Always: You'll Never Walk Alone (3 page)

John opened his mouth about to say something to me when he turned back to the secretary. “You were here this morning? Now I remember, waking up the whole household at some ungodly hour.”

“I was here at eight o’clock. Lord Beecham is leaving for his estates and needs an immediate answer.”

“Well, I’ll give you the same answer I gave this morning.” And he turned his back on him and let out an almighty fart. “Take that back to Lord Peechpit with my compliments.”

The secretary, not being used to being spoken to in such a manner, was speechless.

“You, you impudent…”

“Piss off.”

“You, you don’t know who you are dealing with.”

“I’m dealing with a pompous arse, who’s taking up my valuable time. Now get out before I’m forced to get rude.”

Before the secretary could reply, he had taken his arm and pushed him toward the door.

“You haven’t heard the last of this. Lord Beecham is not a man to be fooled with.”

“Tell Lord Peechcrap he can bite my bum.” And he slammed the door on the secretary’s retreating back.

He turned to me and seeing the look on my face broke out in a howl of laughter. For a moment, I was too stunned to move, but then seeing how much he was enjoying himself I started to laugh as well.

Hearing the commotion, the women, came bustling in from the kitchen to find the two of us sitting on the floor clutching our stomachs with tears rolling down our cheeks.

“What’s the matter with you two?”

“I, I…” said John.

“He, he…” I said. Pointing to John, and we burst into howls of laughter again.

“I… said John and snorted.

“He… “ Another howl!

It was a good few minutes before we could talk, but finally we pulled ourselves together and told them what had happened.

When we had finished Sarah had turned quite pale. “What is it?” Sylvie said, seeing how upset Sarah was. “Do you know this Lord Beecham?”

“No. Well…” Turning to me she said “That man at the cathedral, wasn’t his name Henry?”

“Yes I think so, but why would he be interested in you and how would he know you were here?”

“I told him remember.”

“Oh yes. But don’t worry. John sent him on his way I don’t think he or his secretary will be back.”

But something told me we hadn’t heard the end of this, and a shiver ran down my spine.

Chapter Three

Although the streets were just about impassable, the first customers started to arrive before we’d even had a chance to clean up from the night before, and the excitement of the morning was soon forgotten. So much beer was being drunk; we were in danger of running out before day’s end, if we didn’t get another delivery. John was encouraging the patrons to switch to gin but unfortunately, the popular saying in reference to that drink “drunk for a penny, dead drunk for two-pence” was proving to be too true. A few of the more outspoken customers started getting into fights and it was a constant battle to keep them separated. One or two had to be ejected by John. But, then brought back in again ten minutes later, before freezing to death, when we found them asleep in the snow not ten feet from the front door.

Finally, at about five o’ clock I got a chance to spend some time with Sarah. We took some potatoes, carrots, and stewed beef, and sat down together in a corner of the kitchen. Tired but happy to be together we sat close.

“I never got a chance to thank you yesterday for taking me out. This city is so big; I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find my way around.”

“You’ll get used to it. It’ll just take a bit of time, and I’ll be happy to show you around. When we can get a whole day off, I’ll take you across London to Hampstead Heath. We can go to the King’s palace, and I have a friend who’ll take us along the river to the Tower.”

“The Tower?”

“The Tower of London.”

“This is all so exciting. All my life I’ve lived on the Windermere’s estate. Once I went to Salisbury with Luke the stable master, he had to pick up some supplies and took me along. We saw the Cathedral but we didn’t have time to go in. That was the biggest city I’d ever seen and I was so scared. I think I was about seven years old, and the most people I had ever seen before that was at the Windermere’s Christmas parties. I used to sneak up stairs and watch everyone arrive. It was so magnificent. They were all dressed up, the men in their suits and the ladies in silks and satins of reds, blues and golds. They had an orchestra with violins and trumpets and the conductor all dressed up in white. The people would dance and laugh and everyone was so happy. In the kitchen there was extra staff, and everyone would be running up and down the stairs taking up all the different courses. I would have to clean the pots and pans and knives and spoons, and everyone was shouting and rushing backwards and forwards and if there was any extra food left over after each course was served, we could eat it ourselves. There were creams and sauces and pies and tarts and I don’t know what else. After the guests left, we would all sit around the big table and eat the leftovers, and the butler who would never talk to us during the rest of the year would bring down some of the wine that was left in the bottles, and we would all sing Christmas songs, and some of the cooks would get drunk and tell Christmas stories. I tried some wine but I didn’t like it very much.”

