The Butcher's Block

by Lucienne Boyce

  “I’ll do it straight away, Mr Foster. Shall I bring it up to you later?”

  “Perhaps you could give it to me in the morning before I set off for work, Mrs Hampton?”

  “I will.”

  With that she flounced off to her spotless parlour where, Dan presumed, she spent the evening drawing up her account of the burglars. He continued up the stairs. Outside the door he paused. There was a voice he had not heard here before. Wondering what new trouble awaited him, he turned the handle and went inside.

  Caroline sat on the armchair near the fire with Davy on her lap. Rosie sat opposite her, and Nick occupied a stool between them. He jumped up to take Dan’s coat and hat. The clothes that had hung off him when he was first put into them were already a better fit. Rosie had also started dosing him for his ringworm, and after only a week of eating well and sleeping in safety he was beginning to look more civilised, though he had not yet got used to wearing shoes.

  Warily, Dan kept an eye on his wife as he let the boy help him.

  Caroline returned his gaze with a mocking smile. “I’m not going to dash the baby’s brains out on the fender if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Rosie gasped.

  “I would like to talk to Mr Foster in private,” Caroline continued.

  Dan nodded at Rosie and Nick. The girl moved to take Davy from Caroline, but she held on to him. He did not seem to mind: he slept contentedly in her arms. With a lingering look at the infant, Rosie carried her work and a candle into the bedroom. Nick took the opportunity to indulge his lingering passion for wandering the streets and slipped outside.

  “Sit down,” Caroline said. “Or am I to break my neck craning up at you?”

  Dan pulled up a wooden chair and placed it opposite her.

  “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “That’s because I didn’t tell you I was coming…So this is where you’ve been hiding, is it?”

  He followed her gaze to a pile of bedding in the corner.

  “Rosie and Davy have the bedroom.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I’m glad to hear you’re keeping it in your breeches now.”

  “She’s just a girl, for God’s sake. What do you want?”

  She ignored the question. “Where did you pick up the ugly boy?”

  “In Southwark. He saved my life. Why are you here, Caroline?”

  She ignored him for a moment and made cooing noises at the baby. “He’s got your eyes, Dan. Watchful. And you can’t tell what’s going on behind them.”

  Dan put out his hand and touched his son gently on the head before frowning at his wife. “What is it you want?”

  She looked at him for a moment, then with an impatient gesture looked away. “I didn’t mean it to be like this. We haven’t got off to a very good start, have we?”

  Dan made no answer.

  “You ask what I want? I want my husband back. Oh, not to be like we were before,” she hurried on before he could speak. “I want you to come home, Dan, you and the baby. He’s your son, after all. A part of you.” She smiled sadly. “That gives me half of what I wanted. And look on the bright side. I get a baby without having to go through the agonies of giving birth to him myself.”

  “You want us to live together as a family?”

  “I don’t want to have the neighbours looking at me pityingly because my husband prefers to live with a milk-faced girl and an ugly boy,” she said sharply. She checked herself. “No, that’s not what I mean. I rehearsed it over and over in my head on the way here and now it’s coming out all wrong. But it is what I want. You, me and the baby. The way things should have been.”

  “Did it mean so much to you, to have one of our own?”

  “I thought things would be better if we did. Didn’t you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Then will you come home, Dan? Can’t we try again?”

  He hesitated.

  She looked away from him. “Eleanor isn’t there. She’s gone to Aunt Mary’s.”

  Mrs Harper’s sister lived in Leeds. “Is she coming back?” he asked after a moment.

  “Captain Ellis certainly hopes so. He’s called to ask after her nearly every day.”

  What else could he have expected? He had never had anything to offer Eleanor but illicit love and he had led her to believe he was above that. And then he had lain with another woman. She had every right to find happiness with someone else. It was time for him to face up to the fact of his marriage, stop pretending things could be any other than what they were. Caroline did not forgive him, and he did not ask her to. But if they both tried harder they could make something out of the wreckage. Neither of them would get exactly what they wanted. But it was something.

