by Jo Macauley
“Polly? Is she here?” came John’s anxious voice as they stood up and looked around. But there was nobody at all in the room. Beth’s heart sank – she could only imagine John’s disappointment.
Ralph was panting and bedraggled, but freed at last from his nightmare he grinned and pointed at John. “Look at you!” he laughed.
John’s face was black all but for his blinking white eyes. His brown hair stood on end, and a little cloud of dust hung over him like his own personal rain cloud.
“Look at you, you mean!” John retorted. Ralph was in the same shape as John, and Beth, tasting the soot in her mouth, knew she must look just as bad. For a moment they stood recovering their breath, and she surveyed their new surroundings. The room had bare, dark wooden floorboards, a single bookcase, and several old portraits hanging on the walls. But it was a big space and had an abandoned look to it, virtually stripped of furniture as it was apart from a bulky chest of drawers that had been pushed up against the door.
“How on earth did they get out of here after blocking the door? I can’t see any other exits,” Beth mused, frowning. “Unless they went out the same we just came in? Seems so unlikely, though...”
The others looked around, just as perplexed. The only signs of recent human habitation were in one corner, away from the windows – but they were telling ones.
Blankets were spread out on the floor as if to make temporary beds. There were a couple of little bundles wrapped in large cotton handkerchiefs, and the remains of a meal: a half-eaten pie, some apple cores and two wooden tankards.
“I can’t believe Polly’s not here,” John murmured sadly. He gazed into the corner, as if he might get a glimpse of his sister’s presence if he tried only hard enough.
“Well, I’ll get Hewer to take me to her. He knows where she is, even if he—” Ralph’s voice suddenly faltered.
“What?” John demanded. “What about Hewer?”
“I ... I thought t’was best not to tell you...”
“We didn’t want to panic you,” Beth added.
John’s eyes narrowed. “What? That’s why you got rid of me when you were checking the door into here, isn’t it? You didn’t need a lookout – you just wanted to form a plan between yourselves and keep me out of it.”
Beth went over to him and grasped his grimy hand. “We weren’t excluding you. We didn’t want to burden you with it.”
He softened a little. “But why would it be a burden?”
Ralph looked to Beth, and she nodded. John might as well know everything now – it was only fair. “I don’t think ... well, from what Hewer says, I don’t think they intend to let her go.”
The terrible truth dawned on John. “They’re going to kill her once they’ve got what they want from us, aren’t they?”
“Ed Hewer is in on it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. So ... he asked me.”
Beth expected John to explode, so she was surprised by the way he took this news.
“But that’s good! You’re on the inside now, and you can make sure nothing happens to her!”
Ralph exhaled. “That’s the plan. And I’ll do everything I can to protect her. But I don’t know the details yet. I’m meeting Hewer here later this morning, and he’ll take me to wherever she is. I tried to get it out of him earlier, but it was no good, and I couldn’t risk making him suspicious. I’m just hoping there’s not too many of them to fend off if it comes to it, or whether they’ll all be breathing down my neck when the time comes to—”
John jumped to his feet. “But you won’t go through with it!”
Ralph quickly shook his head. “Of course not! Rather let ’em kill me than do that, matey!”
John exhaled and gave Ralph a silent nod of gratitude.
“Whatever their plan for Polly is,” Beth said, “they’re bound to wait ’til you tell them where the King will be most vulnerable on his route to the Navy Board, as you promised. She’s their bargaining tool.”
John let out a sigh. “Let’s clean off a bit – Ralph, you can’t turn up to Hewer looking like that or he’ll know something is up. Then when we’re sure the coast is clear, we can shove that chest of drawers out of the way and slip out through the back door.”
They did their best to brush the soot off their clothes and wipe off their faces, giving Ralph some extra help to make him as presentable as they could. Beth could still feel the dust and soot in her hair and nostrils, and every time she swallowed she tasted tiny, bitter granules.
“Very well,” she said. “Let’s move this furniture away from the door – slowly – and check if the coast is clear...”
They began to move the chest of drawers, inch by inch so as not to make too much noise, then waited, pressing their ears to the door. But when they heard a sudden creaking noise it wasn’t from the corridor – it was from behind them, inside the room. The three of them whirled around, staring around them desperately.
“Did you hear that?” John whispered.
“Yes,” came Ralph’s reply.
“Is there someone in here?”
Beth could see a big oil painting, one she knew had been hanging on the wall next to a large bookcase, resting at a crazy angle on the floor.
“H-how did that portrait come off the wall?” Ralph whispered.
The stern, warty figure in it appeared to be glaring right at them, as if resenting their intrusion. He looked familiar. Beth got onto her hands and knees and crawled a little closer. It was Oliver Cromwell.
“Cook says this wing is where his body lay in state before the funeral,” she told them. “I’m amazed they didn’t find this and take it down when the royals took over the residence again.”
“Whose body?” Ralph asked.
She gestured to the painting. “Cromwell. She reckoned he haunts the place.”
“Well, I don’t believe in ghosts,” John said quickly.
