The Counterfeit Crank (26 page)

There was an item that had especial interest for Nicholas. Under the heading of entertainment, the costs of food and drink were set down. Listed opposite them was the amount of money that guests paid for the pleasure of enjoying one of the regular banquets. The ledger was quite specific. Those who wanted more than a delicious meal in congenial surroundings were charged extra for the company of one of the prostitutes. Every penny clearly went into the coffers of Bridewell rather than to the women themselves. Nicholas thought about Dorothea Tate, dressed to entice the men then hustled along to the hall with dire threats to bring her to heel.

On its own, the second ledger was enough to reveal the fraudulent operation run by Beechcroft and Olgrave, and to ensure their conviction, but Nicholas wanted more than that. Murder and rape had also occurred, and he knew the victims of each. It was time to go in search of those responsible. Before he could do so, however, Nicholas heard footsteps coming along the passageway outside the door.
When a key was inserted in the lock, he had no time to flee through the window. Replacing the ledgers as he found them, Nicholas dived behind the arras and held his breath.

Two people came into the room and closed the door behind them. The heaviness of their tread suggested to Nicholas that they were both men. He listened to what sounded like a large bag of money being dropped onto the table. Coins were emptied out and someone began to count them. Hidden from sight, Nicholas hoped that he could stay where he was until the two men left the room, but his stench gave him away. The rags that he wore were impregnated with sour milk and its reek had not been dispelled by the breeze that blew in through the open window.

While he was still hunched behind the arras, it was suddenly pulled aside by Joseph Beechcroft. He held a dagger in his other hand and the keeper who accompanied him was carrying a cudgel. Both men glared accusingly at him. Nicholas shrunk back and brought his arms up protectively. Beechcroft brandished his weapon.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded. ‘And how on earth did you get in here?’

Dorothea Tate kept a lonely vigil outside Bridewell. A number of people had gone in through the gate, some in carriages, others on horseback, but nobody had come out. As evening shaded into night, she began to wonder if Joseph Beechcroft and Ralph Olgrave were even inside the workhouse, but she did not abandon her post. The hope that one, or both of them, would ultimately appear, kept her huddled in the doorway on the opposite side of the road. The heavy stone in her pocket, she believed, would help her to avenge the murder of Hywel Rees. Once that had been achieved, Dorothea did not care what happened to her. She would be content.

Her position had rendered her vulnerable to various hazards. Stray dogs had bothered her, children had mocked her and a parish constable had chased her away for a while, but she quickly returned to her chosen spot. One passer-by
had even tossed her a coin. As light began to fade, there had been less traffic on the street and the two watchmen who went past on patrol did not even notice the bundle of rags in the doorway. Obsessed by one ambition, Dorothea was not frightened to be alone on the street at night. Indeed, darkness helped her to merge with the stonework all round her and more or less disappear from sight.

She was not free from regret. Dorothea was sad that she had to flee from people who had befriended her at a time when everyone else turned away. Anne Hendrik and Nicholas Bracewell would doubtless be anxious on her behalf, and she was sorry about that, but she consoled herself with the thought that she was doing the right thing. Why should she expect others to exact justice for her when she could do so herself? She simply had to confront her detractors. That was the only way she would get true satisfaction.

She felt another pang of regret when the genial face of Owen Elias came into her mind. Delighted to hear another Welsh voice in the capital, it was he who had first come to their aid when Hywel’s performance as a counterfeit crank had been exposed. Her disappearance would disappoint and hurt Elias. He was bound to feel betrayed yet that could not be helped. Had she turned to him – or to Nicholas Bracewell – she knew that neither of them would have condoned what she was now planning to do. On the contrary, they would have done everything they could to keep her well away from Bridewell.

At long last, the gate was opened and a man emerged,
leading a horse. Dorothea was on her feet at once, pulling the stone from her pocket in readiness. As soon as he mounted, however, and she could see him in profile, she knew that it was neither of the men for whom she lay in ambush. She returned to her place in the doorway and settled down once more. Her moment, she was certain, would eventually come.

Nicholas Bracewell’s disguise was effective. Even at such close range, Beechcroft did not recognise him. When the beggar flinched and spoke in a cracked voice, he was taken for what he appeared to be. The keeper raised his cudgel to strike.

‘What’s your name?’ he demanded.

‘Tom Rooke, sir,’ croaked Nicholas.

‘When were you admitted to Bridewell?’

‘Today, sir.’

‘How did you get in here?’

‘I lost my way.’

‘He’s lying,’ snarled Beechcroft. ‘The room is always kept locked. He must have sneaked in earlier when I was in here myself.’ Sheathing his dagger, he stood back and snapped his fingers. ‘Beat him hard for his impudence.’

‘I’ll do so with pleasure,’ said the keeper.

