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  Fred was three feet from Emma when the roar went up. She could see the shock on his face, knew that he could sense what she could observe, as the bull-like victim began to push his way in pursuit, elbowing people aside as he yelled, ‘Stop thief!’ The shock of the cold metal in her hand, as Fred brushed past, was total, and the chain started to slip through her fingers. She caught the watch just before it hit the ground and, for lack of anywhere else to hide it, pushed it up under her skirt and jammed it between her thighs.

  Fred ran behind the fish stall, emerged from the other side and went straight for his mark, aiming to pass him by, just like the innocent he now was. The large, rough hand took him by the collar and lifted him bodily, bringing forth a strangled cry from the boy’s throat. Emma, feeling the metal against her inner thighs, acted instinctively to cover her own presence. She turned to the fishmonger and asked for half a dozen dabs, then made a show of searching for the means to pay. ‘I’ve gone an’ left the money and the sack with my Nan, Mr Hargreaves,’ she piped, her face contorted with worry.

  ‘Don’t you worry about that, Emma girl,’ the fishmonger replied, his red, beery face beaming kindly as he pulled a precious piece of paper from under the counter. ‘You just take them over to Mrs Kidd and tell her to send you back with a sixpence and this here brown paper.’ They were wrapped and handed to Emma before the nearby commotion really registered with her. It took the owner of the watch little time to search the two pockets on Fred’s threadbare jacket, but since he knew the ways of dips, he was soon looking round for an accomplice. His eyes traced the route Fred had taken, to alight on the little girl in the long dress, brown paper parcel in her hands.

  With a dozen huge strides he was towering over her and pointing, shaking Fred with the other hand. The curious came with him, surrounding the stall in such numbers that Hargreaves threw a piece of canvas over his wares lest they be pilfered in the mêlée.

  ‘What’s in that parcel?’ the man demanded of Emma.

  ‘Fish, sir,’ she replied, meekly, head bent.

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘Hold your wheest, there,’ barked the fishmonger. ‘I sold her them dabs not a minute past, and she’s telling truth.’

  Fred’s victim shook him again, producing numerous squeals and requests to be spared. So fearful did Fred look, eyes rolling and a dribble of spit running down his chin that Emma nearly laughed, but the seriousness of the situation put paid to that notion. Fred had dropped her right in it, and the consequences were almost too terrible to contemplate. She could recall the names of half a dozen girls her age who’d been condemned to the stocks, gaol or even transportation for what she would stand accused of. Offering up the watch and chain was no solution; that would see her taken up for certain.

  The gruff voice of the mark, as he spat back at Hargreaves, made her look up. ‘You, sir, will mind your own, and this creature will unravel that paper and show me the contents.’

  The metal of both watch and chain was warm now, digging into her tender flesh as she pressed her legs together to stop her knees trembling. Timidly, she offered up the parcel, which he grabbed. Half of the dabs fell to the ground as it was opened and, slowly Emma bent to pick them up.

  ‘You know this villain?’ the man demanded, throwing the rest of the dabs, still in their paper, at her feet.

  She looked up, the big green eyes luminous with assent. ‘Everybody knows Fred Stavely, your honour, what with him bein’ a mite witless, an’ all.’

  ‘Witless?’

  Emma tapped the side of her head with one finger, while Fred, responding like a natural, rolled his eyes and muttered gibberish. The man pushed him away, as if the taint of madness might be transferred by touch.

  ‘Fred Stavely, you say?’

  ‘That’s him,’ Emma replied, nodding to the creature now rolling on the ground. The mark looked at the fishmonger for confirmation, which came with a sharp nod. ‘Check it with the Charlies of the watch, if you like, sir. They knows about him well enough.’

  ‘I’ll do that!’ he barked, then turned away. The crowd who had followed him watched as he elbowed his way through, to return to the lace stall and investigate further. Emma slipped the paper to the edge of her dress, fell on to her knees so that it was covered, opened her thighs and let the watch and chain fall silently onto the remaining dabs. The rest, grimy from the cobbles, were quickly laid on top.

  ‘You can give over writhing, Fred Stavely,’ said Hargreaves, sharply, as he uncovered his fish. ‘An’ don’t think if that fat sod asks me again I’ll lie for you. If he hadn’t been so bloody stuck up I wouldn’t have done it once.’

