Inferno

by Jo Macauley

  “Well, obviously we need to free ourselves before we can do anything,” Beth replied. “I’ve been working at my ropes but they’ve done a good job. I’m not making any headway.”

  “Polly...?” John was finally coming to his senses and was looking frantically around for a sign of his sister.

  “I’m sorry, John – she wasn’t here, and the gang have gone,” Beth told him quietly.

  He began to squirm and struggle at his bindings. “We’ve got to get out of here...”

  “You don’t say! Maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t gone off yelling—” Ralph began, but a stern look from Beth silenced him.

  “You’re right,” John sighed. “It’s my fault. And now we’re losing time.”

  “It’s all right,” Beth said determinedly. “We’ll get out of here.” She tried again, but her ropes weren’t getting any looser.

  “They knew what they were doing,” said Ralph. “I know knots from my sailing days, and the way they tied us they’ll only get tighter the more you try to pull ’em apart. Let’s start shouting.”

  They began to yell for help, but their voices merely mingled in with the background crackle and roar of the distant fire and the babble of anguished voices all over Moorfields.

  Ralph sank back dejectedly. “This is useless.”

  “No, it’s not,” John insisted. “People always help each other in a crisis – someone’s bound to come eventually.”

  But John’s words had given Beth an idea. “Maybe there is something we can do. There was an old preacher who used to come to St Giles’s Church near the Peacock and Pie...”

  Ralph groaned. “God isn’t going to send an angel down to untie us, no matter how hard we pray.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. This preacher used to bore everyone to death, but there was one story he told I’ve always remembered. A man died and ended up in Hell, but there were no flames, no tortures or people in agony. However, everyone was very thin and racked with hunger, even though there was a table laden with every type of food you could imagine. Then he discovered the catch. The Devil only allowed them to eat with a fork about five foot long...”

  “So long you couldn’t put any food in your mouth,” John interjected. “But what good is that to us?”

  “I haven’t finished!”

  “Get on with it, then!” Ralph said impatiently.

  Beth sighed and carried on quickly. “God realizes he’s made a mistake. The man should have gone to Heaven, so he sends for him. When he gets there, he’s puzzled because it looks exactly like Hell, even down to the five-foot forks.”

  “I hope this is leading somewhere useful,” Ralph muttered.

  “But the people in Heaven weren’t starving – they were well fed and happy!”

  “The angels flew down and fed them?”

  “Enough of your angels!” Beth chided him.

  “Go on, then. Tell me what he did – and please make it something to do with untying knots in a tent.”

  “Simple. The type of people who went to Hell starved because they could only think of feeding themselves. Those in Heaven simply used the long forks to feed each other!”

  Ralph’s face lit up. “We try to crawl over and untie each other!”

  “Bless you, my child,” Beth grinned.

  “But my legs have gone numb and I can barely move my hands. I’m not even sure if I’d even be able to undo any knots.”

  “I think I can shuffle over to you,” Beth said, beginning to kick against the dried-up, yellowing grass. “But you know knots better than I do, so try and get your circulation going and untie mine first.”

  Beth’s bad arm was beneath her body as she wriggled across the ground like an overweight worm, and every movement set off a stabbing pain. She had been trained by Strange not to let it show when she was hurt, but even she couldn’t help letting out a little yelp every time she moved.

  “Beth – are you all right?” asked John.

  “She took a nasty whack on her arm,” Ralph told him. “If it’s broken, you could end up permanently crippling yourself, Beth.”

  “Stop!” John urged her. “Let me try first.”

  “I’m nearly there...” she gasped. And with a few more pushes of her heels against the ground she had manoeuvred herself so she was back-to-back with Ralph, their bound hands opposite each other. “Now, get to work, sailor boy.”

  She could feel him fumbling blindly and muttering curses under his breath as he tried to manipulate the rope. It was tied so tightly that even if his hands had been free it would have been hard to prise the strands apart. After a few minutes he stopped and let himself roll away a little, breathing heavily.

