by Peter Sirr
Matt Brady gave him some bread and a coin, and again told him to be careful. James thanked him, took his leave, and made his way cautiously to the top of the lane until he emerged into the bright light of Fleet Street. He had completed a large circle, and was now just around the corner from the front gate of Trinity College. He hurried in the opposite direction, scanning the streets for anyone who might be observing him, whether sheriff’s men or his uncle’s thugs. He hurried until he gained Essex Street and spied Harry at his station near the Custom House. Only then did he breathe easily again.
Twelve
The Darcy Gang
‘It could be worse,’ Harry said as they leaned against the wall of a shop in the piazzas. ‘He could have caught you.’
They chewed their bread silently.
‘You’ll have to lie low for a while,’ he continued thoughtfully.
‘What else have I been doing?’ James said as he stared at the pavement. ‘I’ve been lying low ever since I left my father’s house. But where can I go now?’
Harry had no answer for that. His own life was hard, and he had no shelter to offer James. In this city, those who had position could do as they wished; the rest had to spend their days in labour or take to the ways of vagabonding or crime. There were no inbetween places, and the problem for James was that he didn’t belong to any class. His father had thrown him out of his house, but also out of the world he was born into. And now here he was, with no money, no trade, no foothold in the city. And the city didn’t take kindly to that. You had to be someone, you had to stay in the place it gave you.
‘I’ll keep my ears open, in case anything turns up. Maybe I’ll hear of a position somewhere.’
‘As what, though?’ James wondered. ‘As stray, as dispossessed heir … or maybe I should go for a chimney sweep.’
‘No, you’re too big for that,’ Harry laughed. ‘You’d just get stuck up a chimney.’ James’s friend thought for a minute. ‘Where will you sleep?’ he asked.
‘Phoenix Park,’ James said. He hadn’t thought about it until Harry asked, but the park seemed like the obvious refuge now. He knew his way around it and he would be able to find somewhere to rest.
‘There is one thing I can do for you,’ Harry said.
‘What?’
‘Meet me here in an hour or so,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve some more boots to shine, and then I’ll see what I can get.’
After he had left Harry, James whiled away some time in the bookshop at the sign of the Bible, and then he hung about in a corner of Custom House Quay, watching the boats land and the men unload their cargos, or simply staring down at the dark river. He wasn’t sure how much time had gone by before Harry tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Don’t fall in,’ his friend said with a grin.
Harry was carrying a closely wrapped bundle. ‘It’s nothing much,’ he said. ‘A blanket, a cap to keep the cold off, a bit of bread and cheese.’
James looked at Harry with emotion; he hardly knew what to say. He knew Harry had very little, and these gifts represented a fortune. James touched Harry’s shoulder. ‘Thanks, old friend,’ he said. ‘One day I’ll repay you, you’ll see.’
Harry smiled. ‘Don’t you worry about repaying me, you just worry about yourself.’
James took the little bundle and took his leave of his friend. Then he crossed the river and made his way westward until he reached the Phoenix Park. A little way in he came to the thickly wooded area he had stayed in before. At this hour in the afternoon the woods were quiet except for birdsong and the rustlings of small animals in the undergrowth. He walked a good way further in, until eventually he came to a small and, as far as James could see, unoccupied clearing. He began gathering branches and brushwood to elevate himself a little from the ground. He knew from his previous stay in these woods how quickly the earth sucked out the body’s heat. When he had made a rough mattress, he unrolled his blanket. He broke off a piece of the cheese and ate some bread. Harry had even included a wine bottle with a little milk in it, with which he washed down his meal.
By now it was dark, and James wrapped the blanket around him as tightly as he could and lay down. It took him some time to adjust his senses to the noises of the woods, and he kept leaping up every time he heard a twig snapping or an unfamiliar rustling in the trees. Eventually, tiredness overcame his fears and he drifted into sleep.
Even though his sleep was light, he heard nothing. He dreamed that the clearing was filled with sudden noise and that he was swept up from his makeshift bed by large and unfriendly arms which pressed him against a tree trunk while several blades hovered within inches of his throat.
‘And who might you be?’ a dream voice demanded harshly.
‘Run away from the law, have you?’ another shouted.
‘Or come to spy on us and report us,’ the first dream voice said.
‘And we know what happens to spies, don’t we lads?’
There was a cacophony of voices, all shouting together, vying with each other. James stared out of his sleep at the dream figures. They looked terrifying in the moonlight, like demons, wild-eyed and raucous and spoiling for a fight. As the noise went on and James tried to answer their queries as civilly as he could, explaining where he had come from and how he had got there, it began to dawn on him that this was no dream, and these were no dream-demons. They were real men with real voices and real daggers and he was in real danger from which there was no waking up. He tried blinking, just in case, but each time he opened his eyes the men were still there.
‘I think we should hang him,’ one was saying now. He couldn’t have been any older than James, a skinny, half-nourished boy with big eyes and a baby face.
‘Not a bad idea, Kitty, not a bad idea, if we had a bit of rope, but we’ll have to wait until tomorrow to steal some.’
