The Circle of Sappho (7 page)

He and Malone had been sent out of the city by their gang leader as soon as the reward for their capture was announced. For this he would always be grateful, as their boss could easily have been another Jonathan Wild and betrayed them for the money. But then the crime boss looked on Malone as a son, and possibly even successor to his criminal empire, having taken him under his wing not long after he joined the gang.

The two of them passed through Bath in the middle of the night, on their way to Bristol. The journey took less than twelve hours and once at their destination, they waited at the docks to board the first ship that would take them across to Ireland; Malone's homeland. They had spent most of the fourteen months they were away in the country's capital, Dublin, except for two visits to County Wexford and the village where Malone had been born.

It was during his time in Ireland he had been converted to the ‘cause'. Through Malone and the men they were in contact with he learnt about the history of the Irish people and their oppression by the English invaders. He had been told about centuries of dispossession, prejudice and persecution, how Protestantism was introduced into this Catholic country, and how lands belonging to Irish families were seized and given to the newly arrived English settlers. Malone's own family had been wealthy and owned land around County Wexford, but during his grandfather's time they had lost everything through legislation, which amounted to little more than theft. He had also learnt that this constant reduction of Irish land and their unsuccessful attempts to resist it merely allowed each failure to be used as an opportunity to confiscate even more; so much so it was believed that while a hundred years earlier Catholics owned two thirds of all cultivated land in Ireland, now it was just one twentieth.

And then there were the Penal Laws, introduced from 1703, which, he was told, discriminated so heavily against the Catholics it was feared the whole population would end up as beggars. Not only that, they were excluded from all public life, as well as engaging in any private activity. Catholic education was made illegal, as was the buying of land. If the Irish people were dispirited, they were certainly not defeated and it did not take long before numerous gangs of men roamed the countryside, under the cover of darkness, seeking retribution and revenge by destroying livestock and buildings held by settlers.

As soon as Malone was old enough he had joined one of these gangs and took part in ham-stringing cattle and burning haystacks and barns, along with levelling houses and firing shots through the windows of those buildings left standing.

A little more than a year after their departure from London, they received the news informing them they could go back. By now though, with passions ignited by thoughts of bringing about an independent Ireland once more, and supporting those who might achieve it, they made the journey changed men.

It did not take long for Malone to assume control of the gang on their return to England – murdering his former protector and ‘father' with a sword brought swiftly across his throat – and subsequently start to send money from their activities across the water to the increasing number of Irishmen united in their desire for revolution. The intended rebellion had not succeeded six years earlier, in 1798, due mainly to the troops sent by Napoleon landing on the wrong coast of Ireland and thus not able to assist the Irish before their defeat at the hands of the English army; this failure ultimately leading to the Act of Union, in 1801, and abolishment of the Irish Parliament, so bringing the whole of the country under the subjection of the British.

It had not succeeded the year before either, in 1803, with the uprising led by Robert Emmett. But these defeats had only made Malone more determined and plans were already being put into action for the next attempt at insurrection; so determined was Malone, in fact, that he had ordered the murder of his own brother, whom he suspected of betraying the last uprising to the English government.

They had passed through Bath on their return from Ireland, back in 1785. It had been only a brief stay, a day and a night, but that was enough for Malone to realise the city could provide much in terms of funds and manpower for the cause – its population containing a large number of poor Irish immigrants – and perhaps act as a strategic base outside the capital, and prying governmental eyes, from which to operate. Not long after he had taken control of the gang in London, Malone had also ‘taken over' as crime boss in Bath as well. He had then brought his brother over from Ireland, so as to run his ‘interests' in Bath. Everything had gone as planned until the previous year. Thomas Malone seemed as loyal to the cause as anyone else, so why he had chosen to betray his fellow countrymen, his own
brother
, was a question which remained unanswered. He knew he could not ask Malone about it, either. As close as he felt to his boss, there were certain subjects he knew you did not raise in his company.

