The Lord's Misfits
Jean hurried the horses down Union Street. He passed crowds of people that escaped the fire, but now had nowhere to go. He stopped in front of an alley and jumped to the ground tying the reins of the carriage horses to a lamppost. Jean opened the carriage door, climbed inside and as gently as he could lift Abel to his shaky feet.
"Good to see your eyes open, my friend. I will need your help to get you inside the tavern."
Abel just nodded he was barely conscious, but understood what Jean was trying to do. As they proceeded down the narrow alley, a few drunks brushed past them but one bloke offered his help. With his assistance, they were quickly through the doors of the Spotted Pony.
The room was smoky from cigars and pipes, but there did not seem to be any concern for the fire spreading this far. Some drinkers were celebrating the fact that they did not die; others were mourning the loss of everything they owned.
Jean hollered out for the barkeep and a large, heavy hipped woman came through the swinging doors from the back room.
"Jean what a sight ya are for my poor weary eyes. What have ya brought me?"
"Some cut-throats clubbed my friend here on the head, and he needs a room to rest and gentle care for a few days. Heather, my love, can you help us?
"Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, ya'r a gorgeous rascal of a man!"
She took them down to the back of the narrow establishment until they were at the door of a small bedroom. Inside a young coloured girl was sewing in a rocking chair.
"Penny, can ya assist this fellow? He seems to have a knock on the head and needs a place to recline."
Turning to Jean, she said; "Penny has a natural way of healing, her medicines will work wonders for the poor man."
Jean lifted the long grey curls off Heather's cheek and gave her a kiss on the cheek and a hug of gratitude.
"Ya a cheeky sod, get on about ya'r business, but I expect ya to sing for ya'r supper." She said sharply, but gave him a warm smile before she left the room.
"A never saw that before, ya must be quite the charmer to make Heather blush." Penny commented on the interaction.
"No I'm just an old softie for older woman."
"I'll be safe than? Just remember, ya two try anything, and I'll put hemlock in ya'r drinks." She smiled.
Abel moaned as Penny's gentle fingers searched through his coarse hair looking for any kind of cuts that might need cleaning. She quickly left the room leaving them alone.
The two men looked at each other, Abel was upset and made movements indicating that he needed something to write with and paper. Jean tried to calm him down and told him that Michael was safe, but that Seth had gotten away. A look of deep disappointment crossed Abel's face. He had been undercover for two years with Seth's crew trying to do his part to bring Seth to justice. It was all for nothing.
"But look on the bright side old boy, they'll miss your cooking."
The two started to laugh with Abel holding his head, because it hurt.
Jean knew there was nothing more they could do today. They would lick their wounds and start anew.
"I'm going to leave you for a bit and get us both a pint, maybe two." and he gave a hearty laugh. "It's right good to see your eyes open buddy."
Jean left the room just as Penny was entering with the basin and cloths to wash Abel down. She sat on the bed and remarked:
"Ya certainly have a big lump on the head young man."
Abel thought the comment was funny as she was not more than a child herself. He made grunting noises and pointed to his throat indicating that he could not speak. She loosened the handkerchief from his neck and saw the scars made by the rope used to lynch him. Abel saw the shocked look on her face and tried to reassure her with a gentle smile that it was okay. The last thing he needed today was pity.
Raindrop size tears hung from the end of her black eyelashes. During her short life, she had seen many injustices, but she had never witnessed the results of an attempted lynching. They turned their heads upon hearing the laughter coming down the hallway and Jean burst into the room with two large mugs of beer.
"These are on the house. Now if this doesn't cure you nothing will." and he propped Abel up in pillows so he could drink. He noticed the scars that Able normally kept hidden but did not comment.
"Here's to catching that bastard Seth."
The two men clicked their pewter mugs together and downed the beer. Penny just shook her head, smiled and continued to wash Abel's hands and arms. After taking off his boots and socks she left the two alone to talk or at least one to talk.
Jean and Abel met six years ago, when both were without purpose and a dark past haunted them.
