by Roger Hurn
The thief-taker adopted a suitably humble expression. ‘I’ve already seen your generosity and kindness in action, Mr Inglethorpe. You’re a true gentleman, sir.’
Inglethorpe harrumphed and airily waved away the compliment. ‘Yes, well, be that as it may, I must disembark post haste, but I’ll see you again after you’ve safely landed the cargo on the island. Make sure our prize pigeons think they’re getting away scot free because that way they’ll be compliant and docile. When they’re safely tucked up on Lundy will be time enough to break the news to them that nothing in this world is ever quite what it seems. But then, as it says in Proverbs: “Foolish dreamers live in a world of illusion, whilst wise realists plant their feet on the ground”.’ He gave Bloodwine a sly grin. ‘And men like us are wise realists are we not, thief-taker?’
‘We are indeed, Mr Inglethorpe. You may depend on it.’
Inglethorpe shot Bloodwine a glance that was stripped of all good fellowship and as hard and cold as a cobblestone. ‘I do,’ he said, ‘So don’t fail me.’ Then, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, his face lit up with a beneficent smile and he clapped Bloodwine heartily on the shoulder. ‘Which of course you never will. After all, you’re the man who risked his neck for me with no thought of reward. And for that I repeat what it says in Matthew 25:21: “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things.” And, although he continued to smile, Inglethorpe’s eyes again grew cold. ‘Well, I’ve put you in charge of my island, my bawdy house and my slaves and that is task enough for any servant.’
Bloodwine nodded his head. ‘Don’t fret, sir, I know which side my bread is buttered. With Becca to act as nurse, I’ll keep the whores in fine fettle and the slaves hard at work. I’ll make sure the gentry who come visiting to partake in the revels are well provided for and royally entertained. And I’ll make sure the tobacco your ships land on Lundy on their way back from America is kept well stored and ready to be smuggled ashore on the mainland when the time is ripe.’
Inglethorpe grunted with satisfaction. ‘Stout fellow. And you’ve my permission to sample the wares. After all, ’tis a poor cook who doesn’t taste the dainty dishes before he serves them.’ Both men guffawed at that, but anyone who knew Bloodwine well would have seen that the watchfulness never left his eyes.
At that moment, the boatswain came up to the two men. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, Sir, but we’ve got the wretches clapped down under the hatches now, so I dare say you’ll be wantin’ to be ferried ashore.’
‘I will indeed,’ said Inglethorpe jovially. ‘But my man Bloodwine here will let you know which of the convicts can be allowed the liberty of coming up on deck after the ship sets sail. There are three who will be permitted the luxury of sleeping in the little cabins and who will be kept apart from the others. Of course it may be that more will be selected to join them if Bloodwine here deems it necessary and, if he does, you will obey him in this matter. Is that understood?’
‘It is, sir.’
‘Then I will bid you adieu, Bloodwine, and tarry no longer.’ He gave the thief-taker a nod, turned on his heel and marched away with the boatswain in close attendance.
Bloodwine watched his progress as the boat made its way across the choppy waters of the Thames to Deptford. ‘Damn your eyes, Inglethorpe,’ he muttered. ‘Now I know your secret, but I’ve got no means of jumping ship and getting back to Murray with the knowledge so I’m as buggered as a beau in a molly house.’ He shook his head and cursed his luck. He had scant hope of being able to escape from the island of Lundy either, situated as it was 12 miles off the Devon coast. It was the perfect place for Inglethorpe to situate his nefarious empire of whores, smuggled tobacco and slaves, but it was also a perfect prison for Bloodwine. ‘Jesus wept, Balthazar,’ he said to himself. ‘How in Hell’s name are you going to save your neck this time?’
Chapter Thirteen
A few days later, the Jonathan lay at anchor in the Lundy Roads, a calm stretch of water off the south-east of the island where the ship was sheltered from the prevailing westerly winds. Bloodwine, with Becca and her giddy, chattering brood at his side, stood on the quarter deck and gazed at the steep-sided granite island which was to be home to them and the handful of convicts he’d selected.
