For the next week or so I spent the days working on the docks with Enoch Cotton lugging and slogging. With my ears still ringing with his yacking, I spent my evenings following up leads. I had names and I went looking for their faces. I wandered each street and lurked in every alley. I went from tavern to inn and every social gathering. I passed tenements teeming with sailors and victuallers. Thirsty men looking for drink to guzzle and a hole to poke. Dockers singing shanties and rigging for a cruise. The streets swarmed with strumpets pursued by wanton privateers. I saw men stripped to the waist fighting in the streets for a farthing. I watched games of ring-taw and able-whacket, barley-break and hot cockle. But away from the mirth and the merriment, the docks at night were an eerie place. There were fogle-filchers and cutpurses on every corner. Their faces looked ghostly in the light of the street lamps and their voices echoed over the muted waves. The sound of water lapping at the dockside took on a sinister insistence without the screaming of the gulls and the cacophony of industry. Everywhere the streets were filled with shadows, dark corners and unfriendly whispers.
One night we were sitting by the South Dock after another lead that had sounded promising had turned out to be a dead end, when Emily said, ‘So what are you going to do now, William Lee? You can’t just hang around here all the time, hoping that something will come good. It won’t.’
‘I’ve made a decision,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Despite my better judgement, I’m going to approach Mr Hardwar.’
‘He won’t listen to you. He won’t even give you the time of day.’
‘Well, maybe not. But I’ve got to give it a try, Emily.’
‘I don’t like him.’
‘Who does?’
‘He gives me the creeps. You know what he said to me the other day? He said he’d give me a shilling if I stopped behind one night when everyone had gone and come up to his office.’
‘What for?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Dirty bastard. What did you say?’
‘I said I wasn’t that type of girl.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He offered me two shilling.’
This only confirmed my feelings. I had already heard rumours from Enoch and from other dockworkers that Hardwar had an unhealthy interest in young girls. I had kept a close eye on him.
‘Look, despite what we both feel about him, he could be useful. He knows things and I’ve got nothing to lose.’
So I bided my time, waiting for the right opportunity to come along. Then one evening in the third week of employment, I found myself working late, with everyone else, barring Mr Hardwar, having gone home.
I told Emily to meet me back at the Gallows. I waited until my work was finished and the old dock was entirely deserted, then I climbed the wooden stairs and approached Pierce Hardwar’s office. His door was open. He was at his desk, quill in hand, scribbling away in a red ledger. He didn’t see me so I knocked on the open door to get his attention.
‘Excuse me, sir, sorry to bother you at this late hour.’
‘What is it?’ he said without looking up.
‘I’ve finished my work, sir. I’m done for the day.’
‘Very well. Off you go then.’
‘Have you much work yourself, sir? You seem to keep such long hours.’
‘Work’s the only salvation. Keeps you on the straight and narrow. God made the world in six days. Deadlines are lifelines.’
‘I’m told he rested on the seventh, sir.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘It’s written in the scripture, is it not?’
‘Don’t believe everything you read.’
‘Have you been here a long time?’ I asked.
He looked up from his work and glared at me.
‘That’s none of your business. Who do you think you are, coming up here, poking your nose in?’
‘Sorry, sir, I was just interested.’
‘Well, don’t be. Now go and close the door behind you.’
‘Very well, sir. It’s just, I’ve got something that might interest you.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘Please, hear me out, sir. I promise you I won’t waste your time.’
He dipped the quill in the ink pot and wrote something in one of the columns, then he put the quill down.
‘This’d better be good.’
‘My sister, sir. If you were interested to have some private time with her, I could arrange it.’
He peered over his glasses at me and raised his eyebrows.
‘How much?’
‘Nothing. Well, not money in any case.’
He narrowed his eyes and puckered his lips. He regarded me with suspicion.
‘Then what?’
‘Answers. To questions. I’d like five minutes of your time for half an hour of my sister’s company. That’s all.’
He scowled and twiddled with his sideburns, but then he nodded and relaxed his glower.
‘Very well.’
He picked up a sandglass that was by an ink pot.
‘When this is through, so are you.’
He turned it over so that the grains of sand began to fall like water.
‘You’ve got five minutes, starting from now.’
‘How long have you worked here?’
‘Eighteen years. Give or take.’
‘Are you a native of this town then?’
‘Yes, born just a mile from this very spot. I’ve got Liverpool in my bones, you might say.’
