by Roger Hurn
‘Indeed it isn’t.’ Inglethorpe’s voice was preternaturally calm for a man whose fists were raw and bloodied and whose eyes burned with a mixture of hate and despair. ‘Walter, go down to Mrs Harrison’s room and fetch young Harry to me. Tell him his uncle James has something to show him. Use smiles and soft words because I want him to come willingly.’ The man moved to obey, but Inglethorpe said: ‘Give me your flintlock first. I don’t want you to alarm the lad.’
Walter handed over his weapon and made off back down the stairs. Once again Bloodwine found himself staring at the business end of a pistol as Inglethorpe watched him like a viper eyes a frog.
‘Ezekiel, Rueben, go after Walter. When he brings Harry to me, go into Mrs Harrison’s chamber and make sure she doesn’t leave it. I don’t want her to see what I have in mind to happen here. Besides, I have other plans for her and her little ones.’ The two men grunted and hurried away leaving the MP alone with Bloodwine.
‘Kill me if you must, Mr Inglethorpe, but Harry and Becca have had no part in my scheme. You’ve no reason to harm them.’ From the look of contempt on Inglethorpe’s face, Bloodwine could tell he was wasting his breath, so he shut up. There was too great a distance between them for him to attempt to jump Inglethorpe, but he held himself ready in case a chance presented itself. It didn’t.
‘Whotcha, Uncle James.’ Harry bounced out onto the walkway and bounded up to the man he trusted and admired. ‘Wotcha got ter show me?’ Then he saw the pistol pointing at Bloodwine. ‘Oi, wot’s goin’ on?’
Inglethorpe grabbed Harry and held the pistol at his head. ‘Be still, Harry, or I’ll blow your brains out.’ Bloodwine stared in horror, helpless to intervene on Harry’s behalf.
‘Thanks to you, thief-taker, I’ve lost the most precious person in my life – the only person I think I’ve ever truly loved. She was my second mother and my sister and you’ve taken her from me.’ He showed his teeth in a parody of a smile. ‘I wonder if you’ve ever had someone you loved more than anybody else in this world cruelly snatched away from you? Someone who is your own flesh and blood and dearer to you than all others? No? Well, that fate will soon befall you because I believe young Flash Harry here is your son.’ Inglethorpe laughed. The sound was like two rocks grinding together and it set Bloodwine’s teeth on edge. ‘Oh don’t try to deny it, man, I can see the truth of it in your eyes. Well, I’m going to send him to join my Rosa. It won’t bring her back, but I believe in taking an eye for an eye and, as the psalm says: “The righteous will rejoice when he sees vengeance; he will bathe his feet in the blood of the wicked.” And I will rejoice in your misery because I’m not going to kill you, Balthazar Bloodwine, I’m going to keep you a prisoner here on my island because I want to have many long years enjoying my vengeance by watching your guilt and wretchedness slowly eat your soul.’
Bloodwine ground his teeth in impotent fury. Harry gave Inglethorpe a verbal volley, but it only made the MP press the pistol even harder against the boy’s skull.
‘Tell me whose man you are, Bloodwine, and I’ll spare Susan, Rachel and Ruth. They’ll do very well for certain of my friends who have, shall we say, particular tastes, but at least they’ll live. And you can think of them at their labours while you rot in your cell.’
The thief-taker gave up the name without hesitation: ‘William Murray.’
Inglethorpe gave a rictus grin. ‘Ah, I should have known that pompous prig with his holier-than-thou airs and graces would be behind this attempt to lay me low. He’s always hated me.’
Then Inglethorpe groaned and pitched forward. He was out cold because Becca had crept up behind him and, wielding a musket like a club, smashed him on the back of his head with the butt.
Bloodwine leapt forward and grappled with an astonished Walter, but Becca ended the man’s resistance when she thrust the musket in his face. ‘Don’t make me fire this fing, ’cos I don’t want blood on me dress.’ Walter didn’t argue and surrendered on the spot.
The thief-taker felt an intense wave of relief surge through his body. He didn’t need another death on his conscience. ‘I owe you a debt of gratitude, Becca,’ he said.
Becca grimaced. ‘You really do, Balthy, but we ain’t outta the woods by a long chalk yet.’
