Avon Street

by Paul Emanuelli

  ‘Then why did that man try to kill you?’ Belle asked. ‘Who was he?’

  For a while James was silent, avoiding her eyes. Then he began to speak and the story seeped from him, his tone sombre and confessional. At times he looked at her as though seeking some sign of understanding, at others he looked away as if fearing her judgement. When he told her that the man later died, she saw no triumph in his expression, but only a deep regret and sorrow. She let the silence linger for a while when he stopped speaking. She wanted to say that she understood and forgave, but it was not forgiveness that he was seeking, for it was clear that no one could forgive him, but himself. Eventually she said the first words that came to her, ‘Harcourt changes everyone around him.’

  ‘I thought he was a good friend,’ James replied. ‘But now I see him differently.’

  Belle considered her response carefully. ‘After I slapped him that night when we were in The Garrick’s Head, he took to coming to the theatre with the sole purpose of unnerving me. He was very successful in achieving that purpose, but it appears that it was not enough to satisfy his spite. When I was beaten, he was also there, watching. I believe it was he who arranged the beating, as a punishment and a warning, for embarrassing him in front of his friends.’ She saw the shock on his face. She wanted to tell him everything, but held back, still unsure.

  ‘Are you certain it was him?’ he asked.

  She felt the tears coming to her eyes, but held them back, as she removed her hand from his. ‘Look at this,’ she said, passing the well creased piece of paper to him. ‘Open it.’

  ‘This is in Frank’s handwriting,’ he replied.

  ‘Read it.’

  James read the note aloud, his face uncertain and questioning. ‘Be in Queen Square at 11:00 this morning. Watch and learn.’

  ‘He left that note for me the morning you were shot. Do you think it a coincidence?’ she asked. ‘He has turned me into someone afraid of shadows and he has led you nearly to your own death.’ She wanted to explain more, but her sense of shame strangled her words and she held back.

  He too sat wordless for a while, as though taking in what she had said. When he did speak, his words were cold and considered. ‘I will make sure that he suffers for what he has done.’

  ‘I believe you,’ Belle replied. She could see the hurt of betrayal in his eyes. ‘But you must not put your life at risk, he is a dangerous man.’ She felt guilty, as though she had now pushed him towards actions that might endanger him, and yet she knew she had to make him aware.

  ‘I thought Harcourt was a friend,’ James said, standing and walking over to the fireplace. ‘I’d seen him use others, seen the coldness in him at times, but I believed we had a true friendship.’ He paused and for a while Belle thought he had almost forgotten that she was in the room. ‘I can see now that Harcourt tried to drive away any true friends I had, but what did he want from me?’ he asked. ‘Richard told me that he was a blackmailer, that he held letters from a woman and was extorting money from her. I passed it off, as though it were nothing, refusing to think him capable of such a thing. Now I understand how much hurt Harcourt must have caused that woman, while I did nothing.’

  Belle wanted to tell him all that she knew about Harcourt, but again her shame kept her silent. The sadness was clear in his face when he sat down again. She wanted to comfort him, to take him in her arms, to explain how Harcourt had used her too, but she didn’t trust herself to speak. She could not let Harcourt’s ghost destroy the feelings that she had for James. In time perhaps, he might accept it better, but not now, not yet. ‘I must go,’ she said. She passed him the card. ‘Dr Wetherby and Charlie know where I live, but I have written the address down for you, should you need to contact me. Send for me if I can help,’ she said, putting on her bonnet and gloves.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  The echoes of their conversation still haunted the morning room after Belle had left. The room now felt cold and empty; the house even more like a prison. He longed to open the front door, to walk beside her and enjoy the crisp winter’s day. Instead he wandered between lifeless rooms, breathing listless air, and inventing meaningless duties to occupy himself, all the time brooding over what she had told him.

  Back in the morning room he could still catch a hint of her perfume in the air. He stared at the card she had given him, as though he could know her better simply by reading it over and over again. She had been little more than an acquaintance, yet she had helped and encouraged him; even put her own life in danger for all he knew. He wondered what lay between her and Harcourt; how close had they been and what had come between them? He refused to let the idea of Belle and Harcourt together take root in his mind.

