Wild Intentions (The Legend of the Thief Taker)

by Chris Hales

  Even he, for some reason, doubted he would die. He would find himself always looking towards his cell door, in the vain hope he would see Jonathan coming to his rescue.

  With no other duties to occupy his mind he lay back on his bunk, eyes closed and trying to drift off to sleep. Suddenly he heard the key clatter in the lock of the door.

  Turning, he saw Matthew enter his cell. As the door shut once again he only glared at him with pure distaste.

  “Here to execute me before my day?” he asked as Matthew towered over him.

  He shook his head. “Why didn't you stay hidden, like Jonathan told you?” he questioned. He blamed him for Jonathan's arrest. He was the only reason they had caught his friend. Or so he thought. He said nothing, but stood to lock eyes with Matthew, determined not to appear weak. “He's awaiting trial,” he said, hoping it would summon some kind of response from Roger.

  “And I'm not?” he shouted hatefully.

  “That's not the point,” he dismissed.

  “Where is he?” he asked. “I expected to see him in here by now.”

  He sighed audibly. “They're keeping him at the Bailey, worried of what he may get up to if he were in here.” It was sensible, he had to admit this. If he had been placed in Newgate, he was sure he would have left a free man by now.

  “He knew the risks,” Roger commented flatly.

  Matthew stepped forwards, forcing him to prepare for assault. All he did was extend his hand. “What's done is done. Let me see what I can do about getting you out of here.” He stared at him with confusion and they shook hands.

  “You'd do that for me?” he asked.

  “There's no point in two men dying over all of this,” he explained, watching as he relaxed. He tried to withdraw his hand but Matthew was not letting him free so easily.

  In one swift motion he pulled Roger towards him, his other hand drawing his dagger. Pushing the blade into Roger's neck he finally allowed him to fall back onto his bunk, blood splattering the floor and walls.

  Matthew watched as he slowly died, finally falling sideways onto his bunk, eyes fixed firmly open.

  “That's for my friend,” he spat at the corpse. With him dead he felt more relieved.

  172

  On the morning of May the twenty-third Jonathan was taken up to the court where his case was to be heard. Surprisingly he was calm. No sign of nerves or apprehension.

  The courtroom was brimming with people from all walks of life. From wall to wall Jonathan could easily recognise his own thieves, members of the public whom he had served, people from the upper classes of society, magistrates who didn't consider there to be anywhere more important for them to be and all manner of city marshals. His audience outnumbered even those at Charles's trial.

  As he was led into the courtroom he caught sight of Mary, Matthew and Joseph huddled in one corner. He winked at his son and took a seat towards the side of the room in the dock. Watching as Magistrate Davidson took his place he steadied his nerves and focused his mind.

  “Mr Jonathan Wild,” the magistrate said to start proceedings. “You stand charged with managing and organising the gangs of London. With thievery, corruption and betraying the people. How do you plead?” A great hush encompassed the room.

  “Guilty, your honour,” he answered plainly.

  The intake of breath was loud and startling. Almost as if people expected him to deny the charges placed before him. The prosecutor started his measures, explaining to the court the crimes with which the Thief Taker had been charged. As he strutted before the assembled crowd he called his first witness.

  “The court will now hear from Mr Thomas Edwards.” Everyone watched as Tom strode across the courtroom, taking a seat in the dock at the front. “You are the arresting officer?” the prosecutor asked.

  “I am.”

  “You arrested both Mr Wild and Mr Hitchin, did you not?” Tom was glad he phrased the question in that manner. It should not be forgotten he enabled the arrest of Hitchin.

  “I did.”

  “London thanks you,” he said, causing more murmuring from the spectators, “but we would like to hear your estimations of Mr Wild.”

  “My estimations?” he asked with surprise. “I won't deny he’s a criminal, but Jonathan is my friend and no thief.”

  “Jonathan?” he seemed truly shocked. “Do you truly consider him an ally?”

  “I respect what he's done for the people of London...”

