‘I am dreadfully sorry,’ Jack stammered. The dirty smile plastered across the woman’s ample cheeks bore the familiar flush of the inebriated. It was a look he recognised well.
‘Do not apologise, young sir!’ the woman squealed as Jack backed away. She came after him, her hands reaching for him. Jack’s back was pressed hard against the pair of gossips and he was trapped. ‘I fancy I rather like being poked.’
The woman’s hands dropped low and began rummaging below his belt. Jack’s eyes widened as he felt her fingers take him firmly in their grasp. He gasped and made to pull away, but she held him fast.
‘You are such a dashing Cavalier.’ The woman shivered with pleasure. With her right hand firmly planted, she lifted her left and knocked Jack’s wide-brimmed hat to the floor before seizing the back of his neck, pulling his head forward and plunging his face into her heaving bosom.
Jack was too astonished to react. His assailant pushed his face in deeper, his mask slipping upwards so that his nose and mouth were smothered in warm cleavage.
‘Edmund!’
Jack barely registered Edmund’s father shouting at him, his hearing muffled by the wide expanse of flesh that engulfed his head.
‘Edmund, what the devil are you doing?’ He felt a hand pull at his shoulder and was wrenched free from his sweaty, pungent prison. ‘What do you think you are playing at? I should . . .’
Sir Humphrey stammered to silence as he saw Jack’s face, his mask left firmly embedded in the woman’s bosom.
‘Who the devil are you?’
‘I . . .’ Jack was struggling to breathe. He was given no time to form a coherent sentence. Edmund’s father grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him forward so that their faces were no more than an inch apart.
‘Damn your eyes, man. What have you done with my son?’
Chapter 8
The carriage was silent. Jack felt the implacable hand of fate on his shoulder. Edmund’s father sat opposite him, his face set like thunder.
‘It will be gaol for you if anything has happened to my son.’ His voice was cold.
Jack did not doubt the threat. A poor boy from Whitechapel stood no chance against a wealthy man. He shrank away as if he could somehow hide himself in the corner of the darkened carriage.
‘I know you, boy. You work in that gin palace. Is that where my son has gone?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Jack was humbled. He was deep in the shit and did not know how he could clamber out. But he was certain that being helpful offered him his only chance of reprieve.
‘What on earth has he gone back there for?’
Jack hesitated. Sir Humphrey fixed him with a pair of angry eyes. ‘Out with it, boy. It will go badly for you if you lie to me now.’
‘He’s with a girl.’
‘A girl!’ A vein throbbed at Sir Humphrey’s temple. ‘What manner of girl would entertain my son at such an establishment!’
Jack felt the stirrings of anger. He had endured his fill of being a whipping boy. ‘He’s fucking a whore, sir. And not for the first time neither.’
Sir Humphrey’s mouth gaped open, his shock complete.
‘She’s a good girl. Clean, too.’ Jack thrust off his fear. He owed this man nothing. He would face his fate with courage.
To Jack’s surprise, Sir Humphrey recovered his composure almost immediately, and instead of an angry retort, the older man simply laughed. ‘Thank God for that.’
‘What?’ Jack did not understand.
‘I was beginning to think he lacked the backbone for that kind of thing.’ Sir Humphrey sat back and clapped his hands on to his legs. ‘Upon my soul, the boy is a chip off the old block after all.’
‘You’re pleased?’
‘Of course! Why on earth do you think I took him to such a place? I wanted to inspire his lusts. I wanted him to face temptation!’
‘I wish you were my guv’nor.’ Jack found himself smiling; Sir Humphrey’s laughter was infectious. He felt his preconceived opinion of Edmund’s father disappearing.
‘Ha! Indeed! What is your name? I cannot keep calling you “boy”.’
‘Jack. My name is Jack Lark.’
‘We are well met, then, young Mr Lark.’
The carriage came to a halt with a lurch that had them both reaching for the straps attached to the doors.
‘Here we are!’ Sir Humphrey wrapped his greatcoat tight around him, his costume hidden beneath. ‘Let us find my feckless offspring and give him a bloody good shock, shall we?’
