Avon Street

by Paul Emanuelli

  She watched as Charlie picked up the handkerchief of money and walked around the perimeter of the room, apparently lost in thought. Then he dropped to his knees, pulled out a penknife and prised away at a small floorboard near the chest of drawers. ‘Do you have a tin or box?’ Charlie asked. Belle emptied some buttons from a tin and handed it to Charlie. He placed the money inside and put it under the floorboard, easing the chest of drawers over one end. ‘We don’t want the mice eating your nest egg, do we?’ he said. ‘Put the money in a couple of the banks in the city. You don’t want to put all your trust in one bank. And move the money in, a few notes at a time, so they don’t get suspicious. There won’t be any trouble though, the notes are well used.’

  ‘Thank you, Charlie,’ she said. ‘I need time to think what I am going to do with so much money.’

  The smile returned to Charlie’s face as he took the two gold sovereigns that he must have already removed from the stash and handed them to her. ‘At least enjoy this,’ he said, stuffing the coins into her hand. Then hearing footsteps on the stairs he went to the door.

  ‘Hello, littl’un,’ he said as Molly wrapped her arms around his legs. He picked her up and carried her into the room. ‘Look what I’ve brought you,’ he said, picking up the pineapple from the bedside chair.

  Chapter 30

  Belle had chosen a dress of black and grey, patterned in large silken squares, with a matching bonnet, to visit James at the house in The Paragon. It was old, and she wondered if the ensemble made her appear too dowdy and matronly, but she had no others suited for visiting that she had not already worn; besides she liked the outfit, or so she kept telling herself.

  Mrs Hawker showed her up to the drawing room, where Belle endeavoured to sit composed and elegant on the sofa, but when she looked down she found herself arranging and rearranging the leather gloves folded on her lap. When James entered the room he also seemed uneasy, uncertain as to where to sit and what to say or do. She wondered if he was embarrassed by her visit, but the warmth of his smile seemed to say otherwise.

  James flitted from topic to topic, as if searching for common ground and Belle gradually felt the easiness grow between them. The more it grew, the more playful his eyes became and the more she felt herself slipping into the game they were playing. For a while it seemed that games were all that mattered, and life outside the room was merely an annoying distraction.

  ‘I wanted to thank you,’ she said, ‘for what you did to Harcourt and for the money. It was very kind.’ As soon as she had said it, she felt a change in his mood. All it had needed, it seemed, was the mention of Harcourt’s name for the games to be set aside. ‘I considered for a while refusing the money,’ she said.

  ‘Charlie told me,’ he replied. ‘But they would not have allowed it. You earned the money.’

  ‘How can anyone earn that amount of money?’ she asked. ‘Do you realise how so much money can change a person’s life?’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied.

  ‘You reply easily,’ Belle said. ‘But you have had money all your life. You are used to what it can buy. I cannot even begin to think how having so much could change me, and the others about me.’ She saw a difference in his expression, and wondered if the spell was broken. She thought perhaps she should leave. ‘Perhaps our business is concluded,’ she said, as she made to rise from the chair.

  ‘Please stay,’ he said. ‘I’ve not yet told you about the robbery, or thanked you properly for all that you have done.’ His voice was gentle, almost pleading.

  Belle smiled and remained seating. ‘Knowing that the robbery has helped others makes it easier for me to accept so much. But please know that the money … I didn’t only take it for me. It buys security for Molly and Jenny and it buys freedom for us all.’

  ‘I see now that the money will help a great many people, and in ways I never contemplated,’ he replied.

  She wondered whether she was justifying her actions to him or to herself. When she had mentioned ‘freedom’ she thought his expression had changed, but he said nothing. ‘I will stay a while longer. Tell me about the robbery.’

  He seemed to relax and sat in the chair opposite her as if about to tell an after dinner anecdote. Once he had begun, James told every bit of the tale, dwelling on her own small role and emphasising his own ineptness as a housebreaker. She could tell he enjoyed the telling and he watched for her every reaction. His brown eyes were so dark and warm and reassuring. She felt she should look away, but his eyes wouldn’t let her. She felt compelled to provide the occasional gasp of amazement, yet it felt quite natural to do so, and when she laughed, he laughed with her.

