‘Master James has some friends that make me uneasy, and I really fear for him sometimes. You are needed here and there aren’t many I would say that to. Besides I’ll sleep better with another man in the house,’ Mrs Hawker said.
The feeling that this was somehow where he was meant to be had already begun to take root. ‘But what would I do if I stayed?’ John asked.
‘I can speak to Master James and get him to offer you a position. I’ll explain to him that I need help about the place, which in truth I could do with. It’d raise his standing too, to have a manservant about the place, not that he cares much for such things. But of course it’s Master James that must make the decision.’
He studied her smile. Her words said she was only the housekeeper, but her expression told another story. ‘Can you truly see me playing the manservant?’
‘No, but I can see you as a friend who knows his way about. It may be a while before Master James can pay you proper wages, but you’ll eat well and have a comfortable roof over your head. And it would give you time to find your bearings.’
He found the idea suiting him: not the job, but the fact that he could afford to stay in Bath and finish what he had started. ‘You’d make a good recruiter for the navy Mrs Hawker and there’s no doubting that this would be a good berth.’
Mrs Hawker looked him straight in the eyes, as if readying herself for the final act of persuasion. ‘I had to persuade the housekeeper and the maid to leave, because I knew money was short. But I’m not as young as I was, and I find it difficult coping with the heavier work on my own.’ She smiled, a warm and persuasive smile, which John felt sure she was capable of producing at the drop of a hat.
‘I could maybe stay a while, but not too long or I’ll grow fat on your food,’ John replied.
‘Good, it’s settled then. I’ll make up a plate of herrings and heat some vegetable mash. You butter some bread and then I’ll speak to master James while you eat.’ She waited for a while before adding, almost as an afterthought, ‘I have a footman’s uniform about the place, from the early days, when we were better set up, and Master James ran a proper household. He was much the same build as yourself, as I recall. I can alter his old uniform to fit you this very afternoon.’
‘Hold your horses,’ John interrupted. ‘I said I didn’t mind the thought of helping with chores and such, but I didn’t agree to no flunkey’s rig.’
‘Don’t you worry,’ Mrs Hawker said. ‘Master James doesn’t entertain very often, but it would raise his standing to have a manservant about the place, and it may put off some of these tradesmen that keep hounding him for money.’ She looked him up and down, as though already measuring him for the uniform. ‘And besides, you’d look very smart. I’ll have a word with him while you finish your food. Then I’ll put some water to boil, and you can drag the bath into your room and fill it up.’
‘But I’m not wearing some servant’s outfit,’ he spluttered.
‘Tidy yourself, and at least allow me the pleasure of doing the alterations. Let me think that we’re a fine house again, with a footman. Then it’ll be ready, just in case you change your mind. You’ll probably never need to wear it – at least not often. It’s up to you of course.’
John hardly believed it when he found himself smiling and nodding his agreement.
❖ ❖ ❖
Mrs Hawker brought a tray of food to James in the drawing room and smiled at him as she placed it on the occasional table. Her expression was almost girlish and James found himself suddenly remembering the stories she had told him as a boy. He smiled at her. ‘Do you remember the stories you told me about my mother and yourself, when you were young girls? How you would play together in the nursery when your work was done and you’d both make believe that my mother was the maid and you were the lady of the house.’
‘She was a rare lady, your mother,’ Mrs Hawker replied, smiling. ‘I loved her as though she was my sister.’
‘I used to make believe that it was my mother who had told me the stories.’
‘And so she would have, had she lived,’ Mrs Hawker replied. ‘I have a favour to ask.’
When Mrs Hawker asked him to take John on as a manservant, he demurred at first, knowing he had no money to pay him. But for once she seemed insistent, and he understood all too well, even without her arguments, that the household duties were too much for her to cope with. He had tried to persuade her in the past that they should replace the maid who had left so suddenly, but she would have none of it. Yet now she seemed positively eager to take on John. The notion of having another man about the house seemed somehow to be important to her peace of mind, though she seemed reluctant to be specific as to why.
