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Authors note: This story has been archived here for several months, but never posted in installments (on this site). In the eighteen months since its completion, there have been wonderful stories posted at DWG that feature some of the characters found here (Resurrecting Mary, A Time to Every Purpose, and Murderer's Bible). During that same length of time I've been continually adding to, subtracting from, and tinkering with the original text. No major changes have been made (artistic license is still very much intact!), but hopefully it will read a little better. To previous readers, I hope you enjoy this second go round. To first time readers, I hope you enjoy the ride!
Prologue
John Thomas Barrow sat at his desk in near darkness. The early morning sky had yet to show any trace of oncoming dawn; the stars still displayed gemlike against a black velvet expanse. To this solitary, contemplative man it was all quiet, still perfection. Moving his candle closer, he unfolded the first of two letters he had recently received. Having already read and responded to both of them over a week ago, this perusal was simply for his own enjoyment. The pleasure was manifold. He had to smile as he considered how the ink blots, smears, and hasty corrections garnered more than their fair share of space on the elegant stationery, and felt a surge of affection for the author. The execution of this missive reassured him that the executor of it had not changed. Its contents gave him even greater satisfaction.
You are a very difficult man to track down. It is my sincere hope that this letter finds you well, at peace in both body and in mind. We were very concerned for your well being when you left so suddenly seven years ago. Indeed, has it been that long?
I am about to cross a major milestone in my life, which gives me occasion to consider the past as well as the future. That being the case, you have been much on my mind of late, my friend. I mention a milestone. Rest assured, it is a happy one. I am soon to be married to a wonderful lady, Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire. This lady's goodness is matched only by her beauty, and it is my own private source of wonder and amazement that she has consented to have me at all. This happy event is to take place in about a fortnight at Longbourn church, on the eleventh of December at ten o'clock. My happiness could only be increased by your presence there.
Also to be wed on this day is our mutual friend, Fitzwilliam Darcy. He has been equally as fortunate in his choice of a wife. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, sister to my Jane, is to make him the second most happy man in all of England. I have informed Darcy of my finding you. He is delighted, and wishes to join me in requesting that you come and share in our joy. Indeed, you will likely hear from that quarter yourself very shortly. I took the liberty of giving him your direction, and he has stated that he will write.
Again John, only your being such a well concealed recluse prevented me from sending you a proper invitation. It is my sincere hope that the lateness of this letter does not prevent you from making plans to attend.
With Warmest Regards,
Charles BingleyDear Friend,
The smile on John's face continued intact as he opened his second letter. The style of it, brief, to the point, and calculated to make one see its writer's point of view, was also reflective of its author.
I see that you have not fallen off the end of the earth as we had once feared. This is a pleasure indeed, my friend, as we had despaired of ever seeing you again.
It is my understanding that Bingley has made you acquainted with a certain event that is soon to take place, and has informed you of the particulars of time and place. You must come. Indeed, you must. There can be no other answer. I have secured my London carriage for the sole purpose of being put to good use during this preliminary period, and can think of no better employment for it than to transport an old friend to be with us on this day. Please write soon and inform me of the time best suited to bring you to Netherfield. I remain,
Your Friend,
Fitzwilliam DarcyDear John,
And this was the day. He had declined the invitations. Pressing obligations, etc., etc., had unfortunately prevented him... Though true that he did have commitments of his own to attend to, another sadder truth was that he had grown out of the habit of having friends. And as pleasurable as this re-acquaintance promised to be, he preferred to meet with Bingley and Darcy at another, more private time. Natural curiosity played no role here. That had been satisfied long ago, and there would have been little novelty in attending. Months before his friend's engagements were secured, John was well aware of the dramatic twists and turns in his friends lives, and could in some small way take credit for the happy outcome.
This was no idle boast for John possessed a knack, an almost uncanny ability to uncover facts, to get to the bottom of things. His considerable talents had been put to good use during the past year or so. It was something he'd excelled at for as long as he could remember. By the time he had reached the tender age of three, he had come to understand that he was not completely an orphan, and that he was really not related to his guardians 'Aunt' and 'Uncle' Barrow at all. By the age of five he pretty much knew who his father was, and that the nature of his birth would likely consign him to a precarious existence at best. By the time he went away to school, he had put most of the puzzle together. Despite considerable efforts on the part of his aunt and uncle to shield him, he knew. He knew, for instance, that his father was a rather prominent Member of Parliament's House of Lords, who could ill afford to have certain secrets come to light. He also knew that this man had pulled considerable weight to have him admitted to Eton. All of his father's influence, however, could not alter the fact that he was only a natural son after all, and that his mother had been a tradesman's daughter who had no wealth to speak of, and whose father kept only a very small shop.
In the rarefied air of Eton his adopted identity, orphaned nephew of a country attorney, was not calculated to make for an easy life, and so it was. But even this sin, though weighing heavily against him, might have been easily forgiven had he only been an attractive child, pleasing in face, figure, or at least address. But alas, he was not. His address was not calculated to please. He did not pander, and tended to speak his mind. Someone describing him might have called him remarkable in an ornithological sort of way. Everything about him, dark piercing eyes, small sharp nose, slender stilt-like legs, served to remind one of some as yet unknown species of bird. In a child born to wealth or position these features might have been called aquiline, distinctive, even noble. But he was not. Consequently, they called him Finch. And there at Eton, among the well heeled and well connected, it was always open season...
Chapter 1
"And you're absolutely certain, John?"
"Charles, there can be no doubt. Bold as day he was! I saw him glancing toward my paper, and when I moved my hand to cover it, he took a scrap of paper from his vest pocket. It comes as no surprise really. He's a simpleton."
"I overheard him John, he thinks you're going to tell."
"I am. He was wrong."
"Do you think they'll believe you?"
John was quiet as he considered for a moment, "Yes, they'll believe it of him. I doubt that anything will be done, but they'll believe. And meanwhile, things will get more difficult for me. The blockhead!"
They continued talking as they entered an arched entry leading to the maze of stairways, corridors, and domiciles that comprised their dormitory. Suddenly, the sound of someone running reached their ears, and a single word seized their attention.
"Finch!"
He has wasted no time I see, thought John.
"Come back here, Finch!", a hand reached out to grab him. "My friend Edward says you should stop it, you little nobody!"
"I will NOT stop it! He was wrong. I don't care who his father is! He was wrong, and shouldn't be cheating. I've found him out and I'm going to tell!"
With that, Winslow pinned John to the wall and threatened him with his fist, "You're a snitch then, Finch, and I don't like snitches."
"Yes, well you're a toady. A tuft-hunter!"
"Well, you're dead!" Winslow was drawing back to make good on his threat when a small but commanding voice took him entirely by surprise.
"Leave him alone!"
Without releasing his prey, Winslow turned to address this brave, or foolish boy, "Go on Bingley, this is none of your concern."
"I will make it my concern if you don't leave John alone." Bingley drew himself up to the full, though insignificant height of his eight years.
Robert Winslow, ten year old bully, saw just enough humor in the situation to laugh with tolerable good nature, before shoving Bingley to the floor and sauntering away.
John, the intended victim of this most recent show of force, ran to his friend's side and helped him to his feet. He put his best handkerchief to use, as Bingley's nose was bloodied by the fall and in need of attention. "Thank you Charles. That was meant for me. I'm sorry you got the worst of it."
"It's all right John, I think. It doesn't hurt much."
"Let me help you on to your room and get you cleaned up." John put his arm round Bingley's shoulder and guided him through the labyrinthine series of twists and turns that constituted a seldom used short cut. Unknown to them, their passage was also being used by someone coming from the opposite direction. Someone whose quick step would bring them all very shortly to an unexpected juncture. It's unlikely that we'll encounter any more bullies along the way, thought John as they quickly turned a corner... and ran squarely into that someone. A very tall someone.
"Hello!" a hand reached out to steady them, "What have we here?"
"Excuse us sir!", said John and Charles in unison. John continued on, " You're not with them too, are you?"
"I don't know who 'they' are, but if they're responsible for that pounding, then probably not. Let's have a look." He whistled softly as he lifted the now crimson handkerchief, "Impressive show! Come... What's your name?"
"Charles Bingley, sir."
"Come with me, Charles. No more bloodshed in the corridor. My room is close at hand."
There, in the relative luxury of Fitzwilliam Darcy's room, John and Charles became acquainted with the curative powers of water with wine, and two ginger cakes apiece. And there, his curiosity not quite satisfied, Darcy continued with his interview.