  Then, almost without her noticing it, the room grew quiet. The silence seemed to draw her in, with all of its potential for misunderstanding. It should have felt comfortable to her, the peace between two people, but instead it felt uneasy, the reality and illusion of the moment blending in the nothingness of silence, until the one was indistinguishable from the other. She tried to recognise his emotions from his face. He glanced back at her, his expression registering the same uncertainty, the same nervousness. She smiled and again he smiled back, but the silence was there again.

  Belle strolled over to the piano by the far wall, drifting her fingers over its gleaming polished keys. Then she sat on the stool and began playing, wondering if he truly understood her.

  ‘Do you read music?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she replied, ‘though I can learn a melody relatively quickly, provided it’s not too complex.’ She remembered her mother playing, teaching her how to listen and to feel the movement of the music through her hands.

  ‘What is the name of the piece you’re playing?’ he asked.

  ‘I really don’t know,’ she replied. ‘It’s a piece my mother taught me and I always find it calming.’

  He walked towards her, standing by the piano, watching her play. ‘How strange it is that music has no objective meaning, yet speaks so eloquently. The language of notes, and beats, and chords, and rhythms, defies translation. We cannot say that these notes say this, or that sequence means that, and yet it speaks to us sometimes better than any spoken words.’

  ‘I know little of composition or purity of form,’ Belle replied, ‘but I envy those who can create music, with such passion, and without the need for niceties and polite trivialities.’

  His answering smile felt so warm. ‘If we had met under different circumstances, we might know each other better by now,’ he said, as though leaving a question hanging in the air between them.

  ‘A well born solicitor and an actress,’ she replied. ‘Not the most auspicious basis for a lasting relationship. We would hardly be the most sought after couple in Bath society.’ She felt her nervousness show in the tempo of the piece, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Perhaps that would not be important, and besides Bath can be an understanding city.’

  ‘I would not want to be tied to Bath,’ she replied. ‘My work requires that I travel and it is important to me to pursue my career.’

  ‘You misunderstand me,’ James stuttered. He was obviously embarrassed by her comment. She had not meant to be so forthright. ‘I merely meant we might have been friends,’ he said.

  Belle stopped playing and walked around the room, feigning interest in the paintings and ornaments. His face seemed very gentle and capable of understanding. What prompted her to say it she did not know, but the words appeared from her lips, ‘There is something I did not tell you, concerning Harcourt.’

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘He sent the note telling me to go to Queen Square that day for a reason.’

  ‘The man is malevolent,’ James interrupted. ‘He knew what was to happen. He wanted you to see me shot for some malicious reasoning of his evil mind.’

  ‘No that’s not all of it,’ she said, ‘it was meant as a warning to me, but not because I had slapped him. It was because I know more about him than I should. He took me into his confidence to
break down the barriers between us and he achieved what he wanted. You see, we were lovers.’

  She was surprised at the shame she felt in saying the word ‘lovers’ and yet she needed to tell him. ‘To use the word love in connection with Harcourt now feels abhorrent, but I was taken in by him.’ She tried to gauge his feelings from his face but it was like a mask. ‘I’m not sorry I told you,’ she said. ‘I did not want to deceive you in any way. Please do not judge me.’

  ‘Harcourt is a convincing liar,’ he said. ‘He made a fool of me and he has a way with women.’

  His answer was too quick, she thought, too dismissive. It hurt, to be considered as one of the women Harcourt ‘had a way with’. She had truly loved him or so she thought, but then so had the others, she supposed. Frank had the ability, when it suited him, to make you feel as though you were the centre of his universe; that all your faults were endearing and your virtues unique and beyond compare. He would listen as though nothing else mattered, every conversation an exercise in flirtation and manipulation.

