We strid back over meadow and moor, dean and dale. We approached the edge of the forest. The leaves were already turning from green to gold and from gold to red. When we got back to our camp, I explained to Emily that we now had too much money to carry about our persons. My breeches weighed down like wet bags of sand. We dug a hiding place under the mantrap and buried a bag of coins. When we’d finished we sat back with ferns as our cushion and rested.
‘We’re rich,’ I said.
‘Not rich enough,’ she said.
‘No, you’re right. Not rich enough to get the best education.’
‘We need to acquire a lot more. Legal training doesn’t come cheap.’
‘What do I need legal training for?’
‘To get what’s yours – why else would you need it? I’ve been thinking of the best way to get to Hindley, and that’s where it really hurts him.’
‘Wuthering Heights.’
‘But how?’
‘I’ve not worked that one out yet. But I’m thinking. And I need more for the shop. I don’t want some shithole. I want a proper counter and a big window. I want cloches and silver cutlery like Jonas Bold. We need to think about where you will go to get tutored.’
‘We’ve burned our bridges there,’ I said. ‘We can’t go back to Liverpool or Manchester town.’
‘True enough.’
‘In any case, I wouldn’t know who to ask, or even where to go.’
‘All good things to those who wait,’ Emily said. ‘For now we still have work here.’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘You heard what he said. The old man is weak. His grief has weakened him further. His conscience is troubling him. Everything is set. He’s an easy target. He’s made himself fabulously rich by exploiting others. Now he has turned to God. And God hates greed but loves a sinner. All the old man wants now is to be reunited with the love of his life and reconcile his past with the Lord.’
She was thinking along the same devious lines as myself.
‘Will we have time though,’ I said, ‘before word reaches Kirby?’
‘We only need one more week,’ she said. ‘If we vie the ruff properly, we can get at least half what is his. Then you can have his head on a pike.’
Life in the forest was about death. Each place was a different grave. The forest floor itself was rich with decaying matter. The branches of trees breaking up and softening. Like bones turning into meal. The leaves that had turned copper and gold were falling slowly through the autumn air, making ghosts of themselves. The mushrooms were pecked and cratered by slugs and maggots. Everything was diminishing. Even the light, filtered through green and gold and copper tones, was an ageing version of itself. The forest smell sweetened and deepened. Time crept by slowly, at the pace of a snail. Summer’s heat was fading. We spent less time bathing in the pool and more time sitting by the fire. We played cards and gathered what food there was.
I tried to keep my mind from dwelling on those who were actively pursuing us. Searching every street. Looking down every lane. Asking of our whereabouts in every alehouse. I hoped Emily was right. Kirby was a remote village, that was true, but word had travelled from Yorkshire to Lancashire, from Manchester to Liverpool. I tortured myself with thoughts of our capture, but banished the thoughts by concentrating on our card games. My game was improving and I was becoming a worthy opponent, winning as many games as I had previously lost. The nights were the hardest part.
Emily’s nightmares were diminishing. She would still wake screaming from time to time, but I could usually soothe her and she would go back to sleep again. Then, with Emily sleeping beside me, I would spend hours unable to drift off, the night engulfing me. The blackness was all-encompassing. Whether you opened or closed your eyes it made no difference. Black or black. The colour of nothing. The deepest shade of the abyss. Black – the sky’s ink, thief of light. The mind abhors a vacuum and in the blackness horrid images filled my head. Of what the men had done. Of what pain my mother had suffered. To end her life in that way was such an act of desperation. I would hear a vixen scream but in my nightmares it was my mother, pleading for them to stop. Pleading for them not to take me. Pleading for them not to hurt her. I would hear an owl cry but in my nightmares it was my mother crying. Lost. Alone. Confused. Desperate. Around and around the images went. I would lie on my back and pray for daylight.
Out foraging we came across a meadow of wild flowers that bloom into autumn: red campion, meadowsweet, harebell and marigold.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ Emily said.
‘Go on.’
‘What were Annie’s favourite flowers?’
I smiled.
‘And what flowers bloomed the day after she died?’
My smile widened.
‘We dig these marigolds up, roots and all, and we plant them in front of Jonas’s bedroom window, so that when he wakes and draws his curtains, they will be the first thing his eyes encounter.’
I helped her dig them up, careful to retain their delicate root system. Then, under the cover of dusk, we walked with them to Bold Hall, climbed over the wall and crept beneath Mr Bold’s bedroom. We carefully planted the flowers. Dozens of them.
‘Let’s see what he thinks of that,’ Emily said.
The following Sunday we found Jonas waiting for us outside the chapel. He was standing to the side of his coach. His big round face was cut in half by his smile when he saw us. We drove back to the estate. Jonas was in an excited condition and chattered away to both Emily and I about how our meeting last Sunday had inspired him. How his feet had barely touched the floor. How he had felt Annie’s presence in bed that evening, then again when he was out walking a day or two later, then again during the sermon. How fired up he had been in church, feeling that, through his words, he was receiving God, bringing his congregation directly in touch with divine love.
‘Then, a few days ago, the most extraordinary thing happened.’
‘What’s that?’ I said.