  As he rejected the thought he felt himself smiling, remembering his foolishness. He had actually complimented her on her teeth, as though she was a horse, and said nothing to contradict the impression. All he had been thinking of was the delicious curve of her mouth as she smiled, the soft pinkness of her lips, but he couldn’t have told her that. He sat down, trying to remember the things she had said and searching for different meanings in the words she had used. There was so much he had wanted to say, so much he wished he had said differently.

  It had been so difficult to confess to her what he had done, and yet the truth had spilled out in a torrent of words, like flood-waters he had been unable to hold back. She had seemed to understand and her face had shown nothing but compassion, yet he knew she must think less of him – how could she not? Yet more than anyone he needed her to understand that he was not who she might think he was, that his actions had been so much against his nature.

  And each time he pictured Belle now, he saw Frank beside her. He imagined her lying beaten on the ground and Frank mocking her. He thought of the note and how Frank had lured him into the ambush. It was obvious that he had set him up to be killed. He saw pictures in his mind of Frank’s grinning face, but the smile was a sneer. Richard had warned him time and again about the man, and he had ignored all the warnings. His mood grew darker as his mind filled with thoughts of revenge. Yet he knew if he was too hasty, he would put everyone at risk.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  When Belle returned to their room in Bridewell Lane there was no sign of Jenny and Molly. Almost without thinking, she crossed to the trunk to check that the money Charlie had given them was still safe. Some of it disappeared a couple of days ago, and now, lifting the clothes she had hidden it beneath, she saw that more was gone. She was about to count what remained when the door flew open and Jenny and Molly came into the room. Jenny’s arms were full of parcels. Belle replaced the clothes quickly and slammed the lid of the trunk down.

  ‘You’ve seen I took the money then?’ Jenny asked. Molly ran and hid behind the curtains.

  ‘I told you it was ours to share,’ Belle said. ‘I don’t care that you took it.’ She tried to hide her disappointment. ‘It’s just that I was looking forward to us planning how to spend it and perhaps going shopping together.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jenny said. ‘I wanted to pay my debts off as soon as I could and now it’s done. No more debt collectors. My slate is clean and I shall keep it so!’

  ‘I am pleased,’ Belle said. ‘That’s the best use for the money, but I didn’t realise you were so much in debt.’

  Jenny smiled though it seemed to hold a hint of sadness. ‘We wanted to buy something else, didn’t we, Molly?’ she said, as she laid the parcels on the bed and took another from under it. Molly ran from her hiding place and jumped onto the bed. Jenny pointed, and Molly picked up one of the parcels and took it to Belle.

  ‘It’s a pretty dress,’ Molly said, handing it to Belle.

  ‘And it’s for you,’ Jenny said.

  Belle unwrapped the parcel. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said, holding the skirt to her waist and whirling around the room. ‘And such a lovely shade of blue.’

  ‘I ordered the material days ago,’ Jenny said, ‘it was exactly the colour I had in mind for you. I had my
friend make the skirt while I worked on the bodice. We had to work in her room so you wouldn’t suspect anything. And Molly was a good girl and kept our secret, didn’t you, Molly?’ she said.

  Molly grabbed another parcel and began jumping on the bed, giggling.

  ‘Can I see the bodice?’ Belle asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ Jenny said. ‘It needs some finishing touches; some beadwork and ribbon or lace around the cuffs and neckline, I haven’t decided yet, and I think I could improve the skirt a little. We will be busy while you are at work, won’t we, Molly?’ Jenny walked around the room, taking down a sketch here and there and laying them out on the table. ‘Which look do you prefer?’ she asked.

  Belle looked at them all and pointed. ‘This one,’ she said. ‘It’s so elegant, but not too fussy.’

  ‘Then that one it shall be,’ Jenny said. ‘I’ve some things in my bottom drawer and I must confess I’ve bought a little bit of lace and some turquoise and jet beads that will be perfect.’

