by Roger Hurn
‘Don’ worry ’bout ’er, Ma. I kin run rings round ’er, you see if I can’t.’
‘You’ll shut your mouth, Harry and do as I say,’ snapped Bloodwine. Becca gave the boy a light clip round the ear as if for good measure. Harry winced and pouted sulkily, but he did as he was told. ‘We’re in a fix. I haven’t got time to waste telling you everything, but we’ve got to get off this island as soon as possible. You see, Inglethorpe’s a marked man and I was sent by the Solicitor General to find out what he’s up to. Well, now I know and I’ve got to get back to London with the intelligence post haste or I’ll be the one scragged at Tyburn, not him.’
Becca’s eyes blazed. ‘Damn me for a fool, Balthy. I shudda known this was one of your sharpin’ tricks! But why did you ’ave to drag me ’n me little ’uns into it?’
Bloodwine sighed impatiently. ‘You got yourself involved when you agreed to Inglethorpe’s offer. All I wanted was for you to patch him up so don’t blame me for this ill – it’s of your own making.’
Becca started to argue but the thief-taker held up his hand. ‘Quit your blubber! There’s no profit to be had in arguing the toss. What’s done is done. Now get your things and go down to the quay with the children and wait for me there. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’
Another flash of lightning split the air. A thunderclap burst over the house with a force that rattled the windows while the rain continued unabated in its fury. Becca shook her head, her face sour as curdled milk.
‘If you fink I’m taking my babes out in that deluge to ’ang around for hours while you fanny-arse abaht, you gotta anuvver fink comin’. No, either you come wiv us, Balthazar, or we ain’t leavin’.
It suddenly hit Bloodwine that there was no point in them going because they would only meet Inglethorpe, either on the track or at the quay, and he would insist on them returning with him. Then another thought struck him like a fist in the pit of his stomach. With the storm raging, the work on the wall would come to a halt. He had no idea of how long it would take the overseers to round up their charges and march them back to the cells in the tunnel, but he had a feeling that time wasn’t on his side as both guards and convicts would be desperate to take shelter. So, if Payne, Jones and Parker pulled off the ambush successfully, then they and the freed prisoners would also soon be on their way to the castle – and the last thing Bloodwine needed was for them to meet Inglethorpe on the road. Everything was fast coming to a head and he knew he had to somehow wrest back the initiative before it all ended in disaster. He cast the doubt from his mind and made a decision. ‘Where are you and the nippers lodging, Becca?’ he asked.
Becca grimaced. ‘We got a room in the tower wiv the whores. It ain’t much but it’s better ’n wot we ’ad back in London.’
‘Then take the children there now and barricade yourselves in until I come for you.’
She frowned. ‘Why?
He glared at her. ‘Don’t argue with me, Becca. Just do as I ask and be quick about it.’
She still hesitated, but then Harry spoke up. ‘C’mon, Ma. Uncle Balthazar’s a wily cove, so if ’e says that’s wot we gotta do, then that’s wot we gotta do.’
Becca chewed on her lip for a second then nodded. ‘All right, but you’d better not be givin’ me Grub Street news, Balthy, or I’ll ’ave yer ’ide, you see if I won’t.’
Harry grinned and gave Bloodwine a cheerful thumbs up, but Becca’s face was pinched with worry as she gathered up the children and hurried out of the room.
As soon as they had gone, the thief-taker sprang into action. He was unarmed and he needed to rectify that situation without delay if he was to gain the advantage over whoever came calling. He strode over to the bureau desk and frantically ransacked the drawers hoping against hope that Inglethorpe, who prided himself on being a fine example of an English country gentleman, would keep a brace of pistols there. His heart sank when the nearest thing to a weapon he found was an ornate ivory letter-opener.
Bloodwine forced himself to remain calm. He scanned the room looking for any place that might hold a weapon. The cabinet was crammed with books and the tables sported mainly ornaments so there was nothing that offered any encouragement. He was on the verge of giving up when he spotted a highly polished hexagonal wooden box half hidden under one of the tables. He knelt down and pulled it out. It was, as he desperately hoped it would be, a pistol case, but it was locked and there was no key. He bit on his bottom lip as he considered the setback. He guessed that Inglethorpe probably kept the key with him, but this didn’t deter Bloodwine. He hadn’t survived as a thief-taker for so many years without knowing all the tricks of the criminal trade, including the black art of lock-picking.
