Black Wreath

by Peter Sirr

  ‘How much is the postage?’ James asked, suddenly worried he wouldn’t have enough money to pay for the letter.

  ‘There was another sealed package with it, addressed to me,’ the man explained. ‘And it contained the cost, so you don’t owe me anything.’

  Relieved, James took the letter and thanked the bookseller. Outside, he broke the seal and read the contents. It was from McAllister, though he did not use that name now, but called himself Baldwin in honour of his former provost, the same man who had almost scuppered their escape that night in College Park. He had made it safely to the New World and was now employed with a shipping merchant in Philadelphia. He was happy in his new life, though he was still greatly saddened by the circumstances that had driven him there, which he referred to only in the most indirect manner. He asked after James, and gave him the name of the business he worked for but asked him to let no one else know of it. Although he didn’t say it in as many words – he must have feared it could all too easily fall into the wrong hands – James understood clearly that he must destroy the letter and commit McAllister’s new name and address to memory. He seemed not to have learned of Vandeleur’s fate, but James thought it was better to leave him in ignorance of it.

  It was almost dark when James turned off the quay and made his way to the Purcells’ house. As he entered Phoenix Street he realised how much these streets were home for him now. In a short time the area around the great marketplace and the people he passed on his way through it had come to seem as familiar and beloved to him as if he had grown up among them. Maybe this was the life he should lead, maybe this was his natural home, and all the rest a kind of unhappy dream. He walked up the street with a light step and knocked on the door. Sylvia opened it. James thought she had a strange look in her face. She looked at him but didn’t speak. A dog growled in the parlour. James stepped in.

  ‘Hello, James,’ a voice said.

  Twenty-Two

  A Family Matter

  James stood transfixed in the room. A black dog bigger than any he had ever seen snarled and moved towards him.

  ‘Down, Caesar,’ his uncle called, and the dog froze and sat immediately, contenting himself with glaring at James, his pointed ears spiked to attention to let James know he was still under full scrutiny.

  ‘Once he gets to know you, he’ll be sweetness itself,’ his uncle said in a treacly voice.

  Black, poison treacle, James thought, as he stared at him. He hadn’t seen his uncle since that day in the cathedral and he looked as evil now as he did then – hollow-cheeked, black-eyed, an eternal smile about his lips, the smile that was a signal of triumph past and future more than an expression of any pleasure. He sat at his ease in the Purcells’ small parlour, which his presence and bright rich finery had the effect of shrinking further. John Purcell was standing, as was Nancy, and Sylvia took up a position beside James and put her hand on his elbow as if to give him strength to face the demon, whose smile now flashed into a full grin.

  ‘Don’t they teach you any manners in the Bluecoat School, James?’ he asked mildly. ‘I have always heard such good reports of that institution. I hope I have not been mistaken.’

  ‘I’m sure James is just overcome with surprise,’ Nancy said. ‘He can’t have expected to see you here.’

  ‘Not see his own uncle, his own flesh and blood?’ Always the perceptible sneer in the voice.

  ‘His own flesh and blood that abandoned him and made out he was dead,’ John said. He didn’t look in any way cowed by the grand figure in his parlour.

  For his part, Richard Lovett, the man who called himself Lord Dunmain, wasn’t in the least troubled by the butcher’s observation.

  ‘His father indeed has much to answer for,’ he said. ‘But who can be his brother’s keeper? I myself have always thought of James with the greatest fondness.’

  ‘Strange way of showing it,’ Purcell said.

  ‘What do you want?’ James asked at last. ‘Am I to be resurrected?’

  His uncle considered this, or pretended to. ‘Ah, you haven’t lost your wits. I’m greatly relieved to hear it. But no, I don’t think resurrection is quite the word. You were never buried in my mind, or in my heart.’

  No, but you wanted me dead or captured at the very least, James thought.

  ‘But I had no idea where you were or indeed if you were alive,’ his uncle continued. ‘Only one of my assistants chanced to hear of a young man near Smithfield who claimed to be a relative.’

  ‘I claimed no such thing,’ James said.