‘I’ve roots here myself, I’m told.’
‘Your accent’s a Yorkshire one, is it not? One of the wapentakes of the West Ridings, I’d wager.’
‘It is, sir, but my father had business here. Perhaps you knew him.’
‘Perhaps. I’ve known many a tyke and tinker.’
‘His name was Mr Earnshaw.’
He leaned across the ledger, his eyes reaching into mine as though into a darkened room. He lowered his glasses and twiddled with one of his sideburns once more. He gave me a crooked smile.
‘Nope. No one I know.’
‘He was an associate of Jonas Bold. Have you heard of him?’
‘Of course. He owns half this town. Everyone knows Jonas. I don’t have anything to do with him personally. I’ve no time for the frivolity of society.’
The sand was almost through. More like one minute than five, I thought. I’d been short-changed.
‘I’m very eager, sir, to learn of my origins. It’s every man’s right to know his roots.’
‘Nonsense. A man has no more rights than is accorded to him by his station.’
‘But even a tree knows where it’s planted, sir.’
‘I’ll tell you what your origins are, same as any man’s. You’re the son of Adam. Even you are one of God’s children.’
‘But, sir. A little knowledge is all I ask.’
The sand had ceased to flow. The grains were spent. My minute was over. Mr Hardwar eyed the glass. He picked up his quill again and dipped it in the pot of ink by the side of the ledger.
‘Time’s up. Good day to you,’ he said and commenced scribbling in the book once more.
‘But, sir, perhaps if I described in detail this Mr Earnshaw. Some nine years past now he was here.’
He looked up briefly. ‘Seek not wisdom when it brings no profit. I’ll talk to you later about our arrangement.’
A drop of ink dripped onto the page of the ledger.
‘Now look what you’ve made me do.’
He dabbed at it with a blotter.
‘But—’
‘No buts. Send me your sister. If she pleases me, we will see if I can stir a memory or two.’
Defeated, I went back to my room in the Gallows. Emily had already bathed and changed for supper.
‘What kept you?’
I explained my meeting.
‘You did what?!’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of keeping my side of the bargain.’
‘That doesn’t matter to men like Hardwar, you fool – a deal is a deal.’
She tried to stifle a cough. But the more she did the more the coughing built, until she was hacking away violently. I waited for her to stop.
‘Look, I’ll make sure he doesn’t touch you.’
‘And how will you do that? You’ve offered me. To bargain with that freak. And for what? He didn’t give you anything. How many people have you approached now?’
I tried to tot up the tally in my head but I’d lost count.
‘How could you, William? How could you? After . . .’
Her words dried up and she stared down at the floor.
How could I, Cathy? After what had happened. After what I’d promised. That I would keep her safe. But I meant it. I wouldn’t let that man anywhere near her.
‘I’m really sorry, Emily. But I promise you, under no circumstances will I allow anything bad to happen to you.’
She shook her head. ‘This isn’t working, William. And now you spring this on me. Well, you can stuff it. I’m not going back there after what you’ve done.’
‘Well, we can’t work the graves. You put an end to that, you pillock.’
‘So this is my fault? Don’t think so. Using me like that. I’m not a bloody brood pullet.’
‘Look, I’m sorry. I had to use something. I’ll get you out of it.’
‘How? He’s a powerful man.’
‘Listen, here’s the deal. I’ll tell him you’re laid up with a fever, all right? I’ve still got three or four leads to follow up. It won’t take me more than a day or two. Give me to the end of the week and whether I’m any further on or not, we’ll quit there and then, move to the next town and go back to the burial grounds. How does that sound?’
‘Do you promise?’
‘I promise you, Emily. On my life. I won’t let anything happen to you.’
I made the sign of the cross.
Emily was quiet over supper. I tried to engage her in conversation. What was the soup like? Was the chicken cooked sufficiently? Were the carrots tender enough? Did she want afters? But she didn’t respond. I knew inside that I’d let her down. I’d gone too far. I’d crossed the line, but I was determined to rectify my error. I watched her push her food around the plate. I ordered treacle pudding but even this didn’t bring her out of her mood. Did she want custard with it? I ordered custard in any case. She left the bowl alone. The custard cooled and a thick skin formed.
