by Chris Hales
134
It was an old acquaintance who would become most useful. Visiting the powerful Mr Andrews Jonathan assured him of his continued loyalty to the law. A previous investigation had shown Andrews was a member of the same gentleman’s club as Magistrate James Lawson.
He was possibly the most important piece of the complex puzzle which Jonathan had concocted. It was most important Lawson was brought to justice, in addition to Charles Hitchin.
Andrews gladly took Jonathan as his guest to his club one cold evening in the belief he only wanted to mingle with his esteemed peers. On arrival he noticed Lawson sitting at a small table with a collection of friends. He seemed perfectly content and comfortable and the Thief Taker only wanted to ensure this state continued.
Approaching a dedicated servant who stood behind the bar he pointed to Lawson across the club. “You’re familiar with Magistrate Lawson?” he only nodded the affirmative. “I want you to ensure his drinks continue all evening long. They should be strong and pleasing.” He drew out his own stuffed pocket book and passed a good deal of its contents to the servant with only one other instruction. “He should not know it is I who is providing these drinks. Do this duty for me and you may keep all of the money which is left over at the end of the night.”
Of course the servant agreed and Jonathan watched as Lawson’s state grew ever more inebriated as the night went on. Finally, when he was left alone at his table, he approached and made his introduction. He was, unsurprisingly, somewhat wary of the Thief Taker. Jonathan handled him expertly, finally broaching the topic of women.
Lawson knew he had been in a relationship with a lady of the night and he had heard, from Hitchin, how he had scarred her for life. In his drunken state Lawson assumed he had a hatred for this kind of woman, in the same manner as he and Charles.
Jonathan led him all the way along his deceptive path, to the truth which he was hoping for. He learned not only of the origins of his relationship with Charles Hitchin, but of Lawson’s reasons for entering into such an agreement. He discovered it was Lawson himself who created the riverside killer. He couldn’t have asked for more.
When Lawson woke the next morning he didn’t remember meeting with Jonathan. Suffering with a hangover such that it made him consider giving up drink altogether, he continued with his day.
Jonathan had exactly what he needed. Slowly all of the goals he had laid out for himself were coming together. Now the exceptional Dutch forgers would have their part to play.
135
Three of Jonathan's warehouses were host to large parties of city marshals. Led by Tom they examined everything, from the boxes of goods, to the paperwork filed away in the offices. No stone was left unturned.
Jonathan wasn't present at the warehouses when this happened, but he was confident no evidence would be found against him. He had his spies too.
He knew Hitchin had passed information to Tom. He had counted on it. He knew which warehouses would be their target and he had taken precautions. All of those possessions stolen by his thieves had been moved to other warehouses, ones which Charles didn't know of. In their place stood all manner of Dutch possessions and their origins, their identity as stolen goods, could never be proved. A small amount of stolen, London, items had been hidden in the last of these locations, yet this had been Jonathans intention. He wanted them to find this.
Tom oversaw the searching of what was considered to be the main warehouse, while David Collins and another respected marshal took charge of the other two.
It was all for nothing. It seemed he was operating a completely legitimate business. One which dealt in the buying and selling of all manner of materials. Tom couldn't prove anything was stolen.
It seemed Hitchin's ability as an informer was equal to his status as a city marshal. Terrible and flawed beyond all reason. He considered the possibility Jonathan knew they were coming and he had prepared for it. He realised his guilt would only be proved if he wanted it to be. Of this Tom was certain.
136
There was much discussion between Jacob and Charles. They needed to force Jonathan into a corner. His business and his gang were stronger than either had anticipated and it was doubtful they could affect it in any way. It had already been proven, however, that he snapped under pressure.
If they could weaken his resolve it would be far easier to force a cataclysmic chain of events. With his father dead, Joseph would run straight back to Jacob and their agreement would be at an end. Money, at this point, was all which interested them both. And the path to it would lead to Jonathan's death.
They had spent many a night discussing how to trap Jonathan in their web of deceit. Again, the easiest option was to attack him personally, but Charles knew he'd never get close enough to Mary. Not again.
It was then decided they would settle for the next best thing.
The Beginning of the End...
137
Nothing had changed much for Isabel. She was still Mary's most productive of girls. Whenever she wasn't working she could be found at Cock Alley, with either Matthew or Joseph. The riverside killer had become less and less active over the recent months and most girls found themselves more willing to work on the streets in the evening.
Isabel was no different.
She waited on a quiet street corner, hoping any sexually deprived man would employ her services. She never usually had to wait long. As prostitutes went she was by far the most appealing.
As the sky became darker and the night quieter, a sick feeling of danger rose in her stomach. Backing towards a bush, hoping it would disguise her presence far more effectively, she held her breath. She had always known her profession to be one of the most dangerous.
She stood in the bushes her long hair tangling in the branches. A dark figure approached from the rear. She neither heard nor saw him coming.
Wrapping his hands around her slender throat Charles forced her to kneel on the ground. His strength surprised her, but she did not fight. She knew there was little point. Instead she attempted to scream, her voice rasping under the strain.
