Children of Fire

by Paul CW Beatty

‘He didn’t say a word, he just put his hands down the front of his filthy trousers and pulled out a small bag rather like a purse on a sting. He emptied it onto the kitchen table. There was a sovereign, two shillings and a penny. It must have been his emergency supply of money, hidden down a leg of his trousers so that it was less likely to be stolen if he passed out when drunk. He gave her the sovereign and when he asked for my clothes she charged him the shilling for them. He got the clothes out of the cupboard where they were kept, took me by the hand and out we went into the night.’

  Rachael got up and moved over to the dresser. She poured two beakers of water from a jug left there in case anyone wanted water in the night. She gave one to Josiah and sat down with hers.

  ‘How did you manage to live?’

  ‘The first few days I begged while Elijah worked on the docks. After a week we had enough money to rent a dingy, dirty cellar in a backhouse near the river. For me it was heaven, there were no more beatings and Elijah refused to let me beg anymore.

  ‘But looking after me changed him. He wasn’t the leader of the Children of Fire then. He was sad and downtrodden. He never really told me properly but he had come to Liverpool from Ireland. I think he had an Irish accent then. I used to ask him questions about what it was like in Ireland but he would just go quiet. If I asked too many questions it provoked him to go on a binge.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound as though you were doing anything more than surviving.’

  ‘You’re right, that was what it was like,’ then she smiled slightly, ‘but two things changed him and threw us in the path of a good providence.’ She sipped the water.

  ‘When Elijah drank he was always careful to make sure I was safe before he got drunk. In one house where we lodged, the landlady lived on the ground floor above us. She looked after me when he was away or working at night. She taught me my letters and read to me from the Bible. She was a churchgoer and she persuaded Elijah to let me go to church with her. Gradually he took to coming along as well if he wasn’t working. Slowly he became less unhappy.’

  ‘What was the other thing that changed him?’

  She looked at Josiah, tears in her eyes. ‘That was very tragic and yet hope came from it.’ She sipped at the water again.

  ‘There was an outbreak of smallpox which the old lady caught. Elijah once had the disease so he nursed her but she did not have the strength to fight the sickness and died. Elijah grieved for her as if she had been his own mother. After the church folk and us had buried her, I thought he would despair again but he didn’t. He talked to me very seriously and said he thought I would be less likely to catch a disease if we left the city and tried to live in the country. I remember he said that he had been brought up on a farm. So that’s what we did.

  ‘The more he worked in the fields, in the clean air, under the sky, the healthier he looked and the happier he felt. He stopped drinking. We followed the cycle of the year through spring, summer and autumn: sowing, reaping, harvest. In winter we’d find a room in a cottage to rent while Elijah did some ditch digging if we hadn’t got enough money saved to get us through. Then we came here and he met Farmer Tremlet. It was Farmer Tremlet and Long Clough which properly saved him.’

  She got up again and started to pace up and down.

  ‘Tremlet was a good man. He had never married and had no children. The farm was prosperous and he had a workforce of twenty. They were his family. He provided them with work and food to care for their bodies. He provided schooling for their children to feed the minds of the next generations. Last, but to him the most important, he built the chapel, the bethel he called it, so that they would have somewhere to praise God.

  ‘In Elijah he found a soul mate, and he loved him like the son he never had. Elijah reciprocated and loved Tremlet like a father. They would talk for hours. They dreamed of a holy community, free from the greed and filth of the cities. Under Farmer Tremlet’s care Elijah and I were baptised. We went down into the river Goyt hand in hand. That day I took Elijah,’ she swallowed hard, ‘as my father.’

  She stopped pacing, sat down and started to cry softly. Then she took another sip of the water. Josiah leaned forward and took her free hand in his to caress it.

  ‘Do you want to stop?’

  ‘No just pass me a cloth. These are tears of joy as well as tears of grief. I want to remember that day.’ He passed her the cloth and she wiped her face.

