It was like facing the Spanish Inquisition. You told your story. They didn’t believe you. You changed your story. They believed you even less. Not that Tyler Courtney was being unpleasant; just impatient. It was Bowser’s scowling that really put the wind up Jack. He had been dragged down to the theatre to explain exactly when David Garrick was going to make his long-awaited appearance in Newcastle. Jack had considered fainting again but quickly abandoned the idea. Bowser would probably kick him until he got up.
Straightaway, Bowser demanded whether Garrick had been in contact. First Jack said no. That was not good enough for Bowser, so Jack said yes. Then Bowser wanted to see evidence. He would! Jack said that he couldn’t show them the letter from Garrick as it contained extracts of a very personal nature. He didn’t expand, which left Courtney and Bowser exchanging surprised glances. As Jack had told them on many an occasion that he knew Garrick best when he was a young boy, they drew their own dubious conclusions. It threw them enough to give Jack time to think. If he was to survive the meeting, he would need to go on the attack.
‘The reason I have not told you about his communication is that David is still unsure of the exact date.’ Before they had time to object, ‘He says he will reach Newcastle about ten days hence. As near the first of March as he can make it.’
‘It cannot be that day,’ Bowser snapped abruptly. ‘Business to attend to. After that date, it’s fine.’
‘No matter,’ put in Courtney. ‘He will be here for a day or so – we will need to rehearse. We will make sure that the play does not take place on that day. And has Mr Garrick given any inkling of the piece he would wish to perform?’
‘Not definitely.’ Courtney was abashed. ‘However, he did write that it might be appropriate to do a play by Mr Colley Cibber, as a mark of respect.’ This immediately rekindled Courtney’s interest. Cibber was one of the most acclaimed playwrights of the first half of the century, responsible for setting the fashion in sentimental comedies. Cibber had even become Poet Laureate. Though he had died last December, Courtney could see the mileage to be made out of Garrick performing a Cibber work.
‘Old “hatchet face” himself,’ Courtney laughed, referring to Cibber’s famously haggard visage. The way Courtney then talked, one would have thought that he had known Cibber personally. Jack had done enough to get himself momentarily off the hook, though it only gave him about a week to get out of Newcastle – or trap Bowser.
As Jack was leaving, Bowser yanked him unceremoniously to one side. ‘Did Mr Garrick mention the snuffbox?’
‘Oh, indeed. He was fulsome in his praise of it, though he said that he felt it only proper to thank you in person when he comes north.’
Bowser seemed pleased. ‘I’ll look forward to him staying under my roof.’
‘I am sure he cannot wait,’ said Jack trying to move off.
‘By the by,’ Bowser said almost pleasantly, ‘you don’t happen to have a tea caddy in your possession that does not belong to you?’
Jack froze for a second before rallying, hoping that his fright wouldn’t give him away. ‘Sir, I detest tea. So why on earth should I have a tea caddy?’
Bowser let him go, after one more parting shot: ‘You know, I’ll make sure this burglar hangs.’
Outside, Jack leant against the back wall of the theatre and gulped for air. Despite the chilly day, beads of sweat ran down his neck.
‘He bloody knows. He knows it was me!’
‘Calm down, Jack,’ Bessie commanded.
Jack wrung his hands. Bowser’s direct question had taken him by surprise. The threat of hanging almost made him suicidal. A few swiftly downed gins on the way back had done nothing to settle his fraught nerves. In fact, the alcohol had only fuelled his imagination. Was it the drink or was there someone following him? Now he was a quivering wreck.
‘Do they usually hang burglars around here?’
‘Depends on who’s been burgled, I suppose. Now that you mention it, they did string up that Alice Williamson for theft on the Moor last summer.’
‘Oh, sweet Jesus.’ Jack chewed distractedly at his fingernails. ‘That is not the only reason I have got to get out of here, Bessie. Bowser and Courtney expect Garrick to appear by the beginning of next month!’
‘What makes them think that?’
‘Because I bloody told them. God almighty, I had to tell them something.’
‘Sit down,’ ordered Bessie, ‘and stop whining like a pathetic mutt and let us sort the matter out.’
Jack was all for continuing to stomp around the room. One severe look from Bessie had him scuttling into a chair.
‘Right. Let us review the situation. Bowser is the problem on two counts. Firstly, he believes you have the tea caddy. Secondly, he is expecting Garrick to arrive soon.’
‘I am so glad that has clarified matters,’ Jack said sarcastically. ‘I feel reassured already.’
‘Jack, sometimes you have no backbone.’
‘Once Bowser has finished with me, I will not have any bones left at all! It is your fault that I am in this predicament in the first place,’ he added viciously.