‘When I went to my window and opened the curtains, there before me, twenty, maybe thirty, maybe more . . . beautiful, large, rich yellow flowers.’
‘Really?’
‘They were marigolds.’
He paused and waited for us to respond. But we both knew it was better for him to lead.
He smiled. ‘Don’t you see? They weren’t there the day before. It was Annie. She’d put them there. I know it.’
We both nodded.
‘I had the most extraordinary sensation this morning,’ he said. ‘When I was washing my hands. I was standing over the washbowl, the soap in my grip, looking out of the window, watching Annie’s flowers sway in the breeze, like they were waving at me. And then I felt her presence in the room. The light from the sun was striking the taps, making them sparkle. It was then that I felt her warmth behind me, and then a sublime calm. I could hear her come closer, then her hand on my shoulder. I didn’t want to spoil the moment. I knew she would go as soon as I turned around. So I stood there in my nightshirt, with the dawn sun pouring through the window, feeling the warmth of her hand on my shoulder and her sweet breath on my neck. I barely dared breathe. I knew the spiritual connection was wavering, and then it was gone. It was all over. The bridge between our world and the life everlasting had evaporated.’
Emily rolled her eyes behind the man’s back.
‘Then I turned around and do you know what I saw?’
‘No. What did you see?’
‘A single white feather, suspended in a sunbeam, floating down to the ground.’
Emily shook her head.
‘Don’t you see? It was an angel. Annie’s angel. I’ve been giddy ever since. I feel like a boy again. Rejuvenated by Annie’s love. I tell you, it was like when we first met – I’ve got butterflies in my stomach and I can’t stop smiling.’
He laughed a boyish laugh and patted his wig. Emily yawned. I mostly nodded and let him prattle on; it was all favourable to our plan. I looked over to Emily and winked at her.
When we got to the house Jonas led us into the dining room and we saw that the table was replete with sandwiches, cold meats, cheeses, fruits and cakes. We ate several platefuls of grub, glugging it down with plenty of sweet tea. Then we went back to the parlour.
We returned three days later on Jonas’s insistence. He wanted us to have a proper meal, he said. By now I was becoming ever more anxious. Time was ticking by and the risk of word spreading was increasing by the day. But Emily allayed my fears, reassuring me that it would all be worthwhile in the end. We were seated at the dining table and Bold’s servant filled our plates. This time there was roast widgeon with plum sauce. Afterwards we ate poached pears and peaches in syrup.
Jonas wiped his chops with a napkin and turned to me.
‘Tell me more of your life as an orphan, Adam? I’m interested to know the details.’
So I told him a tale. It was easy to elaborate, as I had lived the truth of the story. I just had to make up the names and the places. But the feelings were the same. Afterwards, I could see that Jonas was moved by my account. He nodded solemnly and was quiet, staring up at the painting of his beloved.
As we set off back I turned to Emily. ‘I’m getting impatient. When do I get to put my hands round his throat?’
‘Not long now,’ she said. ‘You’ll see. What was he talking about as we were leaving?’
‘Eh?’
‘A piece of music. Said it was Annie’s favourite.’
‘He was talking about her playing it on the harpsichord. He used to listen to her play.’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve had another idea?’
‘Come on,’ she said, and grabbed my sleeve.
We doubled back. We climbed over the wall and crept to beneath the music room. I took out my knife and forced the latch open. I nudged the window enough for Emily to crawl in.
The next time we visited, Jonas was in an ebullient mood once more. As the servant ladled out the soup, he told us of the latest development.
‘Annie has been here again,’ he said.
‘In what way?’ I asked.
‘When I went through to the main hall yesterday morning I noticed that the music book above the harpsichord was open.’
‘Is that so strange, sir?’
‘I distinctly remember closing it. But that’s not what is strange about this tale. I called one of the servants and I asked him whether he had opened it, perhaps when he was cleaning? He was adamant. The book had been closed. But now it was open. Not only that, it was open on page thirty-seven.’
I shrugged.
‘That’s the page where the music for “Au Clair de la Lune” is printed. Annie’s favourite. She would often sit at that instrument, pleasantly playing its melody.’
Emily nodded.
He smiled and took some soup onto his spoon. We ate in silence for a spell. As we snacked on smoked cheese and grapes, Jonas turned to us and said, ‘I had a dream last night.’
I nodded.
‘Me too,’ Emily said. ‘I dreamed I was a mole and I couldn’t find my mole hat. I mean, moles don’t even have hats, do they?’
Jonas was in his own world. He didn’t seem to even hear Emily. He was staring up at the portrait.
‘In my dream, Annabel came to me and she said that she had something to tell me.’
‘What was it?’ I asked.
‘She said that she had spoken with God.’
I nodded again, this time more gravely.
‘She said that God told her that the vast wealth I have accumulated is tainted.’
He put his teacup on the table and stared at the floor. ‘It is hard indeed for the rich to enter His kingdom. Many are turned away at the gates and have to suffer the flames of eternal damnation.’
‘Is that what God told Annie?’ Emily said.
‘It’s what I know in my heart,’ he said. ‘My riches are tainted.’
He took out the locket from his waistcoat and furled his fist around it. I watched his knuckles turn white.
