Chapter 23 - A Reward

Dinner was a subdued affair that evening. The Countess seemed distracted and hardly had she began one topic of conversation when she moved onto another, unrelated, topic. The children's minds still lingered on the dark cellar beneath the folly, and Maggie scarcely listened to a word the Countess had to say.

After dinner they all trudged upstairs to bed. The boys separated and went to their own room, while Maggie held a book she had taken from the Countess' study, with the intention of reading as a way to take her mind off the day's events.

Maggie knew she would not sleep. She was once again afraid to even attempt sleep. She knew her thoughts would be filled with the images she had witnessed on the other side of the lake - upon that wretched island, inside the dreaded folly.

She dozed, drifting between a half-sleep and half-conscious state.

"Pssssssst. Hey Maggie, wake up."

She sat up alert and saw Jack standing above her.

"I can't sleep, Maggie," he said. "Too many thoughts roving round my skull."

"I understand," Maggie murmured, still finding her bearings as his candle shone in face. He placed the candle down next to her unlit one on a cabinet at the side of the bed.

"It's that place," he said almost afraid of his own words. He was filled with fear - more so than at any time during the short time she had known him. Even when they were being chased around the streets of London months before, he had not appeared this agitated. He seemed in control. He seemed calm then. Now, however, he was biting at his fingernails and had the look of a trapped animal.

"Such a creepy place," Maggie said yawning. "Is Tom not awake?"

"No he is dead to the world, as usual," he tried to laugh, but it was a forced, nervous laugh. "How is it he can sleep so well knowing about that place?"

"I wish I knew. Is all well, Jack? You don't seem right," asked Maggie as she lit her own candle from the flame of Jack's.

Jack seemed deep inside his own thoughts and did not respond at first. "There something very strange about that building, the whole set up down there. What do think them cages is for, Maggie?"

"I would have thought some sort of animals, until I saw those names carved into the walls. That sent a shiver down my spine - make no mistake."

They continued talking about their fears and wondered how best they should continue. "I'm beginning to think that moving on would be best," suggested Maggie.

"I wondered why the old witch has told us to stay away from that folly. She's hiding something from us, Maggie. She's -"

"No, Jack, we can't judge her yet. We don't even know if she's aware of what is going on over there."

"Didn't you say she was up to something yourself, remember? In the middle of the night – crossing over the lake. Does that sound like a common thing to be doing?" he asked.

"She once told me she sometimes walked in her sleep."

"Ha! Sleepwalking? What in a boat? Was Sexton sleepwalking too? No mug's buying that, Maggie. And by the look on your face, you ain't either."

"Let's leave it till the morning, Jack. Try and get a little rest perhaps. Then we shall think upon whether we should stay or leave."

As she watched Jack leave her room, he stopped dead in his tracks at the open door. "Quick!" he whispered across the room. "Quick, here, Maggie." He motioned for her to join him at the door. He blew out the light from his candle as Maggie moved towards him with a candle in her hand.

"No, blow it! Quick," he snapped.

There were footsteps and voices down below on a corridor beneath the stairs.

They moved to the edge of balcony to listen. They could hear a number of voices. One belonged to Sexton, one to the Countess, but there was another male voice below they could not make out. They looked down from the top of the stairs and saw Sexton leave via the front door. The Countess and the stranger - whom they could not see - stood below them.

The Countess was speaking in the sharp, instructional tone Maggie knew so well, especially when she was under her tuition.

"She saw me in the boat the other night, too."

"What did you say to her?" the voice asked of the Countess.

"I told her a whole host of lies of course. But she didn't seem convinced. She's a smart girl. Pity really."

Jack looked across and met Maggie's eyes, "Did you tell her? Fool!" he hissed. Maggie was taken aback by the strength of his anger.

"I trust her," whispered back Maggie. "I really trusted her."

"I hope you are not getting too attached to her, my lady?" The man laughed. He was a gentleman. But the Countess did not respond to his teasing. "She is, after all, a reward for all the help you have given me these past months."

Maggie recognised the voice, although its familiarity did not immediately bring forth a face to match. She peered over the landing to see if she could see the speaker. He was hidden from view by the large chandelier hanging down from the ceiling. From the sight of his legs - muddied trousers and boots - she guessed he had been riding.