  ‘No, well, perhaps not exactly.’ His uncle rolled his palm on the silver top of his cane. ‘You claimed to be Lord Dunmain, which is one way of indicating a relationship, I suppose.’

  James said nothing, and nobody else spoke either.

  ‘You can imagine my joy at discovering that my long-lost nephew was so near, and so well looked after, if I may say so.’ He inclined his head fractionally and extended a gloved palm in the direction of the Purcells.

  ‘James has made his home here,’ Nancy said. She spoke like a woman who had no intention of allowing those circumstances to be altered.

  ‘Of course he has,’ his uncle said. ‘Your kindness does you much honour, ma’am, and it is my own turn, now that I have found him again, to assume the burden of this poor boy’s care.’

  James felt Sylvia’s grip on his arm tighten. ‘No,’ she said. ‘This is where James belongs. Isn’t it, Mother?’

  Nancy nodded. ‘We think of the boy as one of our own,’ she said.

  A faint trace of irritation showed itself at the corner of Dunmain’s smile. ‘Yes, of course you do, and he must continue to be a frequent visitor. All the same he must take up his rightful place in society.’ His uncle looked around, his eyes narrowing and his nose wrinkling. ‘Unless you mean to be a butcher, James?’

  ‘I mean to be what I am already,’ James said, ‘Lord Dunmain.’

  ‘Ah, indeed, the complications of family life …’ His uncle sighed, but seemed reluctant to elaborate further.

  ‘These are details,’ he said finally, ‘matters to be resolved in the fullness of time and with the help of the lawyers. Your father, James, did not leave an orderly estate. Why don’t you come with me now, and we can discuss these matters further?’

  There was a sudden commotion at the door. Purcell went to investigate. James heard shouting and then a man entered the room whom James recognised immediately as one of his uncle’s thugs, the same one who had chased and almost caught him in the coopers’ yard. He was followed by Purcell, his face red with anger.

  ‘Who is this man who pushes me out of the way in my own house?’

  ‘You must forgive Grady,’ Dunmain said. ‘He suffers sometimes from an excess of zeal.’

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ James asked.

  The thug was staring at him, his eyes blazing with recognition.

  ‘How shall I put it?’ Dunmain asked. ‘He’s here to ensure an orderly resolution of our discussion.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’ Purcell said. He was at the very limit of his self-control, James could see.

  Dunmain smiled.

  His smiles are like knife-thrusts, James thought, but they’re also the smiles of a man who will never have to rely on his own strength. The dog was climbing up the thug’s legs, demanding attention, and the thug patted him, one black animal to another.

  James felt he couldn’t put the Purcells in any more danger. ‘I’ll go with you, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘Excellent,’ his uncle said. ‘You won’t regret it.’

  ‘James is going nowhere.’

  James was surprised at how absolute Purcell sounded.

  Without waiting for orders from his master, Grady put his huge hand around Purcell’s throat. Purcell gagged for breath. James ran to help him and the thug paused briefly to swat James away with the back of his hand as if he were no more than a fly. James fell back on the floor. Nancy screamed. She began to pummel Grady’
s back with her fists. He ignored her blows. Dunmain watched the scene with interest before calling off his thug. James noticed that Sylvia wasn’t in the room; he was relieved she didn’t have to see this.

  ‘Now, I think that’s settled. James, are you ready?’

  James went to Purcell and Nancy. ‘I’m sorry about this,’ he said.

  There was more commotion at the front door.

  ‘More of your thugs?’ Purcell asked Dunmain.

  Dunmain looked puzzled. ‘Grady, see what’s afoot.’

  The thug moved for the door, but James was surprised to see him suddenly fall back in and topple onto the floor. He was followed by several substantial men in bloodied aprons, carrying meat cleavers. Sylvia came after them. She smiled at James. The dog barked furiously and lunged at a butcher.

  ‘Are you the man who threatened John Purcell?’ one of the other butchers asked.

  ‘That’s him,’ Sylvia said.

  ‘A family matter,’ Dunmain said, no trace of a smile on his lips now. ‘I am merely trying to return this boy to the bosom of his family.’