I felt deflated too, not just with Emily’s mood, but also with my lack of progress. I couldn’t flog a dead horse for ever. All I had now was Jonas Bold and he was proving to be very elusive. Everyone knew him but no one seemed to want to talk about him. The rich man who got richer, then disappeared. Some use money to pursue fame, others to buy their anonymity.
The next day I went to Hardwar’s office and told him about Emily. He didn’t believe me but I assured him she’d be up on her feet in a few days, and that she would keep to our side of the bargain. He put down the book he was reading and folded his arms.
‘She’d better do,’ he said. ‘And near on the port quarter. What sort of ailment is it?’
‘Fever, sir.’
‘Best thing to break a fever is hard graft. Does she say her prayers?’
‘She’s burning up, can’t get out of bed. This day or two.’
‘Feed her good broth morn, noon and aft. Make her pray dawn and dusk.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘As soon as she’s on her feet, tell her to report to me. With interest.’
‘Interest? How do you mean?’
‘My time is valuable. You waste my time, it costs you. I’ll want the full hour when next I see her. And listen to me, sooty. No funny business. If I get wind of anything, if you’re not being straight with me—’
‘But I am, sir. I gave you my word.’
‘Sooty words measure less than those of a gentleman. I’ll take your word, but you look after your sister. Make sure she’s fit for fettling. Here, while you’re standing there taking up space, give me a hand with this.’
He stood up and walked over to the window.
‘It’s a two-man job, is this.’
He reached for a set of ladders and placed them under some bookshelves.
‘Hold them steady.’
It looked more like a one-man job to me but I held them firm while he climbed the steps and reached for a book on the top shelf.
‘I used to have a head for heights, you know, but not these days. It was a ladder such as this that Jacob saw the angels ascending. Come the day, I’ll need Jesus himself to fix them to the gates.’
He climbed back down, holding a blue leather-bound volume. He took the ladders slowly and seemed relieved when he was at the bottom.
He handed me the book, eyeing me in a curious way, as though he recognised something in me.
‘You’ve a good, strong frame, I’ll grant you that.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Nothing, only if you take a mettled stallion with a thick cresty neck and you breed it with a docile filly you get a beast that is both strong and compliant.’
‘I don’t follow you, sir.’
‘I had a fall, you know. Some years back. Took the wind out of my sails.’
He pointed over to his desk.
‘Put the book there.’
I carried it to the desk and plonked it down.
‘Right, I’ve got work to do, and you’re in the way. Off you go and next time I see you I’ll expect to see your sister too. And think on, prayers and broth. A sufficient quantity of each.’
I spent the rest of the week following up the few leads I had left and trying to get more information on Jonas Bold, but I managed to discover absolutely nothing and all my leads were duff ones. My method was sound – to ply them with drink first, loosen their tongue – but no matter how loose they became, once the name of Bold was muttered, they’d clam up again.
By Friday evening, with Emily still off work, and me no nearer my end, I resolved to cut my losses and do as I’d promised Emily. I was disheartened to admit defeat but I was not going to disappoint her again. We would move on to the next town. We would take up grave graft once more.
I’d been talking to Enoch about work further afield and he’d told me there was plenty in a port called Lancaster, north of Liverpool town. There was work on the dock there, and there were graves. It was far enough away for us to start afresh. I had failed to find out who I was and was resigned that perhaps I never would.
It was late and the warehouse contained only me and Pierce Hardwar. I went to his office again. I made sure I had my knife to hand. I was going to get what I was owed. I knocked on the door and he bade me enter. He was sitting behind his desk, working by the light of a lantern, which illuminated the gold brocade on his yellow waistcoat and the two watch chains that hung either side. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled, and a yellow neck scarf. His jacket was draped over the back of his chair.
He looked over his spectacles and nodded, folding his arms as though they were the wings of an insect. The light from the lantern sparkled on the gold rims of his glasses.
‘Well? Where is she?’
‘She’s not coming, sir.’
‘What?’
‘And I’ve finished, sir.’
‘But we had a deal. You gave me your word.’
‘No, I mean, I’ve finished for good.’
He shook his head to and fro, and peered over his spectacles again.
‘You’re quitting?’
‘Yes.’
‘Forget about her. The deal is off.’
‘The deal is off? Ha! You don’t get to break my deals. That’s not how it works.’
He unclasped his folded arms and began to tap on the table with his index finger.
‘I’m telling you, it’s not happening.’
