Avon Street

by Paul Emanuelli

  John smiled, ‘I know you want to do it, to get even with Harcourt, but you’ve made the right decision.’

  ‘If John is to go unchallenged he will need to be attired as a gentleman,’ James said. ‘I am sure Mrs Hawker can alter a jacket and trousers of mine to near enough fit you. The best of it is, John, you don’t need to carry heavy tools when you’re climbing. All you need is the outsider, and the key that Charlie will make and a candle stub for light. All of them will fit into your jacket pockets.’

  ‘You’ve learnt well, young ‘un,’ Charlie said.

  As Charlie refilled the two whisky glasses for John and James, Mrs Hawker bundled through the door, struggling with a tray of steaming serving dishes heaped to overflowing with chops and potatoes and vegetables. She placed it on the end of the dining table and the air filled with the scent of rosemary. James felt the whisky beginning its work on his mood and appetite.

  ‘What happened when you bumped into that peeler?’ John asked.

  James laughed. ‘I was trying to keep my head down and watch Belle’s cab out of the corner of my eye. Tom seemed to be going too fast. The next I knew, I found myself walking into the constable’s arms.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Charlie asked.

  James cleared his throat and endeavoured to lower the pitch of his voice with several trial coughs. ‘He said, “Watch where you’re going now sir, it’s a dark night to be in such a hurry,” and he gave me this quizzical look.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Charlie asked, the laughter lines spreading from his eyes.

  ‘I said, “My apologies, constable, I am a little poorly and keen to get home to my bed.” I feigned a bout of coughing to convince him of my poor health. Then I just wrapped the scarf tighter around my face. He warned me to be careful of the frost and touched the edge of his hat with the tips of his fingers. I was relieved though when I saw you talking to him,’ James said, turning in John’s direction.

  John grinned. ‘I asked him the way to Pulteney Bridge and gave him a life story in the process, but it was easy talking nonsense, having spent so much time in Billy’s company.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  ‘That was a messenger at the door,’ Belle said to Jenny, as she ripped the note open and began to read. ‘James is safe, thank God. I hardly slept last night for worrying.’ She scanned the few lines of the letter, conscious of Jenny’s questioning expression. The sense of relief was at first intense, but as she read on, her anxiety grew.

  ‘What is it?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘The note says so very little,’ Belle replied, ‘save that “the venture was in part a success” and that “our mutual acquaintance is unaware that we had called on him.” He says they plan to “visit him again”, but that I should not make contact until I hear further.’

  ‘Then all is well,’ Jenny said. ‘From what you said last night, you put yourself at some risk. I am glad this is an end to your involvement. Let them get on with their plans and you keep well away.’

  ‘I am worried for them though,’ Belle said. ‘I have no idea of what they intend to do, but I am sure that there is danger in it. I wish James would forget Harcourt. If he is caught, or any of the others, I know Frank would kill them without conscience.’

  ‘Then you are well out of it,’ Jenny said.

  ‘But how long must I wait to hear?’ Belle said. She knew he was trying to protect her, yet a part of her felt shut out and excluded from his life. ‘If I was involved,’ she said, not sure if she was talking to Jenny or herself, ‘at least I would know what was happening and what danger he was in.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  The following Saturday night, John set off with James and Billy towards Harcourt’s house. It was just after five o’ clock in the evening. The Assembly Rooms where the ball was to be held were only a five-minute stroll from Frank’s home in The Circus and the ball was due to commence at six.

  The city streets were already busy and John sensed the expectant buzz of activity as the ranks of the fashionable prepared to impress their peers. He drew comfort from the fact that their presence in the centre of The Circus was almost invisible in all the comings and goings and preparations; as friends met friends, servants were dispatched on last minute errands, and the upper orders made their way to the ball. The air reverberated with the sounds of hooves and wheels on cobbled stones, from the traffic of landaus, hackney cabs, gigs and carriages.

  ‘Keep that scarf tight around your face, James,’ John said. James smiled momentarily before pulling the scarf up to cover the bottom half of his face.