He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and took out a leather pouch containing a set of picks. Within seconds his nimble fingers had worked their magic and the lid sprang open. To his relief, two finely worked flintlock pistols were encased there. Bloodwine guessed they were Inglethorpe’s pride and joy. It gave him no pleasure to think that, if all went well, they would help bring about the MP’s downfall. For, despite himself, he felt a grudging affection for the man. He was corrupt, but he’d never been anything less than generous to the thief-taker. Bloodwine shrugged. It did no good to dwell on such things and, like it or not, the choice had been made for him – he was Murray’s creature now.
He pocketed the pistols and pushed the case back under the table, but as he stood up a wave of dizziness swept over him. ‘Steady, Balthazar, steady,’ he muttered. ‘You’re in need of a nip of something to put you back in the pink and there’s just the thing the doctor ordered.’ He moved over to a side table and picked up a crystal decanter and a brandy glass. Then he sank down on a mahogany armchair and poured himself a generous slug of the aromatic liquor. He guessed it had been smuggled onto the island like the tobacco, but he didn’t care. He closed his eyes while the brandy warmed its way down his throat. It settled in his stomach and calmed his churning guts. He opened his eyes and stared at the door. ‘Be resolute, old friend,’ he murmured to himself. ‘The die is cast so there’s no need to go looking for trouble because all you’ve got to do is sit here drinking brandy and trouble will come and find you.’ He patted his coat pockets. ‘And when it does I’ll be ready.’
Chapter Eighteen
Half an hour later, Bloodwine was still sitting in the mahogany armchair, the almost empty brandy decanter at his feet and a full glass in his hand. No one had disturbed him and he felt his nerves ticking more loudly than the mantel clock. He was fighting the urge to get up and stare out of the windows into the gale for the fifth time in thirty minutes when he heard raised voices outside and a furious banging on the door. He smiled sourly. In some perverse way, he was relieved. He knew that the trouble he was expecting and dreading in equal measure had finally come. He just didn’t know which face it would wear – Inglethorpe’s or Payne’s. ‘Oh well, Balthazar,’ he muttered. ‘Let the dice fall as they will.’ He gulped down his brandy and stood up, his expression hard.
There was a commotion in the hallway and when the thief-taker heard Jabez Payne roundly cursing someone for being a platter-faced jade and a fussocky slattern his worst fears were confirmed. He’d been hoping that the corrupt MP would have been the first to make an appearance, as he fancied it would be an easier task to overpower Inglethorpe and then, with Inglethorpe neutralised, deal with the convicts – but it wasn’t to be. The lighterman and his band of felons had arrived first and had, by the sound of it, come face to face with Mrs Crabtree. Bloodwine wondered how Payne would deal with the formidable woman. He received his answer almost immediately. The drawing-room door opened and she backed in. She was closely followed by Payne who had the muzzle of a musket jammed into her considerable stomach. Her face was scarlet with fury, but Bloodwine wasn’t surprised to see that she didn’t appear to be the slightest bit intimidated. She was giving Payne the tongue-lashing of his life. Payne didn’t reply. Instead he drew back the weapon and then jabbed it v
iciously into her belly. The air whooshed out of her lungs and she doubled up clutching her stomach. Payne’s bellicose expression twisted itself into a leer and he whipped the gun’s muzzle across the side of her head, knocking her sideways to the floor. She lay there moaning and half stunned.
‘That’s more like it. I never could stand a yappy woman.’ Payne stood there as rain water dripped from him. He was soaked to the skin and his thin hair was plastered to his skull. He grinned at the thief-taker. ‘Forgive me somewhat bedraggled appearance, Mr Bloodwine, but I see you’re tucked up cosy ’n dry in ‘ere while me an’ the boys ’ave bin puttin’ your scheme into motion.’ He glanced at the brandy decanter, then at Bloodwine. ‘But no ’ard feelins eh? So if you’ll be so kind as to ’and me that ’andsome bottle, I’ll ’ave a swig of what’s left of its contents ’n warm meself up.’
Bloodwine did as he was asked and, whilst still keeping his firearm pointed vaguely in Bloodwine’s direction, Payne guzzled the last of the brandy. While Payne was drinking, Parker and Jones entered the room herding four terrified servants with them at gunpoint. They made them kneel down on the floor by the far wall and Parker stood over them menacingly.
The thief-taker was puzzled. ‘So, where are the other convicts?’ he asked.
‘Back dahn in the tunnel locked up in their cells along wiv their gaolers,’ replied Payne. ‘It’s a bit of a tight squeeze, but they preferred it to bein’ dead – which is wot they wudda bin if they’d argued abaht it.’
