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Chapter 44
The first matter at hand was to ascertain the identity of the young woman in George Wickham's room. John had already determined how best to go about it, and an approximate time frame in which it could be accomplished. Leaving cautiously from the front door, John made his way to the street. There he soon found a vendor selling savory pastries of apparent straightforward origin. In exchange for a tuppence, he purchased a nice sized pork pie.
Returning immediately to the boarding house, John made his way up the steps and to the entry of Wickham's residence. An ear pressed firmly to the door caught the sounds of a woman humming tunelessly, and nothing more. Confident that she was indeed alone, John rapped sharply on the door, and hoped that his distant memory of Darcy's sister would be sufficient enough to serve him on this occasion.
The door was fearlessly thrown open by a pleasingly stout young lady of above average height and forward manner. Any fears John might have had regarding Georgiana were dispelled in an instant. No matter how else that young lady might have changed, one thing was certain; pale blue eyes did not turn brown. Though his former fears were nullified, John was still curious about the identity of this young woman.
The gentleman were to be gone perhaps as long as several hours. John would allow himself no more than thirty minutes. So, all the while keeping careful watch on the front door, he explained his purpose in coming, "Excuse me miss. This was sent up by Mr Wickham, for a Miss Morris I think."
"That must be mine, but my name is Bennet, you ninny!" Despite the insult, her manner was teasing, playful.
"So sorry miss," John seemed appropriately apologetic. The name Bennet also proved to be of interest to John, for he remembered both Darcy and Bingley as being very well acquainted with that family. His curiosity getting the better of him, Barrow determined to extract additional information from his subject, and in an effort to ingratiate himself as much as possible, gave her a brief smile. The effect of this small action was more successful than John could possibly have imagined; it resulted in the immediate removal of any remaining floodgates to a deluge of information.
More than anything else, Lydia craved attention, and her share of Wickham's had been steadily decreasing these past few days. There was so much news to tell and, as a virtual prisoner in this room, there was no one to share it with. Though not in the habit of conversing with servants, almost anyone would have served her purpose at this point. He looks tolerable enough, she supposed, though he reeked of recent drink. So she returned his smile with one of her own, lowered her voice and spoke in conspiratory tones, "Well... Bennet for now, but soon to be Wickham! Oh, I've so much to tell that I'm certain I shall burst! What fun we've had! We left from Brighton ten days ago to be married (Before any of my sisters, mind you, though I'm the youngest!). At first we were to go to Gretna Green, but then my dearWickham said it would be a much better joke if we were to... "
The sound of someone entering the front door interrupted her discourse, and put John on full alert. He relaxed after seeing who it was. Heavy footsteps on the stairway, punctuated every so often by various wheezings and clatterings, announced the arrival of Wickham's promised repast. Before long a plump, sly looking young lad made his appearance at the open apartment door, removing evidence of a hurried feast with one hand. The other hand held a small tray upon which rested a cold roast fowl, suspect for the absence of one of its legs. But Lydia, too thrilled by this second evidence of Wickham's love for her, did not notice any deficiency. Shortly thereafter, she resumed her panegyric, elaborating on her fiancé's many perfections. His perfections, apparently, were without end.
In the space of thirty minutes, I've learnt more of Miss Lydia Bennet than I would ever wish to know, John thought to himself as he entered his carriage for the return journey home. The innkeeper at Meryton, previously suspected of embellishment in his detailed sketches of that region's denizens, was now deemed a master of understatement. 'Handsome and silly', had been that man's portrait of the two youngest Miss Bennets. Silly indeed! And I'm an Englishman, thought John, as he exhaled at length and stretched out his long legs, Wichkam almost has my sympathies. Almost.
