Huddled beneath the glow of three dim yellow globes, we stood on Westminster Bridge. There were five of us: Agnes, supporting her ailing father; the clerk, who had yet to speak a single word; me; and Jack. We stood at the spot marked by the coordinates I had given Uncle Albert. I only hoped he could navigate his way here.
The damp fog rising from the river created a chill that seeped through every layer of clothing we wore, clinging to your skin like a leech determined to drain every ounce of heat from your body. It was impossible to get warm, and the filthy air clogged my nose with sooty black mucus that now stained my overworked handkerchief.
I stood at the front of the group, with the loyal Jack beside me, having risked his freedom to save mine. He explained how he had kept a low profile until he was sure the police had given up their search for him, and how a group of officers had passed him, with their captives, one of whom was clutching a wounded arm.
There was further commotion as friends of the intended victim, alerted by the sound of police whistles, arrived in two hansom cabs. They stood for a long time, praising their friend's bravery, waiting for the arrival of a third cab to ensure that they could all leave the area safely.
Jack was determined to find out whether I had located Miss Wakefield and, undoubtedly driven by the reward, made his way through the backstreets and arrived at the hotel just as we were about to leave. I was delighted to see him and gave him five sovereigns, which I intended to return to Mr Wakefield.
Jack insisted on guiding us back to Westminster Bridge, and once there, he showed a marked reluctance to leave.
"What is this place your mates are taking you to when they arrive?"
I owed it to him to answer honestly.
"Another world, Jack; not perfect, but better than this one."
"A long trip ahead of yers then?"
"No, Jack, a short one. If the transport arrives, that is."
I bit my lip and checked the time once more.
"What is it then, one of them hot air balloons I heard people speak of?"
"No, Jack, it's a magic door. Well, not literally magic, but that's what it appears to be to people who don't understand how it works."
"Queer sort of business sounds to me, Peregrine. You ain't been at the Ann Boleyn 'ave you?"
He imitated the motion of raising a glass to his mouth.
"No," I said, laughing.
"Nothing like that… I've never drunk gin in my life."
Jack looked amazed.
"Peregrine, you are a bag of mystery, and that's a fact. Found you under a mulberry bush, did they? Most kids around here end up with baby farmers as soon as they're born, and they get their first nip of gin straight after. Keeps 'em quiet, see? Otherwise, opium or laudanum does the trick; it stops 'em eating, and the little baskets often starve to death. Best stick to gin as a tipple; it's healthier than the water round here, but I prefer a pipe myself."
I was about to reply when there was a flash of light and, in front of us, right on time, materialised a door that glowed a bright red."
"Good old Albert!" I exclaimed.
"Now, one at a time. There is nothing to be afraid of. Help your father in Agnes, then go through yourself."
They began to pick up their belongings, and there was a barrage of police whistles. The door must be visible for miles, even in the dark and fog.
"Quickly now."
"You, next," I said to the clerk who was standing there with his mouth open.
"Move, man, or you will be left behind."
Agnes and her father were through, and the clerk had obediently lined up, waiting for his turn.
"Bye, Jack," I said, "thanks for everything."
Jack caught my arm.
"Take me with you, Peregrine."
"I can't, Jack. You belong here, and what about your family?"
"Ain't got no family. Ma died when I was born, and my father is doing a twenty stretch in the Scrubs. He will never get out at his age. Please, Peregrine. They are coming from both ends of the bridge now, and I can't escape."
The sound of booted feet running across the bridge was getting closer; the police had turned out in numbers.
I hesitated.
"They will send me down for sure," said Jack. "One of the coppers recognised me before I gave them the slip. Do you know what it's like in jail for a boy my age, Peregrine? I may not be much to look at, but to their leery old lags, I'd be like Mabel Love. I'd end up doing myself in. Please, Peregrine."
"Hey, you, stop in the name of the law!"
It was a burly sergeant with three constables behind him. The back of the clerk disappeared through the door, and I dived in after him, taking Jack with me, and the door slammed shut. It was a tight fit inside, but none of us complained. We just wanted to get away. There was the sound of hammering on the outside of the door, and then a blinding flash of light.
The very next instant, or so it seemed, the five of us went sprawling on the floor of the Yellow Room. We were back at the Emporium, but we knew nothing about it. The Door must have had to accelerate at maximum speed to escape the police before they damaged the portal, and we had all blacked out.
Being the most accustomed to this mode of travel, I was the first to recover. The portal and Albert had disappeared, and the others lay around the room in disarray. I roused Agnes first, and her first thought was for her father. We found him flat on his back, gently snoring. Jack was now on his feet again, unaffected by the landing and full of energy. The clerk had woken up by himself and crawled into a corner to recover.
A couple of minutes later, the door opened and Albert came in, accompanied by two of the kitchen staff carrying pots of tea and assorted things to eat. Soon, everybody had found somewhere to sit and were gratefully sipping the hot tea as their cold bodies adjusted to the warm temperature inside the room.
What followed was a period of questions and answers, and when they had finished talking, I told them of my plan and the parts they were to play. I addressed the clerk separately.
"Uriah Heep. I have in my possession a suit of clothing which I intend that you should change into forthwith."
He began to voice his objection to the idea, but I silenced him with my upraised hand.
"You will do as I say, sir, or I will have you instantly returned to the spot where you stood on Westminster Bridge before we rescued you. Not one word more. Take these clothes and change in the corridor. Put your top coat back on when you are finished and come back here".
I pushed the suit into his hands, and he took it with only token reluctance, well aware of what abandonment in London would mean, then went out into the corridor to change.
My threat to deport him back to London was, of course, a bluff. Uncle Albert would not risk a return journey for somebody of such low worth. Uriah Heep was a criminal, but he had a starring role in my plan to free Montana from the grasping hands of his alter ego.