‘I don’t much care for giving the money to the priest though,’ Charlie said, the disgust clear on his face.
‘Without the priest we’d get no help, and the three of us can’t take Caine on.’ There was a moment of distrust in Charlie’s eyes, John thought, as though they were playing a game of cat and mouse. ‘Is it just the money with you then?’ he asked.
‘Nat Caine and I go back a ways and I hate the man more than you can know, but the money’s worth having and would make the hurting of Caine a good deal tastier,’ Charlie replied. ‘But why have you got involved?’
‘I’ve got my reasons and it’s not all to do with money. That’s all you need to know.’ John studied his expression, waiting for a response, but none came. ‘The priest’s not like any other man of the cloth I’ve come across. Priest or not, he’s a real fighter.’
‘I’ve never liked Catholics and especially Irish Catholics, but you take your allies wherever they come from I suppose,’ Charlie replied.
‘We need help,’ John said. ‘And James and the priest can get that help. Be straight now, Charlie, are you with us, or do you want to go your own way.’
Charlie grinned and held his hand out and John shook it. ‘We both know where we stand now. I just needed to know we both think the same. Your reasons don’t matter to me. But I need to know as you can be trusted, and I’m sure on that now.’
John grinned at the old fox. ‘I’ve done some digging. There’s no shortage of people willing to talk about Caine and the Cockroad gang. I met this one called Jeb, with a ragged ear, who seemed to know his way around.’
‘I know Jeb,’ Charlie said, ‘he’s a nasty piece of the devil’s work.’
‘He’s got a runaway tongue though, and no love for Caine.’
‘Scum!’ Charlie said. ‘He’s no love for anyone but his self.’
‘He told me there’s a couple of escape routes in the house, just in case the peelers come visiting,’ John said.
Charlie nodded. ‘I saw the one, the walkway bridged from the second floor to the house down the road, but Caine has no real fear of the peelers. All the local ones are in his pay.’
John studied his face. It was as though Charlie knew everything about Caine and his den already. ‘Jeb told me there’s another one, a tunnel out of the cellar leading to the house next door.’
‘That’s worth knowing,’ Charlie replied. ‘The good thing about escape routes is that they also gives you a way in.’
‘Jeb reckons the place is as strong as any jail,’ John said. ‘But the good news is I think he can be bought. He may have been drunk, but it was as if he were drawing me on, looking for an ally against Caine. He’s a lonely man and it’s obvious why.’
‘It would be good to have someone on the inside, but I’d rather it weren’t Jeb,’ Charlie said. ‘He’d sell out his own mother for a shilling.’ He paused, deep in thought, and then said, ‘At the back of the house there’s a small tumbledown-looking outhouse. That’s another way in, but there’s allers two on guard there, because they do a lot of business at the back. It needs some thinking about and I…’
Charlie stopped talking as did most of the others in the crowded room. John was aware that for a moment the only sound in the room came from his own knife and fork. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘Shut up,’ Charlie whispered. ‘Nat Caine’s just come in with three of his men.’
‘Is Jeb with him?’ John asked.
‘I can’t see him,’ Charlie replied.
John turned and watched as Caine, smiling, made his way to the bar. He pushed his long, oily black hair back with the palm of his right hand as he walked, his small unblinking eyes surveying the room. A human corridor seemed to form through the crowd as though he was Moses parting the Red Sea, until a drunk, barely able to stand, backed into him.
Caine stopped and grabbed the man, his huge hand almost encircling his neck. ‘Take him outside and learn him to be respectful lads,’ Caine said, smiling. Two of the gang members took the man and led him, unresisting, out of the door. John hoped the alcohol would numb the drunk’s pain. No one moved to the man’s defence, nor spoke a word of resistance.
‘I hope you and the lads will take a drink on the house,’ the landlord said.
‘Fetch us a bottle of gin – the good stuff.’ The landlord poured four glasses. Caine grabbed the bottle before he could take it away and slammed it down on the counter. ‘Let’s hear some noise. This place is as quiet as a church.’
