by Chris Hales
“I like Mary,” he sobbed as confirmation to his father's thoughts.
“Then, I'm sure she'll agree.” Mary began to cry as well, although she was far more subtle with her emotion. “I've made arrangements,” he told his son. “When you turn sixteen, you'll inherit my fortune.” The sobbing ceased. “Use it sensibly, my son,” he took a firm hold of Joseph's hand hoping he would listen to his words. “Don't become like me.”
“Is he going to die?” Jonathan knew to whom he was referring. Charles Hitchin had terrorised Joseph almost as much as his grandfather. He would be glad if he expired.
“Hopefully,” he chuckled, “but that is where you can help me. Where you can help everyone.”
Joseph was a good boy. There was hardly a violent bone in his body. Still, to this day, he reminded Jonathan of himself when he was younger. Before he had become engrossed in this awful world of his.
He could avoid it no longer. He scooped his son into his arms and they hugged tightly. For the last time. Joseph knew what would happen to his father, but he understood why they had forced it upon him. He was glad Jonathan had finally shown him a father's love.
167
Word of Charles Hitchin's trial had spread far and wide in a relatively short space of time. The courtroom was filled with all manner of people, from the honest and respectable to the common thief wishing to see him sent to the gallows for a lifetime of despicable acts.
Sat before the magistrate were the prosecuting lawyer and those few hoping to offer Hitchin their support, waiting in the crowd. Their numbers were virtually non-existent. He did not seem defeated, not yet. He sat in silence as the charges were read.
“You have been charged with,” started the magistrate, “thievery, managing your own gang, corruption, homosexuality and most worryingly, acting as the murderer known as the riverside killer.” Again great noise engulfed the room. “How do you plead?” enquired the stern magistrate.
Hitchin stood, straightening his jacket and speaking clearly so all of the court could hear. “Not bloody guilty.”
The court sank under waves of laughter and booing. Hitchin sat, grinning at the commotion he had caused.
It was perfectly obvious those members of the public who were present had already come to their own verdict. They would gladly watch as Hitchin hanged. They would cheer as the evidence against him was heard and boo every time he spoke.
A great hush of expectation gripped the court as a young boy was called in. He had personal experience of Mr Hitchin and had gladly offered to speak of his cruelty. The prosecutor approached the boy as he sat nervously in the stand.
“Tell me, Joseph,” the prosecutor said, “what can you tell us of Charles Hitchin.”
“I don't like him,” Joseph said as he trembled. The court laughed and cheered the young lad's words.
“Can you expand?” asked the prosecutor. “Can you tell us what you mean?”
“He always had nasty men at his house,” Joseph said with earnest.
“You lived with him?”
“I was forced to,” he answered honestly. “My grandfather wanted to kill my father.” The members of the public started to discuss this statement among themselves. “Instead Charles killed him.” More boo's and shouts of hatred.
“Your grandfather?” the prosecutor asked.
“Yes,” he said. “They argued a lot.”
Hitchin jumped from his seat, waving his fists at young Joseph. “You sorry little shit!” he shouted across the court.
“Did he ever lay a hand on you?” he asked, careful to sound pleasant and unthreatening.
“Yes,” he sobbed.
“Can you show us?” furthered the prosecutor.
Lifting his shirt Joseph turned his back to the court. People turned away in shock, some women fainting from the horrific scars on display. “He used to beat me,” Joseph added, “and the other boys he took to his room.” His job was done. This was what his father had asked of him. The young boy's evidence was, by far, the most damning. Still trembling he was escorted from the court by Tom, Hitchin growling and grumbling after him from across the court.
Another was escorted into the room by bailiffs and forced into a seat. Magistrate James Lawson shared a solemn glare with Hitchin and turned his head away in deep regret. The prosecutor approached and loomed in.
“James Lawson,” he started. “You and Mr Hitchin shared a terrible alliance. As a magistrate you protected him and aided him in avoiding the judgements of these courts. It was you who instigated his existence as the feared riverside killer.” Lawson looked shamefully at his feet. “Your relationship is at an end and you have agreed to testify against him.” This was not unexpected. He had agreed to do this in order to make his own sentence less severe. “What can you tell us of him?”
He glanced to the side at Hitchin. “He is guilty of everything he’s been charged with.” Hitchin’s eyes shot hateful daggers. “He’s a vile, corrupted monster of a man. He forced me into our allegiance, threatening and bullying me into protecting him.”
The court appeared stunned. He told them about every detail of their alliance. Three days later he attended his own trial. The magistrates were unwilling to condemn one of their own to the gallows and he was instead sentenced to twenty years in Newgate prison. The sad fact was he would probably be dead within a matter of days.
168
Mary didn't go to Charles’s hearing. She already knew he would be sentenced to death. There was no avoiding it now. Instead she chose to remain outside Jonathan's cell, entering only when Tom escorted Joseph upstairs. Mary walked in and took a seat on the bench, next to him.
“I didn't want you to come,” he said, refusing to look directly at her.
“Do you really think you had a choice?” she asked. “This isn't about you any more, Jonathan,” the coldness of her voice seemed strangely absent. Maybe she was no longer angry with him. “I wanted to see you.”
