Avon Street

by Paul Emanuelli

  ‘Well I know a place,’ she said, pointing back to where she had come from. ‘If you feel like I do we shouldn’t be gone too long.’ She suppressed the shudder she felt and took his hand before turning away. It was a gamble. She could feel the sudden resistance in his arm. She let go, letting her own hand trail to her side as she walked away. Only then did she sense him following her; felt his hand taking hers. She began running across the road, pulling him with her, sensing her power.

  ‘There’ll be hell to pay if Nat Caine shows up!’ the other man shouted, behind them. She looked over her shoulder and saw him filling his tankard again.

  ‘Tell him I’ve gone for a piss,’ her companion shouted, without a glance behind them.

  ‘There’s a good place up the end of the alley,’ Belle whispered to the man.

  As they reached the top of the alleyway, she felt the shockwaves through the man’s hand as the cosh came down on the side of his neck. He sank to the ground, without a word, like a dropped sack of potatoes. ‘Thank God,’ Belle said, shuddering. She scrubbed at her mouth with a handkerchief, trying to erase the taste of the man.

  ‘I am sorry you had to endure that, Belle,’ James said, placing an arm around her shoulder. He kissed her on the cheek and his lips were warm and dry against the cold of her skin. ‘Why did you change the plan?’

  ‘He wouldn’t open the door, so I thought I would at least draw one of them away.’

  ‘This might be better,’ James said. There may be no need to rush the door. ‘If I put on his cap and coat we can get up close to the other one.’

  Belle smiled at Charlie who looked concerned. James gestured to one of the other men, ‘Diarmuid, get his pistol, search him for the door key then get his coat and cap off him, while I gag him and tie his hands. That bump I gave him should keep him out for a while. Did he drink much of the wine, Belle?’

  ‘No, I think his mind was on other things,’ she replied. ‘But the other one is already on his second tankard.’

  ‘Richard said the drugs he gave me would act quickly,’ James said. ‘They should be taking effect by now, and the other one should be easy to deal with if we can get up close to him.’

  James put on the man’s coat, pulling up the collar to cover his beardless chin. ‘Pass me his cap.’

  ‘Your man here hasn’t got the key,’ Diarmuid said. ‘The other one must have it.’ He passed the man’s tattered cap to James.

  There was still no one about in the alleyway, but Belle felt suddenly more conscious of the group’s conspicuousness. It was as though James felt it at the same time, as though they were communicating without speech. ‘Tom, don’t leave him lying on the floor,’ James said, gesturing to the unconscious body of the guard. ‘Help Diarmuid prop him as though he were drunk; and try and hide these,’ he said, kicking one of the empty carpet bags into a doorway. Tom and Diarmuid dragged the body to its feet and held him up between them like drunken friends.

  ‘We’ve waited long enough,’ Belle said, turning towards him. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Yes,’ James replied.

  Belle wound her right arm around James’ waist. ‘Pull the cap further down to cover more of your face,’ she said. ‘We don’t want him shooting you now, do we?’ Her laughter was forced and did little to exorcise her fear.

  ‘Take a pistol with you, James,’ Charlie said.

  ‘No!’ James said, turning to face him, ‘I’ll not carry a gun and put Belle’s life at risk.’ She felt the concern in his voice and words and her nerves receded for a moment. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said turning to her, ‘I’ll not let them harm you, whatever happens.’ He put his arm around her shoulder as though it would protect her, perhaps a futile gesture, and yet she felt stronger for it.

  As they set off down the alleyway, their bodies pressed close together, a single dark shape, she sensed rather than heard him whispering words of comfort to her. As they emerged from the other end of the alley, they tried to relax into their respective poses. The guard in the doorway opposite saw them immediately, but she could see he was finding it difficult to focus his eyes and his stance was already unsteady. ‘Bring your face closer to mine,’ she whispered to James, ‘lest he see you.’

  ‘Were she as tasty as she looks?’ the guard called, his words slurring together, ‘only I wouldn’t mind giving her something to remember me by.’

