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Chapter 27
You're determined to make this interesting, aren't you? Even the most routine case could be made more convoluted, and gratifying, by digging just beneath the surface...
If Barrow knew one thing about himself it was his desire to fill in all the missing pieces, even when only half were called for. At some point he must draw the line between business and his own natural curiosity. So far he had not crossed that line. He client deserved proof. Fully aware of this weakness John set strict limits, allowing himself a maximum of two days in which to wrap things up for his client. Within that allotted time, it was his intention to find out exactly what this Mrs. Younge was up to, possibly uncovering her obvious ties to the Bull and Crown in the process. But before this could be done, John must arrange for someone to go with him on his next venture into that rough part of town for, based purely on instinct, he would not go back alone.
Barrow had already decided who this would be. Willie would be the man. Willie Barton, who had at one time lived near and worked the docks, would know his way around. This choice was made even more ideal by his availability for, as one of John's footmen, they were together under the same roof. However, when it came down to it there would always be one major reservation, Willie's grandmother the cook.
One year ago, Willie had been hired at the specific request of his grandmother, who had it in mind that her grandson must be saved from what promised to be a hard life, and quite likely a short one. She had hoped for his improvement in a life of service. Barrow was particularly fond of cook, and as soon as a position came vacant he was more than happy to oblige her.
When Willie first came to work as a lad of seventeen it was on a trial basis, but his trial had ended in no time. Within a few short weeks he had proven himself to be not only hardworking and mature for his years, but intelligent, perceptive, discreet. In addition, John had only once before met with such a naturally pleasant man. Though in no way naive, Willie Barton had the same sunny disposition and unfailing sense of optimism that served to remind Barrow of Charles Bingley. John liked him prodigiously, and occasionally even considered showing him the business. Even now he would help out from time to time. But John rather suspected that cook would not look kindly on any advancement that might place her grandson in harms way again; and John would rather not incur cook's displeasure.
There was also the matter of inexperience. Though a quick study, Willie still had much to learn, and John often wondered if using such a novice for an assistant might one day prove disastrous. Still, this would be a simple enough case. And besides, how else would Willie ever gain the needed experience? These arguments, added to the simple fact that John enjoyed the young man's company, made him stay his choice. After speaking with Willie at length regarding what would be required, plans were made to start out tomorrow after breakfast. That taken care of, John felt free to attend to other matters.
******
When he first returned home, Barrow had found that Sir John was, as always, punctual in his attentions. A letter awaited him, and a substantial one at that. Apparently Sir John's contact had quite a bit to say on the subject of Barrow's former friends. Knowing that the letter's contents would satisfy curiosity of a personal nature, John immediately set it aside, wishing to resolve matters pertaining to business before allowing time for other interests. And now that time had come.
Preferring the shadows of a darkened study, and often finding enlightenment there, John snuffed all candles save those necessary for perusal. Now free from all distractions, John broke the seal in haste, and applied himself to the contents of his letter. It came as a relief to him that his old friends were universally well thought of at White's, by fellow members as well as staff, Bingley more liked, and Darcy more respected. They were considered unimpeachable, men of character and substance. And of constancy, although they did seem somewhat less predictable of late. A change in both men had been observed. Bingley's change was fairly recent, and seemed somehow connected to a short lived residence in Hertfordshire. He'd taken a house there last autumn, and Darcy had gone along to keep him company. They were both said to be more quiet and less lively since their return. This change, far more easily observed in Bingley than Darcy, was duly noted by close friends and was the frequent subject of curious speculation. Since Bingley often spoke of a certain young lady in glowing terms, a Miss Bennet to be exact, it was easy enough to suppose that he had lost his heart there. Bingley was, after all, well known for losing that part of his anatomy on a fairly regular basis. But where a few days or weeks had been enough for him to reclaim it in the past, months would not suffice to work a cure in this instance.
As Darcy was by nature more guarded than his friend, his change was an even greater perplexity, and of longer duration. He was a changed man since last summer took him to Ramsgate, a spur of the moment excursion he'd only mentioned in passing. His temper, never as easy as his friend, had not been the same since. The last five months or so saw him going from bad to worse. And a recent trip to visit his aunt in Kent, an occurrence which would usually afford his closest friends a humorous recounting of events, seemed to leave him almost morose. It could only be supposed that he was preparing to meet with his family's wishes and announce an engagement to his cousin Anne de Bourgh. Since marriage with that young lady would, inevitably, mean an even closer kinship with the mother, Darcy had their silent sympathy. That prospect, his friends readily acknowledged, was enough to leave any man out of sorts.
Barrow leaned back in his chair as he gave the letter further consideration. Though far from wishing to give credence to anything said by her, this missive had, in many ways, served to corroborate events as conveyed by Lady Armbruster. His former friends, by every account that he considered credible, were honorable gentleman. They were in love with two very worthy young ladies who had everything to gain by a connection with them, and yet things had gone awry. There seemed to be disappointment, at least on the side of the gentlemen. John could make no sense of it. He supposed that perhaps some misunderstanding must separate them and, considering his recent misunderstanding with Miss Smith, he could certainly empathize. But John doubted that his intervention could be of any use to his friends in a matter such as this. How could it possibly help? He would doubtless end up bungling things for them as badly as he'd done for himself! No, John smiled his wry amusement, I believe I'll steer clear of the matchmaking business.
But what an extraordinary coincidence! Years, what seemed almost a lifetime, had passed without crossing paths at all, and now two recent cases had thrown him into his old friends' lives once again. John Barrow was not a man to believe in fate, but if he were at all inclined in that direction, these two unlikely events would certainly push him over the edge. With a sigh, Barrow put away the letter, blew out his candle, and retired to bed. There, he continued to work things over in his mind, till sleep finally caught him unawares.
Little did he know that this current case involving Mrs. Younge would serve him with yet another fateful reminder.
Chapter 28
The small front room of the run down boarding house provided them with ample opportunity for observation. Playing upon an old rivalry provided them with the room. Willie, with accent completely devoid of Etonian influence, was allowed to do the talking and was convincing in his role.
'My friend and me, we'll be lookin' for work and need a room for a few days, till either we get the work or the money runs out," a crown slid across the table served as proof that such a thing existed, "We went to the house across the way, but didna' care much for that lady. That one's got a bee up her bonnet, she does."
Rendered sociable by the combination of money and the unflattering reference to her rival, the matronly woman clucked in agreement, "Two fine young lads, such as yourselves have no need to be stayin' in that place. You done the right thing comin' 'ere," her voice lowered to an almost whisper, and she leaned towards them in a conspiratory manner, "She calls that place a boarding 'ouse, but you wouldna' believe the goin's on over there. It's shameful, is what it is!"
"Ach! That's too bad!" Willie's hand reached to retrieve his coin, "I need me sleep, miss. I was gonna ask for a front room, as I need the sun to wake early, but if we're in for a ruckus out that way, then maybe I need to go elsewhere?"