‘I’m sure it isn’t as bad as you make out,’ I said at last.
‘They are the result of misery and human bondage.’ He was still staring at the floor.
‘Who do you speak of?’ I asked.
‘I saved them from barbarism. I brought them up from the animal level. I introduced them to the Bible and the word of God. But only by force. God doesn’t want that. He wants His children to come to Him of their own free will.’
‘And if they won’t? Is it not still godly to show them the light?’ Emily said.
‘God told Annie in my dream that if we are to be together in eternal bliss, I must give my wealth away. Only then can I be pure in the eyes of the Lord, and only then will He open the gates and we will be truly as one. “Keep only what is essential to your earthly existence, Jonas, my love – the rest must be gifted to those in need.” That’s what she said.’
‘And what did you say? In this dream?’
‘I said, “I’ll do it, my love. Earthly riches are no reward. Trinkets mean nothing to me.”’
He got to his feet with difficulty and took hold of his stick. Emily and I watched him as he walked over to the painting of Annie. He stood beneath it, staring up. The face in the painting was much bigger than Jonas’s, making Annie look like some deity staring down from the heavens.
‘When I woke I felt as though I had been somewhere else,’ he said. ‘I had been somewhere else. In sleep I had found a halfway place between the dead and the living, and that is where Annie spoke to me.’
Jonas suggested we take a walk in the gardens. He opened the glass doors of the conservatory and we strolled across the terrace and past a fountain, along ornate flower beds that were mostly withering, ready for winter, until we entered a wooded area. A path meandered down to the lake. We sat on a bench by the water and watched martlets dive and scoop. The summer guest gorging on the last of summer’s harvest. The leaves were copper, bronze, gold and every other burnished hue. Emily went to the water’s edge and picked up a stone. She skimmed it across the mirror of the lake’s surface.
‘Is it all right if I have a paddle?’ she said.
Jonas nodded. ‘Please do.’
She took off her boots and stockings. She rolled her dress up in a knot so that it rested just above her knees. She waded in. Jonas was unusually quiet. He stared deep into the green-blue water. There were still some late blooms by the waterside but mostly it was fretted by green reeds. The last of the dragonflies hovered about.
‘You seem troubled,’ I said after an interval.
‘Aye. That I am, Adam.’
‘Is there anything I can do to soothe your fevered brow, sir?’
‘Yes, there is.’
‘And what is that?’
‘You have lived on the streets. You have gone days without a meal. You know what it is to go hungry. I have never known an empty belly. I have never been without a bed or a roof over my head.’
‘We each have our crosses to bear,’ I said.
‘And June. She has known great privation also. Oh, I’m not saying I have never suffered hardship of any kind. It was hard sometimes in Jamaica. It is a wild and mountainous place. Full of mutiny. We had an agreement with the Maroons.’
‘Who were they?’ I asked.
‘Runaway slaves. There was a peace treaty. As long as they brought back future runaways, we would leave them alone. Which they did. But the fear was always there. Having an army of unpredictable Africans all around you, it was hard to sleep some nights. I had to be tough. I had no choice.’
As I listened to him talk I wondered if Hindley justified his own malicious conduct with the same self-serving story.
‘There were thousands of them and only hundreds of us, you understand?’
I nodded.
‘I was in charge of forty-two slaves. Do you think they accepted their submission gracefully?’
‘No, sir, I suspect not.’
‘During that first year, do you know, I didn’t see another white person for weeks on end. I wasn’t even thirty years old. So you see, I had no choice.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I’d never been, you know, before I came to the island. I wasn’t a brute. I was an educated man. A lover of books. Do you know, I have a library containing more than a thousand volumes?’
Emily waded back out of the water and walked over to where we were sitting.
‘I thought I saw a pike,’ she said.
‘That’s entirely possible,’ Jonas said. ‘There is indeed an old pike in there.’
‘It’s a big one, nearly had my leg off.’
‘Well, let me see, must be about eight pound now. Not the biggest there is, but a decent size. Why don’t you have a walk in the orchard just over there?’ he said to Emily, pointing to the right of the pond. ‘The apples need collecting. I think there’s a basket thereabouts.’
She looked at me for affirmation. I felt that Jonas was opening up and that it would be beneficial if the two of us could talk some more so I nodded to Emily, to say she should go.
‘I’ll have a look,’ she said, and wandered off again.
‘It was a dangerous world, Adam. I was responsible for everything on the pen: housing, clothing, feeding, the lot. The things I had to endure: blisteringly hot sun, hurricanes, floods. But I learned very quickly how to make the land fertile and thus profitable. It began in me a lifetime’s passion for horticulture. Plants, roots, cuttings, saplings.’
He rambled on about gardening matters for some time, before going off on another tangent. I tried to steer the conversation back on course.
‘Forgive me, sir, but why are you telling me all this? Is something troubling you?’
‘I . . . I just wanted you to know . . . I’ve made mistakes.’
‘We all have, sir. I’m sure.’
‘Fieldwork had to be synchronised with the mechanical processes. Cane that takes too long to be crushed and processed rapidly deteriorates, you see. Timing between the field and the factory was a very tricky business. And if the slaves weren’t pulling their weight . . . I had very little experience at this stage, you understand. There were enormous pressures on me.’
