by Chris Hales
71
The legend of the Thief Taker General spread far and wide. There was hardly a man, woman or child who didn't know his name, who had not heard stories of his amazing deeds. As the months passed Jonathan’s reputation grew to levels even he could not believe. He would be stopped on the streets during the day by pedestrians, good men and women, all who only wished to offer their support and gratitude.
He was faring very well indeed. His earnings were higher than he ever imagined and the competition was slowly being eliminated. He would deliver any thieves who showed him no allegiance to the courts each day and proudly told how he was more effective than any normal marshal.
Mary’s life also took an unexpected turn. She now found herself joining Jonathan on all different kinds of social events. No longer was she simply regarded as the local whore. She found respect and tolerance, all due to her lover’s incredible success.
Charles Hitchin, on the other hand, could not claim to be anywhere near as successful. His gang continually decreased in size. His earnings became far less than they ever had been before. Jonathan was threatening to run him out of the city.
The legend of the Thief Taker would continue to grow and spread. None could see Jonathan’s popularity ever declining and all appeared to love him more with each passing day. Life was only getting better for the young man from Wolverhampton.
72
He liked to be organised. His business depended on it. He took time each week to update all of his books and ledgers, ensuring his thieves had a plan for the following month.
He sat in his small study, at his large desk, flicking through his journals, making notes and amendments when Matthew banged loudly at the door. He raised his head to look at the opening as it creaked slowly aside. Entering he approached Jonathan and stood before him.
“You have a visitor,” he announced, “says he knows you.”
He looked to the door as an ageing man entered. His heart stopped, his eyes growing wide and pained. Retreating through the door Matthew left them in peace. Slowly rising to his feet Jonathan stood, every fibre of his being tensing in preparation for a fight of the most personal design.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, hatred and disappointment flooding his heart.
The old man approached the desk and stood purposefully, his hands curling into fists. “Is that any way to greet your father?” he returned to him in his thick Wolverhampton accent.
Jonathan was frozen, unable to move. His mind fought for clarity as his thoughts wavered and distorted. He couldn’t believe he was here. How had he found him? It was then the position of Thief Taker General seemed as ridiculous as it sounded. He tried to move but his body refused to cooperate. Jonathan Wild felt as if he were six years old, once again.
“You disappear off the face of this earth with no goodbye or indication of where you might go,” his harsh accent caused him to tense and close his eyes in the hope this was simply a nightmare which would soon pass.
“How did you find me?” he asked nervously.
“It wasn’t difficult,” replied Jacob. “Stories of the Thief Taker are everywhere.”
He slumped back into his chair, determined not to give in so easily and wishing he could summon the strength to resist. He hated his father with an equal passion to Charles and now he had both to contend with. He couldn’t believe he was before him now, but he thought he knew why he had come. Jacob was a man driven by greed and the urge to dominate.
“What do you want?” he asked again with dread.
“My son,” he replied. “We’d have been forgiven if we’d have thought you dead. You left for no reason, with no warning…”
“No reason?” screamed Jonathan. “Have you forgotten the way you treated me? Are you so bloody ignorant?” He suddenly felt his confidence return, remembering who he now was.
Jacob strode around the desk to slap him across the face. “Don’t ever talk to me in that manner, boy.” He sat back up with a start, unsure as what to do. Jacob bore down on him as if he was a terrible child. “Don’t you blame this on me! You’re the one who abandoned us.”
Jonathan was overcome by a childish fear. All of the memories of a childhood spent at the mercy of his father’s belt sprung immediately to mind. He desperately tried to summon the instinct to fight. He struggled to get air into his lungs, hoping to discover the strength to resist.
“Have you never asked why?” he questioned.
“I gave you everything,” defended Jacob. “I educated you. I gave you an apprenticeship and a career.”
“…, and a wife and a son,” laughed Jonathan painfully.
At the age of twenty-one Jonathan had watched as his father scoured Wolverhampton for a suitable wife for his son. Finally a young girl had been found and an agreement had been reached, but Jonathan always had his reservations. He knew all which mattered to his father was the sizeable dowry.
His wife, Anne, would have made a good spouse for any man. Jonathan never believed he was this individual. He didn’t want to marry and craved a far more interesting life. Which had now been achieved. Jacob, however, now had another soul to bother with his own, terrible, dislike for life. If she angered him in any way he would strike out harshly.
He had never loved her but he knew she held deep feelings for him. When Jacob had demanded a grandson they’d had little choice but to deliver one. Neither was willing to risk the beating they would receive if they refused, but Jonathan always knew the child’s life would be as complicated as his own. That was why he had run. He didn’t want to become his father.
Jacob strode to the window to look at the Old Bailey. “I won’t deny you’ve done well for yourself.” Jonathan remained silent. “It’s not the life I would have chosen for you, but your success is impressive.”
He chuckled painfully as memories of his childhood flooded his mind. “I don’t care what you think. I don’t know why you came.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re my son. We were so worried about you.”