Ralph shook his head. “I always thought there was something spooky about this place. I was on the dockside in Wapping one night, when out of the corner of my eye I saw—”
“Wait!” Beth shushed him. She had seen a movement on the upper shelf of the bookcase on the far side of the room.
“Mouse?” John ventured.
There was a scraping, scratching sound. The whole bookcase seemed to tremble, and one of the books seemed to twitch, at first almost imperceptibly, then more violently.
“Bloomin’ strong mouse,” Ralph muttered.
The book gave one extra strong shudder, then suddenly fell from the shelf, its pages flapping open. Beth’s skin was crawling as if a thousand spiders were rushing over her. As a spy she was used to preparing herself to meet a threat, but somehow this felt different. Summoning all her courage, she slowly edged towards the dusty volume and picked it up.
“Maybe it is Cromwell’s ghost. Maybe he doesn’t want us here – we are the King’s spies...” Ralph muttered.
“Nonsense!” hissed John, but even he sounded unsure now.
Beth was sure there was a good explanation, but as with Ralph and his seafaring background, the theatrical world she inhabited was full of superstition. She turned the book over to look at the cover. The room was warm, but the book felt oddly cold. She stared at its title:
Cromwell’s Revenge.
Just then the bookcase began to shake and creak. Beth stifled a yell and dashed back towards her friends. When she turned to look back, a shadowy figure had materialized before them, making no sound. All she could hear was Ralph muttering the Lord’s Prayer under his breath.
The figure emitted a deep chuckle and stepped away from the bookcase, which had moved away from the wall at an angle, leaving a dark gap on one side.
“Certain people have far more reason to be afraid of me than of Cromwell’s ghost...”
He continued to advance, and now they could see his face.
It was Sir Alan Strange.
Chapter Sixteen - Blackfriars
“It seems that you haven’t learned that Si
r Henry Vale is also back in England, controlling Groby and his henchmen,” said Strange. They were all standing in a circle, close to the secret hiding place behind the bookcase from which their spymaster had emerged. He’d explained that there were often networks of secret passageways in buildings like this, and he’d followed some intelligence about the plot against the King which had led him there. Beth was relieved they had a way to sneak out of there, at least...
Strange had listened as they quickly filled him in on how they’d ended up there, but now Beth, John and Ralph looked at one another, absorbing this information about Vale. It was somewhat inevitable that he was behind all this, Beth thought bitterly. The famed anti-Royalist had been behind all the plots they’d faced down against the King so far, since he’d faked his own beheading several years prior.
“I already had people trying to observe Vale,” Strange continued, “but we were unaware of what Groby’s part was in his leader’s scheme until you alerted me to his activities. As you can imagine, it’s been hard conducting good espionage with the fire raging. Several of my people are not contactable, hence my pursuing this lead myself. Vale and his men have been very elusive and hard to keep track of – you must have found out about Somerset House before us.”
“It was through a man called Ed Hewer, a servant here,” Beth explained. “He’s involved with Groby’s gang, and Ralph has managed to gain his confidence.”
Strange gave a rare, slow smile. “Well done, Ralph. All of you. How is this Hewer connected to Groby, and what is his role in all this?”
“He’s not really one of their men,” Ralph explained. “It started with them bribing him to let them use this place as a base – and then they wanted him to do something far worse.”
“What thing? Name it.”
Ralph was looking sheepishly in John’s direction, and it was John himself who intervened.
“Kill my sister. They plan to assassinate the King when he visits the Navy Board in the morning, and will kill her if anything goes wrong. We’ve tried to—”
“Hold,” Strange interrupted sharply. “How do they plan to get close to the King when he visits the Navy Board tomorrow?”
“John had to promise to help them in order to keep Polly alive,” Beth admitted. “It was the only option we had.”
Strange glowered at the three of them for a moment. “I expect my spies to obtain information, not give it to the enemy.”
“I ... I know, sir,” John stuttered. “But I had to do something to hold them off from harming my sister, and our hope is to stop them before they manage to harm the King—”
“And in playing them along,” Beth interjected, “we hope to find out where Polly is. If we rescue Polly, we can foil Groby and stop him and the others in their plot against the King!”
“It is absolutely not acceptable that your information has put the King in more danger.” Strange glowered at them, but then his expression softened slightly. “But at least now we know the nature of the threat to His Majesty. I will flood the area with the King’s guard and—”
“No!” exclaimed Beth, before lowering her voice. “With all due respect, sir, that will alert them and they’ll kill Polly before we have a chance to stop them. Please let us proceed with our plan, John will meet with them tomorrow and we can somehow lay an ambush then, once we know the girl is safe.”
“So, where is Polly? How do you plan to ensure her safety while duping Groby?”
Beth’s head dropped a little. “We don’t know yet...”
“Trust us, Mister Strange!” Ralph pleaded. “I’m meeting Hewer later on – he’s going to take me to Polly. And Beth will go with John to meet Groby. Between us, we’ll stop them!”
“Have we ever failed you?” John added.
Strange fixed each of their gazes for a moment but did not answer the question. He was silent for what felt to Beth like an agonizing length of time before replying.