Nicholas was forced to act. If he took the punishment, he knew that he would be beaten senseless then locked up more securely. Defence was vital. As the man wielded his cudgel for the first time, therefore, Nicholas dodged the blow, grabbed the tapestry and tore it from its pole so that
he could wind it around the keeper. The two men then grappled fiercely. Beechcroft was astounded. The cowering beggar had suddenly turned into a vigorous man, who was patently getting the upper hand in the brawl. Beechcroft pulled out his dagger again and tried to stab Nicholas, but the latter simply twisted the keeper around so that he felt the point of the weapon in his shoulder.

Letting out a yell of agony, the keeper stumbled back, enabling Nicholas to wrest the cudgel from his grasp. Beechcroft continued to jab away without success. Nicholas pushed the keeper roughly to the floor and used the cudgel to knock Beechcroft’s dagger from his hand. When the latter made a dash for the door, Nicholas grabbed him by the arm, spun him round then shoved him with force against the wood. Panting with fear, eyes bulging from their sockets, Beechcroft had the uncomfortable feeling that he could identify his attacker.

‘I think I know you, sir, do I not?’ he said.

‘My name is not Tom Rooke,’ said Nicholas in his normal voice. ‘That much I’ll freely confess.’

Beechcroft goggled at him. ‘Nicholas Bracewell!’

‘The same.’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I came to talk about the murder of Hywel Rees, and what that partner of yours did to a defenceless creature named Dorothea Tate.’

‘I had no part in that! I swear it!’

‘The girl told me that two men were involved. One of them held her down.’

‘That was Gregory Sumner, a keeper here. He assisted Ralph, not me.’

‘Yet you were the one who beat Dorothea,’ said Nicholas, holding the cudgel over him. ‘You pummelled the girl until her friend came to her rescue.’

‘I did not mean to hurt her,’ claimed Beechcroft, starting to tremble.

‘Then I’ll not mean to hurt
you
, when I beat the truth out of you.’

Beechcroft cringed against the door. ‘No!’ he begged. ‘Do not strike me!’

‘Then tell me what you did to Hywel Rees.’

Nicholas made the mistake of taking an eye off the wounded keeper. The tapestry in which he had been caught up had saved him from serious injury, muffling the impact of the dagger thrust. Blood had been drawn but it was only a minor flesh wound. Throwing off the tapestry, the man soon struggled to his feet. He dived at Nicholas from behind and got an arm around his neck, pulling him backward across the room. Beechcroft needed no second invitation to escape. He was through the door in a flash and locked it behind him. Nicholas, meanwhile, had to contend with a strong arm across his throat, squeezing the breath out of him. He pumped away with his elbows to wind his adversary then stamped hard on his toe to produce a howl of rage. The man released his hold. Spinning round, Nicholas cracked him on the head with the cudgel and sent him to his knees. A second blow knocked the man unconscious.

There was no sense in remaining in the room. Beechcroft 
would soon be back with armed men and Nicholas would be trapped. He collected the fallen dagger and stuck it in his belt. Apart from saving himself, Nicholas also wanted to take the two ledgers with him as additional proof of the mismanagement of Bridewell. Left in the room, they could always be hidden or even destroyed. Wrapping the books in the tapestry, therefore, he took them to the window and swung them up behind the gable. He then clambered after them and made his way along the roof, wedging his cargo behind one of the chimney pots, out of reach of any but the most intrepid climbers.

From down below, he heard the sound of the door being unlocked and of many feet rushing into the room. Beechcroft’s roar of anger was clearly audible.

‘Where the devil has he gone
now
?’

The banquet in the hall had reached the stage where couples were starting to peel off and adjourn to nearby rooms. Music still played, wine still flowed but only half of the guests remained at the table. While his partner went off to count the evening’s takings, Ralph Olgrave decided to sample the charms of Nan Welbeck, a sprightly young woman with long fair hair, who still had something of a bloom on her. He beckoned her over, took a first kiss then eased her onto his lap. Caressing her with one hand, he held his cup of wine in the other and took a long sip before handing it to her. Nan Welbeck drained it, laughed merrily then gave Olgrave a long, luscious, searching kiss on the lips.

It was not a moment when he wanted to be interrupted.
Seeing his partner come bursting into the room, Olgrave was very annoyed and tried to wave him away, but Beechcroft was determined. He had an air of desperation about him.

‘I need to speak to you in private, Ralph,’ he said.

‘Not now, please.’

‘I must insist.’

‘And I must insist that you leave Nan and me alone,’ said Olgrave, glaring at him. ‘There’s nothing so important that it cannot wait until later.’

‘Yes, there is.’

‘Find yourself a woman and leave us be.’

‘You must come
now
,’ warned Beechcroft, grabbing him by the arm. ‘We have an unwelcome guest, Ralph. I’ve seen him with my own eyes.’

‘Oh, and who is that?’

‘Nicholas Bracewell.’

Olgrave sobered at once. ‘How ever did he get in here?’

‘By posing as a beggar by the name of Tom Rooke.’

