Ill Will

by Michael Stewart

  We walked up Deansgate and across Market Place. Along Withy Grove and Shudehill until we climbed up out of the town to another burial ground. This one was about the same size as the first, but the graves were more ramshackle. The ones placed flat were in the shadow of a looming chapel. There were beech trees where rooks reeled and ragged, and beneath my feet my heel crunched on last year’s husks. We walked over to the other side, where the headstones were planted. We noted the flowers placed by. There was a grave with the name Bartholomew; next to this someone had placed a glass of claret. I watched Emily scour the stones.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m Arabella.’

  We found a clump of trees and waited.

  We encountered several grief-stricken victims during the course of the morning and once again we were met with various forms of rejection – suspicion, accusation, fear and indifference – before we struck gold once more. It was close to noon when we saw a frail old man approach. He wore a blue frock coat and a cocked hat with a wide brim. He stopped by a grave and laid down a wreath of white flowers. The mound was still fresh. I left Emily under the bough of a tree, picked up a bunch of red flowers from a grave nearby, and approached the man. He looked to be in his eighties. Beneath his coat he wore a black suit with a long blue kerchief wrapped around his neck, and an embroidered waistcoat. There were gold buckles on his shoes.

  ‘Excuse me, sir. Could I trouble you for the time of day?’

  He noticed me for the first time. He took out a gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and flipped the lid. He examined the face of the watch.

  ‘It’s half past the hour of eleven,’ he said, tucking the fob back into his pocket.

  ‘Is it really? Then I’m not late as I’d thought. You see, I have a very important appointment but I had to come and see my mother first. Today is her birthday. She would have been forty years of age, if the Lord hadn’t taken her from me.’

  I thought about my own mother in heaven, but pushed the thought away.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘It was many years ago. Bless her soul. She’s buried in yonder corner,’ I said, pointing. ‘I’ve never missed her birthday. I always bring her red flowers. Red was her favourite colour.’

  I produced the flowers and held them out for the man to see.

  The man was aloof at first and looked over my tattered surtout with disdain, but as I spoke of my own tragedy in more detail, he softened to my cause.

  ‘I’ve just lost my last child. I had four but now they’ve all left me.’

  We chatted for a while until I found a place to introduce the subject of Emily. The man was initially reluctant, but I assured him of the virtue of the endeavour as I had done with the woman yesterday. I ushered Emily over.

  ‘My name is Bartholomew Stone and this is my stepsister, Arabella.’

  ‘I had four daughters each as pretty as you, Arabella. And now I have none. Four of the sweetest creatures to bless this world have left me and gone to heaven. My wife died after giving birth to our youngest. My girls all died of the slow fever. ’Tis a cruel disease. The last one took months. She was delirious by the end. Kept calling me Tessa. Refused to wear clothes. The maids didn’t know what to do or where to look. She died in my arms while I tried to feed her semolina and honey. Her last words were, “I prefer chicken.” I died too in that moment. What you see before you is a walking shell. Life is a tedious, senseless business.’

  ‘Indeed, it is a mystery at best. Only God understands our purpose.’

  The man nodded sagely.

  Emily carried out her work conjuring the man’s wife. I watched again as her body, flaccid at first, became animated by the vigour of a restless spirit. Her eyelids flickered involuntarily and when they opened once more, her pale grey eyes were alive with a sleepless spectre from the hereafter.

  The visitation moved the old man to tears. I pocketed our reward and we both stood and watched him depart, still trembling from the experience. The morning’s work had been difficult, but our efforts had paid off. I reflected that we would have more luck if we appeared in our attire more respectable. When he had gone I turned to Emily and noticed that she was holding something in one hand.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked.

  She unclenched her fist to reveal the old man’s gold watch.

  ‘You bloody fool, what did you steal that for?’

  ‘Worth a few bob, that.’

  I took the fob watch from her and examined it. The gold was polished and shiny and the casing was carved with an ornate pattern. I turned it over and there were three initials: ‘E.B.T.’

  ‘Look at this,’ I said, holding it up so she could see. ‘This mark will give the game away. A man like that, with so much wealth, he’s no doubt very influential hereabouts. It’s not worth it. If we get caught with this, we’ll hang.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’

  ‘We have to give it him back.’

  ‘He’s not going to fall for that. He’ll know we’ve stolen it.’

  ‘Well, you managed to pilfer it off him under his nose, you can put it back under his nose too. We need to find him, quick, before he discovers the theft.’

  We ran out of the burial ground and down the street but the man was nowhere to be found.

  ‘Maybe he came by coach,’ Emily said.

  ‘I didn’t see one parked outside.’

  ‘You weren’t looking for one.’

  ‘Where do you think he’s gone?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  We carried on down the street, past houses and shops. But there was no sign of him.

  ‘Perhaps he’s gone for something to eat,’ Emily said.

  We searched some of the taverns, pie shops and coffee-houses. Nothing. We spent an hour or more looking for him, combing each street, checking in each shop. We wandered around the market. It amazed me how such a frail old man had managed to give us the slip. It was early afternoon, and we were about to give up, when we saw him outside a bookshop, leafing through a leather-bound tome.

