“What an interesting life, Mr. Francis,” interjected Philip Worthington. “Do you not find it hard on the body?” Lady Worthington didn’t even seem to try fighting an internal struggle to stop herself from berating her son.
“Well, of course it is hard, Philip. Most of the better things in life are. Your father knew that, it is just a shame he did not pass the knowledge along to you,” she chided. Philip seemed to diminish in size as she spoke to him and the rest of the guests were obliged to pretend they hadn’t heard the exchange.
“The fresh air and starry nights suited me,” answered John Francis, as if Lady Worthington hadn’t spoken. “I’m an outdoor person, the idea of a life spent writing or counting seems like a sentence in prison.” He seemed to realise his company included a scientist and turned to Mr. Richmond. “I’m sure it suits some people, just not me.”
“I’m sure I couldn’t say,” said Mr. Richmond, “I spend most of my time outside, as well. I study the natural world and the only way to do such is to spend time amongst natural things.” He finished with a laugh that deflected any offence John Francis may have caused.
Harris, who was sat back watching the conversation, was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming sense of peril. He watched the face of John Francis and for a fraction of a second, the man’s skull seemed to show through his skin. It was a grinning, snarling, flash of evil that sent a wave of fear and nausea through him. The teeth were sharp and broken, splintered things that jutted from the skull like weapons. The eyes were sunken, blackened, holes that threatened to suck him down into oblivion.
He saw all this and in the blink of an eye, it was gone. Mr. Francis sat, talking to the company as if nothing had happened. Captain Harris was left feeling a hot flush, wondering if he had eaten something that had disagreed with him.
Harris watched Mr. Francis but all seemed well. The conversation passed to the other end of the table and John Francis turned back to Captain Harris. He had a warm smile on his face that Harris returned. As Francis turned back to the rest of the company, Harris saw a final glimmer of the monster he had seen previously, just an echo of the horror but there nonetheless.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I feel the need for a breath of fresh air. I shall return shortly,” Harris said, standing up. The men around the table began to rise but he returned them to their seats with a motion of his hands.
Harris stepped out of the door and found himself at the foot of the steps up onto the deck. His hands reached for the railings, with no real idea where they might be, his head swam. He climbed the few steps, more by will than anything else, and soon his feet were on the planks of the deck.
He leaned against the rail and vomited into the harbour his head cleared considerably by doing so. He stayed there, with his head down for a moment, before taking a deep breath and straightening back up.
Harris glanced around himself, to see who had witnessed his moment of weakness but if any member of the crew had been there when he stepped onto the deck, they had made themselves scarce by the time he had finished. Anyone who had seen him in his compromised position would hopefully have assumed he was drunk. Embarrassing enough but a more palatable idea to the one that meant he had lost his mind.
He thought back to what he had witnessed at the dinner table, or thought he had seen. The more time he had to clear his head, the more he knew it couldn’t really have happened. There was no monster inside Mr. Francis. It had been a trick of the light or a bad piece of steak. More than likely Harris was drunker than he had thought and he had imagined the whole thing.
It occurred to Harris that he had no idea how long he had been away from his guests. He had rushed from the table and should return as soon as possible. He made his way back down the steps and into the dinner.
“My apologies for my rudeness, ladies and gentlemen,” Harris said as he eased himself into his chair. “I was a little affected by this fine drink. I find myself a little embarrassed.”
“Not at all, sir,” said Mr. Bassett. “It happens to the best of us.”
“Well, I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Bassett,” said Harris.
Brandy was brought to the table and, before long, the conversation was as relaxed as it had been before the incident had happened. Harris became more and more willing to accept that it had been a trick of the mind. It was almost half an hour after he sat back down that a knock on the cabin door interrupted their meal once more.
The seaman who entered leaned forward to have a private word in the captain’s ear, he was, however, not the most discreet of men and spoke loud enough for most of the table to hear every word he said.
“Sir, there is a gentleman on deck from the local police force, he was hoping to have a word with you.”
Captain Harris was looking at his guests as the seaman said this, in order to give the man access to his ear. So it was that he saw the look of anguish cross John Francis’ face and the look he gave his wife.
“I will be there shortly, thank you,” Harris replied to the seaman. The man left the room and silence reigned around the table. It was probably because John Francis had the good grace to speak first that Captain Harris was inclined to agree to his next request. Had he sat in silence, or worse still, attempted to bribe or cajole the guests, he would have reacted very differently.
“Well, it would seem I am not to be travelling with your company on this voyage, ladies and gentlemen. The men on deck are here to speak to me. I won’t bore you with the details but I do have a request. My wife Rose is utterly unconnected with the matter at hand and shouldn’t be punished for anything that I have done. If you would all be so kind, I would ask that you allow her to travel with you and allow me to deal with the matter and catch up with her in London,” John Francis said without the slightest hint of embarrassment, or any attempt to explain himself.
Rose looked stricken but a sideways glance from John held her in check. The men around the table looked first at John and then at each other. It was, however, one of the women at the table who answered.
