Chapter 10 – Back To The River

"Quick, wake!" called Maggie. She shook Tom and encouraged him to get dressed and leave. He was startled but did his best to follow her instructions. Both of them put on the clothes brought earlier by Turner's housekeeper - clothes belonging to Mrs Harrison's very own children - to be used as a temporary measure until new ones could be bought the next day.

As they dressed, Maggie told her brother in short bursts all she could remember about what occurred during the visit by the two men. She withheld what she thought were the lies about her father, and what had happened to his fellow escapees on Van Diemen's Land.

"Wait here a moment. Don't move. I'll be back in a short while." Maggie left the bedroom and ran down the stairs to the door, which led directly to the street below. It was closed.

She opened it and looked across the road. The younger gentleman stood beside a carriage and was speaking to someone inside the vehicle. She wondered about Mr Turner's health, then saw the older man step out of the carriage and begin to climb up to the box seat. She closed the door over, hoping and praying inwardly the men had finished with their business inside the house.

When she re-entered the bedroom, she looked for Thomas. He crawled from the underneath the bed. "I was just making sure, Maggie. Them men you described, well I didn't want them to catch me."

"Good thinking, my little man," she said. "Now, we have to move quickly. Follow me."

The children surrendered to the shadows of the night and watched as the carriage carrying Turner moved off. They ran and followed its progress down Fetter Lane and watched as it wound its way through the narrow London streets.

"We'll find out where they are taking him and go and report this to the police. We must keep that carriage in sight, Tom."

At first Thomas seemed overwhelmed by everything that happened in the short hours he had spent asleep. The story seemed too remarkable. He wondered whether or not he was still in some sort of dream. However, as they began to follow the carriage, and he awakened fully to the reality of the cold cobblestones on his feet, his eyes once more became ablaze with the idea of adventure.

Following the carriage through the maze-like streets of London, the children kept within sight of the moving vehicle.

At night the streets had an unfamiliar feel about them, one which scared Maggie. The people who filled the streets at night took on an unusual and haunting visage. At one point, a raging drunk of a man approached from the shadows - staggered and barked and moved aggressively towards them.

They ran to the other side of the road, ignoring his slurred, jumbled curses. Such episodes made Maggie realise why, after long days mudlarking, they would stay inside their hut under the watchful eye of a candle.

But now all fear of the night seemed to be forgotten, as Turner and the carriage threatened to drift out of sight. Maggie promised herself that she would put up with all the night could throw at her. Their future, indeed their hope of any sort of future, was being kidnapped and taken away from them by the men in the black carriage in front.

Eventually the carriage came to a halt at an old warehouse close to Blackfriars Bridge. The older man, Beagle, left his position at the reins of the carriage and came back down to the road. The children were too far back to hear what the two men were saying to each other but they were engaged in a long discussion. Whitmore, who was still inside the vehicle, was pointing to the building and Beagle was shaking his head. He left the vehicle while Whitmore stepped from inside the carriage and began stroking the horse's flank.

A few minutes later, Beagle remerged from the building with a long sheet of fabric and a long wooden pole.

"Mark this place in your mind, Tom. Remember this place and this address. Remember it forever," said Maggie half to herself.

"Why's that, Sis?"

"Ssssh. Quick, they're off again." And so were our two mudlarks, back in pursuit of the carriage as it once more weaved its way towards the river.

***

They were by the riverside again.

The men alighted from the carriage and dragged a rigid tarpaulin package from inside and let it fall to the ground.

The children looked at each other. They knew from their time on the river, the corpses of the drowned, or even the murdered, were often swallowed up - only to be spat back to the surface, to re-emerge on the mudflats, or to be found days later by men dredging in boats.

With what looked like a corpse wrapped in tarpaulin, the two men lifted the body between them and stumbled towards the dock stairs that led down to the river.

The children, someway back - and out of sight, moved towards the dock wall. They crept to the top of the dock stairs and looked down to where the two men stood on the dock with the body of William Turner.

"Nobody around here, Sir. This looks like a fine old spot," explained a voice Maggie recognised as belonging to the elder of the men.

"Here will do then." The other voice said, which to Maggie sounded like younger of the two men. The murderers were directly below them. "Lift the legs up this end, the weight inside is sufficient to make him float for a bit then sink without trace with a little a bit of a prod."

"Here it shall be then, Sir."

"Can you count to three, Beagle?" Whitmore asked of his subordinate in a mocking tone.

