I walked on through countryside which might have seemed beautiful if it had not been so inhospitable. My leg slowed me down considerably and, to my increasing disquiet, grew more painful with each step. I needed something I could use as a walking-stick, but in this treeless country that was not to be hoped for.
I limped on for more than an hour — my pace slackening as my leg grew more painful with each step — before I encountered anything except the tracks to three farms whose buildings I could see some distance off the road. Apart from these, there was no house, no cross-road, and no change in the featureless landscape. At the end of that time I saw a light approaching about two miles ahead and since I had decided that I would hide from any vehicle coming towards me in case its driver were stopped by my pursuers, I wasted precious minutes by lying down, when it was about a mile away, at the side of the road in the long grass and bracken — there being no wall or even ditch to provide concealment— until the vehicle, a light waggon, had rumbled past.
After another hour or so my frequent glances behind me brought to my attention a vehicle approaching from that direction. It was travelling fast and in case it could be a pursuer — though I knew the Quiggs kept no carriage— I hid once again and looked out at it. As it drew nearer, however, I saw that it was a stage-coach and since in Stephen’s half-sovereign I had the fare to carry me two or three stages, I came forth and stood in the middle of the road waving my arms above my head. For answer the guard blew a long blast and I had to leap aside as the vehicle thundered past, the driver cutting at me with his whip. I was furious but I could understand their unwillingness to stop at night in that desolate place. Then I reflected that I had obeyed a foolish impulse, for one of the Quiggs might have boarded the vehicle behind me as the quickest way of gaining ground.
So I stumbled on for two or three hours, firmly resolved to conceal myself from any vehicle that approached from either direction, though none appeared to test me. Still I came to no cross-road and passed only a few farmhouses lying a mile or two off the road. I figured that it must be an hour or two past midnight and my mind kept turning to possible events at the farm: the discovery of my flight, the leashing of the dogs, the saddling of the horses, the departure of the Quiggs in pursuit. If these things had not occurred already they could not be long delayed, and with the dogs to tell them which way I had gone, two of the Quiggs would be able to gallop down this road at three or four times my pace, leaving the third to follow on foot with the dogs. I began a grim calculation: even assuming my absence was not discovered until dawn which was still four or five hours off, the Quiggs would need only an hour and a half to reach the point I was at, and perhaps a little over another half-hour to come up with where I would be by then. My injury had reduced my chances of getting off the moors to where there would be more roads to choose from.
Then, peering into the distance far ahead, I thought I saw a dark shape on the silvery road. Yes, surely there was a vehicle ahead for now I saw a couple of faint lights. I increased my pace as well as I could for my leg was hurting more than ever, and at the end of another mile or two I made out that it was an eight-wheeled road-waggon. It took me nearly an hour to come up with it and see that it was carrying huge bales of wool loosely covered by tarred sacking. When I saw that the out-rider was up beside the driver and deep in conversation with him, an idea came into my mind that plunged me into an anguish of indecision. Either I could keep walking as far and as fast as possible, taking the risk that if the road ran on like this and I was not taken up by a vehicle it could only be a matter of time before the Quiggs overtook me, especially since I was tiring rapidly. Or I could try to board this waggon — which was going at least as fast as I and probably, henceforth, faster — in the hope of throwing the dogs off my scent and of soon coming to a cross-roads or a forking of the way, for then my pursuers would be forced to choose and might take the wrong road. Against this, the danger was that they would overtake the waggon and search it and then I would be trapped.