Or at least he might have had them, had John not been firmly convinced that Wickham still planned to escape his fate. Barrow succumbed to the swaying of his carriage with his head thrown back against the cushions, and closed his eyes in a futile attempt to dispel the throbbing at his temples. It was amazing how much information could be revealed in thirty minutes time. This thought, of course, brought to mind the reason for his aching head. As it so happened, the most pertinent information came, not from that young lady's actual words (copious though they were) so much as from the hidden meanings found tucked away between them. One passage in particular proved interesting indeed, so much so that John could almost recall it word for word:
"...and I think dearest Wickham is planning a surprise! Why, just this morning I saw him counting up the money left from yesterday's visit by that odious Mr. Darcy... you see, he's finally giving my Wickham what he deserves, after abusing him abominably for so long! It must have been a princely sum, for a such sweet smile came to my dear Wickham's face. And what do you think happened next? A little while later I overheard him make arrangements for a hackney chaise. I think he plans to take me out on the town. In grand style! I'm certain of it! Dearest Wickham... And, if at all possible, he's even more excited about our upcoming wedding than I am, for he's already started to pack! He doesn't know that I know.... I will try to let him have his secret, though I'm certain I will burst!"
From just that brief passage, Barrow was certain Wickham planned to escape his future bride. And John was equally certain that he would fail, for any steps made in that direction would face impediment indeed, in the form of a strong and burly young man named Bruno. Bruno, who hailed from foreign shores, was one of the two footmen who rode the back of John's carriage. A more amiable soul was not to be met with. Divesting himself of powdered wig and livery coat, he had been happy to oblige. John had given him what few instructions were needed, and was certain they would be carried out to the letter.
Barrow wondered at Darcy's motive for this intervention, though a match certainly appeared advantageous under the circumstances. Despite the fact that Darcy had been refused by the second daughter of that family, and Bingley had apparently abandoned his pursuit of the eldest, it would appear that Darcy had gone to considerable trouble to protect the reputation of that family from scandal. Whether this intervention was motivated by remaining partiality, or sustained interest, Barrow did not know. Though the idea of second chances was particularly appealing to John Barrow, for if given one more opportunity with Miss Smith he would use it wisely, and without hesitation.
In any event John had done what he could, and only hoped that his actions would, in some way, serve to benefit his friend. For the remainder of his homeward journey Barrow's thoughts were on friendships and separations, those of seven years ago and one of more recent occurrence.
And much later that evening, at some unholy moonlit hour, George Wickham was strongly encouraged to return to the comfort of his bed.
Chapter 45
Sir John Murdock was far from sedentary by nature, and retirement did not suit him. Leisure time made him uncomfortable, and the more time on his hands, the more anxious he became. So it proved beneficial indeed that his surfeit of acquaintances would, from time to time, find various reasons to keep him occupied. Before long, Sir John Murdock found himself carrying a light case load. This seemed to suit him perfectly, as an ideal compromise between the restless nature of his mind, and the increasingly balky inclinations of his body.
This 'business' of his would take him to town every so often where, if necessity demanded a stay of any marked duration, he would stay at his old residence. This, of course, would provide him with both the opportunity and excuse to spend time with another source of constant worry and concern, his former ward and protégé John Barrow.
Sir John noted that John had been growing increasingly reticent lately, even declaring recently that he 'no longer needed society'. The young man had never been the sort who needed many friends, just a very few close ones, but now he seemed to want to distance himself from everyone. This seemed especially to be the case since his injury of four months ago, an event the older man was made aware of not by John himself, but by one of his servants. Cook, who at times considered herself almost a mother to John, had broken rank and written, motivated by concern not only for her employer but also for her grandson Willie, who had accompanied her master on that eventful outing. Though disturbed that John had chosen not to take him into his confidence, that dreadful episode would not be mentioned on this occasion for some very sound reasons. Sir John would respect John's privacy, even though he felt that commodity was growing far too important in his young friend's life. And he would keep silent on his own account as well. Sir John knew far more of John Barrow's business than that young man was aware of, and he didn't want him growing even more cautious than he'd already become. Besides, Sir John had secrets of his own, was sworn to keep them, and he didn't want a curious John Barrow on his hands. So even as he feared for John's well being, he would keep his concerns to himself... for now. But one thing he knew that he could always do was lift his spirits. And the news he brought with him would accomplish that in no time at all.
