Avon Street

by Paul Emanuelli

  ‘No,’ Belle replied, ‘and I hope I never shall again.’ The time for saying what she really needed to say had gone in that moment. It would have to wait. The sudden feelings of anger and pain had taken her by surprise. She had struggled to keep the emotion out of her voice, but knew that she had failed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jenny said, ‘I’m a fool for mentioning him. I should have understood. I don’t know where Molly and me would be without you, and I don’t just mean you helping with the rent.’ She pulled the sheet up to her chin. ‘Goodnight, Belle.’

  Belle blew out the candle on the worktable. ‘Goodnight Jenny.’ She moved the chair noiselessly to a place by the fire and sat, bathing in the flickering warm glow of the fire. Though she fought it, the image of his face would not leave her mind now. He had won their game; a game she had not even been aware that they were playing. She wondered how she could have been so stupid as to love him. If she needed another reason for leaving, the prospect of meeting him again certainly provided it. She searched inside for warmer memories; looked around the room, willing friendly ghosts into existence, but all she saw were the flickering shadows. There was no doubt in her mind now. She had to leave Bath.

  Chapter 3

  Sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, in the large basement kitchen, Nathaniel Caine struggled to pull off his fine boots. He grimaced at their resistance; a film of sweat and grime binding skin to leather. Still, they looked good and that was the main thing; did him justice, as the man of means he now was. Perhaps they were too tight, but then again they had cost him nothing.

  Caine massaged the life back into his bare, aching feet, rubbing the corns and blisters, raised and red, against blackened blotchy skin. When he had finished, he cupped his hands to his face and inhaled with quiet satisfaction. Smiling to himself, he remembered how the boots had come to him. He’d had much less of a struggle removing them from the feet of the gentleman who used to own them than he had just had taking them off his own feet; but then the gentleman in question had been unconscious at the time.

  Caine sat back in the chair, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction. In here he had nothing to fear from the outside world. The house in Hucklebridge’s Court dwarfed its neighbours in strength and size. Its doors were solid oak, and always kept locked and bolted. Most of the windows had been bricked or boarded up, and behind each of the windows that still held glass was a row of strong iron bars. It was a fortress amongst the ramshackle Avon Street hovels that surrounded it. No, Caine reflected, he feared no one outside those walls. Yet his companions inside the house were a different matter.

  Unfolding the old newspaper that had been lying on the seat, Caine scanned over the front page, filled with notices and advertisements. They were of little interest to him. He was proud of his learning. It set him apart. He’d had to pay for it of course, and not just in money. Admitting his ignorance to another man, and one who had been younger than him, had hurt. To have that man look down his nose at him for month after month, treating him like a child, had hurt even more, but he’d never reacted, never once given way to his temper.

  His teacher had overcharged him. He had known that even then, but silence always comes at a price. Still it had been worth the money and the trouble. He could still remember how good it felt when he paid him that last time. His instincts had told him to kick him up the arse, but instead he had wished him good day and said, ‘Your services are no longer required.’ The look on his face was worth the restraint. There had been no need to warn him about keeping their secret. He knew the tables had turned.

  Lowering the paper for a moment, Caine switched his attention to his companions, playing cards, sitting at the long mahogany table in the centre of the room; swirls of smoke rising from their pipes and circling above their heads. None of them can read properly, he thought, gazing at the bovine faces gathered around the table. One or two of them knew enough to master the lists of names he gave them, lists of debtors to be collected from; but he was the only one who could truly read, and make sense of numbers; the only one who knew exactly who owed what, and when they were due to pay. It was a profitable business, money lending, especially when he had seen off all of his competitors. Then there were those who paid for his protection, he needed to keep records of those too, to make sure they got visited regularly, got reminded who was in charge in Avon Street.

  Caine stretched his tired legs, feeling his age for a moment, yet he was not that old, he told himself. The card game was getting noisier. Jeb was shooting his mouth off again, trying to intimidate the others; bluffing as usual. Caine smiled to himself, knowing all too well that the louder Jeb shouted, the worse his hand would be. It was when he was quiet that Jeb was dangerous. If ever a man had earned his appearance it was him; a permanent sneer etched into every line and twist of his features.