  “He's stolen from them,” argued the prosecutor with venom, interrupting him as he spoke, “he's lied to them.”

  “It would have been much worse if he had done nothing,” Tom said in defence of his friend.

  “He didn't though. He did everything,” attacked the lawyer. “He managed all of the thieves in London.” Much whispering from the assembled crowd.

  “He managed most of the thieves in London. Charles Hitchin was far worse.” Tom explained. “He was appointed by the legislature and not only did he lie to the people of London, but he lied to the government. He was responsible for almost all of the crime he was charged with investigating.” He leaned back, happy with his examination.

  “Charles Hitchin has been found guilty and hanged, Mr Edwards,” Davidson warned. “He is not on trial here.”

  The prosecutor bore down on him, desperate for an answer. “So, you agree Mr Wild was the man behind the gangs?”

  “I do.”

  “That he betrayed the people of this city?” he furthered.

  “Yes, but you cannot ignore the things he's done for this city,” he was frantic in his desire to help Jonathan. “It was he who made it possible to capture and hang Charles Hitchin. It was he who caught all manner of thieves and criminals…”

  “The same thieves he managed?” he questioned.

  “No,” he explained, “he caught many more who worked for others, including Hitchin.”

  “All I'm asking, Mr Edwards,” he pressured, “is whether Jonathan Wild is guilty of the crimes with which he has been charged.”

  “He is, but, it's a little more complicated than that.” His determination to help Jonathan would not dissipate.

  “Thank you Mr Edwards,” The magistrate said with displeasure. “You may step down.” Tom stood and walked from the dock, offering Jonathan a pained look, but he seemed more than comfortable. “Mr Wild has asked to speak to this court,” Magistrate Davidson addressed them, “although I should warn him I will not allow this court to be host to his lies or his dramatic ways.”

  “Thank you, your honour,” Jonathan said as he stood and looked to the assembled audience. “I thank Tom for his kind words, but I am guilty of everything I've been charged with.” The crowd inhaled loudly, the shock of his admission of guilt washing over them. “I lied to everyone about who I was and what I did. Yes, I caught thieves and delivered them here, to the Bailey, but I took measures to ensure those thieves were never allied to me.” He suddenly appeared remorseful and desperate for forgiveness. “I purposefully sold people their own stolen property and always ensured my reputation served my thieves. I am and always have been in the wrong.”

  The people erupted. Many shouted abuse across the court while others cheered and clapped their hands.

  The magistrate banged his gavel upon the wooden surface of his own elevated position. “Order, order!” Slowly the people retreated to silence. “Please, Mr Wild, as much as I appreciate your honesty, is there any point to all of this?”

  “Oh, yes, your honour,” he grinned. “People fail to realise the state of our fair city. Thieves run amok and, as it has been proven, the city marshals are often no better than those criminals they are charged with investigating.” Finally something with which all of the people could agree. “The thieves I managed stole for one reason only. To eat, to support their families.” It was a sad truth. Again no person could disagree with him and they all allowed him to continue. “The legislature chooses to ignore them, but I helped them. I provided them with the things this legisl
ature refuses to give. They are my family and I served them well.”

  Many of the people who watched cheered and applauded loudly, forcing Davidson to beat his gavel once again. “Order! Order in this court!”

  Jonathan remained standing in his dock and looked at the people sorrowfully. “I am guilty, but it should never be forgotten I have served this city and served it well.”

  More applause. The magistrate wouldn't allow him to cause any more disturbance. As the court drew to a close, Jonathan only wished a decision would be made. Finally the magistrate called for attention. The final decision was ready to be relayed to the masses.

  173

  Jonathan would die. His fate had been sealed. The magistrate was determined to have him pay for his crimes. It was decided he would be hanged the following morning. He seemed content with his fate. It was almost as if he wished for his own death.

  Hoping to visit his friend before he was publicly humiliated Matthew visited Tom in the Bailey. Considering he had avenged his apprentice Tom seemed more than willing to allow Jonathan the opportunity to talk with him.

