by Chris Hales
“What was that all about?” he asked.
He snapped free of his daze, turning to his friend sharply. “Sorry?” he questioned. He hadn’t been paying attention.
He stepped into the study. “I heard you talking to Tom. Thought it best not to disturb.”
He laughed painfully. “To be honest, I'd have been glad for the distraction.” He looked to him, desperate for sympathy. “Come in. Shut the door and sit down,” he ordered quickly.
He did as instructed. He could tell he was having problems. He sat in the chair as rigid as a board, his eyes brimming with the fading anger which had consumed him the previous night. He seemed restless and frustrated.
“Have you seen Mary?” he asked. Matthew nodded slowly. “Is she alright? Anne and my son? I didn't mean to do that to them.” His actions had shocked him more than any other. “I never thought I could do that.” Not only had he attacked Mary but he'd done the same to his estranged wife and Joseph. “I acted like the man I hate the most…,” he scrunched his eyes closed, trying hard to deal with the realisation; “…, my father...”
“Bad things happen Jonathan,” he comforted. “I don't know of a man who hasn't lashed out at some point.” This was of little comfort and he still felt disgusted by his actions.
Jonathan mumbled slightly in disagreement. “I haven't been thinking straight for some time now,” he admitted as he plucked a business card from the desk. “I need to do something about it. I need to sort myself out.”
He was unsure as to what he was thinking. “Time away?” he asked.
Jonathan flicked at him the business card the Dutchman had given him, forcing Matthew to respond quickly. “What's this?” he asked as he caught the card.
“Well, I'm not just testing your reflexes,” he parried.
Glaring at the card, Matthew flipped it in his fingers. “The Dutch? You want to go half way across the bloody world?”
“It’s not quite that far,” he laughed. “And yes. I need to get away.”
“Out of the country?” asked Matthew in a state of panic. “What am I supposed to tell people? What am I supposed to tell Mary?”
Rising from his chair he began to pace the study in thought. “I'm making mistakes, Matthew. Too many silly mistakes.” He stopped to look out of the window. “Tell people I'm away on business. Tell Mary the truth.” He approached his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I need to let this entire episode die down. I need to stop being thoughtless.”
There was no arguing with him. Later that day he met with Bleiberg and together they boarded a ship which was destined for Holland. The plan was simply to wait until the courts had forgotten about him. He never planned to be away for long. He was, however, absent for a great deal of time.
Time away to think
114
“Holland?!” screamed Mary. “He can't go to Holland!”
Jonathan's recent actions had made her determined not to forgive any state he may find himself in. The fact rather than face his problems he had simply run away angered her and forced her to doubt his level of commitment to those he was supposed to serve and protect. Those he was supposed to love. She couldn't imagine how they would deal with his abandoning them.
“How's he supposed to get there?” she questioned further, fury continuing to build within her.
“By boat I imagine,” Matthew offered sarcastically.
She reeled with the shock of the situation. “He hates water,” she mumbled. “He'll never make it.” Anger and shock was quickly replaced by amusement. The very thought of him trapped on a sea bound vessel caused her to chuckle almost hysterically. His recent actions seemed random and ridiculous. She felt as if she didn't know him anymore.
She didn’t know if he would ever return to London. His usefulness may have expired. Maybe she should simply give up and move on.
He told her of the trouble at the Bailey and how Jonathan feared for his reputation. She thought it silly he should leave over such a matter. She imagined he was better than this. Neither knew how his gang would be kept in order. Without his commanding influence, the thieves would start to revolt. He was the face of their entire operation. Without him much of their power would be lost.
No one else could do what Jonathan did. Without him Mary feared thieves would return to their old ways. She was devastated. “What the hell do we do now?” she asked, desperate for a solution.
He gave no answer. He had none to offer. He felt equally as lost as her. It would be difficult, that much was clear. He tried to dismiss his fears but knew the shape of his world in London was about to change again.
115
Sunday markets were often the busiest in London. Market stalls and street sellers filled the city, the sounds of booming voices from the salesmen ringing out for all to hear. Mary had grown into the habit of personally purchasing her weekly needs from these local tradesmen.
In an attempt to break Anne free from the solitude of her brothel Mary had insisted she accompany her on these shopping sprees. Sure that in the hustle and bustle of the market she would come to no harm Jonathan's estranged wife assisted in the selection of meat and fruits.
She was easily recognisable. This shy, young woman nervously approached each stall owner. Perhaps she should have endeavoured harder to disguise her identity. It was unfortunate this particular visit to the market occurred a few days before Hitchin and Jacob realised Jonathan had abandoned London. If they had known earlier, events would surely have been different.
It was only a day or so after Jonathan’s departure when she stood at a bountiful fruit stall as a hooded figure pulled her quickly into a short side-alley. Her heart and mind rigid with fear she watched as the hood was pulled slowly back. She reeled slightly at the image of Mad Dog as he stood menacingly before her.
