by Chris Hales
“Mary, please,” she offered as two glasses and a bottle of whisky were placed before Tom on the table.
“I believe Jonathan's gang and Mr Hitchin's are about to go to war. He arranged my arrest, for his crimes, all so I…,” he laughed uncomfortably, “would be led here, to your door.”
She filled both glasses with liquor, pushing one over to Tom. “Despite what he says, Jonathan enjoys playing games as much as Charlie.” She drank deeply from her own glass. “You're only doing what he wants. Only thinking what he wants you to.”
“Then you can help?” he asked. “You can tell me where this gang war is going to happen?”
Mary shook her head. “No,” she admitted, “but I believe I have something for you.” She moved to a kitchen drawer, emptying the contents onto the floor. Approaching him she passed Tom the letter which Jonathan had given to her in the park.
“A letter?” he enquired. “For me?”
“I suggest you read it,” she said. “I think it may answer many of your questions.” She watched as he broke the seal and unfolded the letter, reading hungrily. The contents surprised him more than he imagined.
Tom, my friend,
We've been led here by forces beyond our control, but action needs to be taken. There's no denying it any more. Charles and I have gone as far we’re able. We've played our game for far too long.
By now you will have realised events are more complicated than ever before but, if you do as I say, you will be able to see where we are headed. You will be able to be the instigator of our demise. Mary doesn't know much, but she can help. Trust her as you would me. Any questions you have of where our fight will take place I have personally ensured she doesn't know. I don't want her to be in any danger.
I would imagine you're preoccupied with finding our battle ground, in the hope you can find and stop us. You should be considering the other most important thing which you need - Roger Johnson. This Mary can help with. She will tell you where to find him. He's a creature of habit and his movements are predictable.
I couldn't tell you this myself, for I needed you to act alone up to this point. Trust in me, and her, and I assure you this will all come to a satisfying conclusion.
Your ever faithful friend,
Jonathan Wild.
He placed the letter on the table and slid it towards Mary. He could see now Jonathan had planned for everything. How much had he foreseen? How much had he arranged? Even considering the possibilities made his mind ache.
“Where can I find Roger Johnson?” he asked anxiously.
She smiled a genuine grin. “Roger's a lover of women and whorehouses. Many of his favourite brothels are on the Stratford Road. He can usually be found there.”
Was it that easy? Was Roger always the key to Tom's success? He stood, bowing his head in thanks to Mary.
“I believe the last part of this letter is for you,” he said as he vanished through the door. Mary lifted the letter from the table and read.
For my Mary,
I'm truly sorry for everything I've done. This is where I put things right. Nothing will ever be the same after this, but I must ask for your help one last time. Consider how Charles does the things he loves. Consider how he gets away with it. If you can help with that I'll be in your debt, in this life and the next. Seek out those things which would ensure the end. Hunt for them and be satisfied that it was you who put right all of the wrongs. Do this for Isabel, if no one else.
My undying love
She folded the letter and wiped away the tears which were streaming down her face. She understood what he meant and would do as he asked. She feared for his fate, but her actions would secure Charlie's own demise. The end was not coming. The end was already here.
151
Tom got to work quickly. Numerous plain clothed city marshals and constables walked with the pedestrians on the Stratford road. They pretended to have friendly conversations and imagined they were shopping for fruit at the market stalls which lined the street.
Tom kept a close eye out for the notorious highwayman, as they all did. Some doubted he would ever be found, but he knew Jonathan wouldn't let him down so easily.
Finally, a large and threatening man skipped joyfully down the steps of a plain looking brothel. He stopped, looking both ways along the street. His sixth sense detected trouble. He caught the eye of a marshal who pretended to look in the window of a fine tailor. His reaction was almost instantaneous.
He sprinted down the street, although he was not nearly as fast without his horse. Numerous men joined the chase, including Tom. At the end of the road Roger was expertly tackled by an excited Collins. He still fought hard, four marshals finally managing to restrain the flailing thief.
Approaching Tom passed a hand through his thick hair. Leaning down to Roger he spoke clearly and threateningly.
“Roger Johnson,” he said, “you're under arrest, you sorry son of a bitch.”
152
At his little house Jonathan was making the final preparations for their concluding battle. A large number of his thieves had agreed to join him at his main warehouse in the morning, where they would fight Hitchin for supremacy.
All of Jonathan's thieves had been given the same instruction: “Leave Charlie alone. Jonathan will deal with him personally.”
He knew the games Charles had been playing with him. The way he had tried to break him down by killing and hurting those closest to him. He wouldn't stand for it any longer.
Matthew had gone out to deliver pistols to the trusted few, leaving him alone in the house. It was as he sat cleaning his sword when there was a timid knock at the door.
Expecting anyone else but the man he found on the doorstep he stood back in shock. Jacob smiled at him and pushed past to enter the house.
“Time's running out, Jonathan,” he growled as he entered the study. He followed, ready for the fight which was to come. “I've come to warn you.” He dropped into a spare seat which was usually reserved for customers.