He nodded in agreement. He realised that his hastily conceived plan was still feasible so he took the gun from Becca. ‘I agree, so let’s leave here while we still can. But to do that we’ll need a safe passage that only Inglethorpe can guarantee so we’ll be taking him with us and, for that, I’m going to need you, Walter.’ He pointed the gun at the Inglethorpe’s servant and ordered him to help the semi-conscious MP to his feet. It was struggle, but Walter finally managed to hoist Inglethorpe’s beefy frame up off the floor and the man clung to him like a drunkard. Then they staggered and stumbled down the spiral stairs with Bloodwine in close proximity.
Becca grabbed Harry’s hand and said: ‘C’mon Harry, there’s no time to dawdle.’
The boy looked at his mother with puzzled eyes. ‘I’m comin’, but is Balthazar really my Pa?’
Becca frowned ferociously, cuffed his head and said crossly: ‘Ask no questions, hear no lies. Now get on wiv yer.’ And she dragged him off down the stairs after Bloodwine, Inglethorpe and the grossly overburdened Walter.
Chapter Twenty-Three
As they descended the stairs, Bloodwine asked the question that was bothering him. ‘Inglethorpe sent two of his men to make sure you stayed in your room with the girls, Becca. So how did you manage to shake them off?’
‘Easy. They’re a couple of country clods and fick as cow-shit. An’ like all men they fink wiv their sugar sticks. So I showed ’em me crusty puff and said did they wanna piece o’ this while Mr Inglethorpe was ovverwise engaged? Well, these bumpkins couldn’t resist the chance to dip their whore-pipes in some proper big city muff so they put dahn their muskets an’, while they was strugglin’ outta their breeches in a race to be the first to ’ave me, I picked up a musket an’ suddenly they went all of a droop.’ Becca giggled at the memory. ‘An’ now they’re in my room trussed up like chickens.’
Bloodwine shook his head and marvelled at the cupidity of men. ‘Well, you used the most effective weapon for the task, Becca. And I’m not talking about the musket … but where are the girls? Are they safe?’
‘You’ll see,’ was all she said.
The thief-taker received his answer almost immediately. The spiral staircase opened out into the main hall of the keep and there were Ruth, Susan and Rachel being fussed over by a group of half a dozen young women, while Richard Ralph, the book thief, stood next to them shuffling his feet and chewing his fingers nervously.
‘I took a key off one o’ them smutty stallions which unlocked the doors where them dainty ladies was bein’ held. I told my Susan ter go an’ set ’em free while I came an’ saved yer bacon.’ She nodded approvingly. ‘An’ it looks like that’s jus’ wot she done.’
Bloodwine’s heart sank. He needed men who could handle the oars to a jolly boat to effect their escape from Lundy back to the mainland, not a twittering band of whores and a pretty boy. But he didn’t waste time on regret; instead he called them all to order and told two of the heftier young women to take charge of the still dazed and befuddled Inglethorpe.
Walter relinquished his burden gladly, but Bloodwine had a further use for him. ‘Go over to the big house and tell your people that my friends and I are leaving the castle and the island, and if so much as a serving maid attempts to prevent us from doing so I’ll put a ball into your master’s brain. But, if all goes well, I’ll release him when we’re at the jetty … though I don’t want to see you, or anyone else, in musket range when I do, understand?’ The man looked uncertain so Bloodwine hammered home his point. ‘Mrs Crabtree’s dead so you won’t have to answer to her, and your master will thank you for doing the sensible thing and saving his skin.’
Walter glanced at his master who was being held upright by the two women as he had no more co
ntrol over his limbs than a life-sized rag doll. He still seemed comatose, but then Inglethorpe surprised everybody by dragging his chin up from his chest and forcing his watery eyes back into focus. ‘Do as the cur demands, Walter. I’ll be revenged on him in my own time.’ Inglethorpe’s voice was shaky and weak, but it carried conviction. Bloodwine had no doubt he had made an implacable enemy who meant exactly what he said … but he would worry about that another day. Now all he wanted was to be gone from Lundy with Becca and the children so he could give Murray the means by which the Solicitor General could destroy the MP. ‘Then I’ll have fulfilled my part of the bargain and be free of both of them,’ he thought. He just hoped that Fate didn’t have other ideas.
