Black Wreath (8 page)

Thirteen

In Red Molly's

T
omorrow did come but it brought no relief. When James opened his eyes, he was met with the sight of Jack Darcy's boots, inches from his face; the others sprawled nearby on rough beds of coats and branches. The sun was just starting to filter through the trees and the air was damp and cold. James shivered and eased himself up as quietly as he could. If he ran now, he might make it back to the city before any of the gang had woken up. But just as the thought occurred to him, he became aware of Darcy's half-opened eyes regarding him coolly.

‘Thinking of bolting, James Brown?' he inquired softly, a hint of a smile on his lips.

‘No,' James lied. ‘Of course not. I've slept enough, that's all.'

‘I'm glad to hear it. This is the first day of your new life. And the first order of business is the highwayman's breakfast, so why don't you gather some kindling and get a fire going.
And remember,' he said, as James nodded and turned to do his bidding, ‘I have a dog's ears; I can hear a leaf rustle or a twig snap underfoot at fifty paces.'

James didn't doubt it, and set himself to his task without further thought of escape. When he came back, Kelly, Hare and Kitty were all up, shuffling around the clearing. Kitty was soon dispatched to fetch supplies from the hide and returned with a small sack from which he drew a little bacon, some pungent smoked herring and coffee. He also brought a cooking pot and a smaller pot with some water, which Darcy now used to brew some coffee.

‘The finest thieves' coffee house in Dublin,' the highwayman announced. ‘Kelly, work your wonders with the bacon and let's start the day as we mean to continue.'

In spite of his fears, James ate heartily. No matter what trouble he was in, his appetite rarely deserted him, and it sometimes seemed to him that the graver the circumstances, the hungrier he got. Once the meal was done and the plates and pots secreted back in their hiding place, Darcy was all action, instructing Hare and Kelly to take the wigs and coats and other valuables from last night's robbery to a tavern in the city, where they would all meet up later. He would keep the cash and the more precious pieces, and later that night, they would share out all the spoils.

‘And now we will begin your education,' he turned to James when the others had left. ‘Kitty, your hanger.'

Kitty reluctantly parted with his blade. James grabbed the handle.

‘Hold it, feel its weight, swing it around, let it become part of you.'

James did as he was told, twirling the hanger round like a baton, slashing at the air. Kitty sniggered at his efforts.

Darcy made a sudden lunge for James. ‘Have at you, boy!'

James stumbled and almost fell, then held his sword at arm's length. With a swift flick, Darcy knocked the blade from his hand and as James reached down for it, he brought the tip of his blade to James's throat.

‘Give it to him, Jack,' urged Kitty.

‘You were a dead man there,' Darcy said. ‘Look, you need to parry, like this.' He brought his hanger up and held it firmly in front of him. ‘Push forward with the end nearest the hilt, come on now, push.'

James leant forward and pushed with as much force as he could.

‘Downward, downward,' shouted Darcy. ‘Good. Alright,
en garde,
come on Brown, don't you know what
en garde
means? It's French for “watch yourself, or someone will have your guts for garters”. Blade up, ready, don't turn your whole body towards me, side on, that's better, left arm up behind you. Alright, now I want you to lunge at me, like so.'

Darcy stood with his left arm hooked behind his head and extended his blade, then, faster than James could perceive, his right leg pounced and the blade was again at James's throat.

‘Fight with your eyes, Brown. Your blade and your eye must be one, or you won't last.'

James practised on his own, determined to make himself
into a swordsman. After all, his father had been one, and he was sure his uncle was handy with a blade too. He had every reason to master this art. As he parried and lunged, he imagined he was locked in deathly combat with the usurping Lord Dunmain.
En garde,
parry, lunge; the blade cut straight through his coat and entered his black heart. James felt he was at one with his sword now, jigging and pouncing and swerving in the clearing as Kitty shook his head.

‘Mad eejit.'

Darcy had disappeared into the trees, and came back with a small satchel.

‘Time to go,' he said abruptly. ‘Stay a little behind me and keep your eyes open.'

They walked through the woods and out of the park, crossing the river and climbing the hilly street that led up from it. The light was fading and the streets and river looked as if the life had been sucked from them. A thick cloud of smoke billowed over the city, and the wind scattered the noxious smells from the nearby dump all around the district so that James was close to retching until his nose and stomach acclimatised themselves.

About halfway up the street, Darcy paused and briefly indicated to the right, where a gap between the houses led into the dump. He himself passed by the gap and knocked on the door of the next house. Kitty and James slipped into the gap and walked a little way down a rough path. James shielded his nose with his palm.

‘How long do you think he'll be?' he asked Kitty. The air
was cold, and he shivered.

Kitty shrugged. ‘Depends who he meets in there. Could be an hour, could be three hours.'

Again James thought of escape. It would probably be easy enough to shake off Kitty in the gloom of the dump. He felt a hesitation in himself at the thought. It wasn't fear so much as a lack of attractive choices. He had no idea where he would run to.

Almost as if he was reading his mind, Kitty touched the hilt of his hanger. ‘No ideas, fancy boy, or I'll lop your head clean off.'

You can try, James thought, and see how far you get. All the same, he was grateful to Kitty for his threat; it gave him another reason for inaction.

