Avon Street

by Paul Emanuelli

‘Why are you still here, John?’ James asked, his mind full of questions. ‘Do you know who shot me?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Daunton,’ John replied, ‘I didn’t see whoever it was, but we believe it was someone on horseback, waiting for you in the square.’

  ‘You were there, John. I saw you. Why did you follow me?’

  ‘I was concerned,’ John said, ‘and I was proved right.’

  ‘There’s no end to this,’ James said. ‘It must be Caine behind it. When they find out that I’m still alive they’ll try again to kill me, and eventually they’ll succeed, unless I do something.’ His only hope, he knew, was to escape to Ireland, but something held him back. Deep within, the thought kept revisiting him; he wanted to hit back, to fight them. ‘I don’t know how to fight the likes of these,’ he mumbled to himself, as though still dreaming.

  ‘Don’t think you’re alone,’ John replied. ‘You’re not. You have friends. I’m willing to help.’ He seemed sincere, James thought, but how could he trust him? Why was he so keen to risk his life for a comparative stranger?

  ‘Whatever I do, I have to get away from here,’ James said, his mind slowly recovering, his thoughts becoming clearer. ‘Charlotte and Charity must not be put at risk by my presence. I need somewhere to recover and to think.’

  ‘Where can you go?’ Richard asked. ‘You’re not well enough to travel far. Would Sean Brennan take you in?’

  ‘I’m sure he would, but Caine’s men already watch him and I could not allow him to put his own life at risk,’ James said. In his mind, James went through a list of names; realising that the number he could call friends had diminished in recent years, just as the number of acquaintances had grown. When he thought of those who would help and whom he could trust, the list seemed pathetically short. He could not stay with Richard or Sean without endangering them, and as for hotels he knew he would soon be tracked down. ‘There is of course Frank,’ he said. Even as he spoke, the words felt hollow, triggered a deep unease within him. Thoughts flitted through his mind that he preferred to dismiss.

  ‘Are you mad?’ Richard exclaimed. ‘Please do not seek Harcourt’s help. He is not to be trusted. When will you come to your senses and heed my warnings?’

  Richard’s response was to be expected, James thought, and yet this time the sincerity of the outburst struck home, though he still could not believe that Frank would betray him; they were too close to even consider it. ‘Well then, there is Charlie Maggs,’ James said.

  ‘The man is a thief and for all you know is linked with this Caine gang. Go to Ireland, James, as soon as you are well enough. You’ll be safe there … or go to the Constabulary.’

  ‘I cannot go to the Constabulary and if I go to Ireland I will only add to my brother’s problems,’ James said. ‘No, I will not run, and you misjudge Charlie. He is at heart a good man, and besides a former thief might make a good ally now. He knows all there is to know about hiding, and he owes me money. He may well be willing to give me refuge in payment of his debt; he was certainly grateful when I defended him. No one would think of looking for me at his house.’

  ‘But surely the Constabulary keep a watch on Mr Maggs, and may he not be in league with this Caine?’

  ‘Charlie was one of the best safecrackers and burglars in England, but he hasn’t committed a crime in years. He was innocent when I defended him, though all the evidence pointed to his guilt. He could not burgle a house at his age, with rheumatics of the joints and the gout. Charlie has a house in The Paragon and I am certain that he would hide me, and know how to keep me hidden. I think he can be trusted.’

  ‘I would be wary of Mr Maggs,’ Richard said, ‘and yet I would rather you trusted him than Frank Harcourt.’

  ‘I understand your concern, but I need somewhere now.’ James hesitated. His enemies seemed to be all around him, and in truth he no longer knew whom it was safe to trust. A wounded animal would look for somewhere safe to hide and recover, but where was there? It would have to be Charlie, but would he take him in, and for how long could he trust him? James beckoned Richard closer, and whispered to him, ‘Can I ask yet another favour?’

  ‘Ask it,’ Richard replied, his voice also hushed.

  ‘I cannot pay you now, but I promise that I will.’

  ‘I don’t look for repayment,’ Richard said. ‘If I can help in any way, you know that I will.’