  The fight was a terrible thing and Tom knew most were willing to kill to get what they wanted. Many marshals couldn't understand this and considered the killing and murder which took place as a thing of horror. He owed Matthew a great debt indeed.

  He entered Jonathan's cell and stood before him, looking down at his friend with great disappointment. “Well done, Jonathan. I think all that bollocks pretty much sealed your fate.”

  He laughed uncomfortably, looking to Matthew with a pained expression. “That was the general idea.”

  “Why? Do you want to die?” he begged.

  “I said what needed to be said,” he was happy with his defence. “I'd have told them a lot more, if they'd have let me.”

  He thought he understood. Maybe this had been the plan all along. He didn't know why he thought he had to die to make up for all of his mistakes. “Your hanging will be tomorrow morning. There's going to be a quite a crowd.”

  People would come from all over to see him drop. Watching the Thief Taker die would be more of an event than the killing of Charles Hitchin. Jonathan would garner more fame through his death than through any action in life.

  “Will Mary be there?” he asked, not wishing for her to see him expire.

  “I don't know,” he answered. “She hasn't decided yet.” He started to pace the cell angrily, balling his fists and seeking something useful to punch. “I just wish I could get you out of ‘ere.” Having him back in charge of their gang was essential. He doubted they could do a thing without him.

  “There's no hope of that, Matthew,” he said with sorrow, “but you can do one thing for me.”

  “Anything,” he assured him.

  “Do you know what laudanum is?” It was essential. The last part of his well laid plan.

  “Yeah,” Matthew answered, his concerns only deepening, “You want some?”

  Jonathan nodded. “I do. Get some and bring it back to the Bailey,” he instructed. His final order. “Give it to Tom and ask him to pass it on.” He couldn't fathom why he would involve Tom Edwards. Surely the city marshal would object to his using such a drug.

  “To Tom?” he queried. “Are you sure?”

  “I am,” he confirmed. “With everything that's happened, I feel I should apologise.” So much had occurred of late, none of it had been good. He had caused so much pain and torment and now he could finally do something worthwhile.

  “No need,” he comforted. “You've made up for all your mistakes. You kept all your promises.” He had been true to his word. He had done all of those things he had assured people of. Finally he had become a true hero. He approached him and held out his hand. “It was an honour working for you, Mr Wild,” he said sadly, a tear forming in the corner of his eye.

  Jonathan took his hand and shook hard, pulling him into an embrace. “Thank you my friend,” he said, attempting to sound strong. “Just look after my boy.” Joseph was his only concern now everything was said and done. His father would be leaving and he would have no other to care for him. Jonathan corrected himself. He knew both Matthew and Mary would look out for him, as they would their own. He was a very special young man. A man who would grow to inherit his father's legacy. A young man who would possess many wild aspirations.

  174

  Locked in his cell Jonathan could hear the masses arriving to watch his hanging. Their screams did not ease him at all. This strangely confident man could feel his nerves tightening, threatening to break free.

  Many people had arrived at his cell, surprisingly wishing to offer him their sympathies and respect. Marshals, the Bailey guards and even the odd magistrate. It filled him with hope that maybe his hanging wouldn't be too painful or theatrical. The only man he wished to see, however, was Tom Edwards.

  When he finally entered his cell he placed an emotional hand upon Jonathan's shoulder. Hoping to console him, even if it were only a little.

  “Here we go, Mr Wild,” he said, trying to sound strong and in control.

  “So formal?” he laughed nervously. “This must be bad.”

  “I'm here to take you up,” he informed. “It's time.”

  Jonathan's face dropped. He stared at his feet, hoping to block out the rabble who waited in the square beyond. “Do we have time to talk a little?” he asked.

  “Talk about what?” he thought everything had been said and done.

  Resting his head in his hands Jonathan mumbled his words. “I never meant you any harm, Tom,” he said. “Charles considered you an enemy. I only ever perceived you as an ally. A friend.” He looked to the city marshal, hoping for an emotional response.

