Black Wreath (9 page)

‘Clean sheets is three shillings, dirty ones are a shilling,' he announced. ‘Which is it to be?'

Darcy threw one of his boots in his direction. ‘It's on the account!' he roared. ‘And the Darcy Gang would like the best sheets in the house, if you have to strip them off Molly's bed itself!'

Fourteen

A Robbery Planned

A
weak light bled into the upper room through the grime of the one narrow window. The place was cramped, and most of it was occupied by the bed, on which lay the crumpled figures of Darcy, Kelly and Hare. Darcy lay on the inside with his face to the wall; Kelly and Hare lay twitching beside him, Kelly’s arm across Hare’s face, half smothering him; and Kitty was on the floor beside the bed, from which he had been ejected with a curse in the middle of the night. For the second morning in a row, James found himself looking at the sleeping gang. He watched from the floor near the window, where he’d crept from his own tiny portion of bed as soon as he woke up. Boots lay everywhere, like a fallen army, breathing their foul stink into the room. On a chair lay a mound of topcoats; otherwise everyone was fully clothed. It had been a long time since the small grate had seen a fire, and the room felt like an icy rain had crept in during the
night. But it was inside, at least, James thought, remembering the cold of the night in the park.

He sat listening to the snores and grunts and thinking how harmless they seemed without their coats and boots, or their hangers, which also lay scattered on the floor. If the law were to raid the room at this moment, there would be no escape – they would all be led like babies to the cart, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. He saw how thin and frail Kitty appeared without his weapons and his bravado, looking just like what he was, a boy escaped from the workhouse. Maybe that was why he’d taken such pleasure in the destruction of the Black Cart.

It wasn’t long before the gang shifted itself awake, like one groaning monster with a sore head and a bad temper. After a snatched breakfast, Darcy ordered everyone to make their way to the park separately, where the next action would be planned. Since he had some time before the meeting, James thought of slipping down along the quays to see Harry and let him know he was alright, but something prevented him. He realised that he didn’t want Harry to know what company he had fallen into; he even felt his face redden at the thought. He knew his life had entered a shameful phase, but he knew equally that he was stuck to it for now.

He idled along the quays, staring at the ships, before crossing to the northern side and walking purposefully in the direction of the park. His route took him past the Bluecoat School and as he looked at the windows he could hear the low murmuring of the boys repeating their lessons. He felt
a pang of envy, wishing himself off these street and onto the benches of the school in a blue tunic and cap. He looked with distaste at the faded and increasingly ragged glory of his own coat. His descent down the city’s social ladder was all too evident.

When he got back to the hide the gang was sitting around inspecting their weapons. On the grass were spread out pistols, three short wooden clubs and a canvas tube which, when James examined it, turned out to filled with lead shot. Kelly grinned as James considered the tube.

‘A good belt of that will keep a man quiet,’ he said.

‘Or woman, if needs be,’ Kitty added.

‘Are we doing pockets tonight?’ Hare asked. He picked up one of the clubs and struck the air a couple of vicious blows before putting it in his coat.

Kelly licked his lips; the prospect obviously appealed to him too.

‘What does it mean, doing pockets?’ James asked. He knew it would have better for him to hold his tongue, but his curiosity got the better of him.

Darcy didn’t seem so eager to answer.

‘It’s easy work,’ Kitty said. ‘Just got to find the right doxy.’

‘And follow her somewhere nice and quiet,’ Kelly added. ‘The one holds her, and the other cuts out her pocket.’

James tried to hide his disgust, but his face must have betrayed him.

‘Have we offended your feelings, poor thing?’ Kelly taunted.

‘Poor thing! Poor thing!’ Kitty repeated.

‘The boy’s right,’ Darcy suddenly interjected. His voice was edged with anger. ‘Haven’t you done enough of that? There’s no honour in it, and no danger.’

‘What do we want with honour?’ Kelly asked. ‘Where’s the profit in that?’

Darcy continued to voice his feelings. ‘I rode between my father’s legs in the cart they hanged him from and I expect to die at the end of a rope and do you know what, I don’t want to die for pocket snatching or frightening the life out of women.’

‘It’s all the same to me,’ Hare snarled, ‘I’m not fussy what they hang me for.’

Kitty put his hand around his own throat and mimed the action of a noose, his eyes bulging and his tongue hanging out.

Darcy punched him in the stomach, leaving him winded and gasping. He turned to Kelly and Hare. ‘That’s the difference between us,’ Darcy said. ‘I am fussy. It’s not the dying I mind, but I’m damned if I won’t die like a man for a man’s crime.’

All this talk of dying threw a pall of gloom over the gang and they sat silently on the grass. Nobody wanted to tackle Darcy.