The late Lord Williams discovered Abel during his travels to the Southern United States. He and his employees came upon a lynching of Abel and three other young Negro boys. They chased off their attackers and cut the boys down. Abel was the only one that survived. The rope had damaged his throat and since then he never spoke again. Lord Williams took him back to England, educated and care for him until he was a man.
Abel was a gifted writer and a fine cook. He was shy, dark skinned, tall and a heavy built man. His hair was prematurely grey which gave the impression that he was older than his years. His size allowed him to gain employment on Seth's ships. His cooking skills soon gained him access to Seth's personal ship, The Raven. Many mistakenly assumed that his lack of speech also meant he was dim-witted. Nothing could have been further from the truth. He was a gentle giant of a man.
Jean, tall, olive skinned, black hair and a good dresser, was a lady's man. Charming, handsome and a daredevil he rejoiced in exploring and mastering new challenges. An accomplish musician, Jean Baptiste played the violin, piano and flute. He could not read music but hearing a song once he could play it back note for note and with practice could improve on the original composition. His acute hearing also helped him to be fluent in a number of languages.
Blessed with the body of a boxer and the gait of a dancer Jean's persona was of a man tightly wrung with anger just under the surface. All these abilities made him a valuable asset in Lucas Lyon's special troupe of gifted rascals as Jean could easily fit into any social situation.
Lucas also required Jean's knowledge of Seth's home. For you see Jean's home was Rose Manor, at Saint Rests, too. It was his birthplace until he left after a tragic accident years before.
Jean and his father were woodmen, harvesting trees for the Manor. Jean, still in his teens and inexperienced, was working with a team of large workhorses when they unfortunately became stuck in deep mud. He and his father tried to get them out but one horse slipped. His father swore at him the whole time as he pulled on the harness. The sound of breaking bone speared the forest as the horse nearness his father, its front leg broken, fell. Before Jean could pull his father out of danger, the great animal pinned him under his weight.
Jean ran to get help. His father's resounding curses cutting through the air as sharp as any knife followed his every step. It took a number of men to pull his papa out from underneath the horse. They placed him on a stretcher and carried him out. A few men stayed back with Jean to pull out the remaining horses and wagon.
Freed, from its teammates, the injured animal valiantly struggled to get up, but to no avail. His eyes glazed over in pain, they stared at Jean, who raised him from a foal for answers.
A cousin placed a rifle in Jean's hands, meant to end the horse's suffering. Never had a rifle felt so heavy.
Everyone left him alone to finish the deed, knowing he would want privacy. The audience gone, Jean took the handkerchief he tied around his neck and gently covered the horse's eyes. The whole time he cooed to the poor creature, calling his name and stroking his neck.
He deliberately stood, his legs apart, and placed the barrel of the shotgun behind the animal's ear. Jean pulled the trigger. The reverberation of the rifle shot ricocheted off the trees. It sound was heard by the disheartened men returning to the Manor and fishermen out in their boats in the harbour.
Only then did Jean cry, as he wiped blood off his hands, both his father's and the horse.
Running back to the house, he could hear his father's screams. Villagers had gathered outside the servant's entrance to the Manor. As he pushed through the crowd to reach the door to his mother's kitchen someone, he could not remember whom, mentioned that a priest was here to administer the sacrament of Last Rites.
He froze.
Death was waiting him across the threshold, and he did not want to enter. The weight on his shoulders was pressing down of him and he felt his mind was going to explode with emotion.
The group became so quiet, staring at him, accusing him with their silence. His trouble eyes searched theirs. He could not see their sorrow for his family reflected back at him.
Someone opened the door and another pushed him through into the large kitchen. His aunt was putting on a kettle for tea and the somber household staff had gathered to offer any help or prayers needed for one of their own. All felt powerless when facing death.
Renewed thrashing sounds coming from his parent's living quarters drew all eyes. Many gentle hands guided him towards his mother. Instinctively, they knew that she needed the arms of her first born to brace her for what was coming. Humans are like that, good one are anyways.
