Chapter 5
Instead of one of Harry’s “guys” waiting for her on the morrow, there were two: a big, tousle-haired man and a woman nearly as large, with a tightly laced russet-colored bodice constraining a mighty bosom. The man sidled up to her and spoke in a low undertone, unlikely to be heard by the bakers’ boys and sweepers already moving through the streets.
“Mistress de Beauchamp? Harry sent us. I’m George Sutherland, m’lady. This is my wife, Juliet.”
“An honor, mistress,” Juliet said, grasping the sides of her skirt and dipping her head and shoulders in a grand curtsey. She had a theatrical look about her, with somewhat exaggerated movements. Hettie eyed her with displeasure, but Margaret gave her maidservant a severe glance to quell any discourtesy. They were English, thank divine Providence. She would have to make no excuses for strange accents or customs. And they were Sutherlands! Margaret felt that to be an omen, that they had the same surname as her friend, minus the nobility, of course. Harry Lefferts could not have chosen better.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Margaret said. “My servants are Hettie and Percy.”
George Sutherland gave them a sharp nod. “They’re staying behind. My wife will mind your needs. I’ll swear to her safety.”
“This hussy will not have a care for my mistress!” Hettie protested. Juliet looked amused rather than offended.
“No, it will be all right,” Margaret said. “Go back to our quarters and wait for me.” She glanced at the Sutherlands. “We won’t be long.”
Hettie snorted in indignation, but obeyed. She grabbed the goggling Percy by the arm and dragged him back toward the hotel. Sutherland grinned.
“Thanks, m’lady. You’re right to trust us, I swear it. Harry would have my balls if I let anything happen to you. We’ve a boat waiting to take us downstream to the Docklands. This way, if you please.”
Margaret stood in the stern of the small vessel as the pockmarked young boatman plied the dawn-dark waters with expertise. He handed her gently up onto the quay to which she directed him, and smiled at the coin she pressed into his palm.
Internally, Margaret was quaking with nerves. Part of it was the excitement of being involved in A Conspiracy. The rest, well, wasn’t it natural to fear the unknown? She trusted Harry Lefferts, though she couldn’t say why. He must have a genuine connection to Rita, or how else would he have known about the treasure in her pocket? His pocket, now, and she had the new one. She felt the lump of the golden cylinder’s outline through the heavy woolen fabric of her cloak and the skirt beneath. Normally, she would lend no credence to talismans, but that was what she considered the flashlight to be.
She found her father’s agent counting bales in his warehouse and shouting at men in shirtsleeves who were piling them up or casting them down for conveyance to the ships on the quayside. The place smelled familiarly of lanolin, sweat, raw wood, leather, and candle-smoke.
“Master Bywell!” Margaret pitched her voice to carry above the hubbub.
Robert Bywell had known her since she was a babe. He turned, showing tobacco-stained teeth, swept off his wide-brimmed hat, and offered a big, work-roughened hand to her.
“Well, Mistress de Beauchamp! I hadn’t thought to see you again this journey. How be ye?”
“Well enough,” Margaret said. She took in his glance at her companions. “And you? How is Mistress Christine?”
“The babe’s a boy,” he said, proudly. “My sixth. And my eldest daughter’s nearly old enough to marry.”
“Congratulations,” Margaret said, warmly. She felt in her newly fattened purse for one of Harry Lefferts’ silver coins. She held out a crown. “For Christine.”
“She’ll be glad to have the gift and your good wishes,” Master Bywell said. He tucked it away. “Now, how may I serve you? Ye’re not often here on the docks at this hour of the day. Is all well?” He gave a pointed glance toward the big man at her elbow. Margaret knew that one word from her, and no one would ever see the Sutherlands again.
“It is,” Margaret said. She deliberately jingled the pouch so the coins inside it rang. “My friends here have need of your services.”
“Ah, it’s like that, is it?” Bywell asked, with a knowing nod. “Well, then, come to my room, and we’ll discuss the needful.”
They gathered around his table, as full as the Earl of Cork’s of important paperwork. Bywell swept the piles to one side so he could see the faces of his visitors.