Malone did not seem affected by his brother's death, but he rarely showed emotion; it was what made him so dangerous. He had only once seen any kind of emotional response from Malone and that was while they were in Ireland. A member of the gang Malone had been connected with had reminded him of a ‘carding' he had given a man against whom he had held a longstanding grudge. A smile had formed on Malone's face as details of the attack were vividly relayed. Malone had drawn a steel-tooth comb, the type used in the wool industry to prepare the yarn for spinning, across the face of his victim, lacerating the skin on both cheeks. He then sliced off a piece of the man's ear, before cutting his throat.

Somewhere in his mind, however, he could not believe Malone's brother Thomas had been an informant. He himself had been the connection between the brothers and on his trips to Bath had not witnessed any lessening of the desire for Irish independence from the younger Malone. And yet what the elder Malone ordered had to be obeyed and so he set up a meeting with Wicks, who, it became apparent, was the most suitable person to execute the murder and assume control of the top position. The fact he was English could be overcome, like it had with himself, and, after all, it seemed being Irish did not stop you from betraying your own countrymen.

Since taking over in Bath, Wicks had proved his worth to the cause; he had sent money from the blackmail scheme they had recently set up and had given haven to United Irishmen on the run from the English authorities.

Wicks had also informed him of the portrait of his present-day self which had been painted, and about the man who had commissioned it. This man, intent on tracking him and Malone, was the son of the servant they killed all those years ago, when he received his scar. When Wicks had first told him that there was a man asking questions, he had not taken much notice; he had covered his tracks sufficiently, he believed, and what with Malone's position, felt he was powerful enough to see off any reminders from his past. When the portrait had been completed the matter became more urgent. It was too accurate. Even with the artist now dead and the portrait destroyed, there were still images of him being shown around the city, or so he had been told. The easiest thing, of course, would be to have this man, who he now knew to be called Swann, eliminated, but for some unknown reason Malone would not allow it.

The Scarred Man looked out the carriage window and gazed back at the city he had just left. He had not long finished a meeting with Wicks and was on his way to Bristol, to talk with the Bath crime boss's counterpart there. The blackmail scheme they had begun in London was proving even more successful in Bath and Bristol; there seemed to be plenty of gentlemen in the two cities who wished to retain their reputations. He would come back through Bath in a few days, on his return to London, and would briefly meet with Wicks again. Everything seemed to be going well and he afforded himself a self-congratulatory smile; one which would not have been so forthcoming if he had known what was in store during the next few days.

Swann stood on the pavement outside Bath's Guildhall and looked at the steps in front of him. He thought back to his arrival the previous October and of seeing Tyler at the top of them, the petty criminal having just emerged a free man from the courtroom inside the building – courtesy of corrupt magistrate Kirby. Tyler had been his introduction to the murkier side of the city. He remembered how he had chased the criminal into the notorious Avon Street district after having witnessed him pickpocket Fitzpatrick and then again, later, after his failed assassination attempt of Swann. On this occasion, during a struggle down near the river, a fatal gunshot had been fired and Tyler's body had fallen into the water and been swept away downstream towards Bristol.

It was, of course, while following Tyler on a separate instance that he encountered the Scarred Man. As he often did, Swann thought about this man. What had happened in the years since the murder of Swann's father? Did the Scarred Man ever think about
that
night? Did the killing play on his conscience? And did the Scarred Man stay with Malone, his father's murderer, afterwards to engage in a life of crime? The answers to these questions, and the many others that had played on his mind over the years, would never be forthcoming until he came face-to-face with this man. And that, for now, remained the foremost reason for his being in Bath.

Lady Harriet's carriage was gone and Swann walked up the steps into the building. He entered and approached a clerk behind a large wooden desk. Swann was directed toward Fitzpatrick's chambers where, if the morning's court session had finished on time, the magistrate would be residing. Swann made his way along a corridor and knocked on Fitzpatrick's door.

‘Swann, it is good to see you,' said the magistrate warmly as Swann entered the room. ‘Is everything well with you?'

