Avon Street

by Paul Emanuelli

  ‘We have only two days to prepare for Lansdown Fair,’ James said, addressing them all. ‘Caine has to be finished then, whatever it takes to do it.’ He felt a strange coldness inside, as though his conscience had at last fallen silent and granted sanction for him to act in whatever way he could to achieve his objective. Perhaps the others sensed it, because no one responded.

  Chapter 38

  John stood on the rich, broad, upland pasture of Lansdown Hill. The River Avon snaked its coils around the city below, and from the top of Lansdown Hill the sky stretched out like an endless waveless ocean. From here, high above the cityscape, the dazzling golden buildings that lined the wide parades appeared like nothing more than building blocks in a child’s playroom.

  John turned his back on the scene, switching his attention to the pleasure grounds laid out in front of him. The fair occupied a wide sweeping loop of the hilltop, with sideshows and exhibits, booths and tents encircling the livestock market. He’d watched from early morning as cattle and sheep were herded into makeshift pens, and horses were trotted around the circumference to show their gait to best advantage. Deals were already being struck and money exchanged, on the shake of a hand.

  The racecourse, further out along the hill, had been abandoned for four years, its rich ground lying fallow; good grazing for sheep and cattle. Now it was to be used again. The track had been laid out, and marquees were dotted to the north of its perimeter. By first light the carriages had already begun pulling up around the course to claim the best views, and the bookmakers had set up their stalls.

  The spring air blew free and clean and rich with country smells on Lansdown Hill, its customary quiet tranquillity lost in a sea of barking, bellowing and bleating, all blending with the chatter of the fair-goers and the raucous calls of the traders and entertainers. Those whose business was already done or yet to begin, and those whose business was pleasure, made their way around the tents and fairground booths.

  Wombwell’s Menagerie made up much of the entertainment with its human anomalies; the wonderful Scottish giant, the mountain creature, the living skeleton, and Madam Osiris, the seer of the future. Carnival girls strolled between the booths in their costumes made of delicately layered silk handkerchiefs. The wild animals from Africa and India were displayed some distance away in their own area, so as not to disturb the less exotic livestock. The tents were full of games of skill and chance, lucky dips and shies, and the tog-tables with their crooked dice and magnificent prizes, only ever won by the lady dice thrower’s accomplices.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Nat Caine arrived in a landau just after nine in the morning. He ordered the driver to tether the horses in one of the fields set aside for wagons and coaches, as near as possible to the fair to occupy a vantage point, but avoiding the prominence of a place by the racecourse. Under the seat of the coach he had stowed a tin box for depositing the monies to be collected that day, together with an array of flintlock pistols of varying age and specification.

  Caine sat for a while in the coach with one of the men, loading, priming and setting the pistols in readiness. He would never ordinarily have felt the need of such an armoury. Settlement day at Lansdown Fair normally proceeded without trouble, yet today felt different, and he was uneasy about the task ahead. The Irish troubled him in particular. He had expected them to react to the night of beatings and to the death of the little Irishman, but nothing had happened. Yet the talk on the street was of them coming together at Lansdown Fair for a fight.

  Caine watched as the gang assembled. Apart from his own men, almost all of whom were there, he had hired a further half dozen or so local bruisers for the day. He felt more secure when he saw their number. Yet he still felt nervous as he took a swig out of the flask of brandy on the seat beside him. He looked around searching for anything out of the ordinary. His stomach was knotted with pain again. The laudanum was all that seemed to keep it in check these days, but today he needed his wits about him.

  Caine stepped down from the coach and addressed the gang. Six of the best men he designated to guard the coach and to accompany him on his occasional forays into the fair or the races. Some of the others he split into twos and threes, and dispatched with their specific orders to sniff out the unlicensed games of chance and other activities that the law might frown upon, scattered around the fields, crouching behind walls and hidden between the canvas tents. The tricksters and card sharps were always vulnerable to the persuasions and intimidation in which the Cockroad gang specialised and could be expected to yield a reasonable toll. The rest of the men he dispatched to collect the annual fees from those who enjoyed his protection; the farmers and trades people, innkeepers and shopkeepers. He told them to leave the fairground people alone. They could not hope to match them in numbers or strength.

