Avon Street

by Paul Emanuelli

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Jeb had caught up with him before Caine had gone more than a couple of streets from Hucklebridge’s Court. Caine resented the fact. Jeb was light on his feet whereas he was beginning to feel his age and weight. He felt worse by the time they reached the inn.

  One of the barmaids in The Pelican recalled a small, very loud Irishman leaving about an hour ago and described him well. He had got into an argument with one or two of the locals and the landlord had thrown him out.

  Caine was losing patience and growing even more tired as the two of them retraced their steps down the road. At The Saracen’s Head they went in through the door from the stable yard off Broad Street. As he looked he saw a man on the other side of the bar in the far room, and it was plain from the fear on his face that this was the one he was looking for. He stood transfixed for a moment before he dropped his tankard and began pushing through the crowd.

  Before they could get to him the Irishman ran through the other door onto Walcot Street. Caine was trapped in a sea of bodies. By the time he got out of the place the man was disappearing into the slaughterhouses on the far side of the road with Jeb a little way behind him.

  Caine could see neither of them as he threaded his way through the network of passageways between the buildings. When he emerged onto the wasteland beyond he could still see nothing. Then he heard movement down by the river. He slowly followed the sounds, slipping and sliding on the muddy sloping path. When he reached the bottom he could just make out the shape of a man kneeling, bent over on the ground.

  Caine called Jeb’s name and the shape turned. As he grew nearer he could see Jeb taking the pocket watch from the man lying in front of him. He held it up by its chain, watching it spin. Closer still and he saw Jeb’s knife lying on the ground at the side of the body. Blood was pumping from the Irishman’s neck. Jeb stood and put the watch in his pocket. ‘I got him, Nat,’ he said.

  Caine slapped him across the mouth with the back of his hand, sending him tripping backwards over the inert body at his feet. Jeb tried to stand again. Caine kicked his knife out of his reach and bent forward, grabbing him around the throat.

  ‘I couldn’t do nothing else, Nat,’ Jeb stuttered, his voice half strangled by the pressure of Caine’s hand. ‘There was no holding him. If I’d waited for you he’d have been miles away and besides, I thought you wanted him dead.’

  Caine let go his grip and turned and walked away. ‘Did he say anything?’ he asked over his shoulder.

  ‘No, he was out of breath when I caught him, that’s how he give hisself away,’ Jeb replied.

  ‘Now we’ll never know what he could have told us,’ Caine said

  ‘I tried to hold him, Nat,’ Jeb said, ‘but he kept struggling, nearly had me in the river, so in the end I give him a taste of me knife.’ He picked up his knife, wiped it on the Irishman’s body and returned it to its sheath.

  Caine bent down to check that the man was dead, and then pushed the body into the river with his foot. ‘Another job well done,’ he spat. ‘Am I the only one with a brain between me head and hands? You know we’ve no friends in the peelers up this end of town.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Jeb replied. He was grinning now, as though he had found some silver lining to the black cloud. ‘There’s nothing to even say we knew the Irishman. He was drunk and he’d been arguing with folk all night.’

  ‘Well that’s summat, I suppose,’ Caine said. ‘Now let’s get away from here before we’re seen.’ His mind was in turmoil. The peelers would already be stirred by the robberies, and now there was a killing for them to sniff around; worse than that, the Irish would be baying for blood. The murder would bring them together and they would fight; they had nothing to lose. Somehow he had to get things back in order or he would have to lie low for a while and there was no respect in hiding.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  When Caine got back to Hucklebridge’s Court the men were all gathered in the kitchen. They all stood as he entered, congregating nervously at one end of the room. He watched them, knowing something was wrong as they pushed and shoved one of their number to the front, as though they expected him to speak. It was Lem, one of the few that he had any time for. ‘Speak then,’ Caine said.

  ‘Harry fought a duel with James Daunton,’ Lem said. ‘I got knocked unconscious and when I come to Harry was gone. I think he’s dead, Nat.’

  Out of the corner of his eye Caine saw Jeb’s reaction. He looked as concerned as the others now, but for a split second he had seen him grinning. ‘Get out, all of you,’ Caine shouted as he collapsed into the nearest chair, but he knew he couldn’t just sit there, doing nothing. ‘No, wait,’ he said. They turned, waiting for orders.

