Beginning, Section II, Next Section
Chapter 2, Part 6 ~ And a Time to Seek
The Spreadeagle Inn, Gracechurch Street, was a pleasant, respectable place, a welcome refuge from the dismal weather continuing this morning, and the embarkation point for coaches traveling to Leeds, one of the couple's likely destinations according to the conversation overheard in Bristol. Beginning his questions to the proprietor, John had not proceeded far before having his attention drawn away by a diffident cough at his side. Turning to identify the source of this sound, he saw a gentlemanlike man with an elegant woman on his arm, both neither young nor old. The man addressed John, "Sir, we could not help but overhear your queries as to a young lady, traveling alone, about the eighteenth or nineteenth of February. We may be able to assist you." John courteously but swiftly excused himself to the Innkeeper, who had seemed reluctant to speak and much relieved to find others ready to do so, and turned back to the couple. "I would be most obliged, sir, if you have information to share with me. Shall we not go to a table and order some tea? Then we may be able to speak in greater comfort," suggested John, standing to one side and motioning for them to lead the way, as he assumed their consent.
Seated at a table near a window, with the welcome steam of fresh tea to warm them, the couple openly studied John, while he in his turn scrutinized them, albeit more discreetly. After having been served, the older gentleman seized the initiative, and introduced the subject now uppermost in each of their minds. "You were asking, I believe, about a young lady, traveling alone, several weeks ago," he began, reiterating his earlier description, and looking at the young man carefully, judging what it would be wise to tell him.
"Yes, sir, I was," replied John.
"May I ask, sir, what your business with her is about? Not having the pleasure of your acquaintance, we simply wish to be cautious, for the sake of the young lady," he hastened to add.
"I understand, sir, and applaud your caution. In this matter it may be well-justified." John hesitated briefly, deciding how much of his purpose to relate. "My name is John Blevins. I have been retained by the guardian of the young lady, to find her, as she left her residence without permission, and with no word of her intentions. I was told that she may have planned to go to Leeds, or some other northern area, and was hoping to receive confirmation of this, as well as more precise information as to the date of her intended travel." He left it at this, hoping this degree of frankness would be accepted and reciprocated.
The couple heard this explanation in silence, and looked at each other briefly upon its conclusion. Into the gentleman's eyes had come a gleam of recognition as John revealed his name. "I have heard of you, Mr Blevins," he said, with increased respect in his voice, "and all reports have been most complimentary."
The woman laid her hand over that of the man, presumably her husband, and addressed John. "We had our suspicions her situation might be something of the kind you have described. Her manner, her actions, all called to mind a rather silly, spoiled young girl, intent on her own course, and quite heedless as to the opinions of, or consequences to, others." The look of sympathy in her eyes and the gentle tone of her voice softened the censorious words she used to describe the young woman.
The gentleman now took up the tale. "My wife and I happened to be here on the nineteenth of February - seeing off a servant of ours who was to visit a sick relation in Harwich, and is to return today - when a very young lady came in. She demanded a ticket to Liverpool, and said she wished to leave on the first available coach. When the Innkeeper informed her that, first, seats for all coaches must be secured in advance, with a deposit, and second, that the coach for Liverpool did not leave from this Inn, she became very angry. She spoke disrespectfully to the man, and abused him, then began to abuse a 'John,' who she claimed had given her abominably poor instructions as to how she was to travel from London. We were shocked to understand that she had been traveling unaccompanied, and that she intended to continue so as well. When told the coach she required left from the Swan with Two Necks, in Lad's Lane, she became even more enraged, saying she had only just come from there, and what a waste of time it had all been. We were about to offer her a ride to the other Inn in our carriage, when, without so much as an apology to the Innkeeper, or thanks for the information, she turned on her heel and stormed out." The man ended by shaking his head in sorrow and apparent disbelief at such a display of rudeness in a person so young, though apparently of good education and background.
"Poor child," added his wife, "so rebellious, childish, and now all alone, it would seem. If she continues so, she will be in a fair way to land in trouble soon enough."
"I hope she may be found before such a thing happens, ma'am, for it would break the heart of her guardian," put in John, who was touched by the insight and concern felt by these people for such a girl, a complete stranger to them, who could have in no wise created a favorable impression by her words and actions.
"We shall hope so, we shall, indeed!" seconded the man. "Your reputation in such matters is excellent, may I say, sir, so I am sure he will not be disappointed."
His wife added, "She puts us in mind of a young girl in our family - oh, not a daughter, thank the Lord - but a niece, who is also lively, with high animal spirits, unguarded in her all-too-easy manner, and similar in looks to the young lady we saw here. She has been allowed to run entirely too wild, and seems beyond the reach of amendment, being already fourteen years of age, but we continue to hope, and help as we can. We do pray nothing dreadful awaits her. Fortunately, she lives in a small village, and is not much in company, or in danger of meeting persons who would tempt her to do wrong, or be tempted by her, as she has no fortune to speak of, and is the youngest of five sisters."
John then pulled the likeness of Eliza from a pocket and offered it to the woman, while asking, "Is this the young lady whom you saw?"
"What an excellent likeness! This is the very girl!" she exclaimed. "And she is very like our Lydia, do not you think so, Edward?" showing the likeness to her husband, who held it closer to the window as he examined it.
"Yes, indeed. Ah - We hope you find the young lady soon, sir. We would be pleased to help you in any way possible. We can quite imagine the suffering her - guardian, did you say? - is now enduring," as he returned the picture to John.