"Free, Sir, I fink I could count to firty-free if you so wished, Sir," he replied over-emphasising his cockney accent. Beneath his light-hearted tone, Beagle's accent sounded as if it had been blunted upon the discipline of regiment and routine.

"Here goes then: ONE, TWO..."

"Wait up a second, Sir."

"What is it now Beagle!"

Tom turned back to Maggie. In the poor light she held her finger to his lips. A look of fear swirled around his small, furrowed face as the light from the moon seemed intent on exposing their hidden position.

"Just my poor back. I can feel it going again, Sir. My old war wound again. Gained for Queen and country as you rightly know."

"Do you wish us to be caught, Beagle!" Whitmore exclaimed. "We can't stand here yapping all night. Now, are you ready? ONE, TWO..."

"Woh! Hold on! Hold on!"

"What is it now?"

"It seems such a waste to throw away this nice roll of tarred canvas, Sir."

"Now you're testing my patience, Beagle. Believe me, the price is worth paying."

"Just a thought. Anyways, why is it we always have to count to three? Why don't we count to...say - four? Why has it always got to be three? Have you noticed that, Sir? What is the significance of three?"

"Okay, Beagle, for you, let's make it four. Now, are you ready?"

"Ready."

"ONE, TWO, THREE...and FOUR!"

After hearing the call of four, a splash informed the children the package had landed in the water. It informed them that their package of hope was lost. It would now drift down river, or sink to its depths - only to be reclaimed by other river scavengers, or trawled from the riverbed and emptied of all its worldly goods.

Suddenly Maggie's mind was sharpened by fear. If they were discovered, what might a couple of murderers do to them? This last thought seemed to creep into both of their minds. When Maggie looked to Tom, his face appeared to reflect back her own fears.

They ran from their vantage point and hid behind an abandoned cart before the men reappeared. From the sound of footsteps, the men had reached the top of the stairs. After a minute or two, the older man returned back down the stairs to the riverside, alone, with the pole, while younger one climbed back inside the carriage. The children, opposite, lay flat beneath the body of the cart, not daring to move, until they heard the horses' hooves opposite signal the murderers' departure.

"Shall we go down and see if he's still alive, Sis?"

"It's dark and I'm sure he's dead. There might be blood, guts - who knows what they did to him in that carriage. Who knows what we may find - even if we are able to fish him out." She paused and added, "I'm scared Thomas. The only dead body I ever saw was Mum."

"I am scared too, Sis. But he could've helped us. He was our only chance."

"We can't go down there, Tom. We must go to the police. I think, I'm sure, he's dead."

And at that, both embraced and wept. They wept for the caring and generous man, wept for his kindness and the hope he had ignited within them. If only for a few, short hours.

***

Metropolitan Police Evidence: The Power Papers - Document 6

Letter from Dr. Charles Armitage to Mr Henry Thomas Whitmore, February 1839.

My Dear Henry,

As you are no doubt aware from our University days, my habits and vices are both loathsome and many. Last weekend while engaged in one such sinful activity, I happened across a man who went by the name of Mr William Turner, a prominent supporter of the Chartist cause - if my memory serves me right. Allied to his membership of certain disreputable political organisations, he is also a member of a certain London club - situated in the vicinity of Covent Garden - a club in which fortunes are won and lost on the turn of a card or the spin of a roulette wheel. I may have taken you to such a place in your younger, carefree days.

On the evening in question, I spoke to this wretched-looking individual about his fortunes and he responded that lady luck had deserted him of late. He cut a forlorn figure and left the club with a heavy depression and even heavier debt upon his person. Further, I enquired with an acquaintance - the owner of this establishment - and he secretly divulged that the gentleman, known as Mr William Turner, was indeed largely indebted to his club, and that he also held knowledge of further debts within other such establishments.

Such handsome sums he spoke of too. Sums which may, perhaps, cause considerable embarrassment if they were to become public knowledge - especially for such a public figure and champion of the people, as Mr Turner likes to regard himself.

I know it not my place, nor indeed is it my business, to tell you how to act upon such information, but I'm sure Mr Turner can be manoeuvred in such a profitable direction and, in the process, be of great benefit to your vital work in securing our country from the many enemies we currently have residing within. I know you are continually searching for, and always in need of recruiting, such persons for the valuable work in intelligence gathering.

Notwithstanding my loyalty to my Queen and Country, I offer this information practically free of charge. However, if you could see your way to clearing a small debt I have incurred recently (see receipt within), I would be most appreciative and will offer my service further in the future. If they are so required.

Yours sincerely

Charles.

***