“So, what is it I may do for the friends of my old employer’s daughter?” he asked.
“Have a pipe on me,” Juliet said, with a beguiling grin. She offered her pouch of tobacco, and the three of them filled their pipes. George laid out the details that Margaret had heard from Harry Lefferts the night before.
Wreathed in sweet-smelling tobacco smoke, Master Bywell mused over the newcomers’ request. Margaret kept quiet. Such private dealings were common. The only detail that needed to be kept secret was any connection to the Americans in the Tower.
“Ah, well, I know that Master Loggia has a cart he doesn’t mind hiring out,” Bywell said. “He’s as close-lipped as a clam. But I know that it’s in poor condition. It looks as though it needs to be put out of its misery.”
“As long as it can roll along even a mile it’ll do,” George Sutherland said. “And the second?”
“I’ve one I will lend, though I want it returned in good order,” Bywell said. “Matters are slow at the moment, but the Good Lord willing, prosperity will return soon.”
“Sir, I would be glad to make assurances, but the Fates may dictate otherwise. If it should happen that the wagon may not be so easily restored to you,” George said, “I’d be obliged if you would name a price for it as though you will need to replace it. Within reason, of course.”
Master Bywell was amused. “Of course. While it may be inconvenient to purchase a new one, I’ll be fair as to the cost. As for a pair of barges, hmmm.” He peered out the clearest of the slagged-glass panels of the window beside him. Margaret tried to see what he was looking at. “You say you only need them for a day or two? And no questions asked?”
“Aye,” George said, his eyes watchful. “To the benefit of the owners, no questions either way.”
“But a barge—you can’t just take a man’s livelihood and not expect him to be concerned for its well-being. And horses—they take a lot of fodder and care, as well you know.”
“Well that I know,” George said. “We’ve brought along enough for them to be well cared for.”
“How much will it take?” Margaret asked Bywell. The merchant looked thoughtful.
“Well, my lady, not so much as I’d charge him as a stranger, and not so little as I’d charge you if it was you on your own. After all, I’d not be speaking with these fine folk at all if you had not vouched for them. Is that fair?”
“It is,” Margaret said, with a glance at the Sutherlands to make certain that it was agreeable to them as well. “Make your details, then. I will sit quietly here and oversee your negotiations.”
“Yes, my lady.” Bywell sent his clerk running. In a short time, the lad returned with a couple of rough-looking men in woolen tunics and long sea boots. Then, the real bargaining began.
The boatman wanted information regarding the well-being of their barges. Sutherland assured them that no harm would come to the craft. He explained that he needed them at a time and a place that would be revealed later on. “Without a word to anyone else, mind you. That’s vital, or we finish right here.”
Margaret expected that they would cavil at the mystery, but they simply nodded. Her presence acted as a surety that nothing foul was afoot. The greater the secrecy, the greater the payment to come. Such an arrangement would benefit all of them. Sutherland was a fair negotiator. He kept his expression neutral, as did the other men. Bywell sat back, smoking Juliet’s tobacco, nodding occasionally. Margaret was pleased, seeing that they were almost coming to terms. All seemed to be well. She was doing right by Rita and her other new friends.
And, with the spring sun’s rising through the crude window, she realized what the American must have sent her to negotiate for. What could be more noble than Rita’s freedom? The words almost burst free from her lips. With difficulty, she kept herself quiet, with hands now clenched in her lap. But how?
Juliet eyed her, pipe still between her lips, and gave a short, sharp shake of her head. Margaret understood. She sat back on her tailbone to think.
Two boats were surely more than was needed to carry away the five or so people she saw in the Tower apartment. And two wagons? She remembered the calculating expression on Harry Lefferts’ face. He was a man who dared. He had a plan. In her mind, she could see the escape unfolding, with one boat leading the authorities astray, and the second one carrying Rita and the others to safety disguised, possibly, as bales of wool or sacks of grain. Yes, that was it! That was why he needed two of each. What a clever man he was!
But a problem knocked at her mind. The Tower had been a stronghold for centuries. How was Harry to whisk five people out of its interior? Perhaps it was just as he had said the night before: he would sweep in and out like the wind, carrying his countrymen with him. She prayed with all her heart to divine Providence that he would succeed. She stared at the two boatmen, willing them to agree with George Sutherland.