Eventually he gave in and agreed to employ John, at least for a little while. He decided that he would sell the silver candlesticks and a few other items of value he had around the house, though the thought pained him. But at least it would tide them over until he began earning more. Perhaps Richard might also help if he could convince him that he had changed his ways.
When she had gone, he picked at the food for a while before laying it aside half eaten. It was a welcome relief when Father Brennan arrived a little while later, though it was clear to James that he too was agitated when he met him at the front door. Sean seized James’ arm and led him back into the study as though he were the man of the house and James the visitor.
‘Sit down, James,’ he said, closing the door behind them. ‘I have some bad news. A few of the men of the parish came to me in the late morning with rumours that they heard around Avon Street. There was a fight last night and a man died. He was a member of Caine’s gang, and they say Caine is looking for the man responsible.’ Sean hesitated. ‘The name they heard was yours, James.’
James felt waves of nausea sweeping through his body. ‘He’s dead … the man’s dead,’ he said. He found himself reliving the sword thrust over and over again, feeling the impact of the blade, seeing the man fall. He knew he had to say something. He struggled for the right words as though if he chose well they might anchor him in reality. ‘Yes, I was involved in a fight, but it was more of a skirmish,’ James said. ‘I didn’t know he would die. It was self-defence.’
‘It’s all my fault,’ Sean said. ‘When we went to the boarding house Nat Caine obviously got word that you were my friend. He attacked you, I think, to warn me off.’
‘We cannot know that,’ James said. ‘They may have just been trying to rob me … But how could he die? It was only a thin blade. I’ve never as much as hit anyone since I was a boy. How can I have killed him? Who was he?’
‘He was a lad of about seventeen years by the name of Tommy Wood. From what I hear he was very popular, given the fact that he was a member of the Cockroad gang. He leaves a mother and a brother.’ Father Brennan paused. ‘Would you like me to hear your confession?’
‘But I never meant to kill someone.’
‘We cannot change the past. If you are truly sorry you will be forgiven.’
‘I’m sorry he died, but if I was in that position again I cannot say that I would not do the same again. I was fighting for my life. I didn’t know he would die. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I should have aimed for his leg, but I didn’t aim at all. I just ran.’
‘We have to live with the results of our actions,’ Sean said. ‘The man I punched at that lodging house could have fallen and hit his head on the ground and died and I too would have been a murderer. You chose to take up the sword and now you may find it difficult to put down again. All of our actions have consequences.’
‘I will have to live with what I have done,’ James said.
‘And I,’ Sean said. ‘If I had turned the other cheek to Caine, none of this would have happened. We cannot always predict the consequences of our actions, nor even be aware of them all. Throw a stone in a pool and the ripples reach out. I bear guilt for this with you.’
‘I must make amends,’ James said. ‘I must answer to the law.’
; ‘There is no making amends with Caine’s gang and the law will not be involved. Tommy Wood’s body has already been smuggled out of the city and will be buried in Cockroad. These men are their own law and will seek their own retribution. You are in danger, James. I think you should leave Bath and send Mrs Hawker away, for if they cannot hurt you they will hurt those closest to you.’
‘Should I go to the police?’ James asked.
‘And say what; that you have murdered someone? The peelers would arrest you and Caine’s gang would either get to you in prison or wait for your release; besides, some of the peelers are already in the pay of the gang. These men control Avon Street. Their reputation isn’t lightly earned.’
‘Are you saying I should simply run away? How can I stay in hiding when my life is here? I couldn’t hide forever.’
‘You cannot fight these men, James,’ Sean said. ‘Run while you can. You’ll be safe in Ireland with your brother.’
‘We have the same enemy now, Sean. If you will not run, then why should I?’
‘Think about it carefully, James. Don’t make any rash decisions.’
‘You’re right, I need time to think,’ James said. ‘Perhaps I should go to Ireland … but it seems wrong.’
‘You could help your brother, if you went to Ireland,’ Sean interrupted, ‘and you would be safe there.’