Suddenly there was a great commotion, which seemed to be coming from the street at the top of the hill. Shouts, a great many voices raised, and what sounded like a pistol shot.

‘Entertainment,' grinned Kitty. ‘Let's see what the cause is. If he hasn't come out now, he'll be there a lot longer. And remember …' He touched the hilt of his hanger again.

One day, James thought, he and Kitty would come to blows, or worse, but for now he would have to endure him.

They climbed up to Thomas Street. There, by the Glib Market, stood the infamous Black Cart, surrounded by a mob. The cart was gathering beggars for the workhouse. Whoever had just been collected was protesting loudly from inside the cart, and the mob roared its disapproval of the cart wardens and pelted them with rotten vegetables and eggs from the
market. Men, women and children joined the affray, and some students took advantage of the occasion to hurl stones at the wardens, egging each other on. The cart was now unable to move and the wardens were letting off their pistols to warn the crowd. This only provoked the mob further and they moved closer to the cart, as if they might crush it. Now the wardens were aiming their pieces directly at the crowd.

‘Keep back!' they shouted. ‘Or we'll open fire!' It was clear the situation would turn ugly. James wished they hadn't left the safety of the dump, but Kitty was wide-eyed with blissful excitement. Suddenly there was a scream and a young woman fell forward onto the cobbles. Her companions leant down and turned her around, but the shot had caught her on the temple and her body was lifeless.

‘They've killed her!' the cry went up, and it ran through the crowd like a storm, shaking it up, hurling waves of fury at the cart and its protectors. More shots rang out and more fell wounded onto the street, but the crowd had the cart at its mercy now. Angry limbs tore the vehicle apart and liberated its prisoners: ragged men with clothes askew who stood like kings in the middle of the tumult, saluting their saviours with a bow. At least one warden that James could see lay dead on the street, the wheels of the cart on top of his chest. Another was bent double under a pummelling rain of kicks.

Kitty looked like he wanted to join in the kicking, but he was aware that it was getting late, and his fear of Darcy conquered his lust for blood, so he pulled James away from the scene of destruction in the Liberties and back down to the
dump, where they resumed their positions.

James was dizzy with all he'd seen, and he felt as if someone had wrapped a strange new cloak of blackness around him that he hadn't the strength to cast off.

After they had endured another shivering vigil, Darcy reappeared, grinning. ‘Enjoying the country air, are we, young Brown?'

James had to keep reminding himself of his newly acquired name. If he responded too late, he would be immediately caught by Darcy's sharp eye. He was sure Darcy only half-believed him in any case.

‘What was that racket above?' Darcy wanted to know.

‘The Black Cart,' Kitty said without further elaboration.

‘And didn't you want a lift to your old house then?' Darcy asked him, but received in return just a silent scowl.

Darcy took his position at the head of the group again and they threaded their way across the labyrinth of the dump before finally emerging in a rancid laneway. They followed this into another lane, at the end of which was a tavern with no sign. Darcy banged on the door and they were admitted by a big, red-faced and red-haired woman, whose eyes pounced on James the instant they registered him.

‘Who's this?' she asked Darcy. ‘He doesn't look like any of yours. What's your name, boy?'

‘James Brown, ma'am,' James answered.

Her eyes widened. ‘Listen to you!' she shrieked. ‘Quite the little gentleman. What fine house did you tumble out of?'

James felt himself flush, but Darcy pulled him away from the
woman's curiosity into the interior of the tavern. The place was loud and closely packed, every table occupied and well supplied with beer, gin, wine and whiskey as well as plates of steaming food: roast mutton, potatoes, cockles, oysters, and great plates of pork and beef. The keen smells made James weak; he would endure anything now as long as he could fill his belly. At one of the tables he saw Kelly and Hare crouched intently over plates of mutton, a bottle of gin on the table between them.

Darcy hailed them. ‘What manners are these, starting without us?'

Kelly and Hare squinted in their direction and grunted.

The red-haired woman bustled over to the table. ‘What lovelies have you got for me?' she asked Darcy.

Darcy put his hand in his coat pocket and drew out a fine lace handkerchief.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Only a handkerchief? I have a chest full of handkerchiefs. You'll need to do better than that.'

As she inspected the handkerchief, her fingers felt something hard wrapped in the linen, and her eyebrows arched in anticipation. Greedily she opened out the handkerchief and saw a glittering brooch of amethyst and garnet. She cooed with pleasure at the sight and lifted the brooch to her eyes for closer examination. The other diners joined in the examination, some leaving their food to come and inspect the piece. There were shouts of appreciation, and glasses raised in toasts to Darcy.

‘You'll have to marry Red Molly now,' someone shouted,
and the others joined in a raucous chorus.

Darcy laughed. ‘Now Molly,' he said, ‘our debts are discharged and our bellies can be filled for a long while yet.'

‘You're an honest man, Jack Darcy,' Molly said. ‘If only some others were as good,' she added, looking round the room and letting her eyes linger on some of the diners, who shifted in their seats and buried their heads in their food.

The rest of the evening saw a succession of dishes ferried to their table, and James ate and drank as if it were his last meal. He hardly remembered what happened next, but it seems that some point in the night the whole gang climbed the stairs and fell into one of the lodging rooms. As they struggled with their boots, an old servant put his head around the door.