‘I’m sure you did what you could.’
Jonas grabbed hold of my arm and turned to me, his eyes pleading. ‘Yes, but is that how God will see it, Adam? That’s what I need to know.’
He stared deep into my eyes. There was something manic and desperate in that stare. I just shrugged.
At last he said, ‘Forgive me, Adam. I shouldn’t burden you with all this. But like me, you are a man of the cloth. Our job is to bring the sinner closer to God.’
‘In truth, sir, I have not yet been accredited.’
‘No? But I thought you said—’
‘I did. I mean, I fully intend to be, but I am not experienced enough yet. I am, in all honesty, barely literate and numerate. There is much I need to learn. And I have not the wealth to educate myself.’
‘I see,’ said Jonas, sitting back on the bench. ‘Let me think on this matter,’ he said. ‘Will you come back another day?’
‘Well, I—’
‘You must, I insist. Tomorrow maybe?’
‘Not tomorrow,’ I said.
‘Then the day after?’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ I said at last.
All I wanted to do was grab him by the scruff of his neck and push his head under the water. To hold it there as he thrashed about, until he thrashed no more. But I thought again about our plan. We were almost there. Patience.
I went to find Emily. She was gathering apples and had a dozen or so in the basket. I explained that we were leaving. We walked back to Jonas and thanked him for his hospitality. He made us promise that we would return in two days’ time.
As we walked back to the forest, I turned to Emily and said, ‘So what next?’
‘He’s a worm on the end of our hook,’ she said. ‘We just need to dangle it a little longer. Here, have one of these,’ she said, handing me an apple. I bit into the flesh. ‘What do you think?’
‘I meant, what do you think we should do next?’
I shrugged.
When we got back to the shelter, we built up a fire and played a game of havoc. We talked about how we were going to manipulate Jonas, until we agreed that we should see what transpired on Tuesday and take it from there. I could feel growing unease in the pit of my gut. I pushed the feeling away and concentrated on my playing hand.
We made two more visits to Bold Hall before we had any kind of breakthrough. Jonas had sat us around the dinner table and asked us to tell him more about our parents’ thwarted plans to build the orphanage. He seemed fascinated by every detail. So I wasn’t entirely surprised at the end of that final visit, after the table had been cleared of crockery and the port had been served, when Jonas turned to us both and said, ‘I’ve been spending a lot of time with Annie in the garden.’
We both nodded. I sipped my port.
‘You two coming into my life. The harpsichord, the marigolds. Annie has sent you. I’m sure of it. I’ve told her all about you both and about the orphanage. I’ve told her about your plans to get accredited. I could feel her presence all around me. The leaves in the trees rustled with her spirit. She knows. She hears. She listens. I’ve been thinking as well that June needs an education. I want the very best for you,’ he said, turning to Emily. ‘And after a lot of thought, a lot of ruminating, a lot of talking with Annie, I’ve come to a decision.’
‘And what decision is that then, may I ask, sir?’
‘I want you to have a portion of my wealth. I want you to use it to complete the orphanage and what is left I want you both to use to secure your futures and keep from want. I will retain that which is enough to keep me in a modest fashion till I end my earthly days. That is all I require.’
‘But that is too generous, sir,’ I said.
‘We are not worthy of such a gift,’ Emily said.
‘You are more than worth what I have,’ he said. ‘Don’t try and dissuade me. It will do no good. I’m a stubborn old mule. Ask Annie. Ask her about the caffoy. Too lavish, she said, but I insisted.’ He pointed up to where the painting was hanging. ‘Stubborn as an ox. That’s what she used to say. Once I’ve made up my mind, there is no dissuading me. So don’t even try. It will do no good, I assure you.’
‘Well, if you are sure this is the right thing to do, sir?’
I could feel the knot in my gut dissolve. I tried to contain my relief. At last, the old man had taken the bait, the plan had worked. It had been a huge effort – as much an effort of will and nerve as that of skill – but he had cracked. I tried not to show my joy, and instead smiled inwardly.
‘Mankind is in a state of guilt. There is a sense of dread of divine displeasure.’
He was looking down at his empty plate.
‘From the most learned philosophers down to the greatest savages, subject to such remorse as makes them wish for some method of expiating their offences. The minds of even the most enlightened men, who have the highest standard of moral perfection and the quickest sense of duty.’
He looked over to where Emily and I were seated.
‘There has to be atonement. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. My wealth is like an iron cloak, dragging me down into the mire. It is a millstone round my neck, pulling me under to Beelzebub’s domain. I thought that by purchasing human chattels from a godless land and transporting them to my own plantations, where they could be occupied with honest toil, and receive the word of Christ, that I was doing God’s work, but I’ve seen the error of my ways. Annie came to me in a dream again last night. My dearest Annie. And I wish only to do what is propitious by Annie and my Lord Jesus Christ. Everything else in my life is dust. This is my mission on earth. Perhaps my philanthropic actions will be an example to other men like me, who have made their riches from the blood, sweat and tears of bonded labour. God wants only free men. Iron cuffs and shackles anger Him. Neck braces and manacles offend Him. Collars and chains provoke His wrath. The block repels His love, as does the whip. He has made man in His image to be free to devote his life to God. To use our free choice to love Him. To serve Him by force is not to serve Him at all. Only the devil wants bonded slaves. Annie and I made an Eden here, in order to replicate that Eden that seated man before his sin. With an orchard for pear and apple, woodlands and water. Beds of flowers and beds where every one of God’s vegetables grows.’
