‘In that case, I must apologise for intruding. Ladies.’ The runner gave us a bow and held the carriage door open.
‘Not at all, sir,’ said Lady Elizabeth graciously. ‘You were just doing your duty.’ Constable Lennox glowed with pride and bowed again.
As I got in, I felt the runner’s gaze fix on me. I could tell he found something about me familiar.
‘We’d better get out of here,’ I whispered urgently to Lord Francis, ‘before he remembers where he saw me.’
Lord Francis nodded and thumped the roof of the carriage.
‘Drive on!’ he called.
The carriage surged into motion, throwing us back into our well-padded seats. Looking out of the window as we turned out of Grosvenor Square, I saw the runner suddenly clap his hand to his forehead and start off in pursuit. But even Bow Street runners could not outstrip a carriage pulled by four stallions. He was soon left behind.
‘That was close,’ I said slumping back with relief. ‘He remembered me . . . but too late.’
‘And as for the countess here . . . he didn’t have a clue,’ said Lord Francis, turning to Johnny. ‘But may I say, countess, you do look quite ravishing this morning?’
The countess gave the young lord a hearty thump for his impertinence as Lady Elizabeth and I dissolved into laughter.
SCENE 2 . . . THE THAMES
The carriage took us through the narrow streets of the city to the docks beyond the Tower of London. The sky was iron grey behind the white turrets of the fortress, a sign that more snow was on its way. As I watched, a raven launched itself from the battlements of the White Tower and circled over the roofs of red brick buildings crowded up against the outer walls. Disturbed by some unseen menace, a flock of gulls abandoned their scavenging on the muddy shoreline, spiralled up, and then headed eastwards over Traitor’s Gate. After the brief pleasure at our escape, a grim mood stole over me: even the birds sensed the threat that hung over us like an executioner’s axe.
As we left the Tower behind and rattled through Wapping, Lord Francis leant over his sister to point out Johnny’s ship moored in the stretch of water known as the Pool.
‘There she is: the fastest little merchant vessel in the business!’ Lord Francis said cheerfully. ‘Or so Jenkins’s second cousin swears. He’s a customs man so he should know.’
The ship was hard to spot, being but three masts amid a forest. Like the most intricate Brussels lace, the rigging stretched from stem to stern on each boat. From this distance it looked as if some gigantic kitten had got in the wool bag and made a hopeless tangle. It was hard to imagine how any vessel could escape that knot.
‘But even the fastest ship needs a favourable wind,’ said Johnny looking anxiously up at the weather vane on top of St Katherine’s Church. It was stuck resolutely pointing east. ‘Pursuit has been too hot on my heels of late. I’d appreciate a cool west wind to blow me out to the estuary and put some sea miles between me and my enemies.’
‘I may have many gifts, Lord Jonathan,’ said Lord Francis punching his friend in his bodice, ‘but controlling the wind is not one of them.’ Johnny cuffed him back and laughed. I wondered how they could both be so light-hearted in view of the dangers that surrounded us. My stomach was sick with anxiety.
‘I’ve spoken to the captain,’ continued Lord Francis. ‘He’s an American, a friend of liberty . . . you can trust him not to give you up to Mr Pitt’s bloodhounds. We’ll put you in a lighter and have you on board the Potomac in a jiffy.’
The carriage jolted through an icy puddle and turned towards the riverside. Having never been to this part of London before, I craned my head out of the window. The buildings . . . every other one a tavern as far as I could tell . . . were crowded together in a heap as if all London’s leftovers had been dumped here higgledy-piggledy. Even stranger were the faces of the people. Amongst the sailors, I spotted a group of pigtailed Chinese in a tavern window intent on a game played with small white tiles; a curly-haired African dressed in rags shivered by a coil of rope; on a street corner, a turbaned Indian used sinuous hand gestures to negotiate with a fur-hatted Russian who chopped at the air like a woodcutter with an axe. Three smart girls trotted by, their cheeks rouged scarlet, dressed in brand new red woollen shawls. They held their heads high as they showed off the gifts given them by their sailor sweethearts. The African shuffled out of their way but they paid him no attention.
‘Here’s the landing place,’ said Lord Francis as the carriage slowed. He opened the door and jumped down on to the muddy ground. ‘Wait there, ladies, Pedro and I will look for a boat to carry our cargo.’
Johnny made to get up but I grabbed on to the back of his skirts and pulled him down.
‘Sit still. People are watching,’ I whispered. ‘What’ll the coachman think if he sees you striding off after the boys?’
Reluctantly, Johnny returned to his seat but he could not keep from the window, anxiously watching for any signs of trouble.
‘That’s not very ladylike,’ Lady Elizabeth warned him as she set him the example of how to sit demurely in a carriage, her hands folded in her lap, her back straight.
‘Francis is only a boy!’ muttered Johnny. ‘I feel responsible. What if something happens to him and Pedro?’
‘He’ll be fine,’ I reassured him. ‘He’s far less likely to run into difficulties if we do as we’re told and stay here.’
Lord Francis and Pedro returned a few minutes later with a burly waterman at their elbow. Even in this frosty weather the boatman’s arms were bare, displaying his muscled limbs honed by many hours of rowing on the tricky tides of the Thames. His grey-flecked hair straggled like limp seaweed down his back.
‘’As the lady any luggage?’ growled the waterman as Lord Francis handed us out of the carriage.