Sarah’s eyed shone and the words tumbled out of her mouth as she recalled her past. This was the most she’d told me of her life before coming to London. But the tavern was still busy and all too soon we were called back to work, and for the rest of the night we hardly had a chance to say another word to each other.

Finally, the last customer left and we made our way upstairs together. We reached the second floor landing, said goodnight, and then just before she turned to climb the last flight of stairs she turned, gave me a quick kiss and a smile before rushing up to her room. I stood looking after her for I don’t know how long, before Victoria came up the stairs and asked, “Why are you standing here with that silly grin on your face? Have you been into the gin?”

“No, no” I felt the colour rising from my neck, and turned for my room as I heard Victoria laugh. “Must be love then.”

The next morning I woke up with the same grin I’d gone to sleep with. I washed my face and got started on the morning clean up before leaving for the market. The snow had finally stopped falling, but the streets were now covered in a dirty brown mix of snow, mud, and horseshit and it took twice as long as usual to get there. By the time I returned to the Fox everyone was up and Sylvie invited me into the kitchen for breakfast. Sarah gave me a shy smile as I came in and she poured me a cup of tea. “Sylvie wants me to pick up a new skillet at Johnston’s. I was wondering if you would be so kind as to take me there. It’s on Newsome Street close to the market. Do you know where that is?”

“Of course, let’s go”

“I think you’d better finish your tea and have some breakfast first.” She smiled.

I wolfed down a sandwich, drank my tea and once more headed out into the street, this time with Sarah at my side. As we turned left out of the Fox Sarah slipped in the snow and I caught her arm. “Why thank you kind sir.” She smiled and slipped her hand in mine.

As we reached the corner, a carriage pulled up in front of the Fox. It was completely black except for a coat of arms on the door. The curtains were drawn across the windows, the driver had his collar pulled up against the cold and his hat pulled down low over his eyes. The horses, which were also black, snorted and stamped their hooves on the hard snow.

We turned right onto Brinks Street and almost collided with Ron. “Well hello, if it isn’t the young lovers. What are you doing out so early? Eloping?”

“No, we’re off to Johnston’s to get a new skillet. What are you doing in this part of town?”

“I’m just on my way to visit John and Sylvie. After seeing you two yesterday I realized I hadn’t seen them in over a year so I thought I’d come over for a new year’s drink.”

“Well they’ve just finished breakfast. They’ll be really pleased to see you. We’ll be back in about an hour. If you’re still there we’ll see you then.”

He went on towards the Fox and we continued towards Johnston’s. It started to snow again and by the time we picked up the skillet and returned to the Fox, another two inches had fallen and we could hardly keep upright.

The carriage we saw arriving when we left was still there but now covered in a blanket of white. The driver looked like he hadn’t moved since he arrived and was covered in snow from his hat to his boots. Just as I opened the door to the Fox a voice called out for Sarah and a man stepped out of the carriage. Before I realized what was happening he grabbed her and pulled her inside. I ran towards them but slipped in the snow. Before I could regain my footing the driver whipped the horses and they took off at a gallop down the street. I heard Sarah screaming and ran after them, but the snow was too deep the horses too fast and within minutes, they disappeared. I kept running and falling and running, but they were gone. I shouted out her name again and again, my voice echoing into the street and off the buildings, before getting lost in the snow.

I wandered the streets for hours in the desperate hope of seeing the carriage, but it was gone, its tracks lost in the freshly fallen snow. Finally with night falling, cold, wet and exhausted I returned to the Fox.

“Where the hell have you been? You should have been here hours ago. Where’s Sarah?”

