The Devil's Agent

by Roger Hurn

  The Devil’s Agent

  Roger Hurn

  © Roger Hurn 2016

  Roger Hurn has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published by Endeavour Press Ltd in 2016.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  To Marty, a man who always gives this devil his due.

  The Devil’s Agent

  ‘The Devil can quote scripture for his purpose’ – The Merchant of Venice Act 1, Scene 111.

  Chapter One

  Shadows as thick as treacle clotted the alleyway that ran behind the fine house. Yet in the thin moonlight from the sickle moon high overhead it was just possible to discern the shape of a man pressed up hard against the wall. That man was Balthazar Bloodwine, thief-taker. Bloodwine had the lean and hungry look of someone who lives by his wits and who trusts no one’s judgement but his own. He was a hard man in a dangerous world, but he had survived relatively unscathed for thirty years and he intended to do so for a while longer. He just hoped his luck wouldn’t choose this night to desert him for he was engaged in a perilous game. His whole body quivered with barely suppressed tension as his eyes, impatient as a hawk’s, scanned the top of the wall. Then he heard a young voice whisper: ‘You there, Balthazar?’

  ‘Course I’m here you totty-headed little shaver. Now chuck the bag over and let’s be gone.’

  A grunt was heard from the far side of the wall and a sack suddenly arced over the brickwork and landed with a soft thud in the muddy alley. A sharp smile briefly creased Bloodwine’s face and then he bent down swiftly to pick up the ill-gotten gains. As he straightened up, he heard the sound of pistols being cocked. He spun round and came face to face with two rogues, both of whom were pointing their firearms at him. Bloodwine’s eyes narrowed as he assessed his situation. He knew that a flintlock pistol was hopelessly inaccurate at a distance of more than a few yards, but the men were so close that they couldn’t miss if he tried to run. He cursed himself for his lack of attention, but he’d been too focused on the robbery to pay heed to anything else. It was a bad mistake.

  Bloodwine knew he was done for, but there was still a chance for his young accomplice to get away if he only stayed on the other side of the wall. And, after all, he thought, he was born to hang but maybe young Mark was whelped under a luckier star.

  ‘Who the deuce are you?’ His voice was sharp as a whip and loud enough for Mark to hear but, even as the words were leaving his lips, he realised it was too late. Mark Whitwell was already in the process of clambering over the wall to join him. One of the men, a squint-eyed scoundrel with the crooked nose of the habitual tavern brawler, directed his pistol at the boy. ‘Drop down lightly, my chicken,’ he rasped, ‘and stand with your master, otherwise I’ll put a ball between your eyes.’

  Mark hawked and spat a gobbet of phlegm that landed almost on the man’s boot, but did as he was told. Then he scowled at the two men and nodded at Bloodwine. ‘He ain’t my master. I never seen him before.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Bloodwine fixing the two with a disdainful stare. ‘I’m Balthazar Bloodwine. You may know me by reputation as I’m a thief-taker?’ He cocked his head inquiringly, but the two men just stood there and spoke not a word. ‘No? Then you are a pair of sheltered lambs and no mistake. Well, suffice it to say I had word that this lad was going on the sneak tonight and I thought to catch him at it.’ He pursed his lips and shrugged. ‘Which I was in the process of doing when I was so rudely interrupted by you two slubberdegullions.’

  The man with the crooked nose laughed. ‘Cease your cant, Bloodwine. If I had my way I’d give you a pop from me bulldog and take the spoils, but that ain’t how it’s to be.’ He turned his cold eyes on Mark. ‘Hoof it, sonny. You’re not wanted on this pilgrimage.’

  Mark glanced up at Bloodwine who gave him a curt nod. Mark needed no second bidding and raced off. Balthazar wasn’t a bad master and didn’t beat him without cause, but Mark had no wish to die with him. There were plenty of others who would pay him for his sneaking skills – which was more than Balthazar could do if he was going off to dance with the Tyburn tree.