Bloodwine shook his head slightly. ‘Why?’
Payne shrugged and threw the empty decanter at the panelled wall where the servants crouched. It shattered above their heads and broken shards rained down on them. The servants flinched and Mrs Crabtree glared up at him but wisely kept her counsel. She had no wish to antagonise him further and take another beating, but vengeance stared out of her dark eyes and she promised herself that when she unleashed it on him it would be slow and agonisingly painful.
‘’Cos this way there’s all the more booty and whores for me ’n’ Billy ’n Nat.’ The lighterman smiled his broken-toothed smile. ‘Didn’ see no good reason ter share wiv them ovvers. After all, they was all convicts an’ yer can’t trust scum like that.’ Parker chuckled but Jones looked uncomfortable. ‘Nah, yer see, Mr Bloodwine, we didn’ need them or the gaolers. And, truth ter tell, I’m beginnin’ ter wonder if we need you.’
Payne pointed the musket at Bloodwine. The thief-taker felt his stomach twist into a knot. He had no doubt at all that the man would kill him without a second thought. The barking irons in his pockets might as well have been on the moon for all the help they were, but he wasn’t going to beg for his life. It wouldn’t have made the slightest difference and he was damned if he’d give a man like Payne the satisfaction of watching him squirm. They locked eyes for a second, but then Payne said: ‘Nah, don’ git all serious on me, Mr Bloodwine, I’m jokin’ wiv yer. Yer see, I’ve gotta get this baggage ter tell me where her master keeps ’is strongbox and where she keeps the key to the whore’ouse before I put a ball in yer ’ead.’ He laughed in a way that made Bloodwine’s skin crawl and swung his musket back at Mrs Crabtree.
‘Oi, gut-face, git back up on yer ’ind legs ’cos I need yer ter show me where ’is nibs keeps ’is loot. An’ I’m guessin’ the dainties are kept locked up in the castle keep so I’ll fank yer for the key to that while yer at it. Then we’ll lock you up in there and bring the ladies back ’ere to entertain us.’ He nodded. ‘Yep. Seems like a fair trade ter me.’
‘But what about this Inglethorpe cove?’ said Jones. ‘He’s not going to like this.’
Payne laughed. ‘‘Don’ you fret abhat ’im, Nat. All ’is boys is locked up an’ I don’ fink ’e’s gonna argue wiv Mr Musket ’ere.’
‘Yeah, shut your gob, Nattie. Jabez is right. We’re onto a good thing so don’t spoil it.’ The prizefighter’s high-pitched voice was shaking, but whether from cold or excitement, Bloodwine couldn’t tell.
Payne kicked out savagely at Mrs Crabtree. ‘C’mon you ol’ cow. Spill the beans or I’ll put a ball in yer guts.’
‘Nah, best put one in her head,’ said Parker. ‘No musket ball’s going to get through all that fat she’s carrying.’
Mrs Crabtree stared up at Payne defiantly. ‘Put the ball where you like. I’m telling you nothing.’
‘’Ave it yer own way then,’ snarled Payne as he put the musket to his shoulder and took aim. ‘We’ll sweat the answers out of yer master, Inglethorpe, when ’e gets ’ere an’ we’ll ’ave sport doin’ it.’
‘You’ll do no such thing! Put that bloody gun down now!’ Bloodwine’s command cracked out like a whip. He stood there with his two pistols trained on Payne. ‘So help me, Payne, I’ll shoot you down like a dog if I have to.’
The lighterman lowered the musket and turned his face to Bloodwine. When he spoke his voice had a dry, stiff crackle like thick paper and his eyes were as cold and flat as a snake’s. ‘Will yer now? Well, that’s always good ter know.’ Then he smiled a gallows smile. ‘’It him, Billy.’
Bloodwine sensed a movement from just behind him and then something cold and hard smacked him behind his right ear. His vision exploded with coloured lights, his knees buckled and he pitched forward into darkness.
Chapter Nineteen
It only took him a second or two to regain his senses, but he was now lying helplessly in a crumpled heap on the floor. His pistols were gone, but Payne was still aiming his musket at Mrs Crabtree’s head. ‘Last chance, lard-arse. Free, two …’
The glass in the window shattered as the barrel of a musket thrust through it and a shot rang out. A fountain of blood spurted from Payne’s throat and his head rocked back. His gun slipped from his grasp, his neck went loose and the light died in his eyes.