"Oh, no, no, no! Not a ruckus, lad! Her dirt's done all quiet and secret like. You'll get a good night's sleep, you will!"
Both John and Willie knew that a good night's sleep was the furthest thing from their minds, but they looked at each other as though taking this into consideration. Finally, John nodded tersely, and Willie once again released his crown, "All right, miss. We'll be takin' one of your front rooms then."
"Very good lads! You'll be glad you did," Looking at John for a moment, the woman added, "Your friend 'ere don't talk much, does 'e?"
"No miss, he's a mute."
"Oh, what a shame!" Making the common assumption that muteness meant deafness, and that speaking louder would solve the problem, the woman addressed John with volcanic pitch, "Well don't you worry about a thing, lad! My name's Mrs. Parker, and I'll be takin'good care of ya', I will! Put some meat on them bones of yours!" To emphasize her determination, she patted John's back with motherly enthusiasm, then led the two of them to their room. Suppressed mirth had to wait till that good woman took her leave again.
By taking turns, the two were able to keep watch and catch a few hours of fitful sleep. So far they had to acknowledge that their landlady had spoken the truth. Mrs. Younge's house could just as well have been a monastery as quiet as it was, but it soon became apparent that something very un-monastic was going on there.
A tap on the shoulder was all that Barrow needed to come fully awake. Following the tilt of Willie's head John went to the window and peered down at the street below. A fantastic sight awaited him. It was a parade of sorts, a bizarre parade. Transposed against a solemn backdrop of acrid blue-gray sky and jumbled buildings rendered even more decrepit by darkness, five gaily plumed young women made their way from the boarding house down towards the docks. For all of their tawdry finery there was a weariness about them, as though they had made this trip countless times before. Mist rolling up from the river obscured their feet, giving the ethereal impression that they were walking on clouds. But John rightly suspected that no such heavenly destination awaited them.
"They're bound for the ships sir," Willie's observation was on the mark, and John nodded in acquiescence.
There were no further attempts at sleep that night, as John and Willie pondered over what they had seen. It would appear that their Mrs. Younge was an astute business woman with a practical talent for diversification. In addition to more conventional usage her boarding house did double duty, providing lodging for other, less diversified, business women. Women whose business took them down to the docks, where they had but one thing in the world to sell.
"I'll wager that there's even more going on over there than we know at present. I wonder how much our Mrs. Parker knows?" John mused out loud.
"I would hazard a guess, sir, that she knows far more than we do."
"No sense in her keeping it to herself then, is there?"
Willie had seen a certain light in Barrow's eye, and knew that his master's curiosity was getting the better of him. And his growing excitement was contagious, "Absolutely not, sir. And, if you don't mind my sayin' it, I think you'll have no problem gettin' it out of that one."
John replied by way of raised brow.
"It's as plain as day sir," Willie's mock innocent smile nearly split his face in two, "She's sweet on you, she is."
As though in confirmation of this, there came a knock at the door. The subject of their discourse entered with a tray, laden down with ample sustenance for breakfast. Willie's brow arched significantly upon noticing that Barrow's portion was twice his own. This was, as explained by that generous woman, to compensate for John being such a 'poor, thin, deaf little thing'. Determined to see that he would eat it all she stayed, hovering over him in her attentions.
"Ain't he a dainty one though? Just look at 'im. You'd think he were a gent'l'man for all his fine manners and sparse appetite," Her voice raised in pitch as she turned to address John, "Come on now, lad! Buck up! You'll need your strength, you will!" From time to time she gave him pats on the back by way of encouragement, once with violence enough to send whatever was on John's fork over to Willie's plate. Willie, who was not overly scrupulous about such things, continued to dine with only the briefest of pauses. Wearing an almost imperceptible trace of a smile, Willie made certain to meet his master's eye before returning with full attention to his eggs, toast and rasher of bacon. The lady showed kindness enough to take her leave not long after this. And fortunate for all, it did not take Willie very long to divert his flush faced employer out of an uncharacteristically foul mood.
Chapter 29
Once again Willie would do the talking, knowing by prior instruction which questions to ask, and by instinct how to be discreet about it. John, whose accent would certainly brand him an outsider, kept up his role as mute, this time Willie's cousin. As such he was conveniently ignored, leaving his mind completely free to concentrate on everything said and seen. There was one person in particular that Willie was anxious to speak with, a man known to all as 'Stumpy'. Stumpy Smithers was so named in honor of his right arm, or what was left of it after an unfortunate encounter with a grappling hook many years ago. No longer able to do heavy manual labor, he had been reduced to performing simple, menial tasks for his bread. But no one knew this place as he did.
"Ah, so you done seen the midnight promenade, have ye' lad? Right reg'lar, like clockwork. But only for certain ships, mind. Let me tell ye' lad, that mistress 'o theirs is a fine piece of work..."
Stumpy briefly considered if, and how much, he should tell Willie, then decided there would be no harm in giving him a tidbit or two. A little friendly gossip wouldn't harm anyone, especially if you were careful who you told. Willie was one of their own. He was a smart lad too, and would know better than to go spouting off. And so Stumpy let down his guard. Without going much into detail, he told of an unusual business arrangement involving smuggled spirits, a tavern, and a brothel. A partnership of sorts, of the highest order. And since the very best alliances of this nature provide a balance whereby all profit to satisfaction, all the principles involved were very well satisfied indeed. They dealt only with goods of the highest quality, and not a shilling ever passed between them. If one end of it fell, it would be difficult to connect the other parties involved. And what went on was enough to stand one's hair on end.
One thing Stumpy did not tell was that he knew of these activities for a reason, as he played a small but vital role in them. For an extra bob or two it was his job to help divert the authorities' attention away, allowing a well covered cart to pass under additional cover of darkness on its way to a certain tavern. Suddenly thinking his candor ill advised, he gave his friend fair warning. Willie should not be asking about these things, for around this place idle curiosity could kill a man, "Now mind who you go 'round askin' aboot such things, lad."
And Willie would have done well to take such advice. For, though certain his friend had asked in all innocence, Stumpy would find a way to cover his possible error. And even better, he would be loyal to both sides and make a bit of change in the process. While never naming Willie's name, for the few extra few shillings it would bring, Stumpy let Bert Younge know that someone had been lurking around. Leave it to Bert to find out who it might be.
But Albert Younge did not need to find it out, for in his mind he already knew who it was. And if he ever saw that man again he would kill him without a thought.
Chapter 30
As they walked back to the boarding house that evening, Barrow took the opportunity to recap their last encounter. Ever discreet, John took careful stock of their surroundings before engaging Willie in quiet conversation. "Your friend Mr. Smithers was not as straightforward as he could have been. He knows much more than he's willing to tell."
Willie nodded in agreement, "Knowing old Stumpy sir, there's likely somethin' in it for 'im." Smiling in remembrance, Willie continued, "He's a wily one, he is. Best look sharp round ol' Stumpy sir. Half an arm, an' double the brains."