"I will do my best, sir, my very best," promised John, as much to himself, as to them. Seeing the depth of care which this aunt and uncle had for such a difficult niece as theirs would seem to be, he felt even more keenly the agony of Col Brandon, who was not only uncle to Eliza, but had taken over the roles of father and mother as well.
John left the Spreadeagle some time later, cheered by the open manners and friendly, intelligent conversation of this sensible couple, heartened by further clues as to Miss Williams' movements, and grateful for the sound reputation of Mr Blevins, painstakingly built by Sir John Murdock over many years, and hopefully to be furthered by John Thomas Barrow. In a flattering response to this reputation, the couple had wracked their memories for every detail about their encounter with Eliza. Whether or not she was using her own name for these adventures could not be determined, as none had been given by the young lady. However, together, they were agreed that her immediate destination would have been the Swan with Two Necks, where she would have attempted to secure a place on a coach to Liverpool. Exactly when she might have left London would be difficult to say, as the coaches were often full, with few places to be had at short notice. Thither John would go, in her footsteps, so to speak, albeit dry and dusty as they now were. In actuality, the footsteps he followed that morning were all rather wet and muddy, and led past a certain corner, at a certain time.
Chapter 2, Part 7 ~ And a Time to Seek
"Mornin', Guv'nor," came Tim's greeting, when they were well away from the busy streets where they could be overseen, and overheard, by curious or observant passersby. "Though there's not much good to it today," he amended, pushing back hair which had been plastered to his brow from the rain. "Have a pleasant trip to Bath?"
"Good morning, Tim. Pleasant could be one description of it," replied John. "The weather was a good deal better than what we have here today, without a doubt!" shaking his umbrella in a vain attempt to rid it of its accumulated moisture. "As to business, the journey was uneventful, but productive of sorts. There's still very much to do, however, before I could even begin to say that this case is progressing, to say nothing of nearing completion to everyone's, or anyone's, satisfaction."
"Anything I can help with?" offered Tim sympathetically, seeing the frown which knit the brow of the man he was dependent on, to an ever greater extent, for his bread and butter, with the occasional smatterings of jam.
"Unfortunately, I doubt this would lend itself to your particular talents, Tim. I'm looking for a young lady, usually residing in Dorsetshire, long gone from Bath, most likely just as long gone from London, purportedly somewhere in the north now, and a comely gentleman by the name of 'John,' surname, location and habitation all unknown. I do have a few clues to pursue, which I will be about directly, but not as many as I could wish. What news here? Anything of interest while I was away?"
"Don't know as it would interest you, sir, but there's talk of a new wave of forgery goin' on. Money's been turnin' up in several places about town: coaching inns, taverns, places down by the docks. A right good job's bein' done, but not good enough! There'll be several more guests at Newgate, soon, would be my guess, or maybe even fitted for a fresh hemp neckcloth one of these days. There's precious little tolerance for such creative work among the banking nobs nowadays; such a shame!" lamented Tim, with a sly grin, and a shake of his head.
John mused about Tim's news as he made his way to Lad's Lane and the Swan with Two Necks. Forged money sprang up now and again, annoying if one was left with it, but so far it had not concerned him. Most likely it would be no different this time. The forgers would be caught - hanged, most likely - and the excitement, for some, and inconvenience, for others, would die down, 'til the next group, with short memories or a greater opinion of their own skills, came along.
As he entered the building, and looked for an Innkeeper or a clerk, he noticed the dark and gloomy rooms, deserted at present, and the dust and dirt covering every surface: tables, chairs, lamps. Either the custom's not very good, or they don't care about their surroundings, John thought, or what they might take in along with their food and drink. He himself would not choose to frequent such a place for his personal pleasure; but, each man had his own standards, he supposed. He carefully avoided touching anything as he made his way through the common rooms.
The Innkeeper turned out to be a large burly man, with brawny arms and shoulders that belied the presumed ease, by the neglected appearance of the Inn, of his present occupation. He would seem better suited to work as a butcher, or a farm laborer. Seventy to one hundred pound bales or loads would be nothing at all to this man. John approached him, and began, "Excuse me, sir, I would like to trouble you with a few questions about one or two coach passengers who left from here sometime after the twentieth of February, on their way to Liverpool, most likely."
"What?" barked the man, who had anticipated receiving from this person, and not giving out, "I don't have time to answer idle questions, young man, and if I did, I wouldn't do it for the likes of you."
John felt his temper rise at the man's discourteous manner, but kept it firmly in check as he persisted. "Sir, I realize you must be very busy, but this has to do with the safety, and possibly the very life, of a young lady."
His face darkening with suspicion, the man gave back belligerently, "So who are you? Her husband, brother, cousin? You look too young to be a father. I told you, I won't be telling a complete stranger about the doings of people who come here. I don't keep track of them all anyway. Do you think I know everyone who comes through here for a meal, a bed, or a coach, and then follow them out to know their every movement? You're wasting my time! Be off with you, now!"
John's tone became chillier, and his bearing more stiff, as he tried once more, "My name is John Blevins, sir, and I have been commissioned to find this young lady for her family. They are very concerned about her; she is only sixteen years of age--" The mention of the name, which had just earlier produced such satisfying results, had no effect at all in the present company. The man advanced on him, with menace in his eyes, and fists clenched. Raising his voice, he made his meaning and intent quite clear.
"I don't care who you are, what your work is, or who this girl is. I won't tell you again; be off, before I throw you out myself!"