Pointing his bony finger at me, he said, ‘Now listen, I say what you can do and what you can’t do.’
‘I don’t wish to cause trouble, sir, but I’ve other business I’ve been called to, an urgent matter.’
‘The only excuse I accept for not turning up for work is a funeral, your own funeral. What business could be more urgent than my business?’
His finger was wagging now, erratically.
‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, sir. It’s a private matter. Now, if you’d just settle up—’
‘Not at liberty?! A private matter?! A fucking sooty coming in here, shouting the odds like he’s boss and I’m the lackey. And then expects me to give him money. You’ve got a fucking cheek, haven’t you?’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
I shrugged but stayed my ground.
‘That’s me done.’
He stood up from behind his desk.
‘I’ll say when we’re done, boy, not some fucking sooty half-breed. Do you hear me?’
‘I’ll be needing my wages before I go. Four and thruppence.’
He was about to say something but was lost for words. His cheeks had purpled with rage.
‘You’ll pay me what I’m owed,’ I told him. ‘I’ve earned that money fair and square.’
‘Wha . . .?! Who do you . . .?! Get out of my office. Now!’
I saw Hindley with his whip. Boot. Club. Kicking me in my guts. Laughing in my face. I reached for my knife and brandished it. I edged closer to his desk.
‘I want that money and I’m not leaving till I get it.’
Quick as an eel, Hardwar yanked open the top drawer of his desk and reached in. He pulled out a flintlock. He pointed it in my face.
‘Sit down.’
I felt my heart quicken but I held my resolve.
‘Take it easy, Mr Hardwar. There’s no need for your finger to be on that trigger.’
‘Sit the fuck down. Now.’
He had a frenzied look in his eye.
‘I’ll do as you ask, sir, but please, lower your aim.’
I took my seat at the other side of the desk.
‘You think I wouldn’t shoot you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I’ve shot men before. I’ve shot plenty. No one leaves my charge without my say-so. I say when someone comes and someone goes. Me. I’ve got the law on my side. The judge of this town is an old friend of mine. I dined with him only last week. All I have to say is that you came to rob me. Shooting a man in self-defence is no crime. Especially a sooty.’
I could see the murderous intent in his eye but I tried to retain my composure. He moved around his desk, keeping the gun aimed at my head.
‘Put the knife down.’
I dropped it onto the floor.
He placed the cold metal of the barrel against my forehead. I closed my eyes.
‘You asked for this, nigger.’
I felt no fear as I waited for my end. I thought only of the warm place waiting to receive me. So I would beat Hindley to hell after all. The thought saddened me. Would I meet my mother there?
‘Say your prayers, you miserable son of a whore.’
I heard the click of the trigger but no explosion. I opened my eyes. The flint hadn’t sparked. Hardwar looked aghast.
Without even thinking, I snatched the pistol from his grip and smashed him in the face with it. He went down. I picked up my knife and held it close to his throat.
‘Get up.’
He struggled to his feet.
‘Sit back where you were.’
He stumbled over to his chair and collapsed into it, a line of blood visible at the point where the gun had connected.
‘Now you’re going to talk. You’re going to give me answers. Or I’ll slit your throat.’
‘What is it you want to know?’
‘You just called me a son of a whore. Why did you call me that?’
At first he didn’t say anything. He held a handkerchief to the cut on his forehead and shook his head from side to side. I took a step towards him.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Just an expression.’
‘You know something. You’re hiding something. I can tell. I’ll give you one last chance to talk. That stuff the other day about horse breeding. And now this. Why son of a whore?’
He twiddled nervously with one of his sideburns and cleared his throat.
‘I knew your Mr Earnshaw.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I knew him quite well, as it happens. It’s not the first time your Mr Earnshaw visited Liverpool.’
‘How do you know?’ I asked.
Hardwar hesitated and I moved the knife a little closer to his pallid face.
‘He was here nine years ago or thereabouts, to collect you, as you know, but also the year before that, and the year before that again.’
‘Why?’
‘His business goes back as long as my tenure here, to before you were born. He was once quite the visitor of this town, I’ll have you know. Couldn’t stay away.’
‘How come you by your information?’
‘I know Jonas Bold.’
I sat down in my chair but made sure he could see the knife gripped in my hand.
‘Go on.’
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
‘Go ahead.’
He took out his pipe with shaking fingers. He reached for a still from a vase and held it to a lighted candle, then he used the still to light the tobacco.
