by Chris Hales
“A more than generous amount,” he said while making his notes.
“He advised the reward should be greater, considering the value of the items it contained. He informed me I had made a grave error for I should have sought his employment in the first instance.”
Jonathan laughed, leaning on the table and twiddling his quill in his fingers. “I believe you have been duped by none other than the renowned Charles Hitchin.”
The biscuit maker had heard of Hitchin, as most had. Jonathan's articles had been hard to miss. “He told me I should offer forty or even fifty pounds as a reward.” He was disappointed how it appeared he had been taken in by the damned city marshal.
Jonathan rose from his seated position and began to walk the circumference of the room, talking as he did. “In my opinion, Sir,” he said. “You should stop any advertisements you placed. You can appeal to Mr Hitchin, offer him forty pounds and take solace in the return of your goods.” He knew Charles would rather keep the money than return it, but it was best to appeal to his good nature.
Later in the week Jonathan heard how the biscuit maker had done as he suggested and offered Hitchin the sum of forty pounds. His response was simply; “Zounds, sir, alas. You are too late.”
It was clear to him Hitchin had either sold the exchequer bill or cashed it himself, tired of waiting for the biscuit maker to make up his mind. Hitchin was both devious and untrustworthy and the biscuit maker’s complaint to the courts went unheard due to the lack of any evidence. The incident concerned Jonathan as it seemed Hitchin's restraint was far lower than it ever had been.
52
Later the following week, Tom Edwards found himself on Jonathan’s doorstep once again. He knew the Thief Taker had more to do with thieves than he was letting on, but Tom believed that if anyone could help it would be Wild. His relationship with Hitchin was proof of it. As usual he was perfectly polite and official, but it was obvious he was a troubled man. Thoughts and concerns cascaded his mind, desires to uphold the law his only goal.
“Have you seen Charles Hitchin lately?” he asked, escaping the usual greetings and pleasant conversation.
This question surprised Jonathan. He usually was more than willing to partake in their dance of words and ridiculous games of deceit. Tom was never this straight forward. “Not recently,” he stated. “Is there anything I should be worried about?”
He shook his head, gazing at Jonathan carefully. He still didn't trust this man, despite the fact he liked him. “We have a number of queries for him.” The Thief Taker sat, gazing at him questioningly, concerns continuing to grow. “We've had complaints which maintain he's been trying to sell people’s stolen property back to them at outrageously high prices.”
“That sounds like Charles,” he commented. Of course he knew this already. His spies had continuously reported to him of his actions. To him, however, it was amusing more than troubling.
Tom chuckled. “Needless to say the magistrates are concerned. They want to talk with him.”
He leaned back in his chair, resting a foot upon his desk. “So, he's gone missing?” he asked. Worry started to brew within. With Charles secretly on the streets, everyone would be concerned as to what he may do. With him essentially missing, it made him even more unpredictable and dangerous.
“We don't know,” grumbled a concerned Tom, “but he hasn't been seen for the past couple of weeks.” His sudden disappearance did raise a number of questions. Maybe he knew the magistrates were happily talking of another serious reprimand.
“If I hear or see anything, I'll let you know,” he offered, honestly willing to help in any way he could. He was surprised at how much this worried him. Charles on the streets with no one watching was, indeed, cause for concern. It meant he could largely do as he pleased.
Tom seemed flustered. It appeared as if he only wanted someone to talk to, another to tell of his worries. “Thank you, Jonathan.” He suddenly seemed far more serious, locking eyes with the Thief Taker. “What do you think? Will he return to his old ways?”
He never left them, he thought, but it could be worse than anyone imagined. “If Charles remains unmonitored I should think he'll do whatever he pleases. No matter how illegal, dangerous or homicidal.” Hitchin still considered himself the master of both worlds. Crime and law.
Tom shook in fear. “Homicidal? Is he really that unhinged?” He knew there was every possibility he was so dangerous. Many city marshals were, but could such a man go on an unprecedented killing spree.
“You have no idea,” he advised with a smirk. “Charles is capable of a great many things. The people of London should fear him.” This was the best advice he could give. Fear could easily become unprecedented terror.
“They already have enough to worry about,” Tom commented. “Killers who stalk the streets, attacking and murdering young girls.” The legislature's failure to do anything about the riverside killer frustrated and angered him. As did his own inability.
“Ah,” he mumbled. “The riverside killer. I'm surprised you haven't caught him yet.”
Was he referring to Tom, or to the offices of the city marshals? “It doesn't help I was replaced on the investigation.”
“Really?” asked Jonathan. “It was you? Who's it now?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Mr Hitchin. Or at least, it was.”
He couldn't help it. He fell about with laughter. “Charles?” he questioned. “That's ridiculous.” Tom watched him shake and tense as he was overcome by his own hilarity. “Th..., they gave him the case?” he laughed, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Why is it so funny?” he questioned, his state of unease only deepening. Did Jonathan seriously know something he did not?