He took out the locket containing the lock of hair from his waistcoat and gripped it in his fist.
‘I have done things. Things that cannot be undone. Many refused to eat. They had to be force-fed. They would have died otherwise.’
He took out the lock of hair and stroked his cheek with it.
‘So soft. My Annie’s hair was like her temperament. So soft. God made both the lion and the lamb.’
He put the lock of hair to his lips. He stared off, out of the window, dreamily.
‘You know, on my first voyage I saw a man flogged for committing sodomy with a sheep,’ he said and laughed bitterly.
‘That’s disgusting,’ Emily said.
‘No, June, that is man at his most base. We each have that baseness in us. That ship was infested with rats, and slaves lay in their own uncleanliness. The smell was overpowering. On our homeward journey the ship was terribly damaged by a storm. We lost food and livestock overboard. We were doomed, or so I thought, but some force guided us to safety. And I now know what I didn’t know then. That there is a God who hears and answers our prayers.’
I let a respectful silence descend before I responded.
‘I find it hard to locate any error in what you say, sir. I’m moved by your heartfelt sentiments. It marks you out as a man of great compassion and divine devotion.’
‘I’ve never been so sure of anything before. Thanks to my dearest Annie. Next Sunday you will come to my house and I will give out my wealth. I then intend to spend what time I have left working on the minds of men who think it is acceptable to buy and sell human chattels.’
You might find that plan is thwarted then, I thought, as I pictured his head on a pike. Inside I was chuckling. We had him. This was it, Cathy. Everything we had worked for was almost in place.
‘Very well, sir. You have chosen a righteous path. I am honoured that you have selected me as your servant in this matter.’
‘And I am deeply touched,’ said Emily, ‘that you would do such a good thing for us both.’
He took hold of Emily’s hand and kissed it tenderly. Then he turned to me and looked me in the eye. We shook hands.
As we walked back to the forest, I felt as light as a butterfly. I was hardly aware of the cold wind blowing at my cheek. Inside I was warm and content. I laughed with joy and Emily joined in. She chatted beside me.
‘That couldn’t have gone any better,’ she said. ‘We’ve only gone and cracked it.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe it. Just four more days before we get to pick up the rewards of our labour.’
‘Do you think he’s off his rocker?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘The way he talks about Annie, it’s like she’s in the room. Sometimes I think he’s forgotten that she’s dead and thinks she is standing next to him.’
‘Who knows where the dead go when they die?’ I said. ‘Maybe they do walk by our side. Maybe they follow us wherever we go and sleep in our bedchambers when we sleep.’
Emily carried on chatting about Jonas as we traipsed across the moor, but my enthusiasm waned as my thoughts returned to my mother. I kept picturing in my mind what Jonas had done to make his guilt lie so heavily on his conscience. He had left her to die in a darkened room. Dragged from the place of her birth, pulled from the bosom of her family. Made to travel overseas in a boat where they were stuffed like figs in a barrel. Made to lie in their own ordure. Sleep in a box not big enough to move about. Brought to a plantation where men would use her for their own purposes. The thought sickened me all over again. Men like Jonas were able to live an immoral life for whatever length of time they pleased, just as long as they repented before they breathed their last breath. What kind of God was it that looked down at us from His throne in heaven? What kind of maniac was He to think that this was devout work?
The next day, Emily checked the snares and brought two rabbits back. I filled the pot from the beck and picked some mushrooms. I sliced them up and put them into the stew. I found some greens to add to the concoction and watched Emily gut the animals.
‘I tell you what – I’ll be glad to see the back of rabbit stew,’ she said, as she slopped the discarded offal onto the forest floor.
‘Just another week, Emily. Then no more rabbit stew for us. Only sirloins of roast beef, venison, duck and partridge.’
‘And cakes.’
‘If you like.’
We talked some more about what we would do with our wealth, until Emily started one of her coughing fits. I didn’t say anything, but secretly my concern deepened. I thought about my namesake again, William Lee. How quickly he had gone from a playful boy to an invalid. And how quickly he had dwindled from that point on, to his grave. I resolved to consult a physician as soon as our plan had come to fruition.
We were travelling in Jonas’s coach, speeding to his estate. It was Sunday and my axe and knife were secreted in my surtout. I had spent the morning sharpening them, ready for my revenge. We would get Jonas’s worldly goods, then I would gut him like an eel. It was a fine autumn day, red and gold leaves falling in our wake, but Jonas was quiet during the journey and there was a darkness in his eyes that disconcerted me.
‘Is everything set?’ I asked.
He just nodded gravely and stared out of the window at nothing in particular. I had a growing sense of unease, but I tried to push it from my mind. It is a big day, I told myself. He is about to take a life-changing step, one he can never reverse. Of course he must be apprehensive. It’s perfectly natural. In fact, it would be stranger if he were not in this dark mood. But nothing could assuage the knot of foreboding in my gut.