  As Jeb added to the already tidy pot of money in the middle of the table, three of the men stacked their cards, swearing various oaths in the process. It was now between Jeb and the Wood brothers, Harry and Tommy. ‘Don’t get too bloody comfortable!’ Caine shouted. ‘There’s business to be discussed.’

  ‘Did we do well at the ratting tonight?’ Jeb asked, putting his cards flat on the table for a moment and turning around.

  ‘Aye we took a good cut,’ Caine said, ‘and there was no trouble – thanks to me.’ There were a few grunts and groans around the table, but no one spoke back. Caine studied Harry Wood’s face. He would win, no doubt about it, you could see it in his eyes. Jeb could bluff for as he long as he wanted, but Harry was a cold piece of work. Caine watched him. He never seemed to look at his own cards, never arranged or ordered them in his hand; just watched Jeb’s face, like a fox playing with a chicken.

  Jeb did not have many allies amongst the crew, but there were some that would pitch in with him out of fear, if they thought the time was right. He might not be as hard as Harry, but he was just as dangerous. Show him any weakness and he picked away at it, like a sore. Jeb would remember a grievance and let it fester for weeks, till you thought it was forgotten. Then he’d have you.

  Jeb picked his cards up again and stared at Tommy Wood, willing him to back down. Tommy grinned from ear to ear, but Caine guessed he would throw his hand in sooner rather than later. No killer instinct in that lad, never took anything serious. Still, you couldn’t help liking the lad. There was a spark of something in him that set him apart. Everyone liked the boy, apart from Jeb.

  Caine smiled as he watched Tommy, sitting there grinning, making jokes at Jeb’s expense. No one else would get away with it, Caine thought, but Jeb knew all too well that if he took Tommy on, he’d have Harry to deal with, and in cold blood not one of them could beat Harry in a fight. But when Harry lost his temper his blood boiled and he lost all sense. He’d come at you then like a bull at a gate. That was when he was vulnerable. It was then he could be beaten.

  Yes, it was Jeb and Harry Wood that needed careful watching now, but Caine had their measure. He stroked the deep scar that curved around from his left ear and disappeared into the whiskers, at the corner of his mouth, grinning to himself. If they were both threats, it was no bad thing. Keep them set against each other; keep them uncertain, fighting for favour. That was the way. Like people said; divide and rule. ‘Did you collect from Rickman at the Kingston Mills, Jeb?’ Caine asked. The room fell silent.

  Jeb looked uneasily towards him. ‘No, Nat. We went there but he still won’t pay and he got a bunch of his lads to see us off. If I’d had more men with me … ’ He broke off the sentence and spat on the floor. ‘There was just too many of them.’ The silence grew deeper.

  Caine knew they were waiting for him to react. ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘torch the warehouse tomorrow night. He’s got a thousand pounds worth of flour and wheat in there. Let’s see how he likes saving the few pounds he should have paid us, compared to what it’s going to cost him. Maybe it’ll learn a lesson to anyone else who’s thinking of being brave.’ They all laughed.

  It w
asn’t meant to be like this, Caine thought. His partner had told him how easy it would be in Bath, how there was more money to be made from selling protection to the factories and warehouses than from farmers. He had been right, but only in part. The gentlemen didn’t bend as fast as farmers. They thought the law was there to protect them. Maybe they’d bend better now when they saw what he could do, or perhaps he was overstepping himself? Only time would tell. Still it was easy enough making money out of the poor. He’d been right about that. Lending to those who couldn’t afford to borrow was a very profitable business.

  Caine looked at Harry Wood and then at Tommy again. A few years separated the brothers in age though they might still have been mistaken for twins. They were both tall and stocky in build and both had the same curly brown hair. Their features, too, were similar, though Tommy had a plump face whilst Harry’s face was thinner and slightly jaundiced. The real difference between them though was in their characters. Tommy was always cheerful and full of humour. Harry was given to brooding and much darker in his moods. He had been the head in their family since the day the man who called himself their father had run off to God knows where. Harry must have been about thirteen then, Caine thought. It had made him strong, but it had also given him a weakness. ‘He’s getting too bloody soft, that brother of yours, Harry,’ Caine shouted. ‘People won’t pay if he’s always smiling at them.’