Sir Humphrey walked fast. Jack was impressed by his manner. His cane snapped out with authority as he marched through the throng. The streets were dark, but even at this late hour they were still busy, the last of the costermongers looking to turn a shilling by working the night-time crowd as the folk incarcerated in the mean, cramped housing took to the streets to escape their bleak little homes.
Yet not everyone abroad was seeking entertainment. Jack spied the shadowy figures on the fringes of the crowd. Sir Humphrey stood out like a cock in a henhouse, and already the first of the night predators were beginning to move, the wealthy man entering their domain stirring their interest.
‘Sir!’ Jack called out.
‘Don’t dawdle, Jack. Don’t dawdle.’ Sir Humphrey marched on, his pace unaltered.
‘Sir.’ Jack plucked at his shoulder, forcing him to slow.
‘What is it?’ Sir Humphrey turned. He took one look at Jack’s anxious face and understood instantly. ‘Are the wolves circling?’
Jack nodded. He was too busy watching the crowd to answer. Another dark figure slipped along the edge of the street to run ahead. The men who preyed on those foolish enough to stray into their territory were taking up their positions.
‘You are going to have trust me.’ Jack spoke quickly and urgently.
Sir Humphrey nodded. ‘Very well.’
Jack flashed the older man a thin smile. ‘Then follow me.’
Jack broke into a trot as soon as he was out of the stream of people filling the main street. He headed for an alleyway just wide enough for one man. Sir Humphrey followed close behind as they slipped into the darkness.
The alley stank. Jack was very aware of the use to which the people in the nearby houses put the dank space, but this was not the time to care about his boots, even if they were those of a fancy Cavalier.
‘Stay close,’ he hissed. His feet kicked against something soft. Whatever it was reeked to high heaven, but Jack knew better than to look down and stepped on, ignoring the obscene squelch that came from under the heel of his boot.
‘Good God.’ Sir Humphrey was not so wise. The alley was dark, but the moon was out and it cast an eerie, thin light in the grim space that Jack had led them into.
‘Quiet.’ Jack snapped the order through gritted teeth. He could not know what was around the next bend, and the fear was scratching at his nerves. He reckoned they were safer in the alleys that ran behind the rows of slum housing, but he could not be sure. It was not the place to be after dark.
They moved quickly and almost silently, the sound of their boots muffled by the ordure spread thickly across the ground. The stench was overpowering, and Jack snapped the stitches that held his fancy collar in place and wrapped it around his lower face, using it to shield his mouth and nose. His sword dug painfully into his side every time it caught on something left abandoned on the ground, and he was sorely tempted to ditch it. But he reckoned he was in enough trouble as it was, without risking more by discarding the costume he had been loaned.
He heard footsteps and held up his hand. Sir Humphrey pressed close, his fingers clutched painfully into Jack’s shoulder, his breathing loud in his ear.
‘What—’
Jack shut off the question with a sharp movement of his hand. ‘Shit.’ He could not hold back the exclamation. He heard the telltale sounds of someone rushing towards them. There was nowhere to go. No way to escape. They were trapped.
‘Oi!’
The shout ech
oed off the high walls of the buildings pressed close to either side of the alley. Whoever it was rushing towards them had spied the two figures in the darkness.
The cry was cut off abruptly. The moment Jack had caught the first glimpse of the shadowy figure rushing towards him, he had moved forward, his hands lifted to what he guessed would be neck level. He had no idea who it was, but he grabbed what he could, swinging the body round hard and driving it against the wall. There was no space to pull back an arm, so he pushed his body into the stranger, trapping him against the side of the alley with his hands caught behind his back.
‘What the fuck—’
‘Shut your muzzle.’ Jack snarled the words into the stranger’s face. He raised a hand, using it to smother the man’s mouth, whilst the other took firm hold of his neck. ‘We don’t want no trouble.’
The man struggled under Jack’s grip, but in the cramped confines of the alley, it was impossible for him to force his way free. Jack leant forward as he felt the man’s weight shift, and pushed against him, pressing him into the wall. ‘Don’t try nothing.’
The man went still, but Jack did not ease off the pressure. For the first time, he spotted the tatty top hat rammed hard on to the stranger’s head. ‘Shit, Jem, is that you?’