"So, you're the one all of this was intended for, are you? And what might your name be?"
"My name sir, is John Thomas Barrow. Most everyone in this hideous place calls me Finch, but my friends call me John... sir,"
Darcy might have given way to outward amusement, had his eyes not been met by such a serious, level gaze. Stifling his inclination to smile, he continued, "So John, cheating was the crime, was it? And who exactly are your adversaries?"
"There's only one of any consequence," John replied, "Edward Thorne."
"And his friend Robert. Robert Winslow." Bingley's hand gingerly touched the bridge of his nose in remembrance.
"No Bingley, Robert is nothing. He's only the henchman. Edward's the man."
Several boys out-ranked this second son of a duke, but when it came to ill-temper Edward Thorne was without peer, "You mean the Edward Thorne, The Honorable Edward?", Darcy let out a low whistle.
"Yes sir. But if you'll excuse me sir, honor has little to do with it"
It was apparent from Darcy's expression that John was being re-appraised. That such a small boy would willingly stand up to such a mean-spirited, spiteful, tyrannical child as Edward Thorne was truly amazing. And to do it on principle! Darcy's head cocked to the side, as if to get a better look at this old, young boy. Next he turned to Bingley, "And what exactly is your interest in all this?"
"John is my friend, sir."
He's a loyal friend then. Many would have bolted and left him to stand alone. "I see. Yes, well the both of you could stand quite a few friends right now."
During the past year Darcy had, for the first time, taken on the role of older brother, and he liked it very well indeed. But much as he loved his baby sister, he had no brothers and, in all probability, would never have one. The thought crossed his mind that if he ever had been blessed with a brother or two, he would have liked a pair very much like Charles and John. And so it came to pass that Fitzwilliam Darcy took two small boys under his protection.
Chapter 2
From the very day Darcy intervened on their behalf, John Barrow, and his best friend Charles Bingley, enjoyed a measure of protection from continued persecution. Among the younger boys, any who might be tempted were soon dispelled by Darcy's frequent and formidable presence. Even Edward Thorne thought it best to leave well enough alone for now, despite suffering the humiliation of having to defend himself against John's accusations. Among the older boys, things continued on much the same as before. John and Charles were still only fags after all, and as such were expected to run any errand at any time. Though it did seem that their duties were not as frequent, or as onerous as they once were.
And so the years passed. John and Charles grew from small boys of eight to promising lads of eleven. And the years were kind. Charles, always a personable, handsome boy, grew even more so, and his happy manners served to benefit his friend. Bingley made frequent attempts to teach John the benefit of tact, and as a result, though he would never be as diplomatic as his friend, Barrow could now occasionally be heard holding his tongue. And, although he would never be what is so readily called handsome, John grew into, and out of those features that had made him so remarkable as a young boy. He was now unremarkable. But what he lacked in superficials he made up for in other areas. Intelligent, tenacious, resourceful, and freed of the necessity of looking over his shoulder, John Barrow was able to attend more fully to his studies. He had an extraordinary capacity for learning, and soon showed promise of distinguishing himself. Aside from a natural inclination though, John had another motive. Not knowing how much longer his father's patronage could be depended upon, he thought it best to excel, reasoning that access to Cambridge might, of necessity, be gained through scholarship.
The possible urgency of this was brought forward when John was called home by a sudden tragedy. His guardians Mr. and Mrs. Barrow, both of them unwell and advanced in age, died within days of each other. Sickly and frail, his aunt was first. Her husband succumbed to apoplexy by weeks end. This was a great blow. John, though never having enjoyed a close familial bond with his guardians, loved them as much as his circumstances would allow. In life they had never been particularly warm towards him, nor was it in their nature to demonstrate that deep, affectionate love which should be the birthright of every child; but they were fair. They had never been unkind, and as the only link he had to his father, they had pursued his interests with diligence. In death they did what they could. Their modest estate went, by rights to their one true heir, a nephew in Surrey. Yet they were generous enough to leave John with whatever benefits could be had from two thousand pounds, money they had been able to set aside for him over the years. This gift was all the more generous, considering their understanding that John was eventually to be provided for by his father.
It was on this sad occasion that John received his first and, he suspected, only correspondence from this man. Without ceremony Mr. Blevins, his late uncle's associate handed John a sealed single page letter. With no salutation or closure, the body of the letter read as follows:
Shortly before the unfortunate death of your guardians, I was made aware of the fact that you possess rather detailed information regarding the circumstance of your birth. While realizing that this is a heavy burden to carry for one so young, I cannot emphasize strongly enough the importance of your continued discretion in this matter. It is only in this way that I can continue to assist you. I would wish for it to be different, but anything more is impossible.
I have been following your progress at Eton and am pleased to see that you are making good use of your education. This will serve you well. It is a source of personal pride that anyone connected with me should do well at Eton. Your continued progress, and cooperation, will see your way clear to attend Cambridge.
Your former guardian's associate will now mediate on your behalf.
It surprised John that, though anonymous, this letter was written on distinctive, crested stationery, which served to identify the writer of it as surely as would his signature. It also surprised him that his father could think him so naive. What was at peril here was not the education of a natural son, but the social and political ambitions of an influential man. His father was either a fop or a fool, or both! John was disappointed, although perhaps he shouldn't have been. Up till now, the more illustrious side of his family tree had left much to be desired. His brow furrowed as he considered the veiled warning against disclosure, a warning rendered unnecessary by John's own natural circumspection. It had been many years since he had perceived how little could be gained, and how much perhaps lost, by making public something that was not meant to be.
As John slowly raised his eyes from this most singular correspondence, his visage was met by the steadfast, earnest gaze of Mr. Blevins.
"John, I have never felt the need to speak to you as though you were a child, therefore I know you will understand me when I say that self reliance is an admirable quality, and can sometimes not be had too soon. That said, let me also add that I will champion your cause to the very best of my ability. My eyes will be on your horizon John... but you must watch your back."
John returned to Eton from these sad events with a new guardian, and a new resolve.
Chapter 3
Arriving back at Eton mid-morning while classes were still in attendance was fortunate, as John would have time to unpack and reflect in private. But first he would attend to the letter. Having given it much thought, his first inclination was to destroy his father's letter. He would have no need of using it for future substantiation, as his pride would not allow him to plead for anything from this man. There was nothing in the letter that he would ever want to read again, and the still glowing embers from this morning's fire provided him with the opportunity, but something stayed his hand. John could think of no reason for it, but on sudden impulse he placed the letter amongst other papers and mementos, in the bottom of a small wooden chest kept under his bed. Perhaps, one who has no family can be excused for wanting to have proof of the opposite, even such family as it was.
John attended to Mr. Blevins' warning. He knew that he had at least one enemy in Edward Thorne, and that it was wise to include all of the considerable number that flocked to him. So John resolved to be always wary, never letting his guard down, even among those who would be his friends. But there were two young men who demanded exception to this rule. Bingley's friendship had been tested, and found true, on many occasions. And Darcy had acted as an older brother, providing sound council, and protective companionship to them both. But Darcy was soon to be gone.
As the weeks approached to the end of the final term, the three of them met more frequently. Darcy, in particular felt that this might be a significant turning point for his young friends. Therefore, he used every occasion to bolster them up against possible future trials, encourage them in their studies and discuss plans for their future lives. "I feel as though I am abandoning you. It will be six years before you come to Cambridge, and by then I will be gone. I would not want you to become idle in my absence. Of course, I have no concerns for you on that point Barrow. I know that you will continue to be diligent in your studies. In fact, I would wish in my absence that you would encourage Bingley to attend more strenuously."
"Yes" said Bingley, laughing amicably, "I suppose that I should bury my nose in my notes more often, read all of my books and study till dawn. But I never could quite see the purpose in it. To be honest, I'm not nearly so clever as either of you."
Darcy took immediate offense, "Bingley, this is well beyond your usual modesty. I've seen you accomplish twice as much as some, with half the effort. I refuse to have you use some imagined deficiency as an excuse for indolence. There is no reason for you not to excel, and I expect it of you!"
Surprised, and secretly pleased, by Darcy's stern admonition, Bingley solemnly promised to exert himself. This was followed by an admission, "I do love to learn and enjoy every subject. But I find that I sometimes lack the motivation," he glanced at John and smiled, "Barrow, on the other hand seems all motivation. Regardless of whether or not he cares for the subject, he is determined to do well."
John shrugged his shoulders, and answered in a matter of fact way, "That's because there is one great difference between us. You are an heir; I am not. I must have a profession, though I'm often at a loss as to what I shall do," John grew pensive, "I do know that I shall not be satisfied unless I am happy with my lot. I would rather be a pauper first."