  Caine decided he would personally collect the dues from the bookmakers on the course, knowing that they might require persuading as to the value of his particular insurance. He knew most would find it preferable, after a little personal persuasion, to the risk of being robbed of their takings by some cut-throat on their way home.

  Leaving two men to watch the coach, he felt in a better mood as he commenced his first tour, cutting a wide swathe through the crowd. The respect was still plain in people’s eyes, though at second glance it seemed less certain and more questioning than it used to be, as though his appearance at the fair was almost viewed with some degree of disbelief. ‘Something ain’t right, Jeb,’ he said, turning to the man next to him. Almost before the words were out of his mouth he had corrected himself. ‘I mean Lem,’ he said, looking again at the man’s face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Lem asked.

  ‘Nothing I can lay my finger on,’ Caine replied. ‘But I know something’s wrong. I think we may have trouble today.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Lem asked.

  ‘Pass the word amongst the men. Tell ‘em to come down hard on any who shows any reluctance in paying. But tell them to mind they’re watchful too, there’s something not right.’

  Sitting at a makeshift table between two tents, a man was challenging passers-by to find the pea, which he shuffled between three thimbles. From time to time one of his confederates would appear and win quite easily. The small crowd of farm labourers gathered around him were obviously captivated by the ease of the game, and eager to stake their wages on a sure thing. Caine pushed his way past them.

  ‘Let’s have a go then,’ he said as the man looked him in the face for a moment and took note of who he was.

  ‘I’ve already paid, Mr Caine,’ he said.

  ‘Well let’s call this a bonus,’ Caine said, slapping a sovereign on the table. ‘I hope you’ve trimmed your fingernails this morning.’

  ‘You’ll break me, Mr Caine,’ the man said.

  ‘Well you’ll have to work harder then,’ Caine replied. ‘I’ll have the thimble in the middle.’

  ‘But I haven’t shown you yet which one the pea’s under, nor shuffled the thimbles.’

  ‘It don’t matter,’ Caine said. ‘I’ll have the middle one.’

  The man raised the thimble on his right, showing the crowd the position of the dry, wrinkled, nut-hard pea. As he replaced the thimble on the table, even Caine couldn’t see him trapping the pea under the long fingernail of his index finger and removing it from the table. He shuffled the thimbles in wide circular mesmeric sweeps of the polished wood and as he lifted the central thimble he deposited the pea, again unnoticed, on the table, beneath it. The crowd gasped in admiration of Nat Caine’s skill as the man handed back his sovereign together with one of his own. Caine tested both with his teeth and walked away as the crowd of labourers pushed forward, eager for some easy money, having just witnessed almost a month’s wages changing hands.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  John suddenly became aware that he had been out in the open for far too long. He made his way towards the ranks of tents at the far side of the fair, near the wild animal cages. They were pitched
side by side for the sale of beer and wine and liquor. Next to them were a number of stands selling tea and coffee and a row of less garish, less busy tents selling baked potatoes and pies and other foodstuffs.

  All of the tents had their entrances open to allow the customers a view of the goods and to help the cooking scents to percolate through the crowd and whet their appetites. Only one tent, set-back a little way from the others, had its front flap closed and tied shut. It was this one that John made for, careful to keep his cap pulled down over his face, watchful at every step.

  Sean Brennan stood inside the tent, checking the rota of assembled men against the list of volunteers. He looked at first startled and then relieved when John stepped through the opening. The men stood chatting and smoking; some helping their wives, busy assembling a long row of trestle tables, stretching for almost the full width of the tent. Each of the tables was covered with cheap white calico cloth that stretched down to the floor at the front. The tables were laid with bread and cheese and bowls piled high in waiting for the rabbit stew kept simmering in a massive pot at the back of the tent.