  ‘Now’s our chance,’ I said.

  ‘He’ll know the watch is missing by now,’ Emily said.

  ‘All right, I’ve got another plan.’

  I went up to the man and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned with a start.

  ‘Thank the Lord, we’ve found you,’ I said. ‘You see, my sister and I have been looking everywhere for you.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  I took out the watch. ‘It was after you’d gone that we spotted it by the side of your family grave.’ I handed it over.

  He took hold of the watch and examined it.

  ‘I thought I’d lost it. A gift from my wife. The chain needed replacing. My own fault. I can’t thank you enough. Here, let me give you something for your trouble.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ I said. And refused the offer. He shook my hand and smiled.

  ‘You are both good Christians.’

  Later, when we were some distance from the man, I turned to Emily. ‘What have I said about not stealing? It’s not worth it. We need to keep as low as stoats. We’re conspicuous enough as it is, without drawing more attention. So no more fucking stealing, right?’

  ‘I suppose,’ she said, grudgingly. ‘Can we get that dress now?’

  I took stock at breakfast the next morning. Yesterday had been productive and my pockets were heavy with gold and silver, but we’d also had a near miss. I’d had a hard word with Emily and I believed she had learned from her mistakes. The watch had been returned and our excuses had been accepted. I put the incident in perspective. Manchester was a big town. We weren’t done with it yet. My plan was to have a leisurely breakfast, then get kitted out with some new garments, explore some of the further-out places, and find some more stately graves to get to work on. There were bound to be several places of burial where the rich were entombed. It was just a case of wandering around and taking our chances. I was learning that it wasn’t just worms who could f
east on the remains of the dead. I went to look for the innkeeper. I wanted to ask him if we could arrange for a bath when we returned from our work. It had been many days since I had washed properly, and I reckoned we both probably stank like sewer rats. I couldn’t find the man and asked his wife, who was standing at the sink in the kitchen, if she knew of his whereabouts.

  ‘He’s out back,’ she said. ‘Seeing to the horses. Got late guests last night, in a carriage.’

  I went out to the stables, but before I had a chance to find the innkeeper, I heard voices coming from one of the outbuildings. One of them was familiar, and I felt a tightness grip me. I approached cautiously. Without looking behind the stable doors, I was close enough now to hear clearly the voices of two men alongside the innkeeper’s. I couldn’t be absolutely sure, so very tentatively I peeped through a hole in the wooden door. It was him: Dick Taylor. The man with one hand and his straw-haired companion. I didn’t stop to listen, but ran back to where Emily was still eagerly stuffing her face. When she saw me she dropped the spoon.

  ‘What’s the matter? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’

  I grabbed hold of her and lifted her out of her chair. I took her hand and yanked her from the room.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘No time,’ I said, and ran out of the tavern and down the street, pulling Emily along. ‘This way.’

  I turned off the main street and down an alley. Halfway down I turned off again. It was only after a good five minutes of running turn and turn-about that I stopped and let us get our breath.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ Emily said, panting.

  ‘It’s them. They’re here.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Dick and his mate.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I saw them in the stables. Talking to the innkeeper.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘I didn’t hear it. I ran as soon as I saw them.’

  ‘What do you think he told them?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you think he said where we were?’

  ‘I don’t know. Come on, let’s keep on going.’

  We walked down another road. Then another street and through another alley. It was still early and there weren’t that many people around. The cobbles were glistening from the evening’s rain.

  ‘We’re fucked,’ Emily said.

  ‘No, we’re not. Even if the owner ratted on us, they don’t know where we’ve gone. Manchester’s a big town. Tens of thousands of people. They’ll not find us.’

  ‘But what if they do?’

  ‘They won’t.’

  I felt that we were far enough away now to be out of any immediate danger, but I walked at a pace nevertheless, without arousing suspicion, pulling Emily along with me. We said no more about it and walked on in silence. We turned down Long Lane, where, despite the hour, already there was much activity. There was a fruit-seller on the street corner. I stopped and bought a few apples for the trip. I asked for directions to the canal.

  The man pointed over in the distance. ‘Head for Deansgate. Hit a left when you get there and follow the road straight down until you get to Castle Field. You’ll see a brick mill by the quay. The duke’s canal is further on.’

  ‘And it goes to Liverpool?’

  ‘Turn and turn-about, if that’s where you’re heading.’

  I pocketed the apples and thanked the man. We made our way down Peter Street until we came to the junction at Deansgate. When we came to Bridgewater Street, I guessed that the canal must be close.

  ‘How do you know about the canal?’ she said.

  ‘A man named Sticks, worked with him on the farm – the tall thin bloke, do you remember?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘I told you about him. He used to be a navvy. Sticks said that the man who built it was a duke and that this duke had travelled Europe as part of his education. And in France he had fallen in love with a lady of some standing. I can’t remember her name now. Anyway, this lady had spurned him. Returning to England, licking his wounds, he vowed never to fall in love again, and instead devoted himself to industry. When he came back to England he was resolute. He’d seen a canal in France and decided he wanted to outdo the French.’

  ‘So the canal was his revenge?’ Emily said.