He shook his head, hoping to dismiss her. He knew this would be hard. “What good will that do?” he questioned, emotion starting to swell up inside of him.
“It will make me feel easier,” she moved up to his side, reaching out to take his arm in her hand. “What made you think you had to do this?” she asked. “We don't want you to go, not like this”. She felt as if all doors had been closed to her. How could Matthew not have told her he was planning this? She would never have allowed it.
“I kept all of my promises, Mary,” he explained, knowing it wouldn't ease her pain. “Charles Hitchin had to be hanged and now he won't be a problem anymore,” he chuckled to himself pleasurably. “I've taken care of that.”
“You didn't need to sacrifice yourself, Jonathan,” she said as she squeezed his arm tighter. “I love you. I don't want to lose you.”
“And I still love you,” he admitted, “but this was more important.” She knew it to be true. Hitchin was untouchable by everyone but Jonathan. “You're safe now. You all are. I've taken care of everything.” He finally looked her in the eye, reaching out to take her by the hand.
“People still need you,” she cried, tears streaming freely from her eyes. “What are they supposed to do? What is Joseph supposed to do?” She began to sob uncontrollably.
“You'll care for him,” he said, knowing what she would do. “I know you will. I trust you, Mary.” If Joseph became even a tenth of the man Matthew was he'd be proud. She'd done it once. She could do it again.
“And what about me?” she begged. “What am I supposed to do without you?”
“I love you, Mary. I always have and I always will. Nothing can change that.” His statement only made her cry harder. “I did this all for you, I made it safe for you, for your girls and everyone else,” he caught her as she tried to move away, pulling her into his arms. “My job here is done. This is what I was meant to do and I'm happy with how I ended it.”
“Oh, Jonathan,” was all she could say. He manoeuvred her head back to his level. Together they kissed deeply.
“Don't cry for me too hard, Mary,” he advised. “The things I've done to you won't matter anymore. The good outweighs the bad.” She kissed him again, only three words willing to escape her mouth.
“I love you,” she cried.
Jonathan smiled at her, kissing her lightly on the lips. “And I'll always love you.”
Knowing it would be their last meeting, he begged her to leave. He had decided the most important thing was his son and he would need her now. Despite the pain she felt he knew she would recover. He had done everything he meant to do. All for her.
169
Charles Hitchin had been found guilty, despite his claims of innocence. As he was brought out for his hanging the large crowd who had assembled began to cheer and whoop with joy. Mary found the strength to join Matthew, Iron Fist and many more in the spectacle which was to follow.
He was brought out hands bound and forced to stand before the crowd as they made their displeasure clear. It was rare to see him sweat, but it flowed from him freely. As the noose was placed around his neck he began to tremble, the crowd laughing as he did so.
Squeezing his eyes shut he waited for the trapdoor to send him to his death. He uttered a low, fearful groan as he plummeted to his doom, his neck snapping as the rope jerked tightly.
The crowd erupted with a mighty roar which could be heard for miles. Their screams of joy only made Jonathan fear for his own demise.
170
He’d heard the commotion outside. The only cause of such a disturbance would have been the hanging of Charles Hitchin. It made him anxious for his own death.
As the crowd began to disburse Jonathan found his nerves settle and he relished the quiet which now dominated his cell. As he lay on his bench and closed his eyes he dreamed only of Mary and the love they had once shared. Woken by the clatter of the key in the iron lock of the cell Jonathan turned his head to the entrance as Tom strode inside.
“Tom, my dear friend,” he greeted jovially. “I was wondering when I’d be fortunate enough to see you again.”
He simply smiled, perching on the bottom of the bench by Jonathan’s feet. “I take it you heard the sound of a long overdue hanging?” he asked.
He swung himself into a seated position next to him, rubbing his hands together with glee. “I did,” he grinned. “Poor old Charles.” He appeared lost in a world of missed opportunities and broken friendships.
“I would have thought you’d be more delighted than you appear to be.” Hitchin’s death was obviously what he had been hoping for. It was the culmination of all of his work. Surely he should be filled with pride and pleasure.
Smiling a pained expression at the kind marshal who sat with him he threw an arm across his shoulders. “I am happy,” he confirmed, “but sad things progressed this far. Charles had his chance to change his ways. He could easily have worked with me to manage the gangs of London.” He started to quietly chuckle. “It was a friendship which was wasted. He forced my hand.”
Tom joined him in his chortle. “It does raise a number of questions, though,” Tom admitted. The entire affair made his mind ache. It frustrated him. “How long had you been planning this?”
He laughed, rising to his feet and wandering the cell before Tom. “It’s a little more complicated than it appears, Tom.” He could understand how he felt as if he deserved some answers, but he hardly knew where to begin. “Everything made sense when Matthew visited me in Holland and asked me to come home. That’s when I knew what to do. How I could end this.”
He stared at him with great sadness. “And you did end it,” he congratulated, “but you also sacrificed yourself.”
Again, he laughed. “I had to. I needed to be sure Charles would die. And to do that I had to put myself in a compromising position.”