  “Gettin’ cramp in me fingers...”

  “Please, Ralph!” John implored.

  “He’s doing his best,” Beth reassured him. “It’s harder than it looks.”

  Ralph took up position again. She felt his nails digging into her wrists as he poked and prodded for an opening, grunting with the effort. Finally Beth felt something give, and her bindings seemed just a little slacker. Within seconds the pressure had loosened. The blood came surging back into her hands, and they tingled painfully. But that didn’t matter – she was free. With spirits rising, she rolled herself into a sitting position to tackle Ralph’s bindings. But when she shook the remnants of her ropes away, an intense pain shot through her injured arm that made her cry out and crumple back to the ground.

  “Beth! Is it broken?” John asked anxiously.

  Once the fog of agony had cleared, she cautiously felt along the bone with shaking fingertips. “I can’t feel a break ... I’m fairly certain it’s just a bad bruise,” she decided. It took several more minutes and a broken fingernail, but eventually she had released Ralph, who then quickly untied John.

  “Now, can we finally get back to Somerset House?” Ralph asked, brushing himself down.

  Beth nodded. “Yes. It should still be safe – it’s away from the fire and it’s built of stone, so we ought to get there as soon as we can.”

  “St Paul’s is built from stone and should have been safe...” John began glumly. However, once he’d had a second to reflect he perked up a little. “But at least those scum don’t know we know it’s been their base.”

  “And there’s still Ed Hewer. I’m sure he’s involved in all this somehow, or at least knows something, and I seemed to be gaining his trust.” Ralph grinned. “I’ll get him talking all right...”

  Chapter Fourteen - The Job

  The sky was still dark as they headed towards Somerset House. The fire was still on the move, like a dragon consuming everything in its path. The streets thronged with people who had hoped the inferno would stop short of their home, but were now having to grab what they could and flee at the last minute. There were more mobs on the rampage now too, Beth realized, as they came across a house with its door smashed in and people inside throwing things out of the upstairs windows onto the street below. A neighbour, cowering across the street, informed them that it was the home of a Dutch artist. The attackers had dragged him outside and started to beat him, but fortunately he had managed to escape.

  “This is shameful!” Beth said as they pressed on. “God grant that thugs like that are brought to justice once the fire is out.”

  “What if it’s true?” Ralph ventured. “In wartime people do terrible things, so who’s to say the Dutch wouldn’t start a fire?”

  “But it started at the King’s baker’s, Thomas Farrinor.”

  “We don’t know that for certain,” said John. “It started in that area, but we don’t know exactly how.”

  “Both stories could be true,” said Ralph. “If it did start in Pudding Lane, what better place for a secret agent to set it going? People would readily believe Farrinor had forgotten to put out one of his ovens at night and a spark had started the whole thing.”

  Beth had no answer to this. “But roaming the streets of London attacking every Frenchman or Dutchman is
still wrong. What if you were living in Paris and a fire broke out? How would you feel if a mob wrecked your home and beat you up?”

  But this new way of looking it at had made Beth think. She found herself keeping a sharper lookout for genuinely suspicious characters, or signs that this was the opening move in an invasion by French or Dutch troops. London would certainly be at their mercy. Or what was left of it.

  “We can’t solve that problem now,” John insisted. “But we can try to find my sister and stop Groby. Forget a fire – if this all goes ahead, the King’s very life is in danger as well as hers. Can we hurry please?”

  Beth felt a little guilty. There was so much to think about that sometimes their main mission slipped into the background. She gave his shoulders a squeeze as they hurried on. “We’ll find Polly.”

  Their route took them to the Strand, from where Beth could look towards Drury Lane. It still looked safe and out of reach of the fire, at least for now. There were homeless people in the streets here but they were coming from further east, and none of the people living in this part of London seemed to have thought it necessary to leave their homes. And yet she couldn’t help but think of Maisie. At least the distraction of the fire would stop her from worrying too much about her first performance on stage. Beth had almost forgotten how nervous she had been about The Empire Dies and her very first serious lead role, but that all seemed so insignificant now. Who knew if the theatre would even still be standing after all this?