  James bent closer to Belle’s face and kissed her. She knew it was a subterfuge to avoid having to reply, but the kiss felt good and she offered no resistance. She felt her eyelids closing, forgetting for a second where they were; then she turned away. James had also turned and she felt his warm breath as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She looked around; there was no one else in the road.

  There was a moment, she thought, as they drew up to him, when the guard’s expression showed a sudden realisation that the man approaching was not his friend. She disengaged from James and lashed out with a kick to the man’s groin. It felt good. At the same time, James swung the cosh back with his right arm and brought it down on the man’s head. As his body fell to the ground, the others sprang from the alley and ran to join them, dragging the other guard between them. Charlie reached down and pulled the key from the man’s pocket.

  Within seconds Belle had opened the door and ushered everyone inside. They dragged the bodies of the guards with them. James handed his coat and cap to Diarmuid. Tom took the fallen guard’s pistol and passed it to Charlie, while James gagged and bound the unconscious body.

  ‘We’ll have no further trouble from these two,’ James said. ‘Now you stand outside, Diarmuid, and watch the street. Tom, you go and fetch the gig.’

  Belle handed the key to Diarmuid.

  ‘Any sign of trouble, get in, lock the door and we’ll get out through the front,’ James said. The two lads went outside, Diarmuid standing on guard by the door as though nothing had happened, whilst Tom ran down the street.

  ‘You’d better get away now, Belle,’ James said. There was urgency in his voice and hastiness in the kiss he planted on her cheek.

  ‘Take care, James,’ she said quietly. She took his hand for a moment in hers then she broke her gaze and let his hand fall. ‘Take care, all of you,’ she said as she left and Diarmuid closed the door behind her.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  James and Charlie made their way slowly and carefully down the passageway to the main house. Things had gone better than they could have expected, he thought, thanks to Belle. Charlie grabbed his arm, ‘Let me go first,’ he said, ‘I’m used to this.’ The door of the room next to the front door was open. Charlie put his head tentatively around its frame and sighed with relief. ‘Empty,’ he said. The key to the front door lay unguarded on the table and he placed it in the lock of the front door ready, should they need it.

  Charlie led the way down the stairs to the basement, the pistol ready in his hand. If there were any number of men in the kitchen all they could hope for was that a shot might delay them long enough to run to the back door and lock it behind them. Charlie kicked the kitchen door open and they burst into the room. The kitchen was empty and James felt the relief sweep through his body. ‘We’ve done it,’ he shouted. ‘We’ve bloody well done it.’

  ‘Not yet, we haven’t,’ Charlie said, making his way to the safe. ‘But it must have gone well at Lansdown. They’ve managed to suck all of Caine’s men out of Bath, like you said. Come and help me with this, James.’

  James was mesmerised for a moment by the sight of the clock and the pair of silver Georgian candlesticks on the mantelpiece. ‘These are mine,’ he said, ‘and I’m taking them back.’ He took the empty carpet bag they had brought with them over to the long mahogany table in the centre of the room and placed the objects lovingly inside it. Charlie opened his tool-bag and began work on the lock of the safe with a range of picks and skeleton keys.

  After about ten minutes Charlie sat back on the floor. ‘This one’s got the better of me, James. We’re going to have to use th
e peter-cutter and the sooner we start the better.’ He took the drill from his bag and fitted its clamping grip in the keyhole of the safe. James had practised with the cutter before and knew that it took time and effort to do its work.

  Using the grip to create leverage, Charlie applied as much pressure as he was able in engaging the cutter. He was strong and the cutter was the finest that money could buy, but he soon tired and James took over. The steel door shrieked its resistance at each grudging millimetre that the cutter dug into its surface, but still they continued. At last, taking it in turns, they created a small hole and James reached in, pulled the lock bolt back and opened the safe door.

  A glance inside was enough to confirm that the contents were well worth the effort. Charlie began taking handfuls of gold sovereigns and bundles of notes from the safe.

  ‘Leave the notes,’ James said. ‘Remember what we agreed. Anything that might be traced we leave.’ Charlie pulled a deep drawer from the safe and emptied its contents on the ground. It was full of watches, rings, necklaces, bracelets, silver card cases and snuff boxes.

