Bowser approached, leaving the Frenchman to scrutinise the maps.
‘You’ve wasted too much time on this feeble play-actor, m’dear.’ Catherine cringed at the familiarity. ‘You should’ve let Crindle settle the matter.’
Bowser took out his snuffbox and went through his practised routine. On snapping the box shut, he said, ‘’Tis strange that I should be discovered through my snuff.’ Jack realised that Catherine must have been telling him everything right from the beginning.
Bowser standing there in front of him, boorish and gloating, gave Jack unexpected courage. His hatred of him was so strong that it pushed his dread into the background. He had nothing to lose, his life was already forfeit. And he had even fooled Catherine into thinking him ‘brave and bold’, so he might as well act the part during his final performance. ‘Was Acorn in on this? Is that why you killed him?’
Bowser laughed, revealing a disgusting display of discoloured teeth. ‘Acorn? That puffed up peacock! No, ’twas his lust that brought about his downfall. His passion for Miss Balmore here led him to visit her house. She wasn’t at home. Unfortunately for him, his curiosity led him to snoop amongst this lady’s private papers, probably to discover if he’d any serious rivals for her affections. Most ungentlemanly.’ Jack silently agreed, as his own misfortunes had begun with Acorn reading his private correspondence. ‘He came across Miss Balmore’s carefully gathered intelligence. Worried about its content, he took the papers and then didn’t know who to approach with them. He certainly didn’t want to see a noose around Miss Balmore’s pretty little neck. What was more natural than to turn to me, his business partner? I had no inkling of what he wanted to discuss when he took me back to his house – most secretive he was. When he produced the papers, he asked me what we should do. I had to kill him. Inconvenient, though necessary,’ he shrugged matter-of-factly. ‘If I hadn’t, I’m sure someone else would’ve done so eventually.’ Jack knew the list. He had accused half of them himself.
‘One stroke of good fortune was finding the letter from Courtney’s titled strumpet in the box in which Acorn had locked away Miss Balmore’s papers. I used it, through Crindle, to ensure Courtney stayed at the theatre.’
‘And then you killed Crindle and planted Acorn’s box to deflect suspicion.’
‘I didn’t kill Crindle. I have people who do things like that for me,’ he said indicating the glowering brute guarding Jack. Bowser grew angry at the recollection. ‘’Twas your interfering that forced my hand. He was a most useful associate.’
‘I am surprised you can summon up such sentiment,’ Jack said sarcastically.
Bowser’s hand thwacked into the side of Jack’s face, making him reel back as far as his bindings allowed. Catherine gasped.
Jack licked the blood that trickled from his swelling lip. The shock of the smack brought home his appalling predicament. He hoped his death would be as painless as possible. A prayer his sister Rachel had taught him half formed in his mind. Another vicious slap forced it back into a lost chamber of his memory.
‘Mr Bowser, that is enough,’ he heard Catherine protest.
Jack opened his eyes. Was there yet hope? Would Catherine somehow save him?
‘I know you have to kill him. There is no need to torture him also.’ No, she wouldn’t.
‘Best get it done. Guthrie!’ Bowser called across to Jack’s wary overseer. ‘You and Craggs take him out. Drown him well.’
Guthrie began to loosen the ropes. When all seemed lost, Jack had one last, frantic flash of inspiration. ‘Garrick,’ he blurted out. ‘Garrick. How will you explain my absence to him when he arrives tomorrow?’
It created the effect he wanted. Bowser and Catherine exchanged anxious glances.
‘It could be awkward,’ Catherine suggested.
Bowser stroked his chin. ‘It’s gone too far now.’ He reached into his pocket and produced his snuffbox. He didn’t attempt to open it. Then he gave it a decisive tap and popped it back into his coat. ‘I’ll tell him that Mr Flyford has been unavoidably called away. A relative is at death’s door. Sends his regrets and suchlike.’ Bowser nodded to Guthrie to continue.
‘But,’ – this was Jack’s final desperate throw of the dice – ‘Miss Acorn will know I have disappeared. She will report it. She will know that I have not gone to see a relative.’ Of course she wouldn’t miss him at all – she would suppose he had safely caught his ship. Only when Bowser appeared in public again (and was not behind bars) would she realise that something had gone wrong; unless she assumed that Jack was completely feckless and had run off without rendezvousing with Captain Hogg. Her present low opinion of him would probably lead her to that conclusion.
‘I will see Miss Acorn does not say anything. After all, my future wife must learn to obey.’ This was even worse. He was going to his death knowing Bessie would end up with this loathsome creature. Bowser’s confidence made Jack think he had already extracted a promise of marriage. ‘If she takes it into her head to cause problems, she too will end up in the river.’