  ‘Find me a house and rent it for a month or so; somewhere on the edge of the city, a place where the coming and going of strangers will not be noticed. I may not be able to prevail on Charlie’s hospitality for too long and besides, we may need a bolthole.’

  Richard looked relieved, but could make no reply as their conversation was interrupted when Charlotte and her companion came into the surgery. ‘I am glad to see you recovering, Mr Daunton,’ the woman said.

  James recognised her immediately. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, and he was lost for words in his growing confusion.

  ‘I think it right and proper that you dress more appropriately now that you are recovering,’ Charlotte said, passing a shirt to her husband.

  Richard and John helped him to put on the shirt. ‘I have only a vague impression of your presence Miss … ?’ James said, struggling against the pain to remember her name.

  ‘Miss Belle Bennett,’ she replied, ‘I was in Queen Square when you were shot.’

  ‘You were the actress in The Garrick’s Head,’ he said, wondering with some disquiet at the coincidence of her being there at the time of his attack.

  ‘You remember me,’ Belle said. ‘Yes I was and still am an actress.’

  ‘I thought you were well known to James?’ Charlotte said.

  ‘Merely an acquaintance,’ Belle replied.

  James wanted to speak but instead only winced from the sudden pain as he tried to move. He looked down at the bandages around his wound. There was a dark patch of red, but the bleeding seemed to be slowing and the fabric was relatively dry to his touch. The pain was still intense whenever he moved, though.

  ‘Wear this,’ Richard said. He had fashioned a sling to support his arm and take its weight away from his wounded shoulder. He helped him with the shirt and James threaded his arm painfully into the bandage and sighed as he felt it take the weight.

  James looked again at Belle, ‘I’m sorry we meet again under such circumstances.’

  ‘It was Miss Bennett who stopped you from bleeding to death,’ Richard interrupted. ‘She is an excellent physician.’

  ‘I did what anyone would have done,’ Belle replied.

  ‘I think not Miss Bennett,’ James replied.

  ‘I simply helped you, as you helped me in The Garrick’s Head that night.’

  James had thought her striking that night; her pride and anger accentuating her beauty. Yet now, as a more compassionate and gentler side of her nature softened her every feature, she seemed even more beautiful. He was conscious that he was staring at her, and she at him. ‘Frank apologised to me afterwards,’ he said. ‘Though perhaps it would have been better if he had apologised to you?’ Her expression changed and he read plainly the obvious distaste on her face at the mention of Frank’s name.

  James looked away, his glance taking in the others. ‘I have put you all in danger,’ he said. ‘For that I apologise … I must get away from here quickly and put you at no further risk. Charlotte can you get some of the blood off my jacket and coat, I will trust in the darkness to hide the worst of their appearance. And perhaps I can borrow one of your hats, Richard, to make me less recognisable.’

  His mind flooded with questions. He daren’t ask if anyone had seen Frank Harcourt. He was too terrified of the answer, too alarmed at the reaction that the mention of his name seemed to provoke. He needed to trust people now more than he had ever needed in the past, and yet he was unsure of whom he could trust. John Doyle had helped him, but why had he followed him? But he had already told John his plan. Perhaps that had been a mistake, none the less it would be bette
r to take him with them now, than set him loose. He found himself wondering at the coincidence of Belle being in the square at the very time he was shot, but tried to dismiss the thought.

  Richard smiled at him. He could at least trust Richard, but he had a family and no matter how willing he might be, they could never be put at risk. John Doyle interrupted his thoughts. ‘Let’s not be hasty, Mr Daunton. There is still a man in the street outside and he is watching your house, he will be on the lookout for anything out of place. You won’t get far in your current condition and he is bound to notice anyone staggering down the street with injuries. We need to think this through.’

  ‘If I were to leave with James, I mean Mr Daunton,’ Belle said, ‘it would be less obvious. We would simply look like a couple leaving a social event, where the man has had a little too much to drink. Arm in arm, I could help him walk.’ She looked around the room as though waiting to hear some better idea, but none came. ‘I also have a favour to ask of you, doctor,’ she said, drawing Richard to one side. James struggled to hear what was said, but to no avail.