This appeared to be no idle threat. John decided that retreat was called for, for the time being. Perhaps he would come again later, when someone else might be present to answer his questions. Although, glancing around, he now doubted whether many patronized this place, or whether other persons were here employed. There might not ever be anyone who could help him. John shrugged as he took his leave. "Thank you very much for all your kind assistance, sir. I will leave you to your customers," his voice dripping with sarcasm, his eyes roving over the empty premises. "Good day to you."
As John exited the room in anger over his treatment, he failed to see a small woman coming out of another room, nor did he see her gently remonstrate with the Innkeeper, apparently disagreeing with his treatment of their visitor.
John would continue the search, even without definite information about the beginning of the coach journey. The couple in Gracechurch Street had been convinced of Miss Eliza's intended destination being Liverpool. As there were no other pressing matters of business to attend to, he would travel there himself, and possibly visit several other towns in that region. With each interview and circumstance encountered since his meeting with Col Brandon, he felt an ever-growing sense of foreboding as regarded the young lady, and her prospects of emerging from this escapade unscathed.
Chapter 3, Part 1 ~ And a Time to Seek
To Liverpool by way of Leicester, from thence to Lancaster, Leeds, and on to Lincoln. Between the large towns, the smaller ones: Leamington, Longborough, Long Eaton, Leek, Leigh, and Leyland, as well the villages: Lutterworth, Longton, Longridge and Long Preston. Places of fame, places of obscurity; areas of commerce, trade, and industry, or farming and husbandry; town alternating with country, flat land with gently rolling hills and valleys, sunshine with less clement weather. As the carriage rolled along the road from Lincoln, a crossroad leading east to Cambridge was passed, turning thoughts to other lives, other times, other choices, other possibilities. What would my life be had I... But, onward his own road lay, through Letchworth and Luton, and so home to London.
Mr Blevins' travels had proved interesting, and certainly broadening of his experience, from a geographical standpoint, but very much less so in furthering his search for Miss Williams. In no town, at no Inn, at no turnpike, at no stop along the way had he met with any success whatsoever in following her movements past London. It was as if she had vanished from the face of the earth. John grimaced as the thought echoed from the tale he had told Miss Robertson. He had not foreseen any similarities with his current investigation. Heaven forfend that the ending of this present mystery should in any way prove similar to his literary invention as well! There must be another avenue to explore. In this direction, however, John conceded defeat. One journey more in quite another direction offered itself, as a lesser possibility, but then he would return again to London, where an unpleasant task awaited him.
The woman thought back almost two months, to the young girl, demanding and rude, yet frightened when finally aware of her predicament, and understanding the threatened punishment at the hands of the law. Though she had no daughters of her own, the woman felt pity for this girl. Out of view and earshot of her husband, she had beckoned to her, and led her to a seldom-used room. After determining that the money she had attempted to give her husband was her all, and that she had no one else to turn to, the woman had written a name and direction on a scrap of paper, and had given it to the girl, describing the route in detail, and assuring her that she would be welcomed and well-treated. She had scribbled a few words more on a second piece of paper, and given it to the girl as well, as explanation and introduction to her sister.
With a groan, the girl straightened and deposited her load carefully on the table, muscles protesting at the now-familiar, oft-repeated movements of the past weeks. She surveyed her surroundings as she stood resting a moment: low-ceilinged rooms with rough, smoke-darkened walls; well-kept rooms, with worn yet determinedly clean curtains at each window, welcoming stranger and friend alike; the large fireplace where each regular visitor had his chair set just so, with his own mug kept at the ready, in anticipation of his arrival. The scene outside the muslin-framed windows was not as appealing, comprehending warehouses and docks, wreathed in a perpetual haze of smoky, dank air.
The independence had been so heady at first, and the work diverting, so different from her occupations of the past years. The proprietor and his wife were very kind, but day after day, week after week, and soon-to-be month after month, with no change, had rendered it exceedingly dull and tiresome. Who would have thought he would leave me to fend for myself so long? And with no way to write to him... now he does not even know where I am. But, she was not yet ready to give in. To return, to be reprimanded and scolded, and treated as a young child, sent back to that horrid place with that self-righteous woman, mocked by her friends, who would, naturally, remember her boasting. No, better to be a little weary than that. She would soon have what she needed, she was sure of it. And there were some benefits to her present situation...
He entered the tavern, and saw her again, a young lady who looked to be about his own age, he guessed. She looked tired today, poor dear, though not so much so as not to give a saucy smile and nod when she spied him. After bringing his refreshment, she lingered at his table, and they talked a little. Nothing of consequence, simply nonsense to brighten the day and pass the time for them both. He wondered where she had come from. She seemed too well-brought up and educated for this sort of work, in such a neighborhood, though she was bold and unguarded enough in manner. That she was hiding something was evident. No personal information had been spoken of. Even her own name had not seemed to come readily to her lips. His curiosity piqued, he hoped to continue this acquaintance if at all possible. Perhaps he could discover her secret, or come to her assistance should she have need of it. It would be pleasant to help someone the way he did. Not that this would be in the same class as his work was!
The ten gentlemen seated around the highly polished table were silent and grave as they considered the import of the Director's words. They looked at each other with furrowed brows and troubled eyes. One of the older men finally sat forward, laid clasped hands on the table and cleared his throat noisily, "Gentlemen, this looks to become a most unpleasant imbroglio, one which could make laughingstocks of us all, with a complete loss of trust, should it become public, not to mention the very real possibility of financial ruin. I have a proposal to make. After extensive inquiries, I have received the name of a gentleman who may be of assistance to us. The references as to his discretion and resourcefulness are of the highest order, absolutely impeccable, I may say." As he uttered a name, diverse expressions played over the faces of the men present: relief, embarrassment, amusement, discomfort, skepticism, confidence, surprise, fear. After a period of discussion, however, a motion to consult this man was made and, with certain stipulations, approved.