‘Do not lay a filthy finger on her!’ Jack shouted. His empty threat only produced a leer. The implication was that the vile traitor had already laid more than a finger on her. That was his fault, too, for arriving back so late from Bowser’s house.
The final knots were untied and hands hauled him to his feet. Guthrie and Craggs pulled Jack across the warehouse floor. But he couldn’t go to his watery end without causing Bowser some grief. The firm grip ensured it couldn’t be physical.
‘Bowser!’ he shouted out.
Bowser was walking back towards the Frenchman. His call was ignored.
‘Bowser!’ There is something you should know about Garrick.’ Guthrie cuffed him and he stumbled to his knees on the rough wooden floor. He was immediately wrenched back to his feet.
‘Wait.’ Bowser’s curiosity had been stirred. ‘What should I know about Garrick?’ There was now a gap of about fifteen feet between them.
Jack’s mind was clear of confusion. His head may have been beaten until he felt sick; he may have discovered some extraordinary truths that he could not fully comprehend; yet now, when it came to the crunch, he was mentally sharp. Maybe imminent death had removed the clutter. He knew that during his final moments, he would probably scream and plead cravenly for his life, but first he would somehow get back at Bowser.
Jack raised a wintry smile. ‘My friend, David Garrick,’ he said mockingly. Bowser stiffened. ‘He is not coming tomorrow.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Bowser took a pace forward.
‘He is not coming. He never was coming.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Bowser repeated. Even Catherine’s lovely face was covered in confusion.
‘For the simple reason that I do not know David Garrick. I never have. I just made up the story to impress you and Acorn. A goodly jest, do you not think?’
Bowser stood motionless in shock as the news sank in. Catherine understood. Jack was glad to see she registered amusement. Bowser did not. It only took a few strides for Bowser to reach Jack.
‘So where is my snuffbox?’ he yelled in Jack’s face.
Jack grinned. ‘It has gone to a bad home.’
Bowser, shaking with rage, grabbed Jack’s collar. ‘Where is it, you little turd? Where?’
They were now nose to nose. ‘I gave it to Thirsk.’ This puzzled Bowser. ‘Crichton Thirsk. Your old rival.’
Bowser snapped. He went berserk, laying into Jack with windmilling fists. Jack could do nothing to resist or protect himself, as he was pinned by Guthrie and Craggs. The ill-directed blows reined in, accompanied by an avalanche of oaths. Through the pain of the pummelling he was taking, Jack rejoiced in the knowledge that he had upset Bowser far more than he could have hoped.
His eyes were closed when the shouting started. Was it the Frenchman? There was a punch to his stomach, and Jack lurched forward. He had been let go. He crashed heavily to the floor. There were more cries. A voice yelled, ‘Everyone hold still.’ A pistol shot cracked out in reply. Then there was the crashing sound of a volley from blunderbusses. Jack started, but kept his eyes firmly shut. He trembled so much that it was fortunate he was already lying on the ground. Feet ran past his head. ‘Stop him!’ the same voice barked. Then another ear-battering bang, the noise bouncing around the cavernous building. For Jack, the confusion lasted an eternity, though it must have only been seconds. He didn’t move throughout.
Jack was grabbed and pulled to his feet. ‘Still wi’ us, bonny lad?’ Axwell smirked at him.
The smoke was clearing. Mansart, Guthrie, Craggs and three others, one clutching a bleeding arm, huddled pathetically together surrounded by a ragbag of men with firearms pointed and blades drawn. Jack recognised Rickaby among them. And there, over the end of one of the long tables, Bowser lay slumped, blood oozing through his jacket. One of Axwell’s men bent down to examine him. ‘He’s hit, but he’s still breathing.’
‘Good,’ Axwell declared. ‘I wouldn’t want him to miss his own hangin’.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Jack was still in a state of shock. He wasn’t quite convinced if he were actually still alive.
‘Scrutton here has been followin’ you for days.’ Beside Axwell, Old Faithful nodded dutifully.
‘I thought he was Bowser’s man. But I lost you tonight.’
‘No one ever loses Scrutton,’ Axwell answered on his behalf.
‘Foggon, lay Mr Bowser oot on the table; and Scrutton, you gan an’ fetch Doctor Arnetoft,’ Axwell ordered. The man inspecting Bowser carefully turned the merchant over on his back and straightened out his legs on the table top. A groan was evidence enough that Bowser was still with them. Pity, thought Jack, his own body again peppered with bruises, fortunately none of them life-threatening this time.
As Axwell strode over to his captives and ordered their removal to New Gate, Jack reflected that without Bowser’s attack, and the vital seconds that it ate up, he might now be dead. Catherine hadn’t stepped in to halt his beating, though she had intervened earlier. She had tried, that is what counted. And now she was… Where was she? A quick glance round the warehouse told him she wasn’t there. On second inspection, neither was the tea caddy!