‘Bristol or Liverpool?’ Lockwood asked. ‘Come now, Lynch, if you know Henry Avery as well as coxswain Dann claimed, you must have an opinion.’
The thief-taker stood with his back to a window overlooking Leadenhall and the light fell directly in Hector’s eyes. Three weeks had passed since the trip to Rochester and Hector was on the alert for the thief-taker’s techniques. He recalled the cynical way Lockwood had used him and Jezreel as a device to squeeze Dann for every last drop of information.
Hector hoped that his face did not show his misgivings. During the journey back to London, Lockwood had made them an offer that was impossible for them to turn down: if they used their knowledge of Avery to assist him hunt Fancy’s captain, the thief-taker would keep their arrival in England secret from the authorities.
‘Avery would have chosen to land at Bristol, if he returned to England,’ Hector said carefully.
‘Why Bristol?’
‘Dann came in through Liverpool, and probably others from Fancy. Long Ben would not want to run the risk of encountering his former shipmates.’
‘A chance meeting was hardly likely,’ Lockwood objected.
‘Avery repeatedly told his men to travel in small groups to avoid attracting attention. If Dann and his friends came through Liverpool, then Avery would have heeded his own advice and stayed clear, taking a different route.’
‘That supposes that Avery kept track of Dann and his fellows on their way to England.’
Hector was not put off by Lockwood’s unhelpful responses. ‘One of the things I learned about Fancy’s captain was that he always let others take the first risk. If he intended coming back to England, Avery would have set it up so he followed Dann and his friends to Dublin, then waited there to see how they fared on the final crossing to England.’
Lockwood gave a grunt which could have been of approval or of frustration. He walked past Hector to where a tall long-case clock stood against the wall. Like the rest of the furniture, it was new and must have cost a great deal of money. The pale arabesques of the marquetry contrasted with the polished walnut of the main trunk. Hector guessed that the room was normally an office for the same Sir Jeremiah who had loaned Lockwood his opulent carriage for the trip to Rochester.
‘I agree with you,’ Lockwood said. ‘Nevertheless, after listening to Dann I sent word to the magistrates in both Liverpool and Bristol to ask if there were any sightings of anyone matching Avery’s vague description.’ He pulled open the clock’s door to inspect the mechanism of pendulum and weights. Watching him, Hector thought it was typical of the thief-taker that he had to keep himself busy, always seeking to find out more.
Lockwood waited for a dozen swings of the pendulum before he gently closed the clock door. ‘So far I’ve heard nothing from either place, and each day makes it less likely that Avery will be found. I’ve delayed long enough.’
Hector waited, there was nothing he had to say. He was grateful for the three-week interval since Rochester. He had been able to collect Maria and Isabel from Maynard at Blackwall, and Lockwood had raised no objection when Jezreel suggested that they accompany him to Sussex when he went to seek out his own family. As it turned out, Jezreel’s brothers and sister had prospered. They had expanded their smallholding and now owned or rented several adjacent farms. One of them had a cottage they were happy for Jezreel to occupy in return for help on the land. It was here that Hector had left Maria and Isabel when Lockwood sent word that he needed Hector in Leadenhall. The hunt for Avery had stalled.
‘Sir Jeremiah has had no luck in Lombard Street either.’ Lockwood had begun to prowl the room, stopping to examine various display ornaments, all of them costly. ‘The magistrates had Dann’s lodgings searched. They found a thousand pounds’ worth of gold sequins and ten gold sovereigns sewn into a waistcoat. One presumes that Avery brought back much more, in bullion if not in coin.’
He selected the statuette of a dove, one of a pair carved from a green translucent stone, and held it up to the light to admire. ‘If Avery reached London, he’d have to put his prize somewhere secure. His only choice is to use the goldsmith-bankers of Lombard Street. Sir Jeremiah has approached all his contacts among that fraternity. None of them has recently accepted a large amount of gold, least of all in foreign currency.’ He put down the green dove, and allowed himself a cynical smile. ‘Or they didn’t admit doing so.’
The thief-taker moved across to a corner to inspect an ornamental globe on its mahogany stand. Large and showy, the globe was useless for practical navigation but it spoke of Sir Jeremiah’s wealth and worldwide trade. ‘Therefore, while I think Avery is in England, I don’t believe he’s in London, at least not yet.’