“What do you want, father?” he enquired coldly.
“I never asked for anything,” he said. “I was quite happy thinking you dead. When I learned of you being in London I thought your family deserved something for their troubles. That you should face your responsibilities.” His words filled him with hatred.
“Don't lie,” he responded coldly. “You were taken by greed. That's why you came.” Jacob and Charles Hitchin were too alike. Perfect in their hideousness together.
“You don't think your family deserved something better than that which you left them?” This was the lesson he would like to have taught, but events quickly spiralled out of control. He was not sorry for the things he’d done.
“All they needed was to be away from you,” Jacob was a disgusting excuse for a man. He had caused more pain than Jonathan ever could. Being far removed from him was the safest place.
“And look what it did to them,” he informed. “Look what happened to poor Anne.”
He still refuses to believe he's in the wrong, thought Jonathan. “Don't think I don't know how she died,” he spat at his father. “Charles is a terrible man and you often prove yourself to be ten times worse.”
“I didn't kill her.”
“You may as well have,” he attacked. “Her death served no purpose. It only angered me and forced me to take awful action.” He hated his father more than any other.
“Is this about Anne or your mother, Jonathan?” This was what he wanted. To anger his son to the point of collapse. This was what they needed to do. He rose from his seat to confront him. “They were both weak. They served no purpose.”
“Shut up!” snapped Jonathan, striking out and punching his father across the jaw. Watching as Jacob collapsed to his knees he found it felt good.
“Soon you'll be with them both,” he warned as he rose to his feet. “Then maybe you can stand for something good.”
“Is that all which matters to you? The stealing of my money?” his hands
balled into fists, his mind begging to pick the sword from its resting place.
“No, Charles wants your money,” admitted Jacob. “I want you to suffer.”
“Of course you do,” he mused. “That's all you're good for. Making those around you pay for your own inadequacies as a man.” Questioning his status as a human being was the quickest way of forcing him into saying something he would later regret. Even in this Jonathan could see the plan. “You're a torturous bastard, a sorry excuse for a man and a murderer.”
“I've only ever rid this world of those who were useless,” he riposted. “The ones who served no purpose. The ones who deserved it.” What had Anne or his mother ever done to him? They knew how to avoid his attacks, yet he still assaulted them. He enjoyed it.
Again, he punched, forcing his father back to the floor. “You come here hoping to weaken me? Hoping to muddle my mind?” Standing over him he rained his fists down upon him, relishing in the damage he caused. “How does it feel, father?” he asked as he expertly broke his jaw. “How does it feel?” He had been dreaming of this moment since he was six years old. It felt good.
“I'm content with everything I've done,” he spoke, his voice cracked and muffled under the pain of his jaw.
A terrible idea formed in Jonathan's mind. An almost perfect sentence for his father. He reached down and unbuckled his father's belt. Wrapping it around his throat he forced the life from him. Jacob fought for air and flailed his arms wildly. He didn't last long. Faced with his son's unending hatred life soon ebbed away. Killed by his own son. A fitting end.
153
Entering the house Matthew called for him. With no answer he searched each room. In his study he found Jonathan by the fresh corpse of his father.
“Christ!” he exclaimed. “What happened?”
Jonathan stood, wiping tears from his face. They were not tears for his father, but for his mother. “He pushed me a little too hard...”
He could understand such action. “Me and some of the lads can take him into the woods. They'll never find him.” He suggested.
“No, I have a better idea,” he stated. “Dump him in the river,” he rose, wiping the sweat from his hands and drawing Matthew’s dagger. In one simple movement he slit his dead father’s throat. “Tether him to the bank. We'll pull him out in the morning.” It was perfect. It would serve them well. Maybe his father would be good for something in the end.
Jonathan was sure he had come to this house hoping to weaken his son. Forcing him to make a terrible mistake which would surely end his life. He was pleased events had led him to such a satisfying conclusion. Now his mother could finally rest in peace.
154
Roger Johnson was not a happy man. Years of avoiding the law had come to an end. He thought he knew why. He had been led, still shackled, to a small room where he was forced to wait for the city marshals who were eager to question him. He could tell where this would lead him. There was only one option. He would surely meet with the gallows.
He remained calm as Tom and Collins entered the room. His expression didn't change as Tom sat opposite and glared at him questioningly. “Roger Johnson,” he said with joy. “Welcome,” he laughed.
“What is this?” he questioned.
He looked to Collins and they both smiled happily.
“Murder, thievery, highway robbery...,” he detailed as he lounged back in his seat.
“And that's just for starters,” added Collins.
“You'll be hanged,” he explained. “There’s no doubt about that.” He leaned on the small table and glared at Roger with severe distaste.
Collins reclined against the wall, overjoyed with what they had managed to accomplish. “The question is,” he asked, “do you know why you're here?”
Roger laughed and shrugged his shoulders. Of course he knew. There was only one reason why he was here, shackled and imprisoned. “Someone sold me out,” he declared.