Gradually conversations resumed in an uneasy hum. John looked up. ‘Ignore them,’ Charlie said.
‘I want to be sure Jeb isn’t with them,’ John replied. ‘He’d recognise me.’
‘I’ll say if I see him,’ Charlie muttered under his breath.
John continued eating until he became aware of the shape looming beside him. ‘Who have we here then?’ Nat Caine said. ‘If it ain’t my old mate, Charlie Maggs.’
Charlie craned his neck to look up at Caine. ‘Hello, Nat,’ he said, ‘it’s been a long time.’
‘I ’erd as ’ow you was retired, Charlie? Then I heard the peelers had you for a job.’
‘That’s right, I am retired. Someone tried to get me some time in jail for that job. You know damn well it weren’t down to me.’
‘I wonder who’d do a thing like that,’ Caine said, smirking. ‘If you were ever to think of coming out of retirement, Charlie, I hope you know the new rules for stolen goods? Anything what gets taken in Bath gets offered first to Nat Caine, and if I don’t want to buy it, you pays me a commission anyways, that’s if you can find another fence in Bath. It’s quite simple, even for an old ‘un like you. And who’s this?’ he asked, pulling the shoulder fabric of John Doyle’s shirt. ‘Ain’t I seen you afore?’
John stared into Caine’s eyes. In his mind he relived the moment when he had rescued James. He fought the compulsion to stand and head-butt Caine again, as he had done that night. But instead he sat motionless, hoping that Caine had not seen him clearly enough then to recognise him now.
‘That’s my nephew, John,’ Charlie said, giving John no time to speak. ‘He’s arrived today to visit his old uncle.’
‘And does you steal things, John?’
‘Only the odd kiss,’ John replied in an affected tone that cloaked his anger and disguised the gruffness in his voice.
‘Don’t turn your backs on this one, lads,’ Nat shouted at the room in general.
Charlie slammed his fist down on the table. ‘Leave us in peace, Nat; we’re no trouble to you.’
‘I don’t suppose so, old man,’ Caine replied, ‘but keep your nose clean, Charlie, and out of my business.’ With that, Caine finished his drink and walked back to the bar.
John saw the cutlery trembling in Charlie’s hands. ‘I ain’t afraid, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ Charlie said. ‘I hate Caine. He took the only apprentice I ever trained on a job one night; only a young lad he were.’ He paused for a moment, lost in his memories. ‘The job went wrong and they got caught by the owner. Instead of running Caine stood his ground and there was a fight. The lad got knocked out and then Caine knifed the man. He killed him stone dead, and then he left the lad with the knife in his hand. The boy was hung before his nineteenth birthday, and his father’s never spoken to me again. I’ve not trained anyone since, not till James.’
‘I’ve no appetite,’ John said, pushing his plate aside. He looked up in time to see Caine and his cronies leave the inn. The sense of relief in the room was almost palpable. ‘I could do with a rum or a brandy. How about you,’ John asked, ‘what’s your tipple?’
‘I don’t take spirits!’ Charlie snapped.
John was taken aback at the strength of his response. ‘How’s that then?’ he asked.
‘Because they affect me bad,’ Charlie spat. ‘I’ve done some wrong things in the past and it’s usually when I’ve been drinking. I’ll have a beer sometimes, but nothing stronger. Anyways, you’d best go and see the priest
now, and help him decide on the men we need. You can’t trust a priest to choose the sort of men we’re looking for.’
‘I think you’re wrong, Charlie. I’m glad he’s on our side, priest or not. It’s time we started making life uncomfortable for Mr Caine.’
‘I’ll be off,’ Charlie said.
‘Tell James I’ll see him in three days time,’ John called to him as he made for the door. He watched him through the window as he disappeared into the crowd. Then he saw the man emerge from the doorway opposite the tavern and set off in the same direction. He looked as though he might be following Charlie. John made for the door, but by the time he had pushed his way through the crowded tavern and got out into the street, both men were out of sight. He set off following the path that Charlie might have taken, but neither man was anywhere to be seen.