"Do you have any theories about that 'business arrangement' he was speaking of?" John had his own postulation, and wanted to see if Willie had reached the same conclusions.
"Well sir, it's likely that th' smugglers get right generous with the liquor when the ladies come to call. An' after spendin' months at sea...," Willie reddened slightly, "Well sir, leave it to say that the benefit to them is very forthcoming." His brow slightly furrowed, Willie considered carefully before continuing, "The rest is still incomplete sir. It's easy to see how the Bull and Crown comes out ahead with their steady supply of free liquor, but what do they supply in their turn? And Mrs. Younge. For the life of me sir, I canna' completely figure her part in it either. She's supplyin' the goods, but there's naught comin' back to her benefit, not as I can see it!"
John almost smiled. His pupil was no fool. There were similar questions running through his mind as well, "Yes. Mr. Smithers did speak of a three-sided arrangement. Of course, we're especially interested in Mrs. Younge's part in all this."
"I will say this much sir. She keeps a clean nest, that one. Her brood is much fresher lookin' than the average lot. An' better lookin' too!" Glancing at his employer and seeing Barrow's brow ascend half a notch, Willie hastily added, "Not that I would know anythin' about that sort o' thing, sir!"
But perhaps someone else would.
As they neared their temporary residence, John stopped to pick up a bottle of 'lubricant'. It was a well proven fact that even the most balky, tight-lipped source of information could be unfrozen and made sociable by the application of just the right sort of liquid. John's liquid of choice in this instance, was a rather good bottle of port. Having found 'employment' today he and Willie would have reason to celebrate, and who better to celebrate with them than their good landlady? John steeled himself for his next performance, and exacted solemn assurances from Willie that he would keep his eyes to himself.
"We start work on the morrow, Mrs. Parker!"
"Oh, now isn't that just grand! And what company are ye' with?"
"The East India," Willie put just the right amount of pride in his voice.
"Only the best for my lads! I knew that's how it would be. And even my lit'l gent'l'man ere!" Barrow endured yet another aural assault, and enthusiastic thump to his back, "But you'll be up to it a'fore long, lad! Just a little more meat on your bones, and you'll be hoistin' and haulin' with the best of 'em!"
Barrow now played his part. Removing the port from a small sack he was carrying, he pointed at the bottle, himself and Willie, and made a sign of bringing a glass to his lips. He then pointed to Mrs. Parker. His brow arched by way of inquiry.
Willie supplied the translation, "We'll be havin' a bit of a celebration ma'am. John 'ere wants to know if you'd be kind enough to join us?"
She spoke confidentially to Willie, "You know, as a rule I don't take much drink, but I certainly wouldna' want to disappoint the lad..."
Mrs. Parker did not notice that her glass was the only one in need of a refill. The port did its service, and her tongue was soon lubricated to satisfaction. Willie let drop the fact that he had seen the cluster of women leaving Mrs. Younge's door during the night and their landlady, not surprisingly, had something to say on the subject.
"Oh, it's a sorry sight lad," she shook her head with emotion, "A sorrry sight indeed. And most of them was good girls, come from good families. Thraown out after bein' ruin't by them young bucks at the Bull & Crown. They keep 'er well supplied, they do! Er no-account son Bert, 'es the worst o' the lot!" She leaned in close to whisper to John, "I 'ear tell... Oh blast! You don't 'ear a thing!" She turned to Willie and started anew, "I 'ear tell there's a diff'rent set o' men that go after the high class ladies. She don't keep them lassies though, just their money. Extoorsion is wot it ish! Exoorsion!"
With an almost audible snap, the final piece to their puzzle slipped satisfyingly into place. Mrs. Younge kept a fresh looking brood for a reason. Such a valuable commodity would be difficult to acquire, and maintain, without the assistance of her willing partners at the tavern. But the solution to one puzzle seemed to open the way to a whole new set of questions. What was this talk of extortion? Willie, taking the initiative to extract further information from their landlady, crafted several innocent seeming inquiries, but to no avail. That good woman's tongue was now over lubricated and sliding into incoherence. It appeared highly unlikely that anything more of use would be gotten out of her this evening, so John, pointing to his watch, signaled the lateness of the hour and the need to be off to bed.
Well within that hour, Barrow wrote a letter to Mr. King. He was anxious to let that man know that under no circumstance should the safely of his niece be entrusted to Mrs. Younge. John's work with that man was now done, and even better, wrapped up in one day instead of two. Willie took the missive and placed it in the hands of one of the chambermaids who, further encouraged by the addition of a sixpence, would see it posted express with the morning's mail. Though their business here was done, it was agreed that they would stay the night. John had not yet decided whether to remain in this area any longer. In light of these new, perplexing questions about this Mrs. Younge, he was debating if he should use the next day, what was essentially a free day, to satisfy his own curiosity.
But someone else would help make that decision for him.
Chapter 31
"Be sure to tell him not to go anywhere, for I'll be there straight-aways! Mind you tell him now!"
If there had been any wavering on John's part before, he now knew he was going to stay. This might be his final opportunity to gain additional information and, more importantly, evidence that might be of use in putting this entire cabal out of business. Positive that he knew where the lady was headed, John instantly decided to follow her. Since it would not be wise for the two of them to make an entrance together, John had instructions of his own to give, "We'll leave this place together, then part ways at the corner. Go down to the Bull and Crown and wait for me there. Keep eyes and ears open in my absence, and make certain you don't know me when I arrive."
Willie nodded, and they were off. Upon reaching the corner, Willie continued on and John lagged behind, finding much to interest in a chandler's window as he waited for Mrs. Younge to make her appearance. The lady did not leave him waiting long. In a matter of minutes, her door was thrown wide and she hurriedly took her leave. Living in such a part of town as this the woman should have been more cautious in her actions but, except for holding her purse rather close to herself she appeared to throw caution to the wind. She would be easily followed. It was obvious that something was occupying her mind, something that spurred her on. There was agitation, and obvious anticipation in her manner.
And John had correctly anticipated her destination. She burst through the tavern door half a minute ahead of John, and was already seated in an ill-lit corner and engaged in conversation by the time he followed her in. Bert Younge looked up at Barrow's entrance. As John made his way over to her general area he took note of Willie, and saw his position with approval. Seated towards the back while facing the door, the young man was able to see whatever might transpire. The room was surprisingly crowded for this time of day, and John's progress was slow. Wanting to take in as much of her conversation as possible, John listened for Mrs. Younge's voice, focused his mind on it, and was soon able to make out most of what she had to say.
"So, how much is our little miss worth?"
Her companion appeared embarrassed by his answer. The reply was muffled and could not be heard. John finally seated himself as closely as possible to the lady and her companion. The inconvenience of not hearing the man's reply proved to be minor, for the lady's response answered any question on that score.
