Jack didn’t have too many moments of clarity when his mind was under pressure and his life and limbs were in imminent danger. But now the panic which had overwhelmed him before began to recede like the ebbing of the tide. In its place came calm and logical thought.
‘No, it cannot be the invasion.’
Bessie appeared unconvinced.
‘There has been talk of an invasion for the past year. There must be spies working for the French all round our coasts, collecting facts on troops, ports, landing places – just look at these extracts from the newspapers. Maybe it is that Bowser is the spymaster for the whole of this area. If he has been gathering information, then it must first reach French hands before it can be acted upon.
‘There is another reason which makes me dismiss thoughts of an invasion that particular day. Bowser has gone out of his way to have Garrick brought up here. There is little point doing that if there are to be French soldiers running all over the town. I hardly think he wants to hand Garrick over to the French.’
‘As a hostage?’ Bessie suggested.
Jack smiled: ‘I doubt if our unloved King George will give up his kingdom for an actor, however much he is idolised by London society. No, I think that the first of March is probably the day when all this,’ Jack waved a hand at the papers, ‘is to be handed over to the French or a go-between.’
‘If that is so, it is little wonder he is desperate to reclaim the tea caddy.’
Jack rested his hand on the mantelpiece and gazed thoughtfully into the fire. ‘I still cannot fathom what he has to gain by all this, and how it is connected to your father. It is like a game of chess with some of the pieces missing, with the result that we cannot play properly or see a way to win.’
‘So you think the other two numbers refer to a meeting place?’
‘Yes.’
‘A building that bears a number? Seven or eight? Or seventy-eight?’
‘No, the numbers are written separately.’
‘Of course it might not be a number, but refers to the time of the assignation.’
‘It is to take place at seven or eight of the clock? Yes, you could be right.’ Jack turned to face her. ‘The trouble is, where do we start?’
The raggy-arsed urchin demanded money. Jack told him to go home, not that he was likely to have one. The breadth of abuse that followed Jack down The Side impressed as well as shocked him. No one else took the slightest notice.
Opposite the Guildhall, his eye caught sight of a poster nailed to a tavern door. It joyfully announced that “The Greatest Thespian in the Worlde, Mr David Garrick, will be performing in Love’s Last Shift; or, the Fool in Fashion by Mr Colley Cibber, for your delight, for one night only.” Place, date, time and prices were also incorporated into Courtney’s flowery prose. Jack noted that he had doubled the entrance money. His heart sank. Bessie had persuaded him to tell Courtney that he had heard from Garrick and that he would arrive on March the second. The performance was to be three days later. An unusually excited Courtney had already taken them through their first rehearsal. At least Bessie reckoned this would keep him off Jack’s back.
It had, but now there were only four days to go to March the first and they were no nearer to finding out when and where Bowser’s meeting was going to take place, if at all. Jack suggested that it might have been cancelled, as Bowser had lost his information. Bessie was sure he wouldn’t have had time to get a message through to postpone it. She also thought that Bowser was the kind of man who wouldn’t want to lose face. It would go ahead, she assured him.
That is why he had spent the last few days walking the length and breadth of Newcastle hoping to see a building that bore the number seven or eight and looked like the kind of place spies would meet clandestinely. Not that Jack had the remotest idea about what kind of places spies met in. Furthermore, his efforts had been hampered by a short, wiry man in a scruffy brown jacket and an old, battered black cocked hat, who had followed him night and day. Once or twice, he had managed to shake him off by leaving the theatre by different doors. Then he would appear again like a faithful dog that had smelt out its master. This was Bowser’s unsubtle way of telling him there was no escape.
Jack glanced up from the poster. There he was, “Old Faithful”, as Jack had named him. Despite the man’s presence, Bessie had persuaded Jack that he must go on searching. Bowser wouldn’t do anything until he realised Garrick wasn’t coming unless, of course, Jack stumbled across the meeting place and Old Faithful reported this back to Bowser. ‘We will cross that bridge when we come to it,’ Bessie had said dismissively. Floating lifeless under a bridge was the more likely scenario, Jack glumly concluded.
That thought had prompted him to go and see Catherine again. She was pleased that he had come and gave him twenty guineas, which he promised to pay back. She said that it was unnecessary and it had been part of a gift from Captain Hogg for new clothes. He wouldn’t miss it, she had added with a wink.
‘When will you go?’
‘Before the first.’
‘How will you go?’
‘I have not formed the details of my escape plan, though I think I will try and steal aboard a ship. Axwell probably has the all the roads watched so the river and the sea offer a better route out.’
‘If I do not have the chance to talk privately with you again, God be with you.’ She touched his hand. ‘It is only sad that you will not be here when your great friend Mr Garrick arrives. I am so looking forward to meeting him and acting with him.’
Jack had torn himself away from the most wonderful woman he had ever met. She had kissed him farewell, lightly on the lips, and he had seen her close her eyes as she did so. Did she really feel something for him? He would never know. As he tried to retain that image of the final kiss, he couldn’t dismiss the thought that Garrick’s non-appearance would disappoint Catherine, too. Would she always remember him as a liar, a drunkard and a lecher? He supposed at least three bad impressions were better than no impressions at all.