Chapter 25
While she was walking to the house, Belle tried to rehearse their meeting in her mind, what she would say, how he might respond. It left her feeling awkward and she resolved to keep their meeting short and businesslike. She tried to convince herself that she was visiting James to thank him for the money, and to see how he was recovering from his injuries, but she knew there was more to it than that. She liked him and she knew she had to warn him, before it was too late.
Mrs Hawker smiled when she opened the door, ‘Miss Bennett, please come in.’ Belle thought she seemed somehow different, more at ease, perhaps it was Charlie’s influence. The old rogue was obviously smitten by her. He’d spoken about little else as he had accompanied her on her last visit to the house.
As Mrs Hawker took her hat and coat Belle fought the urge to grin and turned it into a smile. ‘Is Mr Daunton at home?’ she asked.
‘I’ll call him now,’ Mrs Hawker said. But Belle was already conscious that he was watching them, tentatively peering around the wall at the top of the stairs, like a schoolboy spying on his elders. When he saw that she had seen him he smiled and ran down the flight of stairs taking the steps in twos, until he stood in front of her, looking slightly flustered.
‘Miss Bennett,’ he said. ‘How wonderful to see you.’ She smiled in response. He seemed to be staring at her mouth. She ran her tongue self-consciously over her teeth and took out her lace handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of her lips as delicately as possible, lest there were some smudge or mark on her face.
‘Mr Daunton,’ she said. ‘You are staring at me. Is there something amiss?’
‘My apologies,’ he stuttered. ‘I simply had not noticed the whiteness of your teeth before.’
‘Thank you.’ Belle laughed. ‘I will take that as a compliment, although no one has ever complimented me on my teeth before. I feel a little like a horse.’ She put the handkerchief away with a sense of relief. ‘I thought I would call, and see if you were recovered and if you needed anything.’
He looked flustered. ‘You are very kind. As you can see, my arm is now free of the sling and troubles me less. As for needing anything, I need only to be free of these walls, but in the absence of freedom your company is very welcome.’
‘I am glad that you value my visit so highly,’ she said, unable to resist the urge to grin. ‘I’m sure there are prisons far less comfortable than this.’
He looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I put that badly, I should of course be more gracious and grateful for what I have. But you too were recovering from injuries, as I recall, when we last met?’
There was a question in his voice that she instinctively avoided. ‘I am quite recovered now,’ she said.
He showed her into the morning room. ‘I am so glad of your company. Please take a seat and let us talk.’
She smiled again as she sat. ‘I think you are glad of anyone’s company, whether it is mine or someone else’s would make little difference, Mr Daunton.’
‘You are wrong; it is your particular company I am glad of. But I think by now you should call me James. We may never have been formally introduced, yet you have seen me without my shirt and I have lain in your lap, conscious or not. But I feel I know so little of you.’
Belle began to feel embarrassed and hoped that it didn’t show in her complexion. ‘You know I am an actress, what more can I tell you?’ she asked.
‘What of your people?’ James asked. ‘Where are they from?’
‘My people, as you call them, were both actors who travelled around the country where the work took them. Both my mother and father died within a few months of each other, some years ago. I miss them very much.’ She felt the emotion rising, sharper than she had expected. She looked down at her hands, and then up again towards his face. He seemed more vulnerable, less sure of himself, or was she seeing what she wanted to see.
‘I’m sorry,’ James replied. ‘It is obvious that you still feel their loss keenly.’ He looked into her eyes for a moment and then turned away. ‘My parents too are dead. My mother died when I was too young to remember her and my father several years ago. I lived in Ireland then.’
His words made her want to lower her guard a little and his expression made her want to understand him better. ‘It must be a great sadness to you to have lost your mother when you were so young,’ she said. ‘My own mother died when I was sixteen, little more than a year after my father. Their love gave me so much strength, but I wish I could hear them now, telling me that they are proud of what I have achieved, and what I am trying to do with my life. I would give anything to have them still here.’ The sudden strength of her feelings almost made her cry and she tried to compose herself.