"I heard something from a contact yesterday, something that might interest you," They sat in the drawing room by an blazing fire. The heat of the flames combining with the warmth of their libation lent a relaxing atmosphere to the room. Sir John, unconsciously playing host in his former home, made adjustments to the fire as he spoke to his friend.
"There's been a good deal of speculation going on at White's. It seems that your old friend Bingley is returning to Hertfordshire in a couple of days," He looked at Barrow significantly, "A hunting party. The fellows at the club are wondering if perhaps Bingley's marksmanship will have improved since his last visit there. His spirits certainly have. I understand that your friend Darcy will also be one of the party. The game must be especially plentiful in that part of the country."
John's head was down as a heartfelt smile overspread his features. He knew what sort of game Sir John alluded to, and hoped that both of his friends would soon find precisely what they hunted for. This thought was soon colored by the bittersweet realization that he too might benefit from a similar expedition in that part of the world. Arabella was never very far away in his mind. Barrow mulled over these thoughts privately for a while before looking up at his friend, "Tapping the same old wellspring for gossip, are you sir?" John smile was now sly as he angled for the identity of Sir John's elusive contact.
"You'll have to do better than that, lad." Sir John chuckled as he refilled their glasses with port, "You won't get a name out of me, so mind your business... " He cast a sideways glance at John as he passed him his tumbler. A moment ago Sir John had observed a variegated play of emotions on his friend's averted face, now his mood had lifted. He was laughing.
"... and read your paper. Society column. Bingley. The betting sort at the club are giving him little better than a fortnight after his arrival at Netherfield."
Sir John's stay was short this time, but as always, John felt he'd derived the most benefit from it. From what Barrow had learnt, Darcy's intervention on behalf of the Bennet family did seem to be paving the way for something more. So it was with a cheerful aspect that John Barrow followed sage advice and attended to his paper.
But Charles Bingley was a sly dog. Not caring whose wager he ruined, he accomplished the deed in ten days flat. At least that was what 'The Times' seemed to indicate, as it trumpeted the news of Bingley's engagement in minute detail. Fitzwilliam Darcy was also a subject of that column. He was reported to have returned to town from Hertfordshire. Thus far he kept to the seclusion of his townhouse and did not entertain visitors. This made it plain to John that Darcy's second suit was a failure.
He felt keen disappointment for his friend, but could do nothing more to help him, for John Barrow was once again a busy man.
Chapter 46
Due in large measure to the time he'd spent assisting Darcy, 'Mr. Blevins' found himself a good deal behind in his caseload. And in addition to those neglected duties, a sudden emergency required his presence in Kent. As fate would have it, a certain young man had fallen in love once again. This time at Oxford. And this time he must marry. The Honorable William Carlton Metcalf was soon to be wed to the dean's spinster daughter, and John's presence was requested in Kent to assist Lord Metcalf in the settlement. The matter was eventually resolved to everyone's dissatisfaction, not unusual in cases such as these, and John was then free to return to town. On his way there, he made a new acquaintance. In a manner of speaking.
While in the town of Bromley awaiting a minor repair to his carriage, John took advantage of the unexpected rest to enjoy a light repast. As he lingered over his after meal beverage of preference, John's attention was siezed by the sounds of a grand entrance and resultant confusion, interrupted periodically by the distinct voice of someone used to giving orders. Shortly after this preamble, Barrow was entertained by the courtly ingress of a matronly lady of great social significance followed, in order of importance, by a slight and sickly young woman, the young woman's personal attendant, and an impressive entourage of secondary and tertiary attachments. Proceeding in grand sweep on her way to a private room, the leader of this parade suddenly drew up short in front of John, a perfect stranger to her, and tipped his cup to see what he was drinking. Though in a hurry and not in the best of moods, she condescended to acquaint John with the bilious nature of coffee, ordered him to stop his imbibement this instant, said the proprietor would be advised to cease serving it, and then, with no further to-do, continued on her way.
