by Sam Christer
I opened my hands and raised them to show I had no weapon. ‘Lads, if it’s clink you are after, then you are out of luck. The last of it was drunk more than an hour ago and just pissed out on my boots.’ I swayed a little. Gave the impression I was an easy cove. ‘I don’t want no trouble; I just want to walk on home.’
‘’Appen yow do,’ said a shadow. ‘But from the way yow speak, it sounds like yow’re a very long way from home.’
‘Too far away for yowr own good,’ added another. The laughter that followed was thin. A cold broth of bravado and evil intent.
I focused on the task presenting itself. Moonlight lay to my right. I shifted away from it so less of me would be visible. The big silver crescent smiled coolly in a puddle on the cobbles at my feet. I edged further into the darkness.
A big hand hit the middle of my chest. Pulled me back into the light. ‘Now then, where do yow think yow’re goin’?’
‘Teach ’im a lessin, Billy,’ shouted a crony. ‘Crack the basta’d, then we’ll tip ’im up an’ empty ’is pockits.’
Billy was apparently the brave one. Gangly, but not without muscle or nerve. He had a firm grip and spoke calmly. ‘Yow can go on ’ome, once yow’ve paid a toll.’
I looked down at his clenched hand. It was a tough man’s hand. Even in the moonlight I could see knuckles chequered with cuts and scars. I felt my heart beat against his other pressed palm. ‘Toll?’ I asked.
‘Yow’z on a toll road, moy friend. Meanin’ yow’z ’as to pay. Or suffer the consequences.’
The shadows around him chuckled and closed in on me.
‘Take your hand away,’ I whispered to him.
The shadows mumbled.
‘Please,’ I said more forcefully.
‘An’ if I don’t?’
I leaned into his fist so he felt me push back and Billy the Brave did what I expected him to do. The very thing he shouldn’t have done. He gave me a good hard shove.
Or, at least he tried to.
I slapped both my palms over his fingers, so he couldn’t remove them, then I bent quickly. He had a choice: fall to his knees or have his wrist broken.
Billy made another wrong decision. He stood tall and brave. His bone broke with a sickening crack and he doubled up in pain.
I held on to his busted hand. Stepped over it. Twisted his arm and dislocated his shoulder.
Billy screamed like a trapped animal and I confess my brain fizzed with excitement. I had missed the mental relief of being in a fight. The primordial rush of crushing another predator.
‘So who’s next then?’ I swaggered challengingly into the moonlight. ‘Who fancies a little of what Billy just got?’
I took their silence as submission, which was almost as stupid a mistake as the one Billy had made.
Almost in unison, they took off their caps. Respectfully, I thought. As though a priest or someone of great standing had entered their purview.
Then they let out a roar and rushed me. A callow youth swiped with his cap. I raised a forearm and felt the peak slice my jacket.
Now I understood: some form of blade was concealed beneath the stiffened fabric. This changed things. Not only was I outnumbered but these boys were more dangerous than I’d anticipated. I crunched an elbow into the face of a man to my right. Instinctively, my cut-throat razor clicked open in my hand – a fellow had crept noisily behind me and I slashed his leg with it. He squealed loudly.
Someone shouted, ‘’Enry? Yow all right, ’enry?’
I slipped deeper into the darkness. Heard the others rush to their friend’s aid. Their preoccupation provided me with the opportunity to shift, unseen, along the alley wall and disappear into the street beyond.
I ran hard. Put as much distance between the gang and myself as quickly as I could. It wasn’t long before I heard police whistles and the clatter of carriages and hooves. They were heading in the opposite direction to me but I still stepped back into the shadows and waited until silence returned.
Once I felt safe, I moved again. A street-corner gas lamp cast a golden sheen across a cobbled junction. I stopped there, panting for breath, and looked myself over. There was blood on my hands, glistening as black as tar. My jacket had been ripped by a blade. My cheek stung from a cut. I put a finger to it and then licked fresh blood from the skin.
The whistles came again. They were closer now. The coppers had probably reached the gang and been redirected. I took deep breaths then took to my heels again.
