by Jo Macauley
A few seconds later, she beckoned them on. At the far end of the street they saw the two men silhouetted in the glow of the distant fire as they hurriedly walked away. This area was relatively safe from the threat of flames, and there was hardly anyone about at this hour, so Beth knew they would stand out if spotted. They had to be careful. She remembered it was standard spycraft to send someone ahead of the targets, someone who could allow themselves to be overtaken if necessary. Then they would be on hand if those behind lost track of the quarry. But that was impossible now, because the men must have got at least a glimpse of Beth and Ralph while they were standing behind John – they’d be recognized.
“Ralph, you go to the other side of the street and keep ahead of us, but still well back from the men,” she whispered quickly. “It’s better if we split up. If we lose touch with one another, we’ll rendezvous at St Paul’s.”
Ralph nodded, and darted across the road, quickening his pace ’til he was much closer to the men but still lurking in the shadows of the overhanging roofs above. Before long, the kidnappers came to a crossroads and stopped. The fire was closer now, and they seemed to be discussing the best way to proceed. Beth saw Ralph dodge into a shop doorway. The men started to look around, but she and John had nowhere to go. They flattened themselves against the wall, and Beth prayed the darkness would hide them. She could hear her own heart drumming as one of them seemed to fix his gaze in their direction. But then his accomplice, the bigger man with the broken nose, pointed down the street to their left and they headed off. Beth saw Ralph slip from his hiding place and scurry after them.
However, the closer they got to the fire, the streets rapidly became more crowded with onlookers and fleeing home owners. Now, being spotted was no longer a worry – it was a matter of keeping the men’s heads in view as they bobbed through the throng.
“Good old Ralph,” Beth murmured to John. They could see he had taken the initiative and, realizing he could get almost within touching distance with so many people about, he’d closed the gap to within a few yards of the targets.
But then their trail was interrupted. They were skirting the fire at Threadneedle Street, and flames blocked many of the roads here. The crowds were thicker than ever. Beth was still desperately trying to keep her eye on the two men when she was distracted by a panic-stricken cry. A finely dressed but dishevelled man with his wig on sideways, half covering his face, was running around waving his arms about and shrieking at people randomly.
“Lord! What am I to do? I need more soldiers – I need more citizens!”
His eyes fell on Beth and John.
“You there! Please, take poles and set to work! Help us!”
The man picked up some long poles with hooks on the end, like giant shepherds’ crooks, and marched towards them just as Ralph came skidding to a halt beside them.
“Where have you been? I lost them in the crowd—!” he hissed.
“Here, you as well,” said the man with the poles. “Help us pull the house down at the end of the street before the fire reaches it.”
“What? But—” Ralph protested. Beth looked at him, then back into the throng of people. There was no way they’d find the henchmen in this mêlée.
“Just a moment, not the girl!” cried the bewigged man who, despite his panic-stricken state, was evidently in charge. He seemed on the verge of tears and his face glistened red dripped with sweat. “A girl can’t handle a pole! Put her with the women carrying water!”
Irritated now, Beth thrust her hands onto her hips and started to march towards him. Perhaps he would like his stupid wig to be thrown into the flames...
“Easy there, Mistress Beth,” Ralph whispered, pulling her back. “You do know who that is, don’t you?”
“No, and I don’t care!”
“It’s the Lord Mayor of London!”
Beth hesitated, and then came to a stop. She knew she ought to respect his authority, even if he was being exceedingly unfair about her abilities. She took a deep breath, muttering under her breath, “Hmm, the very same who thought a young man relieving himself could put this raging fire out? Not so true now, is it?”
Just then a blazing house came crashing to the ground. Sparks and burning debris shot into the air as if from an explosion, and were carried on the wind to the roofs of other buildings. Behind the Lord Mayor was an arc of fire that stretched from one side of London to the other.