He gave the globe a gentle turn, so it spun on its axis. ‘In theory Avery could still be anywhere,’ he mused, ‘but I have a hunch that he is here.’ He stabbed his finger down so the globe stopping spinning. ‘In Bristol where he first landed.’
He turned to Hector and asked, ‘And you’ve just told me why?’
‘Because he’s waiting to learn whether any of his company, men like Dann, have been arrested by the authorities?’
Lockwood nodded. ‘And that’s why I’m sending you to Bristol, Lynch, to sniff around. See if you can pick up the trail of Long Ben.’
‘I know nothing of Bristol. Never been to the place,’ Hector protested.
‘So you’ll arrive there with fresh eyes. Get inside his head; imagine what he would have done when he disembarked the ship from Dublin.’
Hector had been expecting something like this ever since receiving Lockwood’s summons. His heart sank. He wondered how long he would be away on this wild-goose chase. It could be months, and if Jezreel was with him, Maria and Isabel would be left on their own in Sussex . . .
The thief-taker must have read his thoughts, for Lockwood’s next words shook him. ‘Lynch, don’t look so glum!’ he snapped. ‘Find Avery for me, and all charges of piracy against you will be dropped.’
Hector stared at Lockwood in open disbelief.
There was a touch of impatience in the thief-taker’s voice. ‘Ask yourself this, Lynch: who put up the five hundred pounds bounty?’
‘The East India Company,’ Hector said. ‘That’s what I heard.’
‘The Company is supplying the money, but the Board of Trade decides who receives it. The Board is largely made up of ministers of the Crown and has exceptional powers.’
Hector waited for him to go on.
‘The talk in the streets and taverns is always about the money, the five hundred pounds.’ The thief-taker’s voice dripped with contempt. ‘That’s what’s in the big print of my handbills and posters. But the full government proclamation states, “any person or persons whose information leads to the arrest and conviction of Henry Avery will receive a pardon for all crimes of piracy while under his command”.’
Lockwood allowed a short silence to pass, before he added softly: ‘If you doubt me, Lynch, you can read it for yourself in the London Gazette. Find Avery for me, and I will recommend that all charges of piracy against you will be set aside.’
Hector’s mind was whirling. ‘And against Jezreel Hall too?’
‘Of course. But Mr Hall doesn’t go poking around Bristol with you. If Henry Avery is as alert and clever as his reputation says he is, and he hears that a large man with the look of a prize-fighter is asking questions about him, Long Ben will vanish again.’
For a moment Hector’s guard was down as he thought about what Lockwood had said. He imagined the freedom of no longer living in the shadow of his questionable past. Yet something in Lockwood’s manner struck him the wrong way. The thief-taker had returned to the spot where he could stand with his back to the light. It was impossible to read the expression in his eyes. Hector could only judge Lockwood’s sincerity by his voice. His words carried an undertone that rang hollow.
✻
The journey from London to Bristol was in a bone-shaking hackney coach that had no springs and was crammed with passengers. Hector spent the jolting hours trying to improve on Lockwood’s instructions: he was to begin his search at Bristol docks. Lockwood had given him the money to bribe customs officials to show him their record books for ships arriving from Ireland. But Hector was sure that if Avery had indeed passed that way, those same officials had already taken the freebooter’s money to make false entries. By the afternoon of the third day, when the coach drew up beside the High Cross in the centre of Bristol, he had still not come up with a better plan.
He stepped down into the street, stretched to ease his cramped muscles, and looked up at the sky. Fast-moving rain clouds were coming in from the west. He needed to find lodgings quickly. A fellow passenger had recommended a bookseller in Broad Street who rented out rooms above his shop, and he called up to the coach driver for directions.
‘If you’re going that way you can deliver this – his name’s George Lewis.’ The driver threw him down a flat package tied with twine. Shouldering his bag, Hector started walking. His first impression of Bristol was that it was just like London, only smaller. There was the same sense of hurry and bustle in the streets, the same air of making money while paying due respect to the Almighty. Huddles of prosperous-looking merchants stood talking business amongst themselves in a pillared arcade directly across from two churches on opposite corners of the central crossroads. The imposing building with a square tower and flagpole, and larger than either church, had the look of Council Chambers.
Broad Street was lined with four-storey buildings with timber-and-plaster fronts, and Hector had gone just a few steps along it when he realized the difference from London: there were no handcarts and wagons delivering goods, everything was being shifted on sleds. Even more surprising was the absence of a central gutter. Despite the warmth of the day, there was little smell. He could only conclude that the city drains were buried somewhere beneath his feet.