  How many great things had been achieved, Cathy, because a woman spurned a man? Perhaps in a peculiar way your cruelty would prove useful to me.

  ‘I think my dad loved my mum,’ Emily said. ‘I’m sure he did. He said he only hit her because he loved her.’

  ‘Well, don’t ask me,’ I said. ‘I’m no expert.’

  We came to a market square. As we did, a noisy procession of people blocked our way. There was no possibility that we could force a path through so we stopped and watched the procession. I kept my eye out for Dick and his mate. There was a cart of people. Men in gaudy attire and women in white with baskets of flowers and oranges. We watched the women throw the oranges to the crowd that had gathered around the procession. There were pedlars and tinkers. Ballad-singers and hawkers. And then I saw it, high above us – the gallows.

  The men in the cart were the condemned and they had come to meet their end. By the gallows the hangman stood, biding his time. We waited in the shadows until the crowd thinned sufficiently for us to make our way. I observed Emily staring up at the wooden scaffold.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘let’s get going.’

  ‘He gave a speech, you know, before they put the noose around his neck.’

  ‘Best not to think about it,’ I said.

  ‘It was a very cold day, not like today, and he was shivering from the cold. People said he was chicken, but it was freezing. I was cold myself even in my woollen shawl. I was with his friend Lizzy Lawrence. She was shivering too. There were icicles hanging from the boughs of the trees. It was unusually cold that day. They released him from his fetters and a pair of leg-irons. There was no one else to hang that morning so he was the star turn. He was alone on that platform, just him and the hangman. Then the priest came and they prayed together. They sang one of the psalms. It was so cold that his voice faltered. You could see his breath mist in front of his face. There was a huge crowd. He stood perched upon the gallows ladder. Then he turned to his audience and made his speech.’

  Emily stared up at the wooden construction again. It looked like a giant pointing finger.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He said, “Good people, I forgive you all, as you should forgive me. There will be no peace in hell. I have done many bad things in my life and I will have plenty of time in an eternity of damnation to recall them. I’ve murdered men, women and children, and things much more wicked than that besides.”’

  ‘Did he really say that?’

  ‘Lizzy said she thought he was drunk. He was slurring his words. I kept waiting for him to notice me in the crowd. To give me a wave. Or just to look at me.’

  ‘And did he not?’

  ‘There were so many people there. It couldn’t have been easy.’

  I looked over to the gallows once more, Cathy. The condemned men were at their stations now and the hangman was tightening the rope around the neck of the last one. I pulled Emily away.

  ‘Come on, you don’t need to see this.’

  I took her by the hand and we wove through the throng, being jostled as we did so. It was not a pretty gathering and I was glad when we got to where it was thinning and were able to leave it behind. We soon came to the mill and the quay as the man had directed. I looked around to make sure we hadn’t been followed. The coast was clear. By the quay there was a large flat barge loaded with coal. It was being pulled by a horse. A man jumped off the barge and tied a rope that was attached to it around a thick wooden post. The horse came to a standstill and bent down to chew the grass by its feet. We heard a cheer in the distance, emanating from the direction of the gallows, and I guessed the men had made the drop and were now dangl
ing from a rope. The last dance of the damned.

  I looked over to Emily. She had her face in her hands and her chest was heaving. I stopped for a minute to let her shake it out. I thought about what she must have seen. Her own father swinging by his neck. She tried to stifle her sobs, but I saw the wet drops fall from between her fingers onto the cobs below. I put my hand on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around my waist and clung on, burying her face in my coat. Her body shook violently. I placed my hand on her head and stroked her hair. We stayed like that while it worked itself out of her. She pulled away. I wiped the wet from her cheeks.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I said.

  She nodded.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  A little further by the mill entrance were more boats. They contained a system of square boxes filled with coals. The boats were manoeuvred under a well, where they stopped and the rope fixed to the crane above was let down with hooks. At the end the boxes were fastened and then drawn up. The crane was powered by a waterwheel. Two men and a boy were employed in the unloading. They took no notice of us as we walked past them. I looked back one more time to make sure we were not being followed.

  What I saw next was a scene of industry like no other. At the mouth of the canal was a door fastened on hinges at the bottom of the water, which stopped the water entering a trapdoor. Further on a large timber yard, well stowed with all sorts of wood and timbers for framing buildings and constructing boats, barges and all kinds of floating machines. Next to this was a stonemason’s yard, where vast piles of stones lay, ready squared for loading onto barges. The barges here were drawn by mules, until they came to a tunnel. What we saw next, Cathy, was quite ingenious. The towpath ran out at the tunnel, and instead a boy led the mules the long way, over and around the tunnel. Here is the clever part: at the point where the barge entered the tunnel, the men onboard lay on their backs and used their legs to power the barge through its length, making the boat look like a giant scurrying insect. The engineer had left just the right distance from the barge top to the ceiling of the tunnel so that the men were able to ‘walk’ on the brick ceiling of the tunnel until they appeared out of the other end to be reacquainted with their mules. In this way they were able to power the boats at the same rate as we had observed them being pulled by mule. We stopped for a while observing the scene, neither Emily nor I saying a word. After we had got a good eyeful we carried on our way.