Tidetown (33 page)

The footman cowers under the blows, then stands up straight, puffing and blowing.

‘Now get you to the stable,' commands Joshua. ‘The mayor is readying to ride, within the half-hour. And when the mayor is readying, we are all readying ahead. And you, snivelling wretch, are already readying behind.'

The young footman, confused and battered as he is, turns on his heels, careful not to break into a trot, and heads purposefully to the stable. Joshua watches him turn the corner, happy that, in spite of all that is unfolding, time-honoured order has fallen into place this morning.

‘Barnum!' shouts the mayor, appearing by the front door.

‘The footman …' stutters Joshua, ‘… the horse will be saddled, bridled and ready in record time.'

‘Forget the horse, to hell with the footman,' shrieks the mayor. ‘Gather the staff in the main hall. All of them. Now. I have a matter of great import to relay.'

Within ten minutes, the entire mayoral household assembles in the hall. The mayor walks up and down, a general about to address his army of daughter (already cognisant of the plan), footman, cook, deputy mayor, stable boy, Spider, housemaids (times two) and gardeners-cum-woodsmen (times three).

‘You are all aware of the drastic measures that have been taken to protect the future of our fair town and its surrounds.'

Mrs M looks to Joshua. She is still smarting from the tearful scene in the kitchen where she sobbed in his arms at the plight of her second cousin's family and all the other poor souls known to them that have been boarded up and left to rot.

‘With leadership comes great responsibility,' says the mayor (as if for the first time). ‘And I refuse to shirk from the weight of my office. Those who do not make a decision perish on the ice. The leader who turns his back on those who look to him should be lashed, should be turned into a pillar of salt.'

Hoppy, the stable boy, shifts from his bad foot to his good one, as he always does when confused.

‘Pope Clement of Avignon, so the good Dr Knowles informed me, was a great man who faced a similar dilemma. He survived the worst plague known to man. He locked himself away on the order of his physician and kept fires burning in the papal palace to purify the air around him. I have called you all here today, as I intend do the same as the pope. To share the suffering of our fellows. To lead by example. I have locked the gates to the grounds and we will not leave these walls until the vaccines arrive from Bray and this dreadful time has passed into history. Joshua and Mrs M will take charge. We will stock the pantries, cut wood for the fires that will burn day and night, and live here together as a merry and courageous band until happier days dawn.'

The mayor, invigorated by the power of his oration, strides from the room, leaving the assembled crowd to look at one another in shock and bemusement. Suddenly, his head appears back around the door.

‘To action! To action!' he commands. ‘And Hoppy, you come with me.'

Hoppy looks around at the others, bemused and nonplussed, then shuffles after the footsteps of his master. While the others head off to their respective duties, Spider, as curious and alert as ever, holds back, then quietly positions himself behind the open door to hear what transpires.

‘Here,' demands the mayor, who is waiting in the passage. When Hoppy is close by he grabs him by the neck.

‘Can I trust you, boy?' he says, a wild look in his eyes, ‘because I'm not sure I can trust the others.'

‘Yes, sir, of course, sir,' chokes Hoppy.

Spider peers through the crack in the door, quietly pushing it open another inch to get a clearer view of proceedings.

‘Good, I thought as much. This is for you,' says the mayor, handing him a key, ‘tie this around your neck and never let it leave your sight. This opens the front gate. Now you have a key and I have a key. There are no others. You will be its guardian. Only Angelica is allowed to leave the grounds. You will do as she and I command. None of the others can leave. You understand the trust I am putting in you?'

‘I think so, sir,' says the boy, eyes popping. ‘Only Miss Angelica. No others can leave.'

‘You will only ever open the gate when I or she tells you to do so … you understand?'

‘I do, I do.'

‘And if you fail me, my club-footed friend, I'll track down your furrowed footprint and feed you to the hounds. Understood?'

‘Understood, sir, understood.'

The mayor lets go his grip and the boy breathes a deep sigh of relief.

‘Now off to the stables with you. I'm sure there's straw to be spread.'

Spider watches as Hoppy hobbles off down the corridor, followed by the mayor.
There will be advantage to this
, he thinks.

‘Not to worry,' says Mrs M to a forlorn Joshua, ‘I have ample supplies of chicken in reserve to keep us going for many a month.'

‘Let's hope our imprisonment does not extend so long,' says Joshua. ‘No one is more loyal to our mayor than I. You know that, and I will stay here with him, as he requests. But I have my doubts.'

‘Doubts have we all,' echoes Mrs M.

Mrs M is already one step ahead. When she heard the rumour that livestock were failing and the crops would not be planted she went to the chicken coop and slaughtered all the healthy birds: they were but twelve in number. For a day, diligently guarded, she kept them in the icebox. When night fell she took them out into the kitchen, and, assured that she was alone, she plucked them of their feathers, then crushed them whole in the grinder used to pulverise bones for soups and stocks. The whole bony, bloody, pulpy mass she then wrapped in greaseproof paper and fitted it neatly into a corner of the icebox. Then on her daily walks she looked out for freshly killed, newly dead forest animals, seeking out the smaller variety: the stoats and ferrets, fieldmice and weasels. These she carefully examined, only picking those still fresh. She carried the bounty home in her large canvas bag to be skinned and gutted, then placed in rows in the icebox, the only key to which she now keeps safe on a string between her imposing bosoms.