  ‘Goodbye master,’ he muttered as he ran. ‘Dare say we’ll meet again in Hell.’ He didn’t look back. Nor did he think to fetch help for he’d already put thoughts of Balthazar Bloodwine’s fate from his mind. He wasn’t a callous lad, but with the sneak gone wrong he had no money to pay for food to fill his belly and remedying that situation was all that concerned him. He vanished into the night and out of Bloodwine’s life.

  Bloodwine didn’t turn to watch the boy’s escape. Instead he fixed his eyes on the two men and gave them the ghost of a grin. ‘You made mention of a pilgrimage,’ he said. ‘Well, I’m not a man for bending the knee to saints and their ilk so I’m hoping it’s going to be to my advantage because you two boiled-brained scuts have already cost me dear tonight.’

  Both men stared at him, their eyes cold as moonlight. ‘Shut your mouth, Bloodwine,’ said one of them. ‘You’re coming with us because there’s a fine gentleman wants to have words with you, but that don’t mean me and Jim have to listen to your prattle while we walk. So you can either come with us peaceful and silent or you can take a beating and then come with us painful and silent. It don’t matter either way to us.’

  ‘Don’t be so hasty, Samuel,’ replied the other man. ‘I wouldn’t mind giving cock robin here a basting for his insolence.’

  ‘Nah, best not,’ growled Samuel, ‘… ’less he asks for it. His Lordship don’t hold with receiving battered goods.’

  Bloodwine shrugged. He had no wish to meet the so-called fine gentleman nor had he any idea what was in store for him, but the two pistols made a powerful argument that he had no answer to – and he certainly didn’t fancy the idea of being given a basting by these two hardened street hackums. So, like Falstaff, Bloodwine decided that, for the present moment at least, discretion was the better part of valour. His grin became a fully-fledged smile – but there was no matching warmth in his eyes. ‘Very well, my lads, I’m persuaded. I’ll come peaceful and silent, but we’d best not keep your employer waiting any longer than necessary so lead on. I’m curious to make his acquaintance.’

  The two ruffians exchanged a quick glance. ‘Let’s hope your curiosity don’t get you killed eh?’ said Samuel. ‘Now step lively.’

  Still clutching the bag of stolen goods and flanked by his captors, Bloodwine walked out of the alleyway and into a very uncertain future.

  Chapter Two

  Wretched houses with broken windows patched with rags and paper lined London’s filthy streets as Bloodwine and his escorts made their way into the rookery known as Seven Dials. Barefooted young girls with matted hair and feral eyes lurked in doorways and watched them hungrily, offering glimpses of flesh beneath the great white coats that were their only covering. Then one brazen doxie stepped o
ut in front of them, opened her coat wide and said, ‘Oi masters, do you want to butter my bun? I can take you one at time or all three at once whatever’s yer pleasure.’

  No sooner had the words left her mouth than another thrust herself forward. The new girl could have been no more than twelve and her face was smooth and pock-free. ‘Nah, don’t listen to her. Her bun’s got a wasp in it, but mine’s fresh. I only just come to the city yesterday, from Eltham. I’m a proper country maid.’ She affected a curtsey and in the process revealed her plump legs and thighs.

  The first girl rounded on her, but Samuel laughed and shoved them both aside. ‘Shut yer pipes, trollops. You’ll get no socket money from us tonight.’

  ‘Bloody molly men,’ snarled the first whore, but her heart wasn’t in it. Instead she aimed a cuff at her young rival who ducked and skipped away already looking for new customers.

  Meanwhile, all around them, men and women dressed in every variety of ill-fitting, dirty clothing engaged in their usual nocturnal business of lounging, drinking, smoking, squabbling, swearing, whoring and fighting. It was a world Bloodwine knew only too well and it had never seemed so sweet to him now that he feared he was about to take his leave of it.

  Samuel pushed open the door to a low tavern which Bloodwine had no doubt doubled as a Flash Crib for some local crime lord and his gang of thieves. The big man shouldered his way inside. Bloodwine followed him with Jim close behind. The place was packed and the acrid smoke and the stench given off by so many unwashed bodies was thick enough to carve with a blade. However, at the sight of crooked-nosed Samuel, the crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses and the three men were able to walk unmolested across the room and up a staircase.

