by Roger Hurn
Bloodwine shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea and two weeks isn’t time enough to find out.’
‘Isn’t it now?’ Samuel thrust his coarse red face so close to Bloodwine’s that it was all he could do to hold his ground as the man’s sour breath and spittle assaulted him.
‘Well, I suggest you take your finger out of yer arse, worm your way into Inglethorpe’s confidence, discover what he’s up to and bring our lord and master Inglethorpe’s head on a platter before the big day or it’ll be your head in a noose.’
From the way he smiled at him, and the relish in his voice, Bloodwine could tell Samuel was hoping he’d fail to deliver. Damn your eyes, you canting bastard, he thought, I’ll see you blind before you see me hang.
Chapter Nine
After leaving the brothel, Bloodwine dragged his weary carcass back to the Whitechapel tenement he called home. He was desperate for sleep, but his wife was in no mood to give him the peace he craved. As soon as he walked in she gave him a tongue-lashing that cut through his aching head like a blade with a serrated edge. She had been up all night trying to pacify their ten-month old child, Joshua, who was sick with fever, and now she was at the end of her tether.
‘Where the hell have you been, husband?’ she screeched. ‘This bloody baby won’t stop crying and fretting so, unless you can make him shut up and sleep, you can bugger off back where you came from!’ Her eyes were red-rimmed and raw and, from her half demented expression, Bloodwine feared that she might dash the child’s head against the wall at any moment if only to shut him up.
‘Give young Joshua to me, Sally,’ he said gruffly. ‘And go and buy some gin and brandy. A nip of gin will calm him soon enough – and the brandy will work for you and me.’
Sally’s eyes burned with resentment as she thrust the baby into her husband’s arms and snatched up the money he offered her. She didn’t kiss him or ask why his head was bandaged. All she cared about was finding the brief oblivion the brandy would provide – and the sooner the better. However, when she reached the door she paused and looked back at Bloodwine cradling the child and trying to soothe it. She didn’t smile and her gaze didn’t soften. ‘I curse the day you got that baby on me,’ was all she said.
Three hours later, after downing the best part of a bottle of brandy and yet still only able to doze fitfully, Bloodwine slipped out of the bed he shared with his wife. His skull felt as if it had shrunk and was now squeezing the life out of his brain, while the lump on the side of his head added to his misery by throbbing intolerably. He scooped icy water from the pitcher by the bedside and splashed it onto his face. It served to shock some of the pain away for an instant, but then it returned like an avenging angel. Bloodwine caught himself reaching for the brandy bottle. ‘Oh no you don’t, you raddled dolt,’ he muttered. ‘You’ve got work to do.’
So, instead of attempting to drink his pain away, he tiptoed over to the cradle where Joshua lay. The child was snuffling in his sleep. His father bent down and gently kissed his son’s forehead. To Bloodwine’s immense relief, the boy’s skin was cool and his fever had gone. Embarrassed by the strength of his own feelings, Bloodwine cursed himself for being a sentimental fool. You’re only glad because now you can leave without Sal haranguing you, he thought. So don’t be a hypocrite and tell yourself otherwise.
‘Is Josh living or dead?’
Startled, Bloodwine glanced over at his wife who was sitting up and hugging herself tightly with her thin arms. Her eyes as they watched him were fearful and she looked as brittle as old bones.
‘He lives. His fever is past and he’ll be hungry when he wakes … but let him sleep for now.’ He smiled at her, glad that he could give her good news.
Sally sighed and sank back on the bed. ‘Let him sleep? As Jesus loves me, husband, I hope he sleeps ’til the middle of next week because the good Lord knows I can’t take much more of his yowling.’
‘With his ague gone you won’t have to,’ Bloodwine smiled at her, but she didn’t return it. Her face was bleached white as ivory, but her eyes were filled with darkness. He knew she was lost inside herself, but there was nothing he could do to call her back. He had neither the words nor the time. So he sat back down on the bed and pulled on his boots. ‘Listen, Sally,’ he said briskly. ‘I’ve got to go now and I’ll be gone for a few days … maybe even a week or two.’