Only when I came to a canal basin did I slow to a walk. Barges lined the water’s edge but those lingering on them were either asleep or too drunk to care about me. On the towpaths, I saw only men too inebriated to make it to their crafts, or those who had stopped to spend the last of their pay with dollymops too ugly to work in the light of the taverns.
Off the back of a barge, where no interior light shone and no sound of life could be heard, I lifted a swill bucket from a hook and pumped fresh water into it. There was enough illumination from the moon to clean myself as best I could.
The rest of the journey back to the asylum was reassuringly uneventful. No sooner had I curled up in my pile of sacking inside the shed than I fell into a deep sleep.
The following day was one of silent reflection. I couldn’t get the encounter with the razor-capped gang out of my head and I spent the morning lost in my thoughts as I chopped wood for old Ralph.
‘Yow’re very quiet today,’ he observed. ‘Cat got yow tongue? Or yow feelin’ badly from the ale?’
‘I was just thinking things over.’
‘Things to do with that cut on yow face?’
It looked worse than it was. A raw red line that was really no more than a deep scratch had drawn blood and was trying to scab. Still, it ran from the middle of my cheek to the lobe of my left ear and would be visible for some time. ‘Had a bit too much to drink and caught myself on a bush last night. Nearly took my eye out.’
‘And this bush,’ Ralph said sceptically, ‘woz it overchargin’ yow? Or woz it someone else’s bush an’ yow got a good beatin’ for messin’ with it?’
‘I’m not like that.’ I downed the axe and glared at him. ‘I’ve never been with a woman like that, and I’d certainly never hurt a woman. Never.’
‘I’m glad to ’ear it.’ He could tell I was offended. ‘So tell me then, wot’s the matter with yow?’
I moved more wood into position to be chopped, then decided I would tell him. ‘The first bit was true. I took a drink too much. Then I got cornered by some gang demanding money from me.’
‘Lads yow’r own age?’
‘About that.’
‘Dressed smart, with caps?’ he said knowingly.
‘Yes.’
‘Yow needs steer clear of the likes of them. Bad news theys are. Bad news indeed.’ He planted a foot on his shovel, and drove it into the soft soil of a small vegetable bed he’d been working all week. ‘They’re Blinders. Yow’re lucky they didn’t take yow’r eye out.’
I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. ‘Blinders?’
He removed his own cap and ran a filthy finger around the well-worn peak. ‘They gets their name coz they sews sharp metal into ’ere. Then they blinds people like yow by slashin’ ’em in the eyes.’ He looked more closely at my cut. ‘Inch or two different an’ yow’d be needin’ a stick an’ a dog.’ As an afterthought he asked, ‘Did they take yow money?’
I didn’t answer. Didn’t want to give away that they’d come off worse than I had. That the police may well be looking for me.
‘I thought so. Explains them sour looks. Anyroadup, don’t go askin’ me for money. I’ve none to give.’
‘I wasn’t going to.’
‘I’m relieved to ’ear it.’ He studied my cut a little more. ‘Did they beat yow bad?’
‘Not so much.’ I put my hand to the cut. ‘Just this and some bruises. Once I turned my pockets out they left me alone.’
He nodded. ‘Yow did right. Money can be replaced. A
n eye can’t.’ He put his cap back on, then had another thought. ‘Yow best make sure yow stay out of trouble.’ He nodded towards the prison. ‘I’m not gowin’ in there on account of yow. I’m not goin’ in there for no one.’
‘I understand.’
He turned and looked me over. ‘Thinkin’ on it, any lad wot comes away from a scrap wit’ the Blinders, bearin’ only a scratch, ’as to be more ’n’ lucky.’ He studied me again and didn’t like what he saw. ‘I’m owld enuff to smell badness a mile away. An’ standin’ ’ere right now, yow stinks of it.’
I said nothing, just picked up the axe and sank it into the oak.
Old Ralph put his hand on my shoulder and stopped me swinging again. ‘I reckons it’s time yow moved on, no offence.’
‘None taken.’ I knew he was right. I needed to put miles between myself and the trouble snapping at my heels. ‘Guess I’ve got some money coming?’