  After a while Richard broke off his conversation with Belle. ‘I will have a cab waiting around the corner,’ he said to James, ‘and you could go to Maggs’ house, but what about Mrs Hawker? She will not remain here without you.’

  ‘I will go and explain to Mrs Hawker,’ John said.

  ‘No,’ James replied. ‘I will speak to her if you fetch her to me and then we will all leave together as though we were leaving a party.’

  ‘I thought you wanted Mrs Hawker to go to Ireland?’ Richard said.

  ‘I know her too well to even hope that she will go without me now,’ James said. ‘Perhaps you can get the luggage to us later, Richard, and take care of Horatio for a while? He’s a good dog.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  James took some time to explain to Mrs Hawker all that had happened that day and to set her mind at rest concerning his condition. Eventually, they all assembled in the hallway. Belle and Mrs Hawker wore bonnets which covered much of their faces and James wore one of Richard’s larger hats. Richard was already wearing his coat and James was surprised to see him carrying his doctor’s bag. ‘Are you coming with us, Richard?’ he asked.

  ‘No; I have another patient,’ Richard said.

  As they prepared to leave, Belle said, ‘Five people cannot leave the house inconspicuously. The more we try not to be noticed, the more we will draw attention to ourselves, so we should do the opposite. You must all be actors. We have been to a party which we have enjoyed, so we must laugh and chatter and make noise as though we hadn’t a care in the world.’

  When they emerged onto the street, James felt his own lack of acting skills was mirrored on the part of the other three, but was more than compensated for by Belle Bennett’s, who laughed and giggled as though she hadn’t a care in the world. Eventually they all found their voices and in a mist of noise they went down the street and around the corner to the waiting cab. James put his good arm around Belle’s shoulder and Belle’s arm was around his waist, and they walked down the street like lovers. For a moment at least, he was conscious only of the nearness of Belle.

  ‘Don’t look, but I’m sure there were two men watching your house,’ John said. There is only one now.’

  The cab was waiting around the corner in Duke Street as Richard had arranged. James boarded quickly, helped on by John and Mrs Hawker, and after the strained laughter of their exit from Richard’s house the group fell into an exhausted silence. The weight of pretence had been lifted and they could find nothing to put in its place. James looked out of the coach window as Belle and Richard walked down the street together.

  Chapter 18

  Molly had been steadily growing weaker when Belle had left the house that afternoon and she feared the worst on her return. As she led Richard into the room in Bridewell Lane, Belle saw at once the surprise and poorly concealed anger on Jenny’s face. But as soon as Jenny saw Richard she composed herself, her hand flying almost instinctively to her hair which had gone without brushing for days. ‘I thought you had deserted us,’ she said, obviously straining against her pain and anger. ‘You said you would only be gone for a little while.’

  ‘I’m sorry I was so long, Jenny,’ Belle said. ‘How is Molly?’

  ‘Worse,’ Jenny said. ‘At least I think she’s worse. I don’t know what to think. I’m at my wits’ end.’

  Belle ran to Molly on the far side of the bed and Richard followed. ‘This gentleman is Dr Richard Wetherby,’ Belle said. ‘He has come to see Molly and he is a very fine physician.’

  ‘I’m sure what Belle says is true,’ Jenny said, curtseying to Richard, ‘but I have no money to pay you, not now, doctor.’

  Richard smiled in response. ‘You look so tired, Jenny,’ he said. ‘You must take some rest if you are to help Molly.’ His words had not made her any less concerned with Molly, and yet Belle thought she saw a certain lightness in her expression that she had not seen for days. ‘Miss Bennett has helped a friend of mine and if I can help her friend in return, then no payment will be necessary,’ Richard said.

  He took off his coat and handed it to Jenny. She took it awkwardly, as though she had never taken a man’s coat before. Richard sat on the bed and stroked Molly’s forehead before looking around the room. ‘It is very hot and airless in here,’ he said.

  ‘The other doctor told me to keep her warm,’ Jenny said.

  ‘I take it you have given Molly a hot bath and Ipecac and I see that she has been blistered on the neck?’ he said.