The big man held out his hand. “So, it’s a bargain, then?”
“Near enough,” the first boatman, an older man missing four front teeth among the remaining yellow stubs, sputtered out. “But we’ll want payment in advance.”
Sutherland’s brows went down.
“Half was what we said.”
“What you said, no’ what we did,” said the second one, a burly man with greasy hair and pockmarked skin. “Ye’ll make off with our boats and leave us with naught.”
“Now, now,” Bywell said, holding up his hands. “Let’s have no talk of thieving. He’s offering a generous price.”
“But to get them back in sound shape is what we want,” said the first boatman. He crossed his arms, ignoring George’s hand. Sutherland’s face didn’t change, but Margaret sensed that he was going to say something he would regret. She jumped in.
“But won’t you be on board to sail them for this gentleman?” she asked. “It’s not as though he knows the perils of negotiating this river as you do.”
The four men relaxed.
“Aye, that’s true,” George said. “I’ll say that my employer would agree to that. Sail steady and swiftly, and remain silent as the grave afterwards.”
“How far afield are we going, then? Shall I tell my wife to stay the evening meal?” the toothless man asked.
Margaret could tell that George was reluctant to let out any details he didn’t have to, but it was a fair question. He and Juliet exchanged glances, as if they could read one another’s minds.
“At Romford our business will be finished,” he said. “The carts must meet us there.”
Bywell nodded. “I’ll send them out two days before. Ye’ve only to give the word.”
The first boatman held out a hand. “Done, then.” His colleague extended his as well. With a look of relief, Sutherland grasped them. “We’ll no’ give any word to our crew. They’ll mind what we captains tell them.”
After that, the negotiations finished swiftly, followed by a tot of rum all around. Margaret only touched her lips to hers. It was agreed that on arrival the final installment of the payment would be made to each barge’s master, who would take over the tiller again. Up until that point, the English crew had what Sutherland called, with careful emphasis on the words, plausible deniability, a phrase Margaret made a point of memorizing so she could ask him about it on the way back to her lodgings. Bywell brought out cups and a bottle of Spanish jerez.
“Never too early for good fortified wine,” the merchant said. He poured for all and lifted his cup. “To everyone’s good health.”
The two captains departed, money in their purses and a warm glow in their bellies. Margaret felt satisfied that she had done her friends a good deed.
“One more thing,” Sutherland said, as soon as the boatmen were out of hearing. “Speaking of plausible deniability. The man with the cart—he wouldn’t happen to have a friend nearby who knows his way around a lathe? It’s my employer’s request.”
Bywell grinned widely, his pipe clenched in his teeth.
“Happen he does. And as silent as the grave as well. A good fellow, with a number of children, all of whom need new shoes, you understand.” George understood. A slight clinking as silver changed hands. Bywell smiled broadly.
“Good business this morning,” he said. “I believe that it bodes well for us all.”
“Aye, from your mouth to Heaven’s ear,” Sutherland said.
* * *
“You did well, my lady,” Juliet said, as they plied the waters back to the small hotel. “Your da raised you as a born merchant. Not too much said, but not too little, either. Your part’s done. I hope you’ll never know what you’ve done today, but you’ve our gratitude. Ours and Harry’s.”
Margaret held her tongue until the boatman helped them out onto the slimy stone steps, accepted his coin with a tug of his lanky hair, and pushed away from the bank.
“Farewell, m’lady,” George said. “You won’t see us again, I hope.”
“Take good care of them!” Margaret burst out. “They showed me such kindness.”
The Sutherlands looked at one another. Margaret bit her tongue, wishing that she could take back her words. She backed away from the two, fearful that they would throw her into the river. In her good clothes, she’d likely swamp and drown before anyone was close enough to save her.
Juliet laughed.
“Ye’ve a brain, and guts to boot. Harry chose better than he knew.”
They escorted her to the door of her lodgings. The midmorning crowd was growing. Animals and carts as well as passersby jostled them in the narrow street.
