by Chris Hales
He dived at his enemy, but Hitchin caught his arm and pulled him forwards into a grapple. Their noses almost touching, Jonathan spat his words. “This could have been so different,” he admitted. “We could have been friends, but instead you led us here. Neither of us will escape what’s to come.”
Hitchin smiled, relaxing almost in defeat. In a swift movement he drew his head back and head-butted him in the face. Stumbling back he lost the grip on his sword, allowing it to fall to the ground.
Pushing him away Hitchin picked his own sword up and prepared to strike, his free hand clutching at the wound by his side. As the blade inched towards Jonathan’s heart it was locked and blocked by another.
Tom stood to the side of Hitchin, breathless and tired. “Do we really need to go through this again?” he asked.
Jonathan rushed for the sword which lay at his feet and drew it up to take his first kill of the day. Hitchin’s next move was expertly carried out. He struck out, punching Tom to the ground, throwing his sword wielding arm out to block Jonathan’s attack. Again they fell into their fight, although Hitchin was less able with his painful wound.
As he lay on the ground, recovering from the powerful blow, Tom could clearly see Collins across the way. Nerves had never assaulted the young marshal as much as they now did. The brutal events of this fight caused him to doubt if he would make it out alive, yet he fought gallantly and proudly.
He watched as Collins grappled with a fierce looking, one handed thief. He watched in horror as his dear charge was beaten to the ground and stabbed efficiently to death.
It was then Mad Dog met with the man he was most interested in battling. Matthew ran to him and struck him in the stomach. He recovered quickly and threw his dagger at him.
Even with only one hand Mad Dog was an efficient killer, but his foe was younger and stronger still. He brushed off all of Michael’s attacks and watched as he threw his dagger at him. Catching his arm the larger of the men drove the dagger back at him slowly.
As he struck wildly with his stump the dagger inched towards his eye, his arm bending painfully back on itself. Matthew smiled as the short blade sunk satisfactorily through his eye and into his brain. Releasing him Matthew watched as he fell to the floor and twitched in the final throes of death.
Picking himself up from the ground Tom turned to watch Jonathan and Hitchin as they grappled for supremacy by the railings. With a final shove Jonathan was pushed over, plummeting to the waters below.
He ran to Hitchin, knocking his sword away and holding his own to the damned Marshal’s neck, glancing to the waters below. Jonathan struggled and desperately tried to swim.
“Charles Hitchin,” he growled. “Now you’re under arrest!” Turning to see numerous constables run to him he shrieked his order. “Someone get in there,” he gestured to the river. “He obviously can’t swim!”
Three constables dived into the waters while Tom stood over the spent Hitchin. With the arrest of their leaders the thieves slowly began to flee the scene, vanishing towards the thin maze of streets in the city beyond. He smiled as Matthew nodded his respect and vanished down the side of the warehouse.
It had been equally as hard as he had imagined, but now the even more difficult task lay ahead. He had to see justice was served. It was a sad fact sending Hitchin, the far guiltier of the two, to trial would be the toughest of all tasks.
The Floods of Justice
160
It didn't take long for Mary to receive news of the fight at the docks. She, just like everyone else, had expected there to be much death and injury. Luckily Charles's gang of men had fared far worse than Jonathan's thieves.
Great relief had consumed her when Matthew and Iron Fist, had walked though her door. Although she was saddened by the news of Jonathan’s arrest. She should have expected it, she'd read the letter. He had virtually foretold of his capture.
She would have to go and visit him in the Bailey. It was only fair. Mary would have to wait and see where this all took them. Whether Jonathan really could keep his promises. She knew he would try, for he had done much already. Before she could go and see him there were matters to be dealt with. She would have to visit Tom Edwards and tell him of the things she had learned. That would certainly win them a distinct victory.
161
As soon as the magistrates heard of the events at the docks and of the success achieved Tom's status was immediately restored. The Bailey had been consumed by a great commotion as both the Thief Taker and Charles Hitchin were led to the cells beneath the courthouse.
