Black Wreath (27 page)

‘Good morning, Uncle,’ he said. The men in the group looked at him in astonishment.

‘Uncle?’ a red-faced man said. ‘Did he say uncle?’

‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t call you aunt,’ he said to Miss Deakin.

Her face quivered behind its white powder and she reached a hand out to Dunmain.

‘Sirrah, you had better explain yourself,’ a portly man said.

Dunmain remained silent, staring at his nephew, looking him up and down as if to assess what danger, if any, he might be in. He looked past James to see if anyone was with him, but Darcy was too well hidden.

‘How can a man with no nephew be an uncle?’ he asked mildly. By now Grady had joined the group and was staring open-mouthed at James, but James saw his uncle’s hand
almost imperceptibly reach out to restrain his thug, and Grady, though he looked like a bulldog straining on the leash, was forced to remain still and say nothing.

‘My, Uncle, can you have forgotten me so quickly?’ James responded with the same mild manner his uncle used. ‘Don’t you remember how you kidnapped me and sent me away to the colonies as a servant? I think I’d remember something of that nature.’

Dunmain’s friends looked even more astonished than before. Could there be any truth in this? The young man was well enough dressed, and sounded the part. Was there perhaps a slight resemblance in the shape of his forehead or the lustre of his eyes?

‘This man is no relative of mine,’ James’s uncle said, as if he read their thoughts. ‘Though it is not the first time he has tried this trick.’

‘He is an insolent trickster’ came Miss Deakin’s high voice.

‘Did I not live in Dunmain House with my father, Lord Dunmain, your brother? Did I not come with him to Dublin and live with him in his house in Dublin after he abandoned my mother and married the woman who is now your wife? And am I not James Lovett, the rightful Lord Dunmain?’

Other strollers now stopped to hear what seemed a most interesting conversation.

Grady looked fit to burst. ‘Shall I pulverise him?’ he said to his master in what might have intended as a whisper but was clearly audible to everyone.

The small crowd bristled with excitement.

‘What name is this you take upon you?’ His uncle had dropped the civil tone and was now plainly hostile.

‘I take none upon me, sir, but that which I brought into the world with me and was always called by. Nobody can deny that I am the son of Lord Dunmain.’

‘By whom?’

‘By his wife, the Lady Dunmain.’

‘Then you are a bastard, for your mother was a whore.’

Now it was James’s turn to be astonished. He knew his uncle was a cold and ruthless man, but this was beyond effrontery. He couldn’t bear to hear his mother insulted. Instinctively, he drew his sword, but as he did so he felt the hands of Grady circle his throat until he could hardly breathe. There were gasps all round, with men and women scattering out of the way. James struggled for air; he could feel himself slipping away. He should have known his uncle would try to provoke him. Why had he been so rash? This was a man that could only be defeated by cunning. And he had been stupid. He heard a woman screaming. And then there was silence, and out of the silence another voice rang out, clear and confident.

‘Let him go if you want to live, cur.’

James opened his eyes. The tip of Darcy’s blade grazed Grady’s neck, a little dribble of blood already oozing down the coarse skin. Grady’s hands were occupied in throttling James so he could do nothing about it. James felt the grip around his throat slacken and gulped some air into his lungs.

A woman came forward to help him. ‘Are you alright, young man?’ she asked him.

From her attention James sensed that the crowd’s attitude to him might be changing. The three original men who had stopped to talk to his uncle had slipped off discreetly, and the crowd that now observed the scene was not rushing to Dunmain’s aid. James retrieved his blade from the ground and replaced it in his scabbard. This situation required more than a blade.

‘You are a blackguard and a thief, sir,’ James said calmly.

‘Let’s run them both through,’ Darcy offered. ‘That would be two boils lanced at once, and the city would be a better place.’

‘The city will be a better place when you’re dangling from a gallows in this green,’ Dunmain said, though his voice wasn’t as confident now.

‘Kill him,’ Darcy said.

‘No,’ James said, ‘there will be no killing today.’ He looked his uncle in the eye. ‘I will defeat you, uncle, but I’ll do it properly, I’ll let the law speak for me. Let the courts decide which of us is true.’

Thirty-Four

Epilogue

R
ed Molly’s was jumping. Every corner, every alcove, every nook and crevice was packed. It seemed as if the whole city had poured in the doors. Drink flowed, spilled, tumbled and was knocked back in large quantities. Steaming food floated high over the revellers’ heads, making its way on seemingly invisible arms through the throng. James’s back ached from the endless series of slaps it received from well-wishers.

The trial was a sensation, the longest the city had ever seen. People had travelled from all over to observe it. As it dragged on, James had begun to doubt his wisdom in trusting to the law. His uncle looked richer and more powerful than James had ever seen him, for he had now come into all the estates that James’s father had hoped for and had borrowed on the strength of, and the finery he wore to the court was a clear announcement of his intent to win this battle. He smiled across the crowded room at James, a smile so full of malice,
cunning and confidence that it chilled James. It was, he knew, an unequal battle. But the city was full of it. James’s case had electrified Dublin. He found himself suddenly famous, mobbed wherever he went, acclaimed like a king.