  It hurt that James now thought less of her, but that was the risk she had taken. He would undoubtedly deny it, if she was to ask him, but how could she ask? Such a simple word, ‘lovers’, yet its simplicity hid so many complexities, so many different stories and interpretations, understandings and misunderstandings. She did not know what to say, so she said nothing and the silence became a wall between them for a while.

  It was James that first spoke. He began telling her how Harcourt was tied in with Nat Caine and how the gang were money lenders and extortionists and she struggled to keep her mind in check, to listen to his words. When he began talking of how they were at war with Caine and how they planned to bring him down, she realised how badly the odds must be stacked against them and forgot her own concerns for a while. He had obviously wanted to change the subject and she saw no reason to deter him. He described Caine’s lair: its entrances and exits, fortifications and guards, and she found herself drawn into the situation as though it were the staging of a new play. He told her about settlement day at Lansdown Fair and how Caine used it to exert power. When he had finished he looked at her and smiled, and she knew that he understood, all too well, that it was unlikely they would succeed.

  ‘I will help in any way I can,’ she said. ‘I know the pain that Caine inflicts. I’ve seen the fear he creates.’

  ‘You have already helped enough,’ he replied.

  ‘Getting into Caine’s house,’ she said, ‘I can help with that as I did with Harcourt.’ She started to outline an idea. He cut her short.

  ‘It would be dangerous,’ he said, ‘besides it may never come to that.’

  ‘Shall I visit again?’ she asked. ‘We could discuss it further, or perhaps I can help in another way.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘While Harcourt remains in Bath you may still be in danger. Don’t come again, unless I send word that it is safe.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Nat Caine allowed himself to feel content for the first time in days. It was some time now since the last attack on his men. They had been going about their business in groups for a while, just to make sure. He had readied himself for war, against whoever might be setting up in opposition, but then the trouble had died away. Most likely it was some band of vagrants or gypsies, with ideas above their station, he thought. There were enough of them passing through the city on a daily basis. But this had seemed too organised, as though there was someone behind them, planning and controlling; someone who wanted to challenge his power.

  Caine had toured Avon Street that day with Harry Wood and a few of the lads, visiting some of his better customers and some of the more difficult ones. The respect was still there, but not what it had been, as though they sensed he was not the man he had been. Perhaps they thought he was getting soft. He’d have to disabuse them of that idea.

  ‘That Harcourt’s waiting for you downstairs,’ Jeb said as he opened the front door. Caine smiled, seeing Jeb’s displeasure at Harcourt’s presence. Divide and conquer, he thought, it’s always the best way, always leave them guessing where they stand. He put his arm around Harry’s shoulder before leading him down to the kitchen.

  Harcourt turned as they entered and some of the papers that he had spread across the table in front of him spilled onto the floor. He bent and picked them up, replacing them on the table, careful of their order. There was something different about him, Caine thought. He’d never seen Harcourt edgy before, but the man was nervous, there was no mistaking it.

  ‘How bist?’ Caine asked.

  ‘Not well,’ Frank replied, ‘I’ve been robbed.’

  The news came as a shock. Nothing seemed as it had been any longer. ‘Who were it?’ Caine asked. ‘I’ve heard nothing.’

  ‘Probably Daunton,’ Frank replied. ‘He left his card.’

  Caine laughed as he let the news sink in.

  ‘So he’s back in Bath?’ Harry said. His expression worried Caine, as though thoughts of Daunton had driven everything else from his mind. Harry always seemed to have a short fuse these days, and Caine knew this news would be more than enough to set him off.

  ‘That’s if he ever left,’ Frank said. ‘He took everything I had. I need money, Nat, and quickly.’

  ‘Didn’t you keep your money in the safe I got you?’ Caine asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Frank replied, ‘he picked the lock, or got in somehow.’

  ‘Then he had help,’ Caine said. ‘That were a good safe.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Frank replied. ‘I think he was alone, perhaps he got the key off me one night when I was drunk and made a copy. I don’t know.’