  Harry looked up. ‘It’s just his nature. Don’t worry yourself; they’ll pay, while I’m with him. We balances each other out.’ He turned to his brother and winked.

  ‘This bain’t be something to laugh at,’ Caine spat back. ‘You’m getting behind with your collections Tommy.’

  Tommy winced. ‘I’ll back you up against anyone, and thieve for thee as good as the next, but it goes against the grain, taking from them who has nothing. I don’t like this lending business. You charge so much and then they can’t pay.’

  ‘If you don’t like it you can allers move on.’ Caine watched as Harry stood and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He wondered if this was the right time. He watched as Jeb put his cards on the table and reached slowly down towards the hilt of the knife that protruded from his boot. There was nothing Jeb would like better than to see the Wood brothers off.

  He sized up Harry Wood again, letting the silence grow. He didn’t need to take him on, not now. It was enough just to stir the pot a bit between Harry and Jeb, remind them who was boss. Caine smiled. ‘Settle down Harry. Just get the lad in order.’ He smiled at Tommy. ‘You’re a good lad, Tommy – just a bit too soft for your own good.’

  Tommy smiled back. ‘But I make you laugh don’t I Nat?’

  ‘Aye, you do that,’ Caine said.

  Harry smiled and sat. ‘Leave it to me, Nat. You know you can trust us.’

  Caine nodded discretely at Jeb, acknowledging his support. Jeb nodded back and smiled to himself as he picked up his cards again. Caine went back to his paper. He’d done all that he wanted and never once had to move from his chair.

  For a few minutes the room was quiet except for the sound of money being thrown into the pot, and his own occasional turning and folding of the paper. The piece about the drowning was the last thing he expected to see.

  Caine leapt to his feet without thinking and the room fell silent. ‘Bastard,’ he shouted, ‘that bastard Tom Hunt! It’s all in the paper about him and his brat drowning.’ He tore and ripped at the newspaper, before hurling the crumpled mass into the fire. ‘He’ll be more trouble dead than he was alive, if we don’t do something about it.’ Then as he watched Harry raking in his winnings Caine began planning his next move, and the one after that.

  Chapter 4

  As soon as she awoke, Belle was aware of the whispering voices on the other side of the room. It was obvious that Jenny was working hard at distracting Molly in an effort to keep her quiet. Belle kept her eyes closed for a moment, enjoying the quiet chatter of mother and daughter. For a moment she allowed herself to share in their enjoyment of being together, knowing how much she would miss them when she left. When, finally, their conversation was punctuated by Molly’s laughter and Jenny’s shushes, Belle stretched and sat up in bed. ‘You should have woken me.’

  As if in answer, Molly climbed down from her chair, ran across the room and threw herself onto the bed, wrapping her small arms around Belle’s neck; hugging her with all the strength that her three-year-old body could muster. ‘Big kiss for Belle,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t strangle your Aunt Belle,’ Jenny called to Molly. ‘Sorry, she’s wanted to wake you for ages, but you were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to disturb you. Besides it’s still early, and pitch black outside. There’s a mug of tea there on the chair beside you. It should still be warm.’

  Belle tickled Molly into a fit of giggles and then turned to Jenny. ‘It’s best I get this over with quickly. I wanted to tell you last night, but we were both tired and it seemed best left until the morning. I’m afraid I have some bad news.’

  Jenny looked up from her work. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I told you that the theatre was half empty last night and that I have no work today, and that I was short of money.’

  ‘And I told you that we’ll manage somehow.’

  ‘That’s not the worst of it,’ Belle said, preparing herself, watching the concern growing in Jenny’s expression. ‘Cauldfield’s starved me of work, these last two weeks or so, given me only minor parts to play. And he’s made it clear I was lucky to get even those.’ She hesitated. ‘I think I’m going to have to leave Bath. I’ve no money and he’s slowly killing any confidence I had.’