  But there was a gang of conspirators trying to kill the King, using an innocent child as a bargaining chip. It was time to get back to being a spymaster’s agent.

  * * *

  Somerset House looked strangely serene after all the sights they had witnessed on their travels through London. Apart from the steady stream of refugees, all was still in the darkness of very early morning here.

  “I’ll pay the cook a visit again,” said Beth. “She’s bound to be up starting the baking, and she’s a good source of information. Do you think you can track down Ed Hewer if he’s still here, Ralph?”

  “I do. But I think you ought to stay out of sight, John. Groby’s gang have been dealing with you over Polly, so of the three of us you’re more likely to be recognized.”

  John seemed to see the sense in this and nodded reluctantly. Ralph set off to find Ed Hewer, Lord Cumbria’s manservant, leaving Beth to show John the spot beneath the staircase where he could lurk in the shadows.

  Ralph hadn’t gone five paces before he encountered a man in his nightshirt, holding a candle and with a fierce look on his face. “And who might you be, boy?” the man demanded haughtily. From his tone, Ralph deduced he was a butler. “What is your business in this establishment, creeping around in the darkness?”

  It was only now that Ralph realized he hadn’t concocted a cover story in advance. That would teach him. He was so good at talking his way out of situations that it sometimes made him cocky, and now here was this tall, snooty head servant looking down his nose at him, ready to throw him out.

  “I’m, er, with Lord Coddingham...”

  “There is no gentleman of that title in Somerset House.”

  “That’s true, sir. But on account of the fire and everything he might have to come here, he sent me on ahead.”

  “Is he acquainted with anyone here?”

  Now they were getting into dangerous territory. If he named anyone who was supposed to know an Earl of Coddingham it could be easily checked and his story would fall apart – but his rescue came from an unexpected source.

  “It’s all right, Mister Warren.” It was Hewer. He was coming up the stairs towards them, and Ralph had never been so relieved to see someone so nefarious before. “This is a cousin of mine,” Hewer continued. “He’s been hard at work fighting the fire and I asked him to come and let me know he was safe as soon as he could. I’ve been unable to sleep until I had word of my family.”

  The butler’s brow furrowed for a moment as he gazed from Hewer to Ralph and back again. “It’s too late at night for all this to-ing and fro-ing ... but the fire is a worry. Still, as all is well now, see that you get to bed forthwith.” Then he gave a haughty sniff and strode away.

  “Come on,” Hewer beckoned. “I’m up early sorting out my master’s clothes in his dressing chamber upstairs. Lord Cumbria’s the only one left here. Most people think Somerset House is safe – which is why so many of us are still here – but the rest of the gentry are in a panic anyway and leaving for their houses in the country.”

  “All right for some...”

  “Too right. So, what really brings you here, cousin?”

  Ralph gave him a crooked smile. “Looking to make up me losses.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Put a bit too much money on a bird that let me down in a cock fight in the back room of the Duke’s Arms. Well, a lot too much to tell the truth. One or two people is after me that you really don’t want to be in debt to...”

  Hewer pulled a face. “Look, friend, I’m not that flushed myself ’til I get paid for the special job I told you about.”

  “Well, I wondered whether you might need an extra pair of hands. You’d take the money you were promised, obviously – just give me a bit of pocket money, like.”

  Ed Hewer stared at Ralph for so long it began to make him feel uncomfortable. Had he seen through his story? Was he deciding whether or not to alert Groby’s men? He mentally plotted his route past Hewer towards the door, ready to run for it if he had to.

  But it proved unnecessary. A complete change of mood had come over Hewer. He lowered his voice. “Things have changed. There’s a bigger job with a lot more money – but it involves more than just keeping a room free for certain gentlemen. A lot more.”