‘We could just knife him. We have our hangers,’ the one they called Kitty offered helpfully. ‘Lovely blood,’ he added with a leer. He drew close to James and touched his neck with the point of his short sword.
‘Put your hanger away,’ the first one barked. ‘I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night. Help Kelly and Hare to put the stuff in the hide.’
James saw the two men and the boy make off into the darkness with a large sack.
The man who seemed to be the leader turned to James. ‘The name is Jack Darcy.’ He waited for this revelation to take its effect on James.
James obliged him by gasping. ‘The highwayman?’
Darcy smiled, gratified. ‘The very same. Best there ever was, highwayman, footpad, and … murderer when I have to be.’ He looked hard at James, studying the lad.
He doesn’t look much like a murderer, James was thinking. Or even a highwayman. His face was sinister up close in the weak moonlight, but it was fine featured and handsome, and his clothes were respectable, even foppish, with a good coat and fine boots, so far as James could judge by the light.
‘So you worked in the college, did you? A boy of education. Let’s hear you speak,’ Darcy commanded. ‘Say something for me!’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Anything you want. A rhyme or a recimitation, anything that shows us the cut of your voice.’
James flailed around in his mind, in search of something he might say. He remembered some lines McAllister was fond of reciting. James closed his eyes and let the words find their way out into the cold night air, shivering a little as he spoke.
When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment …
‘I can’t remember the rest,’ James said.
‘Oh that will do nicely,’ Darcy said.
The others, who had re-emerged from the darkness, added shouts of mock appreciation and grandiose applause.
‘Quiet, can’t you,’ Darcy said. ‘What we have here is an employable as
set.’
‘A wha’?’ said Kitty.
‘Every business has to put its best foot forward,’ Darcy said. ‘To introduce itself to the public, if you get my meaning. And speaking of introductions, I’m nearly forgetting my manners. James, what did you say your second name was?’
‘Brown,’ James said. He was going to take no chances with his name here.
Darcy gave him his long stare again, as if he thought James Brown was a likely story indeed. But he let it pass.
‘James Brown,’ he placed sly emphasis on the surname. ‘Meet Tom Kitt, known as Kitty, assistant to the company; Mr Joseph Hare, footpad, assistant highwayman; Mr Jonah Kelly, footpad, associate highwayman, swordsman first class.’
Kitty, Hare and Kelly all bowed elaborately, sweeping their hats through the air. James didn’t like the look of any of the three. Kitty, he guessed, would slit his throat in the middle of the night with a squeal of pleasure and then think no more about it. Kelly and Hare looked exactly like what they were – common criminals with scaffold faces, pocked and unwashed.
‘And now that you have found us,’ Darcy continued, ‘or rather, now that we have found you, you’ll have to join us. Then we won’t be obliged to kill you.’
James noted the look of disappointment on Kitty’s face.
‘How do you mean exactly, join you?’ James asked, though he felt the foolishness of the question even as he asked it.
‘We’ll have to train you in, of course,’ Darcy said, ignoring the question. ‘Can’t have a day’s work spoiled by ignorance. You can help us with a bit of footpadding first, and then we’ll see what else you’re good for.’
James wanted to protest that he was no thief, but now did not seem to be the time to make his protest. He felt a wave of tiredness hit him like a blow and it was with great relief that he heard Darcy announce that they might as well get some sleep now. He would see what tomorrow brought before deciding anything. Who knows, he thought, as he fell down onto his bedding again and wrapped Harry’s blanket around him, maybe this will all prove to have been a dream, and when I wake up there will be no one here.
Thirteen
In Red Molly’s
Tomorrow did come but it brought no relief. When James opened his eyes, he was met with the sight of Jack Darcy’s boots, inches from his face; the others sprawled nearby on rough beds of coats and branches. The sun was just starting to filter through the trees and the air was damp and cold. James shivered and eased himself up as quietly as he could. If he ran now, he might make it back to the city before any of the gang had woken up. But just as the thought occurred to him, he became aware of Darcy’s half-opened eyes regarding him coolly.
‘Thinking of bolting, James Brown?’ he inquired softly, a hint of a smile on his lips.
‘No,’ James lied. ‘Of course not. I’ve slept enough, that’s all.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. This is the first day of your new life. And the first order of business is the highwayman’s breakfast, so why don’t you gather some kindling and get a fire going. And remember,’ he said, as James nodded and turned to do his bidding, ‘I have a dog’s ears; I can hear a leaf rustle or a twig snap underfoot at fifty paces.’
James didn’t doubt it, and set himself to his task without further thought of escape. When he came back, Kelly, Hare and Kitty were all up, shuffling around the clearing. Kitty was soon dispatched to fetch supplies from the hide and returned with a small sack from which he drew a little bacon, some pungent smoked herring and coffee. He also brought a cooking pot and a smaller pot with some water, which Darcy now used to brew some coffee.
‘The finest thieves’ coffee house in Dublin,’ the highwayman announced. ‘Kelly, work your wonders with the bacon and let’s start the day as we mean to continue.’