After a brief moment of shocked amazement, Barrow was informed by one of the staff that he'd just been honored by the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whereupon John finished his coffee with added enjoyment, and went outside for air.
So this is Darcy's aunt. And the second one must be Anne. John's mind traipsed over sundry amusing thoughts as he crossed the stable yard to check on his carriage. Walking in his usual quiet manner he soon found himself within hearing distance of several footmen, standing and sitting by the rear carriage house door, in various postures of repose. Judging from his livery, the one with the most information belonged to Lady Catherine. And like the great lady herself, he was doing the most talking. They were so deep into their gossip that they did not notice the presence of a gentleman. Since some of the names being bandied about were of interest, John, who did not want to disturb their pastime, and was curious in the extreme, made himself even less noticeable by finding shelter just around a corner. While there John managed to overhear most of what they said. Her ladyship's foul mood now had explanation.
It seemed that Lady Catherine, with a frankness John was now intimately acquainted with, had made it plain to both a Miss Bennet and her nephew Mr. Darcy what her precise feelings were on the idea of a match between the two of them. She had made no headway with the young lady, who rebuffed Lady Catherine with equal frankness. How the gentleman had responded was not yet certain, but John Thomas, remembering Darcy's fondness for opposing his aunt's advice, had faith in his friend.
So it came as no surprise to him when, a few days after returning home, The Times trumpeted yet another announcement, this time the engagement of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire. Now both of his friends had availed themselves of second chances. Both of his friends would marry for love. And John had the satisfaction of having, in a small way, served to help the cause. This was truly a time for rejoicing, which he did, before settling back into his endless routine of working. And waiting.
In a month's time it was only a pleasant memory.
Chapter 47
"Bingley, do you remember John Barrow?"
Bingley's face, bright just a moment ago, now mirrored his friend, "How could I ever forget?" a long pause followed, during which the younger man's countenance fell even further, "I often wonder how life has treated him. And if we might... no, you had other concerns.... if I might possibly have done more to find him."
Darcy now related his eerie encounter of several months past, and his hope that he might somehow have been mistaken. Another long pause followed, during which the two friends gave in to further contemplation, and an even more somber aspect pervaded the room. But, as melancholic tempers did not suit him at all, it was to Bingley's advantage that a thought suddenly came to him. In his mind was a possible solution, and on a nearby table, paper and ink.
It was a few days after this, just after mid-November, that John Barrow received an unexpected letter in the morning's mail. It took him completely by surprise. The sender was Mr. Charles Bingley, it was addressed to Mr. John Blevins, and it read as follows:
Almost a year ago you were of great assistance to me in a financial matter, and would not allow me to repay you in any way except thanks. I must say sir, that your fame is well deserved and you have quite won me over. It is with the certain knowledge of your abilities that I find myself requesting your assistance once again.
I am trying to locate an old school friend. He is a gentleman now almost twenty- three years of age, originally from the vicinity of Greystoke-On-Upton, ____shire. While together at Eton seven years ago, our acquaintance meant the world to me. Unfortunately, what I truly thought to be an unbreakable friendship was cut short very suddenly when, for no fathomable reason, he disappeared. With the assistance of a mutual friend I spent a year actively searching for him, but despite our efforts he was not to be found. We abandoned our search, but not the regard we felt for him. I regret having so few details of a personal nature to pass on to you, but I do have his name, Mr. John Thomas Barrow. I would be more inclined to forget my own name than this one.