Ralph paid me to the end of the week, we shook hands and I walked away without a word or a backward glance. But even as the miles between Birmingham and me opened up, I sensed I wasn’t done with the Blinders. A grudge as strong as steel swords had been forged between us and blood would be shed again. Of that, I was certain.
PART TWO
The charge is prepared, the lawyers are met,
The judges all ranged, a terrible show
The Beggar’s Opera, John Gay
Derbyshire, September 1885
I was infatuated with Elizabeth and knew it, but being young and immature, there was simply nothing I could do, except suffer.
The blessed woman was on my mind from the very second that I woke. She occupied all my final thoughts before sleep and attended my every dream. And in that phantom world, she looped her arm in mine and I was not the fool of the drawing room who used the wrong words and lied about what he knew – I was her protector, her guardian, her lover.
Until Elizabeth, there had been no woman who had turned my head and set my heart racing. Not even a little. While boys and men around me had slept with all manner of girls and women, I harboured no such desires. I was curious about the fairer sex. But every time I looked at an elegant lady in the street or a laughing harlot in a tavern my mind would fill with notions of my birth mother and then a terrible flood of childhood memories would extinguish any sparks of passion.
To distract myself from Elizabeth, I wandered around Moriarty’s mansion. Never had I been anywhere as luxurious as this, unless carrying a sack to stuff with silver.
From an upper landing window, I watched deer amble in a distant field. From another, I saw a great owl settle on the slated roof of a private chapel, built I later learned, to stop bodysnatchers stealing any Moriarty corpses and selling them to medical schools. And from a third window, I followed fast-moving water as it broke white on rocks and tumbled around the sharp bend of a river.
What I did not see was any other house or sign of civilisation. Moriarty’s home was isolated. Hidden. And judging from the number of men patrolling the distant hedges and fences, it was a fortress.
I descended the grand main staircase and studied a wall filled with oils. They depicted generations of men bearing varying resemblances to Brogan Moriarty. Some were grandfatherly figures, standing behind chairs that bore women and babes in arms. Others were more heroic: men on horseback, in battlefields or hunts. All had the same piercing stare as the one I had first encountered back in Manchester.
I had some time before my lessons so I explored the corridors, more out of boredom than curiosity. Raised voices spilled through a door left slightly ajar at the foot of one landing. Sirius Gunn and Surrey Breed were in heated conversation. I pressed myself to a wall so I could hear but not be seen.
‘The Chinese are not a threat,’ insisted Gunn. ‘The old man is obsessed with them. Just because they want more profit from their opium and are interested in gambling, doesn’t mean they are becoming our enemies.’
‘Raising prices is not a friendly thing to do.’
‘Nor is it a sign of war. Moriarty should look more to the tinkers and the English gangs massing in London; they present far greater dangers than the Chinese.’
‘Do they? The professor says the Chans are more organised than the English and one day opium, cocaine and even laudanum will be illegal.’
‘Illegal? What poppycock! Surrey, you really should confine yourself to concocting poisons and trying to look more feminine. You are not informed enough to comment sensibly on these matters.’
‘I’ll confine myself to kicking your bollocks,’ she retorted. ‘If Moriarty sees the Chinese as a threat, then that’s good enough for me.’
‘Good Lord, woman, do you not know that we get more opium from India than we do from China? We should forge closer ties with Chan and his clan and not fear them. There are but a couple of hundred Chinese in London. We can muster as many men in an hour.’
I must have moved my weight a little because a floorboard creaked beneath my right foot.
‘What was that?’ asked Surrey.
‘What was what?’
‘There was a sound. Outside.’
I had been rumbled, and had no choice but to walk to the door and open it fully. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘I am lost and looking for Lady Elizabeth.’
They glanced at each other and then at me.
‘Have you been listening in?’ asked Gunn.
‘I have just told you what I have been doing,’ I answered curtly. ‘Now can you please tell me where I might find Lady Elizabeth?’