I would play the long shot. I approached cautiously, hoping that neither the driver nor the out-rider would look back and catch sight of me in the dim gleam of the lamps projecting on brackets from the sides. The huge wheels rose above my head, concave and seeming to bend sinuously as they turned, crashing over the uneven stone surface of the carriageway. I eyed the tail-gate a few feet ahead of me on which was painted “Thomas Cavander and Sons: Carriers” and marked a foot-hold. I made a run and a jump and by means of this I managed to get one knee onto the top of the tail-board and then pulled myself over it and landed amongst the woollen bales. I crawled under a piece of the tarred sacking and arranged it so that I could look back at the road but not be seen by the out-rider if he turned round or dropped back. I longed to sleep but the jolting of the waggon, even through the bales I was lying on, and the smell of the oil from the lamps and the tar and above all the gamey sheep-smell of raw wool, made that impossible. I felt, anyway, that I should keep watch for a fork or cross-roads.
We travelled on for an hour or more and still none appeared. A couple of hours passed, and when I glanced out pale streaks began to appear in the eastern sky and I could see that there was snow on the crests of the hills. As the pale sun rose behind the thick layer of cloud, I saw that I was in a bleak country of furze and whinstone.
Then at last the waggon rumbled across some deep ruts and I saw first a finger-post and then over to my right another road alongside us receding at a widening angle. If my absence had not already been noticed, it was now being discovered, I knew, and I estimated that it would take my pursuers only two hours on horseback to reach the fork. Here they might divide, assuming the third had stayed behind with the dogs, and this suggested that until we came to at least another fork I was still very far from being safe.
BOOK V
The Coming of Age
CHAPTER 46
We are again in the old-counting house down among the wharves of Blackfriars.
Mr Sancious, carrying a portmanteau, enters the private closet smirking, and the old gentleman looks up at him from his chair across his table in keen anticipation.
“I have something for you,” the attorney says.
He takes from the portmanteau a folded paper and opens it out so that the old gentleman, sitting on the other side of the table, can see it. Mr Clothier scans it for half a minute and then, rising with a fierce cry, reaches towards it. The attorney, however, steps backwards holding the document behind him.
“Fifty-five years I’ve waited for this,” the old gentleman moans. “For heaven’s sake tell me, how did you come by it?”
Mr Sancious smiles: “That is not my secret to reveal. But I can tell you that I used subtler methods than those that you employed. But come, do you want it?”
“Want it!” the old man repeats.
“Then what will you give me for it?”
“I’ll give you what we agreed.”
“Very generous of you,” the attorney says.
He watches while the old gentleman unlocks his strong-box in the dark corner where it is hidden and reaches into it. Mr Clothier brings out a bundle of papers and gazes at them lingeringly.
Then he says: “What of the woman and the boy?”
“Have no fear for them.”
“What do you mean?” the old gentleman almost whispers. “Are they … ?” The attorney merely smiles.
“You know it’s worthless to me while they live,” Mr Clothier says, staring at the paper in the lawyer’s hand. “Is she alive?”
“Yes, but be assured that it will soon be worth many times more than you’re giving me for it.”
The old gentleman sighs. Then suddenly he says: “And the boy?”
“In due time. The people who have him are waiting for the word from me.”
“As soon as may be!” the old gentleman cries.
“But don’t you want this?” Mr Sancious asks, waving the document and then putting it back in his portmanteau while the old gentleman stares a
t it in anguish.
“Yes, yes, here’s your money, curse you,” Mr Clothier says, laying one of the papers on the table.
“The price has gone up,” the attorney says. “For all my hard work and that of my helper, I want as much again.”
The old gentleman is a pitiable sight as he stands, holding the bundle of bills from his chest and looking at the document in the attorney’s hand. Then he says: “You’re trying to cheat me! That isn’t right! I’ll pay you what we agreed and the same again when you bring me proof that you’ve made them both quiet.”
“The same again for each of them,” Mr Sancious says.
Mr Clothier is silent for a moment and then he nods: “Very well.”
He draws out two pieces of paper from the bundle he is holding and says: “These are at three months drawn by the house of Pomeroy and due in six weeks. They are both backed by Shelmerdine and Tiptoft.”
The attorney nods and while the old gentleman places them on the table (all the while holding onto one end of them), Mr Sancious lays the codicil beside them, in his turn keeping his hand firmly upon it. While the old gentleman scrutinises the document the attorney examines the bills. They nod at each other and then each relinquishes his grasp so that the exchange can be made.