  The snuff spilt out of some and filled the air with its heavy scent, causing Charlie to sneeze. ‘I could sell these easy,’ he said, grinning. ‘We might not get what they’re worth, but it’d be well worth having.’

  ‘We take nothing but the gold sovereigns and coins,’ James said.

  ‘I know,’ Charlie agreed. ‘I was just dreaming for a while, but what about the silver that’s been smelted down?’

  James thought for a while. ‘I suppose its origins cannot be traced. Take it.’

  Charlie began loading the small bars of silver into the other carpet bag. ‘I’ve got old coiner friends in Bristol what’ll give us a good price for they bars,’ he said. ‘All the gold can go safely to Sean and we can each take our share from the silver when I’ve sold it.’

  James retrieved a bundle of papers from the back of the safe. He unfolded them and began reading them. ‘Look at these, Charlie,’ he said, ‘these are plans for the three houses Nat Caine burgled with Harcourt.’

  ‘Well they ain’t worth having now,’ Charlie replied, tipping trays of gold sovereigns into the bag, delighting in the noise like a young child.

  James laid the plans out across the kitchen table and then left them where they lay. Frank’s handwriting was still so recognisable. It was still hard to believe that he was dead.

  ‘Sean will like this,’ Charlie said, tossing an old leather bound book in James’ direction. James thumbed through the pages, scanning the names of the people and the money they owed to Caine. He threw it into the bag. ‘You’re right, Charlie,’ he said, ‘it’s the best gift we could give to Sean and all the ones listed in its pages, all those debts cancelled.’

  ‘We’d better go,’ Charlie exclaimed, ‘we’ve already been here too long. Shall we have a bit of that silver plate?’ he added, pointing to a pile in the corner of the room.

  ‘No, leave it,’ James said, picking up the carpet bag. ‘Make sure you’ve packed all your tools away, Charlie. We must leave nothing that can be traced to us.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  The streets of the city were still deserted and James hunted in vain for a passing constable. Eventually he gave up and made instead for the police station in Grove Street. Opening the door, he found two uninterested constables and placed the key on the desk in front of them. ‘There’s a robbery going on in the big house in Hucklebridge’s Court,’ he said, his voice muffled by the scarf pulled up around his mouth. ‘I’ve locked them in but you’d better fetch help.’

  ‘Who are you?’ one the constables called as James ran towards the door.

  ‘It doesn’t matter who I am,’ he said. ‘Get down to Hucklebridge’s Court.’ By the time the first constable had reached the door of the police station, James was boarding the waiting gig and Tom was urging the horse into a gallop.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Caine’s uneasiness had grown as the day grew older. More men had been brought from Bath and yet he still felt vulnerable. He had kept the men with him since they arrived and sent no one out in parties of less than four at a time. Yet still they came back beaten and bedraggled. By late afternoon he had had enough and sent out orders that everyone was to come back with whatever they had collected. When they had assembled in front of the Landau they looked like a defeated army, and so many were missing.

  ‘There’s something happening,’ one of the men said.

  ‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ Caine spat back.

  ‘No, I mean something’s happening in Bath. Half of the peelers have already disappeared back into the city.’

  It was then that Caine saw them; a crowd of forty or so men and women converging on the coach. The nearer they got, the more their numbers grew. He reached instinctively for the pistols under the seat and began passing them out.

  ‘There must be sixty of ‘em,’ one of Caine’s men said, ‘we can’t kill them all and besides there’s as many women as men. I don’t kill women.’

  As the crowd grew nearer, one of the men at the centre of the crowd signalled for the others to stop. They fanned out in a crescent around the coach, still some distance away. Caine recognised the figure. ‘It’s that bastard priest, Brennan,’ he said. The men looked uneasy and one of them made to break for the fields. Caine jumped down from the coach and grabbed the man by his collar, ‘Make a move and I’ll drop you before you’ve gone a yard,’ he said, pushing the barrel of the pistol into the man’s back.

