Wild Intentions (The Legend of the Thief Taker)

by Chris Hales

  “She's not happy with you, Jonathan. None of us are. “

  “I appreciate that. I'm sorry, Matthew,” there was much work which needed to be done if he were to reclaim his throne as king of the underworld. “Truly,” he added, desperate for forgiveness.

  “Then, do something about it.” He wasn't ready to pardon him quite so easily.

  “Has Charles really become that much of a problem?” This concerned him the most. All of his recent actions had disgusted him the more than any other. All of his stupid mistakes, but now, with Matthew before him, he could understand with his absence he had allowed Hitchin to return to his former state of glory. He had put everyone in danger.

  “More than you know. It's Anne, Jonathan,” he said solemnly. “She snuck out of the house one night, the next morning she was found floating in the river.” It was a sorry state of affairs. His thieves had run to him, telling of the news. Matthew and Mary had blamed themselves. Jonathan, however, probably deserved most of the culpability.

  “The riverside killer’s victim?” he was starting to see the greater plan. “That does make it more interesting.” For Charles to do such a thing indicated a larger scheme to attack him personally. He should have seen it coming but there was probably little he could have done to avoid it.

  “How's that?” he asked in a befuddled manner.

  “There's a reason for everything which happens,” the more he thought about it the more sense it made. “I think I may have just worked out Charles’s reasons. My father's reasons.” They were villains of the highest order. Jonathan felt driven to do each of them great harm. “What about Joseph?”

  The same look of great disappointment washed across his face. “Somehow he disappeared. Ran straight to his grandfather.”

  Jonathan was sure of it. It was all about his son. An unwilling contestant in their terrible games of deceit.

  “Did he now?” he asked with some doubt. They must have been very happy with their success. “So he's with my father and Charles?”

  “Yeah.” he grumbled.

  “And you've done nothing about it?” Jonathan would have loved for Matthew and his friends to attack Charles. Then again, he would be greatly pleased to witness it personally.

  “What can I do, Jonathan?” he defended. “Maybe you didn't hear me but our gang is not what it once was. Charlie is surrounded by some of the most vicious bastards imaginable. I'm not going to risk that.” He wasn't so stupid. “I doubt you would either.” Still, he knew him far too well.

  “Who have you managed to hold on to?” he asked, concerns for the state of their gang beginning to course through him viciously.

  He had managed to keep Ian and a few others close. “A number of my most trusted allies. Even they're starting to lose hope. Starting to doubt whether we can survive. Things are going back to the way they used to be and it's putting us all in great danger.” Thieves were being arrested and hanged faster than they ever had before. It wasn't just Charles Hitchin’s thieves but many others too. Without Jonathan they weren't being careful anymore. “I tried to do what you do but I'm no good at it. Without you, we're nothing.”

  It was sad. He had tried to teach those close to him how the business worked so well but in the ensuing panic it seemed no one had been listening. “You don't have much faith in me, do you?”

  “Have you given me any other option?” It was largely a rhetorical question.

  “No, probably not,” It was time for the mistakes to stop. It was imperative. “I was coming back, Matthew. I was always coming back.” He doubted he would be believed. He could understand that, in light of all of the things which had happened.

  “So what have you been doing all this time?” He couldn't imagine Holland had been any better than London.

  “Making plans,” he said proudly. “When I return, everything is going to change. Nothing's going to be the same. No one is going to be able to compete with us and we're going to be stronger and more resilient than ever before.” He was sure of it. Charles, even his father, wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it.

  “Why does it scare me?” He was such a careful man, planning everything to the finest detail. Yet recent events had proven when he didn't think about the consequences of his actions, everything could spiral out of control. That was when happenings became destructive.

  “I didn't think anything could.” Matthew was far too large, brutal and fierce to ever succumb to such emotion.

  “The only thing which frightens me, Jonathan, is you.” It was a point well made.