  ‘I could do with a scarf,’ Billy said, ‘to keep my neck warm.’

  ‘After tonight you’ll be able to buy yourself one and an overcoat,’ John replied. Billy was always the keenest of the Irish lads to volunteer for any activity that brought him closer to the centre of the action, his enthusiasm always accompanied by grinning good humour. His chatter as usual was endless and John and James had little need to speak in carrying out the pretence of conversation. Billy even managed to make them laugh at one of his stories. It was a relief to John, whose nerves were frayed, though James appeared, at least to him, totally at ease.

  ‘I will get myself a scarf,’ Billy said, ‘and a nice new waistcoat, so I can show off the watch you bought me.’

  John smiled. Billy kept taking out the watch, polishing and admiring it, telling them the time at regular intervals. ‘I see you bought yourself a silver chain to put it on,’ John said. ‘You did buy it, not get it by some other means?’

  ‘Do you think I’d put a stolen chain on a watch like this?’ Billy said. ‘I wouldn’t insult you by putting it on a stolen chain.’ He dangled the watch in the air, with obvious pride.

  ‘It’s a fine chain,’ John said.

  ‘And it’s a fine watch,’ Billy said.

  ‘Best see that no one takes a fancy to it,’ John said.

  Billy stuffed it back out of sight. ‘They’d better not, or they’ll have me to answer to.’

  At a quarter after six they saw Harcourt leave the house. As James had predicted, he did not walk towards the Assembly Rooms, but instead set off down Gay Street towards one of his preferred watering holes in town. ‘I’ll follow him,’ Billy said, ‘and if there’s any sign of him returning I’ll run ahead of him and give the front door a pounding to warn you.’ He laughed. ‘It’s like being a kid again. Do you want me to try to slow him down if he’s on his way back? I could trip him, or pick his pocket, or something.’

  ‘No,’ John said. ‘Keep an eye on where he is for an hour and then get home and don’t let him see you. None of your tricks now, Billy, just be safe. And no drinking.’

  ‘I’ll be a Will-o’-the-wisp, and not a drop will cross my lips,’ Billy said. Then he gave them a broad grin, before setting off after Harcourt.

  John laughed. ‘Let’s give him five minutes James and then get round to the back of the house.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  The path they called The Gravel Walk was kept reasonably well lit, but it was quiet by night. ‘That’s the house,’ James whispered, and began fishing in his pocket. ‘When you have cleared out the safe, place this on top of it, where it will be seen.’ John took the calling card that James handed to him.

  John looked at the card. ‘What if he fetches the peelers in?’

  ‘He won’t,’ James said. ‘And if he did they would have to find me, and then explain how I was able to climb the gutter-pipe and break into a house and safe; a man of my background. Besides we were friends, I have left any number of my cards at his home in the past.’

  John took the card and laughed. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said as he looked up and down the path before entering the bushes which fronted the wall of Harcourt’s back garden. The houses in The Circus looked even more immense from the back as the ground fell away to the park, but now that he was actually doing something John felt his nervousness recede.

  The wall presented little challenge. He climbed onto the outhouse roof and test
ed the down-pipe. It creaked a little but felt sound enough. When he started climbing he was in his element again. As he climbed, he listened for signs of movement, watching for lights being lit or moved, but no one stirred. Gradually he inched his way up the pipe towards the window.

  He felt the small flecks of mortar and dust falling on his head and hands long before he heard any noise. John clung on motionless for a while trying to see above him, holding his body close to the wall. Just above his head and level with the middle of the window was a bracket clamping the pipe to the wall. He could see now that one of the bolts which held it in place had worked its way loose from bearing his weight.

  It seemed almost funny, John thought, that he had climbed masts and rigging in the middle of ocean storms and survived and now he was going to fall to his death in someone’s back garden in Bath. He fought the urge to look down, knowing well enough that he was unlikely to survive a fall from this height. His instincts told him to climb down again, to where the pipe was still strong, but the window ledge above seemed so close; almost close enough to touch.