  Belle put the skirt over the back of the chair and hugged Jenny. ‘I don’t deserve a friend as true as you,’ she said, and then added, ‘so we shall see no more of that awful Jeb.’

  The sadness seemed to return to Jenny’s face. ‘I found Harry Wood at Caine’s house. He told me exactly what I owed, and I paid him the full amount. Harry said he would make sure that Jeb never called again, said his brother would have wanted it so.’

  ‘Was his brother not with him?’ Belle asked, dreading what the answer would be. She felt suddenly cold, remembering what James had said.

  Jenny looked for a moment as though she was about to cry. ‘He told me his brother had died, but would say no more.’

  ‘I know you liked Tommy,’ Belle said. The truth screamed out to be told, yet she held back. She had never lied to Jenny, rarely held back the truth, yet she could not bear to tell her what she knew – not yet.

  ‘I did like him,’ Jenny said. She produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Perhaps I had not realised how much, until now … I shall miss him.’

  ‘You need some time alone,’ Belle said. ‘I’ll take Molly for a walk and we will talk later. Nothing must ever come between us!’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Jenny replied, ‘as if anything could.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  ‘I thought Charlie might have been followed when he left me, but I wasn’t sure,’ John said, the moment he entered the morning room. ‘I got Sean to send word to you to be careful.’

  ‘You were right,’ James replied, ‘but Charlie’s not a man to be underestimated. He knew they would try to find where he lived. He told me that he led his follower around town for a while and then lost him in Milsom Street.’

  ‘So we’re safe?’ John asked.

  ‘Not as safe as I would like,’ James replied. ‘It would be easy enough for Caine to track Charlie down if he needed to. He’s too well known and Caine knows the same people. We must hope that his mind is on other things for the moment. He has no reason to suspect that Charlie and I have any bond, as far as I know.’

  John placed the parcel he had been holding onto the floor in front of him with a resounding thud. ‘Before I open this,’ he said, ‘I need to tell you what I have been doing for the last few days. I met up with Father Sean, in Orchard Street.’

  ‘Did he find men willing to help us?’ James asked.

  ‘He could probably have found sixty at the pay he is going to give them, but he was very selective. He approached only those who he knew would be willing and who he felt could be trusted. In the end we were left with five.’

  ‘Are they good recruits?’ James asked, his mood shifting, his confidence increasing.

  ‘Well, four of them are big lads, handy with their fists and pretty smart too. We did what you said. Over the last three days we’ve robbed three of Caine’s men. Was that enough?’

  ‘It’s good; three is enough. It will leave Caine looking over his shoulder, wondering who is opposing him. Was anyone hurt?’

  ‘Caine’s men got a few bruises, but nothing they won’t recover from.’

  ‘And no one was seen?’ James asked.

  ‘No one,’ John replied. ‘We didn’t take much from them though’

  ‘It’s not money we are seeking,’ James replied.

  ‘I’ve told the lads to lay low for a while now,’ John said. ‘Brendan and Patrick are staying in Bath, so they can keep an eye on Caine. Diarmuid is going to take lodgings in The Blue Bowl in Hanham and see if he can’t find out something about the Cockroad gang nearer to their home.’

  ‘What about the others you recruited?’

  ‘Well there’s Billy,’ John said with a grin. ‘He can out-talk any Irishman I’ve ever met, which is saying a lot for a man born in England. He claims Ireland is where he should rightfully have been born, seeing as he loves the place so much and since he’s married to a Kerry woman; says all he wants is enough money to live there. He’s the smallest of the lot, but he’s a terrier, just won’t back down for anyone, and he knows his way around.’

  ‘What does Sean think of him?’ James asked.

  ‘He was reluctant to take him at first. He thought he was a little impulsive and unpredictable, but Billy talked his way in. He could convince the Pope that he was Episcopalian, that one.’

  ‘You’re obviously very taken with him,’ James said.

  ‘He’s a good lad and so is Tom, though he’s the exact opposite of Billy. He’s as quiet as a church mouse, but everyone says he has a way with horses that’s uncanny, and he can drive anything on wheels whether it’s pulled by a single horse or a team of six. It’s a skill we thought was worth having.’