  “There's no need.” He waved his hand to the garden around them, to the city beyond. “It's amazing here, Matthew. The thieves are more organised than we could ever be. There are so many great things about this country,” a sinister smile encompassed his features. “You should see the forgers. They're amazing. All of them can be of great use to us.” This was the start of the greatest part of his grand scheme.

  “If you're still making strategies, you better hurry. We need you.” Time was most certainly running out.

  “Then I guess I'm coming home,” he offered a look of comfort, hoping to ease his concerns. “I'll arrange passage on a ship. We'll leave tomorrow.”

  Was it so easy? “Why do we have to wait so long?”

  “I need to tie up a few loose ends,” he explained. “And then, the impossible, the implausible and the improbable will rain down like a fiery storm, and we're going to have some fun.” Matthew's fears didn't calm. If anything they continued to build.

  120

  As time passed, over the duration of the following day, Matthew became convinced Jonathan had, indeed, returned to the game.

  He took Matthew to see all manner of sinister individuals. They spoke in what seemed to be a carefully structured code. Matthew didn't understand a word which was said, but Jonathan was true to his word and by late evening they had both boarded a ship destined for London.

  It was as they sat in the cramped hold he finally allowed Matthew in on his secrets. He explained every step of his new business. Matthew could hardly believe such a thing was possible. Yet, it appeared so simple.

  “That's brilliant!” he exclaimed loudly. Everything, most certainly, would change.

  Back to Business

  121

  The Dutch ship docked in London early in the morning. Jonathan raced from the boat, desperate to put distance between himself and the accursed vessel. Only one thing occupied his mind. Mary. He knew she would be angry with him. Shocked and accusing, but he was willing to accept the repercussions of his actions and knew they would become entangled in a very emotional argument.

  Matthew had quickly run home to tell his few remaining thieves of the Thief Takers’ triumphant return. He never considered how fast this news would travel. He could already feel the tides of fortune changing.

  As usual, Jonathan discovered Mary's door unlocked. He entered the house quietly hoping to give her a pleasant surprise. Depositing his bags at the foot of the stairs, he crept up to her bedroom. Apprehensions continued to bubble within. The only person he was truly afraid of was her. He couldn't explain this.

  He paused outside her bedroom door, slowing his breathing and bearing an inane grin. As his hand drew outwards to knock he paused, moving downwards to the door handle, hoping to surprise his love more effectively. Slowly, he opened the door.

  He froze. Mary wasn't lying in her bed alone. Matthew had told him how she had been forced to go back to business. This wasn't the issue. He could understand her needs. As she forced the man who lay on top of her to roll off, his features became painfully clear.

  “Jonathan!” she shrieked.

  He locked eyes with Roger Johnson's naked form. Squinting at him with hatred, he spat on the floor. “R... Roger Johnson?” He stuttered.

  “Jonathan,” she defended again, “It's not what you think.”

  He laughed, his hand wrapping around the hilt of his slender sword. “I'm back,” he declared, his voice cracking painf
ully with fractured emotion.

  She scrambled to cover herself with the sheet, wiping sweat from her forehead. Roger calmly dressed, unperturbed by his intrusion. He watched as Mary whimpered under the covers.

  Approaching Jonathan at the door Roger threw on his light coloured jacket. “You wanna move?” he growled in his usual threatening manner. He didn't respond, his hand simply clutched his sword tighter. Turning back to Mary, Johnson winked. “Good as always, Mary.”

  He stood before Jonathan, intent to push past. Mary's lover stared at him venomously but sensibly moved aside allowing him to vanish quickly down the stairs.

  “Miss me?” he asked of his love.

  She said nothing, continuing to whimper quietly. It took great effort to answer him. “You were gone so long.”

  He was confused. Matthew had told him Mary was angry at his departure. That she missed him terribly. Yet here she was, lying with a man whom Jonathan despised. An enemy of the highest order. Business was understandable, but Roger Johnson was pure betrayal. How she could service such a violent and vicious man he couldn't fathom. Was it a blossoming relationship? Would she rather be with him? Maybe he had become far too uninteresting.