In addition to the three Inglethorpe had chosen for his brothel, he’d also wanted some brawny specimens to work as slaves on the island and ordered Bloodwine to see to it. The thief-taker had readily agreed, but he had his own reasons for picking out the three men he did. Nathaniel Jones was a blacksmith, barrel-chested and sullen, who’d been convicting of killing his wife’s lover in a fit of jealous rage. William Parker was a bare knuckle fighter with arms as thick as Christmas hams, who’d won a fight he was supposed to lose and killed his opponent, an aristocrat’s favourite, in the process. The last of the three was Jabez Payne, a squat and powerful Thames waterman who’d habitually overcharged his passengers. The law may have turned a blind eye to this had not one of his customers complained too vociferously and been pushed by the irate waterman into the foul and noxious river where he had had the misfortune of drowning. The waterman pleaded it was an accident, but the law disagreed.
They were a disparate bunch but united in their desire not to be sent across the ocean to America. The thief-taker had a pressing need for allies if he was going to escape from Lundy and these three desperadoes were the best he was going to get. He didn’t trust them an inch but, like feral dogs, he knew they would follow him as long as they believed he’d give them the thing they craved above all else – their freedom. It was a promise he’d already whispered in their ears. Now all six waited behind him on the deck while two sailors armed with flintlock muskets kept watch on them.
A jolly-boat ferried Bloodwine, Becca, her children and the six convicts from the Jonathan across the sun-dappled sea to the harbour on Lundy where a small deputation, headed by Bloodwine’s predecessor, Abraham Anstey, was waiting to meet them. They didn’t receive a warm welcome. Anstey, a syphilitic with a grotesque saddle nose that caved into his ruined face, stepped forward. He spat on the ground and ignored Bloodwine’s brief nod of greeting.
‘So you’re the sneaksby who’s going to step into my boots are you? Well, may you have better fortune of it than me.’ He peered at the two female convicts. ‘I thought I was too experienced a top diver to be fooled by a pretty face but no, I was beguiled by a rum doxie just like these, and it was my ruin.’ He gazed intently at Bloodwine then nodded as if agreeing with a voice only he could hear. ‘And a mutton-monger like you will tread the same path, damned if you won’t.’ His lips slipped back from his last few teeth in a sneer. ‘Then you won’t look so fair, my haughty.’
‘It’s possible,’ said Bloodwine evenly. ‘Though, my maxim is to admire but not touch my master’s possessions.’ He smiled a smile that was cold enough to chill the heart. ‘Now, your ship awaits, Mr Anstey, so please don’t allow me to detain you any longer than necessary.’ He dismissed the fellow with a flick of his hand and stared past him at the four armed men and one formidably girthed, red-cheeked, middle-aged woman who were watching him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Bloodwine had no idea how Anstey had ruled over his little kingdom, but knew he had to establish his authority immediately.
‘You fellows escort the prisoners to their quarters,’ he said curtly. ‘Madam, you will escort me and my party to ours. When we and they are settled you will all report to me and I will make clear to you how I expect things to be run on this island. If you do as I say things will go well for you. However, disobey me in anything and you will suffer for it.’ His voice was as hard and dark as ebony wood.
The men glanced at each other and made to do as they were bid, but the woman spoke out and her tone matched Bloodwine’s.
‘Mr Bloodwine, I am Mrs Rosa Crabtree, Mr Inglethorpe’s housekeeper. Begging your pardon, sir, but I run the castle my way and the servants answer to me. The men, the convicts and the
whores are your responsibility as I’m sure Mr Inglethorpe has made clear to you.’ Her eyes were like shiny black buttons and she didn’t sound as if she was begging anyone’s pardon. ‘So I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak to me and then I’m sure we’ll get along perfectly amicably.’ Before he could respond, the woman turned her attention to Becca. ‘You’ll be Mrs Harrison. Mr Inglethorpe tells me you’re a healer who fixed him up when he was beat near to death by those London bouncers.’ Her flinty eyes and her voice softened a fraction. ‘You’re welcome here, Mrs Harrison, because we’ve need of a nurse, but make sure your progeny stays under your control and mind their manners or there’ll be a reckoning.’
Becca scowled, but said nothing. Behind him, Bloodwine heard Anstey snigger. ‘Tread carefully with Mrs Crabtree, Mr Bloodwine. She’s a force of nature and she has the ear of the master. She’s like a big sister to him, servant or no. But you’ll learn that soon enough.’