‘He used to be a merchant, like many men round here. A very wealthy one. Your Mr Earnshaw invested some money in a business proposition that Mr Jonas Bold was raising finances for.’
He blew out a plume of smoke and squirmed in his chair.
‘And what was this business venture?’
‘The purchase of a certain fleet. The purchase of its crew, cargo and captain.’
‘And what was the ship for?’
‘On its outward journey, the transportation of gin and cotton, as well as a variety of worsted goods. To the west coast of Africa. On its middle passage, the transportation of negroes to the West Indies. To be bartered for sugar and rum, for transportation and sale to the motherland.’
‘And Mr Earnshaw was aware of this?’
‘He was.’
Hardwar rocked in his chair and sniffed.
‘What was the ship called?’
‘The ship they called Harmony.’
‘And on its homeward-bound journey?’
‘It was carrying not just rum and sugar on its cargo. As was usual.’
‘What then?’
‘A very small selection of negresses.’
‘To what end?’
‘They were the choicest negresses, you understand, carefully selected. No common-or-garden sooties. Most agreeable and pleasing to the eye. Hand-picked by the discerning eye of Jonas Bold himself. Tried and tested.’
‘They were sold into prostitution? And Mr Earnshaw knew this?’
‘He did. He made a special attachment to one of the negresses. Your mother.’
My brain reeled. My mother. Mr Earnshaw. Special attachment. I didn’t want to put the pieces together.
‘Are you . . . are you saying that Mr Earnshaw is my father by blood?’
‘That is the case, yes.’
I tried to let the news sink in. My head was whirling. The room was swaying. I saw Mr Earnshaw at the dock, taking me by the hand, telling me he’d look after me. I saw him in his chair, by the fireplace, his blistered feet in a bowl of hot water, telling Hindley to treat me like a brother. I saw Mrs Earnshaw, confused. ‘Why have you brought an orphan back? Why would you bring him all this way? You’re going soft.’ I saw her scratching her head. I saw Nelly feeding me broth, me in bed with fever. ‘Oh yes, he was a rum’un, was Mr Earnshaw, back in the day. He got up to stuff. No one knows the half of it.’
‘And why did he return? Why come back seven years after the transaction to collect me?’
‘He was being blackmailed.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I was the one who was blackmailing him.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I could. And I needed the money.’
It all made sense, Cathy. The fiddle, the whip, they were guilt presents. He knew he’d done wrong. To carry me and those gifts, for three days over barren moorland and treacherous coach lanes, no one in their right mind would do that, unless they had to, to reconcile their conscience. My father, who I’d only ever known as a benign figure, a protector, a saviour, was cast in a new light. I saw the full picture. I saw the reason for his kindness, Cathy, and it was his conscience. It was his guilt. He’d kept the secret from Mrs Earnshaw, I had no doubt of that, and from all of us, all those years, carrying it inside his heart like a black lead weight.
‘I want you to know, he wasn’t a cruel man, just a weak one. Plucky, certainly, but fond with it. My reasons for blackmailing him were not personal. I did not set out to hurt him. I just saw an open purse. I quite liked the fellow. He did me no injury.’
My father. He was talking about my father. I could hardly comprehend.
‘What about my mother?’
He twiddled with his sideburns.
‘She died a few years after you were born.’
‘How?’
‘Took her own life. As many do. She was buried in an unmarked grave.’
Dead. She was dead. The chance of being united with her in this world, snatched from my grasp.
‘How did she kill herself?’
‘She fell into a complete state of stupefaction. Took to her master’s loft. Stretched out on the bare boards and refused all sustenance. It was a tragedy. To see such a fine negress wither away like that. I’ll never forget her face, all hollowed out. We tried to revive her but it was no use. Eventually she starved to death above Bold’s parlour.’
I couldn’t take it in. I breathed deeply and clung onto the arms of the chair.
‘What was she called?’
‘Lilith. They called her Lilly for short.’
‘I meant her African name.’
‘I’ve no idea. I doubt you’ll ever find out. There were no records, other than what she raised at the marketplace.’
‘What part of Africa was she from?’
‘I bought her from a bazaar in Banjul.’
‘You bought her?’
‘Yes, along with others. Mainly male negroes. A few children too.’
‘Where’s Banjul?’