When Mr Clothier has placed the codicil in his strong-box and locked it, he offers his guest a glass of wine “to mark the successful conclusion of our business”.
When they have drunk each other’s health, the old gentleman says: “Well, Sancious, what do you think the Pimlico and Westminster Land Company should do now?”
“Sell the freehold and put out all the capital.”
“Sell it? With the way that the value of land in the metropolis is rising, we should hold onto it.”
“Very well, Mr Clothier. Speculation in land is certainly very profitable at present.”
“Then what should we do with the capital?”
“I had thought of putting it into government stocks,” the attorney suggests.
The old gentleman snorts: “At two or three per cent?”
“Or mortgages,” Mr Sancious suggests.
“Pshaw! One or two per cent more. I have a better suggestion. Why should we not use it to buy up discounted bills? That way we could double our capital in six months if the present speculative mania continues. For with prices of stocks rising so swiftly now, where will things be by Christmas?”
“Perhaps they will have crashed. I’ve never known such wild speculation. They say more than six hundred new companies have been promoted in the past twelvemonth.”
“Nonsense! But even if the market falls and some of the acceptors break, the banks will have to pay up. We’ll only buy paper endorsed by them.”
“But if there’s a general fall, will they be able to?”
“Upon my soul,” the old gentleman exclaims, “don’t you want to make your fortune? Of course, any commercial transaction involves risk because it’s based on credit. You yourself have just gambled by accepting that paper of Pomeroy’s from me. Even if the very worst happens and one or two of the banks close their doors, don’t forget that all bills accepted by them are backed by the Bank of England.”
“But that is only a de facto and not a de jure arrangement. Has it ever struck you that the money-market is like a gaming-hell where the players all agree to accept the ivory fishes as if they were worth a hundred pounds? What would happen if enough of the players declined to do so? They would become just pieces of ivory again.”
“Nothing like that will happen. Why, I’m almost twice as old as you and I remember that the Bank suspended payments in gold only once. And that was in ’97 at the height of the War and the blockade, when they issued paper instead. But bear in mind that if anything were to go amiss, neither you nor I are in jeopardy. Remember who the nominal owner of the Pimlico and Westminster Land Company is.”
He jerks his head towards the outer office and at this Mr Sancious smiles and the two gentlemen raise their glasses.
CHAPTER 47
Before the dawn was fully accomplished the waggon had, to my relief, rumbled up to another cross-roads and borne left. Though even now I dared not assume I was safe, I laid my head against a bale and managed to slumber fitfully, tossed between waking and sleeping as the great vehicle jolted its way across the bleak uplands through the chilly dawn. Perhaps two or three hours later the waggon halted and I awoke to hear the driver and the out-rider applying the drag to each of its wheels. As it moved slowly off again and began to descend a steep hill, I peeked out from the sacking and saw a whitewashed public-house and then a row of low stone cottages. The surface of the road became cobbled and, realizing we were approaching a town, I waited for my opportunity. As the waggon slowed to less than walking-pace to take a bend, I jumped off (taking the weight on my uninjured leg) without being seen.
I found myself in the main street that ran steeply downhill towards a bridge. There were few people about at that hour, but following the smell of fresh bread I found a bakery and purchased a roll and a ha’penn’orth of milk with the half-sovereign. Seeing that there was a big inn down by the bridge and feeling that I needed to put as much ground as possible between myself and the Quiggs, I now conceived a daring design. I waited in the yard until an ostler came out of the stable and asked him if there were a public coach to the next town to the South.
He stared at me for a moment and then said: “Aye, for them as has t’ bloont.”
I said: “I have to get to York today. I’ve heard that my father is very ill.”
“Seven shillin’ outside,” he replied.
I showed him the change from the half-sovereign, and he stared at me curiously: “T’ coach leaves in an hour. Book ticket over yonder.”