‘Thank you, Fitzpatrick, although please accept my apologies that my previous appointment occupied me longer than expected. I am also sorry if my message was somewhat vague.'

‘What message is this?'

‘You were not informed I would be delayed but would call on you later?'

Fitzpatrick shook his head.

‘Then I am profoundly sorry my friend, as I believed a message regarding my enforced lateness was to be relayed to you.'

‘Do not worry,' replied Fitzpatrick. ‘My duties in court this morning have also seen me delayed; in fact, I only arrived back in my chambers a few minutes ago and, as you can observe, I have yet to change out of my magisterial attire.'

This brought relief to Swann's guilt regarding his own lateness, but did not diminish his annoyance at his message having not been sent.

‘So,' said Swann, returning his attention to Fitzpatrick, ‘I understand there is a delicate matter you wish to discuss?'

‘Yes, but I contend it is not a matter to confer about here. I suggest we return to my office.'

Swann nodded.

After Fitzpatrick had changed from his official robes, they left the Guildhall. It was always interesting to walk with the magistrate through the streets of Bath as he would, more often than not, be forthcoming with interesting facts about the city. This journey proved no different and as soon as they stepped outside of the municipal building, Fitzpatrick began to relate historical information.

‘Did you know that at one time the city's Guildhall was over there,' said Fitzpatrick, pointing to the middle of the High Street. ‘Just imagine the chaos that would ensue if traffic still had to manoeuvre around it today.'

As Swann looked across at the relevant spot: the constant stream of carriages, barouches and other horse-drawn vehicles gave validation to Fitzpatrick's image. Nearly thirty years before, when the new Guildhall had been completed, leaving the former to be demolished, the amount of vehicles using this main route into Bath from the London Road had been enough to necessitate the move. In the years since, the volume of traffic had increased exponentially to the point where the two men now found difficulty in crossing the street. Eventually, however, they succeeded and safely reached the far side; although not without an outburst of verbal obscenities from the driver of a curricle, whose progress had been momentarily impeded by this pair of troublesome pedestrians.

The pavements were likewise crowded as they made their way towards Fitzpatrick's office in Queen Square, but the journey was a pleasant enough one, especially with the magistrate as companion and tour guide. The route they walked took them past the site of the North Gate, which had been the entrance to the city for those travellers coming from the direction of the London Road but had been demolished half a century before, and then up the slight elevation to Upper Borough Walls. This thoroughfare boasted the largest remaining section of the medieval wall, complete with crenellations, which once surrounded the city, the rest of the wall having all but been dismantled through the ‘rage for building' and expansion which had taken place since Queen Anne vested her presence at the beginning of the eighteenth century.

‘In its time,' said Fitzpatrick, as they came parallel to the remains, ‘the circuit of the city's medieval wall was one of the smallest in the country and it is said that it was built on its Roman predecessor. The Romans were attracted here for the same reason as the majority of today's visitors; the spa water. When they left though, the wall fell into disrepair until it was rebuilt in the Middle Ages.'

‘It certainly looks impressive,' said Swann.

‘When the wall was completed it stood twenty feet high and at its base it was ten feet wide. John Leland wrote about it, when he visited during his travels, as did Samuel Pepys.' The pride in Fitzpatrick's voice now assumed a sadder tone. ‘Eventually though, the walls began to be pillaged for its stone or demolished by developers.'

This historical vandalism had begun in 1707, four years after Queen Anne's second visit, when clothier George Trymme had requested the demolishment of certain sections of the wall to facilitate his development of a new route into the city. Permission was granted by the Corporation – the body of men who ran the affairs of the city – apparently without difficulty, but then this was not surprising given Trymme was a prominent member of that particular organisation. Later in the century, a right of way through the walls was granted to assist speculative building, leading ultimately to the creation of several large through-roads, including Milsom Street in 1763, while further sections of the wall had been irretrievably lost when Westgate Buildings had been built, along with developments outside the original city boundaries.