Thankfully, Walter carried out his instructions to the letter and, after a long and miserable trek across the island where the children cried and complained and everyone was drenched and chilled by the fine drizzle and sharp wind, the fugitives finally arrived unmolested at the jetty where a jolly boat was moored. Darkness was sweeping down from the lowering sky and the sea was choppy and foam-flecked. All of them could taste salt on their lips and the thought of braving the treacherous waters in the small craft filled each one of them with dread.
‘Crack a whid, Mr Bloodwine, is that it?’ One of the young women stared at the jolly boat. ‘If you think I’m setting foot on that thing you’ve got another think coming. Being a whore here on the island ain’t much fun, but it’s a hell of a sight better than being dead at the bottom of the ocean.’
‘You got that right, Cissy,’ said another. ‘Ol’ Nick hisself couldn’t make me get on that thing in this weather.’
Two of the other girls vociferously added their agreement. Bloodwine wasn’t sorry. They were young and slender and he had no use for anyone who wasn’t prepared or able to take up an oar to good purpose – but he still needed a crew. He turned to the two women holding Inglethorpe. ‘What about you ladies? He hoped against hope that they’d throw their lot in with him because they were strapping girls with strong backs
They glanced at each other, then nodded. ‘Count us in, Mr Bloodwine,’ said one, a flame-haired woman with a spirit to match. ‘Me and Molly have had our fill of prigging and vaulting with Inglethorpe and his mutton-mongers in that bloody castle for no reward. We want to go home.’
‘Lou’s right, Mr Bloodwine,’ said Molly. ‘We’ve ’ad it wiv this place.’
‘I’ll take my chances with you too.’ Richard Ralph was ashen-faced with fear and the thief-taker wondered how much of a liability he’d be as the ex-tailor had delicate hands and was as slight as a peeled wand.
But Becca was more astute than the thief-taker. ‘I’m relieved to hear that, Richard,’ she said. ‘’Cos you can help Harry keep the girls calm while I pull on an oar.’ She eyed him gravely. ‘I truly fink that’ll suit us both just fine.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Forty minutes later, Bloodwine, Molly, Louisa and Becca were struggling to row the jolly boat across to the Devon coast. It was rolling and pitching alarmingly on the unforgiving water and already the palms of their hands were red raw and the muscles in their shoulders and backs were burning and screeching with fatigue. Their progress was desperately slow as they tried with scant success to coordinate their strokes.
Harry had little Ruth cradled in his arms and was singing to her while Richard Ralph was trying to distract Susan and Rachel with stories. He was making a valiant effort to keep the fear out of his voice, but his eyes were wide and anxious. The girls looked at each other knowingly, then Susan leant forward and squeezed his knee. ‘It’s all right, Richard,’ she said, ‘Me ’n Rach’ll look after yer if anyfink bad ’appens. Which it won’t ’cos Balthazar is in charge ’n ’e never lets nuthin’ bad ’appen to us.’
‘That’s right,’ said Rachel solemnly. ‘Now it’s our turn ter tell you a story.’
‘I think you just have,’ he replied forcing himself to smile. ‘But go on, I’m listening.’
The jolly boat continued on its crazily erratic course for a few more minutes while the blustery wind bit into their bones and the mizzle covered them like a thin, grey shroud. Bloodwine felt despair bloom in his heart. He knew that their strength was fast ebbing away and, when it did, the current would sweep the vessel far out into the trackless ocean and inevitable oblivion. He cursed Murray and Inglethorpe for his plight but, above all, he cursed himself. Thanks to his machinations, he’d unwittingly condemned Becca and the children to a cruel and untimely death. Then, as if reading his thoughts, Becca yelled, ‘You shudda shot Inglethorpe while you ’ad the chance, Balthazar. ’E said ’e’d do fer you an’ a Turk like ’im will keep ’is promise sure as eggs is eggs.’
Bloodwine felt a surge of something akin to affection for the hard-bitten woman. So, despite his conviction that the sea would soon claim them all and save Inglethorpe the job, he bit back his anguish and replied as if he still believed they all had a future. ‘No, Becca, I’ll carry the tale to Murray and he’ll deal with him, not me. I’ve never killed a man in cold blood and I never will. Now quit your nagging and concentrate on rowing.’
She was about to give him a mouthful of abuse when suddenly a bright yellow and orange flash of flame erupted from the top of the keep. It was swiftly followed by the shattering sound of a violent explosion.