Jonathan stood, anger building once again. His father’s lies caused his blood to boil. “You expect me to believe it’s concern which brought you to London?” he walked to face his father. “You’re a monster. You tormented me my whole life. I was never your son. I was simply a possession with which you’d do as you pleased.”
Jacob began to laugh. “Compassion? You want a cuddle?”
He stood his ground, refusing to let his father’s cruelty overcome him. “I’d never expect love. Not from you.” Jonathan’s eyes grew wide with pure hatred. “Why did you come?” he asked again, desperate for an answer.
Jacob approached his son, slapping him once again across the face. “You’re still as insolent as ever. Don’t you care your family, the people who love you, were abandoned? You’re still nothing but a child, Jonathan.”
He remained silent, restraining his hatred as Jacob pushed past him, making for the door. With a smirk he swung it back uttering only one word.
“Enter.”
It was a command not a request.
Jonathan turned to see two others enter the room. Again his heart sank. Why had he brought them? He didn’t understand.
73
He watched as she entered, her head bowed in shame too afraid to look either Jonathan or Jacob in the eye. Anne allowed a young boy, no older than ten or eleven, to follow, clutching her hand. This was his son, Joseph.
“Jesus,” swore Jonathan, “why the hell did you bring them?”
Jacob instructed Anne and the boy to approach with a wave of his hand. He smiled, enjoying the pain he was causing his son. “They’re your family, Jonathan. Don’t you think they deserve to see you?” he pulled Joseph close with a little too much force as he kicked the door closed. “Joseph, say hello to your father.”
The boy kept his head low, avoiding meeting eyes with Jonathan's. “Hello, father.” His voice sounded fearful and weak, reminding him of the boy he once was.
“Th
ey’re your responsibility,” he explained. “It’s high time you lived up to your duties as a husband and a father.” He stood as if he were the ruler of each of their lives, determined to force them to do whatever he pleased.
“Like you did?” he asked. “I was never your son. Never did I receive any love or care from you. I didn’t leave because of them,” he pushed his father back forcefully. “You’re the only reason I ran.” He could feel his emotions rise, causing his heart to twinge painfully. “I had to get away from you, your violent outbursts and your need to govern over us so painfully.”
Jacob laughed as he returned to stand mere inches from his son. “I taught you valuable lessons. I educated you as to how the real world can be.”
Jonathan laughed loudly, hoping he could anger his father further. “All you taught me is how cruel you could be. How you can take away those things which I love the most.”
“Such as?” asked Jacob, genuinely intrigued by the answer his son would give.
Jonathan pushed into him again. “You killed my mother.” He could feel tears form in the corners of his eyes, the childish memory of his mother lying dead on the floor bubbling painfully to the surface.
Jacob punched him in the stomach hard. “She was a terrible woman, Jonathan, and a worse mother.”
Rather than strike back Jonathan retreated and paced in small circles. “She was my mother,” he defended pitifully as he coughed in pain, “and you took her away from me.” He approached Anne and placed a hand on her shoulder. She jumped into his arms hugging tightly, whispering in his ear.
“Help us,” was all she said.
Jonathan could take it no more. He could see his father hadn’t changed at all. He strode to the door, opening it and looking to the eavesdropping Matthew.
“Matthew,” he asked. “A moment of your time?”
He looked to his father. “Jacob,” he said, his words denying any relation to this terrible man. “This is Matthew, my friend and associate.” He looked on in wonder. He had never seen a man quite as large and threatening. “I’m not the same scared little boy you once knew,” Matthew knew what to do. He held Jacob back, pinning his arms to his side. “I no longer run away from my troubles,” he patted his friend affectionately on the shoulder. “I have men, like Matthew, to face my problems for me.” He approached Anne and smiled genuinely. “Please escort my father out of this room and ensure he stays there until we have finished.”
Matthew dragged Jacob back, shutting the door and restraining him on the other side. Jonathan didn’t want to have the ensuing conversation, yet he knew there was no avoiding it. He had many questions to answer and more fears to be indulged.
74
Jonathan turned back to Anne, pulling a chair into the centre of the room. “Please, sit,” he spoke kindly. Looking to his son he held out a hand. “Come here, lad. Let me have a look at you.” Joseph approached, afraid of what may happen. It appeared as if he were used to violence. Sympathy coursed through Jonathan, who distinctly remembered what it was like to be at the mercy of his father. He rested a hand on the boys head, “You’re much larger than I remember,” he said.
“I’m ten,” uttered Joseph, the Wolverhampton accent not so strangely absent. His father would beat Jonathan if he ever allowed his use of proper English to be influenced by his surroundings. He always insisted his son speak with ‘the King’s English’, the repercussions always being hard and painful should he deviate. Jonathan could only assume he treated his grandson in the same manner.
He shook his head in painful memory. “Your grandfather educates you?” he asked. Joseph nodded the affirmative slowly, still too afraid to talk. He turned to Anne, compassion filling his being. “You must hate me,” he stated with guilt.
“I did,” she replied, “but then I realised why you left.” She had spent years screaming at herself for allowing Jonathan to abandon them. It took her some time to conclude he would have left whatever she had said or done.