His wife sat up quickly and tears trickled down her cheeks. She wiped them away angrily with the back of her hand as if she was ashamed of showing any weakness. ‘Who is she this time, Balthazar? Another of your Old Nichol strumpets?’
Bloodwine stood up and glowered at her as he put on his coat. ‘It’s business if you must know, woman,’ he growled. Then, as quickly as it had arisen, his irritation faded and he sighed ruefully. ‘Though truth to tell, it’s me who’s acting the strumpet in this pantomime.’
Sally frowned at him. ‘What are you talking about, Balthazar? Speak plain because I’m too tired for your riddles.’
The thief-taker nodded. ‘Fair enough, Sal, but I reckon these two canaries will talk sense enough to you.’ So saying he reached into one of the voluminous pockets of his frock coat and took out the two guineas Inglethorpe had pressed on him when they’d arrived at Becca Harrison’s place the night before. ‘Here, take these to tide you over ’til I return.’
He tossed the two heavy coins onto the bed. Sally glanced down at them, but made no move to pick them up. Instead her eyes grew sharp with suspicion and she stared back up at her husband. ‘You don’t give shiners like these away lightly, husband. So what is this … guilt money?’
A shadow passed over the thief-taker’s face and he grimaced. ‘No, it isn’t, Sal, but I am engaged in a dangerous game that may well be the death of me. So, if I don’t come back, you take Joshua and go up to Hampstead and see a gentleman called William Murray. He lives there in style at a grand villa that sports the name Kenwood House. It’s him I’m working for and he’ll not let you and Josh starve if anything bad happens to me while I’m in his employ.’ Bloodwine had absolutely no idea if Murray would provide for his wife and son, but the hope of it was all he could offer. ‘But don’t worry your head about it, girl, because I’m a hard man to kill and I’ll be back here with you and the boy before you know it.’
Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, he bent down and kissed her on the top of her head and before she could argue or try and stop him, he was gone.
Chapter Ten
When Bloodwine arrived back at Becca’s home he was flabbergasted by the sight that greeted him. Inglethorpe was sitting in the battered armchair with Ruth, Becca’s youngest girl, dandling on his knee while he entertained Flash Harry, Susan and Rachel with some tall story that had them squealing with laughter.
Becca giggled at Bloodwine’s astonished expression. ‘’E’s a proper caution, your Mr Inglethorpe. When my bloody monkeys came sprawlin’ back at cock crow this morning I thought ’e’d throw a fit, but not a bit of it. ’E quotes scripture at me an’ says, “Suffer little children, Mrs Harrison, because our Lord said forbid them not to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”’ Bloodwine could not have looked more surprised if Becca Harrison had started speaking to him in tongues. ‘Not that Mr Inglethorpe’s comparing ’imself to Our Lord or nothin’ but ’e’s a good man and I’m proper pleased you brung ’im to me last night, Balthazar, ’cos you done me a good turn an’ no mistake.’
Becca’s almost girlish enthusiasm for her guest made Bloodwine suspicious. Something had happened between them in the hours since he’d been gone, but he had no idea what and that made him deeply uneasy. However, he didn’t have to wait long before Inglethorpe dropped the bombshell. A final gale of laughter from the children signalled that the MP had delivered the punchline of his tale and he looked over at Bloodwine with every appearance of being pleased to see him.
‘Ah, there you are my good fellow. I do hope you’re feeling much restored this morning. I’m still rather ropey, I’m afraid, but there�
�s nothing like a dose of laudanum to ease the pains of the body and the company of these splendid youngsters to raise a man’s spirits.’ He smiled warmly at Becca’s brood. ‘Now Susan, be a good girl and take Ruth, then I’ll give Harry a sixpence to go and buy you all a spot of breakfast.’ He beamed at them and they beamed back as if he was their favourite uncle.
Harry took the money and grinned broadly at his benefactor. ‘Fanks, Uncle James. I can’t wait ter come ’n live in the country wiv you.’ He spun on his heel and bounded out of the room clutching the coin tightly.
‘What the—?’ The thief-taker was stunned.