"Yes," said Darcy, unable to hold back his smile, "You'd be happy then, wouldn't you! Fine words John, but you cannot eat them."
"You are willfully misunderstanding me, Darcy. I am in earnest! There is more than one type of poverty. And I must think that there is nothing worse than the bitter hunger of a well-fed man."
"Perhaps." Darcy still smiled his amusement, "Though you might do well to ask the opinion of an ill-fed man."
John was thoughtful for a moment, then quietly answered, "Believe me Darcy, at times I feel perilously close to poverty, so there is really nothing for me to lose. I will have my share of happiness."
This was said feelingly, with a sincerity which caused Darcy to check himself. Darcy often found himself speaking to John as though he were much older than he actually was. And Darcy was reminded that, although John had never elaborated much about his private life, there could be little doubt that his circumstances and expectations were quite different from those of his own. And, in light of recent events, thought Darcy , John has had more than his share of unhappiness. I should be more aware of this, having lost my own mother three years ago. Darcy was ashamed, and said gently, "It is true that your abilities may not lend themselves to the usual gentlemanly pursuits. You do not have the patience for medicine I think, or the Church. You are too restless and active for law, too pensive for war. But despite all of this John, your talents are numerous and admirable. I have every reason to believe that you will be happy."
Bingley, who had been sitting quietly during this exchange, now spoke up. "If it is any comfort at all Barrow, you can always rely on whatever happiness can be had from having at least two very good friends."
The silence which followed this conversation was not the sort to give discomfort, in fact the opposite was true. The three of them felt that a genuine bond had been formed, and that their three strand cord could not be easily broken.
Chapter 4
Posted on Sunday, 9 April 2000, at 12 : 40 p.m. The three remained good friends. John and Bingley had the benefit of close proximity, but through correspondence and the occasional visit, Darcy kept in touch. There were invitations to Pemberley as well. On one such visit, Barrow made the acquaintance of Darcy's childhood friend, George Wickham, though perhaps acquaintance was too strong a word. Wickham barely acknowledged him. John did not voice the sentiment, but he was not impressed by this young man. There were several occasions though, when Darcy gave every indication of thinking even less of him
At Eton, the next several years were calm, and prosperous. Following the advice of his friends, Bingley attended more to his studies, and did quite well. As for John, it appeared likely that he would be first in his level. He had gained the respect and admiration of most, and, except for the occasional threat from Edward Thorne, delivered as always through his lackey Robert Winslow, there was nothing to mar these halcyon days.
"Finch!" Winslow strolled over one day, smiling pleasantly, "My friend Edward Thorne would like for you to know that he has not forgotten you, and that he intends to return all favors."
"Is that so? Well it would appear that your friend Thorne is as much of a coward as ever, sending you to do his dirty work."
"Don't flatter yourself Finch! Thorne only speaks to those worthy of the privilege. And you'd best mind your manners! I never gave you that thrashing you deserved years ago; I'll be happy to give it to you now. Darcy is not here to protect you."
"Unless you absolutely must be humiliated, I would not recommend it, Winslow. I have never been afraid of you, and there is not such a great disparity of size between us anymore. Perhaps you should run along."
Winslow, seeing some truth to this, opted for keeping appearances, "If I didn't have more important things to attend to I would show you the benefit of respecting your betters, but my time is far too important to spend it sullying my hands with the likes of you. Another day, Finch!" With as much menace as he could muster, Winslow swaggered away.
And this was to be Robert Winslow's final threat to John Barrow. No doubt in frustration at this last exchange with John, Winslow did go on to attend to one of those more important things, pulverizing some small, unobtrusive schoolmate. But unfortunate for him, he had not done his homework first, and was unaware that his latest victim had an Earl for a sponsor. It was not long afterward that Winslow was sent down, expelled without delay, ceremony or regret. Yes, these were halcyon days indeed! But as fate would have it, all things are subject to change. There was one person in particular who did not care much for halcyon days, and whose interest was in helping fate as best he could.
With but one month left to the end of the final term the first storm clouds rolled in. Phillip Gaston, a pleasant fellow on the same level as John and Charles, had had the good fortune several years ago to come into possession of a rather nice pocket watch. It had been passed around and duly admired by all, and no further thought given to it until the past week when it came up missing. It had been taken by someone who had no use for another timepiece, but who would hold onto it in secret, awaiting the perfect opportunity to carry out his design. Just such an occasion finally presented itself. Feigning illness Sunday morning, Edward Thorne stayed in from chapel, allowing him leisure time to go unobserved where he needed to go.
In the world, there are many whose lives take a turn for better or worse because of their circumstances. Those who are naturally saintly can be corrupted, and the greatest of sinners can reform because of some powerful outside force. On the other hand, there are those fortunate few on whom circumstance will not impose, who through sheer strength of character remain true to their nature. Edward Thorne was one of these. Had he been the son of a bishop or a burglar it would have made no difference, Thorne was rotten to the core. He had no affection, no principle, no conscience, no heart. As such, Thorne's Eton career had consisted almost entirely of settling scores, real and imagined, and creating scores to settle. With each vanquishing, his evil propensities demanded more of cruelty to be satisfied. But despite all this, there was still an art to it. Timing was of the essence, and if the Honorable Edward Thorne had one Christian quality it was patience. Like the true proficient he was, he had chosen the best possible moment in this instance, for now his next victim had a pinnacle from which to fall.
More than ever before, Thorne could truly say that he missed his old acquaintance, Robert Winslow. Winslow had been sent down over a year ago, for what offense Thorne could not remember, Stupid fool!, and Edward had not yet been able to find another lackey to do his dirty work. Left to his own devices, Thorne moved quickly and cautiously. Even though apparently unobserved, he must still take care, lest he be discovered somehow. On cat's feet he slipped soundlessly into John Barrow's room. Looking about he smiled derisively. How perfectly plain! Books everywhere. No fashion or ornament at all. What a studious little bird he is! Pity it will all be for nothing. But there was no time to indulge in good humor. With perseverance and industry, Edward Thorne adhered to his mission. In search of a suitable hiding spot, he dropped to his knees and thrust both hands under John's bed. It was, he supposed, a most deplorable lack of finesse to rely on the obvious, but time was of the essence here. Thorne's hand brushed a box of some kind, and he drew it out. This will do. He opened the box, and went about selecting the best place for concealment. As his eyes hastily surveyed the contents, they glanced upon something very much out of place. From the bottom of the small wooden chest, Thorne removed a single page of familiar stationary. What is he doing with a letter from my father? He is a little thief then! As he opened and read the letter his face spoke volumes. Confusion, comprehension, scorn and finally malevolent, burning rage. Finch, my father's bastard! The likes of him would claim to be my brother? Sorry to disappoint, little bird, but this extortion shall go no further. You will soon take flight from here, and I will see to it that your specter does not haunt me at Cambridge!, Thorne slipped the letter into his waistcoat and then, as he remembered his original motive for coming, put Gaston's watch where the letter had been.
But his task was still incomplete. Directly after leaving John's room, a rather helpful note was slipped under the door of Soames, a small minded, nervous natured, by-the-book sort of fellow. Among the upper level prefects, he was the most inclined towards quick, usually poor, judgment. Having been subjected to John's outspokenness on more than one occasion, he was more than ready to form an ill opinion of him.
Soames, after finding and reading his note, went immediately to see Mr. Casterbridge, Headmaster, with this very alarming news. In turn, Mr. Casterbridge made plans for a search and, if fruitful, a confrontation. News of the impending scandal spread like wildfire. As the drama continued to unfold, at least one question was answered for John. On his way to see Mr. Casterbridge for what would be the first of several meetings, John heard a sound on the stairwell, the sound of someone clearing his throat. He looked up. There at the turning was Edward Thorne, the faint trace of a smile on his face, and John's letter in his hand.
There were not many eyes willing to meet those of John Barrow as he made his way back to his room. Shortly after his return there was a knock at the door. The door was opened to admit Charles Bingley. Those eyes met his.
"Bingley, I don't care what anyone else thinks. My only concern is that you believe me."
All sincerity, Bingley answered with emotion, "How could I disbelieve you and believe the impossible? It would be just as likely for the sun to rise from the west, John. How could I possibly think this of you? Mark my words, the truth will out, this will blow over, and whoever did this will pay. I have a good idea who it is, and I wouldn't mind exacting the pound of flesh myself!"
