Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

‘Henrietta?’ A nod. ‘What can Henrietta do, Josiah?’

Josiah was trying to force out his answer when the door was unlocked and in strode a tall man with a shaven head and a scarred face. He was holding Josiah’s stick. Two men stood guard at the door.

‘Well, Josiah Mottershead, you lied to me. You told me you had a message for a friend. I didn’t believe you and it seems I was right. Odd sort of friend who ends up with ’is head blown to pieces by ’is visitors. What ’ave you to say for yourself?’ From his voice, Thomas knew it was Finn.

Josiah said nothing. ‘He was hit in the throat,’ said Thomas. ‘He can’t speak.’

‘Then you’ll ’ave to speak for him. And you can start by telling me who you really are and why you’ve come ’ere.’

‘My name is Thomas Hill. I am a friend of Josiah. He asked me to come with him to find this man.’ Thomas waved a hand in the direction of Squire’s body.

‘And ’ow did you know ’e was ’ere?’

‘He was seen entering the alley.’

‘Seen by who?’

‘I don’t know.’ It was Thomas’s first lie and Finn knew it.

‘Yes you do, but I’ll let it go for now. Who is ’e?’

‘His name was Lemuel Squire.’

‘Why did you kill ’im?’

‘We didn’t. He shot himself.’

‘Why?’

‘He was a traitor and a murderer. He only had one bullet so he couldn’t kill both of us.’

Finn laughed and thrust the end of Josiah’s stick at Thomas’s face. ‘I’ve only got one stick, but I could easily kill both of you and I will if I find you’re lying again. I don’t like being lied to.’

Josiah tried to say something, but managed only a rasping cough.

‘You should know me better than to take me for a fool, Josiah Mottershead. Now ’and over your purse, Mr ’Ill, and both of you take off your boots.’

They did as they were ordered. One of the guards took their boots and Finn put Thomas’s purse in a pocket.

‘You’ll stay ’ere with your dead friend while I decide what to do with you.’ Finn turned on his heel and left. The door was locked behind him and they were in semi-darkness again.

Talking was plainly so painful for Josiah that Thomas could not bear to tempt him into it. He closed his eyes and tried to think clearly. Josiah must have had a reason for telling Agnes to go to Henrietta if they had not returned for their dinner. Perhaps Henrietta had influence with Finn. Josiah evidently thought she had a better chance than Joseph Williamson’s men. Meanwhile, without boots or Josiah’s stick they would not be overpowering their guards and making a run for it, so they had better sit quietly, gather their strength and hope Henrietta could think of something. If not, they were in the hands of Finn. Not a happy prospect.

Mind you, facing the wrath of Miss Stewart was not a happy prospect either. What would she think when she woke up to find that Thomas had sneaked off with Josiah to one of the most dangerous areas of London, leaving poor Agnes to raise the alarm if they did not return. If she washed her hands of him for being stupid and irresponsible, he would have only himself to blame. You clod, Thomas, you should have sent Josiah packing and gone back to bed. He sat miserably and tried not to look at the horribly dead body a few feet away.

When night fell, the little light there was in the room disappeared altogether. The door had remained locked since Finn had left and Josiah had not spoken. Thomas reached out and touched his leg. ‘How is your throat, Josiah?’

Josiah answered in a slow, hoarse whisper. ‘A little better, sir. Wouldn’t mind some ale, though.’

‘I doubt if Finn’s serving ale today. We’ll just have to wait for Henrietta to bring us something. Do you think she’ll be able to help?’

‘’Ope so, sir. Otherwise we’re in a bit of an ’ole. Finn’s a mean bugger when ’e wants to be.’

‘What will he do?’

‘’E’ll try to get money for us. If ’e can’t, ’e’ll drop us in the river.’

‘Then let’s hope someone somewhere is willing to pay for us.’

THE NIGHT WAS long and foul. Thomas shivered and shook and listened to rats scrabbling about behind the wall. It would not be long before they caught the scent of the corpse and came to investigate. Thomas and Josiah exchanged a few words to keep their spirits up, but otherwise sat in silence with their own thoughts. The longer they were there, the worse their chances of getting out alive. Cold, starvation, thirst, their throats cut, a blow to the head and a watery grave – it would only take one to finish them off.

As they had not returned for their dinner, Agnes would have called on Henrietta. Thomas hoped Josiah had told her to expect two tall men in yellow satins and a large woman in an orange wig drinking port and smoking a pipe. If not, poor Agnes might have taken fright and run. Not that he had any idea what Henrietta would do. He imagined her, Boudica-like, fearlessly leading her girls into the alley, overcoming Finn and his men and rescuing the two prisoners. Molly would certainly be capable of scratching out some eyes. Would she carry them off to Wild Street, there to put them to work as her servants or, worse, have her wicked way with them before putting them out on the street? Thomas shuddered. They would be better off at the mercy of Finn.

He caught himself. Don’t be absurd, man. Your mind always plays tricks at times like these, especially when you are hungry. If Josiah trusted Henrietta, he had good reason to do so. With perfect timing, his stomach rumbled in complaint. To take his mind off it, he got up and tried the door. Locked fast. He felt his way around the stone walls. Not a chink or a wobble. He thought about the heap of bloody blankets on which Squire’s body lay, decided he could not bear to touch them and made do with jumping up and down. Even in midsummer this dank little cell was cold at night.

Some time during the night, Josiah was racked by a fit of coughing. It was a raw, rough, grating croak, and it hurt Thomas just to listen to it. The coughing went on for several minutes, each spasm making Thomas grit his teeth and screw his eyes closed. Eventually it ended, leaving Josiah wheezing and panting and Thomas drained. He put his hand out to comfort the little man and found that he was grasping his throat as if to stop it bursting through his neck.

‘Josiah, you must be in a lot of pain. Can I do anything?’ Josiah shook his head and tried to say something. ‘I’m sorry. Don’t try to talk. Just keep as still as you can.’

Thomas went back to the door, hammered on it with his fist and shouted as loudly as he could. ‘Water, we need water. Water. Now.’ There was no response. He tried again. ‘Bring water, damn you. Bring it now.’ Still no response. He thumped on the door and screeched curses, using words he had not heard for years. He gave up only when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Josiah took his arm and gently led him away from the door and back to his place on the floor. There the two of them sat until a little weak light began to find its way into their cell.

When at last the door was opened, it was Finn who came in. He put a pail of water on the floor and glanced at the dead body. ‘Rats been at ’im yet? Won’t be long before they do, so look sharp if you’re ’ungry. Word’s out that you’re staying with us so we’ll keep you alive for a day or two. After that, you’d better ’ope you’ve got a friend with the money.’ He pointed at the body and snorted. ‘Otherwise you’ll be joining ’im.’

As soon as Finn had left, Thomas put the pail in front of Josiah, who scooped handfuls of water into his mouth. Then Thomas did the same. The water was dirty and smelt of rotting fish and he had to force himself to swallow it, but it did help. Josiah managed a lopsided grin. ‘You should ’ave asked for ale, sir.’