In about three weeks time, both myself and the above mentioned friend are to be married in a double ceremony. We would like very much to find Mr Barrow and, if possible, renew our friendship. This request may seem trivial, but a happy resolution is of the utmost importance to me....Dear Sir,
John threw his head back and, blinking furiously, willed himself to check the tears that had pooled and were waiting to fall. This was reproach. Well earned reproach. Bingley and Darcy are far more generous than I deserve. All this time... They always judged me on my own merits, and did not condemn me for those superficial things I lacked. His friends had even gone so far as to try and find him. And no wonder they had failed, for he was in town by then. Far from the only home he'd ever spoken of, and where his presence was no longer welcome.
What a bitter lesson it was to consider how much of his loneliness had been brought upon himself. So they would meet again. Something, perhaps fate, seemed to demand it. But how to explain himself? After his chance meeting with Darcy there would be much to explain, indeed far more than John felt comfortable doing. Much less so in such a joyous setting as a wedding party. Let me choose the time and place, he thought to himself, Sometime after all the excitement dies down. Someplace quiet, lending itself to frank discussion. A good brandy will be in order I think, in prodigious quantity. But in the meantime, as John most definitely knew where Mr. Barrow could be found, a letter was sent to Mr. Bingley requesting that all correspondence for that party be forwarded to Mr. Blevins' own address, and Mr. Barrow would be certain of getting it.
For the first time in years, far too many years for such a young man, John Thomas felt at peace. Always sober minded by nature and inclined to take himself rather too seriously, how was he to know that so much comfort could be derived from his own folly? Never had he felt so content as now, after having been proven so wrong. And there might be additional reason to derive solace from his foolishness. If he had been so very capable of miscalculating his old friends' regard, could he have underestimated in another instance as well? His thoughts drifted towards that town called Meryton, and he wondered what might be occupying the mind of one of its citizens. In his heart he had come to cherish the hope that she might, on occasion, be thinking of him. Dare he consider that her thoughts might be more than occasional? Hopes of this nature lingered on till long after his last candle was extinguished that evening, and continued on in his dreams.
Chapter 48
It had been almost three weeks ago, on a brilliant morning in early November, that her aunt reached a monumental, and final, decision. On that day, after almost a year's convalescence, Mrs. Flora Tillison decided that waking up was a tiresome exercise, one that she would really rather not do any longer. And so she didn't. Arabella saw to the execution of her aunt's final wishes, and laid her to rest between an august oak, and that small portion of earth occupied by her long departed husband. It was now well after mid-November and Arabella's plans were set to return to London. She would soon be home again, but knew not what awaited her there.
In quiet contemplation, Arabella unfolded one of three letters that had long ago been committed to memory. She read it yet again, imagining his voice framing the words, and felt quick tears begin to form. Never a day passed without attending to them, reading them, fingering his close script, as though these actions could somehow connect her with their author. Never a day passed without thought of John Barrow. Her initial anger now seemed absurd, and had long ago given way to doubt. Doubt, in its turn, had passed to sorrow and self-blame. She would never forgive the harshness of her words as she turned him away that day. Even now, after the passage of many months, it was still fresh in her mind. Her eyes closed in shame as she pictured the hurt that had come to John's face, the hurt she'd inflicted, when she rebuffed his kind efforts to comfort her.
There was a slim chance for hope, the possibility that Mr. Barrow may have made some effort to contact her again. There might have been some sign tucked away in the letter she'd received from her father five months ago, but she could not be certain. Mr. Smith's letters were vague at best, and that letter in particular left so much to be desired; '... and also Mr. Barrow, the well-dressed young gentleman who used to fancy gloves so much, said to send his particular regards as well, along with our kind neighbors Mr Tyler and Mr.... '. In that lengthy catalogue containing the names and descriptions of all those who, on some sort of regular basis, frequented Smith's, John's name was near the end. There was nothing to set him apart from the rest, but at least he had responded. At least he still came. But, even with this small glimmer of hope, doubt still prevailed. Could any love stand such a test? And if by some miracle it had, she knew that she must test it yet again.
So it was with a heavy heart that Arabella boarded the coach that would take her back to London.
"She's back."
"Say what, Tim?"