‘I’ll show him,’ said Surrey. ‘Follow me, Simeon.’ She walked past me and into the corridor. For a second or two, Gunn and I glared at each other.
‘Don’t you have a lesson to go to?’ he said sarcastically.
‘I do. But I would gladly delay it to teach you a lesson.’
‘Simeon!’ shouted Surrey.
I left to catch her up. ‘One day, I will swing for him,’ I said as I drew level with her.
‘He’s not your enemy. None of us is. You just have to get used to us.’ She gave me a friendly look. ‘We’re not so bad, given a chance.’
‘I believe that of you, but not him.’
‘Did you really forget where the drawing room was?’
My face owned up to the lie, even before I did. ‘I was bored, so walked around awhile before my lesson. I wasn’t listening in, honestly.’
‘Honestly?’ She laughed. ‘Be wary of anyone who says “honestly”, Simeon. It is always an attempt to conceal a lie.’
‘I’ll remember that. Why are you worried about the Chinese?’
‘Oh, so you were listening!’ She seemed pleased to have got it out of me.
‘I heard only a few words.’
‘Then you will hear the rest soon enough.’ We descended the main stairs, turned a corner and she gestured to a door. ‘And lo and behold, here we are, the elusive drawing room.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Entirely my pleasure.’ She knocked on a panel for me, smiled again and departed.
‘Come in!’ shouted Lady Elizabeth.
I felt a rush of excitement as I turned the knob and entered a room ablaze with sunlight. She looked up from the writing desk. An elegant black fountain pen paused above a buff-coloured document. ‘Simeon?’ She glanced at a gold clock ticking loudly on the mantelpiece. ‘You are a full five minutes early.’
‘Would you prefer I went away for a while?’
‘No, certainly not.’ She rose and shook out the ruffles of a gold and red day dress, then glided to the table where we normally sat. ‘It is good that you are eager to begin.’
‘What do you know about China and the Chinese?’ I asked as I held a chair for her.
‘The Chinese? My goodness. Let me see.’ She sat and smoothed the dress over her legs. ‘They are one of the most populous nations in the world and are a wonderful race of people. Quite brilliant. They invented gunpowder, paper money, silk, the abacus – all manner of things. Why do you ask?’
> ‘I overheard Surrey and Sirius speaking about them.’
‘Ah.’ Her tone became subdued.
‘Sirius said there were a couple of hundred or so in London but I never saw any when I lived there. Where are they all?’
‘There are communities in Pennyfields and Ming Street in Poplar.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Time for us to move on to other matters.’
‘Who are the Chans?’
‘Please, Simeon. We need to begin our work.’
‘The Chans?’ I persisted.
‘Very well. They are old business acquaintances of the professor and his family.’
‘And there is a dispute, some bad blood between them?’
She reached for a pile of books on the table. ‘I have said enough. More than enough on this matter.’ She opened a book. ‘I want to talk today about art and artists. What kind of art do you like?’
‘I like shades,’ I answered enthusiastically. ‘I like them very much.’
‘By shades you mean black and white portraits, silhouette art?’
‘Yes.’ I was pleased to have a subject I could talk about without feeling stupid. ‘I have some.’
‘You have some?’ She seemed surprised.
I dug into my pocket and handed over two printed portraits, both small enough to fit in the palm of her hand.
Elizabeth studied them like diamonds. ‘They are exquisite. Simple, but enchanting shades of a mother and child.’ She passed them back to me. ‘How did you come by them?’
‘I didn’t steal them, if that’s what you mean.’ I returned them to a fold of leather I kept in my pocket. ‘Someone special gave them to me. Please do not ask me more than that.’
‘As you wish. Do you know where the word silhouette comes from? How this type of art materialised?’
‘No.’
‘In France, there used to be a very austere finance minister called Etienne de Silhouette. He was known for making severe cuts to the country’s budget during an age of frugality. At the same time, there was a demand for portraiture, which was usually done in oil or by photography. For those who couldn’t afford such luxuries, portraits were made by sketching a facial outline on black card, cutting it out and sticking it onto white card. Because this had been done so cheaply, so meanly, it became known as a silhouette.’