The Counterfeit Crank Read online

  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.

  ‘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 witne
sses. 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 sh
oulder, 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.