  “With Roger Johnson?” he asked desperately.

  She shook her head, frantic for his forgiveness. “It was just business.”

  “With him?!” he screamed. “Johnson's a piece of shit. A terrible man who doesn't deserve your attention.” His hand gripped the sword even tighter.

  Mary wrapped herself in the sheet, crawling from the bed. “It was just business, Jonathan,” she approached him carefully, begging with an outstretched hand. “Nothing more than that.”

  “Roger Johnson...,” he mumbled yet again, unable to understand what he had just witnessed.

  “Three bloody months, Jonathan,” she spat at him angrily, throwing caution to the winds. “I didn't know whether you'd be back. I would have been forgiven for thinking you dead. You can't blame me for going back to business.” He was no calmer. His anger was boiling steadily. “I felt no guilt over taking Roger to my bed.”

  Jonathan snapped. Slapping her across the face he forced her to knees. “I thought I meant more to you than this!” he bellowed.

  Slowly she raised herself to her feet. “Whatever happened to making Charlie pay, Jonathan?” he had no answer. “You let me down. You betrayed me in so many ways.” She had thought he loved her. That he would do anything for her. Instead of making Charles Hitchin pay for his atrocious attack he had run away. It had only made her question his loyalty, made her doubt his love.

  Jonathan could hardly think. “But…, with him? He's a bastard. You told me that.” Maybe she'd done it to anger and irritate him but he never thought her to be such a woman. It was ridiculous. Finding her in bed with him had only proven one thing. He loved her more than he ever had anyone. He didn't want to believe she could be with anyone else. He could ignore it no longer.

  “What did you expect?” she asked. “I'm a prostitute.” She pulled the sheet tighter still around her nakedness, ignoring the pain which soared through her cheek.

  “I was faithful to you, I protected you,” he declared.

  She walked to him, slapping him hard across the face, returning the gesture. She didn't care about faithfulness. As for protection, she never needed it and the only time she had asked for it he had failed to deliver. Then she apologetically took a gentle hold of his arm in an attempt to calm him. He responded immediately, his own hand darting out to take a firm hold of her throat.

  “Jonathan, you're hurting me,” he didn't care. An insane rage had taken hold and was surging through his body.

  “You betray me with a bastard like Johnson?” he asked, desperate for a reason to her betrayal. He was unaware of anything else, except for his fury. He relaxed his grip a little, allowing her to speak.

  “What did you expect me to do?” she asked. “I didn't know if you were ever coming home.” Her words rasped under the strain of her impeded ability to breath. “I couldn't be with you..., so I chose to be with him.”

  She had needed comfort. Someone to hold her. In his absence she had turned to Roger. He, however, didn't like it one bit. He didn't understand.

  “Is that why you kept going back to him?” He was desperate to know the truth.

  “Is that what you want to hear?” She forced the words free. Jonathan instinctively tightened his grip. “You want me to tell you he's better than you? That he's more of a man than you ever will be?” she regretted her statement almost immediately.

  He exploded, throwing her backwards. She fell to the floor but clambered quickly to her feet. She never saw what he did next coming.

  In one fluid motion he drew his sword up and thrust it at her. He never intended to do her harm. Only to scare her. The blade brushed past her head, slicing through her hair. As he brought it upwards it almost magically caused her ear to part from her head. It dropped to the floor with a faint thud. Once again, Jonathan froze.

  She reached up to feel for her missing ear. Pulling her hand away she looked at the bloody mess which now was dripping down her arm. He stared at the damage he had inflicted with the very sword she had lovingly presented to him.

  She broke down in tears. She had expected his return to be far more joyous. She clutched at her head in an attempt to soothe her intense agony. “I never went back to him,” she sobbed. “You're all I ever wanted.”