"Only ten thousand pounds! If it weren't for the fact that I left a warm bed to come here, I'd laugh in your face! Have you gone daft, Georgie? At best, you could milk her uncle for a mere fraction of it. It would not be worthwhile to go to Ramsgate, much less all the way to Liverpool, for my share of such a small take as that. Such a pittance would hardly cover the cost of travel, not to mention the cost of running things in my absence. All so's you can pay your jeweler's bill! No, no, no, I don't care how much you need the money, you can count me out!"
A hushed question. This man had sense enough to modulate his tones. John turned imperceptibly in his seat to see if he could catch a glimpse of the man's face. All he could make out was shadowed profile.
"Yes, I sent the letter, but my next will be to tell the man that I've taken a position elsewhere. If only you'd done it right before! One Miss Darcy would have equaled three Miss Kings. You should mind your math!"
It took all John had to steady himself. Though shocked by what he'd just heard John determinedly kept his focus. There was obviously some sort of heartfelt entreaty going on for, as the woman rose to make her exit, she visibly softened in her demeanor. Reaching into her reticule she threw some bills and coin on the table, "You're costing me dearly! If you can get ten pounds out of me, you can certainly get a princely sum from some soft little miss. Now go on with you! Get to work!"
The lady left in a rush, but the man kept his seat. Taking up some of the money Mrs. Younge had thrown down, he waived someone over to place an order. John was now able to see this man's face, and he knew he had seen it before. His mind worked furiously, as he tried to place him, certain in the knowledge that he'd met him many years ago. At Pemberley! He was on the edge of recognition when a shadow crossed his table. Someone, a muscular young man, was standing over him to take his order.
"What do ye' want?"
Something in the man's tone of voice made John look up. He was stunned to see pure hatred in the eyes of a perfect stranger. "I'll have an ale," John knew that this reply had not satisfied the young man's inquiry. He also knew without a doubt that his ruse was up. The thought crossed John's mind that this might be Mrs. Younge's son Bert. Whoever he was, he seemed bent on exacting a toll, and for the first time in a long time John Barrow felt fear.
Looking up from his own pot of ale, the errand boy noticed Bert's look, having been on the receiving end of a milder version on many occasions. The beatings that followed were what helped to make him quick. As the small boy lifted his pot, he wondered what sort of beating was in store for this man.
John quickly drained his ale and rose to leave. Willie, having been trained for situations such as this, knew what was next. He allowed several seconds to elapse before following his master out. In that space of time, He noted that one of the staff, the large hulking fellow who had only moments ago waited upon John, appeared agitated and angry. In a fury, the man threw down his towel, then whispered something to another man, someone who seemed to be in charge. His superior listened then nodded, and the younger man left the tavern in a rush. It was time to make haste! As Willie quickly made to leave, he noticed the position of John's empty tankard as he passed his table. Intentionally turned on it's side as though knocked down it haste, the signal was clear, Keep your distance. Watch my back.
Ordinarily the pursuer, John now felt certain that he was being followed. Though several streets away, John was convinced that he'd just caught a glimpse of the man from back at the tavern. There was some security in the knowledge that Willie was behind him as well, yet Barrow felt more unsettled that he'd ever felt before. There was an eerie feeling, almost a premonition, of imminent danger. He did not want to lead his pursuer back to the boardinghouse, and thought that his best option would be to lose him. So he kept to the crowded avenue where his chances of doing so were best.
Abruptly, two men standing ahead of John's path raised intoxicated voices in heated discussion. A mongrel joined the fray, adding his voice in counterpoint. The curious began to form a circle around the combatants, egging them on. Suddenly, Barrow felt a rush of air as someone pushed past him, and disappeared into the gathering crowd. John shouldered his way through the now jubilant throng, and turning to see who was still behind him saw only Willie. Willie, momentarily distracted by the ensuing melee, was now searching the crowd to try and find John again. In that brief unguarded moment, the man who had been following Barrow but a moment ago pulled John into the darkness of an adjoining alley, and clamped an unforgiving arm round his neck.
Chapter 32
"Who are ye', and why ye' been lurkin' about.?"
The voice at Barrow's ear was barely a whisper, yet hinted of strength and purpose. The breath against his cheek was hot and reeked of gin. John could not have answered if he wanted to. The man was strong as an ox, and his grip had effectively shut off Barrow's ability to breath. Though swift and strong, Barrow would be no match for this man, who now brought his other arm up to double the effect. John's hands wrestled in desperate attempt to dislodge the man's grip, but no amount of struggle could loosen his hold. In fact, the more John grappled in desperation, the more the man taunted him. This game was obviously to his liking.
"Look at them 'ands. Soft like a lady. Ye' belong in them clothes like I belong in me mother's. I'll give ye' one more chance. Who are ye' and what do ye' want."
The pressure momentarily lessened. Knowing that the wrong answer would probably have the same effect as the right one, or no answer at all, John took the opportunity to gasp for air.
"Ah, so your tongue don't work then? Here we go, let me fix that right up for ye'," John felt one arm leave his neck... only to be replaced by something cold and sharp, "Everyone 'round 'ere calls me the surgeon. Seein' as you're a new patient, there'll be no charge for my services. No charge a'tall."
John's mind jolted at the realization that he would very likely die here. This man was perfectly capable of taking his life, and seemed cheered by the prospect. His knife was poised just moments away from doing the job. Escape seemed impossible, though so close at hand. Mere yards away, a cacophony. Two voices still raged in pointless debate, fueling a hungry crowd anxious for more. Children screamed, mongers hawked their wares, a smithy pounded metal to metal, but to John, it may as well have been miles away. Here, in this alley reeking of vileness and stale ale, with sounds of life echoing all around him, Barrow felt certain that his life would soon come to an end. Strange. He faced it with a mixture less of fear than regret. His one wish of any real consequence would remain unfulfilled. Arabella would never know just how dear she had been to him.
Barrow eyes widened, then closed, as the blade found it's mark. There was a wet trickling at his neck, but he could not cry out in pain. In a very short while it would no longer matter, for he had gone far too long without breath. His struggles began to weaken, his senses grew dim, and all consciousness began to slip away. Then suddenly, for no reason to be discerned with eyes closed, there was a dull thud. Slowly, the arm slipped from his neck, the knife tumbled away end over end, and both he and the man behind him fell to the ground.
"Sorry I took so long sir. I had to find somethin' to hit that big head of... Ach! Oh lor'! Let's have a look, sir!"
John's hand went to his neck, it came away crimson. His life's blood soon stained his clothing, and the very dust around him. Shaken to the core, Barrow pulled himself to his knees and leaned against a wall for support. He gasped for air. What had once been the foulest of stenches was hungrily consumed. John fought to steady his nerves as Willie bent over and examined him.
"It doesna' look real bad sir. Long, but not so very deep." Willie tried to convey assurance, but he could hardly convince himself, "Come sir, let me help you up and get you away from this place. I think you'll be needin' to see a surgeon straight away."
Willie could not help but be surprised when the master, visibly shaking, pale as a ghost and bleeding profusely, shook his head and declared himself 'disinclined towards surgery'. Seeing that his employer displayed symptoms of shock, Willie pressed his point. He helped Barrow up and aided him to the street.