The coach pulled up outside the front door and we alighted. We went into the dining room. The table was bare, in stark contrast to our previous visit. So, there’s to be no feast, I thought. No matter. Jonas stood beneath the painting of his deceased wife. We stood waiting for him to speak, but he folded his arms and remained silent.
‘Are we waiting for someone, sir?’ I enquired.
‘Let’s not be hasty,’ he said.
‘Is something the matter, sir? I couldn’t help noticing that throughout our journey here, your mood has been somewhat melancholy.’
He nodded slowly but said nothing. He turned to the portrait and stared up at it.
‘I’ve heard that sometimes dark devices show us their light reflection, in order to gain our trust.’
‘You confuse me, sir. For sure, your words are riddles.’
‘Yesterday I ordered my servants to collect a significant portion of my wealth from the vaults and to box it up in wooden chests, ready for collection. Shortly after they had carried out the task, there was a knock at the door. I wonder if you can guess who the visitor was?’
I looked at Emily. I could tell from the way she was rubbing the hem of her frock with her thumb and forefinger that she didn’t like where this was going. I didn’t like where this was going either. I tried to retain my composure.
‘I’ve no idea, sir.’
‘It was a man who introduced himself as Dick Taylor, a man with only one hand. He told me how he had lost his other hand, and how he had lost his dear companion, who was murdered in his bed a few weeks ago, while he still slept. A coward’s way of killing a man, I’d say. He told me of my old business partner, Mr Hardwar, and how he had been tortured and mutilated in the office of his Custom House. And how he was left to bleed to death. He also told me about a girl with white-blonde hair, who he knew to be a witch and who was in league with the devil himself. Then he showed me this.’
He reached into his frock coat and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He unravelled it. He held up the wanted notice.
I felt ice-cold water run through my veins.
‘I see,’ I said.
I looked at Emily again. Her pale face had blanched even paler than before, so that her skin was even whiter than that of the painting of Annabel Bold. I had my knife on me and the sharpened axe. I had come here to rob him, then to butcher him. This Jonas was old, fat and out of shape, he would present no difficulties. I would just have to do the deed sooner rather than later.
‘You are nothing more than a thief, a liar and a killer,’ Jonas said, warming to his theme.
‘I am the son of Lilith,’ I said. ‘My mother who you drove to her death. Who died under your very roof in the attic above this room. And now I have come back to put right your terrible crime.’
Jonas raised his eyebrows in surprise. I was getting ready to pounce, when the door to the parlour opened and in walked Mr Bold’s two servants, alongside an officer of the law and Dick Taylor, who was brandishing a pistol with his one remaining hand. They stood next to Jonas Bold beneath the portrait. We were outnumbered five to two. The door we had come through was a good ten yards distance. The lead ball in Dick’s pistol would outrun us. There was a large bay window behind us. That was another possible escape, and the door the men had come through, which led to the parlour, also at least ten yards away. None of these options were particularly hopeful.
‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ Dick Taylor said, his skull grinning.
Jonas nodded. ‘So, you’re Lilith’s son. The brat she spent six years grieving over. Why she thought she’d have been able to keep you I don’t know. But I’d heard you’d survived her. Didn’t hear much else – I left your dispatch to Mr Hardwar. He was short of money at the time, put you to work in his kitchens as far as I recollect. I didn’t want to know the details. As long as the problem was sorted. Your father was out of his depth, of course. A bloody tyke from the sticks. I don’t know what hold she had over your father, but he had a special agreement to use her exclusively. That was, until Mr Hardwar got tired of him.’
‘How well did you know my mother?’
‘Once Mr Earnshaw was out of the picture, your mother became one of my favourites,’ Jonas said. ‘We called her Negro Number Twenty-nine. Twenty-nine times a night. I was sad to see the light die in her eyes. Watching her in this house dwindling by the day. I did what I had to do. Now I’m going to do what I have to do again.’
We had the table between us and the men. There was no time to think any further. As fast as I could, and using all my strength, I flipped the table over and grabbed Emily, but a shot rang out and as I pulled her down, I saw that she was bleeding.
No time to go to her aid. I leapt up, brandishing a chair, and threw it across the room at Dick Taylor. It crashed into him, knocking his gun to the floor. The officer now held a pistol, which he fired. I ducked behind the table again, then seeing that the bullet had missed me, I ran from behind the table at the officer, who held his gun towards me. It was a race to get to him before he could take aim. Just as I reached him, holding my knife ready to stab him, he pulled the trigger. But the gun misfired and I plunged the knife into his neck. He went down. I yanked the blade out of his severed windpipe and thrust it deep into his heart. Once, twice, three times. The man crumpled at my feet.
The two servants just stood there, fixed to the spot as though they had been planted there by Jonas, evidently not fighting men. Dick had reached for his gun and was busy reloading it, but with only one hand it was slow work. I gripped the throat and belly of the axe and ran at him as fast as I could. He was about to pull the trigger, but I grabbed his arm so that he fired the shot at the ceiling. Then, still holding onto it, I held the axe aloft and brought it down with great force, chopping through the meat and bones of his wrist, so that I now held his hand as though it were a glove. I threw it onto the floor, with its fingers still clutching the gun. I plucked the pistol from the hand and held it against Dick’s forehead.