"Miss Smith, she's back. I saw 'er in the shop this mornin'."
"Thank you Scoggins. Oh, Tim!" as Scoggins turned to walk away, John called him back again, "You've discharged your duties at Smith's. I'll take it from here," Scoggins chose caution, and held his tongue. Meanwhile Barrow reached into an inner pocket and, without paying much attention to what he was doing, drew out several bank bills, "This is for the extra trouble."
Timothy Scoggins looked down and saw three twenty pound notes. His brow arched and his spirits lifted in tandem, "No trouble a'tall guv'nor!" A hooded glance at his employer seemed to confirm that Barrow had not noticed what could only have been a mistake. Written on that man's face was complete preoccupation. Ach! He's done for! Married 'afore years end, or I'm a saint, thought Scoggins, as he gathered his money and adjusted his cap to a more jaunty angle. Whistling a tune he turned and proceeded on to attend to other, less noble, pursuits.
Chapter 49
Barrow's spirits were not so cheerful as Scoggins', for he still considered his immediate prospects as uncertain at best. In fact, the only thing he knew with any real certainty was that Arabella had not been pleased with their last meeting, and that this was perhaps his final opportunity to put things right again. He must make things right. Immediately after meeting with Scoggins, this resolution led him to the small apartment of rooms above Smith's shop. Barrow's knock was soon answered by a harried maid-of-all-work, with a large wooden bowl occupying one hand and a laundry basket the other. Where the third hand had come from with which to open the door John did not know, but he would close it for her.
"Mr. Barrow to see Mr. Smith."
Sizing him up, Cecilia instinctively knew that this man should not wait in the hall, "Yes, sir. The parlor is this way sir, if you please."
Mr. Smith was not used to visitors, certainly not from among his patrons, and most definitely not from so very fine a young gentleman as this one. When he entered the room, his bearing reflected that fact. Indeed, it seemed as though he was the visitor in his own home.
"What an honor, sir! What an honor! Just say the word and I'll be happy to oblige."
"Please sir, the honor is all mine," Going straight to the heart of the matter, John went on to relate his purpose in calling. He informed Mr. Smith of his ability to support a wife, and in what manner he could do so. Then, stressing the honesty of his intentions, John begged a private interview with Arabella.
Poor Mr. Smith! To say that he was shocked would be understatement. As he called for Cecilia to send Arabella, his brow was furrowed with confusion. He could recall no symptom of attention or affection between these two at all! He had to admit that he had not been the most observant of fathers. Perhaps I should have attended more. Yes indeed, it would have been far better for everyone if he had!
Before Arabella entered the parlor, she was informed by smiling Cecilia that a well-dressed, well-mannered, well-to-do young gentleman was waiting for her there. Arabella knew immediately who this would be, and did not know if she more anticipated, or dreaded this moment. As she entered the room her eyes appeared tentative, her countenance pale.
Mr. Smith did not know what to make of this, but gave his daughter the credit of good sense. Though his life's work had been devoted to caring for the future needs of his only child, her dowry, even augmented by the small inheritance left her by Mrs. Tillison, would be by no means impressive. And, although Arabella was pretty, looks would only go so far. Give the man some encouragement, child. Such an offer will not likely come your way again!
"Arabella, I wish for you to hear what this gentleman has to say," he squeezed her hand and, with one parting kiss upon her forehead, quit the room.
And there she was.
After months of separation they were finally together again, and John felt almost drunk from the sight of her. Discomposed, but not completely discouraged by her solemn demeanor, John took a few moments to arrange his thoughts and words in orderly fashion, "Miss Smith, I believe I must owe you an apology. From the start, I suppose I have never made my intentions very clear. There may even have been times when..."
"Sir," Arabella's voice was trembling. Her head was down and she would not lift it up again, "I think it only fair that I make you aware of something before you go further."
She will not have me, John thought to himself, "Say what you must," he said quietly. .