‘Make way for Lord Bluecoat!’

‘Good luck to you, young sir, and bad cess to your uncle!’

So unequal was the contest that even after witness after witness appeared to testify that he was indeed his father’s son, even as he managed to puncture every elaborate counter-claim his uncle brought forward, James couldn’t bring himself to believe the judge when he found in his favour. He was the rightful heir to the Dunmain title and estates. He, and not his uncle, was Lord Dunmain. Through it all his uncle continued smiling and patting his elaborate robes. But James wouldn’t be skulking through the streets again. There would be no more hiding.

Still they kept coming up to slap him on the back.

‘A great day, Jim, great to see arrogance beaten down!’

‘You know it doesn’t matter, James?’ Doctor Bob said as he drained his wine glass.

‘Why is that?’

‘Because the law isn’t designed for you. Today was a good day, enough to convince a neutral man that the law has a purpose after all. But your uncle will appeal it immediately, and if that doesn’t work, he will appeal the appeal. The case could keep the courts busy for another decade. In the meantime you won’t be able to get at your inheritance. And you’ll still be a wanted man. You could be dead before you gain the title.’

James smiled. ‘Oh I know that,’ he said. ‘I think I’ve always
known my cause was hopeless.’

‘I told you we should have killed him,’ Darcy said. ‘I could still do it. It’s not too late. Anything to oblige an old friend.’

‘No,’ James said. ‘But thank you for your offer. I don’t want anyone else to die, not even him. It isn’t worth that much to me.’

James looked round at the company. He felt as if he were seeing them for the first time. He realised that all his life, no place had ever seemed real to him, just a temporary state to be hurried through, or escaped from, until he could get to a better place. Was this victory the better place? Or would that be the day he finally came into his estate? He looked at Sylvia. He thought of everything the Purcells had done for him. He looked at the vivid, alert faces of everyone around him. Maybe this was the place, he thought. Maybe … Doctor Bob’s voice broke in.

‘It’s a lot of money,’ he was saying. ‘A lot of land. Your uncle will never give up the fight for it.’

‘And I won’t either,’ James said. ‘Even if it takes the rest of my life.’

‘In the meantime it’s back to school for you,’ Sylvia said with a laugh. ‘I don’t think your old blue coat will fit, though.’

‘I think we can rise to a new coat,’ Doctor Bob said, to the cheer of the company.

‘You’ll be Lord Bluecoat again,’ Darcy said. The company cheered again.

‘To Lord Bluecoat!’

‘I can’t think of a finer title,’ James said. ‘Lord Bluecoat it will be.’

‘It’s not the end, is it?’ Jack Darcy said.

They were back in the graveyard where they had met before.

‘No,’ James said. ‘Not just yet.’

‘You could have killed him that day in the Green.’

‘And been hanged in the same Green for my trouble.’

‘So what about the law then? Have you lost your faith in that?’

James was silent awhile. ‘I’ve had a lot of law in my life,’ he said finally. ‘It was the law that kept me a slave, and keeps others as slaves even as we speak.’

He thought of Amelia. What had become of her? Most likely sold on to another Mackenzie. That was the law. But there were ways round it. He wouldn’t rest until he discovered a way of finding Amelia again. McAllister would have to help him again. It would take money and cunning, but he wouldn’t give up.

‘Bob is right. The law is for those who can best afford it. I needed to show the world who I am, and what my uncle is, and I’ve done that. But the law won’t stop him, the law will keep him rich, and keep me from what should be mine. I want something more than the law.’

Darcy smiled. ‘What do you have in mind?’

‘I’d like to send my uncle a gift,’ James said.

Lord and Lady Dunmain were getting ready for bed when they heard a noise. Lady Dunmain, or plain Miss Deakin as James would have called her, was at her dressing table taking off a pair of heavily jewelled earrings. The noise caused an earring to fall to the floor.

‘What on earth is that?’ she said as she bent in irritation to rummage for the earring.

It sounded like loud hammering. Richard Lovett strode to the door.

‘Grady!’ he roared. ‘What is that racket?’

The hammering continued.

‘It’s the door,’ Richard Lovett shouted. ‘Someone is hammering on the door!’

Grady appeared from the depths of the house, rubbing his eyes. He had fallen asleep in the kitchen over a pitcher of grog. He undid the bolts and opened the heavy front door, swaying dagger at the ready. The hammering had stopped. He stepped out and looked around, but there was no one to be seen.

‘I can’t see anyone,’ he shouted.

Richard Lovett pounded down the stairs and out into the night air.

‘Who would dare hammer on my door like that?’ he said. And then he saw it, nailed to the door: a large black wreath, the kind you see at a funeral, or that might be hung on a front door to indicate the death of someone inside.

‘What does it mean?’ his wife asked him when he had settled down enough to return to his bedroom.

