One night though, she witnessed something which had stayed with her to this day. The family were staying at a house in a small town, in mid-summer, and the society in which she found herself seemed as heavy and claustrophobic as the weather. She had finished her duties for the day and was lying in bed, about to go to sleep, when a strange noise reached her ears. It was a mixture of metallic clashing and wailing voices, becoming increasingly louder. Curious, she got out of bed. As she watched from the window she saw, to her astonishment, a procession of women coming around the corner not too far away. Every one of them was without her veil; they had been discarded! And instead of robes they wore long dresses. Their hair was loose, flowing freely down their backs, and as they moved along the street the women wailed and sang, all the while banging drums, cymbals and other percussion instruments. To the rhythm of this noise they danced wildly, surrendering control of their bodies and minds to the full moon, which shone brightly in the night sky.
As they came closer she went out onto the balcony. From here she could see the whole street, able to observe but not be observed. Not that the women would have taken much notice of her, as they seemed lost within their own worlds. They passed beneath her window and she could see their faces, their expressions one of ecstasy and total abandonment. And yet wherever they were at that very moment, they were no longer separate but together in a place where women were free to express themselves. In this way, they had reclaimed the night as their own.
The following morning Miss Leigh had walked around the bazaar and there, once more, were the women going about their daily business, their veils across their faces and dressed in the dark attire which symbolised their suppression.
It was as if the night before had been only a dream, Miss Leigh said, yet she knew it had been real. These women, with their secret life, were walking among men who thought they were under their control, with no idea that they were actually beyond their control and at least once a month, at full moon, showed their real selves.
Miss Leigh explained that within every female there is a primitive, wild side and that we need to harness the powers of nature to help strengthen this naturalistic side. Using the night allows us to access those emotions and feelings which are dormant during the daytime. She said this was why she had begun the Circle of Sappho in the first place, so that through these meetings, and her teachings, we could learn to awaken this side of our nature and once it had been allowed to emerge, use it in a positive, powerful way. And it was very important this happened, she said, because if allowed to surface without any control, it could become dangerous not only for the individual but also for the society in which they lived.
Yet, these primitive emotions must be allowed to surface, said Miss Leigh, as to ignore them would only turn us into the daytime personification of those blacked-robed women; suppressed and artificial. To be able to endure our future lives as ‘dutiful wives’, we would always have this other side of us which could not be taken away; something which we could call our own and that would allow us to be free when we needed to be.
In the same way as we had our duties and obligations to the school, lessons, prayers and routines, once a month, under the full moon, we could renew our powers through participation in the moon goddess ceremonies and worship of Aphrodite. This is what Sappho taught, she said, and this is what a previous inhabitant of the estate had understood. It was her notebook, Miss Leigh told us, which had first suggested the idea of starting the Circle, or rather continuing it, as it had originally been created by another woman. Miss Leigh had discovered this notebook when she had swum across the lake to explore the island. She had found it in a box, along with several other items relevant to performing the necessary ceremonies for empowerment. The box had been left inside the recess of a temple, which had been built on the island. From what Miss Leigh had learnt since, the woman’s husband had encouraged her fully and indeed had built the island, temple and passageway that linked them with the main house. If and when we students were to marry, she said, this would be the desired state of union, the two people helping each other to reach their potential, not just as husband and wife, but as man and woman. Although some of our husbands might find the concept of mutual union abhorrent, if they were to find out the reality, she said, they would in fact benefit greatly from it. In this way we might help our husbands find their own empowerment in the years to come.
It seems both women and men have access to this ‘night’ power, although women normally benefit from it more, which is a way to allow fierce emotions that burn within them to be let out. As these were normally suppressed during the day, this nocturnal outlet allows it safely to be expressed. It is actually through women that enlightened men – as Miss Leigh called them – might find their own outlet and connection to this power.
She then warned us that we have a responsibility to ourselves, as women, and to our husbands, to retain access to this force and keep it alive within us. It is solely down to us because our very survival depends on our connection to our deeper instinct.
The entry finished. The ceremony itself had not been recorded. The next entry mentioned the fact that Grace had been invited to Miss Leigh’s room that evening to discuss an important matter. Swann turned the page, but stopped. The entries were now unreadable, as they had been written in code. He looked at the clock; it was time to leave. He would return to the diary with the intention of deciphering its code and learning the secrets that must surely be hidden within it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Swann left his office in Gay Street and headed towards his warehouse in the Avon Street district. As he crossed over Wood Street and into Barton Street he noticed Isabella Thorpe. Ever since his arrival in Bath, she had been trying to convince Mary to organise a dinner party so she could become ‘better acquainted’ with him; so far he had been successful in avoiding it. She was conversing with a friend a little way down Barton Street, so Swann quickly retraced his steps and headed along the southern side of Queen Square and then turned left into Princes Street and into the more notorious part of the city, where he had his warehouse.