It took some time for Arabella to gather her courage, "There is something about my past that you must know. I will not attempt to make excuses, but would wish for you to consider me as a girl of fifteen, and perhaps judge me less harshly," Glancing up briefly, she saw only kind attentiveness on the face of her listener. But knowing what was yet to come, she lowered her gaze once again, "Five years ago I caught the eye of a wealthy young gentleman. Overwhelmed by his attentions, I chose not to hear my own better judgment. I was vain and subject to flattery. He made very pretty promises to me, and we were secretly engaged. In exchange for this grand gesture, I was expected to make certain regrettable concessions, and..."
Here Arabella had to marshal her strength to continue again, " What has been taken from me can never be replaced. For several months I allowed myself to be at his disposal, my decision justified by the belief that we were soon to be married. At that time I did not fully understand the consequences of my actions, but was soon to learn. Not long thereafter he left me, but all of his friends would come 'round, thick as locusts they were, to try and take his place. Sometimes... even now some of them will try. I refused to have them, so they circulated gross falsehood against me."
Garnering all of her courage, Arabella finally met John's eye, "At some point in time, you will likely hear that I am no better than a whore, and that if I refuse anyone, it is only because their price is not to my liking. When we were in Meryton together..." quick tears began to fall, "...a lady called upon me. She related all that she had heard about me from her brother. She said... she said that you knew all about me, and that you would only want ... Oh! Please forgive me for misjudging you, and please try to understand! I have no brother to protect me, and my father, bless him, still does not know. But the man who takes me as his wife will know, for I shall be honest. I must be honest..."
Silence followed. There appeared to be some sort of conflict turning in John's mind, and Arabella thought the worst, He will not have me! She bowed her head again, this time in quiet shame.
A variety of emotions wrestled to fill John all at once. There was anger. Anger that whoever did such a thing was, in all probability, still alive and breathing. And fresh fury directed at Lady Armbruster, whose stratagems had created so unforgivable a breach. Then came a heady mixture of relief, hope and tentative joy, followed closely by guilt, for considering his feelings before her own.
Gently lifting Arabella's chin, he waited till her tear-filled eyes met his. To see her so cast down, nearly tore his heart in two. Lord help me if I find the one who did this to her! Once again quelling his anger, John attended to more immediate considerations, "Miss Smith, how could I possibly hold any of this against you when you have done no wrong?" John's voice caught on ragged edge, "You have been wronged... and even I am not without blame. " He closed his eyes for a moment as memories intruded. Memories of his ill-advised caution and the hurt it had caused, "When I stop to consider how my behavior towards you must have added to your misery... I offered precious little proof that I was unlike those others. If anyone here must be judged harshly Miss Smith it is I alone. I am the one who was circumspect when you deserved truth and candor. You will have it now, for it's my turn to be honest and, in all fairness, there are many things about me that might justly cause you to turn away..."
So John held nothing back. Some of his life Arabella already knew; she wanted only his trust in her, wanted only to hear it from him. He told of his illegitimacy, of how his own mother had suffered an even worse fate at the hands of his father, a man he described as the worst of all libertines. John spoke his father's name with a passion that belied indifference, and made a hasty vow never to mention it again.
Barrow went on to speak of his livelihood, how his employment often kept him away from home, how it at times exposed him to all that was base and mean, all that was cruel, and how this might effect anyone connected to him. And he spoke of the possibility, the reality, of danger. I cannot hold back, he thought, she must be forewarned. Barrow hesitated only a short while, then told her of his scar, the hideous reminder he would carry to his grave.
If John expected to see fear or disgust in Arabella's eyes he was surely disappointed. What he did see gave him further reason for hope, so much so that he reached for her hand as he continued on, his voice now rendered variable by emotion, "And so now you know the truth, except for one thing. I have no heart Miss Smith. Though I suppose there's something beating within my breast that might be called by such a name, it's a lawless, unruly object. I have no control over it whatsoever. When it skips about for joy, quickens with ardor or, as it sometimes does while in your presence, stops beating altogether, all these powers belong to you alone. From the very beginning of our acquaintance Miss Smi ... Arabella... my heart has been yours. And I sometimes fear that I cannot live unless you treat it kindly."