‘My brother has problems enough without having to care for a coward. Whatever comes I have to face it,’ James said. ‘You above anyone should understand. Thank you Sean for coming and telling me this, but could you go now. I must think. I don’t fully understand yet what to do. You must keep this news to yourself.’
❖ ❖ ❖
When Sean left, James went up to his room and retrieved the sword-stick from under his bed. He drew the sword from its cane scabbard and plunged it into the water-jug, watching the patches of brown residue that clung to the blade melt into scarlet clouds, swirling and eddying in the water, growing ever paler and indistinct. He ran his fingers over the blade, removing every trace of blood and then washed his hands, over and over again.
When he was finished he took the jug into the hallway and poured its contents out of the back window. Then he returned the sword to its scabbard and sat on the corner of the bed. He felt suddenly very old, like an empty shell, uncertain of who he was, and who he had ever been. There was no way of undoing what he had done, no making amends, no way of wiping it from his memory. Sean had asked him to confess, to ask for forgiveness, but he knew there could be no forgiveness.
When he felt the first sob take root and grow, shaking his body from deep within, he did nothing to suppress it. But when he felt the howl of pain begin forming in his throat, he buried his face in his hands and held the sound within, until it became part of him.
Chapter 15
Caine watched as Harry Wood took another long drink from the bottle of brandy, before picking up the pistol and taking aim. ‘Leave off drinking,’ Caine said. ‘You’ll need all your wits about you.’
‘I could drink the whole bottle and not feel it,’ Harry replied. ‘When you’ve got this much hate burning inside, there’s no liquor that can touch you.’
‘Do you understand everything?’ Caine asked. ‘Do you want me to go through it again?’ Harry’s mood scared him; it was as though he no longer cared if he was caught. All that seemed to matter to him now was killing Daunton.
Harry fingered the trigger of the gun and smiled. ‘No, I know it well enough. But it still seems too quick. I’d have liked Daunton to die slow, like Tommy did, and I’d have watched him squirm and feel the pain.’
‘Dead’s dead,’ Caine spat back. ‘If you do it like we said, you’ll see his face and he’ll know he’s going to die. That’s an end to it. You don’t want to feel the rope around your neck, do you?’
‘The rope doesn’t scare me,’ Harry said. ‘He’s took Tommy. That’s all that matters.’
‘No,’ Caine said. ‘What matters is that Daunton dies, and no one comes after you. That’s what Tommy would have wanted.’
❖ ❖ ❖
Molly was drowsing now, so tired that even her repeated bouts of dry coughing did not disturb her. Belle had agreed with Jenny that they take it in turns that night sleeping, so that one of them would always be awake should Molly need anything. But despite her agreement Jenny kept pacing around the room, rushing back to the bedside at Molly’s slightest cough. Belle sensed all too clearly that Jenny was ready to drop with nervous exhaustion.
‘Bring your chair next to mine, Jenny, and rest,’ she said. ‘This pacing is only tiring you out.’ Jenny must have been too tired to argue and did as she was told as though part of her welcomed the permission to rest. She brought the chair around the bed and sat as Belle took her hands in hers. ‘Did the doctor say how Molly got the croup?’
‘I didn’t like to say, but when I told him she had lately been running around in the park, he told me that might be the cause.’
Belle was startled. ‘How could good fresh air and exercise cause the croup?’
‘He said that little girls are more delicate than boys, and should avoid too much sporting exercise.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Belle said, ‘I’m not used to children and she was enjoying herself so much. You said how well she looked when she came back from the park. I’ll never forgive myself if this is my fault.’
‘I know you would do nothing to hurt Molly,’ Jenny replied.
‘How did you pay for the doctor and the medicines?’ Belle asked. ‘I will give you all that I have.’
‘It took all that I had,’ Jenny said, ‘but the doctor would not come out until he was paid. I will have to borrow a little more … and please don’t scold me, needs must where the devil drives. I will go to Caine’s house as soon as I am able.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Belle said, ‘but you could hardly cope with what they were demanding before. How will we manage if you borrow more?’ One look at Jenny’s face was enough to show Belle that she had neither the will nor the energy to argue. ‘Put your head down on the bed for a while,’ she said. ‘I’ll watch Molly.’