  ‘You’re a right gent, Mr Hargreaves,’ Fred replied, his grin given carefully, lest anyone should see his sudden recovery.

  Hargreaves leant forward, without taking his eyes off Fred, and spat on the cobbles.

  ‘You fuckin’ near did for me, Fred Stavely!’ Emma hissed. They had taken refuge in a narrow doorway and the echo doubled the pleasure she took in using forbidden language.

  ‘Right sorry I am, girl, but it was that or the Tollbooth. Those bastards Brand and Potts wouldn’t pay so much as a brass farthing to get me free.’

  But Fred’s troubles were of little concern to Emma: she had enough of her own to worry about. ‘I’ve got sixpennyworth of dabs here that need settling. What am I goin’ to tell if’n my Nan finds out what I did?’

  Fred unwrapped the parcel. Watch and chain nestled amongst the grubby fish. He took it by one end and lifted it out. Not much light penetrated the deep doorway, but what did flashed on the polished metal. ‘I wish you hadn’t used my name, Emma. If that fat bugger goes to the watchman I’m done for, even if I have got rid this. And if he’s asked, Hargreaves might tell him more truths than he did afore.’

  ‘Sixpence!’ Emma demanded, holding out her hand.

  It was as if Fred hadn’t heard her. ‘Brand and Potts will give me precious little for this, even if’n it is worth a decent bit o’ coin.’

  ‘They’ll give you enough to pay me back.’

  Even in the gloom she could see that he wasn’t listening. Those bright bird-like eyes were looking past her, as if she didn’t exist, and his voice, when he spoke, was wistful. ‘I’ve been reckonin’ to make a move afore this. Things is gettin’ hot round here, and they grant me less an’ less for what I do lift.’

  ‘Fred!’

  He looked at her at last and smiled. ‘I ain’t got sixpence, Emma, and if I had I would need to hold it hard to see me on my way.’

  ‘Way to where?’

  ‘I’ll head south, I reckon. Who knows? I might end up in London town, dipping the pockets of German George hisself.’ Seeing the look in Emma’s eye, he spoke more quickly. ‘Tell your Nan that you fancied the dabs for supper. She’s so soft on you she’ll pay out even if she does bark. Maybe Hargreaves’ll take one of her rabbits instead of coin.’

  He lifted a hand to chuck her under the chin. ‘I’ll recall you kindly, Emma. We was friends even afore what happened today.’

  ‘You’re not goin’ right off.’

  ‘What’s to stay for?’ he replied, holding up the watch and chain once more. ‘I ain’t got no one to say farewell to, ’ceptin’ you. Brand and Potts will have heard about this bein’ lifted soon enough, and if my name’s mentioned they’ll be looking for me to take it.’

  Fred turned once, then spun back, his eyes hard in a way that she had never seen before. ‘They two sods have been at your Nan for money, right?’

  ‘She told ’em to bugger off.’

  ‘They won’t. It’s not their way. If you was to ask around you’d hear that when Brand and Potts get refused, they’re like to wait on a lonely road, takin’ by force what folks won’t part with willin’. An’ I heard them discussin’ your Nan not a day past, and sayin’ as how she needed to be taught her place.’ Emma put her hand to her mouth. ‘Best tell Mrs Kidd that, and say it comes from me. Now, wish me good fortune, lass. And remember, should you ever come to
London, look into every coach and four, ’cause, like as not, you’ll find Fred Stavely, Esquire, alolling on velvet cushions like the cock of the walk.’

  There was a rattle as Fred gathered the watch and chain into his hand. Then, with a final smile, he turned round and strode off.

  He might have thought that Grandma Kidd was soft enough on Emma to forgive her, and maybe she would have done so if the fish had been clean. But the grubby offering, ‘with half the muck of the market on it’, was not accepted. Emma spent the rest of the day under her baleful looks with sharp reminders about the state of the Kidd finances, though in honour, before they packed up to go home, she sent to Hargreaves the money he was owed.

  As always, it took an age to get out of the town, carts clogging up to leave through the narrow gateways. So it was under a darkening sky, full of low, troubled clouds, on Saltney Marsh, that Emma first spied the men loitering by the side of the road. She knew her Nan had seen them too, just by the way she stiffened up. That was the moment she chose to tell her what Fred had hinted at.