The bookseller’s premises were much like its neighbours, tall and narrow, the upper floors projecting slightly. The door from the street opened into a long, low-ceilinged room that extended almost the full depth of the building. As Hector stepped inside, a tall, painfully thin man looked up from where he had been arranging volumes on a table at the back of the shop.
‘Mr Lewis?’ Hector enquired.
‘How may I help you?’
Hector offered the package. ‘This arrived with the London coach. The driver asked me to deliver it.’
‘That’ll be the latest Gazette. Thank you.’ The bookseller took the parcel from him.
‘Also I believe you rent out rooms?’
‘Indeed I do.’ The bookseller untied the parcel string and removed the wrapper, revealing a thin sheaf of printed pages.
‘I’d like to rent a room for myself, for a week, perhaps longer.’
‘I have a room available on the fourth floor. Three shillings a week. For meals you’ll have to fend for yourself. The Three Crowns round the corner serves good food.’
‘I’ll take it,’ Hector said. He watched the bookseller lick his thumb and count the sheets, twenty-one of them. ‘You say that is the Gazette?’
‘The London Gazette, printed two or three times a week and sent out to subscribers. The Council House receives a copy direct and the magistrates, and our two coffee houses of course. I have a list of private clients who like to keep abreast of affairs. A few of them will drop by to collect their copies during the afternoon. A lad will deliver the remainder to their homes this evening.’
‘May I see a copy?’
‘Of course.’
Hector took the newspaper. It was a single sheet, about seven inches by twelve, closely printed on both sides. ‘Published by Authority’ appeared below the title. The front page had a double column with various news items from England and abroad. He turned it over and found government notices, official proclamations, commercial information, and snippets of more lurid news: several fires, a report of a series of highway attacks on Hampstead Heath, cockfights, and a two-line account of the Tyburn hanging of a notorious criminal.
He handed back the page, and waited while the bookseller found the key to his room. After paying a week’s rent in advance he climbed the stairs. His room was a garret with sloping ceiling but it was clean and dry. It had a bed, a cupboard and a chamber pot. He could hear the patter of raindrops on the tiles above him. Placing his bag on the bare floorboards he went across to the small window that looked out over Broad Street. For a long time he stood staring across the wet roofs of Bristol, thinking.
✻
Next morning when he came down the stairs on his way back to the Three Crowns where he had eaten supper, he found his landlord already in his shop.
‘Good day, Mr Lewis, perhaps you can help me,’ he began. ‘Is there a glass grinder in Bristol?’
The bookseller put aside the book whose scuffed leather binding he had been examining with a critical eye. ‘You’ll find one in Tower Lane off the Pithay. A Mr Stephen Ormsby. I cannot tell you anything about the quality of his work as the council licensed him just last February. He would be your only choice.’
‘Thank you. I’m sure I can find my way there.’ His day had begun well, Hector decided as he went out into the street. If there was only one glass grinder in Bristol, that increased his chances of success.
Mr Stephen Ormsby’s apprentice was taking down the shutters when Hector arrived. The glass grinder’s front room, where Hector had to wait for half an hour, was sparsely equipped with a table, two chairs, an obviously second-hand four-foot telescope on a brass tripod and a glass-fronted cabinet with an array of spectacles. The door to the back room was closed. Hector imagined that was where the glass grinder kept his lathe and raw material. Stephen Ormsby, when he arrived, proved to be a pale-skinned, earnest man somewhere between thirty and forty years old, with an unremarkable face and a dry, reedy voice.
‘How long have you been having trouble with your eyes?’ he asked after apologizing for his lateness.
‘For the past two years,’ Hector lied. ‘I notice it when reading charts.’
‘You are a mariner, then?’
‘My ship is in port, and I decided to take the chance to get some spectacles made. We’re due to set sail in a few days’ time, so they’ll need to be ready as soon as you can manage.’ Hector hoped that the spectacle maker would not ask the name of his vessel.
Ormsby had a nervous habit of toying with a button on the front of his coat, twisting it on its thread. ‘That will depend on the difficulty of the work, and whether I have some blanks that are suitable.’
He despatched his apprentice into the back room to fetch his trials box and there followed half an hour of tests while the spectacle maker held up various sample lenses to Hector’s eyes, and asked how they affected his vision.
Hector had to be careful in inventing his answers but finally the glass grinder reached his conclusion. ‘You need very little magnification, Mr . . .’