  He felt Caroline’s hand on his arm. “Dan?”

  “Rosie will be happy to go back to Barcombe, but I’ve offered Nick a home. I can’t abandon him now.”

  She pouted distastefully. “Then I suppose he’ll have to come with you. But in return.”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t like Davy. I want to choose a different name for the boy.”

  “Like what?”

  “Alexander.”

  “Alexander? Who do we know called Alexander?”

  “No one. I just like the name.”

  Dan glanced down at his son. It seemed a small price to pay for his safety and security. And if he was honest, he had never cared much for his name either. So here was something for them to agree on. A good omen, surely.

  “Alexander it is.”

  Chapter Thirty

  By the time the King’s carriage emerged from St James’s Park and passed through Storey’s Gate, the approach to Westminster Bridge was almost blocked by the festive crowds. Dan, one of a line of officers and constables whose task was to clear a path for the royal progress, ushered the excited men, women and children back. They took the shoving in good part, as eager to see the King pass them as he was to go by.

  King George was on his way to Greenwich to join the Royal Charlotte which would take him to the Nore to visit his victorious fleet. There, with much firing of salutes, he would present Admiral Duncan with a sword, hand out titles to officers who had distinguished themselves at Camperdown, and allow the sailors in their best uniforms to cheer him. The vessels in the Thames were a gay spectacle of flag and pennant, and many of the onlookers sported plaid scarves, belts and neckerchiefs in a variety of patterns and colours in honour of the Scottish Admiral.

  Dan glanced over his shoulder and caught his first sight of the carriage which had brought its royal occupant from Windsor. Every now and again the King waved, sending his subjects into paroxysms of delight. Dan saw a flash of yellow inside the vehicle and recognised John Townsend’s canary waistcoat. The Bow Street officer sat beside his royal charge, smirking proudly. Dan wondered that he didn’t give a regal wave out of the other window.

  As the people pressed forward for a better view, Dan and his men had a hard time to keep them from tumbling into the path of the vehicle. Crushing one of his loyal subjects to death under his carriage wheels would prove something of a dampener on the King’s royal celebrations. Luckily, the bottleneck forced it to go at a walking pace.

  “Make way, there!” Dan shouted. “Keep a tight hold of your child, missus.”

  The woman addressed shot him an indignant glance but did look around for her little boy, who clung nervously to her skirts.

  “Step away!” Dan pushed back a young, well-dressed man, a medical student from the drunken look of him.

  On his left he glimpsed a woman in a dark cloak. Her face was pale, her eyes wide, her lips pressed shut in a white line. Dan thought he recognised her, but as she disappeared behind a fat merchant did not have time to place her. He was distracted by some foolishness on his right, and when he looked back again the woman in the dark cloak
had made her way to the front of the crowd. Suddenly she slipped under the linked arms of the constables, ran towards the carriage and raised her right arm.

  “Gun!” someone yelled.

  There was a panicky scramble away from danger, the disorder spreading and made worse because no one knew what they were running from. The row of constables fragmented, the men unsure which way to go. Dan elbowed aside the officer nearest to him and lunged towards the carriage, put himself in the woman’s line of sight. He was dimly aware of Townsend’s contorted face in the window, one hand pressed on His Majesty’s chest pushing him back in his seat, the other reaching towards his yellow waistcoat for his gun.

  The woman faltered as the new target presented itself to her aim. “You!” she hissed. “You killed him!”

  Dan hardly had time to realise that it was Mrs Chambers before the bullet hit him.

  When he woke it was broad daylight and he was lying in his own bed. A strong, eye-watering smell hung in the air: someone must be frying beef and onions.

  Why had they left him to sleep in? He should be up and doing…he pushed aside the bedclothes, raised himself into a sitting position, swung his legs over the edge of the bed. To his surprise, he was left feeling as weak as if he had been in a ten-round fight with England champion John Jackson. He could not bend his right arm. He looked down and saw it was bandaged.