The thief-taker cursed his luck and the man’s impudence, but all he said was: ‘Then that makes two of us who have the master’s ear – and his best interests at heart.’
‘That’s the truth of it, I’m sure,’ said Mrs Crabtree as she stared unflinchingly at him. Then, without breaking eye-contact she said: ‘Now Walter, Ezekiel, Rueben and George, do as Mr Bloodwine here says. It ain’t dignified to stand about arguing in front of the likes of these ne’er-do-wells and vagabonds. So take ’em to their destinations and be quick about it.’
The four men rushed to obey her command and pushed, prodded and harried the six prisoners up the steep path and away from the harbour. Mrs Crabtree watched their retreating backs then turned to Becca and said imperiously: ‘Come Mrs Harrison, I don’t have all day to waste.’ Without further ado, she started up the path like a galleon in full sail with Becca and the children scurrying along behind her like small ships in her wake. Bloodwine noted she had no fond word of farewell for Anstey and neither did she spare him a backward glance.
He shrugged and made to follow them, but Anstey grabbed at his coat. ‘A word of advice for you, mister high and mighty. Don’t cross Rosa Crabtree ’cos life will go much smoother for you if you don’t.’
Bloodwine raised his eyebrows slightly and gently brushed Anstey’s palsied hand away. ‘I thank you for your concern, sir, but I can see full well for myself the kind of woman she is.’
Anstey shook his head. ‘Not yet you don’t. ’Tis obvious to all she’s a hatchet-faced harridan with a heart as sentimental as granite and, in truth, I hate the bitch, but she’s the power behind the throne on this island in a way I never was and you never will be. The master trusts her and she’s his ears and eyes, so never forget that.’ Then he laughed bitterly. ‘Bah, I dunno why I’m wasting my breath, ’cos you’re the kind of braggart who has to have his way and I’ll tell you now, that’s a battle you ain’t never going to win.’ He hawked and spat again then walked unsteadily away to board the jolly-boat moored at the jetty.
‘I’ve no doubt you’re right about Crabtree,’ muttered Bloodwine to the man’s retreating back. ‘But you’re wrong about the battle, Anstey. I have to win it or I’m a dead man walking – just like you.’
Chapter Fourteen
The stone-strewn path that swept up to the castle was narrow and steep and Bloodwine found his breath becoming ragged as he hurried up the incline. Not for the first time he worried that the weakness in the lungs and heart that had carried off his father lurked inside him. Then he cursed himself for a fool. ‘The old man drank and whored himself to death,’ he muttered. ‘No wonder his body gave up the ghost at forty. If you escape this island intact, Balthazar, then have the bare-knuckle lad put you through your paces. He’ll soon have you back in shape. Now pick up your feet you titter-tottering sluggard, there’s work to do.’
The party of convicts and their guards were now some way ahead of Becca and her brood and the salty wind that whipped into his face carried with it snatches of the children’s complaints as they struggled to keep pace with the formidable Mrs Crabtree. He lengthened his stride and was fast gaining on them with the intention of helping Becca by carrying young Ruth and chivvying the others, when two of the men escorting the six convicts suddenly herded the three burly male slaves off the path and onto a sharply rising track.
Rosa Crabtree half turned and barked at Becca and the children to ignore the diversion and to continue following her and the remaining three prisoners and their guards up to the fortress. They had no choice but to do as she commanded.
Bloodwine was under no such compulsion. He stopped and shielded his eyes from the sun’s glare as he squinted to see where the convicts were being taken. The track, which had shallow steps cut out of it, led up to what appeared to be a kind of doorway consisting of a long slab of rock resting on two upright ones set into the hillside. A solitary figure armed with a musket stood outside it. He stiffened and tightened his grip on the firearm as he watched the prisoners and their escort make their approach. After a brief exchange which, strain his ears as he might, Bloodwine could not overhear, the convicts and their captors were ushered through the entrance and vanished from sight. As soon as they were gone, the sentry placed his musket on the ground, took out a long-stemmed clay pipe and, after struggling to light it, lounged back against the lintel as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Bloodwine decided it was time to correct that misapprehension.