Legs and hips crushed, with his lungs filling up with blood, his father's screams became more those of a drowning man. Waves of blood poured from his throat until he could no longer scream at all. Twisting in pain, it took another hour for him to die.
The horse that killed him had received quicker mercy.
Jean left right after the funeral, full of guilt, shame, self-loathing, and carrying with him a monstrous chip on his shoulder.
Years later, some of The Misfits recommended Jean to Lucas and he went to find him. They met over an open grave in a Halifax graveyard.
Jean and a co-worker where digging up a coffin that was mistakenly buried in the wrong plot two years previous. They lifted the coffin up to the grassy ground where a sober, finely dressed gentleman, his top hat in hand, asked to have the coffin opened.
The gravediggers used a crowbar to pry open the coffin, as its hinges were rusty. The lid opened letting a putrid odor escaped, causing the gentleman, and Lucas who was standing quietly nearby, to take their handkerchiefs in hand and to their noses.
Jean never flinched either from the smell or from the site of a decomposing corpse. Ever so politely, with his French cap in hand, he spoke|:"
Mr. Hardgrave, Sir, would this be your dear departed brother?"
Lifting his glaze from the remains in the coffin, Mr. Hardgrave replied.
"Yes, indeed. That's Charles."
"Thank you, Sir. We will see that he is moved to his rightful resting place."
"Thank you gentlemen." He tossed each a coin and left.
Lucas approached the grave, but not too close, as the stink for spreading across the cemetery. He called out:
"Do I have the pleasure of speaking to Jean Dupuis?"
"You do, but I don't know what pleasure you will get from it?"
"I come offering you a position within our organization."
"Would I have to kill anyone?"
"Hopefully not, but I cannot assure you of this. What I can reassure you of is that you are about God's work and you will not go to Hell if you did."
Jean laughed. "I'm already going to Hell I just wanted to know in what level I would be residing."
Lucas smiled at Jean's reference to Dante's Inferno, and thought there was more to this man than he was lead to believe.
"Is the money good?"
"Yes, excellent."
"When can I start?"
"Immediately, you can ride into town with me and we discuss the details." Lucas turned to left expecting Jean to follow.
"I'll be right along. I have a man who needs reburying."
Lucas waited. It took another three hours to lay Mr. Charles Hardgrave to rest in his rightful grave. Jean sauntered up to Lucas' fine carriage with his hair, neck and hands washed clean in a horse trough. His boots and clothing, however, still carried mud from the grave and the lingering scent of the corpse. It did not bother Jean at all. Lucas liked the man right away.
Quickly he reeled Jean into the phantom detective force, whose focus was to stay within local laws to protect the innocent, and append the guilty. Originally organized to safeguard Lord William's family the group just grew from there. For many years, Seth Shaw was their only target. They followed Seth and his fleet of pirate ships around the world and gathered information to bring them to justice.
Over time, Lord Williams thought the threat Seth presented to his family had minimized. He instructed his men to expand their efforts and eliminate other criminal elements. They gathered information on past or future crimes, and reported their findings to local authorities. Sometimes they even helped in the catching of criminals if the police force was under-staffed or lacked experience.
"What kind of business are you running in Halifax?"
"A factory that makes brooms and mattresses and we have two small ships. Both enterprises are doing well financially." Lucas smiled. "Everyone needs to sleep and clean, do they not?"
"The businesses provide excellent cover for travelling to many cities. Our employees come and go with complete freedom and if someone is away for weeks at a time, no one takes notice." Lucas puffed hard on his dying pipe before continuing.
"The sailors on our ships can go into ports and seaside pubs without raising an eye; we gathered most of our information this way. Only a small number, fifty or so, are Jonathan's men."
Lord William made an unfortunate misstep in thinking that Seth was no longer a threat. This unfortunate lapse in judgement resulted in his murder just two years before on a dock in Halifax. It would seem that Seth was tracking them and their moments. While their guard was down, he struck. With Jonathan's death, Lucas ran the organization, reporting only to Lady Williams. Daniel was still unaware of the group. Michael had just become aware of its existence within the last few days.