“Go about your business, my lady,” George Sutherland said. “Don’t go back to the Tower, and don’t think twice about anything you hear after this.”
Margaret nodded. “I…understand.”
He handed her a leather bag. It was heavy with coin, even more so than the purse Harry had given her the night before. She had forgotten about her own reward of fifty pounds. Generous for one morning’s work, indeed.
“Sorry it’s not more,” Juliet said. “God be with you, dear. And thanks.” She gave Margaret a kiss on the cheek. She and George linked arms, and they disappeared into the bustle of London. As Margaret lost sight of them, Hettie came out of the door and bustled her inside, clucking all the while. She took Margaret’s cloak and beat it as though it was an untrustworthy groom.
“Taking you away like that! It’s not respectable! I trust you’re safe and well, mistress?”
Margaret realized she had the bag clutched in both hands. When they were safely in her rented apartment, she undid the leather ties and looked inside.
The small coins weren’t silver. They were gold. With a wordless noise, she spilled it out on the wooden table. That…that couldn’t be just fifty pounds. “Help me count, Hettie! Quickly!”
As Percy stared open-mouthed, the two women counted and stacked the clinking disks. Margaret’s heart pounded. She had to be dreaming! How could Sutherland have handed this over so casually? He’d had it on his person the whole time! Hettie stood back, her hands clasped together as if in prayer.
“Twenty, thirty, forty…three hundred pounds! Oh, mistress! I’ve ne’er seen so much coin together in my life!”
Margaret had wondered what her worth was to Harry Lefferts. Now she knew. It was the value of her family’s estate and business for the entire year.
The sum was enough to save her father. For now.
She looked sternly at her servants.
“Not a word, mind,” she said. “You’ve never seen this. It must get home safely to Barlaston. Do you understand?”
They nodded. Margaret pushed the gleaming yellow mass back into the leather bag and tied the drawstring tightly around its neck. From the other pouch, she found five-shilling crowns and pushed them into Hettie’s and Percy’s palms. It wasn’t three hundred pounds, but they looked well satisfied, as was she.
Bless the Americans! Bless them all. She wished them safely out of the Tower and out of England. No word from her would ever endanger them.
* * *
“Your trunks are packed, mistress,” Hettie said, coming into her small bedchamber a week later. “Your cloak is brushed and looks as new as new. The weather is fine. I’ll be glad to say goodbye to London. Pray the ruts in the road north aren’t too bad.”
“I’m ready,” Margaret said. She took a few steps. The weighty purse containing the coins was tied to a girdle and well-muffled underneath her skirt between her knees. She was aware of it every moment, though with her fashionable posture and walk, no one would be able to tell it was there. No doubt she would feel its discomfort keenly over the coming journey, but it would be worth the pain to see her father’s face light when she poured the tiny golden angels out onto his counting-table. And, oh! To be at home, to sleep in her own bed, and hear the familiar noises of sheep and the rattle of the looms. She was glad to have ventured forth, but would be grateful to return safely to her own place.
Though she had listened to the gossip in the inns and eating-houses in the evenings, she hadn’t heard anything to suggest that Harry Lefferts had put his plan into action. Master Bywell had sent one of his clerks with a note from his wife thanking her for the gift of money and a prayer for her safety returning home. No other word from any quarter.
Margaret smiled to herself. Her great adventure was at an end. In a way, she regretted it, but it had happened! She had met travelers from the future, and she had not only a fortune to give her father, but a treasure of her own the likes of which would never be seen for another three hundred years. Through the good wool of her cloak, she touched the golden cylinder, Harry’s flashlight. A small miracle, reflective of the other marvels that had befallen her. She sent up a short prayer for the success of their enterprise.
“The wagon is here, mistress,” Percy said, all but falling in the door in his excitement.
The weather was indeed fine. May had come in like a bouquet of flowers. Despite the miasma of London, Margaret still smelled the scent of spring flowers on the air.