  ‘There’s only one or two in town with the skill to get into that safe without a key,’ Caine said. In truth there was only one name that came to Caine’s mind: Charlie Maggs. He was the only one capable of getting into that safe, unless Daunton had brought someone down from London. But there was something wrong, Caine thought. Harcourt was being evasive, as though he knew more about the robbery than he was letting on.

  ‘How did he get into the house?’ Caine asked.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Frank replied. ‘Perhaps through a second-floor window, but I’m trying to put it behind me. Can we get on with making some more money?’

  It couldn’t have been Maggs, Caine thought; he couldn’t have climbed up to the second floor. Yet he was the only one capable of picking that lock. Still, it would do no harm to put the word around; find out where Charlie was living these days and what he was up to. Caine was suddenly conscious that the others were watching him. He smiled. ‘I can lend you money, Frank,’ he said.

  Frank laughed. ‘Borrowing’s for fools,’ and then as though it was an after-thought he added, ‘kind though your offer is, Nat. Besides I may well decide to leave Bath and I’ll not leave owing.’

  Caine watched him, trying to fathom the truth. ‘I’ve plans for a house that’s begging to be robbed,’ Frank said.

  ‘I suppose it’s about the right time to do another big house,’ Caine replied, shuffling through Harcourt’s papers. ‘But what was it you said about leaving Bath? How would that leave our business arrangement?’

  ‘All good things come to an end,’ Frank replied. ‘Besides, it may not come to that.’ He hesitated, as though judging his words. Caine studied his face and wondered why he was lying. There was no question. Harcourt was intending to leave; he just didn’t want to discuss it. But he had another thing coming if he thought he could just walk away as easily as that, it was disrespectful.

  ‘And it’s not just one house we’re robbing,’ Frank resumed, ‘it’s three. My parting gift for you; provided they’re all done before Lansdown Fair.’

  ‘We agreed three or four each six month, enough to bring the money in but not too many as would stir up the law,’ Caine said. ‘Three in as many weeks is too many.’

  ‘Needs must, where the devil drives,’ Frank said.

  ‘I don’t like it. It’s too many and too rushed,’ Caine replie
d. The doubts began gnawing at his mind and at his guts, and he wondered if Harcourt had been robbed at all, or if it wasn’t some ruse he had dreamed up. He could have invented the robbery to force his hand or to get out of their partnership. Caine looked at Harry, wondering if he too was uneasy with what Harcourt was saying, but he was staring into space, his mind somewhere else. He kicked him. ‘Get your mind off Daunton. We’ve more pressing business.’ For a moment Harry seemed more attentive, but Caine could tell his mind was still elsewhere.

  ‘These plans are for the first house and the poorest,’ Harcourt said, shuffling nervously through the papers on the table. ‘If you don’t want to do three then the plans for the other houses go with me.’

  Frank paused. Caine knew why, and said nothing. It seemed to unnerve Harcourt but he kept up the same line when he resumed. ‘The last I had in mind is all cash; more than we’ve ever taken before; one I’ve been saving for a rainy day. You’ll have the plans on the day we do the job or not at all.’

  Caine leapt to his feet. ‘This is blackmail and you know damn well it is. I’d be taking all the risks.’ The thought kept going through his mind that Harcourt was setting him up for something; maybe he was trying to take the gang away from him. If that was it then Harcourt was a fool. The men would never follow him. Yet the thought of the money wouldn’t leave him. Eventually his curiosity got the better of him. ‘What’s the last job?’

  ‘A shopkeeper,’ Frank replied. Caine laughed, watching his reaction, but the man just smiled in reply. ‘He’s a shopkeeper with three stores, and two of them in Milsom Street. There’ll be a week’s takings from all three in his house if you go in on the right day.’

  It was tempting, Caine thought, too tempting to pass up, and Harcourt had known that from the start. But if he believed he could set him up, then he had another thing coming. ‘We will have to share the risks though,’ Caine said, with a grin. ‘It’s only fair. You will have to go along on all three jobs.’ How would he take to that idea he wondered, having to put his own neck on the block? Caine watched for Harcourt’s reaction, waiting for the argument.