‘I went with Mary, his wife, to identify him,’ Sean said.
The room fell silent. James looked at Charlie, struggling to find something to say. It was obvious that neither of them wanted to be the first to speak. ‘Do they know who did it?’ James asked eventually, reluctant to use Billy’s name as though by naming him it would confirm his death. The same stupid thought went around and around in his head; Billy and his dreams of going to Ireland.
‘As soon as I said it was Billy and confirmed where he came from, they decided right away it must have been a drunken brawl,’ Sean said. ‘The peelers are bringing the body to the church at three.’
‘It was Caine,’ Charlie said. ‘It must have been.’
‘I’m certain too,’ Sean said. ‘Caine took his revenge last night on every Irishman or woman he found. The whole of his gang were out throughout the night, breaking into people’s houses; anyone they took a mind to beat and rob. He even tried to get at me, but Brendan and Diarmuid must have been keeping watch and they ran and warned me. Caine broke into the house and wrecked it, but I used the tunnel and got into the church and away.’
‘Billy had children,’ James said, remembering snatches of random conversations that now felt so much more important than they had at the time.
‘Yes, Mary has three little ones to care for now,’ Sean said.
‘Well she won’t go wanting,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll see her right and so will we all.’
‘I have no money,’ James said.
‘Let’s not worry about money,’ Sean said, ‘no money will put this right.’
‘I’ll come to the church,’ James said. ‘What are they doing now, the gang?’
‘They’ve all lain low today,’ Sean replied. It’s not them I’m worried about, it’s the people. They’re so full of hate for Caine and his men that anything might happen. I must get back and do what I can to still them.’
❖ ❖ ❖
When Sean and Charlie left, the room felt very empty. Alone, with his memories and his guilt, James’ imagination filled the room with Billy’s laughter. The sound was in his head, he knew that, yet the pictures in his mind seemed almost real. He saw Billy walking behind him that night on the way to The Circus, saw his grinning face for a moment and then he stilled his mind and the ghost vanished, but the thought still remained. If it was not for him then Billy would still be alive.
When Charlie returned he thrust a purse of money into James’ hand. ‘That’s a share of my money from Harcourt’s. I want it to go to Billy’s widow and I’m sure John will do the same. Should I take it down there and pay my respects.’
‘We will both go,’ James said.
‘That’s risky,’ Charlie said, but his expression showed that he already understood that argument was pointless.
‘If it were not for me Billy might still be alive,’ James said. ‘On second thoughts, Charlie, wait for John and tell him what has happened.’
‘We all have his blood on us,’ Charlie said, ‘but we did not kill him and we cannot bring him back by wishing it. Take care going through town and be sure no one follows you back, or there will be more blood spilt.’
‘John was the closest of us to Billy,’ James said. ‘He’s sure to take it very badly. Tell him with as little hurt as you can.’
Chapter 34
The rain was coming down heavily as James hailed the hackney cab at the top of Walcot Street. The wind howled and whipped the raindrops into biting, horizontal, needle-sheets of icy water. His cab soon overtook Sean and the priest clambered on board. The two travelled together to the priest’s house in silence.
When they arrived, Sean went to the church, leaving James in the house. ‘I will send for you when Billy’s body is laid out. Brendan will show you the tunnel entrance. It’s best you spend as little time as possible in the open, though there’s no sign of Caine’s men about now.’
The morning stretched relentlessly long into the afternoon as James waited, alone with his thoughts, until Brendan came to fetch him.
❖ ❖ ❖
After the darkness of the tunnel, the church was a sea of candlelight. The smoke of incense hung heavy, as though the emotion of the place clawed the scented smoke back to the ground each time it tried to rise. James looked at the walls rather than the faces; at the pictures of the Stations of the Cross, sanitised scenes of suffering, their garish colours over-bright. Billy’s makeshift coffin stood raised on builder’s trestles in front of the altar. He wanted to look away, but stood transfixed as the stream of people slowly filed past Billy’s body, paying their last respects.
