A Robbery Planned

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Or woman, if needs be,’ Kitty added.

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

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

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

Darcy didn’t seem so eager to answer.

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

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