Jonathan thought there was nothing holding him back any more. His relationship with Hitchin had most certainly come to an end. Their days of cooperation and secret keeping mattered no more. He was a true villain. The Thief Taker would be performing a great service to the city of London if he could rid them of his vile menace. “How much do you know of Hitchin?” It was a very awkward question to ask.
“Only what I've learned from others,” he replied. “From men like you and those I work with.”
He stood, walking across the room to a fine bottle of scotch which perched on the mantle. “Charles is a mystery,” he poured two drinks, passing one to Tom. “You're unaware of the man he truly is, of what he's capable.”
Tom knew what he was saying. He could see where he was being led. “Are you saying Hitchin is...?” He nodded slowly, allowing the full weight of the realisation to hit him. He froze, existing with only his muddled thoughts for company. It couldn't be true. That would be far too hard to miss. It questioned every element of Tom's ability. “He can't be. I would have been told. I would have discovered the truth.”
“Would you, really? Who would have told you?” he asked plainly. He knew everyone was too scared of him to ever say a word. “Why do you think people don't say anything? Why do you suppose he is so well protected? Everyone knows what he gets up to, whether it's as a thief or a murderer.”
Tom considered this. It made sense. He knew the killer was a powerful man and Hitchin was possibly one of the most powerful and obvious. Well, he used to be. “And why didn't you say anything?”
“What can you do?” he asked.
He nodded his head slowly in understanding. He knew the courts, better than most. He knew the way a magistrate's mind worked. Proof and evidence were the most important of things, especially where a city marshal was concerned. He could happily kill whoever he liked and the courts would contentedly sit back and watch.
“Just pay attention,” he advised. “The riverside killer will return, more so if no one is looking on. He'll be going after me and those I care for. And there's nothing we can do.”
If he was telling him the truth, he doubted any action could be taken. Not unless he was caught in the act. Even then, the magistrates would be unwilling to severely punish one of their own.
It made finding him all the more important. “I'll take that into consideration,” he knew Jonathan to be the type never to ask for help, but he could tell he was in fear of his next move. “If you see him, let me know. Maybe I can help.” He doubted anything could be done. Yet there was so much more Jonathan could tell him.
53
Mary couldn't believe it. He had to tell her. The first step had been taken. Hitchin would fall by his hand.
He had run to Mary's house, seeking her counsel and opinion. She sat in her kitchen, many of her girls stood about listening intently to his story of meeting with Tom. It didn't take them long to realise the world they knew so well was changing.
“You told him everything?” she asked, her skin tingling with hope that the tale of Charlie Hitchin was soon coming to a close.
“Not quite,” he informed, “but, I sowed the seeds of great doubt.” He knew there was very little Tom could do. Even with all of the praise and respect he now received Jonathan's word still didn't stand for much in the city. Many people knew who Hitchin was, but nothing could be done. It was one man's word against another's.
Mary cocked her head and peered at Jonathan curiously. “What good is that?”
He knew, with the concerns he had now placed with Tom, they had an ally ready to assist. Tom would need proof and evidence if he wished to move against Hitchin, and as of yet there was none to hand. “Tom's a city marshal,” he said as he took her hand in his. “Not as powerful as Charles, I'll admit, but he stands for a lot more. A good man, lost within a sea of deceit and crime. He'll come in extremely useful, trust me.”
She didn't understand. Jonathan tried to explain to her how if they ever wanted to do anything about Charles they would need Tom's help. She knew he was a protected man, that he could hardly be touched. His magistrate wouldn't allow anything to happen to him. Charlie was still careful, however and no one would ever be able to prove he was the man they all knew him to be.
Looking to Isabel he raised one eyebrow, “You all need to be careful. With Charles out of the public eye he'll be able to do whatever he pleases.” Each of the girls nodded their understanding. Mary wasn't quite so sure.
“The same goes for you,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “You're in just as much danger as us.”
He knew this. He didn't know when, but he was sure he would find himself battling against Charles for supremacy, and he was determined to win. He was the better man…
54
They were in uproar, but none could deny they didn't expect it.
Mary had taken the time to tell each of her girls to stay vigilant when on the streets. Their safety was the most important thing. Some listened and chose to spend most of their time in her brothel. Others were overconfident they could escape Hitchin's murderous advances.
It was inevitable late one evening one of her best girls did not arrive home as she usually did. Mary often put such lapses in promptness to return down to youthful rebelliousness, but by the next morning she was stricken by a terrible worry.
When he arrived at lunchtime, he found her in tears being consoled by both Matthew and her girls. They all knew what had happened. They all felt a great swell of anger and vengeance. Jonathan promised he would dispatch all of his thieves to find her but Mary already knew where she was.
The girl, Claire, was found early the following morning floating in the river, beaten and murdered in the expected way. He was furious. He should have expected Hitchin to do something like this for he couldn't affect Jonathan in any other way but to attack him personally. Claire was the fourth of Mary’s girls to be killed by the Riverside Killer.
With no one watching, it was easy enough to sneak about the streets of London in search of one of her girls. Her death was one of the most satisfying kills he’d had for a long time. The slumber the riverside killer had found himself in was far too long and painful. He relished in this despicable action.