  “I know, Jonathan,” he said as he sat beside him on the iron bench. “And I appreciate the way you handled yourself.” Running his hands though his thick hair he glanced up to the ceiling, rolling his eyes and sighing loudly. “Unlike the rest of them, I can see what you were trying to do and I agree with your sentiments. This city is wrong. It cares for the people with money and large houses, but too easily forgets about those who have to struggle for everything.” It was a sad fact it took his actions to prove to London the system of law was flawed. Now he was paying the price.

  “That won't change,” he commented, “but, you can.” He smiled at his friend and nodded his approval. “I foresee a world where men like you police the law, not the people.” Slapping him on the back he smiled and offered him a look of pure admiration. “You're a good man, Tom. Better than any other I've met. Keep doing everything you've been doing, but never forget people like Matthew and Mary need your help just as much as anyone else.”

  “I'll try,” Tom said, his emotions starting to wear thin, threatening to break free.

  “So what do we do now?” he asked as he stood and slapped either side of his face, in an attempt to reinvigorate himself.

  Tom slowly rose to his feet and smoothed his crisp crimson jacket. “Oh, I forgot,” his hands passed over his pocket, pulling out a small vial he held it between his finger and thumb. “Matthew asked me to pass this on to you,” he glared at the vial suspiciously, “You’d be surprised how many condemned men use laudanum to settle their nerves.”

  Jonathan was glad he knew the drug. It placed a person in a waking sleep, making a hanging far less painful than it should be. It wasn’t, however, his intention to use it. It was his final gamble. Jonathan’s final test for Tom. He grinned immaturely. “I never intended to use it myself. I was hoping you’d pass it on to another.”

  Of course he had seen this coming. Everything he had told him about what he had done. It had all been leading to this. Could Tom ignore the letter of the law again? Could he allow Jonathan to go this far?

  He found them to be largely rhetorical questions. He knew it would be done.

  Tom beamed at him, a sinister expression enhancing his features. “It occurs to me,” he started, “that we should allow you to save face. It would be very cruel if I was to
force you to look upon those people you have wronged. Those who love you.”

  Jonathan returned the smile. He knew Tom would agree to do this. He had prepared for it.

  “Tom?” he questioned sadly. “Matthew and Marry have agreed to care for my boy,” he sighed in a distressed fashion. “I’d be honoured if you did the same.” Tom nodded his agreement. It truly would be his honour. His last favour to Jonathan.

  175

  As expected, the spectators to Jonathan's hanging came in their hundreds. They had all come to see the Thief Taker die for his crimes.

  Matthew and Mary were in attendance, with young Joseph in tow. She had decided the boy needed to witness this event, as she thought it useful in toughening him up. They blended well with the others, waiting nervously for the hangman and his condemned to appear on the wooden platform before them.

  The hangman appeared, waving to the crowd who cheered and booed his arrival. Moments later Tom strode onto the platform, walking to him and whispering in his ear. Nodding wildly at his instruction he waited for him to return with the condemned.

  Walking back onto the platform Tom led Jonathan to stand on the wooden trapdoor which would send him to his doom. Mary turned to Matthew, concerned how he had a thickly woven sack placed over his head. He simply shrugged, knowing he had probably requested this addition. It was unheard of, but Tom was well known to be a thoughtful and kind man.

  The laudanum seemed to be performing its job well, as he appeared calm, relaxed and half-awake as the noose was placed securely about his neck. The large crowd watched with bated breath for Jonathan Wild to die.

  Finally he fell, hanging at the end of the noose, twitching and writhing in the throes of death. Mary buried her head in Matthew’s shoulder as Joseph gripped her hand even tighter.

  The legend of the Thief Taker was at an end. Jonathan Wild was finally dead.

  Epilogue

  It fell to Mary and Matthew to clean up the mess Jonathan had left. They did their best and tried to repeat his success, but, as expected, the gang eventually broke up and spread across London.