He smiled, and it felt warm, and open, and understanding. ‘It must have been very difficult for you, and to have to bear the loss, and to go on alone, and at such a young age. Perhaps it is easier to bear the loss of someone hardly remembered, though for me, growing up, it never felt so.’ He hesitated. ‘As to my father, I sometimes feel I have let him down in not living up to his expectations.’
‘Perhaps they are your own expectations,’ Belle replied. ‘I’m sure that your father wanted only for you to be happy.’
‘Perhaps so,’ James replied. ‘And I am fortunate I suppose, in that I still have a brother, and I have good friends.’
‘Like Harcourt,’ she blurted. The words were out of her mouth before she had had time to think.
He looked taken aback. ‘Him and others,’ he said. ‘But please do not judge me by the hurt that he has obviously caused you.’
She tried to go back. To pretend she had never mentioned Harcourt. ‘I have no brothers or sisters, and though I have many acquaintances, I count few as friends, other than Jenny and Molly.’ She found herself telling him about them; about Molly’s illness and Jenny’s courage in bringing her up alone, and her struggles and ambitions and all the small things in their lives. He listened, nodding here and there, and smiling, or mirroring her concern. If he was uninterested then he did not show it, but when she stopped speaking, he said nothing, as though lost for words. Belle felt self-conscious again in the silence; awkward and compelled to fill the quiet. ‘I have had some good news of late,’ she said. ‘I am to play Lady Macbeth opposite Mr Macready.’ She had blurted it out so inappropriately. He must think her a selfish, empty-headed fool, but his smile seemed responsive and genuine.
‘He should be honoured to act opposite you,’ he said, taking her hand and kissing it. ‘But I hope he will not take you from Bath.’
Instinctively she went to pull away her hand, but left it still and he took it lightly between long fingers. His touch felt warm, his hands gentle. She wanted to look down, to see her hand in his, but feared he might let go. ‘Don’t make assumptions about me, because I am an actress, Mr Daunton,’ she said. The words came out too roughly, too dismissive, she thought.
‘I make none,’ he said, keeping hold of her hand, ‘whether about you as an actress, or as a woman.’ His smile was warm and reassuring.
‘If events had not brought us together you would barely have noticed my existence, Mr Daunton.’
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‘That’s not true,’ he replied. For a moment his words seemed to drain away, as if other thoughts had intervened. ‘I remember our first meeting in The Garrick’s Head as though it were yesterday. I am still uncertain whether it was your spirit or your beauty that dazzled me greater.’
Belle felt herself blushing and looked away. ‘A woman can achieve a great deal with powder and paint,’ she said.
‘And yet, unless I am mistaken, you wear neither today, and are even lovelier.’ He paused. ‘But I see that I embarrass you. Tell me, why did you become an actress?’
She felt pressured for a moment, unsure of herself. ‘Acting is all I’ve ever known and all I want to know, as far as occupation.’
‘I could never be an actor,’ James replied. ‘Playing all those parts, I should forget who I really was.’
‘I could never be content to be only who I am, or who the world tells me I should be,’ Belle replied. She felt she needed to understand him more; to find out why he was so close to Harcourt. ‘But who then is James Daunton?’ she asked. ‘For we all play parts, do we not?’
He looked taken aback as though he had never needed to question who he was. ‘I am a gentleman and a solicitor; reasonably well educated and now in better health again, though a little in fear of my life,’ he replied.
She hesitated; he looked a little embarrassed, she thought, yet she could not hold back. ‘I think there is truth in what Shakespeare said, that “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” It is the parts we choose to play from day to day that make us who we are.’
‘I agree,’ he said, ‘but sometimes we are not free to choose.’
‘How can you say that when you have enjoyed every advantage in life,’ she interrupted. ‘You did not have to choose Harcourt as a friend and take your pleasures, like him, from those who have none of your advantages.’
‘That is unfair,’ James spluttered. ‘I believe I am basically a good man and loyal to my friends. I do not wish harm to anyone and neither do I seek to exploit others.’
Avon Street Page 23