That was the last thing John wanted to hear. Charles, who had no enemies, did not need Edward Thorne for a first. "Bingley, there is much more to this than you know, so please don't involve yourself. You must promise me this one thing, I will beg if necessary; do not cross him."
Chapter 5
It was at the third and final meeting between John, his accuser Soames, Mr. Casterbridge and others who would be present at such important proceedings that the decision was made. The understanding that such common thievery had no place at Eton was the general consensus of all in the room. But then, just as the final determination was about to be handed down, there came a knock at the door. It was opened to reveal Phillip Gaston, victim of the theft, flushed and breathless, with one of the house staff in tow.
"Excuse me Mr. Casterbridge, but I must interrupt sir. I realize that this is out of form, but I think you need to hear what this man has to say," seeing that Mr. Casterbridge appeared not only doubtful but displeased, Gaston quickly added, "Please sir, listen, unless you want an injustice done," With that, Gaston prodded the servant to go forward.
"Come, Matthews," said the Headmaster by way of encouragement, "What have you to say for yourself?"
Nervous to be spokesperson before so many, Matthews cleared his throat, "I know what you think Mr. Barrow done, sir, but I believe you should know who it was put that note under Mr. Soames' door. It was His Honor Thorne. Not meaning to imply anything sir, let me just say that this one times his illness well. The last time he missed service was when the watch was took. Around that time I saw him coming from Mr. Gaston's room."
"Why did you not say something before, man!"
"Because sir, he is a duke's son, and I thought it were none of my business. With all due respect sir, my business was to trim the candles. How was I to think His Honor was being less than a gentleman?"
The irony of that hung in the air. All in the room were left feeling unsettled in the extreme. It appeared that a great wrong had very nearly been perpetrated, and that they had all been used to help carry it out.
After being subjected to almost half an hour of mumbled pontifications, inappropriate joviality and, much less frequently, embarrassed apology, John was finally allowed to return to his room. Relief was far from foremost in his feelings. He was furious. What a blow to his pride that he could be subjected, despite his established character, to the whims of such a puppeteer as Edward Thorne.
Most of his anger was directed at his father. The arrogance of such a man which would allow, for no other reason than vanity, the close confederacy of two sons who should never have known each other, made John ashamed of his connection. This was not noble blood. And a good share of anger he directed at himself. Mr. Blevins had warned him to take care. Yet, in a moment of carelessness he had held onto his father's letter, knowing what possible danger could come from its discovery.
John recalled the last conversation he had shared with Bingley and Darcy before Darcy left for Cambridge. He had insisted that he would not settle for unhappy prosperity, I would rather be a pauper first. Just how prophetic might those words turn out to be? Considering whose hands now held his letter, it was doubtful that any further assistance would be forthcoming from that quarter. And even if it is, John promised himself, I will accept nothing more from that man.
So John decided to leave. How he would make his way from Eton to London was a matter of difficulty. Eton was a town dedicated to the protection of its charges, and a young man traveling alone while school was still in session, would likely draw attention and unwanted questioning. But he was clever, and he still had money. Nothing would be insurmountable. As he packed a valise in haste, his only regret was leaving his friend Bingley. But his friend provided yet another motive for leaving. Charles would be better off without him, John reasoned. His family was on the rise. At some point in time Bingley would realize just how important it was that his friends come equipped with certain qualifications, those which John would never have. Family or fortune would never be his, and Bingley as well as Darcy for that matter, would someday come to regard his friendship as a burden. They would have to separate from him at some point in time, and John would rather it be now. But he would not leave without farewell. With haste, he scrawled a note to Bingley. Knowing full well that his arguments for leaving would not be understood, even if he could reveal them, John simply said goodbye, thanked Bingley for his friendship, and wished him godspeed. Sometime later that evening after all had gone to bed, the letter was slipped under Bingley's door, and the author of it slipped into the night.
There was no need to linger, he would go.
Chapter 6
It was sometime in the early dawn that John reached his London destination, a perfectly respectable town house, on a quiet, tree-lined avenue. Persistent knocking at the basement kitchen door eventually brought the desired response. The door opened a crack, then was thrown wide.
"Master Barrow? Is it really you? La, what a sight!" Cook gathered her robe about herself, "You've grown six inches at the very least! Come in! Come in! The master is still abed sir, I only just woke myself."
John was glad to see her, despite the fact that cook's deafness rendered her exceedingly loud. His wish was that Mr.. Blevins, a light sleeper whose hearing was rather acute, would not yet be disturbed. This wish was disappointed, however, as that very person soon made his way into the room.
"John! What are you doing here? And at this hour?"
"I have left Eton sir."
"No," Mr. Blevins, his mind still foggy from sleep had not quite gotten the point, "The term is not over for three weeks yet."
"You're quite right sir. I have left."
Shrugging sleep aside, Mr. Blevins made a quick assessment, and saw that all was not well, "I see that we have matters to discuss. Come upstairs to the drawing room," Mr. Blevins led the way. After a fire was lit and tea was brought Mr.. Blevins continued, "Have out with it, lad. What's happened?"
John went on to explain the events of the past few days, and the reasons behind his conscious decision to leave. An offer to intervene was declined, as John insisted that he wanted nothing more from his father. As to future plans, those details were yet in their infancy, but the desire for independence was foremost. He had a request to make of Mr. Blevins.
"I've come to ask you to release my inheritance."
"I understand your desire to be independent, John, and one hundred pounds per annum is a princely sum to one used to fifty, but I'm afraid that is not the case here."
"I appreciate your concern, sir, but I will manage. I intend to work to supplement my income. Smallridge's might need a clerk. For the time being perhaps I could..."
"You? A clerk? For any amount of time? Heaven forbid!" Mr. Blevins walked the length of the room several times while the beginnings of an idea took shape in his mind, "John, I have a proposition to make. Consider working for me."
John considered the best, the most tactful way to answer. "Sir, as always I greatly value, and am deeply affected by the degree of interest you've always shown in me, but the law has never..."
"Of course not," Mr. Blevins interrupted, "But then, you have no earthly idea what I do. You don't know everything John, not quite. Let me explain," he let out a sigh, as though wondering where to begin.
"There are occasions when people need assistance beyond what the law can provide, or perhaps they want to avoid the public forum that such assistance might expose them to. There are people, powerful, wealthy people, who sometimes need information brought to light or hidden away, someone concealed or found. In cases such as these, I am the person most likely to be called on. This is not pride speaking, John, it's truth. I've been at this for thirty-five years. While we're on the subject of disclosure, I believe it's time you knew the truth about some other things as well. Come. Sit by me. More than likely you will not care for what I have to say, but it's my belief that you have every right to know, so hear me out,"
"I have been associated with your family for many years, and have long been closely acquainted with your father. I can say at least this much, it has never been his intention to be purposefully unkind. He is impulsive, vain, and cowardly perhaps, but he is not cruel. As a youth he left a trail of devastation behind him. His father employed me to... tie up his loose ends."
"And I was one of those loose ends."
Mr. Blevins smiled gently, "I prefer to think you're tied up rather nicely, John. In fact, you are the only son this man has reason to be proud of. Unfortunately, he has never outgrown his cowardice. His wife and children rule his life, and they are hard taskmasters indeed. Edward has the most detrimental grip on him, I believe. I'm certain that young man will bring his family down someday,"
"Your father might have been a much happier man had he been true to his first intention...," there was no way to soften this, "He truly loved your mother John, and wanted to marry her, but ultimately gave in to his father's threats and demands. I am the one who placed you with your aunt and uncle."
And my mother?" John said bitterly.
Blevins knew that John would settle for nothing less than unadorned truth, "A few days after what proved to be a long and difficult delivery, she simply lost her will to live. Grief and shame took their toll. Her family was paid off, and that was the end of it."
John was quiet for some time. Unsure of the exact nature of his feelings, he was at least certain of this much, he did not feel hatred. His father was not entitled to that degree of emotion from him. But he did decide then and there to be a different sort of man than his father. He would be a better man.
After giving John some time with his thoughts, Mr. Blevins continued, "I wish you would consider my offer, young man. You have a logical turn of mind, John, strong powers of reason and deduction, allied with a natural intuition. This was brought home to me when you first beat me at chess. I believe you were six at the time and no, unfortunately, the game was not thrown. And, as I remember, your curiosity gets the better of you! You were never above putting an ear to the door when the situation demanded it. Think it over, John. It's as if you were born to this."
For the first time in many days, a hint of a smile crossed John's face.