  Caine knew it wouldn’t take much more to have them deserting like rats from a coffin ship now, with everything that had gone bad. He would have to work to keep them together and work even harder to keep the Irish in their place. Let them rampage around Avon Street until they’d spent their anger, if it stopped them breaking apart. And perhaps it was time to do something about the priest; may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. ‘How about getting even for Harry tonight, lads?’ he shouted. It was exactly what they wanted to hear. They were smiling now and shouting their agreement, keen for revenge. Violence was something he knew they understood.

  ‘Why don’t we go up Avon Street and lay about the Irish,’ Caine said, ‘nothing permanent, just pick a few out and give ‘em something to think about. Break an arm or two and we’ll get the priest. But first of all, let’s pay a visit to my old friend Charlie Maggs.’

  Chapter 33

  ‘Stop pacing up and down, or you’ll wake Molly,’ Jenny said. ‘You’ve been like a puppy dog chasing its tail these last few days. Whatever is wrong with you?’

  ‘It’s Macready,’ Belle replied. ‘It has been so exciting working with him, and tonight he told me that he has found me a position in the company at the Haymarket Theatre in London. I would be a fool to pass up the opportunity. It’s all I’ve ever dreamed of.’

  ‘So you will leave us?’ Jenny said, as though she already knew the answer.

  ‘I’m torn,’ Belle replied. ‘I truly don’t know what to do. Even when it’s kind, life can be cruel. I feel pulled in opposite directions. I know anyone would be grateful to choose either path, but having to choose is so difficult. I hate the thought of leaving you and Molly, but the chance of working in the Haymarket with Macready is too good an opportunity to reject.’

  ‘And James,’ Jenny said. ‘Do you hate the thought of leaving James? Perhaps it’s not only Macready that’s opened your eyes.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Belle said. ‘I do care for him, and yet I hardly know him, and one minute I think he really cares for me, and the next he seems to be pushing me away. I don’t know what to believe.’

  ‘Perhaps you more than care for him,’ Jenny said.

  ‘You know how I feel,’ Belle said.

  ‘I know what I see,’ Jenny replied. ‘I’ve watched you mooning about the place like a lovesick puppy; and I’ve seen you return from visiting him, one minute like the cat that got the cream, and the next like the cat that got a kicking. What is it that attracts you to him? Is he so handsome?’

  ‘Of course he is handsome, even with his silly crooked nose,’ Belle giggled. ‘As handsome as a peacock, but not nearly as vain and he is very caring and not a bit snobbish.’ She paused, picturing him, that concerned look on his face, trying to cope with events that seemed likely to engulf him. ‘He willingly carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet at the same time looks for all the world like a lost little boy. Sometimes I want only to hold him.’ Then she smiled. ‘He makes me laugh when I’m sad, and there is a trust between us that I know is real.’

  ‘And has he told you how he feels about you?’ Jenny asked.

  Belle hesitated, wondering if she truly knew what he felt. If she did it came not from his words but from his eyes. Perhaps she saw something that was not there, but s
he knew that was not true. His emotions were rarely spoken at all, but they were in his being and his manner as though he spoke without words. It was when they talked of other things that she felt she understood him. She smiled. ‘He has not told me in so many words, though he told me that I was beautiful and that he would like to know me better.’

  ‘Much as Harcourt did,’ Jenny said.

  Belle laughed. ‘Ah, but Harcourt didn’t tell me that he admired my teeth and then blush from telling me. And I never saw in Harcourt’s eyes what I see in James’ eyes. But you’re right, perhaps it is all in my imagination, I have heard nothing from him for days. I don’t even know if he is still in Bath. When I’m with him, sometimes I feel awkward, and yet when I’m not I want only to see him again.’

  ‘Harcourt you kept locked away,’ Jenny said. ‘Like the guilty secret he was. I think Master James must be very special. I can see how you would be torn. I wish I could advise you, but all I can say is listen to your heart.’

