by Chris Hales
He thought it best not to tell Jonathan his son had discovered who his father truly was. It would certainly make the future far more interesting.
105
He strolled to the cells beneath the Bailey. Powell would have been brought there, in irons, earlier that morning. He knew the jailers well and there was nothing demeaning about their relationship. They greeted him with firm handshakes and pleasant conversation. It didn't take long for him to get down to business.
“Mr Wild!” greeted the most senior of the jailers. “It's an early start for you.”
“You have a Powell in custody?” he asked politely in his business-like manner.
The jailer thought quickly, running the list of current inmates through his mind. “Yeah, I think we do. Came in earlier this morning.”
Jonathan smiled sweetly. “I need him. He’s wanted on another matter. Has a lot of questions to answer.”
The jailer nodded in understanding. “That's fine, if you have the necessary paperwork.”
He grinned even harder. “No one told me I needed paperwork,” he lied. “You know me. If you can't trust me, who can you trust?”
It didn't take much thought. He had done much for the courts over the years. He was their prize. None in the Bailey could argue he wasn't the most trustworthy of men. “I guess it's alright,” he mumbled, calling down the stone hallway to another. “Frank, get number eight out and bring him up here.”
Confirmation echoed down the hall and more pleasant conversation was indulged as they waited. Finally Powell was brought along the length of the hallway, looking decidedly bored and restless.
“Arnold Powell?” He asked as if they had never met.
“Yeah,” he grumbled. “Who are you?” he returned the deception.
The jailer whacked him across the back of the head powerfully. “This is the Thief Taker, you bloody fool. Show some respect.”
He didn't hang around for more questions to be asked about Powell's release. He quickly walked him from the courthouse, always being careful to avoid the attention of others. He took him across to his little house, forcing the laidback thief to hurry. Jonathan didn't care whether he gained his freedom. What interested him was to see if he could toy with the courts as easily as he did the legislature.
106
He sat Powell in his study while he collected his thoughts and his sword. He was aware he needed to be cautious with this thief. He turned his head as Matthew bounced into the room, joyous and elated.
“That son of yours, Jonathan,” he chuckled. “He's one clever little bugger...”
He glanced to the side to be met with Powell's intrigued grimace. Turning he shot a glare of pure dislike.
“I take it the two of you know each other,” he said in a cheery tone. Matthew was usually friendly when he was in the company of his fellow thieves. For him to be so frosty with another meant his dislike must have been severe.
Matthew nodded his head. “Yes and we do know of each other’s work.” It was clear he was suspicious of his arrival. Dislike poured from every fibre of his being. He didn't trust Powell but then he knew Jonathan was possessed by an unnatural greed.
“At least we don't need bother with introductions…,” he chuckled.
Matthew walked to him, pulling him close. “Don't trust him,” he warned. He understood his apprehension, but the Thief Taker wasn't really interested in his stash. He needed to know if he truly was invincible. Capable of anything.
Together they walked Powell from the house, instructing him to lead them to his stash. Matthew grumbled his disapproval continuously as they treaded the streets, Powell always maintaining he was leading them in the correct direction. Whether this was truly the case neither he nor his large friend could guarantee.
107
They were led on a merry trek from one side of London to the other. Finally arriving in a cluttered graveyard they were led to a pristine line of large tombs. Walking to the first Powell ran his hand along the smooth stone wall.
“This is it,” he said. “It’s one of these.”
Jonathan approached and placed a firm hand upon his shoulder. He loomed over him in the hope he could threaten effectively. “Let’s find it,” He started away, pulling him back roughly, “and don’t try anything.”
The first two tombs were searched, Powell rummaging under the stone surfaces and between the low slung catacombs. Matthew always remained close, unwilling to let the thief out of his sight. Finally, on entering the third tomb, he found his mark scratched into the wall behind an ossuary. He motioned to Matthew to give his help and together they pushed the tomb’s stone cover aside.
Both Matthew and Jonathan shielded their noses from the stench of rotting flesh. Unconcerned, Powell rummaged within until he found the base of a large sack. Pulling it free he threw it to the Thief Taker’s feet.
He pulled the sack open, peering inside to evaluate the contents. All he saw was a selection of brass and cheap silver ornaments. Matthew was the first to state the obvious. “Worthless junk…”
He was greatly disappointed. He turned to Powell angrily. “What the bloody hell is this?”
No answer. His heart sank. Powell had vanished. Matthew jumped to his feet and ran to the grounds outside, swearing heavily under his breath. He’d always had the feeling he would run the first opportunity he had. He’d tried to warn Jonathan but he wouldn't listen. What they would do now Matthew couldn’t fathom.
Jonathan felt as if he should give up. His devious little plan had failed. Spectacularly. The courts would doubtlessly demand he returned Powell to the Bailey. It would obviously damage his good reputation. He would be forced to try to repair it as quickly as possible.
108
It was imperative they find him. Jonathan collected a number of trusted thieves and together they scoured the streets of London. Searching all of the usual hideouts they discovered nothing. It seemed he had fallen off the earth completely.