Hitchin leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Shhh...,” he whispered menacingly. “There's no need to make this any more difficult than it has to be.” He smiled in a sickening manner. “This time, my dear, I am going to kill you. “
His grip tightened, forcing Isabel's eyes tightly shut. This was her end. Would she be forgotten by all those who claimed to love her?
138
Jonathan visited what was considered to be the main warehouse at the time. There he arranged his boys into sorting the next shipment for Holland. He couldn't imagine his business working any better. Profits had risen through the roof and he knew his success was sending the competition insane.
“Get these crates over to warehouse three,” he instructed a small group of his boys, “we need to make room for the next delivery.” They all nodded their understanding and started hauling heavy crates across the warehouse.
Jonathan turned as a young thief who he knew well ran into the warehouse, fighting for air and doubling over to rest his hands on his knees.
“Christopher?” asked Jonathan, interested to hear what was so important.
He inhaled deeply, slowly righting himself. “It’s... It's Matthew...”
Jonathan approached, placing a friendly hand upon his back. “I don't have all day,” he encouraged.
He took another deep breath and looked him in the eye. “I think he's going to kill someone...”
He led him from the warehouse and begged for more detail. “Can you talk while you run?” he asked, hoping to save time. Christopher nodded the affirmative and together they set off for home.
139
In his study Jonathan found Matthew in his chair, quietly sobbing.
He had been told how the riverside killer's latest victim had been dragged from the river early that morning. Isabel was well known in London and the identity of the corpse was quickly discovered. It hadn’t taken long
for news to reach the little house on Cock Alley.
He had exploded, lashing out at those around him, finally collapsing in Jonathan's study with a bottle of fine scotch. Jonathan approached his devastated colleague and placed a friendly hand atop his head.
“Matthew,” he said, tears quickly accumulating in the corners of his eyes. “I'm so sorry...”
Shaking his head Matthew wiped the tears away, groaning loudly. “I... I... I want...,” he looked up, eyes red and cheeks wet. “I want this fuckin’ bastard dead, Jonathan.” He punched the desk hard, causing Jonathan to jump. “He deserves it now more than ever. Can you do that?”
He perched on the edge of the desk, holding two fingers to the bridge of his nose. He realised this incident may force them to a climax far sooner than he had anticipated. Maybe now was the time to keep all those promises he had made. He doubted Charles was aware of what he had unleashed. “Yes,” he said. “I can do that.”
Matthew raised himself, his fists balled and his heavy heart ready to carry out the most joyful sentence. “I'll do anything you need,” he assured him. “No matter how dark or dangerous.”
It was all in the planning and Jonathan had arranged things perfectly. “It's not going to be easy,” he explained. “It's going to take time, but I promise you by the end Charles Hitchin will hang.”
It was more complicated than he maintained. He was risking his own life, but this deed needed to be done. He would make them proud. He would ensure Hitchin paid for his crimes. His time was certainly up.
140
He tried to write it as quickly as he could, but it never felt right. He needed it to be perfect. It would be the final step of his well-laid plans. Jonathan didn't know whether she would meet him, since her anger probably outweighed her ability to forgive him. He needed her to absolve him for his multitude of sins.
Nothing was set in stone. He may yet find a way out. He had spent a great deal of time and effort managing events, ensuring all of the steps were put in place. Charles wouldn't be able to avoid what was to come. It would all be in the small details. He was a greedy, tyrannical fool and Jonathan knew he wouldn't be able to resist what was offered to him on a plate, and he would make it all incredibly attractive.
He had sent a message to Mary, asking her to visit him. He had chosen to meet her in a park, hoping she would find it more safe and open. As he sat on a small wooden bench he found all of the pieces to the puzzle coming together in his mind, slotting into the desired place. He was sure this would work. It had to.
Eventually he heard her coming. Looking over his shoulder he felt a great swell of love and emotion. She looked beautiful, with a tight silk scarf bound about her head so as to cover the horrific injury he had caused.
“Jonathan,” she said as a simple greeting, sitting next to him on the bench.
He smiled, moving towards her to kiss on the cheek. She darted away, still somewhat scared of the things he was capable. He moved back, hoping distance would make her feel easier. “Thank you for coming,” he muttered.
“I do hope this isn't another useless attempt at apology,” she said coldly with little emotion. “I have other more pressing matters to attend to.”
This was a lie. She was now a lady of leisure, more so than she ever had been. “I've asked you here because I need your help,” he pleaded.
“Help?” she asked with astonishment. “Do you honestly think you deserve my assistance with anything?”
“I had hoped I was proving myself to be a changed man.” He wished every day he woke alone in his bed she would forgive him for the terrible things he had done.
“Time will tell,” she offered plainly, “but you are making progress.”