‘Lynch, Hector Lynch.’
‘. . . And I can supply what is required from my existing stock of blanks, with minor adjustments. I can set the lenses either in a standard metal frame that grips the nose or a newer model with flat bars that extend back to the temples above the ears.’
Hector reached into his pocket and produced a sheet of paper which he spread out on the table. ‘Here’s a sketch of the spectacles used by a friend of mine, a fellow navigator I’ve sailed with. They were well suited for our type of work.’ The drawing was of the spectacles that Hector had seen Avery use in Baldridge’s office in St Mary’s and later when Fancy’s captain was reading charts.
The glass grinder made a face. ‘Very old-fashioned and rather clumsy, if I may say so.’
Hector tapped the drawing. ‘The ribbon behind the head holds them in place when a vessel is being tossed about, and remember: we navigators must lean forward and look down when we consult our spread-out charts. The pinch-nose spectacles you propose would fall off.’
He sat back and allowed several seconds to pass in the faint hope that the glass grinder would announce that he had a client with very similar spectacles.
Instead Ormsby gave a resigned shrug. ‘If that is what you prefer, Mr Lynch. But I’m afraid that means there will be a delay.’ He took a closer look at Hector’s sketch. ‘I presume the lenses are held in leather surrounds.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I can grind the lenses and have them ready for you in two days’ time, and could have made metal frames here on the premises. But leatherwork is specialized and I’d have to find a skilled man, perhaps a glove maker who can do fine stitching.’
‘How much longer would that take?’
‘At least a week.’
‘Then I’ll wait,’ Hector told him.
✻
The next edition of the Gazette was due to reach Bristol after three days, and Hector spent them as a man of leisure. After breakfast he strolled down to the docks and chatted with port officials, then sauntered back up the High Street and paid the one penny entry fee at one of the city’s two coffee houses. There he passed the rest of the morning. He took dinner in the Three Crowns, and afterwards he found himself a comfortable seat in the other coffee house. He positioned himself in a quiet corner where he could view the other customers, listened to their conversations as he sipped his coffee, and glanced through the copy of the Gazette brought by a servant. He neither saw nor heard anything about Henry Avery, nor had he expected to. Late in the afternoon, shortly before the bookseller closed for the day, he returned to his lodgings. If there were no customers in the shop, George Lewis was happy to discuss almost any topic, including local politics and the latest news from London. Little by little Hector managed to learn the identities of most of his clients with a subscription to the Gazette. He bought the names and addresses of the others on the list by slipping a few coins to the apprentice who made the deliveries.
The Gazette, Hector reasoned, might lead him to Avery. If Long Ben was lying low in Bristol before making his next move, the Gazette was his only reliable source of information about the fate of Fancy’s crew. He would check each issue for reports of arrests and trials, as well as official government announcements. With so few copies of the Gazette available in Bristol, it was possible that Avery had joined the bookseller’s subscription list. Hector accepted that this was unlikely, but he had to make sure.
So he was not unduly disappointed that the only person to take out a recent subscription to the Gazette was an elderly physician who had moved to Bristol for his retirement.
He was more optimistic about working with Stephen Ormsby’s spectacles. As soon as they were ready, he carried them on his daily strolls around the docks. Choosing his moment, he showed them to port officials and dockworkers. He claimed to have picked them up on the quayside and would like to return them to their owner. No one recognized them.
With a greater expectation of success he tried the same approach in both coffee houses where he was now a familiar figure. But again he met with blank looks.
At the end of three weeks of fruitless enquiries, he had decided to abandon the search. He would wait for one more edition of the Gazette to be distributed, return to London and report to Lock-wood that he had failed to find any trace of Avery. On the day of the Gazette’s delivery, he dawdled in the bookseller’s shop watching George Lewis remove the sheaf of fresh newspapers from their wrapping. The bookseller followed his set routine. He licked his thumb and began counting the sheets. There should have been twenty-one, but that day there were twenty-two. Carefully the bookseller placed the extra copy on one side.
‘What will you do with that one?’ Hector asked.
‘No point in sending it back. You’re welcome to take it up to your room.’
‘That’s kind of you; I’ll drop it back in the morning.’
‘Put it behind the counter, out of sight. I would not want my regular subscribers thinking that anybody can read it gratis in the shop when they have to pay for their own copies.’
On an impulse Hector asked, ‘What will you do with it afterwards?’
