others had noticed. The final time this happened, she turned to look at Ralph beside her and saw that he actually had drifted off, his chin resting on his chest. She couldn’t help thinking how much younger and more innocent he looked when asleep.
Then she heard a sound that instantly snapped her into full wakefulness. It wasn’t very loud, but the shuffling sound in the street was quite distinct. John must have heard it too, because his head swivelled towards the door. There was a brief silence, then three short, quiet knocks. Beth felt her heart quicken, and John leaped to his feet. By now Ralph had woken too.
The three of them quietly gathered at the door. John gripped the knob, steeled himself for a second, and then slowly opened it. Two men stood in the darkness.
“We have a message for John Turner,” said one of the men softly, and John nodded. Beth could see his jaw clenching and unclenching with tension.
“You wanted proof that Polly was alive?” said the other.
The man with the soft voice said simply: “Violets. Kettles and pans...”
“What are you on about?” Ralph grumbled. “Listen, mister, just tell us—”
“Say the bells of St Ann’s,” John murmured.
“What’s going on?” Beth asked. She could see that John was now looking at least a little more relieved.
“Violets are our mother’s favourite flower. She ... she always says their colour is the same as Polly’s eyes.” He swallowed. “And ‘Kettles and pans’ is a line from her favourite nursery rhyme – Oranges and Lemons. They’re the answers to the questions I asked them to put to her so we could be sure she was still alive.”
“We’ve done our bit,” said the quietly spoken man. “Now it’s your turn. Groby said you’re to be our man on the inside at the Naval Board. We need information, details...”
John swallowed again, hard. “The King...” He hesitated, clearly struggling with what to say. Each word could be seen as treason if they weren’t able to stop Groby’s plot. “The King will be visiting the Navy Board on Seething Lane tomorrow. He will travel from the Tower and is almost certain to approach the office from Crutched Friars. I know all the roads around the Navy Board well, and ... I know a spot on that route where he will be at his most vulnerable. It will, I’m certain, be the only place you’ll be able to have a chance at your ... scheme.”
“Surely with the fire his plans will be changed?” the first man said warily.
“It’s a trap!” interjected the less patient accomplice. “The boy is trying to lead us to our capture! We should deal with that pathetic girl now, find some other way to get to the King—”
“No,” said John desperately. “Please! The King will come. His Majesty will be determined to show the people that the fire hasn’t beaten us, that life will still go on. I know that from my ... from my work in his service.” His voice wavered, choking on the anguish of giving up more information about the King. “I ... I would have been told if the meeting was cancelled, as I’m expected to attend in my role as a clerk. If it wasn’t going ahead due to the fire, we would have been told.”
“So the offices themselves are unaffected by the fire?” said the first man said.
“The fire hasn’t touched Seething Lane and it won’t. They say it’s heading away to the west. And,” John paused, his shoulders sagging, “because they’re sending most of his soldiers to help fight the fire, the King probably won’t have as many guards as normal.”
Groby’s man looked pleased. “Indeed. So tell us what time then, Turner, and, most importantly, where this precious vulnerable s
pot will be—”
“No.” John eyed both men sternly. “If you’d brought my sister to me now, perhaps I could have done. But as it stands, I will not give you more details now, or what reason do you have to keep her alive?” His voice was steady but Beth could see that his eyes were shining with emotion.
“Why you—!”
The quiet man held up his hand to stop his accomplice. “Fine. Listen carefully. At first light tomorrow you are to go to Stonecutter’s Yard, off Crutched Friars. You will provide us with the exact information we need – and stay with us ’til the job is finished.”
The more aggressive of the two men stepped closer to John, and in the feeble candlelight from the room Beth could see his flattened nose and an old scar over one eye.
“If you’re telling us the truth, you get the girl back then. If anything goes wrong, word will be sent to our boss and you can say ‘bye-bye’ to your sister.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, the other quickly following.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, giving them all that information,” Beth said, raising a worried eyebrow.
John closed the door and leaned with his back against it, letting out a long breath. “At least I managed to hold them off a bit for now, buy us some more time. And Polly’s alive. She’s all right – for now...”
But Beth was already easing him out of the way and opening the door, peering down the street. “Forget about waiting until tomorrow. Let’s follow them. With any luck, they might lead us to Polly!”
Chapter Eleven - Firefighters
The three spies slipped out of John’s house just as the two kidnappers rounded the corner away from Bloodbone Alley. Beth took the lead, and stopped at the corner, cautiously craning her head round.
“They’re heading into the city...”
“Come on, then. Let’s get after them!” said John impatiently.
But Beth held out a hand. “Wait. Let them get a bit further or they’ll hear our footsteps.”