“I could take a bucket and join the women if you wish, sir,” Beth said to the Mayor through clenched teeth. She noticed that the girls and women forming a human chain from the well on Throgmorton Street looked utterly exhausted. She went over to an elderly woman who was visibly sagging, wiping her brow with a bony arm. “Let me,” Beth said, taking the leather bucket from her hands. “You are in need of rest.”
The woman was too weary to argue, and slumped down by the side of the road. “Thank you, my dear.”
John and Ralph were being told where to go by one of the mayor’s officers.
“B-but we’re on our way to—” John began to protest.
“No ‘buts’!” growled the man. “In case you hadn’t noticed, lad, London’s burning!”
Looking over the rooftops, Beth estimated that the fire was little more than two streets away and heading in their direction. Her face was roasting, and it was impossible to avoid breathing in the drifting, stinking smoke. She and the other water-carriers continually rubbed their eyes, coughing and spluttering as they worked. It all seemed hopeless. Even a full pail could only contain so much water. No matter how quickly they kept coming, it was hard to believe their efforts could make much impression on an inferno as great as this.
And meanwhile they’d been utterly sidetracked from their mission to find the kidnappers...
Still, the efforts of the men with the fire poles looked more promising. One untouched house had already been pulled down, and now they were working on its neighbour, hoping to create a gap too wide for the fire to leap across. John and Ralph joined forces with some others to set to work on its wood and plaster walls, while others hacked at the footings with axes. Soon, the whole front of the building toppled forward into the street, creaking like a felled oak. They hopped back as it crashed to the ground, and Beth jumped at the sound. At least if they’d been distracted on their mission to stop Groby’s men, they’d been of some help in stopping this dreadful disaster befalling her beloved city...
Chapter Twelve - Moorfields
After finally being released from their duties by the Lord Mayor, Beth, John and Ralph hurried away along the Poultry – the street leading into Cheapside and on to St Paul’s. They were discussing their unexpected interlude, and trying to decide what to do next, when a passing man with wild eyes brushed past Beth.
“’Tis the year of the Great Beast. That is what all this is about, and now the proof is here...” he shouted as he passed.
“What?” she said to him, both puzzled and alarmed.
“The year 1666 contains within it the sign of the Beast. Six, six, six. Revelations, chapter thirteen! Doest thee not know thy Bible, child?”
“But what proof do you speak of?” Beth demanded.
Ignoring her, he passed on, muttering a prayer under his breath.
When they turned the corner, a terrible sight met their eyes and Beth finally knew what the old man meant.
St Paul’s Cathedral was ablaze.
Even amid the ghastly scenes of the last two days, this was a shocking sight. Beth, John and Ralph were stopped in their tracks, joining the crowd of silent onlookers. Beth’s heart sank. It was like being at a funeral, as if the fate of London had been sealed. If old St Paul’s couldn’t stand against the fire, then surely nothing could stop it?
“I knew it...” John muttered, close to tears.
“What?” Ralph asked.
“St Paul’s is gone, with not so much as a signal from Strange before it burned to ashes ... My sister’s life is clearly nothing to him.”
�
�But John, Mister Strange himself may be caught up in the fire.”
Beth wanted to say more to reassure him, but decided now was not the time to say any more.
John shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair anxiously. “Ralph, which direction were those men headed?”
Ralph glanced at Beth. “Uh, I actually overheard them saying they were heading to Moorfields – I think those two might have been camped out with the refugees from the city who Beth’s theatre mates mentioned...”
John nodded, determined now. “We’re going there. We need to find them—”
“Hang on,” Beth said, holding up a hand to try and stop John. “I know I suggested we follow them, but seeing as we lost them, it might be too difficult now. We already have a lead on the gang at Somerset House. There’s every possibility Polly’s there, and I think that’s the place we should check first.”
“No!” John exclaimed, almost shouting. “We’re closer to Moorfields, and to those two bribing thugs. Seeing as Strange isn’t around to give us a plan, and it’s my sister whose life is at stake, I’m going to call the shots. I say we go there.”