  “Lie back, lovey.”

  He felt strong, warm hands on his shoulders pushing him back onto the pillows.

  “Mother? What are you doing here?”

  Mrs Harper pulled the covers back over him, poured a glass of water and put it to his lips. “Caroline’s gone downstairs for a rest.”

  “But why am I here?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  All that came at first was tumult and blare: shouting, screaming, horses whinnying, weapons rattling, a flash of light and an explosion. There had been a sensation of falling from a great height, his head striking something hard, then a feeling as if he lay at the bottom of a river looking up at arms and legs flailing through the water above him.

  “She shot me. Mrs Chambers.”

  Mrs Harper nodded. “The wicked, adulterous thing!”

  He passed his left hand over his chest. “Where?”

  “Your arm. The bullet missed the bone, thank goodness. You would have been well days ago if that fool of a doctor hadn’t let it get infected.”

  He looked at her in dismay. “Will I be able to use it again?”

  “Onions.”

  He looked at her uncomprehendingly. Perhaps he was delirious.

  “Onions,” Mrs Harper repeated. “None of those new-fangled pastes and powders. A bit of onion on the wound and it came up right as rain.”

  “So that’s what I could smell. I thought it was someone frying something.” A new thought struck him. “I could eat.”

  She beamed at him. “That’s a good sign. I’ll go and fetch you a bit of broth.”

  The next time he woke, Caroline was standing by the bed holding Alexander.

  “Look, Alex,” she said. “Daddy’s awake.”

  She swung the baby down so that Dan could press his lips to a fat little cheek. Then she sat on the side of the bed and plumped the child into Dan’s lap. He shifted position to make the child comfortable, wincing at the pain of moving his arm. He and Caroline leaned over the baby, heads almost touching. Her face was clear and bright, her eyes shining, and she was smiling. She looked up, saw he was gazing at her and in confusion busied herself adjusting the child’s dress.

  “We thought we’d lost you, Danny,” she said, without lifting her head.

  He laid his hand over hers. “I’m still here.”

  She raised her face, full of anxious appeal. “It will be all right now, won’t it?”

  “It will.”

  Alex began to cry. The door opened and Mrs Harper bustled in carrying a pile of clean bed linen. “Caroline! Dan’s not up to having the babe crawling all over him!”

  Dan and Caroline exchanged a conspiratorial smile.

  “But I am,” he said.

  “Are you awake, son?”

  Dan opened his eyes and sat up. Moving about came easily now, and his arm was more stiff than painful.

  “I could get up,” he said.

  “That’s the way,” Noah answered.

  This time when Dan put his feet on the floor, he felt he could trust them to bear his weight. He was still unsteady, but that was only because he had not used his muscles enough.

  “I need to do some training,” he said, lowering himself into the chair by the hearth.

  Noah sat down next to him and reached into a bag he had brought with him. “I thought it was time. I brought you this.” He handed Dan a pair of wooden bottle-shaped weights.

  “Thanks, Dad. I’ll start with them straight away.”

  “Do a few stretches too. And get that shoulder moving.” Noah gave him the familiar appraising look, as if assessing his injuries after a bout in the ring. He nodded to himself, satisfied with what he saw, then pulled a folded newspaper from his pocket. “Have you seen this?”

  “No. What is it?”

  Noah held it out.

  “You read it to me, Dad.”

  “It’s a few days old, you understand,” Noah said. He followed the lines with his finger, pronounced the words carefully.

  Attempt on the King’s life foiled by courage of Bow Street Officer. Yesterday morning as the King was approaching Westminster Bridge en route to Greenwich to join the royal yacht, a mad woman leapt out of the crowd and attempted to fire a gun into His Majesty’s carriage. His Majesty’s life was saved by the quick action of the Bow Street officer in attendance upon him. Mr John Townsend is well known about the town –

  “Townsend!” Dan exclaimed. “Well, I’ll be damned!”