‘Promise to wake me if I fall asleep,’ Jenny said.
Within minutes Jenny was asleep, and Belle did not wake her. Instead she picked up her coat from the floor and draped it over Jenny’s shoulders and then went to the other side of the bed to lie next to Molly. Though she dozed fitfully she never slept so deeply that Molly’s slightest cough did not wake her. But then Molly began vomiting again, and Jenny woke, and thereafter they took it in turns to care for her.
When morning came, Molly took a drink of water though Belle could not tell if the little girl was awake, or asleep, or somewhere between. ‘Shall I mix some more ipecac?’ she asked.
‘She should have some more,’ Jenny said, taking hold of the girl’s hand, ‘yet she’s so weak. I can’t believe that there is any more infection left in her body to vomit out.’
‘Go down to the kitchen now, Jenny,’ Belle said, ‘and have something to eat. I will care for Molly.
‘I cannot leave her,’ she replied.
‘Then you will grow weak and unable to care for her properly. At least go for a walk. When you return you’ll be more refreshed.’
‘What of you?’ Jenny asked.
‘When you return I’ll eat and wash and take some air. Now do as I say and leave Molly to me for a while. We’ll leave off the medicine for a while.’
Belle took Molly in her arms. She felt so small and vulnerable and Belle felt powerless to help her. She found herself yearning for her father’s strength, so practical and calm when times were bad. He had been trained by his father as a carpenter, and when he could not find acting work, he took up the trade again to put food on the table. He might have done better as a carpenter than an actor, she thought, smiling to herself.
She pictured him standing over her when she was Molly’s age, shaking his clothing; felt for a moment the sawdust and wood-shavings falling like dry, fragrant snow onto h
er head. She swept her hair back with her free hand and listened as if to hear her mother pretending to scold him, listening to the laughter in her words. They had both understood how much he loved the stage and how he hated every moment he was parted from it, yet he never complained; took whatever life threw at him with a broad back.
Belle had been bathing Molly’s forehead for only a few seconds when Jenny returned. ‘I found this pushed under the front door,’ she said, passing the note to Belle and taking Molly from her arms. ‘It has your name on it.’
Belle recognised the handwriting immediately. She broke the seal and read the letter. ‘Go and eat now, Jenny,’ she said, refolding the note. ‘I have to go out later.’
❖ ❖ ❖
When James came down to the drawing room that morning his mind was still haunted. He had slept badly, and each succeeding nightmare had been filled with death, and fruitless flights of escape ending inevitably in capture. The house was still, but he knew Mrs Hawker would have been busy about her work for some time by now. He felt scared, as though his dreams had crept into the day, yet he was clearer in his thinking now, strengthened by an understanding of what needed to be done. There were others to think about now.
James listened when the kitchen door slammed and prepared himself as he heard the familiar sound of crockery rattling on a tray as Mrs Hawker made her way up the bottom stairs. She must not see his feelings. He waited as she stopped in the hallway, put the tray on the hall table and then knocked before opening the door of the study. She gave him a note and then returned to the hallway for the tray. As he opened it, Frank Harcourt’s visiting card fell onto his lap. ‘When did the message arrive?’
‘About an hour ago,’ Mrs Hawker said. ‘The messenger said no reply was expected, so I left you sleeping.’
He read the note. “Have booked a table for lunch. Will call for you at eleven. Regards, Frank.”
Mrs Hawker placed the tray with a plate of bacon, eggs, toast and a pot of tea on the table beside his armchair. Then she threw the curtains wide. ‘Mrs Hawker,’ James said, rubbing the life back into his face, ‘I’ve been thinking a great deal and you have to trust the conclusions I have reached. You must do what I ask, just for this one time and without question. I want you to pack a bag immediately and go this morning to stay at Richard’s house, overnight.’ He paused for a moment, watching her reaction, but resumed before she had a chance to speak. ‘We may be going back to Ireland for a visit, though I am not yet decided when. In the meantime you must not return to this house until I have said so.’
Avon Street Page 13