Letting down his violin slowly, he let out a sigh of pure delight. He felt as if his cup were full, as if he could hold no more. The music spoke peace to his heart, as he let it speak also from his heart. He opened his eyes to observe similar emotions on the face of his fellow musician. They smiled at each other, but remained silent and still, both content to let the tones echo and linger. How good it was to be home once more. How could he have remained so long away? He had not realized the full extent to which he had missed the very sights and sounds of this village, his village, so dear to him, yet become so unbearable for a time - some would say too long a time. The very flowers seemed to have sprung up to welcome him, with their heads nodding in the evening breeze, their scent wafting gently into the small chamber, where the music now soothed his soul. How good to create such sounds again, to share in this delight, even if their only audience this evening was the wide, star-filled sky and its Creator.
In a small chamber, in a bed covered with a spread of softest blue, the girl hugged the raven-haired doll closer to her as she drifted off to sleep. She liked hearing the music her mother and the neighbor man played together. He was nice. She was glad he was back again. He always brought something for her or her doll, or for her mother. He brought blackberries, and tomatoes, and flowers, and potatoes, and fresh milk and butter... and lots of things. He had brought her blue ribbon today, some for her own hair, and some for her doll. She liked blue. He had remembered it was her favorite colour. It was her doll's favorite colour, too...
Rushing next door, the woman entered the comfortable kitchen, where two people sat finishing the last of their evening tea, with her skirts flapping about, cap in danger of tumbling from her head, fabric and needle still in her hand. Without acknowledging, or even noticing, the complementary duet of greetings which had met her precipitous entrance, she exclaimed, "What news I have to tell you! You'll never guess! The Hall is opened again! He's come back at long last! Do you suppose he has found another wife? Or, perhaps," she gasped, clutching her sewing to her chest, eyes wide as she gave free rein to her imagination, "he brings a natural son who will now be prepared to assume the property when he dies! Or what if he has lost the estate through unscrupulous characters who took advantage of him in his grief, and comes now only to clear his things out before passing it all to another? Whatever shall we do with such people - such strangers - living among us? What shall we do without him? Oh, how I shall ever sleep tonight, I simply do not know! Such excitement! Such worry!"
Custom had been very meager the past few years. Ever since the new highway with the newer, wider bridge had been built through ______ seven miles away - surely the dastardly work of some unscrupulous and uncaring politician - the stream of travelers and visitors through their village had dwindled to a trickle, and at times barely that. Now, things would surely be different. With the Hall being opened and occupied again, there would likely be guests and balls and assemblies, and the Lord only knew what else. This would be to everyone's gain. Perhaps, there might eventually be enough money again to enable their son to fulfill his dream; he had so set his heart on earning an apprenticeship somewhere, but had delayed for lack of the necessary funds. A talent like his should not be allowed to wither unused, untrained. Perhaps it could even be brought to his attention? He had helped so many others over the years, why not their son?
The man sighed in frustration as he pulled on his nightshirt, only to have it sit completely askew over his back. He would have to call for assistance once again. This lack of independence grated on his temper; but, he grudgingly acknowledged, it had its purpose. How arrogant of anyone to presume to independence, to be completely sufficient unto himself. 'No man is an island...' How true! An involuntary shudder passed over him as he recollected the last island he had experienced, where his arrogant assumption of self-sufficiency had been tested, and found sorely wanting. He now lived with this hard-learned lesson every day. Perhaps, though, it was just what he needed. It humbled him, and enabled him to help others in a very particular way. He would be grateful, no matter the temptation to self-pity and anger. And much he had to be grateful for. If not for the faith and patronage of the Earl, he would be in sorry straits indeed. Although at the moment... With another sigh, he rang the bell.
The tools would need a good going over, decided the old man, as he shut the door to the shed, and, lifting his lantern to light the path, made his way home through the deepening dusk. For superficial work they had sufficed, but now, with the grand projects and schemes being planned, they would surely not withstand the strain. The maze was to be completely replanted and refreshed, so that visitors new to it might find it a true puzzle, and worthy of their attention. A summerhouse also being planned... A few more boys for the grounds and stables would be needed. He would consult with the master about ordering new things, soon. Perhaps a trip to London, himself, might be best. He could see to other matters as well, while in town. There might even be permission given to take a slightly longer time, so that he might call on his daughter. He had not yet seen his newest grandchild, his namesake; t'would be a shame to let such an opportunity pass.
There... The last door of the grand house had been inspected and bolted for the night. It was very good to have the master home again. For how long would it be this time? Five years here, four years there, some more hither, and then back again. Ever since the mistress had died, the Earl had not been able to settle down. Perhaps now... There seemed to be a new light in his eyes, as if he were brimming with plans and dreams again. Whatever it was, time would tell, and would surely be for the good of all, as it had always been. A more amiable, intelligent and selfless man he had never known, if a trifle too somber and withdrawn these past years. Now, there were innumerable things to be seen to, more servants required, probably another laundry maid, a scullery maid, a tweenie, some more help in the kitchen... The house might even see its share of guests and parties again, perchance even a ball. One could always hope.