In spite of his fears, James ate heartily. No matter what trouble he was in, his appetite rarely deserted him, and it sometimes seemed to him that the graver the circumstances, the hungrier he got. Once the meal was done and the plates and pots secreted back in their hiding place, Darcy was all action, instructing Hare and Kelly to take the wigs and coats and other valuables from last night’s robbery to a tavern in the city, where they would all meet up later. He would keep the cash and the more precious pieces, and later that night, they would share out all the spoils.
‘And now we will begin your education,’ he turned to James when the others had left. ‘Kitty, your hanger.’
Kitty reluctantly parted with his blade. James grabbed the handle.
‘Hold it, feel its weight, swing it around, let it become part of you.’
James did as he was told, twirling the hanger round like a baton, slashing at the air. Kitty sniggered at his efforts.
Darcy made a sudden lunge for James. ‘Have at you, boy!’
James stumbled and almost fell, then held his sword at arm’s length. With a swift flick, Darcy knocked the blade from his hand and as James reached down for it, he brought the tip of his blade to James’s throat.
‘Give it to him, Jack,’ urged Kitty.
‘You were a dead man there,’ Darcy said. ‘Look, you need to parry, like this.’ He brought his hanger up and held it firmly in front of him. ‘Push forward with the end nearest the hilt, come on now, push.’
James leant forward and pushed with as much force as he could.
‘Downward, downward,’ shouted Darcy. ‘Good. Alright, en garde, come on Brown, don’t you know what en garde means? It’s French for “watch yourself, or someone will have your guts for garters”. Blade up, ready, don’t turn your whole body towards me, side on, that’s better, left arm up behind you. Alright, now I want you to lunge at me, like so.’
Darcy stood with his left arm hooked behind his head and extended his blade, then, faster than James could perceive, his right leg pounced and the blade was again at James’s throat.
‘Fight with your eyes, Brown. Your blade and your eye must be one, or you won’t last.’
James practised on his own, determined to make himself into a swordsman. After all, his father had been one, and he was sure his uncle was handy with a blade too. He had every reason to master this art. As he parried and lunged, he imagined he was locked in deathly combat with the usurping Lord Dunmain. En garde, parry, lunge; the blade cut straight through his coat and entered his black heart. James felt he was at one with his sword now, jigging and pouncing and swerving in the clearing as Kitty shook his head.
‘Mad eejit.’
Darcy had disappeared into the trees, and came back with a small satchel.
‘Time to go,’ he said abruptly. ‘Stay a little behind me and keep your eyes open.’
They walked through the woods and out of the park, crossing the river and climbing the hilly street that led up from it. The light was fading and the streets and river looked as if the life had been sucked from them. A thick cloud of smoke billowed over the city, and the wind scattered the noxious smells from the nearby dump all around the district so that James was close to retching until his nose and stomach acclimatised themselves.
About halfway up the street, Darcy paused and briefly indicated to the right, where a gap between the houses led into the dump. He himself passed by the gap and knocked on the door of the next house. Kitty and James slipped into the gap and walked a little way down a rough path. James shielded his nose with his palm.
‘How long do you think he’ll be?’ he asked Kitty. The air was cold, and he shivered.
Kitty shrugged. ‘Depends who he meets in there. Could be an hour, could be three hours.’
Again James thought of escape. It would probably be easy enough to shake off Kitty in the gloom of the dump. He felt a hesitation in himself at the thought. It wasn’t fear so much as a lack of attractive choices. He had no idea where he would run to.
Almost as if he was reading his mind, Kitty touched the hilt of his hanger. ‘No ideas, fancy boy, or I’ll lop your head clean off.’
You can try, James thought, and see how far you get. All
the same, he was grateful to Kitty for his threat; it gave him another reason for inaction.
Suddenly there was a great commotion, which seemed to be coming from the street at the top of the hill. Shouts, a great many voices raised, and what sounded like a pistol shot.
‘Entertainment,’ grinned Kitty. ‘Let’s see what the cause is. If he hasn’t come out now, he’ll be there a lot longer. And remember …’ He touched the hilt of his hanger again.
One day, James thought, he and Kitty would come to blows, or worse, but for now he would have to endure him.
They climbed up to Thomas Street. There, by the Glib Market, stood the infamous Black Cart, surrounded by a mob. The cart was gathering beggars for the workhouse. Whoever had just been collected was protesting loudly from inside the cart, and the mob roared its disapproval of the cart wardens and pelted them with rotten vegetables and eggs from the market. Men, women and children joined the affray, and some students took advantage of the occasion to hurl stones at the wardens, egging each other on. The cart was now unable to move and the wardens were letting off their pistols to warn the crowd. This only provoked the mob further and they moved closer to the cart, as if they might crush it. Now the wardens were aiming their pieces directly at the crowd.
‘Keep back!’ they shouted. ‘Or we’ll open fire!’ It was clear the situation would turn ugly. James wished they hadn’t left the safety of the dump, but Kitty was wide-eyed with blissful excitement. Suddenly there was a scream and a young woman fell forward onto the cobbles. Her companions leant down and turned her around, but the shot had caught her on the temple and her body was lifeless.