  ‘Your eyes is better ’an mine, child. Is that Brand and Potts up ahead?’

  ‘I think it is. The tall one is so like Brand.’

  They had chosen a good spot in the middle of the marsh with only this one road. And the fading light was security against anyone seeing what they were about from a distance.

  ‘Get in the back, girl,’ said Mrs Kidd, sharply.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Do as you’re bade for once this day.’

  Emma climbed over on to the flat bed of the cart, her heel going over on the coal that her grandmother had failed to sell. ‘What will you do, Nan?’

  ‘I’ll not part with a penny, that’s for certain.’

  ‘Fred told it like they were prepared to offer violence.’

  ‘Happen,’ Mrs Kidd replied enigmatically.

  They were close now, the features distinct of the pair of villains. Both stepped out at once, barring the narrow road, with the taller one, Brand, holding up his hand. Grandma Kidd flicked her whip to get the nag moving faster. One of the cartwheels dropped into a pothole, which made Emma stagger and fall to her knees. Putting out both of her hands to save herself, she grasped two sizeable pieces of coal. Potts stepped forward, hands outstretched to take hold of the horse’s head-collar. As soon as he got close, Grandma Kidd was on her feet, the whip flashing out in front of the horse’s nose, to drive Potts backwards.

  ‘You get away from there, Ismail Potts,’ she shouted, ‘or for certain I’ll mark you.’

  ‘You had best hold up,’ shouted Brand, lifting a heavy stick.

  ‘I’ll do no such thing,’ the old lady replied, applying the whip to the horse’s hindquarters.

  ‘We’ve come only for what’s due,’ yelled Potts, reaching out to catch the traces again.

  The whip took him right across the face, making him duck as he yelled in pain. Emma was on her feet, the two lumps of coal sent forth, not with any real force, but enough to make Brand move back instead of forwards. The whip drove him back another step. Now they were abreast of the wagon, Emma rained lumps of coal at them, ignoring her grandmother’s command to get back on the box and take the reins. One lump caught Brand on the temple and he spun away to join Potts, who was holding his cheek and swearing in pain and anger. But he was standing still, making no attempt to pursue the bucking cart.

  Chest heaving, Emma’s face was full of triumph. She and her Nan, two females with forty years between them, had seen off two of the biggest rogues around, proving that they were nowt but stuffed bullies of no true account. She had seen a picture once, at the curate’s lessons, of a man in a chariot after winning some ancient Biblical fight. That was what she felt like now.

  ‘Get back on the box, girl, this instant!’

  Brought back to reality with a bump, Emma obliged, glancing at her dress, which was covered in streaks of coal dust. Grandma Kidd, transferring the whip, sat down herself. Her free hand took Emma round the shoulders.

  ‘I’m sorry for the state I’m in, Nan.’

  ‘You’ll do for me, lass, clean or dirty,’ the old lady said, as she hauled her granddaughter hard to her so that she could give her a kiss. ‘An’ even stinkin’ of fish.’

  CHAPTER 3

  Mrs Killannan, wife to HMS Raisonable’s gunner, was a substantial woman. Rosy-cheeked, broad in the hip and with huge breasts, she terrified not only her husband but most of the officers as well. She would bend in knee and spirit to the premier, and to the second lieutenant at a pinch. But no one inferior to that dared challenge her, especially when it came to the behaviour of her charges in the midshipmen’s berth. She had two precepts that were paramount: cleanliness in both body and mind, so that as long as the boys stayed spruce, and were attentive to their prayers, she left them to their own devices. She believed, quite wrongly, that even with a touch of wildness, her ‘boys’ were too in awe of her to countenance disobedience.

  ‘This ’ere is Mr Nelson,’ she said, to the assembled mids who occupied a space no bigger than eight feet by twelve. ‘Now, he is nephew to the captain, but that don’t signify ’cause you know that he’s a man who would shudder to see special treatment afforded.’