My mouth wouldn’t work and I stood there speechless.

“What is it boy?”

I opened my mouth but couldn’t get the words out. A frown of concern came over John’s face. “What’s happened? Vicky get him some tea.”

She brought a mug of hot sweet tea and as I felt the warm liquid hit my stomach my body started to tremble. The warmth of the tavern melted the snow on my head and it ran down my neck. Sylvie having heard the commotion came out from the kitchen to find out what was going on. Grabbing a towel, she dried my hair and put her arms around me until the trembling stopped. Choking back tears and sipping on the tea I finally managed to tell them what had happened.

Ron, who had stayed for the day, said he remembered seeing the carriage when he’d come in that morning. He’d noted it because of the coat of arms on the door, it was an eagle and a lion entwined around the letters H.B. He’d seen it in the city a number of times over the last few days but didn’t know who it belonged to.

Sylvie told me to go upstairs, get out of my wet clothes, then come down and have some dinner and then take the rest of the night off. I climbed the stairs, my feet squelching in my wet shoes. Taking my clothes off I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. Why had this happened? What could anyone possibly want with Sarah? I started shivering again and pulled the blankets around me. What did H.B. stand for? Was there something about Sarah that I didn’t know? I got up and paced the room, noticing for the first time how small it really was. Two paces to the door turn right, three paces to the wall, turn right and two paces back to the bed. Pulling some clothes on I went back downstairs and into the kitchen. Without Sarah, Sylvie was busy over the stove. When I came in, she looked up an expression of concern on her face. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’ll be alright. Could I have some soup?”

“Of course you can.” And she brought me a big bowl.

As I took the first mouthful, I realized just how hungry I was. I’d had nothing to eat since the sandwich that morning. I finished the bowl and Sylvie refilled it.

“D’you want anything else?” She said, giving me a hunk of bread.

I shook my head, eating without tasting, the bread and soup.

The tavern was as crowded as it had been for the last couple of nights, so finishing the food, I started cleaning dishes. “You don’t have to do that” Sylvie objected. But I couldn’t just sit around doing nothing and within minutes I was rushing backwards and forwards between the bar and the kitchen, emptying glasses, delivering food and cleaning up. Luckily, we had a delivery of beer during the day so besides the regular couple of drunks everyone else was much more civil than had been the case yesterday. Before I knew it, it was closing time and the last customer finally stumbled out into the night.

We sat around the bar, John, Ron, Sylvie, Victoria and myself. Sylvie made some fresh tea, which we were drinking, whilst trying to figure out who could possibly have abducted Sarah, and why?

We were getting nowhere, when a chill slithered down my spine. I knew who it was. “H.B. was the insignia on the coach… Henry Beecham, Lord Beecham. At the cathedral, his friend called him Henry it must have been him. Who else would own a carriage like that?” Ron was looking at me strangely, so I asked, “What’s the matter?” At first, he didn’t want to say but I was insistent, then finally…

“I’ve heard many stories about Lord Beecham; I don’t know how many are true. He’s a distant cousin to the King with vast estates in Cornwall. He was accused of murdering one of the Kings maids. It’s said he’d raped her and she’d become pregnant. At the Kings New Years ball, as Lord and Lady Beecham arrived, the maid ran out and accused him. She was quickly dragged out amidst profuse apologies. The next morning she was found disembowelled. Of course, nothing could be proved even though another maid said she had seen the two of them together that same night. But, who would take the word of a maid over the Kings cousin?

Lady Beecham was killed in a horse riding accident shortly thereafter, and since then the tales of Lord Beecham’s perversions have escalated. He’s what they call a collector. He collects mostly young girls but occasionally boys, he travels the countryside and when he finds someone that appeals to his taste, he buys them from their parents or employers, promising shelter in exchange for work. If he can’t buy them then he’s not above kidnapping them. He keeps them at Castle Harvard on the south coast of Cornwall. I won’t repeat the stories I’ve heard but if he has taken Sarah then you’d best forget her. The police won’t help and nobody else can.”