  Jonathan never knew he was capable of such a thing. His heart almost stopped beating. He turned, sheathed his sword and ran from the room. Mary's cries followed him and he pushed past the girls who headed towards their madam.

  As he reached the door which led to the outside world he paused, breathing deeply, anger still coursing through him. As he pulled the door back he was forced to pause yet again. This was most unexpected. This was certainly another unwelcome surprise.

  122

  Tom Edwards had heard many rumours over the last few months concerning Jonathan Wild. Many of these rumours were completely unbelievable claiming he had been murdered by Hitchin or killed by his lover. He knew these rumours to be untrue and often found himself chuckling at the tales of his moving to France and living as a woman in the French king's royal court.

  His plan had worked perfectly. Jonathan had panicked, choosing to run rather than face the consequences of his actions. It had proven to Tom he was hardly as legitimate as he claimed. News of his return was spreading quickly.

  He knew, as everyone did, Jonathan's woman was Mary Milner. He assumed she would be his first port of call. He prepared to knock at her front door, dearly hoping he would be free to talk. If he was there at all.

  As he drew his hand to knock, the entrance swung back. Jonathan stood before him equally as surprised. He looked terrible. His features were red and flustered, sweat lined his forehead and he appeared as if he had recently shed tears.

  He and Tom faced each other, both confused and astonished. “I heard you were back,” Tom said with amusement, “but I had to see it for myself.” He had knocked at Cock Alley to no avail. He knew there was only one other place for Jonathan to be.

  He could hear the faint, muffled cries of a woman screaming in pain, although he doubted it was an uncommon sound to hear in a brothel. Jonathan stared at him with a strange vacant expression, almost as if he had recently seen someone die. Finally he summoned the will to step outside, pulling the door closed behind him.

  “Mr Edwards,” he said in a formal manner. He paused as if confused and stunned, scratching his head in an attempt to soothe his current discomfort. “I could do with a drink,” he walked past him, striding down the alley calling back over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  He followed him in silence through the streets of London and was astonished at how often the Thief Taker was recognised, congratulated and welcomed home. Tom later considered many of these men were actually thieves themselves.

  He was seemingly preoccupied and in some anguish. Hardly a single word w
as said as he led Tom to the Nag's Head Tavern. He spoke only to order two drinks and to wish the landlord his congratulations on the birth of a second granddaughter.

  They sat at a small table, removed from the other patrons. The tavern was largely empty, only a few enjoying a friendly drink. Jonathan remained silent and thus it was left to Tom to strike up conversation.

  “There was a lot of rumour and speculation concerning your whereabouts,” he said, a wry smile creeping onto his features.

  Jonathan's expression didn't change. “I thought I deserved a break,” he admitted unconvincingly. “Maybe I was wrong to come back.”

  He knew why he had run. He watched him as he stared at his pint, losing himself in his own thoughts. “I'm sorry, Jonathan,” he smiled sweetly at his strangely remorseful foe, “but I feel I must apologise.” He looked at him questioningly. “I toyed with you. You were never wanted by the courts in relation to Powell.”

  He rubbed his face wearily. “I know,” he said, “and don't worry, I won't hold it against you.” He drank heavily from his flagon of ale, leaving him to watch curiously.

  “You have the look of a man who has witnessed something terrible,” he commented.

  He slumped forwards, resting his head in hands. Slowly lifting himself he peered at Tom. “Are you a married man?” he asked.

  Tom nodded. “I have a wife and a daughter.” He failed to see the relevance of this question, worried he may be passing on dangerous information. “Why do you ask?”

  He sniffed, running his hand along the base of his nose. Tom could see he was a man deeply troubled. “Women,” grumbled Jonathan. “I'll never understand them...”

  “Problems with Miss Milner?” he asked.

  “Yes,” he groaned, “and another…”

  He could see, quite easily, this was probably the reason for Jonathan's sorry state. “It seems to have upset you greatly,” he observed.