About a month ago he had seen Isabella while he was in disguise. He was in his usual beggar’s outfit, as he was on his way to see George and Bridges at the Fountain Inn, but upon seeing Isabella had thought for a moment of formally introducing himself to observe her reaction, but refrained as the consequences of ‘breaking cover’ could be calamitous, even fatal. He had walked past and as he did so, overheard her comment to a companion: ‘People like that should not be allowed in this part of town.’ Swann smiled to himself at the memory.
Once in his beggar’s disguise again, Swann had made his way back to Avon Street itself and the Fountain Inn, where no one but George and Bridges knew his true identity. Inside, he found the two men already there. He bought three drinks at the bar and carried them across to where the thief-takers were sitting.
‘Mr Swann, why that is very kind of you, sir,’ said George, as the drinks were placed on the table in front of him.
‘You can have this one as well, George,’ said Swann, pointing to his own glass. ‘I may need clarity tonight. Do you and Bridges know what to do?’
‘Yes, Mr Swann. But where are we heading, you haven’t told us yet?’
‘Lansdown Crescent. It is in the Upper Town, do you know of it?’
George nodded and Swann told him the house number, the description of the gentleman they would be shadowing, and the exact spot where Swann would be hiding when the money was handed over. He had left instructions with Fitzpatrick earlier to inform Moorhouse that he would not be followed from his residence, but instead Swann would be concealed near the old East Gate – where the money was to be handed over – to observe the transaction. He wanted Moorhouse to believe there was nobody shadowing him as experience had taught Swann that he would most likely keep looking behind him, and thereby arouse suspicion if the blackmailer or his associates were watching. He wanted George and Bridges to follow this prospective
Member of Parliament in case the location was suddenly changed or if Moorhouse became a victim of another crime, robbery, with the large amount of money he was carrying. If there was a change of plan, one of the thief-takers would remain with Moorhouse while the other would let Swann know.
‘Once you arrive at the old East Gate,’ continued Swann, ‘find somewhere to wait out of sight but from where you can see me. If I raise my left arm it means there is trouble but to stay where you are. If I raise my right arm it means …’
‘… there’s trouble and to come right away,’ finished George.
‘Exactly.’
Swann realised Bridges had not signed a word or lip-read since he had entered the inn. His head was down and he looked miserable.
‘What is wrong with Bridges?’ he asked George.
‘It’s Rosie, sir. She is being thrown out of her home tomorrow.’
‘I see. Well I may have a solution.’
Swann tapped Bridges’ arm and he looked up.
‘Do not worry, Bridges,’ Swann signed. ‘I know of a building in the area where Rosie can stay as long as she wants to.’
Bridges’ expression did not change.
‘I do not understand,’ Swann said to George. ‘I thought Bridges would be happy.’
‘She lost her job yesterday and had to pawn her violin, but still cannot afford to stay anywhere for long.’
‘I assume you have not had a change of heart regarding her staying with you?’
George looked sheepish but resolute.
Swann tapped Bridges’ arm again. ‘Perhaps I forgot to mention it, but this place is rent free. Rosie does not have to pay any money for as long as she stays there.’
At this news Bridges’ grinned. He downed the contents of his glass and hugged Swann.
Twenty minutes later, after Swann had deliberately taken a long and convoluted route through the city’s streets, he found himself at the old medieval East Gate. He was cautious, glancing around to observe who was in the vicinity, before settling back behind a large pile of rubbish in a dark alleyway. From here he could observe the transaction between Moorhouse and the blackmailer, but not be observed himself. The site chosen for the exchange was a suitably isolated one – even though it was right in the middle of the city centre – and at the same time strategically well-situated, as it had several means of escape heading off in many directions.
Swann felt secure knowing the two thief-takers would be nearby in the event of trouble. With blackmail, as any crime, the potential for violence was always present.
No one had passed his viewpoint for about ten minutes prior to the moment Swann spotted, out the corner of his eye, movement to his right. As the figure approached, he recognised it as Moorhouse. As he walked past the spot where Swann was hidden, another figure emerged from the shadows ahead, near to the East Gate. It was a woman. Swann had not expected that.
‘Fancy a good time my love?’ the woman asked Moorhouse.
Swann realised the danger; she was a prostitute, not a blackmailer, but could easily damage the whole rendezvous.
‘No, thank you,’ replied an anxious Moorhouse.
‘I know how to please a man,’ she cooed, unwilling to take no for an answer.
‘Please go away. I am meeting someone here; they may see you.’
Angry at this rebuttal the woman strode off, muttering obscenities as she went. A few moments later another woman appeared, but she too was swiftly sent on her way.
‘Who were those women?’ a voice from the shadows demanded.
‘Prostitutes, whores,’ replied Moorhouse.
A bearded man stepped forward, emerging from the direction of the river. Swann realised the man had been waiting in the alley.
‘Do you have the payment?’