  ‘But it is my heart that pulls me in both directions,’ Belle said. ‘I love acting and if I am to progress then I have to leave. Yet the thought of leaving Bath hurts more now than I ever thought it might. It’s my mind I must rely on to decipher my heart.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  ‘Look at the state of you,’ Mrs Hawker said, as she threw her arms around James and hugged him. ‘And now you’ve got me all wet. What have you been doing?’

  He leant over and kissed her on the cheek, tasting the salty stream of tears coursing from her eyes. The pain in his chest from her embrace was intense and he wanted to fight free of her arms, but the happiness and relief on her face were more than worth the discomfort.

  ‘Don’t try to deceive me now,’ she said. ‘I know what has happened. I’m just so happy you’re alive and walking; and you too, John,’ she said, reaching out and pinching John’s arm.

  ‘But how do you know?’ James asked.

  ‘Because we have a visitor,’ Mrs Hawker replied.

  James looked up the stairs in time to see Charlie’s grinning face appear from the drawing room. ‘What are you doing here, Charlie?’ James called, as John closed the front door of the house in Walcot Parade.

  ‘I couldn’t abide the thought of her being here on her own,’ Charlie said, ‘not knowing if you would return or what state you might be in. She needed company and someone she could trust. What about Harry Wood?’

  ‘He won’t bother us again,’ John said.

  James looked at him. His words seemed so cold and dismissive, and yet he could not deny the relief that he felt himself. He said nothing and looked up at Charlie. ‘And how long did it take Mrs Hawker to get the truth of what was happening out of you?’

  ‘Not long,’ Charlie said, coming down the stairs. ‘We don’t let secrets come between us anymore.’ Charlie threw his arms open wide and closed them as tight as he could around James and John. ‘You need to rest,’ he said, ‘and I’d best be off home.’

  ‘A man has died, and yet all I feel is relief,’ James said.

  ‘He was a man who would have happily killed us both,’ John said, ‘Stay, Charlie, we’ll tell you all that happened.’

  ‘No,’ Charlie replied, ‘I’m happy that you are well. The details will keep for another day. I’ll leave you to it.’ Charlie pulled on his coat and kissed Mrs Hawker on the cheek before leaving.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  In the drawing room Mrs Hawker sat them down and fetched a decanter and two glasses from the sideboard. She must have noticed James wince as he sat, because she began fussing around him, trying to ascertain if he was injured. ‘Shall I send for Dr Wetherby?’ she asked.

  ‘Not at this hour,’ James replied. ‘I just need to sleep.’

  ‘A bit of sustenance wouldn’t go amiss though, Mrs Hawker,’ John said.

  ‘I’ll get you both something now,’ Mrs Hawker said, smiling. The thought of doing something practical seemed to ease her concerns, if only temporarily.

  He and John sat in silence, letting the decanter of brandy gradually do its work. By the time Mrs Hawker appeared with a tray of food, James was ready to eat. They were about to begin when the loud knocking at the front door sent them both to their feet. John leapt from his chair and grabbed the swords from the velvet bag. ‘Someone must have followed us,’ he said, passing James a sword as he ran to the window. ‘It’s too dark to see.’

  ‘Don’t answer it,’ Mrs Hawker said.

  ‘I’ll light candles in the morning room,’ James said. ‘We should be able to see then who’s there. Who ever it is they already know we are in.’ John ran down the stairs and James summoned all his strength to follow.

  By the time James got to the bottom of the stairs John was leaving the morning room, smiling. ‘It’s Charlie,’ he said. ‘I can see him plain as day from down here.’ James opened the door and Charlie came in, checking over his shoulder.

  ‘What’s happened, Charlie?’ John asked.

  ‘There were two of Caine’s men outside my house. Caine’s either been there or he’s on his way,’ Charlie said, bolting the door behind him. ‘I’m pretty sure they didn’t see me and they certainly didn’t follow me, but let’s not take any chances.’

  ‘You two go upstairs and I’ll watch from the window for a while,’ John said.

  Mrs Hawker met them at the top of the stairs. ‘You look frightened, Charlie.’

  Charlie sighed. ‘I had a bit of a scare, Angela, but I’m fine now.’

