Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

Josiah grinned. ‘Is that all, sir? Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll ’ave a word with the young man myself. Arthur Phillips at the Navy Office. Consider it done.’

‘Thank you, Josiah. No rough stuff, mind, just a little persuasion.’

‘Leave it to me, sir,’ said Josiah, tapping the side of his nose. ‘Master Phillips is about to take a fierce dislike to London. Now what about your side of the bargain?’

‘Very well, Josiah. I’ll come with you. If we don’t find Squire this morning, however, that will be that. No more escapades for me.’

‘Understood, sir. We’ll be back in good time for our dinner, just you mark my words.’

‘And if we’re not?’

‘Then Agnes will know what to do. Bring your purse and ’ide it under your shirt. We might need money and we don’t want your pocket picked.’

Thomas thought better of asking why they might need money. He went to fetch his purse. ‘Lead on, then, Josiah. Once more unto the breach …’

‘What, sir?’

‘Never mind, Josiah.’

At that time of the morning, Fleet Street was still quiet. They saw only a milkmaid, a baker’s boy delivering bread, and on the corner of Carting Lane a whore hoping for a late-night reveller on his way home. They joined Drury Lane near Wild Street. In the lane, the drain which ran down one side was already full of the night’s waste, waiting for rain to wash it down to the river. While Thomas kept the handkerchief pressed to his nose, Josiah appeared not to notice. He strode on up the lane towards Holborn until they came to a dark alley which was little more than a hole between two hovels. Josiah stopped there and turned to Thomas.

‘This is where Molly saw ’im,’ he said, ‘’is arse disappearing down ’ere.’ He pointed to the alley. ‘It’s a nasty place. More than one on the king’s death list ’as ’idden in ’ere. Is your purse safe?’ Thomas nodded. ‘Good. Stay close to me, sir, and speak to no one. The moment they ’ear your voice, we’re in trouble. Let me do the talking.’

Thinking that he would be perfectly happy to go back to Madeleine’s bed and let Josiah do everything, Thomas peered into the alley. Other than a few yards of narrow lane, he could see nothing. The houses on either side were so close that it must always be dark down there. And the stench was worse even than in the lane itself. He would not be wandering more than a foot from Josiah and he would not be engaging any of the inhabitants of this hellish place in conversation.

No more than ten steps into the alley and their path was blocked. The same one-eyed giant whom they had met in Drury Lane on their way to Henrietta’s stepped out of a doorway and held out his hand.

‘A shilling, sir, if you please,’ whispered Josiah. He took the coin from Thomas and handed it to the giant. ‘We’re looking for a friend,’ he told the man, ‘thought ’e might be staying around ’ere. Plump fellow, big arse. We’ve another shilling if you can tell us where ’e is.’

The giant held out his hand again, so Thomas passed Josiah another coin, which was grabbed and dropped down the giant’s shirt. They waited for him to speak. Without a word, however, and two shillings better off, the giant simply disappeared back into the dark doorway from which he had emerged.

Josiah shrugged. ‘’Ope you’ve got plenty of shillings, sir. Looks like we’re going to need them.’

They continued on down the alley, their eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness, to a point at which it turned so sharply to the left that it almost ran back on itself. By this time, word of strangers must have spread and Thomas was aware of movement in the shadows and eyes on his back. The dwellings on either side must have been connected by a network of passages allowing people to move around and messages to be passed, unseen by anyone in the alley. The hairs on his neck stood up. To be seen yet not to see – it was loathsome.

Around the corner, the alley became so narrow that they had to walk one behind the other. Thomas kept within touching distance of Josiah. It was impossible to tell where this alley led, if it led anywhere. It might as easily come to a dead end and they would be forced to retrace their steps. Just as Thomas thought that that was exactly what they would have to do, they found themselves in a tiny yard surrounded by old wooden houses. He looked around. It was lighter than the alley and he could see that each house had a low door and two narrow windows. It was a yard that might have been built two hundred years earlier and have been gradually cut off by new buildings until the only way in was through the alley off Drury Lane.

A curtain moved and a young face peered out at them. Then another face and another. Thomas looked at Josiah for guidance. ‘Just stay still, sir. Some of them know me and they’ll see we’ve no weapons.’ Anyone who had seen Josiah use his stick would certainly count it as a weapon, but Thomas nevertheless did as he was told.

The five minutes they waited seemed to Thomas like twenty. He jumped when a squeaky door opened and three children emerged into the yard. Two were boys, the other a girl. None of them was more than six years old and all three were filthy. They came up to the strangers, as they must have been told to, and held out their hands. Thomas passed three coins to Josiah, who handed them over.

‘We’re looking for our friend,’ he said, ‘a short, fat man. We’ve got an important message for ’im. ’Ave you seen ’im?’

Like the giant, none of the children spoke. The two boys stood and stared at them while the girl went back inside the house. Thomas inspected them. They were feral creatures, half covered by a few rags, their eyes narrow and their faces thin. Their arms and legs were like sticks. Thomas wondered how many more like them spent their lives in this place. Miserable, short lives they would be. Few would see twenty.

The girl reappeared and beckoned them to come in. The two boys stayed in the yard. Lookouts, probably, thought Thomas, in case we’ve brought reinforcements. They ducked through the door and into the house. Inside, a single tallow candle stood on a wooden box in the middle of a small, square room. There was another door opposite them. A man sat in one corner, out of the light of the candle, a long clay pipe in his hand. They could not see his face.

‘Well, well,’ said a rough voice, ‘Josiah Mottershead. ’Aven’t seen ’im in a while. And ’oo’s this with ’im? Not the law, I ’ope.’

‘’Allo, Finn. This ’ere’s my cousin Tom. Doesn’t speak much.’

‘Very convenient. And what brings you ’ere? We don’t get a lot o’ visitors.’ The gruff voice turned into a foul cough. ‘Lookin’ for someone, are you?’

‘A friend. Short and fat. Got a message for ’im.’

‘’As your friend got a name?’

‘Not one ’e’d ’ave told you.’

‘What’s ’e done, your friend?’

‘Don’t know, don’t care. Just got a message for ’im.’

‘What sort o’ message would bring you and ’im ’ere?’ he croaked, pointing his pipe at Thomas.

‘Can’t tell you that, Finn. Private.’

Finn sat in his corner, saying nothing. Surrounded by a cloud of tobacco smoke, he was barely visible even from a few feet. Thomas sensed that he was assessing them. Not what their real business was – if he’d been concerned about that, they’d be dead by now – but about their worth. If he knew where Squire was, he’d be working out how much he could get for telling them and how he could get it.

‘If I were able to ’elp you,’ he said eventually, ‘I’d need payin’. Five guineas.’ It was a lot. A man could buy a good horse for five guineas. But Finn must have decided that Josiah and his cousin had that much in their pockets and would be willing to part with it. And he was right. Thomas had brought more than a few shillings.