‘Please, don’t,’ he said. ‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.’
He was kneeling before me, blood pumping from the wound. I fired the pistol into the middle of his forehead. Flesh and bone exploded. I could feel hot spittles of blood freckle my face. The room reeked of gunpowder. He was thrown onto the floor. Next I ran at the servants, who were making their way to the door. I grabbed the first by his hair and plunged the knife between his shoulder blades. He stopped in his tracks and fell to his knees. I took the knife out and slit the man’s throat. He fell to the floor, blood gurgling from the gash. I lunged at the second servant, who held the door handle in one hand and had the door ajar. I stabbed him in the neck. He cried out, falling against the door and closing it in the process. I stabbed him in the cheek, then in his liver. He fell to the floor. I leapt onto the man and stabbed him indiscriminately in his guts and chest, in his face again. But I was stabbing a corpse, panting with the effort.
I turned around. The parlour door was open and Jonas had escaped. I ran into the parlour but there was no Jonas. The door that led to the kitchens was also open and I ran over to it. I found Jonas at the back, near the sink, and close to the back door.
‘Not so quick,’ I said.
He turned around, absolute fear in his eyes. He picked up an iron pot and threw it at me, but it was a weak throw and fell short a few feet from where I was standing. He grabbed a meat cleaver that was lying on a wooden board.
‘We don’t have to do it this way,’ he said. ‘I want to give you everything I’ve got. Killing a man will bring you no satisfaction, either in this life or the next. There is time for you to save your soul. Give up your weapons and God will forgive you.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ I said, walking slowly towards him. ‘I don’t want God’s forgiveness.’
‘I know people. Important people. Magistrates, judges, lords and politicians. Powerful people. I can get you off. You see if I can’t.’
‘I thought you wanted to be with your wife, dear, sweet Annie? I only want to give you what you desire,’ I said.
I lunged at him as he came at me with the cleaver. I slashed at his arm and the knife cut deep. He dropped the cleaver and tried to shield himself with his arms. I threw the knife down, then the axe as well, so that both lay on the kitchen floor. I punched him in the face and the blow knocked him back against the wall. I grabbed him by the hair, forgetting it was a wig, and it came off in my hand. I threw it onto the ground and grabbed him by the few hairs he had left, growing at the back of his head. I smashed his face into the stone top, knocking his teeth out of his head, throwing him onto the floor and pouncing on him. With both thumbs, I gouged out the jellies of his eyes. I put my hands around his throat and squeezed the life out of him. His florid complexion purpled. He stopped struggling and collapsed. I crouched over the corpse, panting like an animal.
Suddenly, I remembered Emily. I ran back through the kitchen, through the parlour, into the dining room. Emily was on the floor, holding her hands close to her chest, trying to stop the flow of blood from the shot wound. I ran across to her and held her up so that she could breathe more easily.
‘Emily, Emily. Can you hear me?’
Her eyes were open but they had glazed over and were staring at nothing.
I shook her gently.
‘Emily, please, stay with me till I get some help.’
She looked up at me for the first time. I ripped a sleeve from my shirt and tied it tight around her chest, to staunch the flow of blood. I picked her up in my arms and carried her out of the house, to the coach that was still with horses.
‘I’m going to drive us back to the village. I’ll get a physician. He’ll patch you up. You’ll see.’
I opened the coach door and lay Emily across the seat. As I did, she grabbed hold of my neck. She pulled me towards her.
‘My dad . . . My dad . . .’ Her voice was weak and I had to lean in closer to hear what she was saying. ‘He was a bad man, William Lee. He’s gone to hell. Am I going to hell?’
I shook my head. We’re all going to hell, I wagered. I thought about my mother. Was she going to hell? Aren’t those who take their own lives condemned to the fiery pit? Wasn’t that what Joseph said? Very well, I’d see her then some day.
‘You don’t understand. My dad. He did some bad things.’
‘I know. You’ve told me. He was a murderer.’
‘Worse than that, William. He was worse than that.’
I stroked her hair. ‘Don’t talk. Rest. We need to get you to the doctor.’
‘He didn’t see me, William. I looked at him, but he didn’t see me.’
She looked deep into my eyes, with a pleading expression. I waited for her to continue but instead she released her grip and was flaccid once more.
I sat on the cold stone step and wept.
I railed against the world. I cursed God and I cursed humanity. There was no good in the world, only an ocean fleet of evil. I lay on the floor and beat my head against the stone. I lay there for a long time, unable to move. I’d lost the only person, apart from you, Cathy, that I’d ever really cared about. I’d reneged on my promise to keep her safe from harm, as you reneged on your promise that we would always be together. You said that I was more you than you were yourself. That our souls were made of the same thing. I cursed promises.