The bookseller was puzzled by the question. ‘You mean, what happens to the old newspaper?’
‘How long do you keep it?’
‘Until the next edition comes out. Then my apprentice will put it with the other shop waste. A scavenger calls at the back door every day to collect old paper and rags.’
Hector felt a faint tremor of excitement. ‘This scavenger, does he collect from other houses?’
‘I suppose so. He has a permit from the city. The aldermen take pride in keeping Bristol clean of rubbish, as you will have noticed.’
‘And is it always the same person?’
By now the bookseller was looking concerned. ‘I hope you haven’t mislaid something you wish you had kept, Mr Lynch. Perhaps thrown it away by accident? The maid who removes the chamber pot from your room is also instructed to dispose of any rubbish.’
‘It was nothing very important. But where can I find this scavenger?’
‘My housekeeper can tell you. I fear it would do you little good. The man makes his living by sorting his rubbish and selling anything of value.’ Lewis offered an apologetic smile. ‘Sometimes I think that my housekeeper feels sorry for him. She throws out old clothes that are perfectly good for another few months. Last week I saw one of my old shirts worn by a costermonger.’
✻
The scavenger was a calculating ruffian with small, crafty eyes who dressed in a curious over-garment that had once been a lady’s flowered gown but now served him as a loose, full-length tunic. Grime encrusted the cracked fingernails of the filthy hand he held out for Hector’s coin.
‘The Hot Well takes them regular, two pence a copy if not greasy or torn,’ he told Hector, confirming that he picked out discarded copies of the Gazette from the rubbish he collected.
‘What happens at the Hot Well?’ Hector imagined it was some sort of low tavern.
‘Poor folks could get themselves a free wash there, between tides, until the Council sold the lease. The new owners call it a “spa”.’ He pronounced the last word with a mocking accent.
‘And why do they want old copies of the Gazette?’
The scavenger cackled. ‘Probably use them as arse wipes. You can find out for yourself. Hot Well’s just beyond Marsh Gate.’
Hot Well turned out to be a newly built sweat house and pump room. The doorman took Hector’s sixpence before summoning an attendant who showed him into a changing room. The water for the pool, the attendant explained, was piped up from a hot spring exposed between tides on the riverbank.
‘If you will leave your clothes here, I’ll return to fetch you,’ said the attendant, handing Hector a large cotton bath sheet. ‘Have no fear, your property will be safe.’
Hector undressed, wrapped the sheet around him and allowed himself to be led down a corridor to the bathing room. There was a strong and unpleasant smell of sulphur.
The attendant prattled on. ‘Full of minerals, and excellent for the skin. Most relaxing. And you’ll have the place to yourself, except for one of our regulars.’
He pushed open the door and Hector found himself entering a chamber lit from above by glass panes in the domed roof. The warm air was foggy with steam. The water in the pool that took up most of the interior was a murky greenish brown. Seated in it, with his head leaning back on the tiled surround and his eyes closed, was Henry Avery.
Without quite knowing why, Hector felt drawn forward. He quietly descended the steps into the bath. The water came up to his thighs and was warm, rather than hot. He felt a slight tingling on the skin. He waded slowly over to Avery and sat down on the ledge beside him.
‘Good day, Captain Avery,’ he said.
For a moment Hector thought that Avery was asleep and had not heard him. Then, after several seconds had passed, Avery raised his head slowly and deliberately and turned to look Hector full in the face.
‘Mr Benjamin Bridgeman to you, Lynch.’
Hector waited.
Long Ben remained as unruffled. He could have been talking to an acquaintance who had dropped by to see him. ‘I always thought you were a sharp one.’
The presence of his former captain only an arm’s length away had an effect on Hector that he had not anticipated. Instead of elation at his success in finding Avery, there was a confusing stab of regret. For weeks Avery had been his quarry, enigmatic and distant. Now Fancy’s former commander was real again, and exactly as Hector remembered: level-headed and unexcitable, someone who avoided confrontation and preferred to use intelligence rather than muscle. With sudden clarity, Hector saw that little separated Avery the freebooter from Lockwood the thief-taker. Both were clever and single-minded. Both kept in the background and deployed others to carry out their plans. The main difference was that Avery was outside the law, and Lockwood operated in its shadowy margins.
Avery sensed his indecision. ‘If you’re after the bounty, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.’