  He edged upwards, trying to keep his weight flat against the pipe. When his hands were level with the window ledge, he inched slowly higher. A bead of sweat ran down from his forehead, stinging his eye, distracting him, but still he continued. When he was close enough he reached out with one arm, gaining a tenuous hold on the bottom of the window-frame. Then he pulled himself onto the ledge, feeling the pipe judder and shake with the sudden movement. He held his breath, fearing the pipe would come away from the wall and fall to the ground below, but it held. Once he got his balance he reached out and pushed the fixing back in place.

  Removing the wedge of wood that James had put there to hold the window closed, he slid the window open and climbed in. John wanted to get to work and to get out of there as quickly as possible, but he could not shake off his concerns with the loose gutter-pipe. He looked out of the window. The pipe would never take his weight again and it was a good twenty or so feet down to the kitchen roof below and thirty or more to the ground. If he fell, all hell would break loose. If he didn’t kill himself he was unlikely to be able to walk away, let alone run, and though Harcourt might not call the police, the servants would summon them at the least little noise. He tried to shake off his concerns and concentrate on the job in hand.

  His eyes were used to the darkness now and he felt his way slowly to the door and bent down at the keyhole; the key was still in the lock. Riding his luck, he tried the door handle; it was unlocked. John smiled to himself and eased the door open.

  The candle in the hallway spluttered in the draught of cool air from the bedroom and he stood still, willing it to remain alight as he lit his own candle stub from it, and opened the next door along, the door that led to Harcourt’s bedroom. He listened for any sound of movement in the house. It was still silent.

  In the dancing shadows of the room he made out the shape of the safe. Bending in front of it he tried the key that Charlie had made. It turned without a sound and he pulled the door open, staring, disbelieving for a while, at what he saw within. Then he took the bag from his pocket and filled it.

  Pulling the looped rope tight, the neck of the bag closed and he took off his jacket and slipped the rope over his shoulder before putting his jacket back on. The rope cut into his flesh from the weight of the coins he had taken and he knew that the risk of climbing down the loosened gutter-pipe was now even greater.

  Closing the door of Harcourt’s room, John descended the stairs slowly, stopping and listening every half dozen steps or so. It wasn’t until he reached the first floor that he heard their distant voices, two women talking. By their loudness and raucous laughter he guessed that they’d had more than a bit to drink. He could hear their loud exchanges clearly on the ground floor through the closed door to the basement.

  He tiptoed slowly to the front door. The key was still in it and the door was unlocked, though bolted. Looking up he could see that the bolt had not been slammed home properly. It had barely engaged with the edge of the poorly drilled and worn hole in the top of the doorframe above. There was no point in risking the noise of pulling the bolt when he could avoid it.

  He put a chair beside the door and taking the knife from his pocket he reached up, picking carefully at the worn wood of the bolthole until the bolt was completely free. He put the small splinters that he dislodged carefully in his pocket, then licked his fingertip and dipped it in the dust on top of the door frame. He smoothed the dark paste into the newly exposed wood until its shaved surface was indistinguishable from the dark wood around it. There was no sense in alerting them that anyone had been in or out of the door until Harcourt came home. He would know soon enough that he had been robbed. John smiled to himself as he returned the chair to its customary place by the hall table and tentatively eased the front door open. Let Harcourt figure that one out, he thought.

  Chapter 28

  The heavy hand James felt on his shoulder took him by surprise. He had not seen or heard anyone on The Gravel Walk for almost quarter of an hour. Turning instinctively he raised his fists, ready to strike. Then he found himself grinning uncontrollably as John backed away with a grin. ‘You always were light on your feet, John,’ James said. ‘I kept watching Harcourt’s house and yet I saw no sign of you.’

  John laughed. ‘It seemed a waste of energy, climbing a wall, so I used the front door instead.’

  ‘Did all go well?’ James asked.