“Yes, they did,” Tom confirmed, “but, there is another reason.” Roger glared at him inquiringly. “We know all about your relationship with Jonathan Wild,” he explained. “About how you're working for him and what it is you're doing.”
He sighed loudly and raised his bound hands in the air. “So?” he asked.
“So,” said Collins, “you're in a perfect position to help us.”
He shook his head determinedly. Why would he help them? Why should he care, especially if he was to hang?
Tom leaned in closer. “If you do, we can arrange it so you don't die. You'll obviously spend the rest of your days in Newgate...”
“…, but at least you'll live,” finished Collins.
He leaned back in his chair thoughtfully, considering the proposal. “What do you want to know?” he quizzed.
Of course he knew about the upcoming gang war. In an effort to save his life he told them the location of Jonathan's most significant warehouse. He informed them as to when the battle would be taking place.
Tomorrow morning.
It didn't give them a lot of time. It would be extremely difficult to assemble a force capable of confronting two rival gangs. It was a task, however, which needed to be performed. It was imperative.
It was decided he would be taken to Newgate Prison. There he would wait for trial. It was a choice made largely for his own safety. They couldn't risk Hitchin, or someone associated with him, silencing him in an attempt to do battle unhindered.
Armed with powerful new information Tom and Collins made their preparations quickly. He was under suspension, but still a city marshal and they held no secrets about him leading the attack. It didn't really matter if Hitchin discovered their plans. He couldn't stop this now.
According to Roger Johnson the battle would take place in the late morning. Neither took much time to consider that it was a lie and the marshals would arrive early in an attempt to stop the fight before it began. They all knew the risks. There was the chance it would be more dangerous than they could ever imagine.
155
Jonathan had a job for her. This much was clear. She could have refused, but she knew what was at stake. She had to help, for she owed him that much. She knew what he wanted, what he needed. It was the only way to bring Hitchin down for good. To attack the one thing which had protected him all these years.
He wasn't difficult to find. She had dressed in her most respectable clothes and had talked her way into a semi-formal dance that evening. Inside she found him at the bar drinking heavily. This made her job far easier.
Magistrate James Lawson had become drunk quickly this evening and by the time Mary arrived he was feeling exceptionally intoxicated. He would never refuse the advances of such a beautiful woman. Looking supremely elegant in her beautiful dress and with the lovely scarf which was wrapped about her head Lawson offered her numerous drinks, never imagining her ability to consume alcohol was far better than his own.
As the evening drew to a close she found herself escorting him home. He didn't last long. Soon he was passed out on his large and extravagant bed. This was what she had wanted. This was the plan all along. It left her free to search the house for anything incriminating. She was, however, shocked at what she discovered.
A Fight to the Finish
156
Wednesday morning was the start of a glorious day. Blue sky, few clouds and a fresh breeze in the air would make it seem far too perfect for the horrors yet to come.
Charles Hitchin woke early and prepared himself quickly. When his lads arrived at the door he joined them on the street outside. Those folks who rose early shied away from the immense group of hardened men who walked the streets to the docks. There was no avoiding it. This was final, decisive action.
His gang waited by the dock while he ventured into the large warehouse. The building seemed void of life as did the exterior. Walking inside he called out for his adversary. “Jonathan?” no answer came. “Jonathan!?”
From the back of the warehouse, behind large crates of stolen goods
he appeared, smartly dressed as usual, carrying his staff and wearing his sword. From the thick bulge in his jacket he assumed he was additionally armed with a pistol. “Charles,” he greeted, “you're early.”
Hitchin grumbled a laugh and shrugged. “If you're not ready I can come back later,” he joked. “Not much of a gang war if you're on your own.”
Smiling Jonathan approached, appearing far too relaxed. “I thought we should talk, before we get down to business,” he said pleasantly.
“What's there to talk about?” he probed. “We know why we're here.” Jonathan did, indeed, know their reasons, but he wanted definite answers to a whole host of questions.
Approaching a long wooden box, he placed his staff gently on the top. “We all know what a disgusting man you are, Charles,” he stated, still retaining his pleasant tone. “You and your alter ego as the riverside killer.” He walked back to stand mere inches from Hitchin. “A man who has killed many, including some personally close to me.”
Hitchin only laughed, rolling his eyes and turning away.
“All I want to know is, why?” Jonathan asked. “Considering your sexual preferences, why go after the ladies of the night?” It was a conundrum. A lover of boys killing girls more often than anyone could understand.
“They disgust me,” he said hatefully. “They used to harass and torment me as a younger man,” he chuckled quietly, memories of the dying victims screams echoing through his mind. “They're not laughing any more, are they?” He found their deaths highly amusing. To him, it was awesome justice. They had tormented him as he grew, always attacking his sexual orientation.
The riverside killer may have been born by James Lawson, but it was action in which he relished. These sickening women only wished to tease and verbally attack him every moment of the day. If only they’d known what kind of man he’d become. He held no guilt over any death he’d caused.
“What about Anne?” he asked. “Or was that just for fun?” He may not have loved Anne, but he didn't ever want her dead. She didn’t deserve such terrible action.