‘Not entirely. I was not the one who told the world that you were David Garrick’s greatest friend,’ she reminded him sharply. ‘However, this is not the time to apportion blame. I am well aware of the sacrifices you have made on my behalf.’ The starchiness left her voice. ‘Do not think I am not conscious of the huge debt I owe you.’
Bessie stood up, poured Jack a mug of beer and handed it to him. ‘Now, as I view it, there is a benefit to be gained by Bowser’s threat on two fronts.’
‘I cannot see it,’ Jack mumbled wretchedly into his mug.
Bessie ignored the remark. ‘Bowser may think you have the tea caddy, but we know that Garrick’s appearance is important to him. Whatever he thinks, you know he will not risk getting rid of you until Garrick has left.’
‘But he is not coming!’
‘Bowser does not know that – and he must remain in ignorance. If he finds out that Garrick is a figment of your imagination, he will immediately have you kidnapped, killed or whatever he pleases.’
‘Why do we not merely return the tea caddy?’ Jack brightened. ‘Leave it outside his house, or drop it over the garden wall.’
‘Jack, sometimes you appear to have no brain in your head. If he already suspects you, he will assume you have seen the contents. Do you think he will let you live with that knowledge?’ Jack spluttered into his beer. ‘The only reason he has not acted thus far is because of his overblown vanity. He imagines the universal acclaim he will receive as the man who brought David Garrick to Newcastle.’
‘What is to be done?’
‘We have a week to solve the problem. The only way to do that is to work out exactly what Bowser is doing and how we can take the offensive to him.’ Jack definitely didn’t like the sound of this. ‘I will fetch the tea caddy. We will go through all the contents once more. There must be something in there that will give us the weapon we need.’
While Bessie was out of the room, Jack grabbed the jug of beer. He didn’t bother pouring it into his mug first.
It was useless. They had examined every piece of paper again – and then a second time. It appeared that Bowser or Acorn or both were at the centre of a spy ring gathering information for the French. But even that didn’t make sense. Was the much-talked-about invasion going to come on this north-east coast? Everyone was assuming it would be on the south coast or that of East Anglia because of the proximity to France. Yet now that the French had access to the Austrian Netherlands, might they not unexpectedly strike further north? Judging by these figures, it wasn’t the best defended shoreline in Britain. Furthermore, it was close to Scotland and there was also the possibility of support from that quarter. The ’45 rebellion was still fresh in many minds. During his time in Edinburgh, Jack hadn’t come across overt Jacobitism, though there were the occasional veiled references to gatherings behind closed doors where the “King over the water” was toasted in secret. Jack had been too young to appreciate the importance of the ’45 at the time, though he had vague memories of his father ordering his sister to start shifting some of the most important pieces of their household belongings ‘just in case the savages turn in this direction’. He did remember the general rejoicing when the Scots packed up and headed north again – at Derby as it turned out – and Charles Edward Stuart’s subsequent defeat at Culloden.
‘It is so frustrating. We have all this vital information yet we cannot prove it has anything to do with Bowser.’ Jack’s fear was rising once more. He would see Catherine tomorrow, take her money and get out of town. Maybe he would sneak onto a ship. On such a busy river, it would surely be possible to escape unseen by Axwell and his men.
‘We are not looking closely enough. There must be a link to one of his businesses or his associates. He cannot have gathered all this intelligence by himself. Neither could my father have done, for that matter,’ she conceded. ‘Much of this information is written in a variety of hands.’
‘Bessie, we have been through every scrap of paper at least thrice. It is hopeless. We will never find anything we can use.’
‘Jack, you are so feeble. You give up so easily.’
‘It is my life we are talking about, that is why!’
‘All the more reason to look harder. It will be the simplest thing that will unlock the door. Something unremarkable… like these Roman numerals on this map – one, three, fifty-eight, seven, eight.’
‘I noticed them before. It must be a map reference.’
‘Well, it might give us a clue. They do not appear to correspond to anything on the map that I can see.’
‘Could they refer to something else?’ asked Jack absently.
‘A number on a house, a date, or monies owed? Oh, I do not know.’
‘Give me the map,’ Jack said with an abruptness that shook Bessie. For a moment he just stared at the five numbers. ‘Gadzooks! You are a clever girl, Bessie Acorn.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes. I do not know what the last two numbers signify, but the first three are a date. One, three, fifty-eight – the first day of March, this year. Bowser was most insistent that Garrick did not appear at the theatre on that night. Business, he said. Something important is happening. A meeting or…’
‘An invasion?’
He dropped the map back onto the table. ‘My God, that is a thought.’