Chapter 7
What followed was a rigorous five-year apprenticeship of sorts. At least three years were devoted almost entirely to, of all things, an intense study of the law, especially common law with particular emphasis placed on the civil, criminal and business branches, and cannon law as related to matters of divorce and probate. As Mr. Blevins explained, "We work with the law here John. In order to adhere to it, and on occasion work around it, you must of necessity be acquainted with it. Don't worry, you'll have more than your share of excitement in due time."
Immersing himself in the dull, seemingly endless volumes of Mr. Blevins' library, John was able to console himself with the knowledge that, at some point he would spend the majority of his time out from under them. As a professor, Mr. Blevins was strict and thorough, and his knowledge extensive. John received at the very least, as exacting an education as if he had studied with the best Cambridge had to offer.
Next came a year of actually learning the business. John was introduced to various contacts and persons for hire who supplied the information, leg-work and man power necessary to one needing to be in several places at one time. Some of these characters appeared particularly unsavory, introducing to John the possible element of danger. Mr. Blevins, quite capable of self protection, emphasized to John the necessity of being alert and aware at all times, of never relaxing his guard, of always allowing for escape. John came to understand why Mr.. Blevins charged seemingly enormous sums of money for his services. Overhead was high, and with good reason. Capable people were only to be had for a price, and trustworthiness was optional. Finally, all that was left to learn experience would have to teach.
As John continued to prove himself over the course of the next two years, he was made responsible for a greater share of each case, till finally he was given his own. It was not an easy one, as Mr. Blevins would not have insulted John in that manner. But though the case was handled successfully, Mr.. Blevins saw the need to make John aware of one potential problem.
"You are very like your father in one respect, John."
"I should hope not, sir."
"In this instance, I would hope not as well. You are too impetuous. At times you say and do things that require unnecessary effort to undo. I lost a valuable contact on that case because you would not bridle your tongue. Your very life may one day depend on a word left unsaid."
John considered his years at Eton, and the many difficulties he had found himself in because of not heeding Bingley's similar advice. He had no choice but to admit the justice of Mr. Blevins' admonition. The stakes were much higher now, and John promised Mr. Blevins that he would put forth an effort to change.
But soon there would be no one to make, and perhaps break, such a promise to but himself. John had begun to notice over the course of the past few months that Mr. Blevins was slowing down, and it pained him to see it. It became a source of distress to John, that he might one day have to speak to his partner. But in this instance at least, Mr. Blevins would still be one step ahead. On the very day John decided to say something about it, Mr. Blevins had an announcement to make.
"I have something important to discuss with you, John. Forty-one years of this foolishness is quite enough. I'm going to retire."
John had thought of him playing a less active role perhaps, but certainly not this, "Sir, you cannot..."
"Oh, but I can! You're quite capable, certainly much more so than I was at your age. I would like to see you take it over. Buy out the business, lease the house. I think you'll be pleased with my terms," Mr. Blevins placed a contract on the table, "If you want it, it's yours,"
John read it over. The terms were very generous, too generous, "Sir, I cannot..."
"Don't try my patience John. There is one other thing I would suggest to you. In the interest of discretion you might like to take a professional name. This will allow you to keep your public and private lives separate. Your clients will prefer this as well. When in someone's employ, you will use your working name and no other. If you and your client should both decide to continue the acquaintance afterwards, though that seldom happens, then you can make a proper introduction and let them know your true name." Mr. Blevins chuckled briefly, "I have been in rooms full of people who most pointedly did not know me. It can be lonely, unfortunately that goes with the territory, but you'll get used to it. By the way, I've wrapped up things nicely on my end. All of my cases are closed."
"Yes, indeed sir, but..."
"I know that I will not be meeting with unnecessary opposition," said Mr. Blevins, as he pushed the contract and a pen towards John. Speechless for once in his life, John looked closely into his mentor's face for any sign of wavering. Finding quite the opposite, John hesitated for only a moment more, then signed the paper.
Mr.. Blevins offered his hand to John, "Well this is it I suppose. You're on your own now. I have every confidence that you'll do well."
John was still in shock, not quite certain of what to say, "If success is dependent on the teacher, then I have every assurance of doing well," With emotion he continued, "But this is all so sudden sir. I feel inadequate to say what needs to be said. Please sir, accept my thanks for everything that you've done for me. I hope you won't mind my saying this, but if I ever had the pleasure of calling anyone father, I would have liked one such as you."
"And a less pig-headed version of yourself would have made the ideal son," said Mr. Blevins, uncomfortable with such a sentimental turn in the conversation.
John continued on, undaunted, "But there's something else sir, I have two requests to make of you. First, I'd be honored if you would permit me to carry on the use of your name. Secondly," and here John smiled, "As I would be even more greatly honored to carry on our acquaintance, what is your true name sir?"
Both requests were granted. John Barrow took the working name John Blevins. And Sir John Murdock, whose title bespoke very pleased clients in high places indeed, retired to the country.
Chapter 8
Over time, it became apparent that the calling cards of Mr. John Thomas Barrow were being used much less frequently, and the business cards of Mr. John Blevins more and more so. John had never had many companions, but now, with so little free time in which to cultivate friendship, they were gone. He often thought of Bingley and Darcy, but those bridges had been burned long ago. Outside of his former mentor, whose company and advice were often sought, there was no one left he could call friend. It was, he supposed, part of the parcel that his employ would so serve to overtake his private life, of this much he had been warned. More alarming, perhaps, was the knowledge that he was growing used to it. It was good for the purse but, he had to admit, not very prosperous for the soul. And while he enjoyed his work too much to say that he was unhappy, there was a lingering feeling that something was missing that should not be.
He was pondering that very thought one day as he set out to meet with a potential client. Making his way along his customary route, he was at a familiar corner when he had to stop for several carriages to pass before crossing . While waiting, he happened to turn and found himself facing Smith's, a shop that he had seldom noticed before. But this day would be different. John remained in front of the shop window for some time, till he finally realized that it was not the display which had captured his attention, but a person inside. He entered Smith's shop and surreptitiously set about observing said person, a young lady, who was at that moment assisting another customer. Perhaps, abusing would be a better word, although the patron seemed delighted with being so favored. Though she was obviously pretty, there was something else about her that drew John's attention. She had an unaffected, playful manner that made her doubly appealing.
"Arabella!", said the proprietor, nodding pointedly in John's direction.
"Yes, father." She then addressed John, "Excuse me sir, I'll be with you in a moment."
"No! No, thank you. That won't be necessary. I'm only looking about to see what you have here." Shortly thereafter he left the shop, with one rather pleasant thought in the back of his mind.
Whatever it was, exactly, going on in the back of John's mind that day, seemed to have a beneficial affect on the rest of it as well. He did not seem to find it at all irksome that his would-be client failed to step forward to meet him. Neither the first time, nor the last, he reminded himself, and went on to attend to his other business with rather more buoyancy than usual.
As John passed the window the next day, he found himself inexplicably drawn back to the door, and into the shop again. This was new territory indeed, and being somewhat at a loss to explain himself he asked for gloves. He was so fortunate as to be waited on by that same young lady, who brought it to his attention that he was leaning on the case displaying said objects. John had to smile at his own stupidity which, so it happened, was another fortunate thing. Considering himself rather plain, John could have no idea how much his smile transformed his appearance. It was of the traveling variety, starting with his eyes before working its way downward. And he most certainly had no idea that this smile could ever serve as artillery in battles of a tender nature, but it did. It got him noticed.
So it answered that, upon his fourth visit to follow up on this sudden interest in hand protection, Arabella made the following observation, " It isn't often that I've come across a gentleman so very determined to improve his knowledge of gloves."
John felt the fool, and reddened slightly as he replied, "It's been a while since my last purchase. I need several new pair."
At that, Arabella picked up one pair from among the many spread across the counter and leaned in closer, as if to explain some important detail of workmanship. In a low voice she said, "I see. Well sir, you must have twenty hands at least. And had you not been so occupied in purchasing gloves for all of them, you might have noticed that you're being followed. These past three days."
Though shocked by the information, and the source of it, John's question went no further than his eyes.
Arabella quietly answered, " In the very back, sir, to my left is a gentleman in a black great coat. He enters the shop soon after you arrive, and leaves directly you leave"
John reached for one of the gloves as if to admire it, and sent it tumbling to the floor. As he bent down to retrieve it, a glance to the back of the shop left him surprised, and more than a little concerned.
"Please set these three pair aside for me. I will be back tomorrow to purchase."