  ‘I’ll make some tea, and you both sit down and rest, neither of you look well. You’ll stay here tonight, Charlie.’

  ‘Yes, Angela,’ Charlie agreed, ‘but I’ve nothing but what I’m wearing.’

  ‘I’ll sort something out,’ she said.

  ‘There’s no sign of anyone outside,’ John interrupted as he walked into the room.

  Charlie collapsed into an armchair. ‘No, I’m sure I wasn’t followed. You were right, James; Nat Caine must have added things up.’

  ‘You need to stay here for a while, Charlie,’ James said.

  ‘Can he get in your house?’ John asked.

  Charlie smiled for the first time. ‘I knows my trade too well for that. The house is well protected. He wouldn’t find it easy. Even if he does, the money’s well hidden and nowhere he could find it, but I’ve nothing with me, a few sovereigns and no change of clothes.’

  ‘We have money,’ John said. ‘We can buy what you need.’

  ‘Caine’s closing in on us,’ James said.

  Charlie leapt to his feet and punched the back of his empty armchair sending it rocking. ‘It’s me Caine wants now; he won’t be bothered with you.’

  ‘Do you think we would stand by and see him harm you, Charlie?’ James said. ‘We are all in this together … and always have been.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  James had not drawn the curtains in his room but the first light of day still failed to wake him, as he sat in the chair where he had fallen asleep. It was half-way through the morning when he finally awoke. Adjusting his body the wave of pain swept through him and he felt his mind swimming between dreams and reality, as though he was about to lose consciousness again. He lifted his shirt gingerly and immediately saw the purple and yellow bruising on his rib cage. He struggled to the door and called out.

  It was Charlie that helped him to wash and shave and dress. He almost carried him to the armchair in the drawing room after supporting him in his long and painful journey down the stairs. James asked him to explain to Mrs Hawker that he was tired and would take a light breakfast on a tray in the drawing room. It was an elaborate charade concocted by them, to reassure Mrs Hawker that all was still well in the household, but when she brought the tray to James it was clear the charade had not worked. One look at his face was sufficient for her to announce that she would be sending immediately for Dr Wetherby.

  It was some hours before Richard arrived, and when they were alone, he examined James thoroughly. Most of his injuries, Richard determined, w
ere muscular bruising, but he also had damage to his ribs. Richard bound his chest in swathes of tight bandaging that hurt intensely when they were applied but allowed him to breathe largely without pain when they were completed. He ordered him to rest as much as possible over the next week and to inform him should his breathing deteriorate in any way. At the end, he smiled and told him that he had been fortunate, and that he should make a complete recovery.

  ‘It would be as well if Charlotte went away for a few days,’ James said.

  ‘I’m sure it can be arranged,’ Richard replied. ‘Is there danger?’

  ‘I don’t believe so, but it’s too early to say,’ James said. ‘Keep her away until all this is over. It would be safer.’

  ‘Very well,’ Richard replied, ‘if you think it prudent.’

  Whilst Richard administered to him, James told him of his duel with Harry Wood and watched as his face became increasingly animated. When he told him he had seen Wood’s body disappear under the water, Richard interrupted. ‘The reason I was late arriving today, James, was that I was called this morning to the morgue in the Mineral Hospital, by the police. There were two bodies taken out of the Avon last night, a man who had had his throat cut and a drowning. The drowned man’s body was badly bruised from the weir, but the police had already identified the man as Harry Wood. He was well known to the police and as far as I could ascertain they are treating the death as an accidental drowning or possibly suicide.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Sean arrived an hour or so after Richard had left and Charlie brought him up to the drawing room. James could tell immediately that something bad had happened. ‘I’m glad to see you still alive,’ Sean said. ‘I take it you did not proceed with the duel.’

  ‘I take no pride in it, but Harry Wood is dead.’ James replied. ‘He drowned.’

  ‘That explains everything,’ Sean stuttered.

  ‘What’s wrong, Sean?’ James asked.

  ‘Billy is dead. His body was recovered from the Avon this morning. His throat had been cut.’

  James felt suddenly cold. ‘Are you sure it’s Billy?’