‘Excuse me, Nan,’ said Olgrave, moving her off his lap and getting up. ‘This business will not wait. Do not go away, my sweet, for I’ll soon be back.’ He blew her a kiss then hurried for the door with Beechcroft. Once outside, he turned on his partner. ‘Now then, Joseph. What’s this all about?’

‘Our survival.’

‘Do not talk such nonsense. What can one man do against so many of us?’

‘He broke into the counting house. He has our ledgers.’

‘What?’ cried Olgrave. ‘
Both
of them?’

‘Yes, Ralph. He stole them and hid them. I’ve hunted everywhere.’

‘Are you
sure
that it was that book holder from Westfield’s Men?’

‘As sure as I am that he holds
our
books now,’ said Beechcroft. ‘If the aldermen should ever see those accounts, we are both condemned.’

‘Calm down, Joseph. It will not come to that.’

‘I think that we should run for it while we can.’

‘No!’

‘Divide the money and get clean away.’

‘That’s lunacy.’

‘It’s the only way out. Stay here and we’ll both be arraigned. There’s more than enough for the two of us, Ralph. Come and take your share.’

‘I’ll not dream of it.’

‘But it’s what we’d always planned to do if we were found out.’

‘We’ve
not
been found out, you idiot,’ said Olgrave, taking him by the shoulders to shake him. ‘We have an interloper in Bridewell, that’s all.’

‘An interloper in possession of evidence that could send us both to prison.’

‘Only if he gets that evidence out of here. And how can he do that?’

‘I told you that this man would be a danger.’

‘Not when we’ve done the job that Gregory was sent to do,’ asserted Olgrave, taking out his dagger. ‘If this meddling fool is inside Bridewell, there’s no way that he
can get out again. All the gates are locked.’

‘He managed to get in, Ralph.’

‘He’ll live to regret that, I warrant you. Now, where is the rogue?’

‘That’s the problem we face,’ wailed Beechcroft.

‘What is?’

‘Nicholas Bracewell has vanished.’

As long as he stayed where he was, Nicholas felt safe. Having climbed to the apex of the roof, he now lay on the outward slope so that he was invisible from the courtyard. The ledgers were stuffed up against a chimney and, even if it rained, they would be protected. Their disappearance was causing unrest. When he peeped over the ridge tiles, he could see a group of people in the yard, some with blazing torches, taking orders from Ralph Olgrave. The keepers dispersed to carry out a methodical search, leaving Olgrave alone in the courtyard with his partner. Their voices were raised in argument but Nicholas could not hear all that was said. Beechcroft pointed up at the counting house then ran towards the door that would give him access to it.

Bearing torches, other keepers came trotting up to help in the search for the fugitive. Olgrave sent all but two of them to explore the rooms on the ground floor. Looking upwards, he studied the gable window of the counting house and reached a decision. When Nicholas saw him point to the roof, he knew that his hiding place had been discovered. He had either to find an open window on the exterior of the building, or wait to be caught. Lowering
himself to the edge of the roof on the side above the Fleet, he went carefully along the edge from gable to gable, trying each of the windows. He soon found one that was open but, before he could swing down into it, a keeper came into it and saw his legs dangling down.

The alarm was raised at once. Nicholas had no means of escape. All that he could do was to scramble back up to the apex of the roof. Sitting astride it, he looked down into the courtyard where Olgrave was still standing. The latter could see his outline against the night sky.

‘Give yourself up while you can!’ he yelled.

‘No,’ replied Nicholas, boldly. ‘You’ll have to come and get me.’

‘You are trespassing on private property.’

‘My crime pales beside those that you have committed, Master Olgrave.’

‘Watch what you say, sir!’

‘Your days in Bridewell are over. You and your partner will be thrown out of here like the villains that you are. You’ll hang from the gallows – both of you.’

‘Seize him!’ shouted Olgrave.

Nicholas looked along the roof and saw that a short, stocky man was climbing out of a gable window some ten yards away. When the man got on to the tiles and steadied himself, he pulled a dagger from his belt. Making his way up the incline, he reached the apex and cocked a leg over it. Nicholas expected the man to move towards him but the keeper had another plan. Without warning, he suddenly hurled the weapon at Nicholas. The book holder swung
quickly to the left but the dagger still grazed his arm. Though it was only a scratch, he put a hand to it to stem the trickle of blood.

Encouraged by his success, the man moved a few feet closer to his target before taking a second dagger from his belt. He was confident of hitting him this time. As the keeper raised his arm to throw, Nicholas snatched out his own weapon and used it to parry the missile that came hurtling towards him. It clattered down the roof and fell harmlessly into the river below. Nicholas then did something that amazed Ralph Olgrave and the others who were watching from the courtyard. Standing up on the ridge tiles, he stretched out his arms to aid his balance then walked nimbly along them as if strolling on firm ground. He threatened the keeper with his dagger.