He rose to his feet and went to the edge of the pool. Hector followed him into the changing room where they dried off on fresh sheets and dressed. Avery then led the way into an adjacent parlour. A tray of coffee had already been set out on a table.
‘The service here is excellent as well as discreet,’ Avery commented, waving Hector to take a seat. ‘The pump room has only been open a few months and the proprietor is struggling to find customers. It suits both of us for me to rent lodgings from him.’
Avery’s way of speaking had not changed. Hector recalled how persuasive Long Ben had been when addressing Fancy’s company with that deep and husky voice, each sentence measured and deliberate. Listening to him, Hector found himself slipping back into the belief that Long Ben knew exactly what he was talking about.
Avery passed Hector a cup of coffee before pulling up a chair and sitting down. ‘I’m curious to know how you tracked me down.’
‘Through the Gazette.’
For a second Avery was thrown off stride. ‘You put in an advertisement! Surely not.’ Then he noticed Hector’s glance flick towards a slightly crumpled copy of the Gazette lying on the table, thought for a moment, and laughed openly. ‘And I took so much trouble to steer clear of the coffee houses.’
The laughter faded as he leaned forward. ‘A bounty of five hundred pounds. If that’s all that they think I’m worth, I beg to disagree.’
Avery’s mood had changed. He was businesslike and serious.
‘Twice the bounty, Lynch, in return for your silence. One thousand pounds in gold coin. To avoid attracting unwelcome attention, you would receive the money in instalments spread over, say, ten years.’
‘How would the payments be made?’ Hector heard himself say.
‘I would give irrevocable instructions to a reputable goldsmith.’
An alarm sounded in the back of Hector’s mind. ‘The man who sent me to find you made enquiries. No one in Lombard Street has received large deposits of bullion in recent days.’
Long Ben gave a dismissive snort. ‘I’m not so foolish as to have gone anywhere near Lombard Street. There’s a goldsmith in a county town not too far from here who has more than enough of my coin in a strong room in his cellar.’
Hector was doing the sums in his head: fifty pounds a year was enough to keep a family in considerable comfort. With the money Avery was offering he and Maria could set up home wherever they chose, start some sort of business, buy a farm. His mind raced on.
‘What about Jezreel?’ he asked.
Avery waved his hand. ‘Same amount for him. But paid from a different source . . . He can choose Dublin or New York or Amsterdam.’
Long Ben spread his risks and planned ahead, Hector remembered. Avery must have sent some of his prize to Amsterdam with the Dutchmen who returned from Bourbon when Fancy’s haul was first divided up.
He had to ask one question: ‘That day on Ganj-i-Sawa’i when my two friends and I were forced to leave Fancy and go aboard Pearl, you gave me a nod, some sort of message. What did you mean by that?’
Avery paused before answering. ‘I could not stop Hathaway from driving you and your two friends off Fancy. The company had elected him as quartermaster and that was his right. However, I wanted to reassure you that I would remedy the situation later if it was in my power.’ He broke into a sudden smile. ‘And it seems that is now the case. What do you say to my proposal?’
Hector sat quietly, his mind turning in slow circles. It came down to a choice between Avery’s gold and Lockwood’s offer of a pardon for him and Jezreel if he brought Long Ben to justice. He wondered if Lockwood knew of the earlier charges against him and his friends for piracy in the Caribbean. If he did, the thief-taker could just as easily revive those charges and send him and Jezreel to Execution Dock should the merchant grandees in India House later decide to appease the Great Mogul. He had little faith in Lockwood’s justice. The laws had evolved to serve the interests of men like Sir Jeremiah.
He came to a decision. ‘I accept your proposal, Captain, but with one condition.’
Avery’s eyes narrowed. ‘And what is that?’
Hector reached into his pocket and pulled out the spectacles on their ribbon. ‘Find a glass grinder in another town and have him make you something more fashionable.’
✻
On the day Hector got back to London, a gusty wind from the north carried the first hint of autumn rawness. Walking up Leadenhall he saw smoke streaming from the ornate fluted chimneys of East India House. In the lobby, where he had to wait, a large coal fire was burning in the hearth below the massive chimney breast. Every half-hour a servant came in to add another bucketful of fuel. Seated well away from the blaze Hector reflected that this was for the comfort of Company directors who had lived so long in the east that they felt the slightest chill. The footmen in their heavy livery coats of serge were taking turns to stand outside in the street.