  ‘Better than we could ever have dreamed,’ John said. ‘Now let’s be away from here.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  When they returned to the house they found Charlie slumped in a chair in the dining room, a glass in his hand. He struggled to his feet as they entered and lurched towards the whisky decanter and glasses on the dining room table. ‘How did it go?’ he asked.

  ‘It went well,’ John replied.

  ‘Have a drink,’ Charlie said, topping up his own glass, then pouring large measures into the other two glasses that stood in readiness. He left the glasses sitting in a puddle of spirit and collapsed back into his chair. ‘So nothing went wrong, this time?’

  ‘I had to use the front door to get out because the gutter-pipe was coming away from the wall,’ John said. ‘I had a slice of luck there. Perhaps Father Brennan had put a word in for me.’ He removed his jacket and swung the bag off his shoulder and onto the dining table. Then he proceeded to take from it bundle after bundle of banknotes and handful after handful of sovereigns. ‘We’ve cleaned out Mister Harcourt, and I’ve got the letters too.’ He tipped the bag and a host of coins clattered and rang as they fell onto the polished wood and spilt onto the floor.

  Charlie got up again and went and sat at the table. He put his glass down with such force that half its contents were lost on the polished wood.

  ‘I thought you never touched spirits?’ John asked.

  ‘Tonight’s different,’ Charlie said. ‘I was worried for you, and now we’ve got something to celebrate. I want to enjoy it.’ He spread the notes over the table and began counting them, between swigs of whisky. ‘Harcourt obviously don’t trust the banks with his business, there must be over three thousand pounds here.’

  ‘There’s more than I’ve ever seen, and I found this,’ John said, tossing a small leather-bound notebook on the table. ‘I thought it might be of interest, seeing as it was locked away.’

  James picked up the notebook and began thumbing through its pages. The book spanned several years, itemising Harcourt’s income, month by month, detailing the amount paid by various people and businesses and the date on which it was received. He was obviously a meticulous book-keeper.

  Scanning the pages, names appeared and then disappeared with new ones taking their place. He could only guess as to why they should be paying Harcourt. Then towards the end of the book and starting about eighteen months ago a new name appeared and the sums paid were large and frequent. ‘I cannot believe this,’ James exclaimed. ‘Nathaniel Caine is pay
ing Harcourt.’

  ‘Well it won’t be blackmail,’ Charlie said. The sight of all the money seemed to have sobered him a little. ‘Anyone who tried blackmailing him wouldn’t live for long, and besides Nat Caine’s proud of every wrong deed he ever did.’

  There were names in brackets next to some of the payments. James read some of them out.

  ‘All robberies,’ Charlie said. ‘He’s paying him for information, more likely than not. Harcourt’s a snitch, telling Caine who to rob and what to steal.’

  James scanned through the entries in the book. The payments seemed too much and too regular just for the passing of information. Then it hit him, what an arrogant fool he had been. He had asked John to leave his visiting card on Frank’s open safe. If Frank was in league with Caine, then Caine would soon know he was in Bath. What if Caine worked out that Charlie was involved? He tried to shrug the thought off. ‘We should return this money to some of those named in the book,’ he said.

  ‘Bloody lunatic,’ Charlie said. ‘We can’t go round these people saying, “We think you might have been robbed or blackmailed by Frank Harcourt.” How der we know they didn’t pay him for some dirty favour he did them? Anyways, there’s not enough here to pay everybody, so who would we choose? Return the letters and we’ll have done our bit.’

  James noticed that Charlie was not stumbling so much now over his words and nor was he slurring, but there was little humour in his sarcasm. ‘If we can’t return it, then the money should go to Sean, so he can do some good with it,’ James said, sensing the change in atmosphere instantly. Charlie’s expression was one James had never seen before. He looked over towards John, seeking some sort of confirmation.

  John’s expression seemed to signal back that he understood, but that they should let it drop. ‘We all took risks getting this money,’ he said, with a peace-maker’s tone. ‘And Charlie used his skills to help and to train you. We’re all entitled to some payment. There’s Belle as well, and Tom, and Billy, as well as Sean.’