The Plan The Thief Takers - second meeting
Elizabeth and Wilkinson sat waiting in the candle-lit room. It was so dark in the corners there could have been a battalion of His Majesty's brigades waiting there in silence. Wilkinson said to the thief taker sitting opposite across the table with its one candle, "With what we're paying for your services, I would think a few more candles might be in order." Grudgingly the man slid open a drawer and drew several candles from it. He lit them from the one in front of him. Dripping wax from the melt, he made two additions to the meagre illumination. There was a light tap at the door and the thief taker snarled a 'Get in here, you two'.
Remembering what happened the last time the man had annoyed the two brothers who entered quietly to stand at either side of him, she marveled at the temerity of his imperious tone. She half expected to see him lifted by his ears again and felt chagrined that she was actually looking forward to a repetition. She took a closer look at the twins and was shocked to see their faces covered in cuts, bruises, swelling bumps here and there… all evidence of their trade as pugilists. They evidently read the alarm on her face and seemed pleased by it.
"The nice lady feels badly for us, brother," one said, softly. "She is a gentle soul," his twin agreed. "We should not distress her with the sight of our injuries." His brother nodded and drew a large piece of cloth from his pocket, beginning to wipe his face with it. While he was thus occupied, his twin spoke to Lizzy.
"The crowd wants to see pain, blood, and suffering. It is what men seem to enjoy and are willing to pay for, so…" he paused dramatically, "it is what we give them," he finished with a grand gesture towards his brother. His twin stood there, smiling: his face now fresh and cleansed from its previous damage. Lizzy could not keep the wonder from her voice. "Make-up," she said in awe. "But so cleverly done, it looks like you both bear horrifying injuries!" She clapped her hands in laughing appreciation, feeling like a child who had been shown the secret to a magician's illusion.
Whip (she was almost certain she could tell them apart now) bowed theatrically. "It is part of our trade, but a secret known only to us…." He began in his childlike voice. "And now to you," his brother finished in his high voice.
"But how do you fool them as you are fighting?" she wondered aloud. "Not that I am so curious I would attend one of your matches," she added, hastily. "Shall we show her, brother?" Snap asked. In answer Whip shoved the table and the chair with the thief taker in it to one side, ignoring his squawk of indignation. The brothers assumed a fighting pose in front of Lizzy. She watched in rapt attention. With a sudden move Snap lashed out with a huge fist, connecting sharply on Whip's jaw. With a loud cracking sound the big man's head jerked around. He slapped his face where he had been struck even as he was collapsing at her feet. A tooth spilled from his mouth and Lizzy was horrified to see blood covering his face where his brother stuck it. With a loud cry and despite her swollen belly, she was on her knees next to him, patting the laceration with her handkerchief. "Poor boy," she whispered to him in distress. Then was shocked as he laughed while his brother helped them both up.
"The nice lady mustn't be upset," Whip said. "The tooth is one of a supply we get from surgeons who pull the teeth of the poor." Snap held up his hand as Lizzy was relieved to see he had a small rag soaked in some sort of red liquid secreted between his thumb and adjacent finger, apparently the 'blood' he had slapped onto his face as he was falling and spitting out the tooth he had hidden in his mouth.
"But I distinctly heard the sound of the impact of his fist on your jaw," she said in wonder. Snap made of sound with his tongue inside his mouth and Lizzy was astonished at how closely it imitated the sound of a fist hitting a jaw. Again she clapped her hands, giggling like a young child amused by a pantomime.
Wilkinson, cleared his throat, drawing their attention to the reason they had gathered. "In the bouts you have staged in the London area," he asked, "have you noticed anyone that has the appearance of the murderer we are seeking?"
The two brothers looked at each other. "Unfortunately, no," Snap said, ruefully. His brother's tone was equally rueful. "We scanned the crowds, particularly where the onlookers are wagering freely. We have not seen his likeness." The thief catcher spoke from his chair. "I also attend the bouts… in disguise for I am known to many of those that crowd their displays. ('What kind of disguise would hide those ears', thought Lizzie and had to suppress a giggle)I have seen no tall men of military bearing and the ruthlessness we are looking for shouldering his way around among the wagerers."
Elizabeth's heart sank. The merriment she had felt at the twin's antics was forgotten. She and her family were no closer to freedom from the threat of a ruthless killer's pursuit of their lives. Snap spoke again. "There is one curious thing," he said. "An old crone… a bent and withered thing… regularly attends our bouts and may be an agent for someone else." "Yes," his brother added. "I also have seen her. She places bets of some size and seems indifferent as to whether she wins or loses. It made us think she is an agent for someone else… someone who does not dare attend himself."
Lizzy thought for a moment. "I would imagine few women attend your matches," she mused. "True," the brothers spoke in unison. "Perhaps, as you say, the one she bets for dare not show himself in public, knowing there are those searching for him," she continued, musing. "Might it be worth following her?" she added in a questioning tone.
Snap nodded. "We were of the same mind and had one of the more clever urchins who hang about, running errands and such, follow her. He reported that she dwells alone in a shack of boards and tar paper. If she has contact with another person, he has not seen it."
Elizabeth looked at Wilkinson and he nodded in unspoken agreement with her. She turned back to the brothers and their employer/agent. "We can wait no longer. My time is getting closer and I dare not bring another soul into a world where someone is biding his time to murder us."
The thief taker asked, "What's the plan then?"
Elizabeth spoke with authority. "You will continue to pursue the avenues open to you," she said. "We will insist that the trial of my husband for murder proceed post-haste. It may be that the trial itself will draw him out. Seeing his enemy in chains being publicly humiliated may be just the cheese that will draw the rat from his lair into the light of day." She looked at the brothers. "Should that happen," she said firmly, "I trust that the tactics you employ in your public performances will be set aside and the blows you deliver to that monster will be those that his evil soul deserves!" The bothers bowed silently to her, perhaps surprised to see that the nice lady had her own dark side when the protection of her loved ones was at stake!
The thief taker cleared his throat and growled, "Well, if you wanted him to be drawn out by the trial, you must arrange for Lord Rutherford Bartholomew to preside over the proceedings." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. Up until now the only interest the thief taker had shown for her whole situation was in the bank notes in her reticule.
"Bartholomew," she reflected for a moment. "Related to the Speaker of the Parliament?" "His brother", was the curt answer.
"And why would you recommend this Lord Bartholomew to be our judge?" she asked. The man gave an unpleasant chuckle.
"'Cause there's only two things that interest His Honor Bartholomew, aside from the productions of his chef," the man sneered. It seemed to Elizabeth he could not utter a word without a sneer. "And what are those two things," she asked, patiently.
"That fellow Shakespeare…" he sneered and paused dramatically, until the woman opposite finally asked, "And the second thing?"
"Hanging people," he finished with an evil chuckle.