  ‘I think we know what you have in mind for the boy,’ Purcell said. ‘No family I know brings their baboons with them on a visit.’

  The baboon stirred and began to heave himself up from the floor. A butcher put a foot on his chest. ‘Take yer ease there awhile, friend,’ he said.

  ‘It’s alright, Grady,’ Dunmain said. ‘I think we shall adjourn our discussion.’ He stood up and smoothed his clothes, as if to remove any trace of the Purcell household from them.

  ‘I wish you good day, sir,’ he said to Purcell. ‘And ladies.’ He bowed with elaborate ceremony towards Sylvia and Nancy, who failed to return the honour.

  ‘Dear nephew,’ he said to James. ‘I hope our paths will cross again under happier circumstances.’

  The butcher who had his foot on Grady released him, and the two men left the Purcells’ house with as much dignity as they could muster.

  The house soon resumed its normal tranquillity. Purcell went back to the Ormond Market with the butchers and James stayed at home with Sylvia and Nancy. The doors were well bolted, and they were under strict instruction not to venture outside. Purcell had slipped a few pennies to a boy in the street to come and fetch him at once if any stranger showed himself near the house.

  ‘That was close,’ Sylvia murmured.

  ‘If it hadn’t been for your quick thinking, I’d be in his house now.’

  ‘Or dead,’ Sylvia blurted out.

  ‘Sylvia!’ Nancy was shocked.

  ‘Well, who knows what that monster would have done with him?’ Sylvia said. ‘He didn’t come here to rescue James, you can be sure of that.’

  ‘You’re going to have to be very careful,’ Nancy warned. ‘He didn’t look the kind to give up too easily.’

  ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t stay here,’ James said. ‘I’m afraid it will be dangerous for you.’

  ‘Don’t be foolish, James. This is your home, you can’t think of leaving it now.’

  ‘We won’t let you, will we, mother?’ Sylvia laughed, but there was anxiety in the voice too. She didn’t want to lose James.

  James felt almost ashamed of their concern, as if he didn’t deserve it. But he was glad – the very last thing he wanted was to leave Phoenix Street.

  After that, James didn’t move through the streets so freely. The Bluecoat School and the Ormond Market were his westerly and easterly boundaries. He didn’t dare venture any farther. Sylvia was convinced the most dangerous parts of the day were the trips to and from the school. She took to accompanying James every morning and waiting for him in the afternoon. Part of James felt he should resist her impulse to protect him and assert his independence, but the truth was that he liked to be in Sylvia’s company. He wouldn’t let her go right to the door of the school, not wanting to expose them both to the taunts of his fellows.

  Sylvia went as far as the corner of Haymarket and Queen Street and then watched James make the short trip to the school. In the afternoons, she came to the same corner to wait for him. James was always glad to see her. As they walked home he would regale her with the adventures of the day and tell her what he had learned.

  ‘Do you think we’ll always be able to talk like this?’ he asked one day as they made their way home.

  Sylvia paused a little, and glanced at him. ‘I don’t see why not,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think I could bear it if we couldn’t,’ James said. He looked directly at Sylvia, and found her eyes meeting his with an intensity he hadn’t seen before.

  She took his hand and squeezed it tightly. ‘That won’t happen,’ she said softly.

  Twenty-Three

  A House Near the City

  Sylvia waited at their usual corner. She looked up and down the street. It was a busy thoroughfare: carriages came and went in both directions; beggars and street sellers tried their luck; maidservants carried baskets of fruit and vegetables back to their houses; men ducked in and out of taverns; and those who emerged wrapped their cloaks tightly around them against the bitter February cold. The sky was overcast, with that sharp frowning grey that seemed to press down against the streets. It was not a day to be outside if you could help it. Sylvia shivered.

  A coachman shouted a series of obscenities at a black carriage that had pulled over not far from the school. He only just managed to avoid crashing into it. ‘Are you a complete eejit?’ he shouted at the rival coachman who, in reply, calmly raised his middle finger.