  – well known about the town as an officer of courage and resourcefulness. Without a thought for his own safety, he sprang to His Majesty’s defence and by his quick response enabled the constables to seize and disarm the deranged creature. We understand that one of the constables was slightly injured in the affray.

  “Constable!” Dan cried indignantly.

  His loyal subjects apprehended that the King had come to no harm with expressions of the most lively joy. His Majesty continued his engagement, and arrived at Lord Hood’s apartments in Greenwich Hospital at nine o’clock. The West London Militia was drawn up at the entrance to the Hospital and played during the whole time the King remained there. The Princess of Wales had arrived moments before and their meeting was cordial on both sides. The King was conducted on board the Royal Charlotte yacht in a six-oared barge.

  “This bit’s not very interesting.” Noah skipped on to the end.

  The woman, who gave her name as ‘A Friend of Liberty’, was taken to Newgate where she was examined by the prison doctor, who pronounced it as his opinion that the woman’s senses were disordered, but whether the disorder is permanent or temporary has yet to be seen.

  Noah lowered the paper.

  “The blasted conceited puppy!” Dan said.

  “He’s that and more, is John Townsend,” Noah agreed. “And it’s said the King has given him a handsome reward. Ought to be yours by rights.”

  “That it ought. But what can I do? I can’t call the man a liar. Not in public, anyway.”

  “What about talking to Sir William?”

  “Won’t do me any good to go bleating to the magistrate. No, Dad, the best thing to do is let it drop. If kissing the King’s boots means so much to Townsend, wish him joy of it! What has become of Mrs Chambers?”

  “Tried last week and found guilty, but on account of her sex and the state of her mind, the King commuted her sentence to transportation.”

  “A hard sentence enough for a woman like her,” Dan said.
>
  “She did try to kill you.”

  “She thinks I’m to blame for her lover’s death. And in truth, it is thanks to me that Broomhall died.”

  “He wouldn’t have died if he hadn’t pursued a criminal course, and no fault lies with you.”

  “If you say so…now, what did you say I should do with those weights?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dan waited until he heard the front door close before he got out of bed. The cheerful chatter of his wife and mother-in-law drifted up to the window, quickly faded away. Nick had been sent to the coal dealer’s to chase up a late delivery. The house was empty. Dan opened the closet and selected some clothes: a good, long jacket, clean shirt and stockings, waistcoat and breeches, and his favourite boots. He took his time; no one would be home for ages and he would be gone by then.

  A few minutes later he stepped outside. It was good to be back on the street amongst the noise and movement, to breathe the cold air, suck in the smells of horses, drains, fried food, cheap perfume, filthy beggars, smoking chimneys, rotting refuse, and more: all the nasty, squalid, familiar odours of London. For days he had sat in the house fretting to be out, but Caroline had insisted he was not ready to return to work. Yet his mind had given him no rest. Either Broomhall or Metcalf had killed Kean, and now both were dead.

  That should have been enough to satisfy him. But it wasn’t. Dawson had disposed of the body at Broomhall’s command, but according to him it was not Broomhall who killed Kean. Metcalf may have had a motive for the murder, and his suicide was suggestive of guilt. That it was one or other or both of them together was likely. But Dan didn’t know, and that irked him. None of the United Patriots they’d arrested knew anything, and there was no reason not to believe them. Who was there left to ask?

  There was one person who had been close to Broomhall: Mrs Chambers. But whether she would talk to him was another matter. Still, he had to try, or never rest satisfied with himself.

  The entrance to Newgate was busy as usual. Visiting friends and relatives passed in and out. Tradesmen brought supplies; constables and turnkeys went about their business; street women and beggars vied for attention. Dan walked through the archway, paused to announce his arrival to the porter. He stopped at the sight of the well-dressed woman sitting primly on a chair behind the porter’s desk. She had a book open in front of her, and seemed unaware of the jangle and dirt of her surroundings.