  ‘I think everyone’s here that should be here,’ Sean said to the assembled men. He turned to John. ‘I make it to be fifteen in all, with another twenty or so around the fair keeping an eye out for Caine’s men and waiting for orders – and there’s more on their way.’

  ‘That should be more than enough,’ John replied, with some satisfaction.

  ‘Now you lads stay here and have a drop of stew while Brendan takes me round to show me who we’re dealing with,’ Sean said. ‘And if any of you men have any weapons other than your fists … ’ He looked around at the men. His voice had been loud and authoritative and when he hesitated the tent fell totally silent. ‘Well, you can put them behind the table now, for the women to watch. I’ll be checking you all when we get back and you can be sure of that, if nothing else. I’ll have no killing or accidents today. You women sort your men out, now.’

  ‘Make sure you find where Caine is based,’ John said to Brendan, as he made to leave. ‘Charlie says he always has a coach where they keep the money and meet up during the day. We need to know where he will be.’ He watched through the closed tent flap as the two men set off across the fair.

  It seemed to John that they were gone for hours, but in truth it could not have been more than twenty minutes. Sean explained the exact location of Caine’s coach and then he and Brendan took up their positions at a small table outside the entrance to the tent, barring admittance. John pulled the canvas flap back far enough for Brendan’s twelve-year-old son to step out of the tent and stand at his father’s side.

  The boy already looked older than his years, John thought. Brendan always kept him near, now. It was less than a year ago that he had been imprisoned for a month’s hard labour for stealing a chicken. It had been the first meat the family had had in weeks. Locked in a cell, he had turned the crank for hour after hour, in pointless, back-breaking labour every day, to pay for his offence. Brendan had kept him close by since then. Today the boy desperately wanted to help his father and though Sean had objected, Brendan had relented, provided the boy agreed in turn to attend Sean’s school in the mornings until he had learnt to read.

  John took a grey scarf from the pile of coats and passed it out to Sean. ‘Here’s your scarf, Father Brennan,’ he said, smiling. ‘We wouldn’t want anyone to recognise you as a priest.’ The priest returned his smile and tied the scarf around his neck. They had little time to wait before one of the groups of Caine’s men drew near. Brendan’s son knew what he had to do and his father duly dispatched him to talk to them.

  As the boy spoke, he pointed at the tent and one of the men held a coin out to him. The lad snatched the coin away quickly and disappeared into the crowd. Sean and the others stood, as Caine’s men approached the tent. John signalled to the men inside to make ready.

  ‘What’s amiss, lads?’ Sean asked when they were within earshot.

  ‘There’s a game of chance in here,’ one of the men said as he pushed past and untied the tent flap. He entered of his own accord. Brendan propelled the second man through the entrance with the assistance of his right boot. Once inside a dozen Irishmen fell on the men, forcing them to the ground with a minimum of noise and resistance. The two were quickly bound and gagged and deposited, out of sight, behind the calico cloths which covered the trestle tables.

  During the course of the morning more of Caine’s men joined those already stowed behind the tables. Each man was gagged, then trussed like a chicken, with hands and feet bound and with a rope securing the knots around their arms to those around their legs, to prevent them kicking out or moving. By noon, seven of Caine’s men had been subdued and restrained.

  ‘I’ll get word to the lads around the fair to start the trouble,’ Brendan said. We’ll draw them as far away from the coach as we can and quiet one or two of them.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Lem leant on the door of the coach where Caine was sitting. ‘Something’s definitely not right, Nat,’ he said. ‘Some of the lads haven’t been seen for hours and there’s fights breaking out everywhere, usually with one or more of our lads involved. The peelers are chasing around like mad things. They get to one fight and it breaks up and then another one starts up somewhere else.’

  ‘I’ve felt uneasy all morning,’ Caine said. ‘Get all the men back here and then ride into town, Lem, and get more men. Anyone you can lay hands on. Leave a couple to watch the house, but fetch everyone else and hire anyone you see that’s worked for us before. Get them here quickly. If they want a battle I’ll give them one they won’t forget.’