John left at a nonchalant pace, till out of sight of the shop window. He then quickly pulled back, into the recessed entrance of an adjacent building. It didn't take long for the black clad figure to walk past, looking about as if to find someone. John stepped out of the shadows and angrily confronted him.
"What do you want?"
The man started, then recovered, "I was to meet with a gentleman. The card said Blevins. You are not Blevins!"
"And it took you three days to make this discovery?"
"I spent three days in shock of seeing you. I intended to speak to you today. I see that your tongue has not changed, Finch."
John slowly stepped forward, lowered his voice, and said in tones of frost and heat combined, "Let me make one thing abundantly clear. Should you decide to retain me I am John Blevins to you, if not, I am John Barrow. There is no Finch here! Is that understood?"
Though larger in build, Robert Winslow stepped back, "You've made it quite clear."
"Good, as I'll only say it once!" calmed sufficiently, John continued, "Now, do you want my assistance or not?"
"Yes!" the man's demeanor changed completely, "Yes, I must. I have a sister.. "
"Come, let us talk in private."
Seated in a back room of a nearby tavern, Winslow continued, "My sister has made a bad match... to someone you know. I feel I am to blame because I encouraged it. Now I, and all my family, want to see her extracted from this in the most honorable way possible. But there is the burden of proof, you see, and it has been difficult thus far to satisfy certain requirements. Whatever the cost, I want to see Penelope happy again. You come highly recommended. Will you help me?"
Chapter 9
The events of yesterday left John with two unfinished pieces of business. The first took him to the imposing town home of the family of his former schoolmate, where he met with the young married lady, attended by her father and brother. He agreed to help them with a matter of extreme delicacy. But as much as John relished the prospect of assisting them, he had to admit that he'd saved the most pleasant appointment for last. And now, as he approached Smith's, the beginnings of a smile lit his face.
Arabella looked up as John entered the shop. She was not aware of it, but relief and pleasure were evident in her countenance. "Good afternoon, Sir!"
She disappeared briefly into the back room, and came back out with several sets of gloves, waiting for purchase. "You know sir, I was very concerned yesterday afternoon. I thought that I would have three pair of perfectly good gloves set aside for all eternity."
Being an astute judge of character John surmised, correctly, that coming from Miss Arabella Smith, this constituted concern for his safety and well being. That happy thought gave him a great deal of pleasure, and made him bold.
"I owe you thanks, Miss Smith. I was not on my guard as I should have been. Something here may have distracted me, I believe." John handed Arabella his card. "If you would send your boy around, please, I'd like for my purchase to be delivered."
"Yes, Mr...." she quickly perused the card, "...Barrow, that will be arranged."
After standing for a few moments in silence, John was about to give way to the logic of taking his leave, when a gallant though entered his mind, "If I might add Miss Smith, I've had the pleasure of hearing your given name, and it has a lyrical, an almost musical quality to it." Though often feeling compelled to oppose his impulsive tendencies, there would be no battle here. True to his nature he quickly added, "And if you choose your next name well, that quality could be even further enhanced." Finally realizing his blunder John blushed furiously, not quite believing what he'd just said. Good lord, you've made a mess of that one, John! What on earth will she think of me? As he gathered his belongings and made to leave, he barely managed to add, "Have a pleasant day, Miss Smith."
Arabella Smith was not green. She had come to the conclusion years ago that gentlemen as a class were not to be trusted and had, over time, grown quite adept at fending off their amorous advances. But she was somewhat at a loss here. Being an astute judge of character she surmised, correctly, that coming from Mr. John Thomas Barrow this extraordinary statement constituted more than idle flirtation. She was left shaking her head in astonishment. Despite the fact that Mr. Barrow appeared to be involved in something clandestine, even furtive, Arabella felt certain that there was something very good, very honest and true in this man. As to looks, he was not what one would readily call handsome. Yet, there was something in his air that could easily make one think otherwise, and all the more appealing because he was so completely unaware of it. True to her nature Arabella would be cautious, but she could not help but feel that this time her heart was wise.
Chapter 10
Early on in the game John realized that this one would be difficult. Based on prior experience alone, he knew that it would be a gross miscalculation to dismiss Winslow's brother-in-law as being a stupid man. Indeed, in some ways he was dangerously clever. Judging from his alert posture, John could see that he had grown used to being super-cautious. This fact, coupled with the likely danger of being recognized if seen, demanded that John use all of his skill to follow him. He could have employed someone else to do this, John supposed, but he was rather enjoying the challenge, and wanted to leave nothing to chance. But on this day, the challenge would prove too great.
At what must have been an appointed place, John noticed a rather short, portly figure emerge from a doorway. A brief glance of acknowledgment passed between this man and John's prey. The two of them continued on, together but not obviously so. Barrow knew this second man by one of his many aliases, Mr. Harold C. Finney, man about town, fraud and swindler of the first degree. Many well-lined purses had been emptied by his promises of low risk, high yield investments, promises that had blown away like so much chaff. But he could never be caught, as his methods always involved partnership with some hapless soul who would do that service for him. This time though, whether or not he was aware of it, Mr. Finney had formed a pact with the devil.
They eventually turned, no doubt by pre-arrangement, into a small tavern. John was no longer able to follow this unholy alliance, as the danger was too great. Things had taken an unexpected turn indeed! Assistance at this point would be essential, but before plans along that line were made John would need additional information.
The next day saw John at the house of his client. Over a glass of port, he broached the subject, "Winslow, I need to know something. Have you made any recent acquaintance, perhaps someone by the name of Harold Finney?"
"Finney...? Finney... no, though the name does sound familiar. I believe I'm confusing it with Fanning, Mr. Henry Fanning, a gentleman I met at the club a few days ago."
"This Mr. Fanning, what sort of fellow is he?"
"In point of appearance, I'd say he's a rather short gentleman, and extraordinary for his height and girth being about the same. A very pleasant fellow, to the point of being a bit naive. And generous! ... after some prodding that is. Somewhere during the course of the evening he let drop some information regarding a very promising investment he'd recently made. It was apparent that he'd made a gaffe, and had not meant to speak of it. However my brother-in-law, who seldom misses anything having to do with money, would not let it rest. He pounded the poor man incessantly, till Fanning finally promised to let us all in on his little secret."
"Just out of curiosity, what sort of investment is this?"
"It's a little mother lode of a gold mine, in Guyana if I'm not mistaken. Supposed to be the biggest find in fifty years. Fanning will be bringing his portfolio with him tomorrow evening," Winslow picked up on John's inquisitiveness, and threw him a sly smile, "Interested, are you John? I tell you what," he continued on, in an expansive mood, "Since we've been friends for so long, I have a small proposal for you. Finish up with our little unpleasantness in good time... and I might just let you in on it!"
Caught completely unaware, John nearly choked on his libation, but recovery was swift. Raising his tumbler he toasted his companion, "Well now, that is encouragement indeed! You are the very best of men, Winslow." All mirth stayed within, where it served him best. He left quickly thereafter, as fresh air would be needed to reorder his thoughts. Like lambs to the slaughter, John said to himself. He shook his head and wondered just how far reaching this would prove to be.
Not half a mile away, in the town house of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, a young man was making a decision. Mr. Charles Bingley had lately been very much in doubt of his own abilities, and was seriously considering whether or not to spread his wings, to make his first independent decision in many years. Ultimately, his choice would be based on facts seen tomorrow evening, but even at this stage it sounded not only impressive, but highly plausible.
Even Darcy seemed to feel that it might be a sound investment, although he would not involve himself, "You're on your own here Bingley. Nothing against foreign investments, I simply prefer to keep things closer to home. From what you've said, your Mr. Fanning seems to know what he's talking about. If he has the paperwork to back his claims, and everything is in good order, then go to it. I would make one recommendation though, find out a little more about this Mr. Fanning."
Not quite one month ago, Bingley's meager supply of self-assurance had been sorely depleted when he fell victim to unrequited love. It was bad enough that Bingley's love was not returned, but his very powers of perception, which had led him to hope his attentions reciprocated, had been proven by Darcy to be deficient. There was no need for money as the reason behind taking this bold step. He was certainly not motivated by greed. But there was the need for restored confidence. Yes, this prospect was tempting indeed!
Chapter 11
John started out early next morning, as there was much work to be done. First order of the day, a letter was written and dispatched by express, to his old friend, Sir John Murdock. Barrow would be the first to admit that, whatever natural talents he possessed served, at times, as poor substitute for this man's considerable experience. Due to the likely urgency of this matter, John felt it most expedient to consult with him.