It was pure coincidence which led them to the awful little sneak. As he and his collection of men ambled along a dark London street in the early hours of the morning, one of his lads screamed out loud.
“There!” he exclaimed. “There's the fucker!”
All eyes turned to the startled man who stood before them at the end of the road. He froze, shocked he had been found so easily. It was then he ran.
Chased by a rowdy group of twelve men who were led by Jonathan himself, he screamed and wailed as they gained on him. He could find no place to hide. No place to slip into. He knew these men would be incredibly persistent in their chase. He couldn’t risk the gallows especially since Jonathan had provided him with the perfect opportunity to escape.
Darting across a bridge which crossed the Thames, he braved the most dangerous of decisions. He bounded into the stale waters below, swimming desperately for the distant bank.
Jonathan and his boys peered over the side of the bridge. He looked back at them, flabbergasted at their unwillingness to jump after him.
“Get in there!” he demanded. “Jump, jump, jump...” He watched as a number of his thieves dived in after the thief. With each splash he could see them desperately swim in random directions. “Jesus,” he swore. “Can't any of these dumb buggers swim?”
“You could have joined them,” Matthew offered as he slapped him on the back.
The Thief Taker shrugged. “I'm petrified of water,” he declared in a quiet voice.
Powell was not caught that evening. He demanded his thieves continued their search the next day. He needed to find him. This one silly mistake could end everything he had so carefully built.
109
He didn't know what to do. He was tired and harassed by his own fleeting thoughts. He visited the only place he knew which could offer him comfort during such a troubled time.
He entered Mary's house in a haze of bewilderment, his face appeared angry and frustrated. There he found his love with Anne and Joseph all sitting at the kitchen table. Mary had hear
d of the trouble with Powell. She, like Matthew, thought the whole episode stupid and reckless. She needed to know why he had played his reckless game.
“Jonathan,” she said as he closed the door. “Is everything alright?” She didn't particularly want him to find out she had already heard of his troubles. She thought it could exacerbate the situation.
He paced the room in angry circles, rubbing his head in pained thought. “It's been a bad night,” he collapsed in a chair and bowed his head in a defeated posture. “I lost a thief. He jumped in the river and none of my boys can swim particularly well.”
Joseph leaned on the table watching with tired eyes and little concern. He had dropped him off with his mother before they had collected their bunch of thief-hunting criminals. Jonathan didn't like to think of what may have happened if he had left his son alone at Cock Alley. He knew Charles was still watching. “You're the Thief Taker,” Joseph comforted. “I'm sure you'll catch him.”
He knew he would soon be back in his custody, but he couldn't stop mentally punishing himself for his recklessness. It had been a risky game to play. He shuddered each time he thought of the legislature’s reaction to his stupid mistake.
“Do you know where Powell is?” Mary placed her awkward question.
“How do you know...”
“I hear things, Jonathan, you know this.” He sometimes forgot she was still in a position of power with the criminals of London. She approached him, stroking his cheek with affection. “You should never have trusted Powell. If you'd have come to me, I could have told you that.” Jonathan was well aware of this fact. Mary knew she was risking his anger.
“I know...” again she cut him off.
“It was stupid, reckless, idiotic...” He pushed her away but suddenly she became intent on telling him of his foolishness. “You need to be more careful, Jonathan. More thoughtful. You can't be so irresponsible.”
“I know,” he said yet again. He never expected her to be so hectoring. Her attitude angered him. He knew he had been stupid and there was little point in constantly reminding him of this fact.
“Why?” she continued angrily. “I'm not your mother and I never thought I'd have to be one to you. None of us will stand for such foolishness...” She needed to tell him how disappointed everyone was with him. He, however, was having none of it.
He snapped. All of his anger and frustration broke free. Lashing out, he pushed Mary hard across the room to impact with the wall. He immediately knew he had made a grave error. Hitchin’s words flooded his confused mind.
Anne jumped from her seat and ran to Mary, determined to help. “Jonathan,” she wailed in a disappointed gasp. “How could you?”
He rose and went to her, anger still boiling within. “Don't talk to me in that manner,” he warned. “I am not a child.” He sank to one knee, leaning in to Mary to make his point clear. His hand curled around her throat. “If a thief talked to me like that, I'd probably kill him,” fury threatened to consume him, memories of his father filling his mind. “It would not please me if I had to do the same to you.”
Anne shot a glare at him. Despite his promises he appeared to be going down the same path as his terrible father. “Jacob obviously taught you more than how to be a buckle maker.” She was also shocked, scared and angry, as well as disappointed in her distant husband “You disgust me!” she screamed. “You are exactly like your father.”
Again he broke free of his restraint. He struck out, slapping Anne with the back of his hand. She fell backwards, slumping to the floor. Jonathan stood and loomed over her menacingly. “Don't you ever compare me to that bastard,” he raised his hand to strike again.
Joseph refused to watch his father attack his mother in the same manner his grandfather so often had. He ran to Jonathan, tugging on the back of his long jacket. Sniffing back the tears, he flailed his arms at him, striking his back repeatedly. Jonathan turned to his son.