The man spoke with an Irish accent that sounded vaguely familiar to Swann. Moorhouse held aloft the bag in which the money was contained. The blackmailer gestured for it to be handed over, which it was. The exchange was brief and Moorhouse momentarily looked around, perhaps expecting something to happen, before turning and leaving. The bearded man himself then turned back towards the river and disappeared from view. Swann waited a few seconds then stood up. Damn! Swann suddenly realised if the blackmailer was heading to the river, he might have a boat to take him across to the other side. If this was the case, Swann would lose him. He had to act fast. He started to move from his spot but immediately squatted down once more as the blackmailer re-emerged from the alleyway. The river had been a ruse. The bearded man passed within a few feet of Swann, but remained ignorant of his presence. As soon as he thought it was safe to do so, Swann left his hiding place and began to follow. He could not see them, but he knew George and Bridges would be in attendance.
The blackmailer reached the outskirts of the Avon Street district. Swann was not surprised. He had wondered if Wicks was behind the blackmailing and this was his territory. He assumed the bearded man was one of Wicks’ henchmen and was taking the moneybag straight to his boss. Suddenly three men emerged from a side alley and instantly set about the bearded man.
‘Get ’im,’ cried one of the robbers, as another struck the bearded man in the face which felled him to the ground.
This was surely not part of any plan, Swann thought as he ran forward, his right arm in the air. He dived into the trio of robbers, who were unaware of his presence until that moment, knocking two of them to the floor. Swann picked up the other man and punched him in the face, sending him sprawling against the wall, his head cracking as it collided with the stone.
As Swann turned his attention back to the other two robbers, he saw one with a pistol aimed at him. Before he could fire, however, he was knocked out by the foot-long iron bar Bridges always carried about his person.
The bearded man lay on the ground, groaning. What should Swann do? He could not leave the man here, but at the same time did not want to reveal that he had been following him. Swann thought about this dilemma for a short while and then gestured for George and Bridges to help the man up. They moved along the passageway, underneath the light from a nearby gas lamp. It could now be seen that the man had been wearing a false beard, which was hanging at an angle off his face. As the light caught the man’s bloodied features, Swann gasped.
‘Lockhart!’ he said.
‘Swann?’
‘Where are you taking the blackmail money?’ Swann growled. ‘Wicks?’
‘I do not know what you are talking about,’ replied Lockhart, feeling his body where he had received several punches and as many kicks. ‘I was just passing this way when I was attacked by those men.’
‘Do not play me as a fool, Lockhart. I followed you here from the East Gate, where you collected money from Mr Moorhouse. I know you are involved in blackmail, but not who organised it.’
George tugged at Swann’s shoulder. He whispered in his ear.
‘Yes, George, I believe this is also the person you followed to Bristol. Is that not correct, Mr Mottram? I think that was the name you used while in that particular city. What is Mary is going to make of all this?’
‘No, Swann, please do not tell her. She would disown me. Ask anything of me.’
‘You admit then that you are part of this blackmail scheme.’
‘Yes.’
‘Who is behind it?’
‘As you suspected, it is Wicks. I was on my way to him with the money.’
‘So what do you suggest I should do?’
‘Let me go, as if nothing happened.’
Swann laughed. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘If Wicks does not receive the money, I will be killed.’
‘And why would I wish to prevent that?’
‘Swann, there are things that you do not know.’
Swann smiled. ‘That phrase is becoming rather familiar of late.’
‘You have to let me go,’ said Lockhart. ‘I cannot say why, but you must if you have any thought for King and Country and if not for them, then for your sister.’
‘How is Mary involved in these matters?’
‘You would not want to deprive her of her bridegroom, would you?’
Swann did not respond, as Bridges was now signing that one of the robbers was beginning to gain consciousness. The small group moved out of the passageway and around the corner.
‘I will let you go on one condition,’ said Swann.
‘What is it?’
‘I want you to retrieve the letters that are being held over Mr Moorhouse’s head.’
‘But Kirby has them, if he ever found out …’
‘So Kirby is involved as well. I cannot say it surprises me. You will have to make certain he does not discover who took them. It is your choice, Lockhart. I could rouse Fitzpatrick right now to arrest you and there would be nothing at all that Kirby could do about it. That would, of course, also end any wedding plans.’
Lockhart realised he had no real choice.
‘Give me until Saturday. I have to be at Kirby’s office in the afternoon and by then I will have figured out a way to obtain the letters.’
‘You have until Saturday evening at this very time, eight-thirty. If you double-cross me you will live to regret it. In the meantime, I will take this as evidence.’
Swann picked up the moneybag.
‘I need that,’ protested Lockhart. ‘I have to make sure Wicks receives it.’
Swann thought for a moment. If he was lying then Swann would have an irrefutable way to break off the attachment with Mary; she would certainly not want to be associated with a known member of a blackmail gang. If he was telling the truth, Swann realised Lockhart was probably the best chance he had of bringing this case to a satisfying resolution. He handed the moneybag back to Lockhart.
‘We will escort you to where you have to go, to make sure you do not run into any more trouble.’
As good as his word, Swann and the thief-takers followed Lockhart to a nearby brothel, which was owned by Wicks and frequently visited by Kirby. As Lockhart stopped by the building, he looked either way and then entered.
The Circle of Sappho Page 17