The body squirmed, and Jack released his hold on the man’s face, freeing the mouth.
‘Fuck you, Mud.’ The words were spat out the moment Jack’s hand moved away. ‘I’m going to cut your fucking gizzard when—’
Jack rammed his hand forward once again, shutting off the foul tirade. ‘Don’t go raising a shine, Jem.’ He fought the urge to laugh. Jem was the worst footpad he had ever heard of. ‘We ain’t going to hurt you. Just let us be on our way.’ He saw the gleam in Jem’s eyes, the hatred that burned inside. ‘You’re going to stand aside, you get me? We don’t want no trouble. You just ease past and we’ll be on our way. All nice and easy.’
He kept his eyes fixed on the footpad. He could almost see the cogs whirring inside Jem’s head, the slow calculation of loss and gain. Carefully he pulled back his hand, but he kept his weight forward, grinding Jem into the wall.
‘All right.’ Jem looked like he wanted to puke. ‘No trouble?’
‘No trouble.’ Jack did not move. ‘Don’t you go making a fuss now.’
Jem nodded once, his pale face gleaming in the meagre light.
Jack eased his weight back, wary of treachery, his muscles tensed and ready to slam Jem back against the wall. Yet the fight had gone out of the man he had already bested once. It was no easy manoeuvre in the alley, but Jack and Sir Humphrey eased past one another, awkwardly shuffling sideways so that they could let Jem get behind them.
The moment he was free, the footpad opened up a gap between them. Then he turned, his face twisted and angry. ‘You’d better go home, Jack. Better run back to your ma and hope she’ll hide you away, ’cos your guv’nor is going to tan your hide when he sees you. He’s after your blood.’
Jack looked carefully at the man he was certain would be waiting for him one day in the darkness, his desire for revenge just one of the fears Jack had for the coming days. But his own fate would have to wait until he had rescued the younger Ponsonby. He had no fixed plans for what would happen after that, but he had a notion his future would look a damn sight better when Edmund was safe back in the care of his father.
‘I reckon you’ll have to wait a while for him to get you, though. He seemed a bit busy when I left your ma’s palace.’
Jack did not understand. ‘Fuck off, Jem. Enough’s enough.’
‘Oh, I’ll walk my chalk, don’t you piss your pants. But I bet that chum of yours is pissing on his fucking boots right here and now.’
‘What chum?’ Jack felt the first stirring of fear.
‘That posh cove you stopped me doing over. Fucking idiot came back, and all on his lonesome, too.’
Jack felt Sir Humphrey stiffen. Jem had to be speaking about Edmund.
‘Last I saw, the little fucker was shitting in his drawers as your old man dragged him out back.’
Jack did not stay to listen to any more. He broke into a run, his boots pounding hard into the foul muck lining the alley. Lampkin had spotted Edmund. The boy was a rich prize, one that the big man would not let slip through his fingers.
Jack ran hard, the echo of Jem’s bitter laugh in his head. He had to hurry, before Edmund disappeared once and for all.
Chapter 9
The alley twisted back on itself as it followed the brick wall at the rear of a line of tiny terraced houses. Jack could hear the cries and yells of the men, women and children crowded into the cramped rooms, where they were lucky if they had enough space for them all to lie on the floor. The plaintive wail of a baby rang out before it was silenced, the sound dying away to create a moment’s silence that was rudely shattered by the raised voices of a man and woman screaming at one another.
Jack ran as hard as he could. The air rasped in his lungs, his heart pounding hard enough to crack open his chest. He could hear Sir Humphrey behind him, the older man dragging in breath with great sobs.
They burst out of the alley no more than a dozen yards from the front of the palace. The street was busy, but Jack did not pause. He galloped on, charging towards the door, ignoring the shouts and curses that came his way as he barged through the crowd.
He hit the door hard, his arm shuddering with the impact. The place was full, the night young enough for their more respectable clientele to still be enjoying a quiet drink. He moved quickly, pushing through the crowd waiting patiently for their turn to be served.