Ralph sighed. “Listen, mate, I know you’re feeling the strain a bit, but we’ve got a duty to the King as well, so—”
“Duty!” John exploded, stepping towards Ralph. “My poor helpless sister could be killed, and you—”
“Stop it!” Beth said, stepping between the two of them. John’s face was red, and not just through anger. She could tell he was embarrassed at his outburst too, and she really did feel for him. Beth felt bad that they might not be doing all they could to find Polly, and time really was of the essence. If they could head Groby’s gang off and rescue her sooner, they could prevent the conspiracy against the King altogether.
“John, you must trust that we’re here to help. Let’s check Moorfields as quickly as we can, and if we can’t get a scent of those two thugs, we’ll move on. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” John said grudgingly, and Ralph nodded too.
Finally they pressed on towards Moorfields and the camp on the outskirts of the city, and as they hurried towards it, Beth tried to push down the worries about what may have happened to Strange. John was right – they were feeling their way through these decisions without his guidance, and the tension was beginning to show...
When they finally arrived, it was the sound of crying that hit Beth harder than anything else. Worse than the shouts of people fleeing the fire, worse than the sound of ravenous flames engulfing the city and the parched wood of buildings buckling and crashing to the ground. The wailing of babies and uncomprehending young children uprooted from their homes and pursued by the nightmare blaze hit Beth the hardest.
A great sea of humanity filled streets and lanes leading to fields north of London where only a year previously mass graves had been dug for plague victims. The cries of people searching for loved ones from whom they’d become parted filled the night air. Moorfields itself was dotted with tents and makeshift shacks made from pieces of timber, tarpaulin and any other handy materials.
“Lord,” Ralph said quietly, “you’d think we were in the camp of a defeated army.”
Beth noticed someone wandering among the crowds with a tray of bread held by a strap around his neck. It was only when the smell met her nostrils that she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she had had a proper meal.
Ralph was obviously thinking the same. He delved into a pocket and fished out a penny. “We’ll take a loaf, friend. Got any cheese?”
The man looked down his nose at the coin without taking it. “Bread’s tuppence.”
“Doubling your prices just because everybody’s desperate, you villain?” Ralph sneered.
“Take it or leave it.”
John found a penny of his own and slapped it on top of the one in Ralph’s palm. “Just buy it and let’s get on with searching.”
Ralph grudgingly handed the money over. “Forget the cheese – and we’ll all remember people like you when things are back to normal.”
He roughly broke the loaf into three equal pieces, handing one to John and one to Beth as they walked. She took hers and began to gnaw on it eagerly, even snatching up any crumbs that fell onto the front of her dress.
“I feel hungrier now than I did before,” Ralph complained when his was gone. His stomach burbled like a blocked drain.
“Me too,” said Beth. “But we need to make a start ... Hang on – where’s John?”
“There!” said Ralph, pointing at a lonely figure wandering from tent to tent, still nibbling at his bread while seeking news of his sister. They went to join him, but he was becoming more and more frantic.
“Wait for us, John!” Beth called. “We ought to do this methodically...”
But emotions and desperation seemed to have taken a grip and John suddenly broke into a run, zigzagging between the makeshift shelters. “POLLY! POLLY, WHERE ARE YOU?”
“He’s going to let the whole world know about us!” Ralph hissed, running after him.
“POLLY!” John continued, peering into tents and startling families. He sped up a small, sloping hill, calling out desperately and grabbing a young girl by the shoulders who had been walking with a crutch. “Polly? Oh. Sorry ... sorry, I thought you were...” He let her go and continued on. “POLLY? WHERE ARE YOU?”
“Stop him!” Beth hissed, heading quickly after Ralph.
“I’m trying. What’s he thinking!” Ralph panted angrily.
“John! Stop!” Beth called. Her heart ached for him, but he was completely forgetting all the training they’d had as spies – not to draw attention to themselves unnecessarily.