  ‘Farmer Tremlet died soon after we were baptised. When the will was read we were amazed: he left us the farm. There was a condition in his will. Elijah could only inherit after giving a solemn undertaking to create the community he and Tremlet had talked about so often. That was the Children of Fire and here we are. That is all I know. I never found out what his life was really like before he came to Liverpool.’

  She sat up straight and took a deep breath. ‘Now you had some questions about things you found on Elijah’s body.’

  Josiah tried to steady his own nerves and concentrate on the facts. His desire to hold and comfort her was near overwhelming but duty was duty.

  ‘Yes. In fact, you and the other women may have noticed them. There were many old scars over his chest. With a life of manual labour, that was not surprising, but there were two that suggested he might have been wounded in battle. Did he ever say that he had served in an army?’

  ‘You mean the sword cut on the left shoulder and the scar from a musket ball above his right hip. Yes, we noticed them. I knew they were there already. It is difficult for any child to get through life without seeing their father without his shirt. They too were things I asked about when little but he never told me anything about them.’

  ‘What about the tattoo?’

  ‘What tattoo?’

  ‘It was on the underside of his right arm very near the armpit.’

  ‘No I didn’t see that. I remember someone who was washing his arms remarked that there was a strange mark on one of them but I didn’t think much about it. It must have been very faint.’

  ‘Yes it was.’

  ‘What was it like?’

  Josiah handed her his notebook open at the sketch he had made. Rachael looked at it with interest. Then she handed the notebook back. ‘I don’t recognise it at all.’

  Josiah shut the notebook. ‘Thank you, that is all I have to ask. I hope I have not upset you too much. I wouldn’t do that for the world as I think you know.’

  Rather abruptly, he stood up to go, fearful his emotions would break and he would embarrass both of them. She remained sitting and showed no sign of stirring. He was nearly through the door when she called him back. He turned to look at her. She had stood up and looked very determined.

  ‘I have not told you all the truth Josiah.’ Outside it was now completely dark and the firelight complemented her beauty even more.

  ‘I told you, Aunty organised begging and ran an opium den. That was true but, occasionally, she offered another service for some clients. A business in which she forced me to participate.’

  Josiah’s mouth went dry and his heart began to pound.

  ‘What I am going to tell you now only one other living person knows. I am telling you because I return the feelings I think you have for me but if those feelings are to grow then you must know the whole truth so that it cannot come between us in the future.

  ‘Aunty was a dame de maison. In her house she not only sold oblivion in the smoke but oblivion of the flesh as well. She sold young women.’ Josiah started to move towards her. She held up her right hand.

  ‘Stop! You should know Josiah that she sold me to her clients as young as I was.’ Josiah felt tears on his own cheeks. ‘One of those clients was Elijah. She put me in his bed when he was in opium fuddled dreams.’

  He stepped forward and embraced her holding her close to him to comfort and protect her but she screamed and pushed him away.

  ‘No, Josiah, I c
annot bear to be close to any man, not even you… not yet. I may never be able to. That is the real horror of all this. It seems the sins of this child are being visited on her without waiting for the next or any other generation.’

  21

  Reserve Cru

  He was unclear how he had left the kitchen. He had a vague impression of having stumbled out leaving Rachael standing by the fire: immobile, passive, bereft. In cowardice he had run away, being unable to comfort her or simply remain. He went back to the barn and tried to hide in the darkness, vainly hoping for some sort of rest. But he could neither sleep nor think. He was trapped by compassion, love and guilt.

  Pictures wracked him of Rachael with Elijah at the first meal he had attended at Long Clough, as well as fevered nightmare images of Rachael as a young girl in a dirty, degrading bed. Nothing made any sense to him.

  In the end, he got up and went out into the clear night where a full moon hung on the horizon. An owl hooted from a tree and was answered by another near the chapel. The scream of a vixen ripped at the stillness. She called again and then a third time. Was she calling for her mate or lost cubs? It was an unearthly sound, a soul in torment, mirroring his own.