But if they weren’t going be doing pockets, then what would they be doing? James wondered.

His question was soon answered. ‘If it’s robbing you want, we’ll try the Green,’ Darcy said quietly. ‘It’s a while since we were there, and the pickings are good.’

This didn’t sound like much of an improvement on robbing
women to James. What part would he be expected to play?

Darcy seemed to read his mind. ‘And we can blood the boy,’ he said.

The others nodded their enthusiastic agreement.

‘What does that mean?’ James asked.

‘What do you think it means?’ Darcy snapped, anger edging his voice again. ‘Do you think we keep you for a pet? You’ll earn your keep, you’ll do what you’re told tonight, or you’ll feel the cudgel on the back of your head.’

James said nothing, but sat scrutinising his muck-caked shoes.

They agreed to meet in the Quaker graveyard near Stephen’s Green after dark that night. Kelly, Hare and Kitty sloped off then with a look of shifty sullenness about them, so that James didn’t doubt that they had some side business of their own, and that some of it would certainly involve waylaying some unfortunate woman and robbing her pocket.

‘Alright, boy, you and I will make a team,’ Darcy said. ‘Stay here and wait. I have some things to do. Meet me by Ormond Bridge around nine o’clock.’

He threw James a loaf and a thick slice of ham, much as an owner might throw his dog some scraps, James thought, but he ate nonetheless. Crime was hungry work, he was finding.

Fifteen

The Blooding of James

J
ames waited a little way from the lantern on the bridge. He was learning, day by day, to melt into the shadows, to disappear into the folds of the city. Dublin at night in this district was a sinister place, filled with the songs and complaints of vagabonds, the hard laughter of shapes clustered in doorways, and the dark fury of coaches hurtling down the quays as fast as the coachman could drive the horses, in case anyone thought to stop them. It was a place where, at any moment, your life might be threatened or terminated with a few quick knife thrusts. How many grim-faced Kellys and Hares were lurking here now, waiting for their victims?

James froze as he felt a sudden hand on his shoulder, but it was only Darcy, who seemed to materialise out of nowhere like a spectre. He felt James start.

‘Is James Brown frightened of his own shadow?’ Darcy laughed. He led the way across the bridge, entered a tavern at
the sign of the Bear, and called for gin. He drank swiftly and urged James to do the same.

‘We’ll need it this night,’ he said. ‘Courage, guile and warmth, all in a single bottle. It’s a miracle, don’t you find?’

James struggled with the drink, wishing he could spit it out.

Darcy enjoyed his clear discomfort. ‘Can’t drink either, James Brown? One of these days, if you live much longer, we’ll find something you can do.’

They went out onto the street, climbed up the hill under the gaunt frowning cathedral and made their way through the narrow streets around the castle until they arrived at the Quaker graveyard. James shivered as they entered. He thought of the graveyard where Miss Deakin had brought him the day he left his father’s house for the last time. That had been the beginning of his misfortune, and he didn’t expect much good could come from this encounter. They stood behind some trees at the back and watched the entrance. They didn’t have to wait long before they heard low voices and a soft whistle. Darcy whistled back and they could soon make out the shapes of Kelly, Hare and Kitty. Kelly and Hare didn’t look too secure on their feet, James noticed, and as they approached he could smell enough drink on their breath to wake half the poor Quakers from their rest. Only Kitty was light on his feet, tense and ready for action.

‘What’s the plan?’ he asked Darcy as soon as they reached the cover of the trees.

‘To die rich,’ Darcy said evenly. ‘Tonight’s lodgement will be provided by some stuffed buck who is about to stray from
The Beaux Walk, with a little help from our young and good-looking friend here.’ He indicated James with a mock bow.

The Beaux Walk was one of the sides of Stephen’s Green. James had often strolled there with his father in the days before he met Miss Deakin. That was when his father still wanted to be seen with a son.

Darcy then despatched the three Uglies, as James thought of Kelly, Hare and Kitty, to conceal themselves behind the pavilion in the centre of the green. A little later, he and James set out for the Walk. They kept out of sight of the avenue, working their way from tree to tree. The hour was late and it was dark, and surely no sensible person would be so foolish as to venture abroad on the walk now? But Darcy was cunning, and it seemed he knew his fellow man better than James; they weren’t long in the Green before they saw a man coming towards them from the other end. Almost as if Darcy had invented him, he was portly and his walk was unsteady. He waved his cane in the air for no reason James could see, for he couldn’t have seen them, and he was singing softly to himself.