‘That bloody bastard’s firing a cannon at us,’ shouted Bloodwine. There was a loud whistling sound and Molly half stood as if to see better what was causing it when her head disintegrated in a gory mist of blood and bone. Her torso collapsed back down into the boat. Susan and Rachel started screaming and Becca dropped her oar and snatched them up into her arms as if her scrawny body could protect them against iron.
Without Molly and Becca to help keep it steady, the jolly boat bobbed and rocked alarmingly as waves smacked and slapped against it. ‘Richard, grab Becca’s oar and bloody row or we’re done for!’ screamed Bloodwine. ‘We’ve got to get out of range before he fires again.’
But there was no help to be had from the tailor. The sight of Molly’s decapitated body was too much for the fey young man to bear. His face turned green and he vomited copiously. Bloodwine’s shoulders slumped. He was defeated and he knew it. It was only a matter of time before the cannon blasted another missile at them. They weren’t the easiest target to hit, but the thief-taker had no doubt that his luck had finally run out.
The cannon belched fire several times more and then the inevitable happened. One ball hit the stern a glancing blow shattering the wood and sending splinters flying like angry hornets through the air. Thanks to the trajectory of the cannonball, they fell harmlessly in the sea, but there was now a jagged gap in the boat’s side and each successive wave dumped ever more water through the breach. Bloodwine knew it would only be a matter of minutes before the jolly boat sank. He looked at Harry and smiled at him, but the boy was too busy trying to comfort his little sister to notice. The thief-taker wasn’t sure if it was the salt clinging to his eyelashes that caused his eyes to water, but he rubbed it away roughly. He had no time for tears.
Susan and Rachel were clinging to their mother like limpets while Louisa sobbed uncontrollably over the cruel death of her friend. Richard was praying loudly as the rising sea water lapped greedily over his feet and his desperate pleading irritated Bloodwine. ‘God won’t save us,’ he growled. Then a grim smile lit up his face. ‘But these men just might if we can hold on long enough.’ For, as he’d squinted into the rain and darkness, he’d seen a fishing smack ploughing through the heavy sea towards them.
‘Becca, Louisa, be ready,’ he yelled. ‘Help’s on its way!’ He was already in the act of stripping off his heavy coat and kicking off his boots. ‘But if it doesn’t get here in time and we sink then hang on tight to the oars and they’ll keep you two and the girls afloat.’ He glared at the children like an Old Testament patriarch commanding his errant people and barked: ‘Susan, Rachel, stop bawling and do exactly as your mother says or you’ll have me to answer to!
’ The two small girls wiped their eyes and nodded. ‘Good girls!’ he said with a confidence he didn’t feel. ‘I know you won’t let me down.’
Then he pulled his shirt over his head and tied the arms and neckline into a knot. He waved it over his head to fill it with air. ‘Wot the blue blazes are you doin’, Balthazar?’ Harry was staring at Bloodwine as if he’d taken leave of his senses.
‘Watch and learn, Harry,’ said Bloodwine as he swiftly tied the bottom of his shirt to trap the air inside. ‘Now give Ruth to me and when the boat goes down hang on to this shirt. It’ll stop you sinking.’
‘Yea, but wot abaht you, Pa?’ asked Harry. The lad was frantic at the thought that he was about to lose the man he’d only just discovered was his father.
Bloodwine grinned at the boy. ‘Your old man has another secret,’ he said. ‘People thought he was as mad as a March hare, but, when I was a kid, my dad taught me how to swim.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
The fishing smack sailed up alongside the rapidly sinking jolly boat. The men on the deck leaned over the side and Becca and Louisa scooped up Rachel and Susan and, along with Bloodwine, passed all three girls up to the fishermen’s outstretched arms. Meanwhile Harry clutched Bloodwine’s air-filled shirt to his chest whilst the water in the boat rose ever higher. It was fast reaching the critical point when it would go under and the lad knew it. He was fighting hard to keep his terror at bay. He wanted to be first off the jolly boat more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, but he knew he had to wait until his sisters were safe and he wasn’t going to disgrace himself in front of his father. His trust in Bloodwine was absolute, but he couldn’t see how his father’s shirt would save him when the boat was gone and the sea claimed him. His wildly thumping heart told him the panic rising in his chest would swallow him whole the moment the water closed over his head. Paralysed by dread, he allowed the shirt to slip from his grasp and he looked at the thief-taker with desperation in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mouthed. ‘I can’t—’