  He wandered about the fields until the moon set. Then, exhausted, near the paddock, he found a comfortable tree to lean against. The next thing he remembered he was surrounded by the grey light of dawn and being gently shaken awake. It was Rachael. She put down a tray of bread, butter and water next to him.

  ‘I saw you from the kitchen door,’ she said. ‘You need to eat no matter what happens.’ Then she left him.

  He ate the food and walked back to the farm, leaving the tray by the wash house rather than risk seeing her by going inside. Then he went to the barn and came back with soap, towel and shaving gear. He stripped off his shirt and pumped cold water onto himself until he was fully awake. Then he rubbed the wet soap hard into his skin until it tingled; finally he shaved.

  On returning to the barn he dressed in his uniform. There would be no more evading his position and authority, no more hiding under the camouflage of ordinary clothes. He would find Elijah’s murderers, no matter who they were. He would be a pure and implacable avenging angel. He would do his duty.

  He had recognised one thing during the night: the abuse of Rachael provided a motive for murder. She might not be directly involved in the crime but the abuse could still have given someone in love with her reason enough. She had said one other person knew. If that person was Peter he was hot-headed enough to kill in some distorted demonstration of loyalty to her. The implication of Elijah in the abuse of Rachael would account for the savagery of the murder and even the wording of the placard that had been hung around Elijah’s neck, BLASPHEMER.

  Peter would have to be confronted but that might be dangerous and before Josiah attempted it, careful preparation would be required. In the meantime, it would be best for him to be away from the community. A visit to Mr Hailsworth’s coalmine would take care of that for a day.

  He walked to Hailsworth Hall across country. Whilst a carriage had to go round by the road, on foot Josiah could reduce the distance from Long Clough by following the track from the Forester’s cottage to the main road. It was only a short, if steep walk from there.

  Josiah rang the bell at the servant’s entrance and waited. If he applied for an introductory note for permission to visit the mine, he could avoid seeing Mr Hailsworth and therefore running the gauntlet of the dismissal he was expecting because of his confrontation with Abram.

  The butler opened the door. He saw Josiah’s uniform but betrayed no surprise. ‘Mr Ainscough, a pleasure to see you, Sir. Mr Hailsworth told me that if you call you are to be admitted at all times. This way. I will take you up to the library. Mr and Mrs Hailsworth are taking coffee there as is their custom in the morning.’ They climbed the servants stairs. ‘My appologies for the dust and clutter,’ the butler said. ‘It would probably better when you call again to use the main entrance. The footman on that level will let you in.’

  ‘I don’t really need to disturb Mr Hailsworth. If you could give him a message then I’m sure he can just give me a note.’

  ‘Mr Hailsworth was quite explicit, Sir. If you came you were to be shown up to him. He was very firm in his instruction.’ It was clear to Josiah that no matter how desperately he tried he was not going to be able to avoid encountering Mr Hailsworth.

  ‘Shall I take your hat?’ asked the butler. Josiah handed it to the butler and followed up the stairs him with the air of a man going to his execution.

  The library was warm and quiet, its acoustics tempered by its marvellous collection of books. In one corner, there was a circular alcove with bench seats of plush crimson whose windows gave a beautiful view across the lake. On the walls were two plaster reliefs, one clearly Greek and the other most likely Roman.

  In this comfortable space sat Mr and Mrs Hailsworth; a small table held a Turkish coffee pot which simmered over a brass spirit burner. Above the table hung a filigree Turkish lamp. An ormolu clock on a bracket just to the right of the alcove chimed ten, as if conscious of its duty to tell accurate time with as much reserve and style as possible.

  ‘Josiah, a pleasant surprise,’ said Mr Hailsworth. Josiah was surprised by the friendliness of the greeting. Mr Hailsworth’s voice gave no indication of an imminent reprimand. Perhaps Abram had not told him of their argument?

  ‘Pardon me if I don’t get up. Legs particularly painful this morning. Do I take it that your uniform indicates a more formal approach to your investigations?’

  ‘In short, yes Sir. I thought it was proper.’

  ‘Quite right, Josiah. Quite right.’

