by Tim Severin
‘I suppose so. He has a permit from the city. The aldermen take pride in keeping Bristol clean of rubbish, as you will have noticed.’
‘And is it always the same person?’
By now the bookseller was looking concerned. ‘I hope you haven’t mislaid something you wish you had kept, Mr Lynch. Perhaps thrown it away by accident? The maid who removes the chamber pot from your room is also instructed to dispose of any rubbish.’
‘It was nothing very important. But where can I find this scavenger?’
‘My housekeeper can tell you. I fear it would do you little good. The man makes his living by sorting his rubbish and selling anything of value.’ Lewis offered an apologetic smile. ‘Sometimes I think that my housekeeper feels sorry for him. She throws out old clothes that are perfectly good for another few months. Last week I saw one of my old shirts worn by a costermonger.’
✻
The scavenger was a calculating ruffian with small, crafty eyes who dressed in a curious over-garment that had once been a lady’s flowered gown but now served him as a loose, full-length tunic. Grime encrusted the cracked fingernails of the filthy hand he held out for Hector’s coin.
‘The Hot Well takes them regular, two pence a copy if not greasy or torn,’ he told Hector, confirming that he picked out discarded copies of the Gazette from the rubbish he collected.
‘What happens at the Hot Well?’ Hector imagined it was some sort of low tavern.
‘Poor folks could get themselves a free wash there, between tides, until the Council sold the lease. The new owners call it a “spa”.’ He pronounced the last word with a mocking accent.
‘And why do they want old copies of the Gazette?’
The scavenger cackled. ‘Probably use them as arse wipes. You can find out for yourself. Hot Well’s just beyond Marsh Gate.’
Hot Well turned out to be a newly built sweat house and pump room. The doorman took Hector’s sixpence before summoning an attendant who showed him into a changing room. The water for the pool, the attendant explained, was piped up from a hot spring exposed between tides on the riverbank.
‘If you will leave your clothes here, I’ll return to fetch you,’ said the attendant, handing Hector a large cotton bath sheet. ‘Have no fear, your property will be safe.’
Hector undressed, wrapped the sheet around him and allowed himself to be led down a corridor to the bathing room. There was a strong and unpleasant smell of sulphur.
The attendant prattled on. ‘Full of minerals, and excellent for the skin. Most relaxing. And you’ll have the place to yourself, except for one of our regulars.’
He pushed open the door and Hector found himself entering a chamber lit from above by glass panes in the domed roof. The warm air was foggy with steam. The water in the pool that took up most of the interior was a murky greenish brown. Seated in it, with his head leaning back on the tiled surround and his eyes closed, was Henry Avery.
Without quite knowing why, Hector felt drawn forward. He quietly descended the steps into the bath. The water came up to his thighs and was warm, rather than hot. He felt a slight tingling on the skin. He waded slowly over to Avery and sat down on the ledge beside him.
‘Good day, Captain Avery,’ he said.
For a moment Hector thought that Avery was asleep and had not heard him. Then, after several seconds had passed, Avery raised his head slowly and deliberately and turned to look Hector full in the face.
‘Mr Benjamin Bridgeman to you, Lynch.’
Hector waited.
Long Ben remained as unruffled. He could have been talking to an acquaintance who had dropped by to see him. ‘I always thought you were a sharp one.’
The presence of his former captain only an arm’s length away had an effect on Hector that he had not anticipated. Instead of elation at his success in finding Avery, there was a confusing stab of regret. For weeks Avery had been his quarry, enigmatic and distant. Now Fancy’s former commander was real again, and exactly as Hector remembered: level-headed and unexcitable, someone who avoided confrontation and preferred to use intelligence rather than muscle. With sudden clarity, Hector saw that little separated Avery the freebooter from Lockwood the thief-taker. Both were clever and single-minded. Both kept in the background and deployed others to carry out their plans. The main difference was that Avery was outside the law, and Lockwood operated in its shadowy margins.
Avery sensed his indecision. ‘If you’re after the bounty, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.’
He rose to his feet and went to the edge of the pool. Hector followed him into the changing room where they dried off on fresh sheets and dressed. Avery then led the way into an adjacent parlour. A tray of coffee had already been set out on a table.