Tom was hailed as a hero, many patting him on the back and shouting their hurrahs. Before anything was done, before any charges were made, there was one thing he had to do. He had to visit Jonathan.
He was given a change of clothes when he arrived at the Bailey and handed a large blanket to warm himself after his inopportune swim. Tom found him in his cell, sitting quietly on the iron bench which sat along one wall. Unlocking the cell door the guard allowed entry.
“Jonathan?” he enquired as he took a seat next to him.
“Tom,” he acknowledged quietly. Tom was surprised. He didn't seem as devastated by his arrest as he should be.
“Was all of that really necessary?” he asked. Taking their gangs to war seemed a little extreme.
“It was unavoidable,” he said solemnly. “Surely you can understand that.”
It was hard for Tom to understand any violent behaviour. He had heard of gang wars in the past, but this had been the first time he had been involved in one. “Maybe it was just too violent for my tastes,” he explained in a light tone.
“Mine too,” he admitted, “but it did the job.” Everything had been achieved. Tom wouldn't be able to understand many of the reasons, but he would in due time. Despite everything, he felt he had been successful in his aims.
“It seemed like one hell of a risk to take,” he mused. Surely Jonathan had made things worse. With the gallows hanging over his head as they spoke he doubted there was anything he could do about it.
“We got him didn't we?” It was all about Hitchin. He had attacked his love, killed his friends, his wife, stolen his son and interfered with his business far too many times. It was now over and in the grand scheme of things he believed Charles's fate was in a dire state indeed.
“For the moment,” he said, “but Hitchin has got out of worse.” It had been proven, whatever the charges, Hitchin would walk free. There was no explaining this fact and Tom doubted this time would be any different.
“Not on this occasion. Just you wait,” he smiled, almost as if he had his own strategy in place. “You're right Charles is a protected man, but it can only go so far,” he grinned even harder. “Besides, the evidence against him is immense.”
“True. He was found with his own gang, many of whom have chosen to testify against him, and I heard his admission of guilt, but that may not be enough to convict him.” He was sure it wouldn't be sufficient to end the myth who was Charles Hitchin.
“You know about the body in the warehouse.” he stated, hoping to add another slice of evidence in such a complicated case.
“Yes,” he admitted, “although I fail to see the relevance. It’s a sad fact anyone could have killed that man and I heard Hitchin vehemently deny killing him.” Jonathan didn't strike him as a killer, but why else would he have such a terrible item in his warehouse store? Hitchin’s denial had appeared far too believable.
“Look closer Tom,” he suggested. “You'll notice not only has he been killed in the same manner as the riverside killer's victims, but also that he is my father.” Tom had only seen the body briefly and he doubted anyone had inspected it properly.
“Your father?” he asked. Tom couldn’t ignore the possibility Jonathan had killed his own.
“My father was a buckle maker,” he explained, “just like me.” He laughed to himself uncomfortably. “You'll notice he's not wearing his belt. My father was very proud of the work he did. Signed each buck
le, on the reverse with his name. You'll find Charles is wearing my father's belt.” This was a lie. Jonathan had killed his own father and removed the belt, but no one need know the truth. It was a dark act, but it would serve its purpose.
“I'll look into it,” he promised.
“Trust me, Tom,” he added. “Charles won't be able to escape this.” He was strangely certain of Hitchin’s fate.
“You sound sure of that,” he always seemed to know more than he let on. It was infuriating, yet compulsively interesting. “You must know you'll hang too.”
“It's a good price to pay,” again he grinned, happy at the sentence which would be served. “I know Charles never expected it to end like this. I did, and I've prepared for it.”
“The Thief Taker may be judged harder.” It was a sad fact he would face a much tougher verdict. “You've fooled a lot of people, Jonathan. You can't escape this.” From the Lord Mayor to the Magistrates he had made a mockery of this great establishment. All would resent his actions.
