The Counterfeit Crank (27 page)

‘Get down while you may,’ he ordered.

‘Keep off!’

‘Go now, and you’ll not be harmed.’

The man tried to obey. Losing his nerve, he tried to lower himself swiftly down the roof but his hold slipped and he tumbled backwards, rolling down the incline until he dropped over the edge. He let out a long scream of despair as he plummeted downwards. When his body hit the ground, there was an awesome thud, followed by a long silence. It was eventually broken by a command from Ralph Olgrave.

‘Fetch guns!’ he ordered. ‘Shoot him off the roof.’

Joseph Beechcroft heard the scream and rushed to the window of the counting house to look down. By the light of
the torches, he could see the keeper’s body, twisted into an unnatural shape as it lay on the ground. Their interloper was still at liberty. Beechcroft did not wait any longer. Sensing that their reign at the Bridewell was nearing its end, he unlocked a cupboard and took out several purses, stuffing them into a leather satchel as fast as he could. Leaving his partner’s share of the booty intact, he locked the cupboard again and fled through the door, hurtling down the staircase. When he came out of the door at ground level, he had to step over the body of the dead man.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Olgrave.

‘Leaving while I can, Ralph. You should do the same.’

‘But we have him cornered. A pistol or a musket will soon bring him down.’

‘Yes,’ said Beechcroft, looking up. ‘In front of witnesses. There’ll be faces watching from every window. What they’ll see is murder. I’ll not stay.’

‘Hold!’ said Olgrave, grabbing his arm. ‘We can face this out.’

‘No, Ralph. It’s too late. The game is up.’

‘Why throw it all away?’

‘Let me go,’ insisted Beechcroft.

Pulling his arm free, he fled across the courtyard in the direction of the main gate.

Though she became increasingly weary, Dorothea Tate did not dare to fall asleep. Concealed in her doorway, she did not shift her gaze from Bridewell for a second, hoping and praying that her chance would somehow come. She
reflected on the horrors she had suffered inside its walls, and thought once more of her dearest friend, stolen from her forever because he had tried to protect her. Dorothea also thought fondly of those who had given her succour in the wake of her loss. She was jerked out of her reverie by the sound of the gate of Bridewell, creaking back on its hinges. She was on her feet in an instant. Her eyes were now accustomed to the dark and she was able to pick out the shape of the rider who came out through the gate. Her spirits lifted. Revenge was at hand.

Certain that it was Joseph Beechcroft, she ran to the middle of the road and pulled out her stone, flinging it hard at the rider as the horse cantered towards her. It struck Beechcroft in the chest, making him fall back and pull involuntarily on the reins. Skidding to a halt with a neigh of protest, the horse reared and threw him from the saddle. Dorothea dashed across to him and began to punch him with both fists. Beechcroft was dazed by the fall but was not badly injured. He soon recovered enough to defend himself, seizing her by the wrists to stop her assault. It was then that he recognised her.

‘We should have killed you along with your friend,’ he growled.

‘Murderer!’ she cried and spat in his face.

‘You little devil!’

He flung her away, wiped the spit from his eyes then got to his feet. When he saw her trying to pick up the stone again, he rushed across to twist it from her hand, then raised it high to dash against her head.

‘Stop!’ yelled a voice. ‘Leave the child alone!’

Beechcroft turned to see a group of men, hurrying towards Bridewell with lighted torches. One of their number, a stocky Welshman, was racing towards him.

‘Owen!’ cried Dorothea.

‘Is that
you,
girl?’ he asked in astonishment.

‘This is him. This is Master Beechcroft.’

‘Leave him to me, Dorothea.’

Dropping the stone, Beechcroft took to his heels but he did not get far. Elias soon overhauled him and jumped on his back to bring him down. Hitting the hard road with his forehead, Beechcroft was too stunned to fight back. Elias turned him over as two men arrived to shed light on the scene with their torches.

‘Arrest this one first,’ said Elias, ‘before I lose my temper with him.’

The commotion in the courtyard had aroused many spectators. Windows were opened so that inmates, and those who rented rooms at the workhouse, could see what was going on. Some of the guests had stumbled out of the hall to watch from the doorway. Ralph Olgrave tried to persuade them to go back to their banquet, but they were too inquisitive. They wondered why he was holding the musket that one of the keepers had fetched, and they were even more curious when they saw the corpse on the ground.