The trunks were finally unpacked! Quite an accumulation there had been after so many years in the north, to say nothing of east, west and the time overseas. But the state of everything, practically threadbare! In foreign lands, and while constantly moving, it had not been so noticeable, but now, replenishment of the wardrobe could no longer be avoided or postponed, for so much was worn out, and hopelessly out of style. Not that the master cared tuppence for style. Still, he could be persuaded that the purchases were necessary, if only to give business to the folk of the village. Such an argument nearly always won the day. His thoughts wandered away from the occupation of his hands, to the yearnings of his own heart. I wonder if she is here, and how she has fared, the poor dear. And... if she still...
Walking slowly, the woman moved around the room, a very small chamber, but neatly arranged, with everything in its appointed place. Each piece shone with the gloss of careful and regular polishing. She ran her hands lightly over each furnishing, reaching up now and again to trace the outline of one of the many well-executed watercolors which graced the walls. They were of every imaginable scene of village life, with only the fading from light and time to betray that they had been rendered some time ago. She found what she sought, and returned to her seat. As she began knitting, she sang, low and softly, but interrupted her melody as footsteps were heard in the corridor. The door opened, and she looked up to cheerfully greet the woman who entered. She was, in turn, berated for staying up so late, "You should not have waited for me!" but the reproach was softened by an affectionate hug. After a few minutes' conversation of the day's events for each of them, and the expectations for the morrow, they made preparation to retire, and parted at the doors to their respective rooms.
Chapter 3, Part 2 ~ A Time to Scatter Stones
April --, 18--
Colonel C. Brandon
Dear Sir:
I regret very much the necessity of informing you that my investigation into the whereabouts of your niece has come to a standstill. Despite the promising intelligence received in Bath, Bristol and London, it has led me no farther. I have journeyed extensively among northern areas at all likely to be of interest to travelers, and no where could I find a trace of Miss Williams - with or without a companion. I also visited Mrs Howell and her parlour boarders, and was met with a similarly disappointing lack of success there. Regardless of these setbacks, I do not intend to suspend my inquiries. As the young lady was last seen in London, I will renew my search here.
I would wish with all my heart to have better news to impart to you. If you receive anything further yourself, sir, from whatever source or suspicion, I would be pleased to pursue whatever avenues are indicated. You may reach me at any time at my lodgings in London, as I have no plans to leave again in the forseeable future. If my affairs should require my absence from here for any greater length of time, I will inform you forthwith.
Sincerely,
Mr J. Blevins
--- St. James' Street
While Col Brandon was reading this disheartening missive, John was on his way to the west end of London at the request of a new client: a Lord Cantering, in Grosvenor Street. Arriving there at a timely hour, he was shown into the study without delay. The man waiting there, short and stout, with wisps of greying hair sprouting over his head, and spectacles rendering his curiously light eyes very large indeed, rose and greeted him, "Mr Blevins, a pleasure to meet you, sir. Pray, be seated," indicating a chair opposite his own, which stood behind a sturdy desk almost hidden beneath drifts of paper. "Perhaps I should begin by saying that I am an old friend and business acquaintance of Sir John Murdock." At this, John's gaze narrowed, and his attention sharpened. Lord Cantering smiled, well-satisfied with the reaction his statement had garnered, and continued, "I see you are surprised. I have recently been in contact with Sir John, and he was most confident and persuasive in recommending you as his successor. I hope you will bear his trust out, young man, for his sake as well as your own," he finished sternly, his smile vanished, his countenance becoming increasingly grave as he explained his purpose and requirements in retaining John Blevins.
Willie Barton had just finished his day's work, and now bent his steps in a familiar path. He anticipated a good meal, and some good company as well. As he made his way to Pennington Street, near the docks where he had been born and raised, he thought about the last several times he had met the girl calling herself Beth Willison. She seemed less cheerful, more guarded now than when he had first seen her. Today he would attempt to press her a little, and offer any help he was able. He looked forward to sharing his own exciting news, also: his long-awaited and much-anticipated position, as footman to a very interesting gentleman indeed, would begin within the fortnight; he would be moving away from this area, and taking up residence with him. Willie hoped this news might interest and divert Beth. His new position might even afford him the means of being of greater assistance to her, should she wish it. With this plan formed, his steps quickened and he was whistling a gay tune as he entered the Wild Goose Tavern. He found a seat to his liking, and settled in. As a woman approached, he looked up hopefully, but his face fell when it was not whom he had expected and hoped to see before him. He gave his order, however, then stopped the woman when she would have left, and inquired about Beth. Upon hearing she was ill, he became quiet and withdrawn, his normally carefree face clouded; he ate his dinner when it appeared, and left directly.
Ill again! What Beth would not have given at this moment to be once more at home - as much a home as it could ever be - in her own comfortable sitting room, being waited on herself, instead of this. She had never suffered such a bout of ill health before. It must be the dank air, or perhaps the contact with so many dirty, wretched people in this place. She had long wearied of the work, now not merely dull and tiresome, but become arduous, wearied of being so constantly tired, and never feeling quite easy. Perhaps... perhaps going back might not be so distasteful after all. Although... surely it would be better to be well again, before returning. Better for her uncle to be simply angry, rather than worried into the bargain. I wonder if Mrs Stough might be able to give me a remedy for this sickness? She seems to know just what to do for each of her five children when they are not well, even the baby.
Two men sat conversing in the dining room of the Hall, while finishing their meal. The older, Lord Auldbury, white-haired and distinguished-looking, was listening with concentrated interest to his guest. Michael Grahame, half the age of the Earl, spoke with animated expression, and motioned with his hand as he described his experiences, nearly knocking over his wineglass and decapitating a flower in the table arrangement in his enthusiasm. The two men, so different in situation and character, so differently regarded, perceived and approached by those first making their acquaintance, shared many things nonetheless - the most important things, in their minds. "So you see, sir," concluded Grahame, "with no education, no training, and no homes to speak of, most with no families who will acknowledge them, these children are abandoned, with no hope at all. They are reduced to pauperism, should they live to grow up at all."
