‘Yes, he’s a Russian. He’s always talking about Russia; tells us that he had no parents, no brothers or sisters – just Mother Russia,’ whispered Richard over his shoulder as he led the way. ‘Funny old cove – great musician, though. You should hear him play the organ. Be careful here, this roof is very slippery.’
‘Anything the matter, sir?’ The voice rang out clearly in the foggy air.
Alfie groaned to himself as Richard muttered, ‘The copper! Now we’re in trouble. Edge up here; careful of that gutter – it’s broken. Don’t put any weight on it. Get behind this chimney.’
Alfie did what he was told. His bare feet were proving to be more useful than Richard’s gleaming black leather boots.
And then the shrill note of a policeman’s whistle split the air and Richard moaned. ‘That’s torn it. The coppers will surround the Abbey. Quick, follow me. Boris will have some explaining to do and that will give us a few minutes’ start on them.’
‘It’s a boy, a boy selling newspapers, stole my purse.’ The Russian organist sounded flustered.
Alfie clambered over the head of a stone lion and crouched down beside Richard, whose white teeth flashed a grin in the moonlight. A cool customer, thought Alfie admiringly.
‘That boy over there?’ asked the policeman. ‘Come back, you young villain; come back, I say!’
The policeman was shouting at another boy, down below, and Alfie recognised Tom! He realised that his cousin must have come back to Westminster, instead of going back to the cellar in Bow Street. So now Tom was making a run for it – and, knowing Tom, he would be trying to take the newspapers with him.
Alfie’s heart lurched. Tom could be annoying, but Alfie’s mother had been very fond of him and she had told her son to look after his cousin when she died. He imagined her above in the heaven of his grandfather’s tales and he winced as a picture of her reproachful face flashed in front of his mind’s eye.
You were always a troublemaker, he could hear her say. And now you’ve got your little cousin into trouble.
I’m doing my best! The words were in his mind, but they didn’t help. He would feel guilty for ever if Tom was caught and dragged off to Newgate prison. The penalty for stealing a gentleman’s purse could be death by hanging.
‘Good,’ said Richard calmly, breaking into Alfie’s thoughts. ‘They’ve found someone to occupy them. Careful here; grab onto that saint’s hand. Put your foot on his foot. It’s quite firm. I’ve been up here hundreds of times.’
Alfie did as he was told, fitting his bare toes around the carved stone beneath the statue’s feet and then stepping up onto the foot itself. The voices of several policemen moved nearer. Had they given up on the chase after Tom? They seemed to be talking to the Russian now.
‘Come down from that ladder, sir, if you please. It’s an offence to scale a building like the Abbey.’ The constable’s voice was polite: the man was obviously a toff, wearing a fur coat and a silk top hat, but there was no doubt that he was behaving suspiciously.
‘This is a tricky bit,’ whispered Richard. ‘We have to make a jump here. Don’t look down.’
Alfie’s mouth was dry as he watched the boy, hand on hat, coat tails flying up, make a leap from the roof to a wall. For a moment it looked as though he would fall, but at the last moment he recovered his balance.
‘Come on,’ Richard said quietly. ‘You can’t go back down there. The place is swarming with policemen. They’re always around when the MPs sit late. They fetch cabs for them and things like that.’
Alfie knew that he shouldn’t go back down for a while until the policemen had wandered off back to New Scotland Yard. Left to himself, he would have spent a few hours on the Abbey roof and then climbed down around dawn. Once more he glanced down at the distance that Richard had leaped so effortlessly. It must be at least thirty feet above the ground, he thought, feeling his breath shorten. He imagined what a fall would do to him, pictured himself splayed out on the pavement with his skull split and the blood oozing from him, like that steeplejack he had once seen fall from the roof of St Martin’s church in Trafalgar Square.
From the other side of the Abbey, he could hear more voices and the strong Russian accent of the organist as he tried to explain to the policemen why he had been starting to climb onto the roof of Westminster Abbey in the middle of a winter’s night.
‘Don’t look down – look at me. Jump!’ Richard’s voice had a note of alarm in it. He could see something that Alfie could not.
And then one policeman’s voice rose up, stronger and louder than the others.
‘You just stay down here, sir,’ it said. ‘Constable Davies will get him. ’e’s from Wales – ’e’s used to mountain climbing and ’e’s younger than you are, begging your pardon, sir. He’ll catch the little beggar what stole your purse, sir.’
That settled it. A young, fit, mountain-climbing Welshman, armed with a truncheon, was after him. He had to trust Richard. After all, he told himself desperately, Alfie Sykes could do anything that a boy dressed in a tailcoat and wearing a hat and a pair of boots could do.
The distance between the two buildings was only about four feet. That was not the problem; it was just that it was a very long way down if he happened to jump short. However, Alfie’s mind was made up. Clamping his teeth tightly together and pulling a deep breath into his chest, Alfie leaped across, clawing at the wall’s parapet with stone-cold hands. For a moment he fumbled, but then despair sent the blood flowing back into his veins and he felt the slightly rough surface through his fingertips.
Richard did not say a word but slipped around a pillar and began to scramble up the slippery slate roof of a building joined to the wall. This was more difficult than the Abbey’s roof, but Richard twitched a rope and Alfie grabbed hold of it instantly. Quickly they came to a set of tall chimneys, hot to the touch and still smoking slightly. Once behind them, Alfie sighed with relief.
They were no longer on the Abbey roof but on a building close by. Alfie looked down and saw the small yard that Richard had spoken of – Little Dean’s Yard, he had called it. It was shaped like a square, paved in two colours of soot-stained stone and was surrounded by tall, neat brick buildings on all sides. What took Alfie’s attention, though, was the archway. There was a stout wooden gate with heavy bars on it, blocking it at the moment; but he was sure that it would be opened when morning came and that he could get out through there and back into Westminster again. In the meantime, he would just follow his new friend along the narrow crest of the roof.
Richard was lying down now, seeming to squash himself against the roof ridge, a hand on the slope on either side. It was a good precaution as the sky was still unclouded and watery gleams of moonlight seeped through the fog. There was a danger that anyone looking out of one of the buildings opposite might see them. Eventually they came to another of the tall chimneys and, with a sigh of relief, Alfie was able to follow Richard’s example and to straighten himself against its bulk.
‘Don’t slip,’ whispered Richard. ‘I did once and I only saved my life by grabbing onto that flagpole down there by the gutter. It was a near thing, I can tell you. I tied the rope onto the chimney after that.’ Alfie looked down. The roof was a steep one and the fog-wet slates were incredibly slippery. More than ever he admired the nerve and courage of this Westminster schoolboy.
‘In here!’ Richard pushed open a casement window to the back of the chimney. He climbed over the windowsill into a small dark room. ‘This is my study. I share it with Smith Minor, but he’s been sent home with measles. You can sleep there and, in the morning, I’ll bring you breakfast. Here’s a box of matches if you want to find your way around. I’ll draw the curtains. Better go now before I’m missed from the dormitory. I’ll be flogged to death if I’m found out.’
As soon as he was gone, Alfie lit a match, looked around rapidly, noting the position of the furniture and the cupboards, and then blew it out. Darkness was safer. He felt his way around and took a cushion from a chair and made himself a bed inside a large cupboard whose shelves were full of old books. Once he was settled there, he pulled the door almost shut. Now, if anyone chanced to look in before Richard came, there would be nothing to be seen. He determined not to move unless all was safe.
Richard would be in trouble from the school authorities if they found out about his night on the roof of Westminster Abbey; but if Alfie were found by the Russian spy, it would be a matter of life or death.