"I really don't know what I would have done without you, especially with all the work I have to attend to across the country at present." After a pause, he continued, "What of the youngest boy?"

"No, he's not one for me. If I could have taken him under my wing when he was younger, he may have been of some use," she replied.

"And the boy Jack knows far too much," said the stranger.

"Pity really. He has great promise. Can hold his tongue and has plenty of guile. Dishonesty is his greatest feature."

"He will have to be disposed of somehow. And we might as well do the two together."

"I have no use for either of them," said the Countess wearily. "You must take them and get rid of them. But I shall need the girl soon."

Jack turned and looked again towards Maggie. It was as if he was about to say something. She signalled back to him with her finger pressed to her lips. "We need to listen," she whispered, "this sounds important."

"Very well, my lady. I shall return to London for a couple of days. My colleagues are getting fretful. But we need to separate them, the boys from the girl. Get the boys safely under lock and key."

"Don't worry, I shall. I'm sure they have stolen something from me since they have been under my roof. That should suffice as reason enough. I told them, their presence here was dependent upon them not stealing. They know the history of my staff and my charitable concerns for the poor."

At this point, Jack moved further along the landing, his curiosity getting the better of him; he wanted to know the identity of the other speaker. The voice also registered with him and he, like Maggie, couldn't put a face to it either. Maggie listened, shocked at the tone of the two adults; at how callously they discussed the lives of the children. She was busy searching her mind, trying in vain to put a face to the male speaker.

Although the two below sounded familiar in each other's company, they conducted themselves in a formal, business-like way. An odd couple thought Maggie. And what did the Countess mean, I shall need the girl soon?

She followed Jack across the landing and crouched close to him.

Jack then crept forward of Maggie and now had the two people below in view.

Jack turned his head back to Maggie, his face pale, fear seeping into every pore. He looked down, and then to Maggie once more. He shook his head. He had tears in his eyes and she sensed an air of complete hopelessness in his manner. He pointed down to where the stranger's voice came from.

Then the voice, feeling so familiar to her, began to merge in her mind with a face.

No it couldn't be, she said to herself. She moved to where Jack knelt and looked down from the banister.

It was.

She saw his face. His face. Him. Whitmore. The man who murdered Turner. Him again.

Jack looked at her, sensing her unease.

"It's..." he couldn't finish. "But he's all wrong, he's got it all wrong," he hissed to himself rather than to Maggie. "He said -"

"Ssssssh!" replied Maggie aggressively. "Let's listen. Something odd is going on," she replied. Jack stopped talking but a sense of confusion reigned upon his face.

They had stopped speaking for a moment downstairs. Whitmore seemed to be gathering his belongings. Then he spoke again, "In the meantime -"

"In the meantime?" the Countess echoed his words.

"I shall return in a couple of days. You need not worry about this problem. It will be sorted in due course, and to your great satisfaction too. The father of those wretched children has become a more urgent matter at this present time. Grave things are afoot. I am reminded of the times you spoke of in revolutionary France. The country is erupting and the likes of Thomas Power are ready to seize their moment."

"Surely you do not believe things are in such a dire condition?" the Countess asked.

"Things shall get much worse before they get any better, I'm afraid," replied Whitmore. "Anyhow, lets deal with one thing at a time. I shall speak to Sexton on the way out. We shall speak again soon. Go back to bed, my lady, and stop worrying about his whole business."

"I must say, Henry, what is the meaning of this my lady business? Sexton is no longer around. There is no need to be so coy. And I much prefer it when you call me Mother. I know you find it difficult. But you were always my favourite. Always the one I could trust; the one to make me feel most proud. You were the one I knew who would be a great success someday, and knew you would never once desert me. I always knew you understood me best. And you were, strangely, the one who made me feel most like a mother."

"Very well, Mother," he said after a slight pause. "Come here and I shall give you a warm embrace and farewell kiss."

The children moved away from the banister. The strange nature of the conversation between the Countess and Whitmore confused them, and also seared a trail of fear to the very heart of their beings. Maggie's mind flooded with questions: How did Whitmore know they were here? What was his relationship with the Countess? Why had he referred to Maggie as a reward? Was she really his mother? Something was not right. Indeed, something was very wrong.

Jack turned to Maggie and, as if reading her mind, whispered: "We should all of us sleep in the same room, together, tonight. I'm worried, Maggie. I won't pretend I ain't."