✻
He stared into the flames, going over in his mind what he would say to Lockwood, so lost in thought that he did not notice the thief-taker arrive. Only when he heard his name did he look up and see Lockwood standing right in front of him. The thief-taker had brought with him the bamboo tube that Annesley had sent from Surat.
He followed Lockwood up to Sir Jeremiah’s office on the first floor, where it was evident that merchant had been spending more of his wealth, adding to his collection of ornaments. Now there was a ship model, four feet from bowsprit to rudder, precise in every minute detail, hull, sails, rigging, tiny brass deck cannon. The first glance gave Hector a jolt. He thought it was Fancy. A second look showed him the company flag at the masthead. He guessed it was a brand-new East Indiaman due to be launched from a dockyard on the Thames.
‘Avery landed in Bristol,’ he told Lockwood.
‘How long ago was that?’
‘Nearly three months, but he’s moved on.’
‘Where to?’
‘I was unable to find out. The trail’s gone cold.’
Lockwood went dangerously quiet. ‘Let’s start again, from the beginning. If Avery arrived in Bristol three months ago, he came to England ahead of Dann and the others from Fancy. What about your theory that he would wait in Dublin and watch to see how Dann and his shipmates got on?’
‘He had a reason: he was looking for some Bristol men who had swindled him. Only they weren’t from Bristol.’
Lockwood waited for him to go on.
‘The rumour is that before Avery left the Caribbees, he bought half a share in a slave ship about to make her usual run home to Bristol. He stowed his prize aboard and sent her ahead, to bring his loot home on the quiet . . .’
Lockwood finished the sentence for him. ‘And the ship never arrived.’ There was a sour note of satisfaction in his voice. ‘Much the same as what he did to Dann and the others. You’d have thought he knew better.’
‘It wasn’t even a Bristol ship.’
‘And how did you learn all this?’
Hector produced the spectacles and held them up. ‘With these. Avery uses an identical pair for reading. A few people remembered him.’
‘Very astute of you.’ Lockwood’s approval was perfunctory. ‘And did anyone you spoke to have any idea where he might have gone?’
‘They lost interest in Avery when it became apparent that he was short of money.’
Lockwood began pacing up and down, the bamboo tube tucked under his arm. ‘What about you, Lynch? From your knowledge of Avery, where do you think he’s gone?’
‘Somewhere in the West Country. His accent is from those parts so maybe he was headed that way.’
Lockwood’s head snapped round. ‘A West Country accent? You never mentioned that to me before.’
Hector spread his hands in a gesture of apology. ‘I didn’t know before. This is my first time in England. I placed his accent only when I was talking with people in Bristol.’
The thief-taker’s mouth had set in a grim line. ‘To sum up: Avery is in England, short of funds and probably somewhere in the West Country.’ He paused. ‘And that leaves very little clue as to where to search for him.’
Which is what Avery wants you to believe, Hector thought to himself. Give him sufficient to keep his interest lukewarm, Long Ben had said, but not enough for him to follow up.
Lockwood resumed his pacing, toying with the bamboo tube, passing it from one hand to the other. ‘So, Lynch, you don’t qualify for the five hundred pounds bounty, nor a pardon. You haven’t caught Avery and you haven’t established that he’s dead. Quite the opposite.’
The thief-taker paused in his stride and held up the bamboo like a baton. ‘I brought this along to remind you of the inventory of the loot taken from the Great Mogul’s ship, the list that you and your friend prepared and signed. The original is in the Company’s files.’
He treated Hector to a cold professional smile. ‘Sir Jeremiah and his fellow directors are extremely grateful. They have agreed to pay damages to the Great Mogul. Trade continues. Your list has saved them a great deal of money.’
Hector knew better than to allow his hopes to rise. He saw the gleam of malice that had appeared in Lockwood’s dark eyes.
The thief-taker’s smile vanished as his voice hardened. ‘As far as I am concerned the inventory amounts to a confession of piracy by those who signed it. Any judge would agree.’
He paused, allowing the menace to hang in the air. ‘However, I don’t intend to turn you over to the authorities . . .’
Lockwood turned on his heel and walked over to the ship model. ‘Every Company ship arrives home with another report of freebooters heading toward the Indian Ocean. More and more of them, all of them keen to follow in Fancy’s wake. Avery has set a bad example.’