Everyone had notions of finding and killing him and Jonathan would have gladly let them if he thought they could actually succeed. He was too well hidden. He had vanished and all people far and wide wished to find him.
As devastated as she was by the death of one of her girls, Mary saw no reason to cease their activities. That night her girls returned to work, although only a few chose to venture out onto the streets.
Jonathan promised Mary he would find Hitchin and how he would be forced to pay for what he had done. The trouble was he doubted it would be as easy as she thought.
55
It was Isabel, Mary's favourite and most experienced girl, who was led by fate to Charles. As usual she was dressed well, her cleavage booming and her hair sweeping over her perfect shoulders. She wearily climbed the steep ascent to Ludgate Hill, always watching for scoundrels who would stalk her mercilessly.
Unbeknownst to her, a dark figure watched from the bottom of the hill within the shadows and dark corners. It was as she stood at the top, flaunting herself in the hope a willing customer would pass, when a large hand gripped the back of her neck. She froze rigid, knowing all too well the purpose which this man hoped for.
Charles Hitchin circled around to face her, always keeping his strong hand clasped about her throat. “I doubt this is a particularly safe place for a whore to be on such a dark night,” he said in his intimidating tone.
She glared at his hateful features, resisting the temptation to fight for her freedom. She knew such action would only make her death more bloody and painful. “I'm no prostitute,” she lied. “I am a bailiff’s wife and he will be greatly displeased to find you in my company.”
Hitchin roared with laughter, his belly shaking and bouncing in time. He held her head firmly between his oversized hands, squeezing and continuing to laugh. Isabel fought the pain, her eyes firmly shut and her teeth grinding. “I know who you are, my dear,” he growled. “You're one of Mad Old Mary's bitches,” he shook her as he laughed. “There are some things we need to discuss.”
“This,” thought Isabel, “is my end.”
56
Jonathan was interrupted that evening as he sat with Iron Fist Ian discussing the effectiveness of his thieves when a young boy ran in and stood before them, fighting for breath and struggling to speak. Finally words escaped his mouth.
“I'm sorry, Jonathan,” Christopher said apologetically, “but, we've found 'im.”
He sat forwards in expectation. “Found who?”
“Charlie Hitchin,” stuttered the young lad. “He's in a tavern off Ludgate Hill.” The Thief Taker smiled. “Matthew found 'im, with lots of his gang.”
Jonathan turned to Ian, feelings of vengeance rife and strong. “You up for a scrap?” he asked with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye.
“Always,” he said as he cracked the knuckles on one hand. “You know me.”
Jonathan stood, reaching for his sword and staff. “Do you know where Tom Edwards lives?” he asked of the boy. He nodded as he bounced excitedly on the spot. “Go to him and tell him we've found Hitchin. Tell him to come with a significant force and to be prepared for a fight.”
Christopher ran from the room as he strapped the sword to his waist. He had always tried to avoid a fight, but this was a meeting in which he’d relish. Any opportunity to mess with the fat man's life.
57
He and Ian hurried for the tavern, each with adrenaline and notions for a fight coursing through their veins. Jonathan was surprised to feel nerves bubbling within but he tried to dismiss these notions, forcing himself to concentrate on the possibility Charles may well have forced his own demise.
The tavern was full of men enjoying warm ale, each turning to look as they entered, knowing all too well who they were and why they had come. Orders, however, had been given. Jonathan would be left alone until the fight had begun. Each of the men they passed seemed hopeful for the damage they might do to the Thief Taker.
Looking across the inn, he spotted Matthew relaxing and enjoying his own drink, seemingly content and unperturbed b
y those dangerous men who surrounded him on all sides. Approaching he nodded to him, careful of the men he passed. “Matthew,” he said as he tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Turning to them he smiled. “What's going on?”
“It's Isabel,” he answered. He watched as a number of the men tensed as Matthew caught their gaze.
“Is she okay?” he asked, nervous and afraid something terrible had happened.
Matthew pointed across the tavern to the fireplace. “She's fine. Keeping warm by the fire.”
She sat by the roaring wood, wearily rubbing her hands together in an attempt to warm herself. She seemed tired and scared, with a large black eye and bruises around her neck. Only one man would attack a girl in such an obvious manner.
“Charlie found her on the street, brought her ‘ere,” Matthew explained. “He disappeared upstairs, that's when I found her.”
“Get her some food and wine,” Jonathan instructed Ian.
Matthew brought Jonathan close, whispering into his ear. “Don't look now,” he warned, “but, we're not alone.” He felt him tighten, his muscles bulging under his loose shirt.
“Charles's gang?” he asked warily. He had already come to that frightening conclusion himself.
“And lots of ‘em.” It was almost as if Hitchin had brought Isabel here purposefully. As if he craved the fight which was soon to come. He had arranged for a vast majority of his gang to be present in the tavern, which suggested he never intended to kill Isabel. He simply wanted to scare, not only her, but more importantly Jonathan. Neither could fathom his reasons for doing such a thing. It was as if he wanted to be found and caught. What did it mean?