“Of course, your beautiful wife should travel with us. I would be gravely hurt if anyone spoke out against the idea,” Lady Worthington said.
Harris waited for a moment, for anyone to disagree, before nodding his assent. “Very well, Mr. Francis, if you will accompany me to the deck, I will see that your wife travels to London in the utmost comfort.”
John Francis nodded mutely, first to Lady Worthington and then to the captain, before getting to his feet. Rose finally broke her silence and began to cry, she threw her arms around her husband and buried her face in his neck. He allowed her to embrace him for as long as was decent before he unclenched her hands from the back of his neck. He kissed her kindly and told her that he loved her. He promised her that he would be on the next ship to England. Finally, he removed a silver chain from around his neck, it had a jet black medallion swinging from its length. He lifted it over her head and placed it around her neck.
Harris stood and waited for the couple to say goodbye before he led John Francis out onto the deck of the Madagascar. A group of five, rough looking, men were waiting for the two of them as they stepped out. One of them moved forward and spoke to John Francis. He wore a long oilskin coat and had at least two day’s stubble on his face.
“John Francis you’re under arrest for the robbery of the McIvor gold transport. Are you going to come quietly?”
John Francis nodded and stepped toward the officers to have his wrists bound. He didn’t say a word and had a grim look on his face. Captain Harris caught the man’s attention.
“Can I ask your name please, sir?” Harris enquired.
“Sergeant Brooks, of the Melbourne Police,” replied the officer.
“There has surely been some kind of mistake?” Harris asked.
“I’m sorry, captain, I’m afraid not. There is little doubt about the man’s guilt, he’s been named by another man we have in custody.”
“I find it hard to believe that
such a gentleman had anything to do with such a violent crime,” said Harris.
“He can be quite charming, can our Mr. Francis. I have no doubt he was fine company at dinner. I have to tell you that you have been dining with a man capable of violence of the worst kind. It was the reason for his deportation,” Brooks said.
“Deportation you say? Well, I suppose you never can tell,” Harris admitted. “At least you have your man.”
The sergeant rubbed his bristled chin and looked a little uncomfortable. “Actually captain, we are looking for at least four more men, we believe at least one of them may try to gain passage on your ship. Do you have a log of all of the passengers?”
“I’m afraid not, sergeant. We sell tickets and take details on boarding. It’s only the first class passengers who are known to us in advance,” Harris replied with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“In that case, Captain Harris, I have to ask that you don’t leave port until we give you the say so. We will need to check your passenger list once everybody is on board,” Brooks said.
“That won’t do, sergeant,” Harris bristled. “You expect me to board a hundred passengers and just sit in the harbour The food and water alone will cost me a fortune, let alone the personal cost to all the passengers. My reputation will be damaged beyond repair. There are merchants in England waiting on the goods in this hold. It simply can’t be done.”
“I’m afraid until I am satisfied that I have accounted for everyone aboard, that it simply will have to be done. I will have a word with the harbour master and tell him you are not to leave until you have my orders,” Brooks fired back.
“If it must be so, then so it must be. I give you my word that I will not set sail until you give me the say so,” Harris said, resigned. “It is the most outrageous nuisance though.”
“Thank you, captain,” Brooks replied. “I give you my word that I will be as swift as I can and you will be underway as soon as possible.” Brooks turned to leave but turned back as he reached the rail of the ship. “I saw John Francis board with his wife Rose. She isn’t part of our investigation but I warn you she is a deportee, too. She isn’t in the same league as her husband but be careful if you intend to travel with her.”
“I think you’ve said all you need to, Sergeant Brooks. It is one thing to come on my ship and arrest a man in public. It is entirely another to besmirch a lady’s reputation on the strength of her husband’s misadventures,” Harris said, his voice raising as he spoke.
Brooks shrugged his shoulders and turned to debark the ship. It was nothing to him either way.
Captain Harris watched as John Francis was led from the ship and shook his head at the unpredictability of life. Eventually the group was out of sight and he turned back to his guests, one of whom would be upset beyond consolation.
Chapter Three
The jail cell was cold, with nothing but iron bars to hold back the chill wind. John Francis sat trying to coax his brother into talking. He wasn’t as simple as a lot of people assumed, he just wasn’t a man who put his thoughts into words easily. John knew he had given him up to the police but he didn’t hold it against him. He was sure they had fed him a story about both of the brothers walking off into the Australian wilderness, if he gave them what they wanted. Maybe even threatened to bring his wife, Jane, into all this mess.
“Come on, George, talk to me,” John tried once more. “I’m not mad at you.”
George stared obstinately at the floor of his cell and said nothing. John threw himself down onto the wooden pallet that passed for a bed. Had they even been close to getting away with it all? Probably not. Too many men knew too much about the whole deal. It would only have taken one loose word in the wrong ear and the whole thing was a bust.
“You remember when we were kids, George, you remember the gang back in Sheffield?” John glanced out of the corner of his eye but George still wasn’t moving.