‘All right, Jack-o!’ A toothless man noticed Jack’s arrival and called out in greeting, his fetid breath washing over Jack’s face as he pushed past. ‘’Bout time you was here. Get yourself behind that bloody bar and pour me a drink.’
Jack ignored the plea. He looked ahead and saw his mother serving the crowd alone. She spotted him at the same moment, the quickest flash of a smile whispering across her face before it was replaced by the habitual scowl.
‘So you’re back then.’ She snapped the comment, not caring one jot that their domestic situation was being played out to a crowd. In the cramped rookeries, everyone knew everyone else’s business, and Jack’s disappearance had been gossiped about long and hard that day.
‘Where’s your old man?’ Jack forced his way to the great slab of mahogany, firing off the question, his fist slamming hard into the scarred surface.
‘Get behind this fucking bar and earn your keep.’ His mother did not pause as she accosted her wayward son, her hands still pouring the gin that made her money even as her attention was focused on Jack.
‘Where’s Lampkin?’ Jack bellowed the question with real venom.
His mother recoiled as if he had struck her. She was staring at his face as though seeing him for the first time.
‘Where is he?’ he snarled. He did not care that he was scaring her.
‘Out back.’
Jack was moving in a heartbeat.
‘Don’t you go out there, Jack.’ His mother dropped the glass she was holding. It hit the bar top and tipped, its precious contents spilt across its surface. ‘Don’t you dare disturb, him, not now.’
Jack saw real fear in his mother’s expression. He stared at her. Her face was flushed, her pouchy cheeks rouged with fear. He saw the woman who had fought for survival all her life; the mother who had somehow kept her son safe despite their precarious circumstances.
‘Don’t go out there, Jack. He’ll kill you if you stop him.’
He took one last look at his mother before he turned and stormed away. He would not be stopped. Not even by the only person who had ever loved him.
Jack ran down the ginny’s back passage. The scullery at the rear of the building was empty, but the door to the tiny yard was open, and he did not hesitate. He strode forward, his borrowed boots loud on the wooden floorboards, and burst out into the yard. The air was ripe with the smell of stale gin from
the empty barrels stored there. But Jack smelt something else. He smelt fear. And blood.
Lampkin turned as soon as he heard Jack enter the yard. He was in his shirtsleeves, his uppermost buttons undone to reveal the thick pelt of hair on his chest. He was hatless, his short-cropped hair glistening in the fine rain that had begun to fall. He did not seem concerned to see Jack.
‘Fuck off, boy.’ The command was short and sharp, the words spat out.
Jack looked down at Lampkin’s fists. There was a gas light just the other side of the gate at the back of the yard, put there by his mother to make loading and unloading the brewer’s cart possible even in the worst of the particulars. Now it cast an eerie light in the gloom of the fine mist, enough for Jack to see the blood that stained Lampkin’s hands, and the crumpled body on the ground. He heard Sir Humphrey gasp as he saw his son lying in a bloodied heap, but he held out an arm and kept the older man at bay. Edmund’s fate was now bound to his own.
‘Why?’ He asked the question as much for Sir Humphrey as for himself. ‘Why beat him?’
Lampkin barely glanced at the young man he had battered into bloody submission. He shrugged. ‘He had it coming. Lording it in here. Taking Mary like he bloody owned her. Besides, he’ll be easier to manage now he’s been taught his place.’
‘You could’ve just taken his rhino.’ Jack was bitter. He knew what was coming and he was wrestling with his fear. Part of him longed to leave, to abandon Sir Humphrey and his son to their fate. But for a reason he did not fully understand, he stayed where he was. It was time to finish it with Lampkin, one way or another. Neither of the Ponsonbys mattered. It was about Jack and his master.
‘And where is the fun in that?’ Lampkin sneered. ‘Ain’t what I’m about, you know that. A man who ain’t feared ain’t nothing.’
‘And you like being feared. You like to see it in men’s eyes when they pass you.’ Jack sighed. The time for talking was done. ‘But I ain’t afraid of you. Not any more.’
Lampkin laughed. ‘I don’t reckon you are. But others will be, when they see what I done to this toff. When they see what I’ve done to you.’
Jack Lark: Rogue Page 7