  Chapter 39

  The streets of Bath were deserted on the day of Lansdown Fair, and the area at the back of Nat Caine’s headquarters was no exception. Belle made her entrance to the lane in the middle of the afternoon as they had planned. She knew the others were close, but still she was afraid. The cold air and her own fear conspired together until she was uncertain as to which was the cause of the trembling in her legs.

  The thin dress clung to her body as though it was moulded to her skin, as it was meant to; just as Jenny had fitted it for her. Bought second-hand, she tried to imagine who had worn it before, feeling for a character to play, as though some vestige of the spirit of its previous owner still existed in the fabric of the dress.

  Belle was to all intents and purposes a common barmaid now, and walked with an affected, teasing laziness; moving, she hoped, like a cheap seductress. It was a part she had played on stage many times before, but never had her life depended on how well she played the role.

  In her right hand she carried an earthenware jug that steamed in the cold air, and two tankards swung from her left hand. The burdens rose and fell with each contrived step, as though her arms were measuring scales, dipping and counterbalancing each other. She used the rhythm of her movement, fighting each nervous impulse that might make her appearance less languorous, or show any sign of the fear that was gnawing at her.

  As soon as they saw her, the men guarding the back door of Caine’s house began shouting and gesturing. Their words left little doubt as to their opinion of her charms, and likely morality. She felt her fear receding; she was an actress again and her performance was going well.

  ‘What’ve you got there?’ one of the men called.

  ‘Just a hot toddy for a customer, who’s sickly in his bed,’ Belle replied. ‘I’m hoping to warm him up a little.’

  ‘You could warm me up,’ one of the men shouted. ‘Bring yourself over here.’

  ‘But it’s already paid for,’ she said, as she drew nearer to the men. ‘You wouldn’t want to get me into trouble, would you?’

  ‘You’ll be paid, if I like what you’ve got,’ he said, turning to his companion, laughing. Belle placed the jug and tankards on the floor near their feet. The scents of the nutmeg and cloves spread through the air, damping the stench of the street for a moment. As she squatted down on her haunches to put
the tankards on the ground she spread her legs wide, making sure that the thin cotton fabric clung as tightly as possible to her thighs.

  She bent forward and a tangled mess of hair fell across her shoulders and her shawl slipped far enough down to show her cleavage to best advantage. She sensed rather than saw the men leaning over her body as she filled the tankards; felt their gaze crawling over her as she licked imagined drops of the liquid slowly from the ends of her fingers.

  ‘Here you go, gentlemen,’ she said, standing and handing a tankard to each of the men.

  ‘Will you have a drink?’ one of the men asked.

  She stood close in, her legs touching his and stroked his matted beard with her fingertips. She could smell his breath, like rotten meat. ‘It ain’t ladylike to drink from a tankard,’ she said. ‘You take a drink for me and keep it warm in your mouth.’ As he took a deep draught, she leant forward and kissed him open-mouthed, sucking a small quantity of wine from his eager wet lips, letting it run down her chin.

  As she broke away from his grabbing arms she spat the liquid, unseen, to the ground and wiped her lips on the back of her hand. She felt his clumsy hands rough against her body, but offered only mock resistance. ‘You’re an eager fellow,’ she said, tossing her hair back. ‘There’s only one way I’ll satisfy your appetite, but I ain’t doing it here, not in front of your friend. What sort of girl do you take me for? We’ll go somewhere – and I’ll want paying.’ She hesitated, watching his reaction; sensing his eagerness. ‘Why don’t we go in the house?’ she asked.

  The man’s expression changed. ‘If I gets caught taking you into the house, it’s more than my life’s worth,’ he said. His face was suddenly serious and she sensed she was losing the initiative. Her nerves threatened to get the better of her for a moment. She sensed all too well that she had made her move too soon. If only she had waited for the drugs to take some effect. She needed another plan before it all went wrong.