“You did?” he asked.
“You didn’t leave because of us,” she said wearily. “You ran due to him.” He was impressed. No other had come to this conclusion. “All I want to know is why you left us to suffer his cruelty?”
It was a good question but he doubted she would understand the answer. He spun in small circles, attempting to find the best response. “If I’d stayed,” he said, his voice cracking and breaking, “I’d have become like him. I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn't do that to myself.”
She quickly stood running to him. She took his hands in hers and smiled sweetly. “Jonathan,” she sobbed, “you’d never be anything like him.” She wiped tears from his eyes. He embraced her, pulling her to him tightly.
“You don’t know that,” he said, his voice continuing to struggle with emotion. “I could feel myself slipping away.”
She took his chin in her hands and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I know you never loved me, Jonathan,” tears now freely flowed down her cheeks, “but I loved you, I still do. You’re a good man and despite everything I know you want to help us.” She hoped he would finally live up to be the man she believed he truly was.
He laughed painfully, pulling away from her and looking to his son. “Joseph, come here, lad.” He tried to make the instruction sound as friendly and unthreatening as possible.
The boy approached again, watching his father closely as Jonathan bent to one knee. Carefully he placed a hand on Josephs shoulder. “I’ll never hurt you, son. I’m not your grandfather.” He nodded slowly as he began to cry also. Jonathan studied him, searching for the thing he feared most. “Lift you shirt,” he kindly requested. “Let me see your back.”
Joseph slowly raised his shirt, turning for his father to inspect. “Jesus,” uttered Jonathan. It was a painful reminder how harsh Jacob could be. His back was covered in deep scars. A number of the wounds were fresh, still seeping puss and blood. Jonathan gritted his teeth and turned to his wife. “He beats on you as well?”
She nodded, lifting the sleeves of her dress. Her arms were covered in dark blue bruises and similar scars of torture. “He considers your son his own,” she painfully explained.
“And my wife?” asked Jonathan with dread. “He shares your bed?”
“I have little choice but to lie with him, Jonathan.” He knew the meaning of her words. He could still remember listening to Jacob as he dragged his mother to the bedroom and forced himself upon her. Sex in their house was obligatory.
He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the forehead, ruffling his son’s hair as he turned. “I will help you,” he declared. “You will suffer my father no more.”
He didn’t love his wife. He hadn’t ever cared for his son, but now they were in London he felt obliged to assist them in any way he could. He didn’t know how, considering everything which had happened, but he would try. The next step would be the hardest for him to take.
75
Jonathan opened the door to be confronted by his struggling father. Matthew stood before the door, blocking any entry. He tapped him on the shoulder, asking him to step aside as Anne and Joseph appeared from behind. He chuckled at his father’s new black eye. It seemed his large friend had been forced to punish him for his attempts at entry.
As soon as Matthew moved he exploded, reaching forwards and pulling Anne to him by her hair. Jonathan pushed him away and signalled to his friend with a nod of his head. Rushing to his father, the immense man pinned his arms behind his back and virtually hoisted him off the floor.
Jonathan began laughing as he approached his father. “I spent my entire life running from you,” he calmly explained, “but I’m escaping no more.” With all of his strength he punched Jacob in the gut. It felt good. It was years of pent up anger breaking free, Jacob coughed and spluttered in pain. “This is my world, here I am king.”
Anne rushed to Jonathan’s side, pulling Joseph to her. She did remind him so much of his mother.
Jonathan listened carefully to his father’s
pain. It was a sound he had never been fortunate enough to hear. “I am not like you. I am so much better,” he spat at him. “You may call me weak but compassion can be so much stronger than hatred.” He approached his father, reaching to his side and drawing Matthew’s ornate dagger from its leather sheath. Slowly he placed the cold metal against his face.
He breathed deeply, summoning every ounce of his strength and dislike for his father. Digging into the flesh he drew with the blade a line in an imitation of his own scar. “You killed my mother and tormented me my whole life.” He looked back to glance at his own son. “You will never hurt anyone again.” He stepped away, holding the knife out to Matthew and nodding the instruction to release him.
Jacob brushed the side of his face with his sleeve, wincing only slightly in pain. “It is hardly your decision.” He shot his glare to Anne who immediately bowed her head in fear and hid behind her husband. He looked next to his grandson. “Who would you be with, boy? Your mother..., or me?”
He appeared petrified, scared for his young life. He looked to his mother for courage but she only remained hidden in Jonathan’s jacket. Neither wanted to face his father. He stuttered only three words. “My grandfather, Sir.”
Jacob smiled, stepping away from Matthew. “There’s your answer,” he fired at his son. “Or will his mother allow her son to suffer me alone?”
Anne cried, sheepishly stepping away from Jonathan. Jacob opened the front door as Anne mouthed the words again. “Help us.”
Matthew was itching to stop their departure but he knew it would never be so easy. He looked to his friend with clenched fists. He had his own concerns and fears but more needed to be known.