Mary, Billy’s widow, he guessed it must be her, sat on a bench at the front, a long black shawl draped over her head and shoulders and wrapped around the baby in her arms. To one side of her sat her son, and, on the other side, her daughter. As each of the mourners passed the coffin they crossed themselves and came over to whisper to Mary, pat the boy on the head or pinch his cheeks and kiss the young girl. Some gave small amounts of money to the wife, some gave only tears.
James filed past the coffin with the others and like them he made the sign of the cross before stopping for a moment to look at Billy’s grey, soulless face. His lips were slightly parted as though he was about to speak, but there was no longer anything to say, no funny stories to tell. Loosely draped around his neck was a brightly coloured woollen scarf tucked into a freshly ironed waistcoat, but there was no sign of the watch John had given him.
James took out his own pocket watch, the one his father had given him, and leaning forward, placed it unseen under Billy’s waistcoat. As he did so, he disturbed the scarf and saw the edges of the ugly jagged scar on the white skin of Billy’s neck, sewn closed with a few makeshift stitches. The sight was enough to bring tears to his eyes, but he held them back and before moving away he adjusted the scarf to re-cover the wound.
‘You don’t know me, Mary,’ he said, as he approached Billy’s widow, ‘but I was a friend of Billy’s.’ The children at her side, made so small by the rituals of death, gazed around the church as if numbed by the waves of emotion that engulfed them. James remembered his own feelings of loss and confusion when his mother had died and wanted to tell them that he understood.
‘My name is James Daunton,’ he went on. ‘I am very…’ He got no further.
Mary rose quickly to her feet at the sound of his name and slapped him hard across his left cheek. Her shawl fell down off one shoulder, trailing down to the ground, leaving the baby’s head exposed. The little boy stepped forward, standing between his mother and James. ‘You were no friend to Billy,’ Mary said. ‘You used him as it suited you and it cost him his life.’
‘I understand your feelings,’ James replied, ‘and I would do anything to bring him back if I could.’ He stood still, waiting to be slapped again, hoping that it might diffuse her pain and give expression to his own. He wanted to pick up the shawl and put it back around her shoulder, but he couldn’t move.
‘You understand nothing of my feelings,’ Mary spat back. ‘And now you’ll start a war to save yourself.’
‘I will help you and the children in any … ’ James started to say, but he got no further.
‘I want no help from you. Keep your blood money,’ Mary interrupted.
He struggled to find words again, but none came. People were staring at him now, the church silent. He kept wanting to replace the shawl around Mary’s shoulder, as though it was all he could think of to do. Sean rushed forward and shepherded him to one side as Mary collapsed back to the bench, weeping. ‘Now is not the time, James,’ he said.
‘I want to help,’ James replied, ‘to somehow make amends.’
‘Your needs are not important now, James,’ Sean said. ‘Mary will need help. She has no family. Without help her future is in the workhouse, separated from her children. Do you think she will let that happen? She would give her life before splitting her family.’
‘I don’t want her to lose her pride. I have nothing left no
w, but Charlie is bringing money and probably John too, will you make sure she gets it,’ James said, ‘and if she needs more tell me.’
‘I’ll do it, James,’ Sean said. ‘Mary’s family will never see the inside of the workhouse, but let it be for now. There are more pressing problems.’
‘I can feel the people’s anger,’ James said. He wanted to look at Mary, feeling her eyes still on him, but he looked away. When he turned to see her again, she was staring at the coffin and trying to smile for the children. He no longer existed as anything of any importance in her life.
‘Their anger’s not aimed at you,’ Sean said. ‘For most of them, you and Billy are heroes. You took on Nat Caine and worried him for a while. It’s him they blame for all that’s wrong in Avon Street. You and Billy and the others have made them believe for the first time that Caine can be beaten.’
‘What are the constabulary doing concerning Billy’s murder?’ James asked.
‘He’s just another Irishman to them, and the peelers have little interest in an Irish death,’ Sean replied. ‘Besides, Caine has too many of them in his pocket. But the people are angry and my fear is that they will take the law into their own hands.’