As Parker and Jones looked at each other in panic, Bloodwine pushed himself up onto his feet. He held out his hand to Mrs Crabtree, but she gave him a look that dripped with venom and so he shrugged and turned to the two convicts. Before he could speak, Inglethorpe strode into the room, a double-barrelled flintlock pistol clutched in his pudgy hand. Two armed men were at his back. ‘Surrender or you’ll be cut down.’
Payne’s violent and bloody death seemed to have drained the fight out of the blacksmith and the bare-knuckle fighter, so they did as they were ordered and meekly handed over their weapons to Inglethorpe’s men. The MP ignored them and went straight to Mrs Crabtree. ‘Rosa, are you hurt?’ His voice was full of concern and tenderness.
Rosa Crabtree allowed herself a brief smile that warmed her coarse features for an instant and then they were glacial again. ‘I’m quite well, thank you, James, but something is very wrong and Mr Bloodwine …’
Inglethorpe nodded, his face grim as he interrupted her. ‘It certainly is, Rosa, it certainly is.’ Mrs Crabtree attempted to carry on speaking, but he held up his hand and turned to the thief-taker. ‘What have you got to say about it, Bloodwine. I saw your brave attempt to save Rosa and I thank you for it, but who are these men?’
Bloodwine felt Crabtree’s spiteful eyes on him, but he had no choice other than to try and bluff his way out of the situation. He hoped she’d been too winded and dazed by Payne’s treatment of her to have grasped that he was in cahoots with Payne, Jones and Parker. ‘They’re convicts I selected to work on your wall,’ he said smoothly. ‘They must have overpowered their guards and escaped.’ He wasn’t a praying man, but he fervently hoped that Parker and Jones had the wit to play along with him.
‘‘Well, I must admit we were in too much of a hurry to reach the castle and get out of this damnable storm than to pay any attention to the tunnels,’ said Inglethorpe. ‘Though now I come to think on it, there was no sign of any sentry posted.’ Then his expression lightened, as if absolving himself from any blame for the situation. ‘But even if I’d have noticed, I would have quite reasonably imagined that the poor fellow was inside the main cavern sheltering from the gale.’
Inglethorpe
’s face hardened again as he glared at Jones and Parker. ‘Did you slaughter my men?’
‘No sir, we didn’t. It was Payne who killed the sentry. He was the murderous one. We just locked all the others up. We didn’t harm nobody.’ Parker’s fluting voice made Inglethorpe’s eyes widen in surprise. But, before he could speak, Mrs Crabtree broke in but, to Bloodwine’s relief, it wasn’t to accuse the thief-taker of colluding with the convicts.
‘He killed Ben Cobley?’ She stared down at Payne’s lifeless body, her voice raw with grief. ‘Little Bennie was my sister’s boy.’ She didn’t cry, but pain was etched onto her face.
‘He was,’ said Inglethorpe. ‘And these felons will answer for it with their lives I promise you that, Rosa.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Adams, Chalker … help me and Mr Bloodwine take these men to the Castle and throw them off the walls into the sea.’ He jerked his head down at Payne’s body. ‘We’ll throw that wretch’s corpse over as well. He’s beyond my reach, but he’ll be fish food nonetheless.’ He turned back to his half-sister. ‘Rosa, please accompany us and see justice done.’
Jones’ vast jaw hung open in disbelief and his eyes were confused as if he was doubting the seriousness of Inglethorpe’s intent, but Parker was far more cunning than the blacksmith. He’d realised that on this isolated island, Inglethorpe was judge, jury and executioner and that he meant to do exactly what he said. He looked over at Bloodwine, but the thief-taker was too intent on watching the MP to return his glance. Parker wondered if it was in Bloodwine’s mind to rescue him and Jones when the moment came or whether he planned to let them die. He weighed up his options and then took a calculated risk.
‘You want to know who’s behind this, Mr Inglethorpe? Well, I can tell you and why … but only if you spare my life.’
He felt the eyes of everybody in the room upon him. His mouth was suddenly dry and his skin prickled. He knew his life was hanging in the balance. But then Inglethorpe smiled. ‘Ah, there’s nothing like the prospect of a man’s imminent death to loosen his tongue if he thinks that by doing so it will save his neck.’ He chewed on his lip for a moment as if considering how best to react. Then he smiled again and his mouth had a knowing tilt to it. Bloodwine felt little beads of sweat collect in his hair line. His face was washed clean of expression, but his eyes were haunted and he wished he had a weapon in his hand – but he didn’t.