At the far end of Beau Street, Tyler intuitively turned and saw the man from the Royal Mail coach coming after him. He calculated he had a ten second headstart, as he too began running, but that was all the time he needed.
On reaching the spot where the thief had become aware of being chased, Swann carried on and followed the man’s trail around to the left, emerging out at one end of Westgate Buildings. This was now in the lower town, as it was known locally, and stood on the boundary of a more run down and decrepit area called the Avon Street district; a squalid part of the city deliberately omitted from guidebooks. This was where the thief was heading towards. In turn, Swann also crossed over the road and entered Peter Street, a shop-lined thoroughfare beyond which was the River Avon.
As Swann made his way down the street, the stark contrast between the parts of Bath he had witnessed from the coach and the area he was now entering became ever more apparent and, with the latter, came a palpable sense of foreboding at each corner and an undertone of menace oozing from every building and alleyway. But this did not deter Swann, as he had witnessed this contrast between poor and prosperous many times in London. One minute the vista in the capital could be that of fine squares, dignified thoroughfares and magnificent houses and the next, if taking an ill-advised turn, a stranger might find themselves in a warren of badly lit, stench-filled alleyways, overcrowded with squalid dwellings, and with the risk of losing everything from one’s valuables to one’s life. Over the years Swann had come to know both these contrasts well though and that was why what lay ahead of him now held no fear.
Amidst the bustle of street traders loudly hawking their wares, Swann caught sight of the pickpocket once again. Believing he had found sanctuary within the Avon Street district, which was his domain, the thief had stopped running and was now conversing with one of the numerous stall holders whose produce-filled carts lined either side of the lower half of the street. Swann continued his pursuit but his quarry, now realising he was still being followed, began running towards the end of the street before ducking out of sight into an alleyway. As Swann ran between the stalls, the man the thief had been talking to stepped out into Swann’s path and ‘accidentally’ got in his way. Unable to avoid him, Swann went crashing into the next cart along, causing its contents to be spilled onto the filthy sewer encrusted and vermin-infested ground. He was only momentarily put off balance, however, and swiftly resumed his quest, accompanied for a short while by the cursing of the cart’s owner. Swann reached the alleyway but now found the entrance to a complex warren of passageways. The thief was nowhere in sight. The bill-purse, however, had been dropped and was lying on the muddy ground in front of him. As he moved closer, the grubby hand of a street urchin reached out from a doorway to pick it up but Swann stepped forward and put his boot on the bill-purse.
‘I will take that,’ he said, bending down to retrieve it. As he did this though, several lowlife types appeared threateningly from other doorways and corners. In response, Swann opened his jacket and revealed a pistol. As he gestured to remove it, the mob reluctantly dissolved back into the shadows.
Ten minutes later the wallet was back in the hands of its rightful owner, who had loyally remained alongside Mary at the Three Tuns and had shared the same expression of visible relief as her on seeing an unharmed Swann returning back down Beau Street.
‘I followed the miscreant into an unwholesome area across the road from Westgate Buildings,’ Swann said, on handing over the bill-purse, ‘but I am afraid he had the advantage over me there, in both geographical knowledge and assistance from acquaintances.’
‘Oh Jack, I had hoped you would leave your work in London. I cannot bear to think what might have happened to you in that place of notoriety.’
‘Your sister is right,’ said Fitzpatrick. ‘If I had known that was where you were bound, I would have persuaded you otherwise. The whole of the area is a notorious haven for the criminal element and the retrieval of my bill-purse was not worth the risk to venture in there.’ Fitzpatrick held up the retrieved item. ‘Nevertheless sir, I had given it up for lost. I am in your debt.’
Before Swann could respond, Mary made the formal introductions. ‘Henry, may I introduce my brother Jack Swann. Jack, this is Henry Fitzpatrick.’
The two men bowed to each other.
‘Considering the support you have recently provided my sister,’ Swann said, ‘I believe it is I who am indebted to you, Mr Fitzpatrick.’
‘I am just pleased to have been of some humble service at this unfortunate and sad time. Are you planning to be long in Bath after the funeral, Mr Swann?’
‘A few days only, I think. London criminals do not respect the grief of others.’
Fitzpatrick nodded in resigned agreement.
‘As you witnessed,’ he said, ‘it is the same in our city, but let me not detain you further. You and your sister must have much to discuss. I will see you both tomorrow at eleven o’clock.’
With that, Fitzpatrick bowed and strode off up the street and turned the corner at the top of Stall Street.
‘Fitzpatrick seems to be under the impression that we are both attending the funeral service.’
‘He is right to be so inclined,’ replied Mary.
‘I am not certain your presence tomorrow will be wise – it is not the usual convention.’
‘Whether it is wise or not, it is my wish to attend.’
‘And what does Fitzpatrick think of your intention?’
‘Henry was of the same opinion as you, Jack. That is, until I reminded him that when father passed away both mother and myself were advised not to attend the funeral, due to the same convention, and until her dying day mother regretted her absence.’
‘Very well,’ said Swann, seemingly now accepting his sister’s decision as well. ‘By the way, this Fitzpatrick, what is his profession?’