"Yes, a good idea," she replied.

"I knew I shouldn't have..." Panic and confusion infused every syllable he spoke. "I mean, I don't think they'll try anything when we're all together. Then in the morning, we should leave.

Something ain't right, Maggie. This place is too dangerous now, and Whitmore is the most dangerous cove of all."

"What did he mean by saying you knew too much?" asked Maggie.

"I wish I knew. I wish I knew the half of what they was talking about down there," he replied. "It's all upside down and the wrong way about."

"We should take turns of staying awake through the night," Maggie suggested. "Go get Tom and come back to my room. I've a key to lock the door, should anybody try to enter. If someone tries, we shall raise the devil himself. We need to get through the night. And then leave in the morning, before anyone is aware of our actions."

"What's their game, Maggie?" asked Jack. "What's Whitmore and the Countess playing at?"

"That I do not know, and don't think I want to know. Quick, go get Tom and bring him back to my room."

Later they were all locked inside Maggie's bedroom. They kept the real reason why they were all to sleep in the one bed that night from Thomas, and told him they had to be up early in the morning for a special, surprise adventure.

Maggie decided she would take the first watch, as Jack was unable to tell the time. When the clock in her room reached two o'clock in the morning, she was to wake Jack and get a little sleep herself. Jack would then stay alert until dawn and wake them so as to flee Little Serrant as early as possible the next morning.

*****

Metropolitan Police Evidence: The Power Papers - Document 15

Letter to Henry Thomas Whitmore from an agent known as Jeremiah Beagle, dated August 12th.

Sir,

Your absence from the capital has been most difficult for me to bear these past few weeks. I have been brooding upon a particular number of things and sincerely hope your return will not be long off. I fear the issues I find myself grappling with are beyond my aptitude and leave me idle, unable to decide on which is the best way to proceed. There are many things that require urgent action, and it is therefore most important you return to London. I know your travels are important and finding men to keep an eye on these reckless mobs in Nottingham, Birmingham and Manchester is vital to curbing, before it spreads further, a general strike amongst workers across the whole of the country.

But here in London, things have become most worrisome too. The Chartist gang I infiltrated is becoming suspicious of spies. I have been careful and believe my vigilant approach will bring results in the end. Yet there is much mutterings of discontent amongst these men and much of their language is laced with rage and violence.

The story printed in the newspaper a month or so back concerning Mr Power, and his return to these shores to kill the Queen, has made many nervy and ever more sceptical. Some men are even put off uttering his name, in case it draws unwanted attention. Some celebrate him as a hero, as an example to follow. This latter group are especially resentful of their leaders, who they see as cowards and frauds.

Last evening, however, I did get one particular young Tony the worse for drink and he admitted another of the men he is close to has spoken with Power, and that he is indeed holed up in London. Where? He did not divulge nor, I suspect, did he know. This drunken young ninny said Power was being protected by a number of the most violent rebels in the capital. But, he said, most of the Chartist leaders think his name only throws a bad light on the movement and wish him found and arrested. Indeed, they have let it be known that anyone who believes themselves to be a true, upstanding, respectful Chartist should report Power's whereabouts to the police.

The drunken braggart further told me that nobody believes the story from our man Rickets at the newspaper, about the plot to kill the Queen. Power has only one purpose for returning to London, they say, and it is to seek out his wife and children. His wife he will not find, no matter how hard he looks. But as for his children, that is a search which can only lead to trouble.

Which leads me to another the reason for writing: what would happen if Power did, somehow, find his children? Remember this is a man who escaped Van Diemen's Land and has found his way back to London by all accounts.

Perhaps the time is right to rid ourselves of these nuisances once and for all. If Power were to get wind of where they are, or what may have become of them, then Lord only knows how he will react. The idea of removing them to the country was the best and safest option a whiles back, but surely now we need an ultimate ending to this problem. And I would not put any store in using them as bait to smoke out Power. It would be far too dangerous at the moment, especially with our eager young police officer still sore about the Turner verdict.

As I do not know of your precise location at present, I have duplicated this correspondence and sent it both to Birmingham and Manchester, so as to alert your attention to these urgent matters.

Your loyal and constant companion.

Jeremiah Beagle.

***