There, the restless crowd had grown impatient with the now dissipating fray. Seeing John's bloody figure make an impromptu appearance made them hope that their afternoon's entertainment might soon take a turn for the better. They let loose with a wild chorus of whistles and cheers. Everything passed before John's eyes like some kind of unearthly dream till finally, able to take no more, he gave way and fell to the street. A passing dray was pressed into service. Willie, with the help of some in the crowd, lay John on the cart and jumped on beside him. His knowledge of the area enabled him to direct the driver to the nearest surgeon. A crown from Willie's own pocket made the man quick. As he tried to staunch the flow of blood and hold John steady against the buffets of the dray's rough passage, Willie could not help but berate himself, thinking that he might very well be the cause of his master's demise.
Mercifully John remained unconscious through most of his ordeal, awakening only once as stitches were being applied. Willie helped hold him still. A combination of shock and a healthy dose of laudanum soon did the rest, and before long he was insensible once again. He awoke hours later in a strange room. An unfamiliar face was leaning over him. Mr. Fairclough introduced himself and through gentle hints, was able to help John remember what had transpired to bring him here. Suddenly Barrow started.
"Willie! Where is he? Is he hurt?" John thought the worst. How could he face cook ever again?
"Your servant is well. He stayed here long enough to see that you would recover, then went off to bring your carriage." Mr. Fairclough was a discreet man, and had no questions to ask of this gentleman who had come to him dressed as a common laborer, with his throat badly bruised and nearly slit. His surgeon's fees had been paid.
"And I believe you'll be fine as well, despite your efforts to the contrary. You have an amazingly strong constitution sir, but I think in future you might do well to follow a bit of advice. The human body has a set number of apertures. I suggest that you make no further attempt to add to that number. Follow this recommendation and you'll probably live another fifty years. Barring serious infection you should be up and about in a week or so. There will be a reminder though. I'm afraid you'll have a rather impressive scar," At this point a commotion was heard in the hallway, "Ah, I believe your servant has returned."
Willie made his appearance and helped his master into a change of clothes. He took great care not to disturb the bandage, or give unnecessary pain, as he loosely tied Barrow's cravat. Mr. Fairclough prescribed a combination of salves, draughts and bed rest, and the two men, one very pale and leaning heavily upon the other, took their leave. Self-remonstrance in ample measure convinced each one that he was to blame.
Chapter 33
Mr. Fairclough's prediction of a speedy recovery was found to be true. One day of high fever saw the worst of Barrow's ordeal behind him. At John's insistence, Sir John Murdock was not to be 'disturbed' regarding this incident. Having no one else to look after him, his staff shouldered the responsibility. They made certain he was thoroughly attended to, Constance and Matilda almost coming to blows over who would mop his fevered brow. Despite that unfortunate incident, Simmons managed to keep the household running smoothly. Cook was determined to press food upon her 'own sweet boy' at every opportunity, and Willie, having ascertained the fact that his continued employment was in no danger whatsoever, was there to do anything his master might require. In addition to his regular household duties, he volunteered his own time to care for any 'Mr. Blevins' related tasks that did not actually require that gentleman's presence, and that could properly be entrusted to him. The gentleman was grateful, and would not forget.
By the second day after his break in fever, John was restless for activity. There was one matter in particular he must see attended to with no further delay. Barrow did not yet have much of a legacy, but by living well within his means, wisely increasing his savings and reinvesting the interest, he had successfully enlarged his original two thousand pound inheritance to almost six. All this within two short years. But now his efforts had purpose. John's attorney made a call upon him at his request, for he wanted to draw up a will. It was signed and sealed in a packet, along with a letter explaining his actions. If ever anything should happen to him, Arabella would have no doubt in her mind. She would know.
By the fourth day John made ready to venture out. Simmons, was happy for a return to some degree of normalcy. Having taken on the responsibility of dressing his master's injury, he was glad to see this early indication that the young man was on the mend, and would soon no longer need such painful attentions.
Standing before his mirror, John had an opportunity to see his wound for the first time. Its irregular surface cut a diagonal course, from behind his left ear down almost to his collarbone. Red and angry, it was raised in spots, and intersected throughout by the surgeon's stitches. He thought it was hideous. Though he paid considerable attention to his appearance, John Barrow did not consider himself a vain man. True, more than one fashionable tailor knew him very well indeed, and it was rare that he would leave his home without being dressed, brushed, polished and buffed to within an inch of his life. Still, he felt that he must do this, both to appear in the best light before his clients, and also to compensate for what he felt were his own natural deficiencies.
He touched his wound gingerly. It seemed to throb with a life of it's own. Although most of it would be hidden from public view, there might still come a time... He dreaded the thought of having to reveal this thing in private. Looking at this, his most recent defect, Barrow could not help but feel that it was one indignity he could ill afford to suffer.
John's valet soon returned with a fresh bandage and covered the offense from Barrow's eye. Simmons, who often had the disagreeable task of quieting the frequent, giddy swoonings of several of the master's silly maids, had a rather different take on the matter. He'll be fighting them off now, for there's not a woman alive can resist the lure of a well-placed scar.
After dressing, Barrow was informed that his carriage awaited him. With no further delay he set off, for there was one other matter that he must see to. Not yet up to walking the full distance, John gave his coachman instructions to take him to a point near a certain corner. He alighted two streets away, checked his watch, then walked on towards his rendezvous.
Barrow had not been by Mr. Smith's shop for some time, and his schedule might not allow him daily opportunity to check for Arabella's return. So yet another assignment was added to Timothy Scoggins' list of duties. He was now to inform John when Arabella was seen at the shop again. Scoggins, who had been none too pleased with his duties as nursemaid to a dotty old shopkeeper, gave vent to his frustration in characteristic fashion.
"Seein' as how you're so very fond of that establishment, why don't you just invite the whole lot of 'em up to my room for cake and tea?"
"You would do it for a price, Scoggins! I'll have no more out of you!" John's quick anger cooled just as quickly. He knew that Timothy Scoggins, whose considerable talent was not now being utilized, had considerable pride as well. John also knew that this pride was being sorely tested, "This is only temporary. It surely cannot be much longer," Their eyes met, and understanding passed between them.
So, it's taken that sort o' turn, has it? Tim had several weeks ago found his third lady love of the season, and already had his eye on the next. Seeing that his employer lagged pathetically far behind, he would do what he could to help, "Nary a problem, guv'nor. I know you're good for it."
Since several days of communication had been missed, John spent some time exchanging information with Scoggins. During the course of conversation, Barrow noticed that Tim's sharp eye was continually drawn to his bandage, part of which was just barely visible between his collar and his ear. John, primarily out of embarrassment, but also from the desire not to give unneeded worry, had sought to conceal his brush with death from his old friend Sir John. Having no one else to talk to, he now felt an overwhelming desire to tell someone.