James looked around the room. The men had begun congregating at the back of the church, uncomfortable in their Sunday suits, but this time they were not exchanging whispered jokes and muffled laughter or waiting to sneak out to the nearest ale house. They were gathering in small groups and their voices were getting louder despite the solemnity of the occasion; their movements jagged with barely contained emotions, their expressions cold with hatred. Sean pointed out one of them to him, a man called Dempsey; a great ox of a man. James watched him as he moved from group to group, gradually gathering a crowd around him.
Sean moved away, over to the altar, behind Billy’s coffin. He stood silent for a while then brought his fist down hard on the corner of the altar, three times. ‘I will not have this occasion made foul in the sight of God by talk of revenge, and the assemblage of a mob,’ he shouted. The church was silent for a moment.
‘We’ll have justice, Father,’ Dempsey called back, ‘and if the law don’t give it to us, we’ll take it for ourselves. It’s time the Irish were heard in this city, be Jeesus.’
James walked up the steps and joined Sean by the altar. He looked down the length of the church to the crowd of men at the back. The door was open and more men were joining the swelling crowd from outside. The people around Dempsey were nodding their approval and then, there by the door, standing motionless, arms folded before them, James saw Charlie and John.
‘I’ll have no profanity in the house of God!’ Sean shouted. ‘Billy will have justice, but it will come from the law, and if not from the law, then from God. We do not even know who is guilty of his murder.’
‘We know Nat Caine’s behind it,’ Dempsey shouted. ‘His men were beating every Irish soul they could lay hands on last night. Let’s see how he feels when we outnumber him. Sure, there’s enough of us to do for them all, they’re all guilty of something.’
‘And if you do for them, how many more widows will there be?’
‘There’ll be more Caine widers than Irish,’ one of the men shouted, accompanied by calls of agreement.
‘Do you think the authorities will stand by and watch?’ James shouted out above the noise of the crowd. ‘Nothing would please them more than to see every Irishman driven out of Bath. All they need is an excuse to act. The dragoons are stationed outside the city. Do you think they will stay there while you march through the city?’ The crowd fell quiet for a moment.
‘Then we’ll fight the dragoons!’ Dempsey shouted. There was a chorus of approval.
‘And who is it will care for your widows and children?’ Sean answered at the top of his voice.
‘We will have vengeance,’ Dempsey replied, looking around him as if he could feel the crowd slipping from him. ‘Who’s wid me?’ he called as he turned to lead the men out of the church.
Charlie kicked the church door with the back of his heel and it slammed with a bang as loud as a musket shot. John stood in Dempsey’s path, his back to the door. ‘Listen to the priest,’ he said, ‘now’s not the time. We’ll get whoever killed Billy in good time.’
‘What’s it to do wid you?’ Dempsey said, moving towards the door. ‘We’ll take justice now!’
John stood stock still, staring into Dempsey’s eyes, blocking his route to the door. And Charlie stood beside him..
‘I’ll not have talk of violence in God’s house!’ Sean shouted.
Dempsey looked round for support, but the crowd now looked less certain and he must have sensed his control fading.
‘You can all avenge Billy,’ James called at the top of his voice from the stage. ‘You can all help defeat Nat Caine. But do it from cold courage, not from the heat of anger. Those of you who are willing to fight Nat Caine, give your names to Father Brennan now and I promise you, you will have justice. But wait until the time is right and respect Billy’s life.’
‘Listen to him.’ It was a woman’s voice. James turned. Mary had risen to her feet, the children at her side again. ‘No more deaths,’ she said. She looked towards James, but as he returned her look, she turned away.
The men began shuffling forward. One or two lined up to give their names to Sean. ‘Form a line,’ Sean called, ‘and I’ll take all your names.’ He turned to look at James. ‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice now quiet. ‘I think the mood is broken for now, but I’ll not see you use these men as your army.’
‘I know,’ James replied.
‘Well, how do you intend using them?’ Sean asked.