Next on John's list was to make contact with his connection at White's, the very club that Winslow belonged to. This always involved waiting, as he would need to catch Todd as he ran the occasional errand for some particularly demanding member. William Todd was an odd little man. Despite his uncanny resemblance to the local costermonger, William's mother had convinced him early on that he was a wealthy nobleman's son. Consequently, as a young boy he learned to put on airs, cultivating the type of bearing that recommended him first as page, then as footman, and once even butler, in a progression of increasingly wealthy households. He thus left his grimy siblings and soot soiled street life far behind.
But Todd was on a mission. He had determined to find his father and get whatever was rightfully his. It was, after all, bitter physic that he should be more truly the gentleman in birth and breeding, than some of those who barked orders and paid him no mind. To quicken his search he found employ at White's. Only those in the first circles had membership there, and no doubt his father would be among that number. As a member of the wait staff, he would have ample opportunity to listen, to observe. Since William Todd enjoyed the notion of overturning rocks to see what crawled beneath, yes he would be John's spy, all the while savoring his bitter pill. Barrow did not like this man, but no one better served his purpose.
Their meeting was as brief as possible. John gave Todd the names of those to whom he was to be particularly solicitous to this evening, and gave him an idea of what to listen for, what sorts of documents to take note of. Barrow knew that Todd's prim correctness would allow him to accomplish this with little or no attention drawn to himself. He was, after all, a very model of discretion.
For his second contact, John had only to cross a particular corner at a particular time. Timothy Scoggins would be there, and would follow him. Timothy was paid a healthy retainer for this service, and he knew which side his bread was buttered on. Or rather, Tim liked butter to both sides of his bread. Part time footpad, burglar, and petty thief, his arrangement with John left him with plenty of time in which to pursue his other interests. Barrow lived in dread of ever loosing Scoggins to the hangman's rope, for this man possessed a talent the likes of which John had never seen. Left to his own devices, he could barely sign his name, but let someone else do the writing... When Scoggins wrote it down again every t was crossed and every i dotted. If they were not, it was the fault of the original author, for Scoggins remembered it all. No manuscript was too long, and no amount of time faded his memory.
As John passed the designated corner, he did not need to look behind him to know that, from a distance, Scoggins' loping stride matched his own. As soon as they were safe from prying eyes, John turned and addressed him with a smile, "I'm glad that you've lived to see another day, Scoggins."
"Oh, no more than I am, guv'nor! At your service, sir."
"I need you to trail someone."
A time and place was given for later that day, so that John could indicate to Tim who he was to follow. Even though Fanning would make for a fairly easy portrait, John would not rely on description alone, "Further instructions will come tomorrow, but first we must find the dog's den. And whatever you do, don't lose this one. Are you up to it?"
"That dog stands a far better chance of losin' his flea."
The next day, John was not disappointed. Todd was, as usual, perhaps more thorough than was absolutely necessary, but John had patience with him. Consequently, along with a minute description of the documents within, John was subjected to Todd's speculations on the type and quality of leather, and indeed, even which shop on Bond Street might have sold the case itself. John was also given an idea of what sort of attention Fanning commanded. In his quiet, unassuming, insidious way, this crafty swindler had managed to recommend himself to at least half those present.
Fanning certainly put on an impressive display. Maps, surveys, geological reports, receipts showing current production (Oh, what production!), and prospectus showing projected production after infusion of additional capital, all with the slightly dog-eared appearance of papers that have had to travel many miles, and pass through many hands, before reaching their final destination. That in itself gave some indication of authenticity. Yes, Fanning knew what he was about! Now, to see these papers up close, in a manner of speaking. John checked his watch. As it was almost time, he set off to meet Timothy Scoggins.
In his excitement, Scoggins was not holding up the wall as was normally the case when John passed by. In fact, Tim had to restrain himself from following immediately behind. Fortunately he managed to draw no undue attention.
At the appointed spot John addressed him, "Well Scoggins, I take it you have absolutely no news at all?"
"I have twice the news guv'nor. Our fat little pup has two dens, 'e does! He was not in his first one five minutes a'fore 'e popped out again. The second had a lady in it. He spent considerable more time in that one."
"Was he carrying anything?"
"For part of th' time 'e was. Had some kind of fancy case with 'im, looked to be for business. But it seems 'e didn'a want to discuss business with the lady, as the case stayed at home."
"It's that case I'm interested in. Everything in it. Also, any papers you might come across in his room, anything written, any correspondence, anything at all. And Tim?"
"Ay, sir?"
"Quickly, and no foolish chances. Take someone with you to keep watch, someone with their wits about them."
"Not to worry, guv'nor. Our pup likes 'is second home far better. I'll be long gone a'fore 'e's back."
John went home to check the day's mail, and again was not disappointed. Sir John Murdock's list of those in some way indebted to him was long. On that list was a very recently retired civil servant, a Mr. Albert Wellingham, only just arrived back in England from his final post. This man had spent three of the last seven years in, of all places, Guyana. He was a wealth of information, and would be prepared to speak with John should the need arise.
Things were coming together very nicely indeed!
Chapter 12
It took nearly one full day of laborious writing for Timothy Scoggins to record everything he had seen. In order for him to enjoy some measure of comfort during this, his least favorite part of the procedure, John put Scoggins up in a comfortable room, making sure that he received whatever was required. As often as possible, Barrow stopped by to check on his progress.
On one such visit, they sat for some time in companionable silence. Tim, while writing in that slow, cramped style of his, would often look up from his efforts to gauge John's reaction to what he was reading. Two things in particular seemed to catch his attention. The first was a letter. It read as follows:
Mr. Fanning,
I was extremely displeased by your recent attempt to back out of our original agreement. I fear that you do not understand me. Let me clarify one important point, our arrangement stands en toto. There will be no addendums, abridgments, or alterations of any kind. Let me also state, in no uncertain terms, that further attempts to renege on your part will be dealt with severely. This is no idle threat sir, as I am possessed of the means to throw misfortune your way. Put more succinctly, I will flatten you like the worm you are.
Bear in mind, if anyone is in a position to renegotiate I am. Without me you would not have had the means to carry out this little game. You would not have had the capital with which to plan and initiate, and you would not have had access to White's willing gentlemen.
On second consideration, perhaps I will choose to make a few changes to our agreement after all....
The letter rambled further along these lines. It was not signed, but Barrow needed no signature to comprehend its author. There could be no doubt. Suddenly, John was reminded of another letter he had received long ago, and how easily its author could be comprehended. A thought came to him.
"Tim."
"Sir?"
"This letter, was it written on plain paper or special stock?"
"Oh, it was very fancy sir. It 'ad a crest on it, with a shield, swords and mace. And a bird or two thrown in for the bargain."
John considered this act of supreme stupidity, and thanked the author for his generosity. The original of this letter would be a valuable document to have. Along with the other evidence he had gathered on Winslow's brother-in-law, this would serve to nail the coffin shut. But not wanting to put Scoggins at risk again, and not yet wanting to sound an alarm, John considered other ways to get his hands on it.
The second item to catch Barrow's attention was a lengthy lists of names. Titled simply, White's, it appeared to be a list of possible 'investors', with corresponding amounts of money to be expected. Emphasizing the mercenary nature of this operation, Fanning had arranged the names of his potential victims in descending order of projected capital. More than likely, this would allow him to concentrate his efforts on those willing and able to part with the most.
All of a sudden John let out an oath. Scoggins looked up, as he had never heard such from his employer before. The look on John's face made Tim arch his brow, and put his head back down again. With his head resting in one hand Barrow studied the list intently, then finally let it fall to his lap. There, midway down the first page, was the name of his old Eton friend, Mr. Charles Bingley!
Meanwhile at this same moment Mr. Bingley, inclined to think that Darcy had indeed given sound advice on this point, sought to find out a little more about Mr. Fanning. On the recommendation of an acquaintance who had recently required his services, Bingley penned a letter to a gentleman by the name of John Blevins.
Chapter 13
"Guv'nor?"
"Yes Tim?"
"Here it is complete, but a'fore you go grabbin' and runnin' off, there's something else I need to tell you. I saved it for last so it would be first on your mind. Expect more than just papers in that case of 'is."
John's brow furrowed, "What do you mean?"
"There's a knife. An' it's far too long for pruning 'is nails."
John was quiet for a moment. He had not expected this side to Fanning. It appeared that the threatening letter he had received might have unsettled him to the point of taking drastic precautions. Fanning could possibly be dangerous when cornered. This was valuable information, indeed.