  Sylvia looked away. James would be here soon. Already a line of blue-coated boys were beginning to file down from the school. Suddenly she saw him, his fair hair visible under the schoolboy cap. Sylvia smiled, but knew better than to wave. She ducked back around the corner into the Haymarket. It was a game they played: he would come around the corner whistling to himself as if he didn’t expect to see anyone, and she would stand with her back to him and then turn around as if surprised.

  ‘James Lovett, is it really you?’ she’d say, her eyes wide.

  ‘Mademoiselle Purcell,’ he’d reply. ‘Quel plaisir!’

  She was wondering what he might say today, when she became aware of the commotion surrounding the carriage. From where she stood she could see the heads of the first pair of horses rearing in protest at being pulled up so suddenly earlier. Curious, she went back to the corner. There, she saw the door of the black carriage, the same one she had seen outside the school, slam shut, and heard what sounded like the rap of a cane on the roof. Hearing the noise, the coachman cracked his whip and shouted, and the horses moved off swiftly. The carriage thundered along the cobbles far faster than it should have been travelling on that crowded road, and Sylvia could see irate walkers racing for the shelter of the farthest edge.

  And then it was gone. She looked back up the street, where just minutes ago she had seen James walking towards her, but he was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was playing her game, and hiding to make her come and look for him, but that was unlike James. Games had to wait until he was out of sight of the school; he was very unlikely to try to tempt her to go where they might be seen.

  Nonetheless, she turned into the street and walked hesitantly in the direction of the school. She passed the point where she had seen James, but there was no sign of him. Sylvia scoured doorways and alleyways but to no avail. She even went up to the door of the Bluecoat School in case the boy she had seen hadn’t been James after all and James had been kept in for some reason. When a porter finally answered her knock, he told her that every boy had left the school long since. Then, fighting off the anxiety that lay in wait at the back of her mind, she thought she might have missed him somehow, and that he had gone home without her.

  She raced back to Phoenix Street and was out of breath when she rushed in the door.

  ‘What’s wrong, girl?’ her mother asked as Sylvia almost knocked her down.

  ‘Is James here?’

  Her mother looked at her in surprise. ‘Isn’t he w
ith you?’

  Sylvia kept looking past her mother as if James might be somewhere behind her.

  ‘Maybe he went with one of his friends,’ Nancy said.

  ‘No, he was there, and then he wasn’t. There was a carriage, a black carriage.’

  As she said the words Sylvia knew with absolute clarity that James had been bundled into the carriage and she had no doubt that he had been taken to his uncle’s house. ‘Oh mother,’ she wailed, ‘what are we to do?’

  * * *

  As soon as they got him into the carriage they tied a gag around his mouth and bound his hands behind his back. The carriage hurtled through the city so fast James would have fallen from his seat if he hadn’t been held fast by the man who had bundled him in from the street. Across from him, the unmistakable form of the chief Ugly leaning forward so that his large face was only inches from James.

  ‘Not so brave now, are you, without your butcher friends?’

  He slapped James hard across the face, in case his words might not be trusted to do their work. James reeled from the blow and again only the other man’s arms saved him from plunging to the floor. Grady prepared to strike him once more but the other man raised his arm.

  ‘Let him be,’ he said. ‘Or there could be trouble when we get there.’

  Grady held his arm in mid-air for a moment, as if he couldn’t decide whether to complete the blow or let it drop. Through the expressions in his face James could read the ponderous machinery of his brain considering the problem. At last, with painful reluctance, he let his arm return to its place.

  ‘You just wait,’ he said. ‘You just wait and see.’

  James tried to make out where they were going, but Grady, delighted to be able to do something to frustrate him, pulled the blinds down on the carriage windows. James knew they had been headed south when they took him, and the carriage hadn’t turned, so they must have crossed the river. He felt the carriage slow as it climbed a hill and then turn to the right and pick up speed again. It must be Thomas Street, James thought. We must be headed westward out of the city. He pictured the city in his mind. From Thomas Street they would go past the workhouse towards Kilmainham, unless they went near the Royal Hospital.