He desperately tried not to appear frightening or threatening. He bore a strange smile and his eyes stretched wide in the hope he would appear as friendly as any other. His long hooded coat allowed him to sneak easily between the shadows of the market. Its long sleeves hid the fact a hand was missing from his right arm. He spoke quietly into her ear, hoping his words did not become distorted with the sounds of the market.
“You Anne? Anne Wild?” he asked. She nodded nervously. “I have a message for you.” Her fear did not abate. “Jacob wishes to talk. He wants to make amends for all the terrible things he's done.” It was clear Mad Dog had spent much time memorising his message. “He asks you meet with him this night at the end of the road Mary's house lies on. Where it meets with the water.” She knew exactly where he meant. Where the street met with the small stream which bled into the Thames. “He promises no harm will come to you and your presence will be rewarded.” Covering his head with the ominous hood he vanished into the crowds which lay beyond.
That evening Anne crept from the house. Careful she avoided the attention of both Mary and the men who looked on she hurried along the cobbles of the road.
She never knew when she returned from the market and skulked into her room, it would be the last time anyone saw her alive.
116
While Matthew and his thieves were struggling, Charles Hitchin was doing far better than anyone would have liked to admit. Each day numerous thieves would knock at his door, offering to come and serve him once again.
Both he and his new associate, Jacob, finally realised Jonathan had vanished. They could feel the effects of his departure. It took a number of days for this realisation to hit them but Charles was soon experiencing a rise in business he never expected. He didn’t care for the reasons why he had run. Of course he had heard of his misdeeds at the Bailey and many more tales of his death. He knew he would return. There was no questioning this. Jacob, however, still doubted in his homecoming. He questioned his son’s triumphant rise to his previous state of power.
It was a shame they’d killed Anne before they learned of his departure. Hitchin had hoped to prove Jonathan the riverside killer.
“Do you
honestly think he’ll return?” Jacob asked one quiet night.
He found this question highly amusing. He thought he would know his son far better. “Oh, yes,” he grinned. “He won’t stay away forever. His absence is only proof how powerfully we’ve affected him. He’s no longer the man he once was.” He could never have asked for more. “I have you to thank for that…”
He appreciated the sentiment. He had, however, come to London under the belief he would be rewarded for his troubles. So far his prize had not been achieved. “And what do we do when he returns?”
He laughed hard. Jacob couldn’t see the larger plan. This was not a quick process. “It’s not important. It all depends on what we do while he’s away.” Jacob’s expression indicated he still didn’t fully understand. He leaned forwards in his seat, desperate to make his point. “He will come back and when he does we need to ensure he returns to his own personal hell. We need to make him suffer.” This process had already begun with his wife’s death.
They talked a while, Hitchin fishing for those things which would cause him the cruellest pain. He couldn’t fathom why he had left and when he returned he intended on making his life as uncomfortable as possible. He would become a demon in Jonathan’s world.
117
Joseph was also stunned at the sudden disappearance of his father. Just when he thought their relationship was becoming stronger he had been deserted as easily as one would discard a rabid dog.
Unsurprisingly he grew close to Matthew and often found himself assisting him in managing his accounts and his thieves. He was surprised at how much the young boy reminded him of Jonathan. His skill in matters of arithmetic exceeded most involved in all crime and thievery.
He entertained Joseph in his teaching the boy how best to defend himself. Joseph had asked a most pertinent question one day.
“Can you teach me how to box?” he had requested.
“Box?” he laughed. “Only upper class poofs’ box,” he continued to chuckle. “Proper men fight dirty. That’s the only way to win.”
It was his speciality. He taught the boy the places to disable a man effectively. The eyes, the throat, the testicles and the knees were how he started this education.
Jonathan probably would have hated him teaching such underhand techniques, but he thought it sensible to ensure the boy was prepared for any eventuality. He was growing fond of Joseph and admired his quiet wit and brooding intelligence.
The current state of affairs in the underworld of London was another matter entirely. He couldn't stop events from crumbling everything he and Jonathan had built. Every day he was confronted with reasons for dismissing any memory of him. He largely felt as if they had all been betrayed, but as the days went on it became perfectly clear the need for him was both desperate and essential.
118
Matthew didn't know where to start his search. He had arrived in Amsterdam late one night, tired and groggy from the long journey across the sea. He found a tall boarding house and paid his dues, falling into a deep slumber within the confines of his sparse temporary accommodation.
The very next day he trawled the streets of the city showing a picture of Jonathan which was printed in the London newspapers to each person who he passed along the way. He was unfortunate in finding any person who could help him seek out his friend.
It was as he entered a Dutch tavern when he had his first experience of good fortune in this strange land. As he stood at the bar with a fresh flagon of aromatic ale a scrawny younger man approached him.
“You..., you look for man?” he pointed at the picture which was placed by his ale.
He turned to the lad questioningly. “You know him?”
Nodding the skinny lad beckoned for Matthew to follow. “Come, come. I take.”