He could understand his reasoning. The only way Hitchin could ever be apprehended was if he were caught in the act. Jonathan had arranged things so Tom was given a full confession. The fact the Thief Taker was also caught in such a damning position mattered no more. Hitchin needed to die. Locked in a cell Jonathan could achieve almost as much as if he were still a free man. His captors didn’t know this.
“There’s so much I don’t understand,” Tom begged in his pleading tone. “You arranged for all of the evidence against Mr Hitchin, didn’t you?” Jonathan only grinned. “The forgeries…, how? Why?” He was desperate. He needed everything to make sense.
“Why?” he chuckled. “Why do you think?”
He thought he knew, although he was sure he may be wrong. “I’d always assumed it was because you needed me in the Bailey at the same time as Philip. Although there were easier ways to do that,” he still seemed shocked and confused. “You could have just asked.”
Laughing Jonathan stood before him and shook his head with pleasure. “Yes, and no.” His state of bewilderment didn’t alter. “All of that was a test. I had to see if I could fool you. I had to know if it would work.” He thought how best to explain it. Tom clearly still didn’t understand.
“How?” he requested. “Those forgeries were perfect.” Even he could see why his status as a marshal had been suspended.
“When we first met, if you remember, you filled out and signed a warrant for me,” he explained. “That’s all I needed.” He laughed out loud as he started to pace once again. “I like to be prepared, Tom. I never leave things to chance.” He remained quiet, only watching the disgraced Thief Taker pace in ever decreasing circles. “I’ll admit I always intended to use the warrant against Charles, but as soon as I learned of what he had been doing in my absence I thought of a better way. I discovered how I could use you.” He had never meant to cause him any harm, but he needed to prove his point.
He nodded his comprehension. He thought he was starting to understand. “You wanted to show me you were capable of creating such faultless forgeries, but why?”
Looking him in the eye Jonathan smiled. “I needed you to know I could perform such action because I had to see if you would do the right thing.” His grin became broader. “And you did.”
Was this it? Of course Tom considered the possibility the letters they had found which told of Hitchin’s scandalous relationship with Lawson were forgeries. Yet Tom still allowed those letters to condemn both men. He had proven to him he could happily do the wrong thing, for the right reasons.
“Did Mary know anything about those letters being forgeries?” Tom asked.
He explained how the forgers in Holland had created those letters and Jonathan had then ordered a trusted housebreaker to sneak them into Lawson’s abode. Philip had hidden the additional letters behind Charles’s bookcase. “Mary didn’t know a thing,” he detailed. “I didn’t want her to have any part of this affair. She had to think those letters were real. She had to believe she had done something no other could. I couldn’t risk it. She knew Lawson was the reason Charles continuously escaped the law. I asked her to find those letters. They may have been forgeries, Tom, but they were written with the truth in mind.”
He found himself smiling also. Jonathan was a good man, although few would be able to see it. “Even though he didn’t know it, Hitchin admitted everything to me. You turned everything against him.”
Jonathan nodded. “He thought he was the better, more able man. I knew about everything he did. I used it to my advantage,” He suddenly appeared more thoughtful and morose. “Charles was sure he would win. Everything he did to destroy me, I used to destroy him.”
He found himself laughing. “And you used the forgeries which led to my arrest in the same way. It was all so I would know this and be led to Phillip, who would then lead me to Mary who, in turn, would direct me to Roger Johnson.”
Jonathan smirked and reached out to shake Tom’s hand. “I used you. I’m sorry for that, but I needed everything to end. I imagined it was my father who was turning me into something I hated, but it was Charles. We both needed to hang.”
Tom stood, still clutching his hand. “Did he really kill
your father?” He was desperate to know the truth.
Jonathan only winked. “I’ll let you decide that for yourself. I think you already know the truth.”
Indeed he did, but if Jacob Wild was as awful as he imagined he could only believe his death had served a greater purpose. Only one other thing remained. His final question.
“I’d like you to allow me to speak for you at your trial. Will you let me do that?”
He released him and turned away. “No, I’ll speak for myself if they’ll let me. You’ve done far too much as it is.”
Tom shook his head, finally smiling with true amusement. “You’re a clever son of a bitch, Jonathan Wild. I only wish things could have been different. That we could have been friends.”
Smiling he offered him a look of pure kindness. “We already are, Tom, and I couldn’t have found a better acquaintance.”
Tom allowed him to collect his thoughts and to prepare for his own trial. They both knew what the final verdict would be. Jonathan’s words, however, puzzled Tom once again.
“You’re a good man. I know you’ll do the right thing. You have to.”
171
Safe in the knowledge he had avoided any repercussions, Roger Johnson was quiet and relaxed in Newgate prison. The word among the other inmates was Jonathan had been arrested the day before and was awaiting trial.
Tom Edwards had brought him here, hoping he could avoid the troubles of imprisoning such a renowned character at the Bailey. It had been promised no one would ever know, although he doubted it would stay that way for long.
He had been told he would be held in Newgate until they needed him as a witness in Jonathan's trial. After that he would undergo his own proceeding and would spend the rest of his days here. In prison.