‘Gambia. Where the Gambia river meets the ocean. No papers came with her. No one spoke her language. We called her Negro Number Twenty-nine. She was a slave in Africa. Born a slave, no doubt. Buying her and shipping her to Barbados was a kindness.’
‘How do you make that out?’
‘There’s a lot of talk these days about abolishing the trade. Lot of stuff and nonsense. If you were to abolish the trade now what would happen? I’ll tell you what would happen: you would be abandoning the negroes to a wretched situation.’
He was becoming more confident now. He was warming to his theme.
‘Niggers are natural thieves. And cannibals. Slavery stops thievery, slavery stops cannibalism. Slavery on the plantations brings happiness to the slaves. Niggers are an inferior race, incapable of living as free men, or free women. People talk about them being packed as close as books upon a shelf, or like herrings in a barrel, but in reality, the voyage from Africa to the West Indies is one of the happiest periods of a negro’s life. You mark my words.’
He smiled his crooked smile and took a puff of his pipe. It had gone out. He took out the tobacco tin and prised it open. I thought about the half-built galleon in the dock the day we arrived. The tiny compartments, not even a foot in height. Hundreds of them. They were not being built for indigo or sugar, but for human cargo.
He emptied the bowl of the pipe with the old tobacco, scraped the bowl, and filled it with the new stuff. He tamped it down with his thumb. I pictured him with my mother. His bony fingers on her skin. His insect arms around her.
I leapt up and over to where he was sitting and held the knife at his throat. He dropped his pipe.
‘Wha . . .?!’ he spluttered.
‘Did you ever touch her?’
‘Many men enjoyed your mother. On many occasions. She was a comely wench.’
I pressed the blade to his flesh.
‘Did you? Tell me the truth.’
‘I . . . there were so many back then. It’s hard to remember. One nigger is much like the next. I may have entertained myself. But no more than the next man. I assure you of that. I was never greedy. Rest assured, your mother died young, but she didn’t die in vain. She brought great pleasure to many a lusty gentleman.’
Hardwar laughed and tried to supress it but he couldn’t help himself. For two years I’d watched Mrs Earnshaw dote on you, Cathy, and dote on Hindley. I’d wanted to know why my mother had abandoned me. There had to be a reason but how could she do it? And I’d been jealous of you both. Now I saw the reason and I tried to shove the image out of my head. I could feel the heat rise again and the spiralling upwards. The room blurred in front of me. I gasped for breath. Motes of dust that had been floating in the light froze. I wasn’t aware a clock had been ticking but I was now aware that the ticking had stopped. I could feel a vein pulse in my neck as though it was about to burst. I clutched the knife and thrust the blade into Hardwar’s mouth and out of his cheek.
He fell to the floor. I jumped on top of him and pulled the knife out of his mouth. I used it to skewer an eyeball. I plucked the jelly from the end of the blade and tore off his breeches. He was too shocked to scream.
I grabbed his genitals. His gonads were as warm and soft as a chicken’s gizzard.
He cried out, spluttering on the blood that was streaming from his mouth and eye socket.
‘Please, please, don’t! I’ve money. Plenty. Take it all. You . . . you don’t need to do this.’
‘Where does Jonas Bold live?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
I held the knife under his ball sack.
‘I’ll give you one more chance. If you don’t tell me the address of Jonas Bold, I’ll cut out your pisser and shove it down your gullet.’
‘A village.’
‘North-east.’
‘How far?’
‘About seven or eight miles.’
‘What’s the village called?’
‘Kirby. An estate just outside the village, near a wood. It’s a walled garden.’
‘Does it have a name?’
‘Bold Hall. You’ll see the name on the iron gate at the front. He preaches at the chapel on a Sunday.’
A man of the cloth.
‘And that’s where my mother died?’
‘Yes, above Bold’s parlour.’
With one deft slice I cut off his penis and ball sack and he screamed out in agony. Blood gushed from the gaping hole. I stuffed the bleeding genitals down his throat so that his screaming desisted.
I wiped the blood from my hands on his waistcoat and untied the silk scarf from around his neck. I fastened it tight over his bleeding mouth. I stabbed him in his thigh, in his shoulder, in his gut. Blood oozed from the wounds and dripped onto the floor. I cut out his remaining eyelid so that he could get a better view with his one eye. He peered through a curtain of blood that siled either side.