‘This is it,’ Darcy whispered fiercely to James. ‘We’ll have him for supper, and maybe for breakfast and dinner too. Who knows what he might have with him? Now, James Brown, this is where you earn your onions. I want you to approach the gentleman in great distress, and tell him some boys have taken your unfortunate father and are even now robbing him just a little way from this very path. Mind you look convincing. Have you ever been to the theatre in Smock Alley?’

James had once, but he doubted if the acting he had seen there would be much use to him here.

‘You must look pitiful, with weeping and wailing as if your poor little life depended on it. If he has any honour, he’ll run to your aid. Go to it now, quickly.’

Darcy disappeared into the darkness and James stood hesitating a few yards from the path. All his instincts cried out to him to run the other way, to put as much distance as he could between himself and the clutches of the gang. But things had gone too far for that now. He had allowed himself to fall in with these men and he was afraid to go back. In any case, they would find him, and he shuddered to think what they would do to him when they did. He heard Darcy hissing fiercely from the shadows behind him, ‘Get going, wretch!’ Without thinking any more about it, James ran into the path towards the approaching gentleman. He waved his arms in the air and heard a voice that must have been his shout out in distress.

‘Sir, please help me, won’t you please help me, please sir!’

The portly man stopped his singing and looked up in fright. James ran to him.

‘What is it? What’s the matter, boy?’ The man fixed his startled attention on James.

‘Please, sir, it’s my father!’ James nearly choked on the words but he somehow got them out. ‘They’ve got him, over there near the pavilion.’

‘Who? Who has him?’

‘Footpads, sir, they’re robbing him even now.’ James couldn’t help noticing the fine silk waistcoat the man was wearing, and
the gold chain that hung from one of its pockets. He wanted to warn him, but nothing came out.

The man looked at him dubiously. Maybe he won’t believe me, James thought, maybe he’ll simply walk away. They would never believe I didn’t warn him, came the disturbing thought.

‘Won’t you help, sir?’ he asked. ‘They’re bound to run away when they see you.’

This statement seemed to be decisive. He could see the man puff himself up proudly and though he carried no weapon his manner changed. ‘Take me to them,’ he commanded.

James did as he was bidden, and led him from the path into the heart of the park. As they neared the pavilion, James could see Darcy on the ground. Kelly held his arms fast while Hare grabbed his legs. Kitty appeared to be rifling his pockets.

‘Help!’ Darcy shouted piteously as he spied James and the man.

‘Leave him be, you scoundrels!’ the would-be rescuer shouted. ‘Or I’ll get the sheriff’s men on you!’

The playacting stopped abruptly, and the ‘victim’ suddenly sprang to his feet, a cruel smile on his lips. ‘Oh I don’t think so,’ he announced. ‘I don’t think you’ll be getting anything for a while.’

‘What?’ said the man, looking amazed from one to the other. He seemed genuinely puzzled, as if he could not comprehend the situation.

Kelly ran to him and, without a word, cracked him over the head with his cudgel filled with shot. The man fell in a heap to the ground.

James stood staring in shock. ‘There was no need for that,’ he said.

Kelly lifted his cudgel again and made for James. ‘Why, you damned whelp, I’ll do you too!’

‘We’re wasting time,’ Darcy barked. ‘Get to work, and let’s get out of here.’

They proceeded to strip the man of his coat and waistcoat. Darcy held his pocket watch aloft. ‘Didn’t I tell you? I knew he’d be a good one. Get the wig, Kitty.’

Kitty pulled the wig from the man’s head. Blood dripped from it onto the man’s face. He looked old. A few tangled strands of grey hair pressed on a wrinkled head. Kelly and Hare swept shoes and breeches off with a practised economy, while Kitty busied himself pulling a ring from his right index finger. When they had got all they wanted, Hare pulled out a knife and bent over the man, who was now coming to with loud groans.

‘Will I finish him?’ He looked up eagerly at Darcy, the knife trembling in his hand as if it couldn’t wait to do its work. He let the blade touch the skin of his victim’s neck.

James looked over at Darcy and caught his eye.

‘No,’ Darcy said, ‘we don’t want to upset Master Brown.’

Hare glared at James and pointed the tip of his blade in his direction. The prospect of a night without blood seemed to disgust him. Suddenly the knife was out of his hand and it landed within an inch of James’s boot, embedded deep in the grass.

Darcy looked at the man impatiently. ‘Don’t forget it was
the boy who brought us this creature.’ He indicated the groaning and nearly naked form on the ground. ‘We all have our parts to play. He’s one of us now.’

This pronouncement didn’t appease Hare much. He retrieved his knife, put it away, and as they were slipping away into the night, he stepped back and kicked the helpless man several times in the head and body until the groans stopped.