“They chased us for miles, you remember? My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. How old were we? I must have been about ten or eleven. That means you must have been about eight. Those lads were out for your blood that day,” John laughed, he glanced over at George again and this time his head was slowly beginning to come up. John looked back up at the ceiling, not wanting to spook his brother.
“If I remember right, you’d stolen some eggs or something,” John continued.
“One egg, I stole one egg,” George said in his low, sullen voice.
“Yeah, that was right, one egg. You dropped it as we were running, as well. All that pain and we didn’t even get our egg.”
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George has tears in his eyes as he follows John through the back streets of Shirecliffe, in Sheffield. These are streets the two boys know well but on this day they feel claustrophobic and dangerous. Hot on their heels are about a dozen boys, most bigger than both of them.
They skirt a steel works where, even outside the walls, the heat and smell are almost overpowering. The smoke has blackened the brickwork so that the alleyways are dark, even in the daytime.
“You boys! You can’t be round ‘ere!” shouts an unseen voice as they run past the open doors of the works, stray sparks fly up and out into the smoky air, burning bright for a moment before joining the cloud of grey ash up in the sky.
“You two are dead when we catch you,” a voice growls way too close to George’s ear. He daren’t turn through fear of his feet slipping on the cobbled ground. He’s wearing his second best pair of shoes, he only owns two. The toes are beginning to poke through but the soles still have life in them yet. His mother can’t afford to replace them and he’s not sure he wants new ones. He knows these shoes, his feet like them.
John is beginning to get ahead of him, his legs won’t move as quickly as his brother’s. His breath burns in his chest. He tries to tell his brother that he can’t keep up but his voice won’t work, partly through lack of breath but mostly through fear. If these boys catch him he will be lucky not to end up with broken bones, maybe even killed.
As soon as this thought enters his head, George hits the ground, it comes up to meet him, hard. The little wind that is left in his lungs is knocked out of him and he struggles to suck in another breath. The last thing he sees, before the boys start kicking him, is John’s heel disappearing around the far corner of the street.
George curls his legs to his chest to cover his vulnerable privates and tries to cover his head with his arms. Kicks rattle his teeth and jolt his bones. For a time, he is sure that he has just stolen his last egg, his last anything.
As suddenly as the kicking starts, it stops, George hears a change in the sounds of the gang of boys, they have gone from a braying crowd to a shocked gasp. John has reappeared around the corner and charged into the biggest of the boys. The lad is a good head taller than John and a fair bit broader.
John has shouldered into his stomach and the two have rolled onto the ground. Fists are flying at such a rate that, for a moment, George can’t tell who is throwing them. He scrambles to his feet, feeling bruised but nothing is broken. All eyes are on John and his opponent, for the time being George is forgotten.
John fights like an alley cat, he punches, kicks, and scratches everything he sees. The bigger boy is first caught unaware and then shocked into retreat. He seems to have assumed his size would be all the advantage he needs, he is wrong. John has drawn blood with a punch to the nose and a scratch that has opened up one of the boy’s cheeks, before he backs off.
The other boys have surrounded the fighting pair but nobody is stepping forward to confront this lone child in front of them. It would be the work of seconds to overpower him but either fear or respect holds them in place.
Quick as a flash, in a moment only brothers would understand, John’s eyes tell George to run. His brother wants him to get away and save himself, he hesitates and then slowly starts backing up the street.
As he watches,
one of the boys takes a step toward John. The spell has broken and they seem to realise they are only facing a boy, not a wild animal. John swings at the boy and catches him a hard crack across the mouth. He steps back, ready for the next person to step into the circle but George watches from the top of the street as John is hit from behind. It’s enough to put him on the ground, the last thing George sees are the boots that kick his brother, before George is running again.
He runs blindly, crying as he goes. Unable to stop his feet and hating himself for being a coward, he puts more and more distance between himself and the fight. He finds a place to hide, behind some bins, at the back of a row of tenement houses. He squeezes into the tightest space he can find and cries himself to sleep.
It’s dark when he wakes and the summer evening has turned cold. He drags himself out from his hiding place and makes his way toward the backstreet where he had left his brother. He’s sure John won’t be there, surely he is at home by now, nursing a black eye or broken nose. As he rounds the corner, however, there is a body on the cobbles, looking small and broken.
George’s heart breaks, his brother is dead and he is the reason. He begins to cry again, warm tears on a cold summer night. He leans over John, expecting to look into a dead boy’s face but his brother stirs as he does. George feels relief wash over him as John tries to open his black and puffy eyes. There is dried blood on his mouth and nose, John tries to talk but the swelling stops him. It’s now that George realises his brother’s arm is broken, it’s twisted out at a bad angle.
The strangest thing happens as George is looking at his brother’s face, he realises John is smiling.
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“We got out of that one, George, we can get out of this one. Just trust me and I’ll look after you,” John said to his brother as George looks up into his face.
Legion Of The Undead_Rise and Fall Page 29