‘He is a local magistrate.’
Swann was keen to know more but Mary deliberately ignored his inquisitive expression and said instead, ‘Come Jack and let me show you the house.’
CHAPTER FIVE
After escaping into the warren of alleyways he’d known since childhood, Tyler recovered his breath and readied himself to carry on his day. He was angry to have dropped the bill-purse, a costly mistake as its heaviness suggested a lot of money. Its owner looked vaguely familiar, although he could not put a name to the face. He knew most of the marks he pickpocketed by sight and it made sense to remember them all. There were those who had been unaware of his presence when he stole from them and therefore would not recognise him when they met again, so allowing him the chance to rob them anytime their paths crossed; while the ones who might have seen his face or where others had raised the alarm, as with his last dupe, he would not deprive them of their valuables again for at least a month.
As for the man who had chased him, he was different. Tyler knew they would instantly know each other the next time they met, even within a large crowd, and however much time had passed. It was the passenger from the Royal Mail coach, the one he had marked as he stood on the Guildhall steps. Even as their eyes had met, however, something in them told him the man might be trouble, but having been in jail for nearly a week he was too desperate for money to heed the warning. His attempt to relieve him of his belongings had been to no avail though, as Tyler had been left empty-handed. He could not understand it. Even in the few seconds the two of them had made contact, Tyler was able to search all the man’s pockets but had found nothing there. What was even more of a mystery was that he had not felt a weapon about his person either and yet on realising he had lost the other mark’s bill-purse and having retraced his steps, he then saw the man produce a pistol to disperse the Corn Street gang. He now briefly remembered the weight of the bill-purse and for a moment imagined how much money was inside, but then chided himself for such wasteful thinking. It was gone and there was nothing he could do about it.
Tyler’s thoughts now turned to his ‘round’, the weekly collection of mo
ney from street traders, shop owners, brothel keepers and pub landlords which they paid Wicks to keep their premises intact and themselves from having ‘accidents’. It lightened his mood, after the loss of the bill-purse, to choose to come down extra hard on those that could not pay this morning. His patch was the ‘triangle’, the area enclosed by Avon Street, Corn Street and Peter Street and he was a day late. This gave him the added satisfaction of knowing his ‘regulars’ would have been anxious since then. In the protection racket there was security in routine and the fact he had not appeared as normal the day before would not have been taken as a sign of reprieve, but a cause for concern.
Wicks would normally have sent someone else to collect the money but he had not done so this time as he was preparing to kill Malone. It had been planned for a while but for whatever reason Wicks had waited until last night. It was just bad timing, Tyler thought, that he had been in jail and missed it, as there had been several old scores he would liked to have settled personally with a few of Malone’s men.
Now Wicks controlled the whole city Tyler might get a better patch. Malone had thought the Avon Street area too poor and so concentrated on the wealthier parts of the city and the upmarket tradesmen. And he was right. There was little Tyler could skim from currently but with another, more substantial round, he might manage a decent cut without his boss knowing. He might also have to collect from that shopkeeper, Evans, and he could exact revenge for what he had just been put through by his attempted prosecution. He would try and raise the subject when he saw Wicks later that day and, as it had been Tyler who had brought him into the gang in the first place, his boss would hopefully see he deserved it.
Wicks had appeared in Bath more than a year ago and yet had quickly risen through the criminal world to assume total control of it, helped in no small part by Tyler himself. It was said he had arrived in the city to kill a man who had double-crossed him, that he had spent time doing hard labour on a prison ship, and that the cutlass he always carried with him had been taken from a guard on board the ship returning from Botany Bay, after Wicks had strangled him with his bare hands. But Wicks never talked about his past. Tyler was certain his boss looked familiar though, as if they had met before, a long time ago. When he had asked Wicks about it, the other man had said no and Tyler quickly found out that if he said no to anything, you didn’t ask again.
Another reason Wicks had probably not sent anyone else to do his collecting was that he knew Tyler would be free today, as he now had Kirby in his pocket. It was good to have the law on one’s side, he thought, laughing to himself. Tyler was involved in the trap that Wicks was going to use to blackmail the magistrate but in the end he had needed no persuasion to defect from Malone. From what Tyler knew, Kirby was so corrupt he didn’t care whose side he worked for, as long as he got a share of the money and his regular supply of child prostitutes.
Fitzpatrick! That was the second mark’s name. He remembered him now. He was a magistrate just like Kirby. In fact, Wicks had approached him sometime earlier but as they had nothing on him to use as blackmail, he had refused. Tyler was certain it was only a matter of time until they discovered a weakness though, or else he got in their way and had to be dealt with. And with that thought, Tyler felt the cosh he had retrieved from its hiding place, a cavity behind loose stones in a nearby wall, and entered the first premises on his round.
CHAPTER SIX
‘The house is certainly well appointed and spacious,’ said Swann, as he gazed out from the drawing room window onto the street below, ‘but perhaps a little too spacious now?’ He looked across at Mary to gauge any reaction, but none was forthcoming. Before Swann could continue introducing the idea of his sister moving to London, Mary’s personal maid entered the drawing room carrying a tray of beverages. Swann remained silent as Emily went about her business and returned his gaze to the street outside.