"And what do you propose to alleviate this situation, to solve this problem, Michael?" The brown eyes were fixed on his visitor's face, giving away nothing of his thoughts, either favorable or otherwise.
The young man took a deep breath, and came out with it, "A school, sir, to teach whatever they are able to learn, and assistance and recommendations in finding suitable positions with respectable households in the country when they have been trained."
"Good morning, Joanna," came the cheery hail from behind her, as the postmistress unlocked her door, precisely on the hour.
"Good morning to you, Tabitha, and a very fine one it is, indeed," came the equally merry reply.
Miss Tabitha Ross entered the office, with the adjoining shop, behind its proprietor, and lay three letters on the counter, together with several coins. "Aye, such rare days in spring should be appreciated and enjoyed. I've been admiring the daffodils you have planted; they seem to reflect back the shine of the sun itself, so gay they are. They make the walk all the more pleasant, and your doorway all the more enticing," she said, with a twinkle in her eye. "And how is Miss Jenny today?" she asked, with the interest and familiarity of long acquaintance.
"Oh, she's all excited, still, about Lord Auldbury visiting us again last evening. He brought her a pretty doll, and she hasn't stopped talking of it. He's always been so kind to her, and I declare she never forgets a thing he's ever given or done for her! It will do her good to see another face again, and one that is so affable to her. There are not many like him, that would take the trouble and time with her that he does."
"Indeed, few such men exist. We are most blessed to have the Earl here once more. So he was by yesterday. Did the evening end pleasantly?"
"Very... harmoniously!" The two women exchanged wide smiles at the by-now very old joke. They continued in good humour as they parted and went about their business for the day, Miss Ross leaving the establishment on her way to her first patient, and Mrs Joanna Taylor tidying up the shelves on which were laid out paper, pens, nibs, ink and wax, as well as the larger displays of books and newspapers.
"Now, I would like you each to read your sentences aloud, and spell each word after you speak it. Phoebe, would you please begin?"
"Yes, Miss Rose." The small girl sat up straight and, with a chubby finger underlining each word in her copybook, began to recite, "The, T H E, bright, B R I G H T, blue, B L U E, ribbon, R I B B O N, was, W A S, tied, T I E D, tightly, T I G H T L Y, so, S O, Jane, J A N E, would, W O U L D, not, N O T, lose, L O O S E, it, I T." When she had finished, she looked up expectantly for her teacher's verdict.
"That is almost right, Phoebe, only one mistake. Please read it again, but without spelling the words this time. Pay careful attention to each word, how you have spelled it, and how pronounced it. See if you can find what is wrong." The girl repeated her sentence, but could not discern her mistake. "I am going to say two words, Phoebe, can you tell me the difference between them? Loose and lose." Her student continued to look puzzled, and remained silent. Miss Rose relented, and said gently, carefully articulating each word, " 'Loose' is the opposite of tight, while to 'lose' is to mislay something so you cannot find it. Let me change your sentence a little so you can see the difference: The bright blue ribbon was tied loosely, L O O S E L Y, and Jane would lose, L O S E, it before she reached home."
Phoebe's eyes lit up in understanding. Without thinking, her hand reached to the end of her own long braid, making sure the pink ribbon there was tied tightly. She nodded. "Yes, Miss Rose, now I see."
"Now, Julia, your sentence, please."
As Julia began to read, a shadow moved past the window. A knock was heard, startling the three out of their occupation, and then a deep, pleasant voice, "Miss Rose, may I interrupt your lesson? I promise it will be for only a moment."
Miss Jenny Taylor was much occupied. She had so many things to do. There was her room to be tidied, with the help of Hannah, her dolls to be dressed and fed, some sewing, again with Hannah's help, and then her lessons later, with Miss Rose. She talked unceasingly while she set about her chores. Hannah Burns, maid-of-all-work, listened good-naturedly with half an ear to the familiar chatter, answering whenever an answer was required.
"Yes, Jenny, that is a very pretty dress for your doll, and the blue ribbon matches it beautifully." "How kind of Lord Auldbury to have given you the doll, and the ribbon, too." "Yes, he is a very nice man." "Well, now, I'm honored that her name is Hannah. Thank you, Jenny. Now then, go and finish up in your room, please." What a sweet temper, thought Hannah, what energy, and what a memory! Such a shame, though...
As she went about her work, her mind became engaged with some more pleasant thoughts. Perhaps, if she finished her work here, and was able to finish with the Gilberts in a timely manner, and there was nothing unexpected come up with her father, perhaps there would be some time to visit with Stephen this evening. She smiled at the thought, and the sweet smile lit up her otherwise plain face, and made it radiant.
The interview had gone much as Josiah had anticipated. The Earl had been most ready to agree with his steward as to the urgency of new tools and added supplies for the house and grounds. In his usual generous manner, the master had told him to procure anything he deemed necessary, to purchase good quality, and from wherever he saw fit to buy. The trip to London to personally oversee these errands had not only been permitted, but much encouraged, with the added time to visit his younger daughter just as readily granted. In truth, Josiah would look forward to seeing both his daughters again, if the opportunity presented itself, but his eldest would needs come to her sister during this time. Her husband's company was not to be borne, nor was Josiah a welcome visitor in his son-in-law's establishment. What a pity she had chosen as she had; whatever had possessed her to accept such a man! Yet, she had known the man's character before wedding him, and, strange as it may have seemed to anyone of good sense or sensibility, she seemed quite content with her lot, and even happy.