“I will allow you to continue,” he said. “And there will be no extra guards for the King to draw attention. But before you do anything rash, you must inform me of your plan once it’s formulated. I will be in the guardhouse at the main entrance to the Tower until the King’s carriage leaves. And I will station a number of my people whom I have been able to contact in ordinary clothes in the area. They are good at their job and Groby won’t spot them – but if the King appears to be in any danger they will intervene, whether you have rescued Polly or not. Is that understood?”
* * *
As they were now were able to use Strange’s secret passage, Beth and John were able to slip out of Somerset House this time both quickly and unnoticed. Ralph remained in place, ready to pretend to help Ed Hewer in his gruesome task.
Beth took a deep breath. It felt good to be out in the cool air and stretch her legs after the stuffy, ominous atmosphere of the east wing.
Even in the growing morning light, the still-raging fire was impossible to ignore. It dominated the skyline like a rip in the world exposing a glimpse of Hell. Beth could feel the warmth on her face, carried over half a mile on the steady breeze from the east. Streets that would normally be deserted at this hour echoed to the sound of rattling cartwheels and shuffling footsteps. More and more people were being forced from their homes. But the closer she and John got to St James’s Park near the Palace of Westminster, well away from the fire, they began to encounter fewer and fewer people.
“What’s the plan, Beth?” asked John. “We’re not far off the meeting place with Groby.”
“I thought Captain Jack Turner would be the one to come up with a plan!”
He smiled, but it was a rather sad smile. “If only I really were Captain Jack, people might take me more seriously...”
“People?” Despite the circumstances, she was being a little mischievous, knowing what he meant to say but was too shy to.
“People who think I’m too shy and timid for this sort of thing. Ralph, Strange ... and ... and...”
“I can’t think what other names you can possibly come up with. I, for example, very much like the quiet John. Just as much as the dashing Captain Jack – more, in fact. He would probably wear me out with all his leaping about and swordfighting.”
John laughed a little, but he turned to her as they walked and caught her gaze. “I wish I could believe that.”
For a moment it was as if the fire, the kidnappers and the plot against the King didn’t exist, and they were simply out for a moonlit stroll together.
“You should believe it.”
He drew closer to her. “Beth...”
“Yes?”
“When this is all over—”
“Who goes there?!”
A man with a pikestaff jumped out at them, and for a second Beth thought they’d been ambushed by Groby’s men. But their route to Stonecutter’s Yard, where Groby had told John to meet the gang, had taken them close to the Tower of London, and it was one of the uniformed guards on a routine patrol.
“We’re on an important assignment for one of the King’s most trusted officers,” said John without a moment’s hesitation.
“Oh, is that right? Sure you wouldn’t rather I arrange for you to see His Majesty himself? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we woke him up.”
“Strange,” said John quietly.
“You’re too right it is,” the guard began. He seemed just about to call for assistance.
“Sir Alan Strange,” John said, lowering his voice. “We are in his ... employ. ’Tis not something we can discuss with you – unless you want to answer to him over the matter.”
The guard’s sneer instantly vanished the moment the feared spymaster’s name was mentioned.
“Of course,” John continued, “if we’re late for our rendezvous, we shall have to explain the cause of it. What did you say your name was?”
The man lowered his formidable pikestaff. “Now, now. There’s been no delay, not as matters anyway. So don’t you go saying there has. Off you go.”
“N
icely done, Captain Jack!” Beth said as they hurried on. “But we still need a firm plan when we get to where you’re to meet Groby.”
“How about ... I’ll draw him away from the others and whack him, you take care of whoever’s left. If they’re all unconscious, they won’t be able to get word to their thugs to kill Polly, or get to the King.”
“That’s a plan?”
“It’s easy enough in Captain Jack’s world.”
Beth wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not, but it struck her that it was as good an idea as any. “Well, we’ll have the element of surprise, I suppose. And if we can arm ourselves...”
They were entering Crutched Friars now, and the growing daylight cast the windows and roofs in a warm glow.
“Grab one of these branches,” said John, casting his eye over the churchyard of St Olave’s on the corner of Seething Lane. “And some heavy stones. Anything stout enough to whack someone but small enough to conceal ’til the time’s right.”
“Aye, aye, captain!” said Beth, and quickly grabbing suitable weapons from the ground.
Then they just had to wait.
* * *
“Someone’s coming...” whispered Beth. They were in the shadows at the corner of Stonecutter’s Yard, Groby’s meeting place. Footsteps could be heard coming from the direction of Whitechapel. They sank back, and before long Beth saw shadowy figures emerging out of the morning gloom, heading their way.
“Ready?” Beth asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” John replied.
She took a deep breath, gave his forearm a quick, hard squeeze, and then turned into the yard and hurried to her hiding place behind a tarpaulin-covered cart. There were three men approaching, and from her vantage point Beth could just make out the squat figure of Edmund Groby. The other two hung back, constantly looking around as if hoping to protect their leader from an ambush from either end of Crutched Friars. She could only make out dark outlines, but one was like a taller version of Groby: thick-set, with a short, fat neck and squarish head, and big shoulders filling out his jacket. The other looked older – he might be the weak link when it came to a fight, and Beth felt better about her chances of taking on the two of them now.