  He was uneasy now. Not, Ralph felt sure, just because he was letting someone in on his secret. He seemed to be troubled by whatever it was he was supposed to do for the gang. For a crook like Hewer to be having qualms, it had to be something pretty big.

  “As long as it pays well I’ll give you a hand whatever it is, matey.”

  “That’s just it ... ’tis not a hand I’m looking for. I can’t do it, Yates. I just can’t. But I’ve a good idea what’ll happen to me if I try to back out. I know too much, see.”

  “So you want to know if I’ll do it?”

  Hewer nodded.

  Ralph pretended to think about it, but he was always going to agree. Whatever the job was, he needed to know about it.

  “How much?”

  “Fifty pounds.”

  “Fifty quid? That’s more than both of us could earn in a lifetime! I’m in!”

  Hewer had turned pale, and Ralph noticed his hands were shaking. “Don’t agree to it ’til you know what it is. I made that mistake.”

  “Mistake? Look, you’ll have to tell me what sort of job we’re talking about. But believe me, I’ve been involved in some serious work in my time. Very serious, if you know what I mean.”

  The most serious thing Ralph had ever done was pick pockets, but he felt sure he sounded pretty convincing.

  Hewer took a deep breath. “You’d need to be prepared to take care of someone...”

  “Sure!”

  “Permanently.”

  Ralph knew not to hesitate. “Easy – ’specially if they deserve it!”

  “That’s just the thing. They don’t. Or at least, I can’t see how she possibly could. You see, it’s a girl. Just a little girl.”

  Ralph felt a catch in his throat but quickly swallowed it back. “For that kind of money, it’s not a problem. She’s nobody to me. I’ll do it.”

  Hewer hesitated for a moment longer, and then extended his right hand. “Once we shake on it, there’s no going back. I’ll take ten per cent for putting the job your way, you keep the rest. But with these people your life will be worth nothing if it isn’t done.”

  Ralph took Hewer’s hand and gripped it firmly. He only hoped Hewer hadn’t noticed how cold his own hand had become.
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br />   “Some of this gang are going into London to carry out a bit of business of their own. If anything goes wrong, word will come back to us and the girl gets it – but if you ask me, knowing the sort of men they are, they’ll probably want her dead anyway.” Hewer shuddered. “Meet me here tomorrow, and I’ll take you to where the job is to be done.”

  “All right, matey. Or, if you just tell me where to go I’ll make me own way and meet you there...?” Ralph said, hoping Hewer would take the bait.

  It didn’t work. “More than my life’s worth. I’ve already taken a risk just involving you. Just be here,” Hewer said firmly.

  Ralph nodded grimly.

  He was sure he had just signed up to murder John’s sister.

  * * *

  Beth managed to slip downstairs to the kitchen without being seen, and when she got there it was noticeably quieter than before, given the early hour. The cook had her back to her, and there were just a couple of other servants working with her at this time. Beth remembered her cockney orange-seller character at the last moment.

  “Er, ’allo there, missus!”

  The woman turned from the sink, wiping her hands on her apron, and didn’t seem surprised to see her – Beth guessed the cook was used to being up at all hours and didn’t find it odd if others were too. “Why, it’s you again. It’s Mrs Barnsbury, by the way.”

  Beth didn’t want to give her own name, and the only thing that came to mind was that of her good friend at the Peacock and Pie. “Thank you, Mrs Barnsbury. Uh, I’m Maisie.”

  “No fruit left?”

  Beth grinned. “A lot o’ hungry, thirsty people fightin’ the fire out there. Got rid of the lot in half an hour, and no more to be had for love nor money.”

  “There isn’t a great deal of food left in here now either, but luckily there aren’t many mouths to feed. I’m just about to start the bread.” She sighed. “We’ve had news of all the houses being pulled down or blown up, and everyone says the fire won’t reach us, but most of ’em have gone anyway.”

  “Typical,” tutted Beth. “Still a few left, though?”