I purchased it from a sleepy clerk and the ostler allowed me to wash at the pump in the yard. Not wanting to make myself any more conspicuous than I had done already, I did not go into the travellers’-room but lingered in the yard and watched the coach being made ready. One of the maids saw me walking up and down swinging my arms against my sides, and smuggled out a cup of hot coffee.
When the time came to board the coach the other travellers emerged from the inn grumbling at the earlyness of the hour — which seemed dangerously late to me. To my dismay, for it would make me more prominent, I found that I was the only outside passenger, but when we pulled out of the yard, rumbled across the bridge and began to ascend the opposite hill my spirits lifted. Once we were up on the moors again, I found myself shivering with cold. Noticing this the guard invited me under the shelter of his own great-coat and I was the more grateful since this would conceal me from anyone we might meet on the road. In fact we met nothing except a few carts, then a string of pack-horses in a long line laden with fleeces for the wool-stapling towns, and finally the up-coach to whose driver our own coachman signalled with a laconic lift of his elbow.
The road remained deserted even as we began, after an hour or more, to descend from the lip of the high moors, and this caused me concern for I felt that my best hope of evading detection lay in the safety of crowds. However, leaning against the guard, I fell asleep and remember no more until a little after midday I was awakened by his fumbling for his horn upon which he then blew a prolonged blast.
Under any other circumstances I would have derived great enjoyment from our rattling entry into York, but as it was, I would have preferred to have got down on the outskirts. However, I had to allow myself to be borne into the yard of the city’s principal coaching-inn and here my worst fears were realized for just as an ostler was seizing the lead-horse by the bridle, I noticed two men standing a few yards away by the door to the coffee-room: to my horror one of them was Quigg.
He was deep in conversation with a stranger — dressed in the gaiters, velveteen breeches, felt hat and heavy coat of a waggoner — and only glanced idly at the coach as it drew up beside them. Not knowing that I had any money, it would not have occurred to him that I could be travelling by that means.
The guard jumped down and began to speak to the ostler, thereby exposing me to Quigg’s sight had it not been for the ample figure of the driver which was still between me and my enemy.
I had to freeze where I was — so close that I could hear the conversation:
“I’m chasing a yoong thief,” he said. “He made off last night and me and my twa lads tracked him down t’ high road this forenoon till he must have gotten hisself a cast, for t’ dogs lost t’ scent. So I sent my elder boy back with t’ hounds and rode on with t’ younger lad. He went round by Holmby and I cwome through Spentbridge for we didna ken which gate t’ boy’d have tak’d. I’m meeting my lad here and if he doesna have t’ young rascal wi’ him then we’ll most likely look for him here this forenoon and go on to Selby cwome t’ afternoon.” He had named the next town on the great road to the South. “For he’ll mun pass through there if he’s heading Sooth, as I believe he is.”
The waggoner spoke but so marked was his speech that I could not understand a syllable.
In answer, however, Quigg described my appearance and concluded: “So keep yowr eyes open for t’ rascal, will yow, and tell t’other lads and t’ gate-keepers to do t’ same? And if yow find him, ketch a hold on him and send word to me.”
The waggoner appeared to consent to this and then asked another question.
“Why, a great-coat,” Quigg answered. “But more nor yon, he’s a runaway ’prentice so above all, hisself. It’s robbing his friends as has paid t’ premium, but worse nor that it’s robbing me that’s spent months larnin’ t’ lad his trade.”
I admired the cunning of Quigg’s pretending I was an absconded apprentice, for this denied me the protection of the law and enabled him to call on the help of the authorities.
To my dismay Quigg now hailed the guard of my coach and I realized that I was only seconds away from discovery. At that moment, however, the coachman, who had finished gathering up his belongings, stood up to descend. Concealed behind his broad figure I dropped down on the other side of the vehicle from Quigg as quietly as I could and, resisting the temptation either to look back or to run, walked out through the arched entrance of the yard.