Matthew followed him, leaving his unfinished ale inside. He considered the fact he was probably being led into a trap but his size and power would easily keep him safe. Arriving at another tall and slim building the strange young man was insistent the gentleman in the picture resided within. Matthew dearly hoped this was the case.
119
“How the hell did you find me?” asked a shocked and befuddled Jonathan as they sat in a quaint little garden, enjoying a freshly brewed beer.
“Chance, I expect,” he replied. He had never been afraid of standing up to Jonathan. This time was no different. “Although, there are those of us who were starting to doubt whether you'd ever come home.” The rumours of his demise were rife. Some said he had died someplace in London, while those who knew him better were beginning to believe he simply didn't wish to return home.
“At least I know I'm missed,” he joked.
Matthew feared he didn't fully understand the seriousness of the situation. “This isn't funny,” he warned coldly.
“Why on earth would you say something like that?” he enquired. “I'm not saying it is. I'm just surprised to see you.”
“Surprised or disappointed?” asked his large friend.
“You've never disappointed me, Matthew, that much is clear, but I am wondering why you're here.” A small part of him wouldn't have minded if they had forgotten about him entirely. Here there was no hiding who he truly was. He didn't have to pretend.
“You've been gone for over three months, Jonathan.”
“Has it really been that long?” Time had certainly run away with him. He had never intended to be away so long but the constant stream of surprises and acquaintances had kept him more than busy.
“Yes, Jonathan.” He finished his beer, pushing it aside. “We need you. London needs you.”
“Needs me to do what?” he asked. “Make more mistakes? More stupid errors?” His own activities had probably angered him the most. He couldn't risk being so reckless again.
“None of us care about that, and neither do the courts. It's all been forgot.” His actions and his running away seemed stupid in light of the repercussions. “Me and a few of the lads caught up with Powell the day after you'd left. We delivered him to the Bailey and he was hanged the next morning with Peter.” It was luck which had allowed them to clear Jonathan's name. Confronted by Matthew, Ian and a number of other dangerous men he had sensibly chosen not to flee. They had dragged him through the streets to the doors of the Bailey, satisfactorily handing him over to the city marshals. “Job done. No one was pissed off or angry with you. In my opinion it was just Tom pulling your leg.”
“Really?” chuckled Jonathan. “I didn't know he had it in him. I'm impressed.” Tom's ability to deceive so well was unknown to him. He now realised he had proven his guilt to the friendly marshal.
“We're suffering, Jonathan. Our gang is less than half what it once was. Most of them have gone back to Charlie. A few have tried to make it on their own.” It was a sad state of affairs. He had lost most of their thieves. He didn't blame himself. It was unavoidable.
“Gone back to Charles?” he asked fearfully.
“Yeah,” he confirmed with little emotion.
“And why would they do such a stupid thing?” he enquired, interested to know what had happened to his once powerful gang.
“You're not there, Jonathan,” he informed bluntly. “The structure you offered, the organisation. They've lost it. I mean, I'm good, but I'm nothing compared to you.” He had tried to keep them in order but without Jonathan their attentions often flooded in other directions. “It's not easy. We're suffering without you. Our gang is growing smaller as every day goes by,” he said again, hoping to press the point.
“Are you honestly telling me you can't handle it?” He thought him better than that. If he had imagined his departure would cause such problems, he never would have left. Matthew, Mary and a few others were more than intelligent and capable of running the gang.
“I've handled it for long enough, Jonathan,” he shot across the small garden table angrily, “and I don't know if we'll ever recover.” The state of affairs in London had shocked everyone. He couldn't do the job which was so desperat
ely needed.
“I don't know about that, Matthew. Nothing's impossible.” A personal mantra which already felt an age old.
“Well then, come home and prove it.” He was not happy. He was desperate for him to return. He would have liked nothing more.
“You honestly thought I was going to stay here forever didn’t you?” He thought he deserved more faith. Yes, he had let them all down of late but it didn't mean he was completely out of the game.
“It does look that way.” They had expected him to return within a week or two. After that they had started to worry.
“Who sent you?” Jonathan knew his large friend would never have come all of this way without instruction from others. One, in particular, immediately came to mind.
“What makes you think it wasn't my idea?” he defended.
“I know you, Matthew,” he found it amusing how he twitched as if he were a young boy caught on the streets after dark. “You wouldn't leave London, not unless you were forced to. It was Mary, wasn't it?” She would have been the most disappointed by his actions. He had betrayed her in more ways than he cared to admit.
“Yeah, it was her,” he confessed. “She's wondering where the hell you've got to. She wants you home.” He had spent many nights comforting her as she cried in his arms. “She's suffering just as much as the rest of us. She’s largely had to go back to the way things once were.”
Jonathan knew what he meant. She was a gang leader but she had been a prostitute far longer. Without him to manage her thieves, she must have started selling herself once again. “I guess it's only to be expected.”
All in London had been amazed Matthew hadn’t attacked Jonathan for harming Mary. He had been known to punish men for committing far less. He, however, knew how important Jonathan was to them all. None of this could be done without him.