The cart conveyed them to the coaching inn, where she paid passage for herself and her two servants. Her modest trunks were loaded onto the rear of the handsomely varnished vehicle. Four healthy-looking bay horses shifted from hoof to hoof in the creaking traces. Percy clambered on top of the coach. beside the porter above the boxes. One of her fellow passengers, a prosperous-looking man of her father’s age with thinning black hair, aided her on the swaying iron steps. The added weight of her concealed purse made the first step up a trifle difficult, but her benefactor kept her steady. He also handed Hettie up, who clucked in abashment at the courtesy.
“There, my dear,” he said to Margaret. “Why don’t you and your maid take the forward-facing seat? I am sure none of us mind traveling backwards.” He collected nods of agreement from the two other men who boarded after him.
“Thank you for your courtesy, sir and gentlemen,” Margaret said. The man smiled and settled his own belongings opposite her. The interior was clean and smelled of lavender. The cushions on the seats had been freshly stuffed with wool. The little comforts boded well for the journey.
She made herself comfortable in the near-side corner, watching out of the window. A faint pealing of bells in the distance began, and Margaret absently counted the strokes of the clock. The driver, a lean man in a leather cape and in no hurry, emerged from the door of the inn and sauntered toward them.
“Eight o’ the clock, mistress,” Hettie confirmed.
The driver leaned in the window and beamed at them with a genial smile.
“Welcome, then! All ye bound f’r Stoke?” They nodded to him. “Well, then! We’ll be off.” He swung up and out of sight. Margaret felt his weight slightly settle the springs of the coach.
The horses wheeled on the stones of the courtyard, and the coach lurched into motion. An old man sitting on a bench at the inn door swiped a hand in the air as if to bid them farewell.
“Wait!”
A dignified-looking man in black coat and breeches hurtled toward them, his face reddened like a beetroot. He batted at his shoulders and arms, dislodging pale dust from his clothes. Margaret’s heart stopped beating. Hettie clutched for her mistress’ hand. Something must have happened! Her part in making negotiations had been found out. He was coming for them! She and Hettie would be taken to the Tower and tried for treason!
“Halt, driver! I say, halt!”
The coach bobbed as the driver reined in his team.
Margaret trembled. What could she do? She couldn’t run with a bag of gold between her knees. And the coins would only serve to prove her involvement in the conspiracy. She was doomed.
The man flung open the door and threw himself inside. The coach curtseyed and swayed.
“Praise God, I nearly missed it!” On his knees on the floor, the man gave the passengers an embarrassed smile. He was still covered with gray dust. “Master Peter Woodsmith, attorney-at-law, ladies and gentlemen. By the Lord, my employer would have my head if I was another day’s delayed!”
Margaret smiled at him weakly. The men on the facing bench shifted to make room for him. Luckily, Master Woodsmith wasn’t a big fellow.
“Did you fall into trouble?” the older man asked, in a voice that clearly meant why couldn’t you have been here early like the rest of us?
“Not I!” Woodsmith said, his face losing its choleric coloring. “But something’s afoot! Have ye heard the news about the Americans?”
Margaret found her voice, though her heart was barely pulsing again. “Nay, sir. What has befallen them?”
“By the Lord, the Tower of London is attacked! The Earl of Cork’s men are all dead. Blown up! And all the American embassy escaped! The stones of the walls are falling like leaves. I just barely escaped having one fall on my head! Praise God, I was spared, but it put me behind time, I can tell you that.”
The others murmured in amazement. Hettie’s eyes had widened so round Margaret thought they might fall out.
“Tell us more,” Margaret begged him. With all the artifice in her command, she leaned toward him, a rapt expression on her face. “I have heard something of these Americans, but I would like to know more. Tell us all!”
“Well, mistress,” Woodsmith said, clearly pleased to have such an attentive audience, “I know not much of how it befell, but I can tell you what I saw, and an adventure it was, too!”
Margaret patted her maid’s hand and settled in to hear the yarn, pleased that she knew much more than the men around her would ever know. Rita and the others were free! Please God let them remain ever so. And none would ever know her part in it. She trusted Harry Lefferts to keep her name from being revealed as was part of their bargain. All she had to do now was convey the gold in her care safely to her father.
Still, she hoped that someday she could tell her children of the way she had been woven into the fabric of an adventure—in a purely respectable way, that was.