Hoisting him off the floor, he threw the boy clear across the room. Joseph impacted with the large kitchen table and curled into a defensive ball on the floor.
Jonathan saw the disgusted looks on the faces of his two women. What had happened to him? How had he become this man? He ran from the house, slamming the door as he fled. He felt shocked and betrayed. Not by the women, or his son, but only deceived by himself.
110
Behind the house he stumbled and froze. Collapsing to the ground he broke down, tears flowing freely and his breath becoming rasped and broken. The young men who guarded the house ignored him, preferring not to involve themselves in his personal affairs.
Maybe she was right. Maybe he was his father. No, he was worse. His overconfidence had caused them all pain. His stupidity had created a monster and his dealings with Arnold Powell had been an appalling disaster. Not only had he harmed those close to him he had, most probably, angered the courts and damaged his good reputation.
Tomorrow would be a new day. He would try and repair the damage he had done. He could understand if people’s confidence in him had wavered and if his own self-confidence had been also been lost along the way. Tomorrow, after a good night's rest, he would retake his place as the Thief Taker General, the man who was the protector of all those he loved. This was, at least, the general idea.
111
Tom Edwards had been too quiet of late. His presence had been minimal. He had, however, largely determined how Jonathan was running his dastardly business.
The number of thieves who entered his house at all hours of the day was incredible. It was almost blasphemous how he was doing all of this under the very nose of the Bailey. As far as he could ascertain he was indeed the taker of thieves. He arrested and delivered numerous parties to the courts each and every day. He assumed they were those thieves with whom he had no contract.
The more worrying side of his business was what he did with those who were loyal to him. They would deliver their stolen items to Jonathan, who would then return them to their owners for a reward. Tom had to appreciate the genius of the operation. It was simple, yet effective.
Tom could not do a damn thing about it. Somehow he had convinced everyone in London he was a good, honest, respectable man, but even if he had proof of his wrongdoing he doubted anyone would ever believe he was in the wrong.
He could, however, prove it to himself. It was when he heard the story of Arnold Powell he knew he could test Jonathan's guilt. It was then he realised he had the power to determine if the Thief Taker truly did operate contrary to the law.
112
It was late morning when he banged loudly at his door, with Collins in tow. Strangely it was Jonathan himself who answered and not one of his goons. He appeared tired and restless.
“Jonathan,” greeted Tom. “May we have a word?”
The Thief Taker stepped aside. He knew what this was about. “If you must.”
They entered his study, Tom and Jonathan taking a seat each, glaring at each other across the expanse of his desk. Collins remained by the door, his arms crossed in a defensive posture.
“I imagine you know what this is about.” he declared. Not so strangely his friendly demeanour was starting to fade.
“I can hazard a guess,” he returned. He had never expected the courts to act this quickly.
“The magistrates aren't happy with you,” he explained. “It was silly of you to play such a game with them.” This was his test. He needed to see what Jonathan would do.
“I realise this,” he admitted. It was the only thought which had consumed him for the last twenty-four hours.
Tom chuckled lightly. “They're not pleased, especially after the events of last night.”
This concerned him. “Events?” he asked carefully. “What events?”
He leaned forwards in his chair, placing his elbows on his knees. He perched as if he were telling a child his bedtime story. “Arnold Powell was found last night trying to break into a house in Mayfair. He was found by two constables.” Jonathan felt they had done his
job. At least he was back in custody and he had time to construct his excuses. “He escaped,” he continued, “but he stabbed and killed one of the constables before he ran.” Even Tom was apparently surprised he had let events proceed this far.
Jonathan slumped back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with the finger and thumb of one hand. “I didn't know this,” he admitted.
“You have a lot of questions to answer,” he detailed, his devious plan working perfectly. “If I may ask, why did you free Powell?”
It was an obvious question, one about which Tom was extremely curious. “I don't know,” he sighed. “I was hoping to gain his help with another matter.” Tom seemed intrigued, “but he escaped and ran.”
Tom nodded knowingly. “Mr Eastick, the original wronged party, is most distressed at the current state of affairs. You can expect quite a reprimand.” His features became a little distressed and perhaps apologetic. Eastick was the reason Powell had been caught in the first instance. Breaking into his house, he had been ignorant of the fact Eastick was present in his own home. Sneaking out, he had sought the help of constables who managed to place Powell under arrest. “Maybe even the loss of your title.” furthered Tom, hoping he realised how much trouble he was in. That would be fair, Jonathan thought, although he really didn't fancy such a reaction. “They want to see you tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. Before the day begins.” This was the test.
“Very well,” he agreed. “I'll be there.” It was a lie.
He made him feel even worse during the remainder of their conversation. It all chalked up to one thing and one thing alone. A terrible decision which would certainly change things in London. Jonathan thought he may have to take his final gamble.
113
Matthew stumbled home after Tom had knocked at the door. He hovered in the kitchen until both he and Collins had left. Poking his head around Jonathan's door, he spoke carefully and quietly.