Josiah now made his way to the stables, where he would speak with young Stephen, to have the wagon and horses prepared for an early departure tomorrow. He grinned as he realized the young man would not thank him for taking him away from his betrothed for several days, but, absence was said to make the heart grow fonder, ergo, they would be all the more in love when they were once again reunited!
Chapter 3, Part 3
'And it is to be strictly understood that you are not to communicate with any of these gentlemen directly.' John frowned as he recalled the precise words of Lord Cantering. Although entrusted with a most delicate and urgent matter, he was apparently not held in high enough regard to speak with each of these high-ranking men himself. True, some of them would have good reason to wish to avoid a meeting with Mr. Blevins; the old files had revealed much that could cause some discomfort or would be considered even quite embarrassing. Still... His thoughts were interrupted by his arrival at the country home of Sir John Murdock. As well trained in and seemingly born to his profession as John Thomas was, he still relied heavily on the wisdom and advice of his mentor. And, if the truth were to be told, Sir John enjoyed and looked forward to these consultations. Though less able physically than he once had been, his mind was as keen as ever, and the mental exercise provided a welcome diversion whenever he was apt to become restless in his retirement.
"You know, John," the older man said, as they were enjoying the fruits of a well-laid table, "this will be a true challenge for you. Not only your wits, but your self-discipline, tact, and forbearance will be tested. These men are in great need of your assistance; it will be in their power to amply reward you if you succeed; but there will be as much at stake for you as for them, if even moderate success - not to speak of outright failure - should be tainted by any hint of gossip, or a backlash from unapprehended participants in this fraud."
"I am beginning to comprehend that, sir," returned John dryly. "I thank you for the caution. Have you suggestions as to how I might begin? I will, of course, put Tim on notice. He is already aware of some of the rumours. His ears and eyes and hands, coupled with that unique memory of his, will be invaluable, and irreplaceable for some aspects of this case. But, if the leadership of this conspiracy reaches into the Ton, into respectable society," here his voice was tinged with heavy sarcasm as his thoughts ranged over the tawdry secrets held by many of these respectable families, "that will be far out of the ranks with whom Tim has any acquaintance, nor I."
Sir John's voice held a warning, albeit kindly given, as he answered the stinging criticism implicit in the younger man's observation; he was intimately familiar with the circumstances which had given rise to such opinions being held by John Thomas Barrow, and was not wholly unsympathetic to them himself. "This is precisely what you must guard against, John. It is very true that many who hold wealth, power and position, abuse and misuse them, and may not appear worthy of respect. You must not let that opinion, however well justified in some, possibly many, instances, colour your discernment, or your work. You cannot change the behavior of others. Each person must regulate his own behavior, with any assistance he is willing to receive. While you may be tempted to judge others, beware, John, unless your own life would bear the same scrutiny and measure. Look instead at the many to whom those privileges are held as an honored trust, who live lives of integrity, and discharge their responsibilities faithfully. They are the ones to truly honor, and make your pattern. The others," he dismissed with an airy wave of his hand, "may be most valuable to note and regard as a warning. But," he added, with a lighter tone to his voice, and a smile coming to his face, "I do have someone who may be a most advantageous acquaintance and ally in this instance." A twinkle lit his eyes as the smile broadened. "Someone you would do well not to meet with prejudice or judge on appearances either."
Beth walked through the motions of all her work in a state of bewilderment, as she had for several days now. Her request of Mrs. Stough, for a remedy for her ill health, had resulted in a conversation the outcome of which had stunned the young woman. Her shock had been too deep even for tears. As she moved among the tables, she noticed nothing of the clamor in the room, of the conversations, the clatter of crockery or the orders being shouted about. She was oblivious to it all. It took several attempts before Willie's greeting penetrated her consciousness. His concern for her grew as he noticed her complete abstraction and her ashen countenance. He finally grasped her arm, pulled her to a quiet corner, and persuaded her to sit down. She looked at him for a time without seeing him clearly. As he urged a cup of tea into her hands, and gently guided it to her lips, the memory of kindnesses he had shown her over the past several months swept over her, and she broke down in tears. Feeling helpless and awkward at this development, Willie merely patted her hand, and waited for her to calm herself.
Lucas entered the small house in response to his sister's voice raised in welcome, and followed it to the kitchen. They greeted one another warmly. Although they lived so near each other, Lucas Johnson and Joanna Taylor did not have many chances to meet. His duties as butler at the Hall were very demanding, while she was busy with her work as postmistress, shopkeeper, and, of course, in caring for Jenny, who could not be left long alone. Brother and sister were a merry pair when such opportunities did arise, however; they had always enjoyed the closest of relations despite their different situations. While she bustled about readying tea, he seated himself at the table, and pulled a paper from his waistcoat pocket.
