(See
post of 18th January 2016 for Part one)
Gilou was more than familiar with the dangers of being
seized from the streets. Maybe he’d developed a sixth sense, giving him that
split second warning. The alley was dark and puddled. He could feel the water
seeping through his badly-worn leather boots, hear the scuttling of rodents and
smell the night soil, but he stood stock still, breathing as lightly as he
could.
Something brushed against his knee and it was all he
could do to stifle a cry. Moving his hand gingerly down his leg he traced the
outline. Of course – it was the Englishman’s dog, another with a sixth sense.
They followed the alley deeper into the darkness. A
candle stood in a window, illuminating a small room, poorly furnished, a young
woman holding a baby wrapped in a dirty shawl. Gilou moved silently past the
window, the stench in his nostrils becoming harder to bear, the dog staying
close at heel.
He moved cautiously as the alley opened into a narrow
street. There was no one in sight. The painted sign over the doorway bore a
picture of a bear. Gilou wondered if he could take the risk, but he knew that
he couldn’t hide forever. Stepping inside the door of the inn, he saw a group
of men around a table, cards in hands, coins piled unevenly, pipe smoke snaking
towards the hearth. A big man in a carver chair turned to glance at the
newcomer and his dog.
“Can you help?”
Gilou asked, knowing that his few, heavily-accented words would immediately
bring a response, good or bad. Poised to retreat, he was surprised to hear the
welcoming voice of the big man speaking to him in his own language. They
exchanged a few names, a few phrases and Gilou realised how lucky he’d been - the
names of men who thought like him, the phrases of those who had resisted.
A chair was pulled to the table and food and drink placed
before him. The big man said his name was Coyle and told him of the
Corresponding Society. Gilou told him of Ork but the name was not familiar to Coyle.
He listened to Gilou’s tale and watched the dog, which stood all the while by
the door, refusing to settle.
All the men around the table had something to say, but
Gilou could not follow their conversation which became more heated as time went
on. He guessed there must be some who favoured helping him to find Henry Tawse,
his English guide and Mr Ork and others who considered the risk too great.
Eventually, Coyle called for silence and made his decision.
The dog led them through the dark, deserted streets,
Gilou, Coyle and two others. A larger group would have been suspicious. This
way, they were simply drinkers returning home.
When the dog stopped outside a small, stone building that
resembled a keep, Coyle whispered to Gilou that it was the lock-up, normally
only used for drunkards. There would be a guard inside armed with a cudgel. The
door was solid, the windows mere unglazed slits. The dog refused to move, but
remained silent as if it knew that barking wouldn’t help. The four men
retreated.
Coyle announced that at six in the morning, the
door would open and the drunks would be ejected. That would provide their
opportunity, but they would have to be quick, masked and well disciplined. He
would keep watch whilst the others slept back at The Bear. He gave Gilou his pocket watch and told him not to be
late.