‘It means war,’ he said. ‘It means I didn’t do the job properly
when I had the chance.’

‘The boy should have been killed a long time ago,’ his wife said. ‘I urged it on his father, but he wouldn’t listen. He was too soft.’

‘Well, I’m not soft,’ Lovett said. ‘And it’s time he found out.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘It’s done. I’ve sent Grady to find a good knife man. There’ll be no more mistakes.’

When someone tries to kill you once, you do everything you can to make sure it doesn’t happen again. So James left Phoenix Street and went back to an old haunt, the Phoenix Park, not as a robber this time, but as a guest of Jack Darcy. It was a strange feeling, as if he had gone backwards in his life, but he knew his uncle’s men wouldn’t find him here. There would be time to think, and plan.

‘We’ll have to go to him,’ Jack said.

‘I know,’ James said. You can only hide for so long, he thought.

Richard Lovett and his wife came back from their evening in the theatre. It had been a good show, and there had been drinks and diverting company afterwards. Now it was time to retire for the night.

‘Go upstairs,’ Lovett said. ‘I’ll join you shortly.’

He went to the library for a night-cap and so didn’t hear anything untoward. Even if he had been directly behind her, he still would not have heard anything, because although Miss Deakin’s mouth opened and her eyes widened in fright no sound escaped her throat. In the end, gripping the banister tight, she stumbled down the stairs and into the library, mouthing silently at her husband and pointing with her finger in the direction of the bedroom.

Lovett bounded up the stairs and into the room. There, on the bed, was a large black wreath. He wheeled around and shouted for his man.

‘Grady! Get up here now!’

At that moment, two figures stepped from behind the heavy curtains.

‘Grady is otherwise engaged, you’ll find,’ the first figure said. ‘Along with the rest of your men.’

‘Hello, Uncle,’ the second figure said.

‘You!’ Lovett said. ‘Do you know the penalty for breaking and entering?’

‘The same as the penalty for murder, isn’t it?’ James said evenly.

‘You mean to murder me? Is that what the wreath means?’

‘And don’t you think I would be justified? How many times have you tried to kill me?’

Richard Lovett snarled.

‘I’m not like you,’ James said. ‘I don’t like killing people. I don’t believe in murder.’

His uncle looked relieved.

‘A black wreath was hung on the door of my father’s house when he was pretending I was dead. So I like to think of it as a calling card, to remind you I’m still alive.’ James fished in his pocket for a document. ‘There is something else,’ he said, handing the document to his uncle.

‘What’s this?’ Richard Lovett said.

‘Read it,’ James said.

‘
… one Richard Lever, together with his wife Constance, indentured for seven years, in charge of Captain Thomas McCarthy, of the vessel
George
bound for Philadelphia …
’

Lovett looked up. ‘What’s this?’ he said. ‘Who are these people?’

‘Those are your new names. Richard and Constance Lever. Richard is a labourer and Constance …’ James looked over at Miss Deakin, an angry red flaring though her powder. ‘Constance doesn’t do much really. But with training she might make an excellent scullery maid.’

‘How dare you?’ Miss Deakin spluttered.

‘You can’t be serious,’ Richard Lovett said.

‘I’m very serious,’ James said. ‘You need to learn a little of the world, and so this is my gift to you. When you return to Dublin, we can meet again in the courts and settle the issue of my inheritance – if it is still at issue. Of course I can’t guarantee that you will return – it’s a tricky business. I couldn’t have done it without the help of great friends.’

‘I hope you don’t suffer from sea sickness,’ Jack Darcy said. ‘I hear it can be a terror.’

‘The captain might help you,’ James said. ‘You know him, after
all. He’s the same captain you gave me to. His orders are different now, though, and he knows better than to disobey them.’

‘You’ll never get away with this,’ his uncle shouted. ‘As soon as we arrive, we will make ourselves known. You only have to look at us to know what we are.’

‘Indeed,’ said James said. ‘That brings us nicely to the next part.’

Darcy went to the curtain and emerged with a large sack which he now emptied onto the floor. A jumble of shoddy looking clothes spilled out.

‘What’s this?’ his uncle said.

‘Clothes fit for a labourer and a maid. You’re right about people judging you by what you wear. You’ll find it’s probably best not to insist on your nobility. Not everyone will think it’s funny, and it takes very little to cause offence. Believe me, Uncle, I know what I’m talking about.’

‘I will not be seen dead in this outfit,’ Miss Deakin said. She was shaking with indignation.

‘Would you like to be seen dead in what you’re wearing?’ Jack asked mildly, stretching his sword to her throat. ‘I can easily arrange it.’

And so, a little later, a labourer and a scullery maid left the house of Lord and Lady Dunmain in the company of several strong men, to set off for a life they would never have imagined, let alone chosen.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Jack Darcy said as they took their leave of the captain and stepped onto the quay. ‘He could come back sooner than you expect. It’s not too late to run
him through.’ Darcy fingered the hilt of his sword. ‘No one would object.’