  ‘Come away, Molly,’ Jenny said. ‘Let Aunt Belle drink her tea in peace.’

  Belle dabbed at her eyes with a corner of the sheet and then put her arm around Molly’s shoulders. ‘No let her stay,’ she said. ‘Molly’s no bother, are you?’ She tickled her again and kissed her cheeks repeatedly, until Molly buried her head under the bedclothes.

  ‘You can’t leave,’ Jenny said. ‘You’re part of our family. You have been since the beginning. That first morning when you came to see the room above, it was no accident that I bumped into you on the stairs. I saw you from the window when you arrived and Molly and I both liked the look of you. We waited by the door for ages, waiting to hear you on the stairs, and we didn’t invite you in from the goodness of our hearts, though I wanted you to think so. I needed to see how Molly took to you, but I needn’t have worried. We both liked you from the start. Please don’t leave.’

  ‘You schemer, and there was me thinking it was coincidence.’ Belle smiled. ‘I don’t want to leave, but if I were to stay I’d just be a burden.’

  ‘You would never be a burden. We’ll manage somehow. Perhaps I could borrow a little more.’

  Belle shivered. ‘That’s what I mean. I knew that would be your first thought.’ She found herself picturing the two debt collectors who had called last Friday as she was leaving for the theatre; the one smiling and friendly, the other expressionless and cold. It had been the first she had known of Jenny’s debts. ‘Please promise me you won’t borrow from them again,’ Belle said.

  Jenny came over to the bed and retrieved Molly before walking over to the window and pulling the curtains to one side. ‘Look Molly, it’s a misty old day,’ she said, sitting her at the table. ‘Finish your milk now.’

  She returned and sat on the edge of the bed, her expression thoughtful; her smile somewhat distant. ‘They’re not so bad, the Wood brothers. I know Harry can be frightening, but Tommy’s always been a nice lad. He wouldn’t let Harry hurt us.’

  ‘But what if you can’t pay?’ Belle asked.

  ‘They’ve always let me borrow a little more in the past, if I haven’t had enough to pay them. Besides, I had no choice. There is no one else I can borrow from.’

  ‘But your debts keep growing, even when you pay,’ Belle said. ‘Promise me you won’t go to them again.’ She leant forward and put a hand on Jenny’s shoulder. ‘I
still have some things of my mother’s that I can sell, if the worse comes to the worst.’

  ‘It needn’t come to that,’ Jenny said, ‘and I won’t borrow more. If you can look after Molly, I’ll go to the shops in Milsom Street. I’ve finished three bonnets and I’ve been plucking up the courage to try to sell them.’ She smiled at Belle. ‘You’ve helped me so much.’

  ‘But I gave you no help in making the bonnets. I don’t have your skill with needle and thread.’

  ‘No, but you’ve taught me how to present myself and how to behave with others. You made me see that they’re no better than me, the ladies and the shop-keepers in Milsom Street. I’m not afraid of them any more, when they look down their noses at me. Perhaps, for once, I can help you a little, as you’ve helped me in the past. Just promise you’ll stay and I promise I won’t borrow.’

  ‘Very well,’ Belle said. ‘I’ll stay for a while longer.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  ‘You look dreadful James!’ Richard exclaimed, as soon as he had closed the drawing room door behind him. ‘Perhaps I should be visiting you as your doctor, rather than as your friend.’

  James gestured for him to sit. Richard Wetherby was every inch the successful doctor, decidedly smarter in appearance now than when they had first met. His wife, Charlotte, had seen to that of course. His fine black worsted jacket and waistcoat were well tailored. The sand brown trousers were of the same quality, braided with black silk. The ensemble went some way to disguise the fact that he had become noticeably thinner in recent months, but could not completely hide it.

  ‘It’s true, I do feel unwell, but it’s of my own doing,’ James replied, trying to shake some life back into his body.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Richard said, ‘but I see too many patients suffering from conditions that might have been avoided. I really have no wish to see you become one of them. I take it you were out again with Harcourt and his friends and that this is the outcome.’