Nicholas watched it all from the apex of the roof, knowing that time was running out for him. Every means of escape has been cut off. The gable windows below him
were either locked or guarded by keepers. It was only a matter of time before someone was brave enough to come after him. Nicholas might be able to dodge, or ward off, a dagger but he had no protection against a musket ball. Someone who could handle a gun could easily pick him off. Beechcroft may have fled in panic but his partner was still in charge, and there was no point in trying to reason with him. Olgrave wanted him dead.

Nicholas soon had vivid proof of the fact. A man emerged from one of the gable windows and pulled himself up with care onto the roof. Nicholas was close enough to discern the musket that was slung from his shoulder. He suspected that the keeper would have a pistol in his belt as well. All that he could do was to scramble as far away as he could. The man, meanwhile, groped his way up to the apex of the roof and sat astride it. He could now see his prey, moving away from him in the gloom. He reached for the musket. Nicholas looked back and saw the weapon being levelled at him. Flattening himself on the tiles, he tried to present as small a target as he could.

Tensing himself, he waited for the loud report as the musket was fired but the trigger was never pulled. Instead, a familiar voice reverberated around the courtyard as a trained actor opened his lungs to the full.

‘Where are you, Nick!’ shouted Owen Elias.

Nicholas looked down and saw uniformed men, coming into the courtyard with torches. Their sudden arrival had made the keeper with the musket hold his fire. The man did not dare to shoot while officers of the law were watching
from below. Nicholas sat on the apex of the roof.

‘Is that you, Owen?’ he called. ‘I’m up here.’

‘
Diu
!
’ exclaimed his friend, looking up. ‘What are you doing on the roof?’

Nicholas laughed with relief. ‘Waiting for you to come,’ he said.

‘Joseph Beechcroft has been arrested, and we have a warrant to search Bridewell and take his partner into custody. Where would we find Ralph Olgrave?’

‘Down there!’

Nicholas pointed at the man but Olgrave did not wait to be apprehended. Pushing aside the guests who stood in his way, he darted into the hall and slammed the door shut before locking it from the inside. Some of the officers ran to the door but their concerted strength could not force it open. Nicholas remained where he was. He knew that Olgrave would understand the folly of staying on the premises when a warrant for his arrest had been issued. The man would surely bolt. Soon afterwards, he saw a figure rush out of a rear door and make for the wharf. Olgrave was hoping to escape by boat.

Nicholas was off at once. Balancing on the roof tiles, he walked along them for several yards. Then he sat down and slid on his backside until he reached the gable window through which the keeper with the musket had climbed. He took a grip, swung down into the room then sprinted through the door. Descending the stairs at speed, he went along a passageway and tried every door to the rooms facing the Fleet River. When one finally opened, he found himself
in a storeroom and he felt his way across to the window. He was through it in seconds and dropped to the ground.

Olgrave was a blob in the darkness, rowing frantically down river. Nicholas ran to the wharf and jumped into another boat that was moored there. Using an oar to push himself away from the bank, he gave chase. Olgrave heaved on the oars with all his energy but he was no sailor. The boat zigzagged its way crazily through the water. Behind him, Nicholas settled into a steady rhythm. Using the power of his thighs as much as the strength of his arms, he was soon rowing in a relatively straight line. While Olgrave splashed his way along, Nicholas made sure that the blades of his oars entered the water cleanly at the right angle to give him maximum thrust. He soon began to gain on the other man.

Helped by the current, Olgrave contrived to maintain a reasonable speed. He believed that, by the time that the officers had broken into the hall and searched that part of the building, he would be well out of their reach. But he had reckoned without the man on the roof, who had witnessed his flight. A shape slowly emerged out of the gloom behind him. As he struggled to guide his own boat, Olgrave saw to his horror that he was being followed by a stronger and better oarsman. He could not hope to stay ahead of him. Sweat was already dribbling down his face and moistening his shirt under the armpits. Fear made his heart pound like a drum.