"Thank you Scoggins, you're a good man."
"Oh, I'm a sight less than that! More to the point sir, you'll be good to me."
Barrow took all of the papers relating to the mine with him when he went to speak with Sir John's acquaintance, Mr Wellingham. He did indeed prove to be a wealth of information. Not only was he familiar with that part of Guyana, but he had had occasion to tour the region extensively before leaving the country. In fact, his knowledge post dated several of the transcribed documents John showed to him. Mr Wellingham could not help but express amazement at such a wondrous display of divine intervention. For indeed, it would take nothing short of a miracle to transform what was useless wasteland into such fine wealth as this!
After this conversation, John headed towards home to check for new correspondence. He slowed his steps as he approached Smith's. It had been several days since he had last stopped by. There was precious little time to spare, but he must make the time. As fate would have it, the shop was full and Arabella had not one free moment of her own. He caught her eye and smiled, she returned it. After waiting for several minutes he had to take his leave. With apology on his face John turned and left the shop. Arabella saw him leave with regret. If John could only have seen into Arabella's mind, he would somehow have found a way to stay.
For Arabella was in a quandary. Despite being a woman of good sense she had once again failed to follow her own best advice. She had fallen in love with a man she knew little about. Meanwhile, the object of her affection seemed to be pulling away from her. Is it his work? She was at least certain that he had some type of profession. He adhered to such a strict schedule, often attending to his watch and leaving in a hurry, that there could be little doubt that business called him away. But what is his business? He was so secretive, parrying even her most skillful questioning into more neutral territory. Her only concern was that John was involved in something unlawful, and his unwillingness to speak on the matter seemed to make this a possibility. I am afraid for him.
And she was afraid for herself as well. Suppose, against every intuitive feeling to the contrary, Mr. Barrow was toying with her affections? She had been hurt before, and had determined never to be hurt again. And if he were serious, as she believed he was? Candor on his part will require equal measure from me. Such inner turmoil was taking its toll.
But John had not yet learned to read Arabella, and so he left. And it just so happened that there was a very important letter waiting for him when he returned home. A letter from Mr. Charles Bingley requesting the services of Mr. John Blevins.
Chapter 14
After breaking the seal with some violence, and scanning the contents of the letter with haste, John found reason to be relieved. He was reassured that Bingley had not yet committed himself. But, not wanting to set off a general alarm at White's, one thing was left to be done before he could pen his reply. First he must remove the threat.
Having stayed up all night with Scoggins, John suddenly realized that he had gone a full day without sleep. This in itself was not so unusual; the fact that he felt suddenly exhausted by it was. But he would not give way. After a hot bath, a change of clothes and a very late breakfast, he set out again. It was now well after mid-day. Happy that he would soon be through with this whole sordid affair, he checked his watch and turned towards the dog's den. Scoggins had informed him that Fanning had the rather silly custom of leaving from his back door directly into a secluded mews, and was rather punctual in his habits. In matters of personal safety, the man was a fool. It was a good thing for him that John would be there to welcome him, and help him see the error of his ways. Like clockwork Fanning appeared, case in hand. John stepped forward to block his progress.
"The game is up, Fanning."
"Sir, I have no earthly idea what you're talking about!"
"Oh, but I believe you do."
"I believe you are completely mistaken! My name is not Fanning, it's Finney," he said, as he reached to open his case, "I can identify myself as I have the proof right..."
Suddenly, John's hand darted out to stop his progress, "Finney's game is up as well," Barrow's fingers held Fanning's wrist in vise-like grip, "And I wouldn't open that case if I were you. I know what's in it. You would be no match for me."
Continued pressure on his wrist caused Fanning to drop the case. John picked it up. "You'll have no further need for this. But I am not here to best you, Fanning, I'm here to make you an offer."
Seeing that his game was indeed up, Fanning's manner changed from righteous indignation to incredulous curiosity, "What could you possibly have to offer me?"
"Since your continued well being is in question, I believe that what I have to offer will be of paramount interest to you. Freedom and safety, nothing more, nothing less. You are not the one I'm after, in fact you're of little concern to me. However, there is something in your possession that I require, a letter from your associate. Don't give me that blank look, Fanning! Library desk, left hand side, third drawer from the top. You will give it to me, and write a letter in return. Then I will see that you have safe passage from town."
Suspecting, correctly, that fear would be Fanning's primary motivation, John was not surprised at his willingness to cooperate. There was never any loyalty, and certainly no honor lost between these two thieves. After Fanning retrieved the letter, John had him write a note to his partner, coaching him as he wrote.
"Inform him that you no longer have the stomach for this scheme and are leaving town for good. Let him know that there were certain sensitive documents that you didn't want to leave behind and no longer want in your possession, and that you were good enough to forward a packet containing these documents to his in-laws' house. Tell him that if he is swift, he might possibly prevent Mr. Winslow from opening the packet, but swiftness will be needed, as that gentleman appeared to be all curiosity."
Fanning exclaimed at having to write such, "This is suicide!"
"You made that choice when you first shook hands with the fellow. My only concern is that it not be on my watch. Write it. Now! I don't have all day to hold your hand!" The note was completed and sealed. John slipped it into his pocket.
True to his word, John now saw to Fanning's safety. Under the guardianship of a well muscled escort, Mr. Henry Fanning was trundled away in the refuge of Barrow's equipage. John who, whenever possible, preferred walking to riding, and who was certainly not above hireing a hack should the need arise, would gladly forgo his carriage for the next few days. His footmen had special instructions to see to the security of their charge. But before Fanning could take his leave, Barrow had one final word for him.
"If you return I will know. Your punishment will be as swift and severe as the law will allow. And as a reminder, your former partner will also know if you are seen here again. His memory is long Fanning, he will not forget you. I think you realize that the law would be a gentle mother by comparison," Barrow closed the carriage door by way of punctuation. As he drove away Fanning contemplated, perhaps another line of work in the north of England.
The letter, and other documents imperative to the case against Winslow's brother-in-law were delivered to the Winslow's town house. Father and son were instructed to contact their attorneys, and to have a magistrate there to welcome the arrival of the guest of honor. John now set out for White's. He would send this guest to them.
William Todd looked at Barrow as though he were soiling his entryway. He did not need to open his mouth, for his eyes said it all. Have you lost your mind, man? You are to meet me only on the street! Certainly not here, at the club! John was swiftly losing his patience with this man, but held his tongue a while longer, "I have an important message for one of the gentlemen within, one of your more illustrious members," John let Todd see the name on the letter Fanning had written, "He should be leaving shortly. After he is gone come back to me," In that space of time, John penned a note of his own.
After Todd returned, John passed the note to him, requesting that he give it to Mr. Charles Bingley. True, it was after the fact, and the source of danger had already been removed, but still John felt some good might come from this communication. Through the open door, John could just catch a glimpse of someone who must be his friend from long ago. For a fleeting moment he felt very much like a child, with his face pressed to the glass of the confectioners shop and not a ha'penney to his name. But he soon checked himself. Shrugging off his burdensome mantle of melancholy, he turned and walked away.
Meanwhile, seated within a cluster of gentlemen discussing Fanning's opportunity for financial windfall, Charles kept his reservations to himself. Far from suspicious by nature, Darcy had planted a seed of doubt in his mind, and Bingley had acted on it. But his sentiments were certainly in the minority. Todd approached him with a note in hand. Seeing who it was from, Bingley could not help but be pleased by such a swift response to his inquiry. Indeed, it seemed that the ink was not yet dry on the page! He opened the note and read the following:
Dear Sir,Bingley looked up, flushed with the urgency of the situation, "Gentlemen! I have an important piece of news...."It just so happens that I find myself, at present, extremely interested in the activities of Mr. Fanning. He is a fraud, sir. If you have initiated any business dealings with this man, I would suggest that you put an end to them immediately, and warn anyone else who might have come under his influence to pull out with all urgency. His latest scheme involves a supposed overseas gold mine. This is a sham. Mr. Albert Wellingham, formerly in the service of His Majesty in the colony of Guyana is available to corroborate should this be necessary.
You inquired after my fee for this service. There is no charge. As mentioned before, this information was already at my disposal, and I am only too pleased to be able to assist you in this matter.
Sincerely,
Mr. John Blevins
As one of White's newest members, and possessed of a very recent source of wealth, Bingley was rather used to being taken not very seriously by his fellow members. But now, for the first time since his admittance he was commanding not only their attention, but their respect and gratitude. John's note served him well.