Once I’d got started, I couldn’t stop, Cathy. I cut his ears off, his nose. Blood ran in rivulets down his face and neck. Blood soaked into the yellow silk scarf and into his white collar. Blood trickled onto his gold waistcoat. I slit open his stomach and pulled out the entrails. Blood bubbled and glugged from the slit. His one eye watched me all the time, wide open. I stood over him, panting with the effort of the work, getting my breath back. His insides were a steaming heap of stinking offal. Blood gushed from the wounds. Blood seeped into the cracks of the floorboards. Blood ran in rivers along the wooden grains. I felt cleansed by the act of butchery, as though I was washing something deep inside my soul.
I was in a state of reverie. All I could see was red and black.
I snapped back into the room. Had anyone heard his scream? I had to act quickly.
My heart was pummelling against the cage of my ribs. I furtled through his drawers and found guineas and gold sovereigns. I stuffed them into my pockets, cleaning my knife on his coat. I found a spare shirt in a wooden trunk, ripped my bloodstained garment off and wiped the blood from my face and hands with it. I stuffed it behind the trunk. I buttoned up Hardwar’s shirt, then I walked out of his office, leaving him to bleed to death.
When I got back to the Gallows, Emily had bathed and was sitting on the bed, combing her hair. She looked at me in shock and said, ‘What happened to you?’
‘We need to go.’
‘What’s that in your hair?’
She walked over to where I was standing.
‘Is it blood?’
‘We need to go.’
‘And your fingernails. What’s that under them?’
‘We need to go now.’
‘Go where?’
‘What’ve you done now, William Lee?’
‘Never mind. Get your stuff.’
I put together the few possessions I had and stuffed them into the bag. I looked around the room. I tried to think straight. We’d have to find somewhere safe to sleep. That was the first priority. An inn or a tavern was no good. News would soon spread. We’d be the talk of the town in no time. We had money now, plenty of it, but it wouldn’t be safe to be seen spending it. We were easy to recognise, a dark-skinned man with a white-blonde girl. We would have to find somewhere to hide out until I thought of the next move. We’d need blankets. I stripped the bed, folded some up and stuffed them into the bag. I looked out of the window. It was dark but not late enough for people to be in their beds. We needed empty streets.
‘Change of plan. We wait here. We eat. When folk are asleep, we go.’
‘Go where? What have you done?’
‘I had a little business with Mr Hardwar.’
‘And?’
I told her what Hardwar had said about my mother. I told her about Jonas Bold. That he was the man responsible for my mother’s death.
‘So what did you do?’
‘Mr Hardwar is dead now, I suspect.’
‘You killed him?’
‘I left him to bleed to death. It won’t take long. There wasn’t much blood left after I’d done my business with him.’
‘Cunt deserved all he got,’ Emily said, packing the bag with her things. ‘I’ll go downstairs and get the maid to make you up a hot bath and order some supper for our room.’
While she did this I stripped. I took off my breeches and washed them in the bowl. Using the soap to scrub off the gouts of blood. I watched the water turn pink, then red. I made sure my boots were clean also.
‘So what are we going to do now?’
I went to the window and looked out over the town. All was black. The rooks were ready roosted. It was almost time. I was shaking but I felt nothing.
Emily began to pace the room.
‘All right, here’s what we do. We know where this Jonas lives now, thanks to Hardwar. Good of him, that. But it’s too soon to make a move. We need to think it through. We need to hide out somewhere until we’ve got it straightened out. I don’t know where. Away from the town. Away from people. We need to think about how we’re going to hook Jonas. It’s going to have to be good. We need to find out more about him. The streets will be quiet now. We’ll head out towards this Kirby place Hardwar talked about. We’ll find somewhere along the way. We’ll need these as well as the others you packed.’
She crawled under the bed, pulling out two extra blankets. She rolled them up.
‘It’s warm this time of year, we can sleep rough. I’ve slept under the stars with my father loads of times. We can forage and hunt. There’s plenty of food if you know what you’re looking for. Are you listening to me? William?’
‘Yes, I’m listening.’
She sat on the end of the bed.
‘Well, you’ve got what you wanted, William Lee. You’ve found out who you are. I expect you’re still taking it all in. You poor thing. My dad used to always say, “Be careful what you wish for, Emily, because you might just get it.” It can be a terrible thing, the truth. Nobody really wants it. Last of all, those who seek it.’