  ‘Will five men be enough?’ James asked.

  ‘Probably not,’ John replied, ‘but it’s better for now to have a few we can trust than a whole posse, that we’re not sure of. We could have chosen more, but we don’t want loose cannons. I put Brendan in charge, he’s sensible enough and the others respect him.’

  ‘How many men does Caine have?’ James asked.

  ‘It’s difficult to say. There are twenty or so gang members in Bath and they say maybe another half a dozen in Cockroad. But my guess is that he can call on another dozen or so when he needs them; but they’re just hirelings, mercenaries, if you like. They have no loyalty as such to the gang.’

  ‘So we are pretty much outnumbered, should it ever come to a fight?’

  ‘Make no mistake, James, at some point it will come to a fight, which is why I took these off Caine’s men,’ John said, unfastening the brown paper parcel.

  James looked down at the two pistols nestling in their brown paper wrapping. ‘I never wanted this. I don’t want to kill again.’

  ‘And do you think I want to kill? Do you think I am so different to you? I’ve seen more than enough killing in my life; most of it justified by some government or other.’ John paused. ‘I told you I worked for five years on ships trading with China.’

  ‘I remember,’ James replied, ‘but what relevance has it to this?’

  ‘You British have a great fondness for tea and silk and porcelain, but you hadn’t enough gold to pay the Chinese for them, and no goods that they wanted in return, so you traded them opium from India, until the Chinese emperor saw what it was doing to his people and outlawed it. He even wrote to your queen asking her to stop the trade in misery, but it did no good. So the Chinese seized and destroyed 20,000 chests of opium that the British had in warehouses in Canton.’

  ‘I recall reading in the newspapers of the Opium Wars,’ James said. ‘We concluded a treaty with the Chinese seven years ago. It must have been in 1842 or was it 1843?’

  ‘Your great victory was in 1842,’ John replied. ‘I was there when your army demonstrated the power of British cannons loaded with grapeshot being fired into narrow Canton streets, filled with civilians. I saw the blood and bodies. And afterwards you made the Chinese pay six million dollars for the opium they had destroyed, and give you Hong Kong.’

&n
bsp; ‘Why does it concern you so much?’ James asked.

  ‘It didn’t at first,’ John replied. ‘To me opium was like any other goods you trade. I’ve even smoked some myself, mixed with a little baccy, and it made me feel good. But the Chinese refine it and smoke it on its own and in great quantities. I saw what it was doing to the country, but it didn’t matter. How they lived their lives was up to them and they didn’t mix with Europeans very well. Made it clear what they thought of us foreign devils. Then a few years ago I met someone who made me question, and think about things, and I began to see things differently.’

  John stood and strode around the room. After a few seconds of silence he spoke again, his tone more measured and controlled. ‘Sean reminds me of her sometimes in the way he thinks and what he says. I’ve spent a good deal of time in his company these last few days and we talked mainly of the famine in Ireland. Do you know what struck me?’ he asked, turning to James and then turning away. ‘It’s the simple fact that most people are repelled by the thought of taking a gun and holding it to someone’s head and pulling the trigger. Yet they are perfectly happy to do nothing while a million people starve to death. Sean called it a sin of omission. Not something you’ve done wrong, but things you haven’t done, times when you should’ve spoke up, but didn’t, times when you should have done something, but held back.’

  ‘I’m sorry, John,’ James said. ‘The sight of the guns shocked me; perhaps made me more aware of what we are up against and what we might have to do.’

  ‘You think you know me because you know I can fight, and because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve,’ John said. ‘But that don’t mean I find the idea of killing any less terrible than you.’

  ‘I understand, John, and I’m not one of those who think their background and upbringing makes them somehow superior. I admire your strength, but I also admire what I know lies beneath.’ James stood and held his hand out to John. ‘Friends,’ he said, half questioning.

  John took his hand in a firm grip and shook it. ‘Friends.’