  ‘Yes we’ve done all that we were told,’ Jenny replied. ‘Do you have any other medicines?’

  ‘I regret not,’ Richard said. ‘Molly is very weak and fevered. But let us not give up hope. The human body has great powers of recovery. There is a speculation that I have heard in connection with the croup. Some believe that cool night air can reduce the inflammation and release the phlegm. Wrap Molly warmly in a blanket and sit with her by the window.’ He took Jenny’s hand. ‘Do not lose faith,’ he said. ‘I will do all that I am able. Sometimes loving care achieves more than medicine.’

  ‘Should we give her more Ipecac?’ Belle asked.

  ‘I think she is too weak and wasted to vomit more,’ Richard replied. ‘The Ipecac should have done its work by now. We must rely on the body healing itself. Give her no more medicine but plenty of water to drink, with a little sugar or honey dissolved in it.’

  Belle followed Richard’s glance towards Jenny who was beginning to cry. She rushed to her side and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Come now, Jenny,’ she said, steering her towards the window.

  Richard opened the window slightly and placed a chair beside it, motioning for Jenny to sit. ‘I have opened it at the bottom a little, so that she breathes in the cool air, but not so wide that her body is cold. Keep it so and bathe her face with a cool moist flannel from time to time.’ Belle picked Molly up, wrapping a blanket around her, before placing her in Jenny’s arms.

  Richard made his way to the door. ‘Call on me if she shows signs of growing weaker,’ he said.

  Belle helped him with his coat, and whispered, ‘Will she live?’

  He turned to her, his voice also quiet, ‘Only time will tell. She is very weak, we can only trust that her spirit is stronger, but give her no more medicine. If she were my daughter I would give her no more. I will visit again tomorrow.’

  ‘You know we cannot pay you?’ Belle said.

  ‘I want no payment. Now look after Molly and be sure that Jenny takes some rest.’

  Belle saw Richard out. When she returned Jenny was still crying. ‘Don’t worry,’ Belle said, ‘Molly will recover.’ She wished that she believed it.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  The journey to The Paragon was relatively short. James pointed out the house to the others as soon as they drew near, and called to the driver, ‘Only a little further now, cabbie!’ He waited until they had gone some distance past the house and then shouted loudl
y, ‘Stop here!’ Having stepped down from the carriage, as if by some unspoken agreement they waited, like statues, as it turned and made its way back down the road. Then when it was out of sight, they began walking back to Charlie Maggs’ house.

  It was some time before James’ knocking was answered. They listened to the sounds of two locks being turned, and then two heavy bolts being drawn back, before the front door of the house in The Paragon was opened. Charlie Maggs peered out into the dull evening light over a pair of spectacles perched precariously on the end of a nose which looked as though it had been squashed in an accident with a door, or some less accidental encounter with a fist. Holding the door open just wide enough for him to see his visitors, and just narrow enough for them to be unable to see but the slightest view of his hallway, it was obvious that he recognised no one.

  It was also apparent from his manner that Charlie Maggs was not accustomed to receiving callers at this, or any other time of the evening. His leathery face was as creased and lined as an old pair of gloves and each change of expression set the lines in animated movement. James stepped forward into the light and said ‘Good evening, Mr Maggs.’ Before he could utter another word Charlie had thrown the door wide.

  ‘I recognise that voice,’ Charlie said as he extended his right hand. ‘James Daunton, the solicitor.’ In answer James opened his coat with his left hand, revealing his arm in a sling. Charlie withdrew his hand with a look of sympathy. He was a great bear of a man, and his powerful if rotund frame was exaggerated by the shortness of his legs. All the lines in his face re-arranged themselves and where before they had made his frown forbidding, they now amplified the warmth of his smile.

  ‘May we come in?’ James asked. ‘As you can see, I’m not in the best of health.’

  ‘Of course, of course, and bring your friends with thee.’ Charlie led them towards the wide staircase leading to the first floor but Mrs Hawker broke off from the party and instead turned the handle of a door on the ground floor. ‘I take it this leads to the lower stairs for the kitchen?’ she said as a bemused Charlie Maggs looked on.