"There's no sense in my not telling you, in fact it would surprise me greatly if you didn't already know. I came close to being killed a few days ago, in an alley near the Bull and Crown.
Timothy's brow arched, "I heard of a commotion of that type down in that gen'ral direction sir. Several days ago. I had no notion that you was in it!" Scoggins reappraised his employer, "Down there with the foot soldiers, were ye' guv'nor?"
"I suppose I was," John ventured a smile, "But you'll forgive me if I break rank and keep to my horse for the foreseeable future?"
"If I had me a horse, I'd be on it guv'nor."
Tim watched as John Barrow slowly walked away. Too close for comfort, he thought to himself. Material considerations aside, Timothy Scoggins rather liked his employer. So he resolved then and there that no harm should come to his bread and butter. Whoever it was working with him four days ago was a rank amateur. From here on out, he would watch the guv'nor's back.
Chapter 34
It was now early June, a full month after John's near fatal encounter. In that course of time, Barrow continued to wonder about events surrounding Mrs. Younge. Remembering the letter he'd received from Sir John, he was now able to guess why Darcy had been so changed since returning from Ramsgate last summer. There must have been a plot to ruin his sister, involving Mrs. Younge and the man she'd been speaking with at the tavern. John was certain of it, and just as certain that the man was Darcy's old friend, George Wickham. Sadly, events were spoken of in the past tense, so the damage, if there was damage, had already been done. John was able to derive some hope from the fact that Mrs. Young seemed disappointed with the outcome. Barrow first met Georgiana ten years ago, and remembered her as an excessively shy child. The timid six year old had spent the better part of their introduction partly hidden behind her brother's leg. John could only shudder to think what effect this affair might have had on her.
But it was an unfortunate fact that now would not be the time for justice. A sore-headed and angry Bert had sounded the alarm. As a result, Mrs. Younge's 'boarding house' was now a model of shabby respectability, and her partners at The Bull and Crown were, of necessity, resorting to more conventional means to obtain their liquor. For the present time at least, there would be no further exchange of goods for services rendered. The whole sorry lot of them were being inconvenienced, to put it mildly. It was, if not justice, at least consolation. And John took what satisfaction from it that he could. Indeed, at this point in time, he would have had little opportunity in which to pursue any other outcome.
The summer months were busy ones for John, tempers and excesses of every kind being more prevalent during the warmer part of the year. And, not surprisingly, every request was urgent. One gentleman having to wait his turn was an anxious father, a former clergyman whose uncle's sudden death left him in possession of a title, a prosperous estate in Kent, and more trouble than his quiet, ecclesiastical life had ever prepared him for. Lord Metcalf, Viscount Ashford, was humble and patient by nature, so the fortnight he had to wait before John would see him did not put him in ill humor. Quite the opposite, the gentleman was grateful Mr. Blevins would see him at all. Desiring the utmost discretion, his lordship refused to disclose the particulars of the case by letter, preferring instead to reveal all when he met with Blevins in private.
John traveled into Kent at this gentleman's request, and was immediately shown into the man's library. Barrow entered and found Lord Metcalf, and his young son seated within. The young man seemed both defiant and contrite, and somewhat embarrassed to be the center so much attention. This gave John a general idea of the offense involved. Observing Mr. Blevins' reaction to seeing young William present, Lord Metcalf calmly stated, "Sir, I love my son, almost more than anything else in the world, but at this moment I believe I am capable of taking him out of it. Anyone can make a mistake, even a grave one, but it is the rare fool who wants to revel in it. My son is begging me to let him revel," Lord Metcalf, used to giving sermons, paused here for effect, "William must learn how best to face the consequences of his actions. The greater the offense, the more important it is that he learn the proper way to see it through." With that, Lord Metcalf began his tale of considerable woe. And as his story began to unfold it became quite obvious that the world could be a far better, even happier place without interfering neighbors.
One of his neighbors reigned as queen of them all.
Lord and Lady Metcalf, accompanied by a college aged son, and two young daughters, had only recently moved into the neighborhood, assuming their vital role in it less than a year ago. Having spent most of an uneventful, rather dull married life in a much less fashionable part of the country, it soon became apparent that some adjustments on their part would be necessary in order to fit in with this society. Their neighbors were generally kind, finding the Metcalfs naive and ignorant in an attractive, pliant sort of way. And in light of their wealth, and the considerable influence that Lord Metcalf did not yet realize he had, all were at least civil. They were, after all, the right sort of people, just in need of a little polish. One neighbor in particular, a woman of vigor and action, saw the urgent need to push up her sleeve and take the buffing cloth into her own hand, for no one else knew the proper way to polish as she did. Her name was Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
The Metcalfs were initially grateful for this important ally. Lord Metcalf, when comfortable in his surroundings, was generally a man of solid common sense and good understanding. Here in Kent he felt rather like a fish out of water and, while learning to tread land, was appreciative of this lady's acceptance, and the company she provided his wife. Lady Metcalf was even more grateful than her husband, quickly falling susceptible to the influence of their formidable neighbor. Every recommendation handed down was ambrosia from great Mount Olympus, every word was manna from heaven. Unknown to them, such blind faith would soon lead to disaster.
Upon hearing that Lady Metcalf intended to administer to her own daughters' education, Lady Catherine was kind enough to show her novice that this most certainly would not do. They must have a governess. When Lord and Lady Metcalf, after meticulous screening, settled on a local lady to serve in this capacity, Lady Catherine condescended to disagree. They must have Miss Pope. A tentative inquiry on their part after that young woman's references was met with benevolent resistance for, having heard from 'some one or another' of her acquaintance that this young lady was a treasure, Lady Catherine insisted there was no need for further reference. They must write immediately to secure her. So secure her they did.
Miss Pope's transformation from treasure to unabashed voluptuary was a gradual one, so much so as to leave Lord and Lady Metcalf shaking their heads in total confusion. As a governess Miss Pope was more than capable, far exceeding every expectation. But over the course of three months time, there seemed to be an emerging tendency on that young lady's part to want to share the full scope of her many and varied accomplishments with very specific, in short, male, members of the household. Wilkins the butler was the first to take notice, reporting early on that he had most certainly spotted this young woman exiting from various closets, on various occasions, in various stages of disarray, closely followed by one of his footmen. Having summarily dismissed the footman, Wilkins was anxious to know what his employers intended to do about the other guilty party.
But here Lord and Lady Metcalf were in a quandary, for any punitive action against Miss Pope would certainly reflect poorly on their kind neighbor's recommendation. Even in their innocence though, they began to wonder if perhaps 'some one or another' of Lady Catherine's acquaintance had not been well aware of the problem, and happy for the opportunity to be rid of it. A month's time was not long enough for them to reach a decision on this matter. But in that space of time, Wilkins grew strangely quiet on the subject, adopting a scrupulous concern for orderly closets and a more cheerful aspect than they'd ever seen before. And in that space of time their only son, the Honorable William Carlton Metcalf, came home from Oxford.