  In the dim lantern light, here below the waterline, it was possible to make out with certainty only the faces of the half dozen closest to him. Yet each person had some feature that marked him out as an individual, even if in one case it was a face so bland as to be remarkable for that alone. A square chin here, a prominent nose there: the looks of indifference that were real contrasted with those more contrived. One, with the dark stubble of a heavy growth, seemed older than the lieutenant who had discovered him asleep on deck. Another’s face was so round and cherubic that he had the appearance of an overgrown baby. The only thing it seemed that they all had in common was a determination to ignore him, as though the arrival of a new member of the mess was an everyday occurrence.

  Although unaware of it, Horatio Nelson was likewise the object of surreptitious examination. Those he had joined saw a slight youth, thin, handsome but pale, with very fair hair and grey-blue eyes that were slightly hooded and shielded whatever thoughts he harboured. His skin was clear, his lips slightly feminine in their fullness, with no trace of the flickering tongue that denoted nerves.

  He had been in this situation before, suddenly required to face a potentially hostile group, with which he would have to co-exist. But he had attended school in the company of his elder brother, and although that had provided little in the way of physical defence, at least he had had someone to associate with until he found his own friends. This, he knew, as the gunner’s wife began the introductions, was different.

  ‘Now this here is Mr Dobree,’ she said, patting the fellow with the dark chin, ‘and he is senior in this mess. So you will bide with what he says. He answers to me, an’ answers well.’

  ‘What peril would I risk if I failed to respond to you, dear lady?’ Dobree asked, his voice soft and supplicating, an odd look in his watery, chestnut eyes as he leant forward into the light.

  That was nothing to the warmth of the response from Mrs Killannan. The apple cheeks reddened a touch more and the hard countenance melted fleetingly, like that of a mother looking upon a favourite son. Yet Nelson could see the insincerity in Dobree’s expression and picked up a hint, from the nods and winks that rippled through the other members of the berth, that this was a game they enjoyed.

  ‘You will find, Nelson,’ Dobree added, his voice silky, ‘that your own dear mother would struggle to match the grace and comfort afforded us by Mrs Killannan.’

  ‘My mother is dead,’ the newcomer replied quickly, only realising after the words were out of his mouth that, in some way, he had failed his new shipmates, several of whom frowned at him for dampening a situation that clearly amused them. The next words were blurted out and, judging by the stony faces, did nothing for his standing. ‘I am sure you are right.’

  Dobree’s expression hadn’t
changed, and his moist eyes were locked on those of the gross-faced gunner’s wife. He put out a hand to brush her thick forearm. ‘You may look here for comfort, sir. That is, if you feel the need.’

  The face that pushed past that of Mrs Killannan was as gaunt as hers was fat, a comedic combination, framed by the curtain, which produced suppressed sniggers. ‘Where’s this chest to be let down?’

  ‘I’ll leave you to square that away, Mr Dobree,’ the lady said, spinning round, her sheer bulk enough to force the man who had fetched the chest to jump back. His eyes still fixed on the other members of the mess, Nelson heard her curse the carrier, bidding him shift out of her way in a voice full of venom.

  ‘Leave it outside for the present,’ Dobree said, as the thin face appeared again, his voice much harder now. He stood up, too tall to complete the motion, even bent his head brushing the deck beams above. He towered over the newcomer, who tensed. There was a pregnant pause, before Dobree spoke in the same silky tone he had used with Mrs Killannan.

  ‘Well, Mr Nelson, do you have a brain in that limited top hamper of yours?’

  The softness of the voice did nothing to help the youngster relax. Instead he bunched his fists, which didn’t go unnoticed. Every member of the berth seemed to edge forward slightly in anticipation.

  ‘Why we have a gamecock in our midst,’ the senior midshipman crowed.

  ‘Get on with it, Dobree,’ said another voice, almost as deep, from just outside the range of the lantern. As he spoke, its owner leant forward to show a square, broken-veined face, with thick, widespread eyes, and a button for a nose. His mere presence caused all the others to withdraw to the edge of the lanternlight, like tortoises seeking the shelter of their shell.

  Horatio Nelson didn’t relax. If anything this new voice added to his anxieties. He knew that his every action, every expression on his face, would be judged by those present against patterns of which he knew nothing. All he could do was maintain his stance until things became clearer. Dobree didn’t turn to face the voice, but an expression bordering on distaste crossed his face.