“I don't plan to,” he confirmed. “Charles Hitchin will die, I’ll guarantee it. That’s all which matters.”
More certainty Tom didn't understand. If he was so sure of his fate maybe he should simply let him free now. Such action would, however, set his own demise in stone.
162
It was when Tom had made his way up to the main hallways of the Bailey he encountered something he never expected.
He didn't expect to see her, not this soon at least, but here she was, looking as elegant and morose as usual. She was obviously waiting for him, hovering on the spot as other marshals glided past.
“Miss Milner,” he greeted, “do I need to ask what brings you all the way down here?” Assuming she was here to beg for Jonathan's release, or some form of appeal, he prepared himself to break the news to her. Such a thing would never be possible. Not in her wildest dreams.
She slithered to him, almost seductively, reaching up to whisper in his ear she spoke smoothly and softly. “I have something for you, Mr Edwards,” he looked at her with surprise. She placed a number of letters in his hand and stepped back. He gazed at her questioningly. Gesturing to the letters with her eyes she begged for him to read.
Folding the paper of the first back he gazed at the contents. His heart beat faster. As his pulse raced and the hairs at the back of his neck started to prickle he staggered back to rest against the wall.
“Is this what I think it is?” he asked desperately.
“Yes,” replied Mary. “Don't ask how I got them.”
Tom started to grin. She joined him in his smirk. This sealed the case. He knew Jonathan had arranged it. It seemed as if it were the final part of his greater plan.
163
When Matthew knocked on the door to the room where Joseph was waiting, he found his stomach tightening with sickness and dread. He didn't want to deliver this news.
As he entered he found Joseph sitting at the window, gazing out to the streets beyond. He knew Matthew was there. He didn't want to hear his father was dead.
“Joseph?” questioned Matthew in an attempt to gain his attention.
He continued to stare outside. “He's dead isn't he?” he asked, sure his father was gone. It seemed everyone who was supposed to love him had vanished, just when he needed them the most.
“No,” he smiled, “he's at the Bailey. Under arrest.”
The boy shrieked with uncomfortable laughter. “So, he's not dead..., yet.”
He joined him, throwing a friendly arm over his shoulders. “You're a clever lad, Joseph,” he congratulated. “I hope you realise he's going to want to see you.”
Shaking his head Joseph shied away. He didn't want to see his father, knowing he would soon be deceased. He didn't know, however, Jonathan still had need of him. Locked in his cell, he wouldn't rest until the evidence against Hitchin was insurmountable. He couldn't risk him being free once again.
164
Tom took Mary into a quiet room where they had another conversation. She explained how she had, purposefully, met with James Lawson so she could enter into his home. She told how, once he had fallen asleep, she had searched through his home looking for anything which could prove his relationship with Charlie Hitchin. She had found a number of letters, hidden at the back of a drawer full of clothes.
These letters detailed everything. Correspondence between the two corrupt individuals proved Lawson knew of Hitchin's gang, his law-breaking and his existence as the riverside killer. It spurred Tom on to gather more evidence.
Now Hitchin was firmly in custody he took matters into his own hands. With a number of other marshals he forced his way into Hitchin's house where they searched every nook and cranny. Finally, hidden behind a large bookcase, they found a number of letters from James Lawson. The proof was building steadily. He knew they would both deny this evidence, but it no longer mattered.
Magistrate Lawson had heard both Wild and Hitchin had been arrested. He had spent the morning trying to find a way of securing Hitchin's release. If he didn't at least try he was sure the dastardly city marshal would find a way of making his life very unpleasant.
It was almost midday when there was a knock at his study door. Lazily looking up from his desk he gave the order which allowed entry. Tom and three other marshals entered the room, each standing before him with definite purpose.
“Thomas,” he questioned. “What is this?”
The other Marshals moved around the desk, hoisting him from his seat. “Magistrate James Lawson,” he explained. “You're under arrest on charges of conspiracy.”