He smiled, finding some humour in his difficult position. “Time is something I may not have much of, Mary,” as he gazed at her beauty she finally offered him a look of concern. “It's now pressing harder than ever before.” Finally she allowed him to take a hold of her slender hand. “I'm sorry about Isabel. I know the two of you were close.” Telling Joseph of her death had been heart-breaking. The boy had thought a great deal of her.
“Don't make any more promises you can't keep, Jonathan.” She still resented him for all of the times he had let her down.
“It's time to pay off my debts, Mary,” he said as he squeezed her hand. “All my promises will be kept, I can assure you of that.” Since his return from Holland he had done much, all for Mary. The thieves of London were stronger now than ever before. He thought it may be enough to urge her forgiveness. He had planned for his demise for some time now.
Reaching into his jacket he withdrew a large stuffed money bag. Passing it to her he placed it in her hand.
“What's this?” she asked.
“Consider it a pension,” he replied. “You'll get the same every week until the day you die.”
This angered her. The very idea he thought he could buy her affection caused a fury within her she had not felt in some time. “You have some nerve,” she spat at him angrily.
“I didn't mean to...,” he stuttered in an attempt at defence.
“Do you think I need your money, Jonathan?” If he wanted to make amends there were better ways to do it. He could simply ask.
His own anger started to swell, Why wouldn't she let him say what needed to be said? “Don't take this the wrong way,” he said, “but a one eared prostitute can't be worth much in this town.” The moment the words escaped his mouth, he regretted it. He didn't want to anger her more than she already was.
She slapped him across the face, causing him to retreat with a start. “You did this to me,” she attacked. “No one else.” He tried to interrupt, only wishing to apologise, but she was having none of it. “I've had men beat and scar me before...,” again he tried to interrupt, “but you topped them all. The man who claimed to love me did so much more than Charlie Hitchin ever could.”
Finally she came to rest, inching away from him on the bench. “I am offering you this money as security. I won't always be here.” She cocked her head with intrigue, but allowed him to continue. “I'm headed somewhere, Mary. I'm aware none of my promises ever came to fruition, but Charles has interfered and toyed with my life far too many times. It's coming to an end now.”
This scared her. Strong notions of fear started to throb in her head. “Jonathan, don't do anything stupid,” she pleaded.
He chuckled and smiled at his love. “It's all in the details. This should all work perfectly.” It was time for everything to come together. For all of the parts to slot into their desired place. He’d been planning this for many years. “I asked you here for your help,” he said again.
“And why should I help you, Jonathan. What's to say you won't hurt me again?”
“I'm going to keep all of my promises,” he repeated. “It's time this game came to a close,” he slowly took her hand again. “I have something else for you.” He reached into his jacket one last time, pulling free a neatly bound letter. He held it out for her to take.
“A letter?” she asked, “you wrote me a letter?” She couldn't fathom where Jonathan's mind was leading him. She'd rather he simply said what needed to be said. A letter of apology would be so much harder to handle.
“It's not for you,” he broke to her. “One day, and one day soon, a man will come to your door.” Finally she took the letter and studied it, running a finger along the wax seal. “Answer all of his questions honestly and then give him this letter.”
“Can I read it?” begged Mary.
“No,” he said. “Leave it for him and him alone.”
“And who is this man?” It was the next logical question.
Jonathan smiled again, cocking a single eyebrow. “Tom Edwards.”
“The city marshal?” she asked, slightly stunned by this revelation. Marshals were not to be trusted. How could Jonathan place his fate at their doorstep?
“He's a good man, Mary. Trust him,” he read her mind easily.
She nodded slowly.
“I'll do as you ask,” he squeezed her hand. “Please be careful.” She didn't know what he was planning, but she was sure it possessed a certain finality. “Charlie's no fool. If you're planning on going up against him, he'll fight with everything he's got.”
He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “So will I, my love…”
The first step had been taken. Now it was time to sow the seeds of the larger plan. Both were convinced they were the better man. The more able and intelligent. He could use Charles's arrogance to his advantage. He could make him believe he was winning. He'd never be aware he was orchestrating his own downfall.
141
It was all too convoluted for Jacob Wild. It seemed, to him, nothing was being done about his arrogant son. He would have liked it if decisive action was being taken.
“I came to London for you told me I could severely punish my son,” he grumbled. “You then proposed your scheme to steal all of his money. I agreed we would need to end the sorry prick’s life, yet he now seems stronger than ever.” It was, indeed, a sorry state of affairs. “What are we doing about it?” he enquired harshly. “It seems we're doing nothing.”
Charles listened to his rant. Jumping from his seated position he raced across the room to throw Jacob onto the wall. Holding him by the scruff of his neck he hoisted him off the ground. “Don't you dare doubt me,” he threatened. “I'm more than you and your son combined.” Releasing him he returned to his seat, recovering his large glass of alcohol. “Jonathan will die. It may seem we're doing nothing, but the gears of fortune are turning. He thinks himself the best, but let me assure you I'm still the master of these things.” Taking a deep swig he relished the powerful taste of his drink. “We simply have to wait until he's dug his own grave,” he laughed, “and then we'll provide the headstone.”
