He tiptoed down the stairs and let himself out through the back door, wincing at the sharp chill of the night. Carefully, he scaled the wall that separated his house from North’s, landing lightly on the other side. North’s bedchamber was in darkness, but there was a glimmer of light in Metje’s. He groped on the ground for a suitable piece of mud – not so small that it would not fly, but not so large that it would make too much noise. He found what he was looking for and took aim.
The clod struck the glass exactly where he had intended, making a soft but distinct tap. He waited, expecting her to answer. She did not, so he crouched a second time and hunted for something larger, supposing she was asleep and had not heard what was a very small sound. His second shot hit the window frame, making a sharp snap. The light wavered, as if someone was on the move, but the window still did not open. Becoming impatient, he selected a third missile, which he hurled with rather more vigour than was wise. The crack was startling in the still night air, and Metje was not the only one who heard it. North’s shutters flew open, and he peered into the darkness.
‘Cats,’ Chaloner heard Faith murmur sleepily. ‘That big orange thing from two doors up.’
‘It was not a cat.’ As North leaned out, the night-cap fell from his head and dropped to the ground below. ‘Curses!’ Chaloner smiled, certain only a Puritan would use such an expletive.
North’s head disappeared, and moments later, came the sound of a key turned in a latch. Chaloner padded to the end of the garden and crouched behind a holly bush, while North retrieved his hat and began to prowl, holding a lamp above his head. He carried a cudgel in his other hand, clearly determined to flush out intruders. Chaloner sighed. It was very late and he was tired: he did not want to be chased by an irate neighbour who thought he was a thief. He was tempted to stand up and announce himself, adding that he was also the man who intended to marry his daughter’s companion, but consideration for Metje made him prudent. He edged to one side as North drew closer.
‘Come out,’ North shouted. His voice was unsteady. ‘I am armed and in no mood for felons.’
Chaloner doubted the threat would strike fear into the hearts of many criminals. North moved closer, obviously intending to be thorough, and Chaloner saw he would be caught if he stayed where he was. Keeping low, he crept towards the rear gate. Then he trod on a shell.
‘Ha!’ shouted North, darting towards the sound. ‘You treacherous son of a whore! I shall thrash you to a pulp, and hand you over for hanging. Bastard!’
Chaloner ran, learning that even Puritans could employ salty language when sufficiently roused. He doubted North could best him in a fight, even with his club, but did not want to explain why he was hiding in the man’s garden, and flight seemed the best option for everyone concerned. He headed for the gate, North hot on his heels. It was barred, so Chaloner hauled himself up the wall.
‘Theft!’ screamed North. ‘Murder!’
Chaloner reached the top of the wall at the same time that North reached him. The merchant swung with his cosh, hitting the bricks and sending shards flying in all directions. Chaloner pulled his leg out of the way as North aimed again, careful to keep his face in shadow: it would be acutely awkward to be recognised now. Then North abandoned cudgel and lamp, and seized Chaloner’s foot.
‘Fire!’ he howled with increasing fury. ‘Arson!’
Lights started to gleam in neighbouring houses, and Chaloner saw shadows in the lane along which he had intended to escape. He was beginning to be annoyed with North. Claims of blazes in a tinderbox like London were taken seriously, and he might be lynched if he ran into the alley now – mobs tended to act first and think later once words like ‘arson’ and ‘fire’ were in the air. He struggled, trying to free himself without hurting the man.
‘I let our turkey out,’ shouted Temperance, stumbling up the dark garden towards them. Faith was behind her, priming a pistol. ‘Unhand my father, you vile man, or it will peck you to pieces.’
When she added her brawn to North’s, Chaloner felt himself begin to slide towards them. He gripped the wall and resisted hard, hoping Faith would not join the tug of war, because the situation had gone too far to be explained away innocently. Much as he was loath to harm North, he realised he would have to use force if he were to escape, so he reached down and pulled the man’s nose. The Puritan shrieked, releasing Chaloner’s leg as both hands flew to his face. But Temperance was furious, and with an impressive display of strength, she hauled Chaloner off the wall and into the garden. He landed flat on his back with a crash that drove the breath from his body.
‘Wicked man! You hurt my father!’ cried Temperance, hurling herself on top of Chaloner to prevent him from standing. Faith hurried forward and took aim with her pistol.
‘No!’ yelled North, shoving Faith away as her finger tightened on the trigger. ‘You might hit Temperance. Leave him to me.’ He snatched up his cudgel and advanced with genuine menace.
Chaloner shoved Temperance away from him, and scrambled upright, aware of raised voices from the lane. North lashed out with his club, hard enough to make him lose his own balance and stumble into his daughter. The tip caught Chaloner’s knee, and if he had not fallen at that precise moment, Faith’s shot would have killed him. He staggered to his feet a second time, and limped to the wall of his own house, scaling it awkwardly while North and Temperance wallowed on the ground and Faith reloaded. But by now, lights were burning in Ellis’s chambers, and Chaloner knew he would not be able to reach his rooms unseen. Thinking fast, he flung open the rear door of his landlord’s home and began to shout.
‘He is over here!’ he called to North. ‘In Ellis’s garden.’
Ellis was soon at his side, clad in a night-gown. ‘Where is the fire? Should we fetch buckets?’
‘Theft!’ screeched North, bobbing up and down on the other side of the wall as he tried to see what was happening. ‘Murder. And … and treason!’
‘Treason?’ echoed Ellis, startled. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Where is he?’ demanded Faith, hoisting herself up the wall and peering across it with her reloaded gun. ‘Flush him out, and I will shoot him dead.’
‘I cannot see anyone,’ said Ellis. ‘Are you sure he came this way? I do not think so, because–’
‘There!’ shouted Chaloner, pointing. ‘By the gooseberry bush.’
‘Well, go and get him, then,’ said Ellis, shoving him forward, while Faith took aim at the general area. ‘I do not want an arsonist on my property, and I cannot go, because I am not wearing any shoes.’
‘Yes, by the Devil! Catch the sod!’ howled North.
Chaloner moved to the back of the garden and made a lot of noise in the fruit bushes. His leg was numb, it was freezing cold and he was heartily sick of the whole business. It was not long before he returned to where North, Temperance, Faith and Ellis waited expectantly. In the lane at the end of the garden, he could see torches flickering as people ran here and there, looking for the fire.
‘I am sorry, sir,’ he said to North, who had found a crate to stand on. ‘He escaped.’
‘Damn!’ cried North, wringing his hands in agitation. ‘The scoundrel grabbed my nose, threatened me with his pistol and demanded all my money! Did you hear the shot he fired?’
‘Horrible!’ exclaimed Ellis with a shudder. ‘All your money?’
‘We should pray for his soul,’ said Chaloner sanctimoniously. ‘Poor misguided sinner.’
North took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I suppose so, although it is difficult to imagine a creature like that in the Lord’s Plan. But, unchristian though it may be, I am glad I gave him a good beating before he got away. That will make him think twice before invading the homes of … Ouch! What was that?’