‘The service here is excellent as well as discreet,’ Avery commented, waving Hector to take a seat. ‘The pump room has only been open a few months and the proprietor is struggling to find customers. It suits both of us for me to rent lodgings from him.’
Avery’s way of speaking had not changed. Hector recalled how persuasive Long Ben had been when addressing Fancy’s company with that deep and husky voice, each sentence measured and deliberate. Listening to him, Hector found himself slipping back into the belief that Long Ben knew exactly what he was talking about.
Avery passed Hector a cup of coffee before pulling up a chair and sitting down. ‘I’m curious to know how you tracked me down.’
‘Through the Gazette.’
For a second Avery was thrown off stride. ‘You put in an advertisement! Surely not.’ Then he noticed Hector’s glance flick towards a slightly crumpled copy of the Gazette lying on the table, thought for a moment, and laughed openly. ‘And I took so much trouble to steer clear of the coffee houses.’
The laughter faded as he leaned forward. ‘A bounty of five hundred pounds. If that’s all that they think I’m worth, I beg to disagree.’
Avery’s mood had changed. He was businesslike and serious.
‘Twice the bounty, Lynch, in return for your silence. One thousand pounds in gold coin. To avoid attracting unwelcome attention, you would receive the money in instalments spread over, say, ten years.’
‘How would the payments be made?’ Hector heard himself say.
‘I would give irrevocable instructions to a reputable goldsmith.’
An alarm sounded in the back of Hector’s mind. ‘The man who sent me to find you made enquiries. No one in Lombard Street has received large deposits of bullion in recent days.’
Long Ben gave a dismissive snort. ‘I’m not so foolish as to have gone anywhere near Lombard Street. There’s a goldsmith in a county town not too far from here who has more than enough of my coin in a strong room in his cellar.’
Hector was doing the sums in his head: fifty pounds a year was enough to keep a family in considerable comfort. With the money Avery was offering he and Maria could set up home wherever they chose, start some sort of business, buy a farm. His mind raced on.
‘What about Jezreel?’ he asked.
Avery waved his hand. ‘Same amount for him. But paid from a different source . . . He can choose Dublin or New York or Amsterdam.’
Long Ben spread his risks and planned ahead, Hector remembered. Avery must have sent some of his prize to Amsterdam with the Dutchmen who returned from Bourbon when Fancy’s haul was first divided up.
He had to ask one question: ‘That day on Ganj-i-Sawa’i when my two friends and I were forced to leave Fancy and go aboard Pearl, you gave me a nod, some sort of message. What did you mean by that?’
Avery paused before answering. ‘I could not stop Hathaway from driving you and your two friends off Fancy. The company had elected him as quartermaster and that was his right. However, I wanted to reassure you that I would remedy the situation later if it was in my power.’ He broke into a sudden smile. ‘And it seems that is now the case. What do you say to my proposal?’
Hector sat quietly, his mind turning in slow circles. It came down t
o a choice between Avery’s gold and Lockwood’s offer of a pardon for him and Jezreel if he brought Long Ben to justice. He wondered if Lockwood knew of the earlier charges against him and his friends for piracy in the Caribbean. If he did, the thief-taker could just as easily revive those charges and send him and Jezreel to Execution Dock should the merchant grandees in India House later decide to appease the Great Mogul. He had little faith in Lockwood’s justice. The laws had evolved to serve the interests of men like Sir Jeremiah.
He came to a decision. ‘I accept your proposal, Captain, but with one condition.’
Avery’s eyes narrowed. ‘And what is that?’
Hector reached into his pocket and pulled out the spectacles on their ribbon. ‘Find a glass grinder in another town and have him make you something more fashionable.’
✻
On the day Hector got back to London, a gusty wind from the north carried the first hint of autumn rawness. Walking up Leadenhall he saw smoke streaming from the ornate fluted chimneys of East India House. In the lobby, where he had to wait, a large coal fire was burning in the hearth below the massive chimney breast. Every half-hour a servant came in to add another bucketful of fuel. Seated well away from the blaze Hector reflected that this was for the comfort of Company directors who had lived so long in the east that they felt the slightest chill. The footmen in their heavy livery coats of serge were taking turns to stand outside in the street.