Today Mrs M puts her plan into action. Her stoat stew has been marinating for three hours in the chicken stock, a chunk of which she sliced from the large block that was her secret ingredient to keep the motley crew of the mayor's household fed and happy. So long as she had supplies of chicken stock for flavour, the ‘meat' would come from her forays into the woodland. She hears Joshua coming down the stairs. As always she busies herself stirring the broth, adding a sprinkling of pepper here, a handful of parsley there.

‘What smells, what delights,' says Joshua as he bounds around the kitchen, quite like his old self. ‘Aromas to warm the heart on the hardest of days.'

‘And you shall be first to the taste,' says Mrs M, stirring the bottom of the pot with the big wooden ladle, chunks of stringy meat swirling in its wake.

‘Ah, the honour,' enraptures Joshua, ‘never to be underestimated, never to be less than deeply appreciated.'

So Mrs M ladles up a fulsome load: meat, thick broth, softened vegetables. In a steamy flourish, she hands the wooden spoon to her companion.

He takes in a deep breath to relish the smell, then sucks at the edge of the ladle to let the broth run into his mouth. He closes his eyes, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. Then he tips the meat and vegetables into his mouth, chewing and chomping with relish. When finished, wiping the back of his hand across his lips, he opens his eyes and lets out a long sigh.

‘Truly divine, Mrs M. You have surpassed yourself. Such flavour. There's not a dish in the county, nay the country, to top this one.'

‘Praise indeed,' says Mrs M, chuckling inside, fully convinced her judicious planning has come to fruition and no one in the household will go hungry (nor be any the wiser as to the ingredients).

‘Save me some for luncheon,' says a refreshed and rejuvenated Joshua, as he skips out the door to cut more wood to feed the voracious fires that burn on day and night.

Mrs M has often fantasised about leaving a legacy. Something by which she will be remembered. Like many young girls of her time and background, she had sometimes dreamed that a guest in one of the places she worked would recognise her hidden talent and whisk her off to Bray where she would become the most feted actress of her day, wooed by royalty, nobility, and handsome dukes from the continent. But servitude and womanhood put an end to such fancies. Yet now, once the latest faux-chicken dish is dispensed to the dining room, she writes down her recipes under the general heading of ‘Hedgerow and Meadow Buffet'. Today's dish, before she added the truly secret ingredient of well-seasoned chicken stock, is to be called ‘Ferret and Fennel Feast'. As she chews on the end of her pencil, reading back to herself the latest entry in her cookbook, she happily believes her life will not be forgotten: that when the world reverts to greater simplicity and self-reliance, her work and woodland recipes will be referenced and applauded far and wide.

‘Young Spider,' says the mayor, as he catches sight of the boy passing in the corridor, ‘I have something I want to show you. Come in.'

Spider enters the study, where the mayor is standing at his desk.

‘Look, here,' says the mayor, waving a letter in front of him, ‘I thought you might like to know your “ruffian” friends are faring well with Mr Rodwell. I have a copy of the report to the Council Education Committee.'

This is the first Spider has heard of the three brothers, though he's often thought of them.

‘Don't you want to know how they are? You look like a stunned mullet, boy.'

‘Yes, I do. Of course I do.'

‘Well,' says the mayor, flapping the letter with an authoritative gesture, ‘Mr Rodwell states, and I quote, “the three ruffian boys, relinquished to my care, are learning sound principles, moral fortitude and the value of the education being offered to them”. Good words, eh?'

Spider says nothing.

‘What? You look unconvinced. Look,' says the mayor, flourishing the page in Spider's face, ‘see for yourself. Signed by the headmaster.'

But Spider pays no heed to the words, or to the signature. It is the address at the top of the page that holds his attention. Rodwell School, Thetford.

‘I should not have told you of that letter, it being official council business. But I thought it would be a treat for you, something to cheer you up. Let's keep it as our little secret. Now I want you to do a favour for me in return. A secret for a secret, so to speak.'

So from this evening onwards it is to be Spider's special task to mix a potion of laudanum for the mayor to imbibe after his supper. (‘For my gout, you understand? But best to keep it from Mrs M and the others. Just between you and I.') The mayor takes Spider to the kitchen and shows him the place where Mrs M keeps the medicinal jar at the back of the pantry. ‘Our little secret,' says the mayor, grinning and tapping the tip of his nose with his finger.

With his first such duty performed and the mayor lulled to a place of heaven, Spider lies awake in his bed and recalls the address: Rodwell School, Thetford. He will bide his time and await the moment. Just like he did in the pig pit. Just like he did in the barn when all seemed lost. And just like he did when he saw the mayor handing the key to Hoppy. The moment will come and he will seize it.

FOURTEEN

‘When one with honeyed words but evil mind persuades the mob, great woes befall the state
.' – Euripides

Two corporals from the hussar regiment escort Judge Omega to a gate at the back of the provincial governor's residence. There waiting for him is a carriage fronted by four of the finest white stallions from the cavalry's stables. He is met by Colonel Henri Baptiste, a young graduate from the military academy, the son and grandson of two of the nation's finest and bravest military men. He is dressed in full brigade uniform of blue and gold with a shiny breastplate and a sword hanging from his belt.