  Barbara Hailsworth looked up from her sewing and stiffened but she nodded politely enough to Josiah. ‘Mr Ainscough.’

  ‘Mrs Hailsworth,’ he said as he bowed, remembering not to repeat his mistake at the dinner.

  ‘No need to bow, Constable. You’re now clearly no more than a tradesman.’ Mr Hailsworth shot his wife a hard glance.

  ‘Steady on, Barbara. Whether Mr Ainscough is in uniform or not makes no difference. He has been our guest.’

  ‘I would say that it makes a very material difference,’ she said through tight lips. ‘Many of our friends would be horrified to see you treat this,’ she searched for an appropriately cutting word, ‘mere servant with such cordiality.’

  Josiah was becoming more and more embarrassed at the interchange between the Hailsworths. He had extended his respect for Mr Hailsworth to Mrs Hailsworth even though she was clearly not well disposed to him. The fact was he was unused to seeing married couples disagree in this way and it troubled him.

  The Cooksleys were a well-matched couple and their mutual love and respect meant that he could hardly remember any cross words between them, except in the throes of their vigorous intellectual debates.

  Mr Hailsworth reached over and held his wife’s hand. He spoke softly. ‘I understand how disturbed you are by all this, my dear. How close it has all come to the family and how you wish it could be gone; I feel the same. But you were no more than a farmer’s daughter before we married and I have always been proud to be known as a farmer as was your father. We may have a grand house because our ancestors prospered but that is our good fortune not proof of our moral superiority. Mr Ainscough’s chosen profession is a worthy one and we should honour his choice with our friendship regardless of how hard the world laughs at our folly.’ He turned to the butler. ‘James, can you arrange some more cups for us?’

  ‘Yes Sir,’ James replied, and left.

  ‘Well, Josiah, you did well on the coffee the other night so I am curious to know how you do with my reserve cru, so to speak.’ He bent his head forward and whispered behind his hand. ‘There’s a secret ingredient,’ then he relaxed. ‘But sit down first. Unless your sense of smell is supernaturally sensitive, you have not come to drink my coffee. I
would warrant you’ll either want advice or be seeking permission for something you intend to do. Am I correct?’

  Josiah was sitting facing the Hailsworths, his back to the library proper. ‘Correct as ever, Mr Hailsworth. It is the latter. I need to speak with the foreman powder-man at your mine.’

  As he spoke he became conscious that the butler’s footsteps had been replaced by a sound not unlike quiet waves on shingle: a lady’s dress dragging slightly on carpet. Then there was a smell of rose water and a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder.

  ‘You were saying, Constable?’ It was Aideen. Josiah looked round, straight into the steady gaze of dark eyes framed by red hair, which was brushed out and hung down her shoulders as if she were a young girl, not the fashionable beauty who had sat next to him at dinner. Josiah rose. Aideen moved past him and sat between him and Mrs Hailsworth.

  ‘Please sit down again, Constable. I did not intend to disturb you.’

  ‘Merriman? Why do you want to speak to him?’ said Mr Hailsworth.

  ‘I am simply following up on the visit I had to the powder mill and what Abram told me about the new type of blasting cartridge he is making. He said that they were being tested at your mine and I was welcome to ask there about them. I thought it was only polite to ask your permission before visiting.’

  Mrs Hailsworth smiled. ‘It is a short walk. Steven, give him a note of introduction and the constable will be able to get on his way,’ she said.

  Agnes, the maid who had served on the night of the dinner, came in and set two fresh coffee cups and replenished the cream jug on the table.

  ‘I think I can do better than that, Barbara. I could do with visiting myself.’

  ‘Are you sure, Steven? You have been very stiff this morning.’

  ‘Perhaps a drive will relieve that a bit,’ said Mr Hailsworth. ‘Agnes, ask them to send round the coach for Mr Ainscough and me. Not the landau mind, we’ll be comfortable enough in the brougham.’

  ‘Very good, Sir.’ She curtsied and left. Aideen got up and poured two cups, one of which she passed to Josiah.