  ‘How many of your flock are ready to die?’ Caine shouted, staring directly at the priest. The priest said nothing. Caine brought the pistol up to eye level, taking aim. The priest raised his arm and the crowd began to disperse. Caine laughed. The gutless Irish were running. Soon all that was left was the priest and half a dozen men. ‘Go on; run!’ Caine shouted. ‘You can’t take me on face to face, can you?’ He lowered the pistol, beckoning them to come nearer.

  The priest smiled and so did the man standing next to him. Then they too turned and ran. The realisation was like a slow fuse being lit in his head. The man with the priest was the same man who was with Jeb that night; the one Maggs had called his nephew that time in The Pig and Whistle. But if he was here, where was Charlie Maggs?

  Suddenly Caine understood what was happening. ‘The house,’ he said, ‘there’s only two men at the house. Get me a horse. I need to get back to Bath.’ He turned round. The priest, and the man, and all of the Irish were nowhere to be seen in the crowd of Lansdown Fair. He turned to his men. ‘You three come with me, the rest of you take the money we’ve collected back to Cockroad and wait for me there.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  When Caine reached the house in Hucklebridge’s Court it was swarming with peelers. He watched, powerless, as they loaded the wagon outside with silver plate and everything else of value, taking from him in hours what he had spent years in acquiring and building; filching the very respect he had created for the name of Caine.

  Chapter 40

  Charlie poured whisky into three tumblers and took them round in turn to James and Sean and John. Then he raised his own mug of tea in salute and proclaimed to the room. ‘We beat him! Raise your glasses, gentlemen. We beat Nathaniel Caine.’

  James looked at their faces; each seemed older since the beginning of their time together, or perhaps it was simply that he had got to know and trust them so well. Each was an old friend now. He raised his glass, wanting to celebrate, like John and Charlie, yet part of him felt weary. The deaths played heavily on his mind – Billy, and Harcourt, and the Wood brothers and even Jeb. And perhaps he was too used to living in fear to now let it go so easily. ‘But can we be sure that he is beaten?’ he said, to no one in particular.

  ‘Caine’s nowhere to go but Cockroad now,’ Charlie said. ‘The law is after him, his gang’s in tatters and he’s lost his fortune. I don’t think we’ll see him in Bath again for some time to come.’

  ‘But he knows each of us now,’ James sai
d, ‘and understands what we did.’

  ‘And he’ll want to get even,’ Sean interrupted.

  ‘I knows him well enough to know that his first thought will be to keep away from the law and rebuild,’ Charlie said. ‘He won’t bother us for a while, and I’ve got friends who’ll keep a watch on him.’

  ‘Let’s not forget in our celebrations,’ Sean said, ‘that people have paid with their lives for this victory.’

  John raised his glass again, ‘To Billy,’ he said. They all joined in the toast and the room was silent for a while, each of them alone with their thoughts. None willing to break the silence until John spoke again. ‘I feel as guilty as any for Billy’s death, but it was Caine who killed him. Let’s not forget that. We did what we had to. Don’t go making sinners of us all, Sean. How many others would have suffered if we had not stopped him? How many others would have paid with their lives? We did what was right.’

  ‘We are all sinners,’ Sean said. ‘I too feel the guilt for Billy’s death, yet I believe we have all tried to do what was just, and to act not simply for ourselves, but for the good of others. Perhaps we have even found some justice for Thomas Hunt and his daughter in what we have done.’

  James felt his conscience pricked at the mention of Hunt’s name. Over the weeks he had forgotten them; forgotten Hunt’s dead daughter and his wife and children. ‘What has become of his family?’ he asked. ‘Can anything be done for them?’

  ‘I have found that Imelda Hunt has a sister in Ireland,’ Sean said. ‘But she has two children of her own and her husband has lost the tenancy of their farm. They are at present in the workhouse and cannot take on more mouths to feed.’

  ‘Some good must come of this,’ James said, ‘some putting right for Hunt’s death and some justice for his daughter. What of Imelda Hunt? Is she recovered?’

  ‘There are times when she is lucid,’ Sean said. ‘She at least recognises me now, but she still cannot face the children, and she talks at times about her daughter and husband as though they were still alive. When she remembers their deaths, she blames herself and is as ailing as before.’