  ‘Not long to wait now, my handsome,’ murmured Samuel as he knocked respectfully on an oak-panelled door.

  ‘Don’t stand on ceremony, come in,’ answered a cultured voice which, to Bloodwine’s ear, contained just the hint of a Scottish accent. Samuel opened the door and gestured to Bloodwine to enter. Bloodwine winked at him and, feigning nonchalance, strolled into the chamber.

  The thief-taker had been expecting to see a bacon-fed gang leader, but instead he saw an elegant man in his mid-thirties sitting in a padded armchair by a small fireplace. The man held the stem of a wine glass between the long fingers of one hand and was dressed in the fashion of a gentleman. Bloodwine could see that, although his tight-fitting coat was of plain cloth and only lightly embroidered, he was a man of wealth and position. His lace cravat alone would be worth more money than Bloodwine could make even in a good month. The man said nothing, so he decided to take the initiative.

  ‘Well, sir, you sent for me and here I am. Balthazar Bloodwine, thief-taker, at your service.’

  The man eyed Bloodwine. His expression gave nothing away. ‘I know who you are,’ he said. ‘I didn’t send my men out on a fishing expedition to land the first shark that bit on their hook. It was you I wanted and it’s you I have.’

  Bloodwine nodded. ‘Fair enough, your lordship.’ Then his eyes narrowed and his voice became hard. ‘But why me? And who in God’s name are you?’

  Completely unruffled by Bloodwine’s angry tone, the man took a sip of his wine before replying. ‘I’m William Murray, Member of Parliament for Boroughbridge. But, more to the point as far as you’re concerned, I am also Solicitor General and the main spokesman for the government in the House of Commons.’ He smiled icily. ‘There, does that satisfy your curiosity?’

  Bloodwine shook his head. ‘Not in the bloody slightest. I asked you why me? and you haven’t answered. I’m not a Whig and I’m not a Tory and I say a plague on both your houses.’ He jabbed his finger at Murray. ‘The brutal truth is London’s a stew of lawlessness whichever party of gentlemen is in power and that’s why there’s always employment for a thief-taker like me.’

  Murray drained his glass. ‘Precisely, my dear chap, precisely. I, too, am sickened by the corruption that pollutes every aspect of our daily lives but, unlike so many, I intend to take action that will help cleanse the Augean stables.’

  Bloodwine smirked. ‘Forgive me, my lord, I’m not a scholar like you but, from what I remember of the old tales, I’d say you don’t bear much resemblance to Hercules, the cove who cleaned up that particular mess.’

  Murray’s chilly smile warmed up a degree. ‘No, you’re right, I don’t, but appearances can be deceptive.’ He inclined his head towards the bag that Bloodwine was still clutching. ‘For example, appearances would suggest that you are in possession of a bag containing stolen goods.’ Bloodwine flinched, but he held Murray’s gaze. ‘In normal circumstances that is a crime for which I, as Solicitor General, should see you hang.’

  Bloodwine swallowed hard. He was in a tight corner but he still had his wits about him. ‘But these aren’t normal circumstances are they, my lord? If they were I’d be tucked up in Newgate by now not standing here making your acquaintance.’

  Murray sniffed and sat back in his chair. He placed his wine glass on the small table at his side and then steepled his fingers and looked over the top of them at Bloodwine. ‘You are a villain, sir, as are all thief-takers, and you’re no stranger to violence – but I can see you are not without intelligence and resourcefulness. You also have a reputation for honest dealing when it comes to those you employ to advance your nefarious enterprises – a quality rare as hen’s teeth amongst thief-takers who, I am reliably informed, would sell their own mothers for a shilling.’

  Bloodwine grinned. ‘To be fair, sir, most thief-takers haven’t a notion as to who their mothers may be – or their fathers come to that.’