‘I need to plan,’ James replied, ‘but for now at least, they’re not taking to the streets. They need time to cool down and I need time to think. Look after Mary. I will do nothing without speaking to you first. Walk with me to the door and take the money from Charlie.’
They made their way to the door, acknowledging the faces of those who had joined the line to give their names and those standing, less certain, at the back of the church. Their progress was hampered from time to time by people clapping James on the back and pledging support, though it did little other than to increase his feelings of guilt. At the church door John and Charlie passed the money to Sean, ‘Make sure she gets it,’ Charlie said.
James turned. Mary was sitting, her arms around the children, alone with their grief. He wanted more than anything to speak to her, but he knew he had no words that would make any difference to her life. He wished Belle was with him. She would have known what to say, how to comfort Billy’s widow and the children; compassion came so easily to her.
Chapter 35
Caine sat at the head of the table with the five bags of sovereigns, staring in turn at each of the faces of the five men sitting in front of him. They were nervous and they couldn’t hide the fact. He looked around the kitchen, at the dozen or so of his men scattered around its perimeter, their faces stony and impassive. He waited, sensing the tension growing, then, when he felt the time was right, he spoke. ‘I see new faces now, around Avon Street, wearing peelers’ uniforms … and they’m unfriendly faces, brought in from other parts of the city. Some have even come from Bristol. And then I see you lot, not wearing uniforms. Can anyone tell me why?’
‘Because we’ve lost our jobs,’ one of the seated men replied.
‘And why did you lose your jobs?’ Caine asked.
‘The chief constable said he had information as we were taking money from you and turning a blind eye to what you were up to, said he was replacing us.’ The man hesitated, thinking what to say next, wondering if he had said too much. Caine could see the beads of sweat on his forehead. ‘He asked us questions about you and about things that had happened and … ’
One of the others interrupted him, eager to demonstrate loyalty even if it was too late. ‘He’s seen all of us, one by one.’
‘And how did he know all your names?’ Caine barked.
/> ‘He didn’t say, but he knew them all right, and that we were somehow mixed up with you. But we didn’t tell him anything, none of us.’
‘And how do I know that?’ Caine asked.
They all looked at each other, each reluctant to draw attention to themselves. Then the second man spoke again. ‘If we’d ratted we’d be inside now, and he’d be a hammerin’ on your door. We know better than to cross you, Nat. He’s no proof, but he sacked us anyway.’
‘But you’re none of you any use to me now,’ Caine shouted, ‘not without your uniforms!’
‘We could come and work for you proper,’ one of the men said.
‘I don’t need you. If you can sell out once you can do it again. Besides, I’ve got enough men. Men as I can trust.’
The room fell silent for a moment as Caine’s gaze shifted from one to the next. ‘There’s one of you not here today,’ Caine said.
The men looked around the room. ‘Aye, Dawlish ain’t here.’ It was the first man who had spoken.
‘Aye, Dawlish,’ Caine said. ‘Constable Dawlish came to see me yesterday and told me all six of you had been given the boot.’
‘But like Harris said, we haven’t said anything.’ This time it was one of the others that spoke.
‘That’s what Constable Dawlish said too,’ Caine replied. ‘Only he wanted paying to say nothing and he wanted paying a lot. That’s why he’s not here today.’ He stopped speaking, letting their imaginations work for a while. ‘Do you know where Constable Dawlish is today?’ Caine looked at the faces, watching the fear grow in the silence. No one spoke and he let the silence build again. ‘Well I’ll tell you, shall I?’ He hesitated, knowing the tension would take hold, knowing no one would interrupt. ‘Constable Dawlish is resting in the woods on Lyncombe Hill, buried good and deep, where no one will find him.’
One of the men made to stand. Caine gestured to two of his own men who rushed forward and restrained him. He lifted one of the bags in front of him and dropped it back with a bang on the table, smiling inside as he saw two of the men jump. ‘In each of these bags is fifty sovereigns,’ he said, ‘fifty pounds for each of you. You can take them now and walk out of the room, with one condition.’
Avon Street Page 35