"I... have just had a letter from Josiah, from London. He went there on business, and has stayed a while longer to visit his daughter. It seems there has been an unfortunate incident there. Oh, nothing very terrible has happened," he hastened to add, as he noticed the look of concern on his sister's face, "nothing so out of the common way, really, and it is not even anything to do with the family. It seems Betsey took pity on a young girl several months ago, who was left in London, penniless, by some man. She has been working for her keep at the Wild Goose, and had been doing quite well. Now, however, it seems she is in... difficulty." He glanced meaningfully at Joanna, who looked startled for a moment, then let out a murmur of understanding and sympathy. "Yes, quite. She is in an awful state, doesn't want to stay in London, but has apparently nowhere else to go, or, if she has, she won't tell of it. She seems to know our village somehow, and upon meeting Josiah, and learning where he lived... well, he asks if you might be willing to take her in for a while. She has a little money saved, and a young man there-- no," he shook his head at seeing her eyebrows raised in unspoken query, "one she has met there more recently, at the Tavern; he's a regular, well-known to Betsey, works and lives in the area, as good-natured and generous as the day is long. He has offered her some funds as well. Seems he's become interested in her. Finds her a mystery lady in distress, or some such nonsense. Anyway, she would have enough to pay a little. She could, of course, help you here and there, and she might find some odd things to do in the village, or perhaps even up at the Hall, at least for a few months. A pity her life is to take such a drastic turn, probably not at all what she had planned and hoped for." He stopped, looking thoughtful as he drank from his cup, then added, "She gives her name as Beth Willison."
As Jenny came in to greet her uncle with a kiss and an affectionate embrace, Joanna looked consideringly at the letter in her brother's hands, then at Jenny, and around the snug kitchen. "Jenny, love, how would you like to have a guest here in the cottage for a while? A young lady?"
Jenny turned to her excitedly, clapped her hands, and said, "Oh, that would be nice. We could play together. She could help me with my dolls, and with everything! We could have tea parties, Miss Rose could teach her, and she could listen to your music. Maybe Lord Auldbury would bring her a ribbon, too!"
As Jenny continued her enthusiastic approval of the idea of a visitor, the eyes of her mother and uncle met over her head, in silent consultation, and agreement. Joanna spoke quietly, "Please write to Mr. Carter, and tell him that the young lady - Miss Willison - will be most welcome here."
"Miss Goldsmith, I must apologize! I do not think the muslin will be here by tomorrow. I'm very sorry; I was so sure that it would be!" This was spoken by a tall, thin woman with a perpetual frown of worry creasing her brow.
"Oh, but it must, it simply must be here. I cannot do without it. Mrs. Peckham is so very particular about what she orders!" This fretful rejoinder came from a plump young woman standing in front of the counter, who, after shifting from foot to foot for a few moments, visibly considering what she might do if this dreadful eventuality were to be confirmed, moved away restlessly to finger some cloth on a nearby shelf. "But, if you really feel it won't... perhaps something else can be made to do as well, in the event--"
"Martha, my dear," interrupted Sydney Hobart, who had entered the room in time to hear this exchange, "don't you remember? Miss Goldsmith's muslin was delivered yesterday. You even put it aside right here, so no one else would see and fancy it." His round face stretched even wider in a broad smile directed at his wife as he bent and reached under the counter to retrieve the bolt of fabric, a smile of understanding and indulgence, a gracious habit of some twenty years' standing.
His wife, now pink with embarrassment, almost tripped over her skirt in her haste to retrieve the bundle. "Of course! How could I forget such a thing! I am so sorry, Miss Goldsmith. Here it is, just as you asked. And a very pretty pattern it is, indeed. Mrs. Peckham is sure to be most pleased with it."
"Yes, well, there's a relief! I don't know what I would have done if it had not come. I should have been tempted to go to London myself," declared the lady, returning to the counter and apparently forgetting her earlier willingness to make something else do. She reached into her reticule for her purse.
"Do be most careful if you go to town, Miss Goldsmith! There are all sorts of unpleasant doings there, and especially for a young woman unaccompanied, such as yourself. Best ask someone for assistance or company rather than go alone." Mr. Hobart's look of concern and admonishment for Miss Hester Goldsmith changed to one of good-natured welcome as he turned to greet another customer just come in, a man close to his own age. "Good morning, Gilbert. How goes it with you today? and your wife, and that great son of yours?" Scarcely waiting for a reply, he continued, "What may I show you? Have you made any plans..."
"...oh, but alone, all the way to town. I would never dare to do such a thing. I'm sure I would get lost, or lose my parcels and bags, or be set upon. And so many people everywhere, so crowded, so dirty!"
"My dear Mrs. Hobart, it is really not so difficult, nor so frightening. One simply stays to the better parts of London, and attends to one's business. And the coachmen and shopkeepers are generally quite helpful, even gallant at times. I have done it once or twice, and it..."
"...had it on very good authority, much to my own dismay! The bill was forged - no good at all. A good thing it was only £1. As little eager as I am to lose any money, I am that relieved it wasn't worse. I'd recommend scrutinizing your payments and change very carefully, Hobart, especially if you have dealings in town, or with custom from there. You may be sure I most definitely will!"
"I am very sorry to hear of your loss, Gilbert; I thank you for the warning. Hereabouts there should not be so much danger. Strangers we keep an eye on, anyway," with a wide grin, "and the local notes are well made, easily known and recognized. If one can keep one's business here, in the village, there's not so great a chance..."
"...from London they say. First the Earl coming back, and now this: a young lady no one knows, from who knows where! Mr. Carter is bringing her back with him. I wonder who she is, and why she is coming here. I certainly hope she is respectable. Perhaps, if she stays for a while, she will be in need of some new clothes." This last was said in a hopeful tone, and with a calculating look in the blue eyes.
"Oh, she probably just needs lodgings for a short time, and who better than Mrs. Taylor to offer them, poor dear. Surely Mr. Carter wouldn't bring anyone doubtful here; he is such a model of respectability! as are each of his sons and daughters. Perhaps it is a friend of one of his daughters, or some other relative, come from far away; and where could one find a more pleasant village than Auldbridge..."