Chapter 35
Lord Metcalf's eyes bulged, then lifted heavenward, imploring forgiveness before his transgression, "The parish rector, " he explained to John. Then, addressing his footman, "I'm engaged in estate business and cannot see him! Oh...., " he finally sputtered in exasperation, "... tell him I'm in the privy for all I care!"
The footman bowed himself out, and John sat in shocked silence as Lord Metcalf's right eye began to twitch, "She knows. Lady Catherine knows whenever anything's afoot," the poor man muttered, "She always knows." Then without warning, his voice rose to a raucous pitch, "That Collins is the devil's own agent! And Rosings, sir, is hell! Need I say more?"
John put his head down to conceal his amusement at yet another vivid portrait of that great lady, "I require nothing further on that particular subject Lord Metcalf, I assure you, but... If there's anything else that you need to tell me concerning matters at hand... "
Lord Metcalf caught John's hint, and continued.
Within one day and a half of the arrival of Lord Metcalf's son, the tow headed, handsome, innocent young man was introduced to Miss Pope in ways he'd never been introduced to anyone ever before. During the course of a perambulation of the park in order to better acquaint himself with these still new surroundings, young William was accosted by this friendly and obliging lady, who suggested that a certain wooded hillock deserved at least thirty additional minutes of his attention. In order to prevent any problem of geographical confusion, and any means of escape, Miss Pope took young William's arm, and led him to that verdant, secluded place.
Though unusually naive for a lad of sixteen, he'd had a few vague conversations with his father, and several of a more illuminating nature with fellow students. So William was at least certain that this form of introduction was of a more complex nature than handshake. And, having a general notion that such a spirited and pleasant form of 'hello' should be made sacred by marriage, and that marriage would likely guarantee a constant supply of it, the young man soon began to entertain thoughts of wedded bliss. The Honorable William, wanting to do the honorable thing, made the announcement to his father the following day.
Lord Metcalf had spent his entire life, up until this time, blissfully unaware of his latent apoplectic leanings. But there could be no other possible cause to explain how this ordinarily accommodating and peace loving man could react so violently to six simple words: 'Father, I am to be married'. Using admirable restraint, Lord Metcalf reigned in his initial reaction which, if allowed full steam would have turned every pump room wheel in Bath. This restraint was shortly thereafter tested to maximum limits when his son made a brief exit, then re-entered with the source of his happiness in tow.
This source of happiness, in the form of Miss Pope, came well prepared to plead her cause for (as she helpfully pointed out) any child which might result from their prosperous, new found love would need the sanctity of marriage (or some other form of compensation) to do justice to its noble blood. (Now, what she knew and they didn't was that she was almost certainly already with child. And when faced with the choice of possible fathers: a stable hand, one of several footman, a butler, a noble heir or an undergardener, who better to be the father of it than this sweet tempered, agreeable young man?) Miss Pope's insinuation was soon followed by a plea from Lord Metcalf's own son.
In all innocence, young William sought to convince his father to see his point, "Please sir, see reason. I must do the right thing. You were trained as a clergyman. You of all people should see the need for the step I'm desiring to take, and I should have your blessing."
The immediate result of this encounter was spectacular. Mount Metcalf finally blew, and with enough impetus to send Miss Pope packing and flying. That same day she left to stay with relatives in Bedford, and there she remained. But with the possibility of extortion still looming large before him, and his son now driving him to distraction with incessant talk of matrimony, Lord Metcalf sought the services of someone who would know how best to proceed in matters such as this. For advice on who was best suited for the task he did not seek the council of his good neighbor, the always knowledgeable Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Instead, a wise and well connected friend had but one recommendation, and his lordship felt the deepest gratitude that Mr. Blevins was here and had agreed to hear him out.
Now thoroughly appraised of Lord Metcalf's dilemma, John's attention was arrested by young William who, seeking an ally and judging Mr. Blevins to be possessed of urbane and forward thinking London sensibilities, addressed him thus, "Sir, do you not believe that natural law must take precedence over mere social convention, and even, on occasion, civil law?"
John's brow raised a notch, "Exactly which law did you have in mind, sir?"
"The one that states that a man, simply because he has not yet reached some arbitrary age, must apply to his father for permission to marry. Even though that man is physically and mentally capable of entering the marriage state."
John, while attempting to turn a deaf ear to something very like a low growl emanating from Lord Metcalf, calmly answered the young man, "I'm afraid sir that, despite all your elevated reasoning, the fact of the matter remains; until you reach the age of one and twenty, you must have your father's blessing. Yet you seem quite determined in this." It was rare that John saw a youth so resolved to talk himself into trouble.
"I am more than determined, sir. First, let me state categorically, that I believe that the rumors surrounding Miss Pike are mean spirited, and wholly without foundation. She has been slandered in the worse possible way, with aspersions being made on both her moral character and her veracity. Secondly, I feel it's my obligation to marry Miss Pike. I love her and... I've... sullied her," The young man's bowed head could not completely disguise his brief, sanguine smile. William's thoughts at that moment were on verdant, secluded hillocks.
At this point another sound escaped Lord Metcalf's lips, a dangerous one, the likes of which John had never heard before. Young William either did not hear it or did not wish to, and continued on using a different approach. Comprehending that he was surrounded by block heads who would not see sound reason, William resorted to more elemental means, something more in keeping with a sixteen year old's method of coercion.
"Well father, either I have your blessing now, leaving Miss Pike and myself free to make amends to a rather poor beginning and to start anew within the sanctity of the marriage state, or you leave me open to all manner of sin for the next five years. Try as you might father, you shall not separate us. I have the means, and I know where she is."
Lord Metcalf's eye began to twitch violently. Fearing for the man's safety, John felt the need to interject. He cleared his throat, summoned a surprising store of diplomacy, and addressed himself to young William, "Sir, I am not in the habit of giving personal advice to my clients as it's not my place to do so, but I feel compelled to say something here. If you object to hearing me, I will immediately return to my side of the line....," No indication of any objection forthcoming, John continued, "I have often observed that prior to falling in love, and nearly always before reaching the point of matrimony, it is generally the custom to know the name of your intended."
William could only offer a blank stare by way of reply, so John continued, "You've been speaking of Miss Pike."
"Yes... is something wrong?"
"Her name is Pope... sir."
******
If John derived any amusement from this episode it was kept inward, and was of short duration. Cases such as this would invariably force John to consider the circumstances surrounding his birth, and the clandestine relationship which existed for some time between his own mother and father. The inescapable fact that his mother had carried on as a mistress for almost five years, against her good judgment, and even after her lover's marriage to another, had always been tempered in John's mind by her tragic death shortly after his own birth. And the partial cause of her death being grief and shame over her chosen course and its outcome, had always served as sufficient reason to elevate her to some sort of sainted position, and to consign his father to someplace in the opposite direction.