They raced after John, but his cries and searching was growing even more frantic, and just as Ralph and Beth finally caught up to him, she heard a sneering voice behind her, and whirled round.
It was the two men who had delivered the message, and the one with the broken nose was laughing at her.
“Your friend’s made quite the commotion. Following us, eh? Won’t do you any good, darling. The girl’s in safe hands – and nowhere near here.”
“This was not a clever idea of yours,” said the quieter one. He reached into his coat and whipped out a large cudgel, and the other did the same, and they began to advance, swinging out hard at Beth.
“Oi!” Ralph shouted, and John finally stopped and spun around.
“Beth!” John cried, seeing what was happening. He rushed back towards them, and Beth darted out of the way of the man’s swipe just in time. John sped down the slope, the momentum giving him extra power as he barrelled the man with the cudgel out of the way, but the other viciously set about him, raining blows down.
Beth sprang into the mêlée, getting between John and the men and trying to block some of the blows with her arms, while Ralph snuck around and caught the coat-tails of one of the attackers, struggling to pull him backwards.
But now three more armed men ran out of the tent the two kidnappers had been standing beside. Beth felt a vicious blow to her forearm that sent a shock running up to her shoulder, the pain so intense that she screamed and fell to the ground clutching her injured arm. John caught a blow to the head with a heavy stick and staggered forwards, tumbling on top of her. Looking beyond him as she struggled to get back to her feet, Beth saw Ralph being lifted off the ground by a tall, powerfully built man. John was dazed and groaning, and Beth fell back to the hard ground under his weight, the pain from her damaged arm still echoing throughout her body.
They were outnumbered.
* * *
“Don’t leave any traces behind,” Beth heard one of their attackers growl.
She was lying on her side in the darkness of the tent. Her hands were tied so tightly behind her back that the pain partly masked that of her throbbing right arm. She twisted her head so she could secretly watch as the villains gathered everything up from inside the tent. Through the open flap she could see them outside, loading a cart with a shabby pony hooked up to it
; the pony was pawing the ground impatiently. Turning the other way, Ralph and John came into her vision. Ralph lay with his back to her, but John was in a sitting position, his head lolling forwards. Every now and then he mumbled incoherently, still suffering from the effects of being knocked out.
When the tent was almost empty of belongings, a worrying thought crossed Beth’s mind. She, John and Ralph had all got a good look at the men who were working for Groby. What was more important to the villains – getting away as fast as they could, or making sure there were no witnesses left alive whose testimony might one day send them to the gallows? One man came back and picked up the last item, a bulging sack, then went outside and threw it onto the cart. Then a bigger man came back in. Beth half closed her eyes, pretending to be only semi-conscious but leaving just enough of a gap to be able to watch him. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and surveyed the insides of the tent. Then a big hairy paw reached for something in his belt that was covered by his loosely flapping shirt. She noticed crude tattoos on his forearms.
He pulled out a long-bladed knife.
Beth squeezed her eyes shut now as he crouched over her, raising the knife in the air. She stifled a gasp, and in the same instant he brought the blade slashing down in a blur. It thudded deep into the hard-baked ground beside her.
“Don’t want that thing sticking in me leg when I’m bending down, do we, girl?” he chuckled. He squatted down, checked the rope round her wrists and tightened it a little, then straightened up with a satisfied grunt and lumbered outside. “You lot better hope you can get out of this little predicament before Groby’s expecting ya! Serves ya right.” He spat on the ground next to her as he straightened up, pulling the knife out of the ground and tucking it back into his waistband.
The last thing Beth saw of the gang was the men stalking quickly away from the tent, before the canvas flapped shut.
Chapter Thirteen - Captives
“You’re the one who always comes up with a plan,” Ralph groaned to Beth through the gloom of the tent, trying to get himself into a comfortable position with his bound hands and wrists. “Now would be a good time.”