  ‘No doubt,’ said Murray. ‘But the point is, I may not be Hercules, but I have you in my power and I wish to use you as my agent to help clean the stables. Refuse me and you will surely hang. Accept my offer and you will most probably live and, if you do, you will be handsomely rewarded. So, what say you?’

  Bloodwine pulled a sour face. ‘It sounds like a Faustian pact to me.’

  Murray laughed. ‘Oh my dear fellow, I suspect you may be a more educated man than your rather uncouth appearance would have me believe. But then we’ve already agreed that appearances can be deceptive and, as Faustian pacts go, I wager this one will prove to be beneficial to both parties.’ He looked at the thief-taker expectantly. ‘Your answer?’ he prompted.

  ‘Do I have a choice?’ asked Bloodwine.

  ‘Absolutely none whatsoever,’ replied Murray.

  Chapter Three

  Within five minutes of meeting William Murray, Bloodwine found himself sitting on a stiff-backed chair with a mug of porter in his hand. Murray sat opposite him while the giant bruiser, Samuel, and Jim, his smaller but equally menacing partner in crime, stood by Murray’s side. They appeared to be little more than dull-witted meat puppets, but Bloodwine did not underestimate their ability to wreak havoc on him if so ordered. Stay respectful, he told himself. And curb your insolent tongue no matter how much it pains. He raised his mug in salute and squeezed his lips together into what could have passed for a smile. Murray gave him a barely detectable nod in return, but Samuel and Jim’s expressions remained hard and unyielding.

  Bloodwine resented the fact that his new master looked at him in the same way that he might have gazed upon a prize hound he’d recently purchased. He swallowed a mouthful of ale, but it did nothing to drown the bitter resentment that was festering in his guts.

  Better get accustomed to the idea of being kept on the end of a leash, Balthazar, he thought, because this tercel gentle will squeeze it tight unto death if you rebel.

  The image only served to further darken his mood, but he was not by nature a man to dwell on misfortune, either his or that of others, and immediately another altogether more pleasing notion popped into his head. Oh, but mayhap the day will come when this popinjay will have good cause to learn that this dog’s bite is far worse than its bark. He had no idea when or how this happy day would arrive, but he was as patient as a mantis and when it did he wo
uld strike. His expression didn’t change but anyone who knew him well would have recognised the glint in his dark eyes. He made an indifferent friend, but a very bad enemy.

  Bloodwine drained the rest of his ale, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and broke the silence by saying: ‘They say you know a man by the company he keeps. Well, it seems to me that you keep some pretty ripe company if Samuel and Jim are boon companions of yours, my lord – and now you’ve added me to your company of ne’er-do-wells.’ He arched his eyebrows. ‘Yet you say you’re an enemy of corruption and intend to root it out. So, forgive me for asking, but just how are you planning to set this noble enterprise in motion?’

  Murray sucked on his teeth and then replied: ‘You’re an arrogant scoundrel, Bloodwine, so heed my warning – don’t allow it to be your downfall. There are other thief-takers I have my eye on who would gladly swap places with you should they find themselves facing the prospect of the noose. Do I make myself clear?’

  Bloodwine nodded. ‘You do. In truth, you couldn’t be clearer as to my fate if I defy you, but I remain unclear as to exactly where I fit into your stratagem to rid society of corruption – so I’d like to hear what it is you want from me.’

  Murray sniffed and rubbed his hands together while he composed himself. Then he launched into a diatribe against a man Bloodwine quickly came to realise was a political enemy of Murray.

  ‘There is an MP who holds the seat of Barnstaple in Devon. He is a rogue, but blessed with a quick wit and a pleasant manner which he uses to deceive those less versed in detecting villainy than I. His name is James Inglethorpe and I would see him brought low.’

  Bloodwine stroked his chin and frowned. ‘I dare say you would my lord, but what crimes has this fellow committed to make him the target of your wrath?’

  ‘He’s used his influence to persuade ministers to grant him an extremely lucrative contract to transport convicts to the colonies of Maryland and Virginia. Then, when he’s deposited the wretches, the scoundrel loads up his now empty ships with tobacco which he brings back to England and sells at a fine profit.’