On one level John realized that there are always two sides to every coin, he must feel that way for experience had taught him so; but on another level, and he admitted it was a childish one, he could not allow clemency for his father. Yet, looking across at this young man who, despite every logical argument, and every call to reason, wanted to do what he felt to be the honorable though misguided thing, John could not help but be reminded of the fact that his father had likely wrestled with the very same type of arguments being put forward today by Lord Metcalf, and to some degree, even himself. Such thoughts always disturbed Barrow, but were just as often pushed to the back of his mind for consideration at some other point in time. And this occasion would be no exception. As John turned his full attention to matters at hand, additional thoughts of the past were added to the clutter.
Chapter 36
Not long after this exchange, John and Lord Metcalf came to an agreement that it would be neither necessary or fruitful to meet further in the company of Honorable William. Summarily dismissed by his father, the young man made his exit from the room, and the two gentlemen were left to plan and protect his future in his absence.
"I'm at my wits end, sir. What do you propose?"
"First of all Lord Metcalf, let me congratulate you for having the foresight to take this preventative measure. Too often nothing is done till the threat is actually made. Now, in answer to your question, the usual course of action is to thoroughly research the subject. In order to protect yourself against any future fraud, you will want such information as will completely discredit, if not silence her. But this is only in the event of fraud. I must be frank with you. Though the possibility is remote, if your son has in fact sired a child then some sort of compensation must be in order, which I will arrange if you so desire," John's glance was uncompromising, "If it comes down to it sir, I will not play a role in depriving a child of his just due. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, yes of course. All I want is justice... and discretion."
"Very well sir. I will leave immediately to travel into Bedford, with the intention of learning all I can of the young woman.
At this Lord Metcalf grew agitated, "You actually mean to speak with this... this strumpet?" he spat out the word. "But I must warn you Mr. Blevins, she represents grave danger! A young man like yourself..."
John once again kept his smile to himself. He knew that he would come much closer to truth by speaking with everyone but Miss Pope, "I appreciate your concern Lord Metcalf, and will be ever vigilant to stay on my guard."
Not quite convinced, Lord Metcalf shook his head and mournfully added, "I will pray for you sir."
******
John's journey would take him into Bedfordshire, specifically to the small town of Harring. He would not need a map. This part of the country, which bordered on Hertford, was deeply etched in John's memory, and he knew that the journey from Kent to Harring would take him rather close to Meryton. And, John considered, a road which intersected Meryton would not add more than three quarters of an hour to his journey. The additional time would be no drawback, since selection of this particular route over the shorter one could be easily justified by its being the better maintained of the two. Of course it went without saying that this route held other advantages as well.
Being a gentleman, John had no intention of alarming Arabella with his presence. But a glimpse only... Just a glimpse was all he wanted. That would be enough to sustain him for now.
******
It was a particularly glorious summer day, and the scenery vividly picturesque as they approached Meryton. Stevens, not often able to visit the country, was enjoying every minute of it. Even the horses seemed to be in good spirits this morning. But the coachman's thoughts were soon arrested by a sound coming from the carriage. Mr. Barrow was rapping at the ceiling to signal him. Stevens turned round and met the upturned face of his master.
"Drive slowly through town, Stevens."
"Very good, sir."
Arabella had always been punctual in her habits. John remembered the orderly manner in which she kept shop in town. He also remembered what time of day he'd met her in the street here in Meryton, and wanted to time this visit accordingly. Barrow's natural skills of observation had been reinforced by years of professional use; he was not usually wrong. And he would not be wrong on this day, for there she was!
Evidently her errand included shopping, for a partly filled basket was on her arm. She was walking with that rare combination of grace and energy that so marked her stride. And her face had that delicate bloom that John noticed she would sometimes wear when he said something to amuse or embarrass her. Barrow's heart gave a lurch. This exercise in patience would surely mean his quick demise. What madness! I will know what has come between us! He made the decision to stop the carriage, and had almost signaled the driver to do so, when he suddenly realized that Arabella was not alone. She was walking with... Adonis. As the carriage passed them, John leaned back into the shadows to avoid being seen. He closed his eyes as a feeling of hopelessness washed over him. How could he ever compete with such a golden god as that?
There was nothing left to be done here. Once a safe distance away, John signaled Stevens to resume normal pace. But even as Barrow thought of giving up, Mr Blevins began making plans to finish his business as soon as possible. He would satisfy his client within the week, and then make haste back to London. There, he would go to Smith's, and get the truth of the matter from her father, using whatever means of interrogation were necessary. But John would be discreet. For all Mr. Smith would know, they'd be speaking of the weather!
So Mr. Blevins divorced himself from John Barrow, for Blevins had a job to be done, and Barrow was not up to the task.
Chapter 37
Arabella looked up from her book, glanced over at her aunt, and saw nothing amiss other than a wayward lock of hair. With gentle ministrations, she pushed the thin, gray wisp away from a moist brow, then tenderly stroked the cheek of the shell that used to be her dearest aunt in the world. Mrs. Tillison was resting quietly, as she did most of the time these days, leaving Arabella time for quiet reflection.
Charlie Coulter, the butcher's son, had insisted on walking with her again this morning, and had called back in the afternoon, leaving lamb enough to feed a small army. The man was swiftly becoming a nuisance. He had been obvious in his attentions for several months now, and had finally reached the point of declaring violent, yet tender, affection with sly winks and joints of meat. Arabella blushed at the thought. Oh, he was a nice enough fellow. A little clownish perhaps, but certainly easy on the eye. And as the only son of a prosperous merchant he could doubtless provide for her comfortably. But she did not love him. And Arabella, though in all other ways a paragon of good sense, was still foolish enough to want love.
But though a firm proponent of its precepts, love had not been so kind to her in return. Arabella had fallen twice, and had nothing more to show for it than an injured heart, and long sleepless nights spent conversing with her pillow. The insomnia could be traced to one person only. Even now she wondered if he still cared for her, or perhaps thought of her from time to time. She thought of him constantly.
After John Barrow returned to London from Meryton he had written several times. The first letter saw Arabella still hurt and angry, and was almost thrown, unopened, into the fire. But something held her back. It was soon joined by a second then, after a sennight, a third. At that point curiosity prevailed. She opened them. It was then that serious doubts began to intrude. These were not the words of a libertine.
She began to wonder at her source of information. Lady Armbruster, the elegant woman who had come to call from out of the blue, appeared to be sincere and disinterested in her concern. But could there possibly have been something for her to gain by separating them? Could that lady have wanted John's attentions for someone else? Perhaps herself? And if there were machinations involved, how could Arabella possibly begin to undo the damage? She considered how little there was in her favor by way of comparison with that grand lady, and was overwhelmed by feelings of hopelessness.
Arabella took up her book once again, but found she was not up to the task. Her thoughts were turning in various directions, and she felt that she must be doing something. But what to do? I must find a way to communicate with John... Her strong sense of propriety would never allow her to write him directly, but perhaps she could find a way to send him some sort of signal. To let him know she had since come to question her actions, and that she had not forgotten him. There must be some way...
With new found determination, Arabella took up pen in hand.