✻
He stared into the flames, going over in his mind what he would say to Lockwood, so lost in thought that he did not notice the thief-taker arrive. Only when he heard his name did he look up and see Lockwood standing right in front of him. The thief-taker had brought with him the bamboo tube that Annesley had sent from Surat.
He followed Lockwood up to Sir Jeremiah’s office on the first floor, where it was evident that merchant had been spending more of his wealth, adding to his collection of ornaments. Now there was a ship model, four feet from bowsprit to rudder, precise in every minute detail, hull, sails, rigging, tiny brass deck cannon. The first glance gave Hector a jolt. He thought it was Fancy. A second look showed him the company flag at the masthead. He guessed it was a brand-new East Indiaman due to be launched from a dockyard on the Thames.
‘Avery landed in Bristol,’ he told Lockwood.
‘How long ago was that?’
‘Nearly three months, but he’s moved on.’
‘Where to?’
‘I was unable to find out. The trail’s gone cold.’
Lockwood went dangerously quiet. ‘Let’s start again, from the beginning. If Avery arrived in Bristol three months ago, he came to England ahead of Dann and the others from Fancy. What about your theory that he would wait in Dublin and watch to see how Dann and his shipmates got on?’
‘He had a reason: he was looking for some Bristol men who had swindled him. Only they weren’t from Bristol.’
Lockwood waited for him to go on.
‘The rumour is that before Avery left the Caribbees, he bought half a share in a slave ship about to make her usual run home to Bristol. He stowed his prize aboard and sent her ahead, to bring his loot home on the quiet . . .’
Lockwood finished the sentence for him. ‘And the ship never arrived.’ There was a sour note of satisfaction in his voice. ‘Much the same as what he did to Dann and the others. You’d have thought he knew better.’
‘It wasn’t even a Bristol ship.’
‘And how did you learn all this?’
Hector produced the spectacles and held them up. ‘With these. Avery uses an identical pair for reading. A few people remembered him.’
‘Very astute of you.’ Lockwood’s approval was perfunctory. ‘And did anyone you spoke to have any idea where he might have gone?’
‘They lost interest in Avery when it became apparent that he was short of money.’
Lockwood began pacing up and down, the bamboo tube tucked under his arm. ‘What about you, Lynch? From your knowledge of Avery, where do you think he’s gone?’
‘Somewhere in the West Country. His accent is from those parts so maybe he was headed that way.’
Lockwood’s head snapped round. ‘A West Country accent? You never mentioned that to me before.’
Hector spread his hands in a gesture of apology. ‘I didn’t know before. This is my first time in England. I placed his accent only when I was talking with people in Bristol.’
The thief-taker’s mouth had set in a grim line. ‘To sum up: Avery is in England, short of funds and probably somewhere in the West Country.’ He paused. ‘And that leaves very little clue as to where to search for him.’
Which is what Avery wants you to believe, Hector thought to himself. Give him sufficient to keep his interest lukewarm, Long Ben had said, but not enough for him to follow up.
Lockwood resumed his pacing, toying with the bamboo tube, passing it from one hand to the other. ‘So, Lynch, you don’t qualify for the five hundred pounds bounty, nor a pardon. You haven’t caught Avery and you haven’t established that he’s dead. Quite the opposite.’
The thief-taker paused in his stride and held up the bamboo like a baton. ‘I brought this along to remind you of the inventory of the loot taken from the Great Mogul’s ship, the list that you and your friend prepared and signed. The original is in the Company’s files.’
He treated Hector to a cold professional smile. ‘Sir Jeremiah and his fellow directors are extremely grateful. They have agreed to pay damages to the Great Mogul. Trade continues. Your list has saved them a great deal of money.’
Hector knew better than to allow his hopes to rise. He saw the gleam of malice that had appeared in Lockwood’s dark eyes.
The thief-taker’s smile vanished as his voice hardened. ‘As far as I am concerned the inventory amounts to a confession of piracy by those who signed it. Any judge would agree.’
He paused, allowing the menace to hang in the air. ‘However, I don’t intend to turn you over to the authorities . . .’