When Great Pulteney Street was completed in 1793, linking the city centre with the new developments east of the river at Bathwick, it immediately became one of the most sought after addresses in Bath. At eleven hundred feet long and a hundred feet wide the street not only gave an appearance of a grand Parisian boulevard, but brought with it the accolade of being the widest street in Europe. Although the prestige it offered its residents was not a major factor in Mr Gardiner’s decision to buy the house on his retirement to the city seven years earlier, nonetheless he had always derived a certain agreeable satisfaction on seeing people’s expressions when informed where he lived. Sadly, he had only enjoyed this pleasure for two years. On his passing, his wife and daughter, Mary, had stayed on at the property. Now it was only Mary.
On returning home with her brother after meeting him off the coach they had enjoyed a breakfast consisting of toast, tea, fresh rolls and cold meats; although Swann had requested coffee instead of tea. After being suitably refreshed, Mary had then given him a tour of the family home that Swann, although several invitations had been given over the years, had never visited before. In the majority of aspects it was a traditional Georgian townhouse and typical of those in Great Pulteney Street; being spread over six levels, with the top floor – the garrets – assigned to domestic staff. The two levels below the garrets contained the main bedrooms, with the dining and drawing rooms on the ground floor; located there for their close proximity to the basement kitchen. The final level of the building was the cellars, part of which extended out under the street itself.
Where the house differed from others, however, was in its balance between male and female styled rooms. Although on originally taking over the house the existing equilibrium had been maintained, since the death of Mr Gardiner the house had seen an ascendancy of the feminine, with only the library on the second floor – which had been converted by Mr Gardiner from a guest bedroom – retaining the masculine mark of its former main occupant. This modest but satisfactorily stocked library had been the room of most interest to Swann, even if he did not openly show it, and he was pleased to learn he would be sleeping in the bedroom next to it.
The most elegant and striking example of the feminine style was on display in the drawing room, the pride of place in any self-respecting Georgian family. And it was here, after the tour of the house, Mary had brought Swann. As Swann had walked over to the trio of tall windows, Mary sat down at the pianoforte and began to play the opening aria from Bach’s Mit Verschiedenen Veraenderungen, known in English as the Aria with Diverse Variations. This was her brother’s favourite piece and he smiled on recognising it. Mary had just finished playing it when Swann had made his remark about the spaciousness of the house.
Emily put the tray of beverages down on a table, curtseyed and then withdrew from the room.
‘I know it may seem soon,’ Swann now continued, ‘but have you thought about what you will do?’ On seeing his sister’s bemused expression, he tried to clarify his thoughts. ‘Well, I assume you will not be staying in Bath now, a woman alone.’
‘A woman I may be, but I am certainly not alone here. There is Emily …’
‘That is not what I meant.’
‘I know what you meant Jack, but mother and I coped well enough without any male presence in the house after father’s death and we certainly did not feel like vulnerable women when out in the city. There is always Henry, who you have met,’ said Mary, pausing for a moment before adding, ‘… and of late, there has also been Edmund.’
‘You have not mentioned this suitor in your letters,’ replied Swann, instantly realising the nature of the relationship from the tone of Mary’s voice.
‘It has all happened very recently,’ she said. ‘His name is Edmund Lockhart.’
Mary began to play the aria again, only this time slightly faster. ‘But if you are that concerned about my welfare and having a male protector in the house,’ she said, with more than a hint of mischievous delight at this opportunity to broach the subject so soon, ‘then why do you not move to Bath? You would find the cultural life here most agreeable and I am certain E
dmund would be your guide to the more male-orientated premises.’
‘My work is my life and that work is in London, Mary. You know that,’ said Swann, having suddenly found himself on the defensive.
‘As you observed earlier,’ continued Mary, rising to the challenge, ‘we have criminals in Bath too.’
‘Yes, but here they are mere pickpockets, opportunists and petty thieves. In London there are organised gangs run by ruthless killers.’
‘You paint a most inviting picture of our capital.’
‘Look Mary,’ said Swann, realising he had to seize the initiative, ‘the truth is that I have already started to make arrangements.’
Mary stopped playing at this revelation, her surprise being quickly replaced by defiance. ‘I am more than happy in Bath and do not wish to leave now or at anytime, especially for such a dangerous place as you have just described.’
‘It will be for the best, sister.’
‘Now you listen to me Jack Swann,’ defiance turning to annoyance, ‘how dare you interfere in my life here, you have never visited in all the time we have been in Bath and after everything is said and done, you are not even my real bro …’ she stopped, an expression of horror on her face. ‘Oh Jack, I did not mean what I said. I am so sorry.’
‘Do not be upset,’ replied Swann. ‘It is already forgotten.’
Swann opened his arms wide as Mary stood up to be embraced. ‘We are both upset about mother’s death,’ he said, as their bodies met, ‘and it was perhaps inappropriate of me to raise this matter at this time.’
The Regency Detective Page 3