He bent down and picked up one of the tiny brass cannon from the model’s deck. Balancing it on the palm of his hand, he poked it with his finger to make the gun barrel move up and down. ‘The directors are increasing the armament on all their ships so they can fight off any freebooter. But that’s not their chief worry: they fear that if there’s another freebooter attack on one of the Great Mogul’s ships or a pilgrim convoy, it will put a final end to all commerce with Hindustan. They’ll have wasted the compensation money.’
Carefully he replaced the miniature cannon on the deck. ‘The directors and some of their friends in government have given a privateering commission to a speculator who says he can hunt down and hang the freebooters from their own yardarms. A thief-taker at sea, so to speak.’
He swung round to face Hector. ‘I don’t welcome competition in my line of work. I need to know what my rival is up to. I’m sure he’d value you as a member of his company.’
An awful sick sensation had been gathering in the pit of Hector’s stomach. The future that he had planned for himself with Avery’s help was slipping out of his grasp. He drew a deep breath and asked in as steady a voice as he could manage, ‘This man, the thief-taker at sea as you call him, who is he?’
‘A Scot who’s been living in New York. He’s come to London, bought a ship, the Adventure Galley, and set out on his mission. He’s cocksure and impetuous, and that’s his weakness. He’s made a fool of himself once. If he does it again, I should be able to clip his wings.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Failed to salute the royal yacht when Adventure Galley was on her way down the Thames. The yacht reminded him of his duty with a signal gun. He should have lowered his topsail or dipped an ensign. Instead he let his men climb into the rigging, drop their trousers and slap their bare backsides. The idiot.’ Lockwood gave a derisive snort. ‘Farther downriver he comes upon some navy ships, and again fails to salute. This time he’s stopped and boarded, and the navy makes him cool his heels, wasting a couple of weeks at anchor.’
‘And where is he now?’
Lockwood moved across to where the ornamental globe stood in a corner and gave the globe a gentle quarter turn. ‘He sailed to New York to pick up extra crew. Depending on his weather luck, he should now be somewhere in the middle of the South Atlantic.’
The thief-taker rotated the globe a few more inches. Hector found himself looking down at the familiar outline of Africa’s southern cape.
‘. . . headed for the Indian Ocean,’ Lockwood continued silkily. ‘So I’m going to arrange for you to travel on the next Company vessel leaving for Hindustan. The captain will call in at the Cape. There you’re to jump ship. Pretend to be a runaway and boast about your time under Henry Avery’s command. The moment you hear word of where Adventure Galley has got to, you make your way there. I’ve no doubt that you’ll be welcomed into her company.’
A suspicion began to take shape in the back of Hector’s mind. ‘And what if the captain and crew turn rogue? Use Adventure Galley for piracy? There’s nothing I could do to stop them.’
Lockwood stared at him with icy dispassion. ‘Lynch, I don’t expect you to try to dissuade the captain or his crew. All I want is for you to observe. Then when the time comes, and they are caught, I’ll have a witness.’
Just like John Dann, Hector recalled.
‘What about my wife and daughter? I’ve spent only a few weeks with them,’ he protested.
Lockwood shrugged. ‘Mr Hall can look after them. He stays here in England. The Indiaman won’t be sailing for another ten days. You’ve time to get yourself to Sussex to say your farewells.’
The thief-taker had it all worked out, Hector thought bitterly. In a sudden surge of resentment he considered refusing this new assignment. But it took only a moment’s reflection to make him realize that it would serve no purpose to antagonize Lockwood. The thief-taker was concerned only with his own interests. If thwarted, no doubt Lockwood would carry out his threat to alert the authorities that he and Jezreel had served with Avery and were back in England. They would be arrested and questioned. A thorough investigation would turn up their record of piracy in the Caribbean, and then he and Jezreel would be brought to public trial. Better that he stayed in Lockwood’s shadow, his private agent, and safeguard his own private arrangement with Avery that guaranteed financial security for Maria and Isabelle. Whatever happened to him, his family would receive their annual payments from the funds that Long Ben had placed with his goldsmith-banker.
Lockwood was watching him closely and must have sensed something of Hector’s inner turmoil. ‘Lynch, if the captain and crew of Adventure Galley do turn pirate, you’ll have the chance to wipe the slate clean. The person who turns King’s evidence earns a pardon.’
Hector kept his face carefully blank. The role of spy for Lockwood was distasteful but it would not last for ever, and this time he was on the right side of the law.
There was one thing that he had failed to ask. ‘This thief-taker at sea, what’s his name?’
‘Kidd, William Kidd.’