Olgrave used one oar to turn the prow of his boat towards the shore, then he put all his effort into reaching it before he was caught. Nicholas changed course as well,
gaining on him with every pull of the oars. He was less than fifteen yards behind now. Looking over his shoulder, Olgrave saw a landing stage ahead that served the stately residence of Durham House. When he got close, he let go of his oars and turned round to stand up in the boat. As soon as it thudded into the timber, he flung himself at the landing stage and tried to drag himself up.

Nicholas was soon after him, tying his own boat to one of the iron rings before jumping ashore to give pursuit. Breathing heavily, Olgrave swung round to confront him, tugging a dagger from its sheath and holding it aloft. The only way to shake off his pursuer, he accepted, was to kill him. When he recognised Nicholas, his desire for blood was quickened.

‘Give up your weapon,’ said Nicholas, as the other man circled him slowly. ‘You heard what Owen told me. There’s a warrant for your arrest.’

‘I’ll not be taken,’ snapped Olgrave.

‘There’s no way out for you.’

‘Or for you, sir.’ He slashed with the dagger but Nicholas eluded the blade. ‘You should have kept your nose out of our affairs, my friend. It will cost you your life.’

‘I think not,’ said Nicholas, dodging another thrust. ‘I’m not like Hywel Rees, You and your partner cannot bludgeon me from behind and throw me in the Thames.’

Olgrave smirked. ‘No, but I can stab you through the heart and watch you die at my feet,’ he said. ‘It’s no more than your meddling deserves.’

Nicholas danced out of the way as the dagger was aimed at his heart. He still had Beechcroft’s weapon tucked in his
belt, but he did not even think of drawing it. He wanted to take Olgrave alive so that the man could be convicted of his crimes. To dispatch him now in the darkness would be to let him escape the full rigor of justice, and that had to be avoided. Nicholas reminded himself that here was a man who had raped an innocent girl without mercy and helped to murder her friend.

Jabbing with the dagger, Olgrave tried to move him backward towards the river so that the available space was cut down. He was only a tailor by trade but he still felt able to dispose of a man who appeared to be unarmed. He did not realise that Nicholas was a veteran of countless brawls with sailors. That experience had sharpened his instincts. Every time that Olgrave thrust his dagger, Nicholas seemed to know exactly where it would go and evaded its point. However, he was being manoeuvred slowly backward.

Olgrave ran out of patience. Unable even to wound his man, he suddenly dived forward to grab him by the shoulder, intending to ram the dagger into his body with the other hand. Instead, Nicholas caught him by the wrist and tried to twist the weapon from his grasp. Olgrave reacted swiftly, tripping Nicholas up so that fell down and pulled his attacker on top of him. They grappled furiously. Olgrave’s wrist was still held in an iron grip but the point of the dagger was only inches away from Nicholas’s face.

‘I’ll blind you first and kill you afterwards,’ boasted Olgrave.

‘Your luck has finally run out, I think.’

‘You are the one in need of luck, my friend.’

‘I doubt that, Master Olgrave.’

‘Die, you rogue!’

With a surge of strength, he pressed down hard but Nicholas was too quick for him again. He flicked his head aside so that the dagger embedded itself harmlessly in the timber, then he rolled Olgrave over and sat astride him to deliver a relay of punches. Getting to his feet, Nicholas dragged his adversary up after him. Olgrave was not finished yet. He flailed away with both arms until Nicholas hit him with a fearsome uppercut that sent him reeling backward. The next moment, Olgrave had fallen off the edge of the landing stage into the water. As soon as he surfaced, he began to thresh about wildly.

‘Help me!’ he begged. ‘I cannot swim!’

‘What help did you give to Dorothea Tate?’

‘For the love of God, get me out of here!’

‘Confess your crimes first,’ said Nicholas. ‘Did you violate the girl?’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘And did you murder Hywel Rees?’

‘No, I swear it!’

‘Then stay in the river and drown.’

‘Spare me. I’ll tell all.’

‘Then say how he was battered to death.’

‘Three of us did it,’ admitted the other, expelling a mouthful of water. ‘My partner and I were helped by a man named Gregory Sumner.’

Nicholas was satisfied. ‘Then come out and join them in court,’ he said.

He retrieved one of the oars from his boat and offered the blade to Olgrave, who clung on tightly as he was pulled out of the Thames. Sodden and spluttering, the man was soon twitching on the landing stage like a giant fish.