Eventually I became aware of myself again. I stood up and walked back to the coach. I lay Emily neatly across the seat and gently closed her eyes. I wiped away the blood from her face with the pilfered fogle. I shut the coach door. I went back inside the house, past the bodies of the men I’d killed, until I came to Mr Bold’s study. Inside the room were two large wooden chests. I opened the first. It was full to the brim with diamonds, sapphires, rubies and other jewels. I went over to the second: it was stuffed with guineas and gold sovereigns. He must have had his servant fetch them from his vault before encountering Dick Taylor.
I was a rich man. But what good were my riches now? I sat by the boxes, thinking things through. I owed it to Emily, as well as to myself, to make something of my life. If not, then two people had died in vain, Emily and me.
I thought back to what Emily had said in the woods, about an education being the key to taking revenge against Wuthering Heights. I would use this wealth to get an education and become a gentleman. I would become an expert in the legal acquisition of personal estates. I would go back to Wuthering Heights and take everything from Hindley. I would not stop until he was completely destroyed. I would destroy his wealth, I would destroy his power, I would crush his spirit, so that death would be a sweet release from his torment. And you, Cathy, why should you have it easy? You might be married, living a life of luxury, but I would come between you and Edgar. I would see to it that your soul would be in constant torment. I would make sure that you would never be happy. Just as you had ensured that I would never be other than cast out and alone.
I stood up and closed the lids of the chests. I looked at my reflection in the mirror on the wall. I was covered in blood, my forehead was cut open and blood oozed from the wound. My shirt was ripped. I looked more like a beast than a gentleman. But it was easy to change from one thing to another. No man becomes a gentleman through honest toil. There was only ever one way to get money and that was to steal it from those who stole it from others. I would return one day to Wuthering Heights, in tailored garments and in a chaise. Mark my words, Cathy.
The wooden chests were a great weight and cumbersome to shift. It took a huge amount of effort, but eventually I heaved the first one over to the coach and loaded it up next to Emily’s body. I went back for the second. I had one last look around the house. I went into the study and furtled through the drawers in the desk. There were ledgers and account books. Certificates of purchase and receipts. Above the desk was a shelf, and along this shelf a neat line of black books with dates written on the spines. I pulled the first one out and flicked through it. It was a journal. Each page was headed by a date, underneath which was a short description of the day’s events. To-do lists. Records of stocks and sales. Appointments and meetings of various sorts and short summaries of events. I took another journal from the year before, 1779. I flicked through it. I put it back. I counted through to 1764. The year of my birth.
With some trepidation, I lay the book on the desk and opened it. More dates. Times. Figures. Meeting with so-and-so. Appointment for this and that. But then, as I turned the pages, my eyes could hardly believe what they saw. Further on, the journal was a meticulous account of each and every sexual congress during his years on the plantation. Where and when, with whom, how often. ‘Above the wall head’, ‘right hand of the river’, ‘towards the negro ground’. ‘The floor’, ‘north bed foot’, ‘east parlour’. I turned the next page and saw the word ‘Lilith’. I slammed the book shut, afraid of what I might read next. I didn’t want to know. I wanted to know. I thought about my mother. Clothes torn. Held down. A girl not much older than Emily. Men all over. Whip and boot. Crying out. Pleading. Alone. In agony. At least now her pain was over. I took hold of the book and several others and placed them inside the remaining chest. I would learn more of my history. No matter what misery it wrought. Then I dragged the chest out of the building and over to the carriage. I heaved it up next to its partner, untethered the horses, mounted the cab and cracked the whip.
When I got back to camp, I dug up the money we had buried and put it with the rest of my wealth. I removed the ferns from the entrance to the mantrap we had constructed and placed Emily at the bottom. I scooped up heaps of earth and poured it over her body. I kept doing this until she was buried under the mound of fresh soil. I patted the earth down.
I looked around at the makeshift camp that had been our home these past few weeks. I dismantled the shelter and took the tree branch that had been used as the main support. I dug out my knife and sharpened one end of the wood, then fixed it into the ground like a stake. I gathered the rest of the branches and twigs and piled them around. I took all of our other possessions, including the blankets that had kept us warm, and Emily’s other dress that she had been saving for a special occasion, and gathered them in a heap around the stake. As I did I noticed a brightly coloured object close to our former shelter. As I got closer I saw that it was the deck of cards, fastened with some string. I untied the deck and shuffled the pack. I took out a joker and placed it on the soft mound where I had buried Emily, then I re-tied the deck and tucked it into my coat pocket. Save them for another day. I had a game I was going to teach Hindley.
Then I took the flint and used my knife to start a fire. I watched the flames lick the fabric of the frock and turn the edges black, before catching more thoroughly. The smoke was thick and black due to all of the leaves on the branches, and the wood still wet with sap. For a time the fire was obscured by its own thick fog. The wood hissed and crackled. But then the smoke cleared and the wood stopped hissing. Big red flames consumed the pile. I could feel the heat burn from where I was standing.
I walked back to the carriage. As I climbed up to the driver’s seat and took the whip in my hand, I looked back at the grave for the last time. The fresh mound rising up as though the earth was pregnant. ‘You have not died in vain,’ I said. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’ And I allowed hot tears to prick my eyes once more.
The fire was raging. I cracked the whip. The horses galloped. It was over. It had begun.