Lockwood turned on his heel and walked over to the ship model. ‘Every Company ship arrives home with another report of freebooters heading toward the Indian Ocean. More and more of them, all of them keen to follow in Fancy’s wake. Avery has set a bad example.’
He bent down and picked up one of the tiny brass cannon from the model’s deck. Balancing it on the palm of his hand, he poked it with his finger to make the gun barrel move up and down. ‘The directors are increasing the armament on all their ships so they can fight off any freebooter. But that’s not their chief worry: they fear that if there’s another freebooter attack on one of the Great Mogul’s ships or a pilgrim convoy, it will put a final end to all commerce with Hindustan. They’ll have wasted the compensation money.’
Carefully he replaced the miniature cannon on the deck. ‘The directors and some of their friends in government have given a privateering commission to a speculator who says he can hunt down and hang the freebooters from their own yardarms. A thief-taker at sea, so to speak.’
He swung round to face Hector. ‘I don’t welcome competition in my line of work. I need to know what my rival is up to. I’m sure he’d value you as a member of his company.’
An awful sick sensation had been gathering in the pit of Hector’s stomach. The future that he had planned for himself with Avery’s help was slipping out of his grasp. He drew a deep breath and asked in as steady a voice as he could manage, ‘This man, the thief-taker at sea as you call him, who is he?’
‘A Scot who’s been living in New York. He’s come to London, bought a ship, the Adventure Galley, and set out on his mission. He’s cocksure and impetuous, and that’s his weakness. He’s made a fool of himself once. If he does it again, I should be able to clip his wings.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Failed to salute the royal yacht when Adventure Galley was on her way down the Thames. The yacht reminded him of his duty with a signal gun. He should have lowered his topsail or dipped an ensign. Instead
he let his men climb into the rigging, drop their trousers and slap their bare backsides. The idiot.’ Lockwood gave a derisive snort. ‘Farther downriver he comes upon some navy ships, and again fails to salute. This time he’s stopped and boarded, and the navy makes him cool his heels, wasting a couple of weeks at anchor.’
‘And where is he now?’
Lockwood moved across to where the ornamental globe stood in a corner and gave the globe a gentle quarter turn. ‘He sailed to New York to pick up extra crew. Depending on his weather luck, he should now be somewhere in the middle of the South Atlantic.’
The thief-taker rotated the globe a few more inches. Hector found himself looking down at the familiar outline of Africa’s southern cape.
‘. . . headed for the Indian Ocean,’ Lockwood continued silkily. ‘So I’m going to arrange for you to travel on the next Company vessel leaving for Hindustan. The captain will call in at the Cape. There you’re to jump ship. Pretend to be a runaway and boast about your time under Henry Avery’s command. The moment you hear word of where Adventure Galley has got to, you make your way there. I’ve no doubt that you’ll be welcomed into her company.’
A suspicion began to take shape in the back of Hector’s mind. ‘And what if the captain and crew turn rogue? Use Adventure Galley for piracy? There’s nothing I could do to stop them.’
Lockwood stared at him with icy dispassion. ‘Lynch, I don’t expect you to try to dissuade the captain or his crew. All I want is for you to observe. Then when the time comes, and they are caught, I’ll have a witness.’
Just like John Dann, Hector recalled.
‘What about my wife and daughter? I’ve spent only a few weeks with them,’ he protested.
Lockwood shrugged. ‘Mr Hall can look after them. He stays here in England. The Indiaman won’t be sailing for another ten days. You’ve time to get yourself to Sussex to say your farewells.’
The thief-taker had it all worked out, Hector thought bitterly. In a sudden surge of resentment he considered refusing this new assignment. But it took only a moment’s reflection to make him realize that it would serve no purpose to antagonize Lockwood. The thief-taker was concerned only with his own interests. If thwarted, no doubt Lockwood would carry out his threat to alert the authorities that he and Jezreel had served with Avery and were back in England. They would be arrested and questioned. A thorough investigation would turn up their record of piracy in the Caribbean, and then he and Jezreel would be brought to public trial. Better that he stayed in Lockwood’s shadow, his private agent, and safeguard his own private arrangement with Avery that guaranteed financial security for Maria and Isabelle. Whatever happened to him, his family would receive their annual payments from the funds that Long Ben had placed with his goldsmith-banker.