The sentinel, a gaunt man of about thirty, with sunken almost colourless eyes, stared suspiciously at the thief-taker as he strode up to him. He had put down his pipe and now held his musket at the ready. Bloodwine wasted no time on pleasantries.
‘I’m Balthazar Bloodwine, Mr Inglethorpe’s new factor. And you are …?’ He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
‘Ben Cobley.’
‘Right, then Ben Cobley, I’ll thank you to take me to where the new prisoners are being kept.’
Cobley nodded towards the entrance of the cavern. ‘They’re down there. Take the tunnel on your right and that’ll lead you to the cells.’
‘I didn’t ask for directions, I told you to take me there.’ Bloodwine’s voice had a dangerous edge.
For a brief moment, Cobley scowled then he shrugged. ‘Ain’t no skin off my nose if you need a nursemaid.’
As he turned his back and made to lead the way, Bloodwine stepped forward, pulled a large smooth stone from his pocket and smacked him hard on the back of his head with it. Cobley’s legs crumpled under him and he slumped down like a broken marionette into the dirt. Bloodwine stood over him with the stone clenched in his hand ready to strike again should the fellow attempt to rise, but there was no danger of that. Cobley was still breathing, but he was deeply unconscious and no longer a threat. Bloodwine grunted with relief and tossed the stone away. He harboured no malice towards the man and had no wish to do him further damage, but they both lived in a dog-eat-dog world and he knew he’d have killed him if he had to. He grimaced in disgust at what his service to Murray was causing him to become. He attempted to salve his conscience with the thought that Becca would fix Cobley’s cracked skull when he finally woke up – if he woke up. ‘God’s wounds, Balthazar,’ he snarled. ‘Quit your moping. You’ll be lucky indeed if this is the only skull you have to crack before the game is done.’
So saying he dismissed Cobley’s plight from his mind as easily as blowing out a penny candle. He was not a man much given to crying over spilt milk and anyway he had far more pressing matters to deal with. So he scooped up the musket and slipped through the doorway and into the cavern that lay behind it.
Once inside and out of the dazzling sun, Bloodwine found himself engulfed in what seemed to him to be a labyrinth of shadows. He stumbled on the uneven floor and nearly fell. He cursed the darkness, but then noticed a row of tin lanterns and a tinderbox perched on a shelf crudely fashioned into the rock hard by the doorway. He lit one and held it high and, by its flickering light, he saw that there were indeed two tunnels at the far end of the cavern. H
e took the one on the right. He had no real strategy in his mind other than to free his potential allies and use them to help him escape from the island. Twelve miles of treacherous water lay between Lundy and the Devon coast, but Bloodwine was banking on the lighterman’s knowledge of boats and the blacksmith and the boxer’s strength of arms to steer any small craft they could steal back to safety.
He was uneasy at the thought of abandoning Becca and the children to Mrs Crabtree’s tender mercies, but he reasoned they’d be safe enough until he could return for them. ‘But if that craggy bitch makes them suffer then I’ll flay the skin from her back,’ he vowed, though his whispered promise did nothing to make him feel any happier about the situation. Then the sound of raised and angry voices from somewhere further down the tunnel snapped his attention back to the task at hand.
Chapter Fifteen
Bloodwine hadn’t gone more than fifty yards along the tunnel before he saw the soft glow of lamplight up ahead. He realised that the passageway must have made a turn because all he could see were shadows projected on the rocky wall. He quickly extinguished his own lantern and sneaked up close. He could hear a voice he recognised as belonging to Jabez Payne, the lighterman, complaining vociferously about his subterranean incarceration.
‘You nick-ninnies ain’t got no business lockin’ us up down ’ere. It ain’t natural and it ain’t right. When ’is nibs, Mr Bloodwine, ’ears about this ’e’s gonna ’ave yer guts fer garters.’
‘Shut your gob. You’ll see Mr Bloodwine soon enough when he puts you to work building the wall.’
‘What poxy wall are you talking abhat? I’m a bloody lighterman, not a brickie.’
‘The wall Mr Inglethorpe is having built across this island and he’s using convict scum like you to do it.’