Inglethorpe held up his hand. ‘E’gad, Bloodwine, unbeknownst to them, those ruffians did me fine service last night and I count a couple of bruised ribs a small price to pay for it. Damned if I don’t.’ Bloodwine opened his mouth to speak, but Inglethorpe was in full flow. ‘I know you’ll think me an impulsive fellow, sir, but it so happens I have need of a nurse with Mrs Harrison’s skills in a venture of mine. I’ve searched high and low for one with her particular qualities and now, thanks to you, I’ve discovered her.’ He inclined his head towards Becca and she simpered and curtseyed. Her fawning attitude set Bloodwine’s teeth on edge.
‘Well, ’tis an ill wind as they say.’ He kept his tone even and friendly. ‘But what’s all this about young Harry living with you in the country?’
‘Oh, it’s not just Harry. I’m taking Mrs Harrison into my employ. You see I have a vacant cottage on one of my farms that will make a fine home for her and the children. Goodness knows the country air will do them good and they’ll be far happier in Devon doing honest work in the fields and as servants in the homes of friends of mine than living a life of misery and drudgery in this cess-pit.’ He glanced at Becca. ‘No offence intended, madam.’
‘None taken, sir,’ she said and curtseyed again. ‘As you know, I’m more ’n ’appy to come ’n work for you an’ you’ll never ’ave cause to regret it.’
‘Oh I’m sure I won’t madam, I’m sure I won’t.’ He smiled again then turned his attention to Bloodwine.
‘And I’ve a proposition for you too, sir, if you’ve a mind to listen.’
Chapter Eleven
Bloodwine inclined his head slightly, his expression one of mild curiosity. ‘I’m all ears,’ he replied.
‘Then you’ll certainly hear something to your advantage,’ said Inglethorpe. He leant forward and pointed his finger at the thief-taker. The avuncular character had vanished and his eyes were hard and calculating. ‘You’ve proved yourself to be a man of action, sir, and I suspect one of no mean intelligence. After all, a fellow in your profession needs to be in full possession of his wits or he’s soon for the gallows.’
Bloodwine shrugged, but made no comment.
‘Well, here’s my proposition. I have a ship currently at anchor at Deptford Reach waiting to take a cargo of convicted felons from Newgate Prison to the American colonies where they can have a fresh start as indentured servants.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Bloodwine. ‘But how does this concern me? I’m neither a convict nor a sailor.’
‘Indeed you’re not,’ replied Inglethorpe. ‘But you’re a man I can trust and that’s what I need. You see, not all of the convicts will arrive in America. I have other plans for them.’
Bloodwine nodded slowly. His heart was beating hard in his chest, but he was careful not to show his impatience to learn Inglethorpe’s secret. ‘I see, and what would those other plans be?’
‘Oh, I’ll save that revelation for when you’ve pledged yourself to me and are standing on the deck of the good ship Jonathan. No, all you need to know for now is that I’m a generous employer and no one in my service ever wants for anything.’ He fixed the thief-taker with a penetrating stare. ‘Refuse my offer and continue your life here in London as a thief-taker and I doubt you’ll live another five years; but accept it and I guarantee that, as the good book says, you’ll reach a “good old age, full of days, riches, and honour”.’ The skin around his eyes crinkled and he added: ‘Well, perhaps not honour exactly, but a full purse certainly and I can’t say fairer than that.’
Bloodwine kept his expression neutral. ‘I’m a poor sailor, sir, and I fear a long sea voyage will not be to my taste. Yet I have a suspicion that, like some of your convicts, my destination will be far closer to home than Maryland or Virginia. Am I right?’
‘Egad, sir, you’re as sharp as a serpent’s tooth, but I’ll say no more of the matter until I know you are my man body and soul.’
Bloodwine drew in a long breath and frowned as if he were giving the proposition a great deal of thought. Then he finally exhaled and said: ‘You can depend on it, Mr Inglethorpe. I’ve known you for but a short time yet I’ve seen you are a fair and decent man.’
‘’E is that alright,’ said Becca. ‘An’ you should be grateful for ’is offer. Thief-taking is a precarious profession, Balthy, but now, thanks to Mr Inglethorpe here, you got proper employment that won’t end with you danglin’ from a rope or getting a knife in the guts.’
Inglethorpe beamed approvingly at Becca like a priest with a particularly remorseful penitent. ‘Mrs Harrison is a wise woman in more ways than one, Bloodwine.’