Lawson struggled for freedom, kicking with his legs. He was unceremoniously dragged from the room, strong feelings of success and self-pride flowing through Tom's veins. This was all coming together quite nicely indeed.
165
The most satisfying part of this whole process was about to come to fruition. And Tom would enjoy it. He ordered the guards to unlock the cell and to enter with him, out of fear he may be attacked. Standing before Hitchin, Tom spoke the words he had longed to say, all these long years.
“Well, well, well, Charlie,” he joked in a satisfied tone. “It looks like you're well and truly screwed.” The guards joined him in a happy snigger.
“Laugh while you can, Edwards,” he attacked. “I'll be out of here sooner than you think.”
Tom laughed harder. He was enjoying this. “I take it you're referring to your uneasy alliance with Magistrate Lawson?” he asked with a sense of sarcasm. “Unfortunately new evidence has led to his arrest as well. It doesn't look like he'll be free to help you any time soon.”
He continued to chuckle, setting himself against the cold stone wall. The evidence was far too strong. Hitchin would die and Lawson's fate would be almost equally as bad. The magistrates would never condemn one of their own to the gallows, but he’d probably find himself in prison. He would be dead within days.
“I never thought you'd be so stupid to hold onto such damning evidence,” he explained with great amusement.
“Evidence?” he asked nervously.
Tom smiled. “The letters Lawson sent you,” Hitchin's face remained blank. He didn't know anything about any letters. “I was even more surprised to discover he kept yours too.”
Hitchin finally stood, the guards preparing for a fight if he attacked. “That's bollocks,” he swore. “We never exchanged any letters.”
Tom did, unexpectedly, believe him. He considered the possibility this truly was new information. Had Jonathan arranged for them to find this evidence? Had he planned for their downfall? It didn’t really matter. He had been right about everything else and he didn't care if it was all a lie. So long as they paid for their crimes. He had always known someone in a position of power was protecting Hitchin and it made perfect sense for it to be Lawson.
“I doubt anyone will believe you,” he noted. “Your fate is sealed.”
He jumped at Tom, the guards stepping in and restraining him. “When I get out
of here I'll kill all of you!” he screamed.
“Your case has been rushed forwards,” he told him. “The hearing starts in half an hour. If I were you, I'd prepare for the worst,” he laughed. “It's going to be quite a show.”
Tom stepped towards him, whispering in his ear. “I truly believe you had nothing to do with Jacob Wild’s death.” Hitchin appeared hopeful as he stepped back. “Not that I’ll tell anyone that.” He laughed as he span on his heel.
He was enjoying himself. He had, in a single day, become the most famous and talked about marshal in London. The more he thought about it, the more he realised he owed it all to Jonathan Wild.
166
Mary took Joseph to the Bailey, holding his hand all of the way. The boy was nervous about seeing his father. It was the last time he would. He wasn't so stupid he thought his father may suddenly walk free.
Jonathan stood as Joseph and Mary arrived at the cell doors. His heart slowed to a frozen stop. He didn't want to see her. He couldn't bear to spend even a moment in her company. He loved her far too much. She didn't deserve the pain it would cause.
She stepped back and waited outside, while his son entered. He looked to his father, tears flowing freely from his childish eyes.
“Don't be sad for me, boy,” he indicated for Joseph to sit beside him.
The boy sniffed loudly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He sobbed quietly. “You're leaving me,” he cried. Everyone had left him. First his mother and then, thankfully, his grandfather.
“Thinking like that will do neither of us any good,” he comforted as he threw an arm around his son. “Don't think of this as the end,” he advised. “For you, it's only the beginning.” Jonathan knew his son could be a great man. He was sure he could stand for something far better than his father. “You're free to stay with Matthew at my little house,” he declared, looking to Mary as she stood silently beyond the cell doors. “Or with Mary, if you like.” Joseph adored Mary, he often told him so and he knew she would care for him deeply.