Balthazar smiled like a man amongst friends. ‘You never spoke a truer word, sir. And now that I’ve taken her advice and entered your service perhaps you’ll be good enough to share with me the nature of my duties?’
Inglethorpe chuckled indulgently. ‘My dear fellow, as the bard says I can see that you stand like a greyhound in the slips straining upon the start of our venture, but tomorrow will be time enough for you to learn what it is I require of you.’
The thief-taker opened his mouth to press the matter further, but then the door crashed open and young Flash Harry burst into the room carrying a cloth full of cheese, sliced ham, boiled eggs and hot rolls. His sisters squealed with delight and danced like demented banshees around their brother. Inglethorpe roared with boisterous good humour and busied himself with making a fuss of Harry while Becca prepared the spread. As Bloodwine watched his new employer playing the part of the benevolent uncle he knew that any chance he might have had to gain the information he needed to save his neck had gone for the time being. ‘There’s nothing else for it,’ Balthazar, he thought. ‘You’re going on that ship tomorrow whether you like it or not.’
Chapter Twelve
On a bleak December day in 1742, Richard Ralph, an unemployed tailor aged twenty with a clear complexion, fine cheekbones and a slim, athletic build, wandered the narrow London streets not far from where the notoriously rank Fleet Ditch emptied out into the River Thames. He paused in front of a bookstall in White Fryers Gate Way and picked up a book entitled Origenes: Contra Celsum – a defence of Christianity, by a third century theologian. It was rare and expensive and Ralph was in desperate need of money, so while the bookseller’s attention was momentarily distracted by another potential customer’s query, he seized his chance and, still clutching the book, took to his heels. The furious book seller raised the hue and cry and a band of public-spirited citizens in need of a little adventure to brighten their otherwise drab day gave chase. Ralph outpaced them, but he knew he couldn’t continue running full pelt through the streets without attracting suspicion, so he sought refuge. However, he was no better at hiding than he was at stealing and was soon discovered, along with the pilfered book, holed up and gasping for breath in a dog kennel. At his trial, Ralph denied ever having been at the stall or in the dog kennel. Not surprisingly, given the overwhelming evidence, the jury didn’t believe him. He was found guilty of grand larceny and sentenced to transportation to the American colonies for seven years.
The hapless tailor spent a month barely surviving in the dismal reeking plague-pit that was Newgate Prison and bitterly regretting his moment of madness. Then, just when he feared he would die in that fearful place, he and thirty-five other convicted felons were unceremoniously dragged out of their cells and paraded through th
e London streets to a former slave ship, the Jonathan, which was due to sail for America the following day. It was as he trudged despondently up the gangplank to the vessel that Balthazar Bloodwine first laid eyes on him.
James Inglethorpe stood next to Bloodwine on the quarter deck and nudged him in the ribs. ‘See that’s the kind of fit young chap I’m looking for. He’ll do very nicely for my ladies and perhaps for some of my gentlemen too.’
Bloodwine made no comment, but Inglethorpe had already switched his attention to two female prisoners. They were filthy and ragged, but their faces were undeniably pretty and their figures buxom. ‘Now there are two peaches just ripe for the plucking,’ he said, his Devon accent thick with lechery. ‘Give ’em a wash and sprinkle them with rosewater and my gentlemen will be falling at their feet. Damned if they won’t.’ The MP bit on his bottom lip and he narrowed his watery blue eyes as he looked over the rest of the prisoners like a buyer at a meat market. ‘Hmmm … those three are the pick of the crop, Bloodwine, but if you unearth a rose on this dung-heap then feel free to add it to the haul. After all, you’re a man who knows a fine filly when he sees one.’ He winked at the thief-taker. ‘Which is more than can be said of your predecessor in this undertaking. He caught the French disease from a raddled doxie and now the poor fellow can barely piss in a pot, let alone see to his duties.’ Inglethorpe shook his head and grimaced. Then he looked squarely at Bloodwine. ‘Never fear, sir, I take care of those who’ve been loyal in their service to me and I’ll pay for a pox doctor, but I think his misfortune is a blessing in disguise for I have no doubt that you’ll be a marked improvement on that unfortunate jackanapes.’