"Oh, fie," her feelings overwhelming her, Arabella could only whisper, "Fie, John Thomas. You most certainly have a heart. You will always have a heart. You will have mine. Pray, keep it safe from harm."
John would leave nothing to misunderstanding, "Then, you will have me?"
Arabella could now see how much her caution must have hurt this decent man. Never would she doubt him again! It was her intention to tell him this, along with a thousand other things, but now would not be the time. Try as she might, she was far too full for speech and could not frame the words. Finally casting futility aside, Arabella answered with a happy nod.
Only after exhaling with explosive force did John realize he'd been holding his breath. Gathering Arabella gently into his arms, he was content for the moment to hold her close, his cheek nestled against soft, auburn curls. With such quiet eloquence as this, what more needed to be said? Lacking a maiden's hesitancy, Arabella's hands went, in forthright fashion, from John's lapels to his shoulders, one hand venturing further as she noticed his scar, what little of it was visible. It was then that realization dawned. This had not been there in the early weeks of their acquaintance, as she most certainly would have seen it. And it had not been there when John came to Meryton. The thought of what must have occurred in her absence was frightening, and even worse, what might have occurred! "Oh John... " her fingers were gentle, trembling only slightly as they lightly grazed its surface, "...my sweet love. To think I might have lost you and never known." Arabella shivered as though chilled, and they instinctively drew closer. Her arms now encircled him protectively. And with her head resting fully upon his chest, Arabella could feel the furious rhythm of the heart that would always be hers.
Finally, their eyes turned towards each other. Resolving to eradicate all signs of past unhappiness, John lifted her face and lowered his own. Arabella closed her eyes and quivered once again as his lips glanced softy against her temple. He whispered a promise to cherish and protect her for the rest of his life then, cradling her dear face in both his hands he kissed away her tears, leaving not a trace of one behind. At some point during the playing of this tender scene, Arabella's inquisitive hands went wandering again. Though prudence must soon intervene, John reveled in the knowledge that his bride's ardent nature would match his own.
Yet, even at such a time as this, with so much glorious reality here before him, Barrow's first instinct would lead him to doubt his good fortune and to wonder if any of it could possibly be true. And even now, as his lips meandered an increasingly impassioned, yet resolute, course towards meeting with her own, he could not help but think of what had happened countless times before, This is all pixie dust, the stuff of sweet dreams. I will awaken and she will be gone....
~o~O~o~
Epilogue
John blinked his eyes upon discovering that the morning was full upon him, he had been so lost in thoughts and memories. And in his dreams. Some persistent sound brought him back to reality. There had been a knock at the door, "Yes Simmons, what is it?"
"Excuse me sir. I noticed you were getting a much earlier start than the custom, and wanted to see if you would take your breakfast a bit sooner as well?"
"No Simmons, that won't be necessary. But I do require something. Bring me a bottle of claret, and a glass from the best set."
"Very good, sir," Waking early to sit in the dark and attend to nothing, and now wine before breakfast! If Simmons thought these proceedings at all unusual, he wisely saved his raised brow till the door was closed.
The wine was brought, and poured, and remained untouched.
Barrow checked his watch, a quarter of ten, the wedding was soon to begin. And what a reasonable and just conclusion after so many months of suspense. John was glad for his small share. Bingley and Darcy had favored him with their friendship long ago, and he had finally helped to settle the score. From the events of the past several months, it appeared that his former friends had not changed for the worse as he had once feared. With a bow to fate, arrangements had been made to meet with them in the near future. Perhaps they might, in time, come to consider him as friend once more. Living his life of self-imposed exile, there were few around him that he could regard as close acquaintance. He had almost reached the point of not caring one way or the other (or at least not admitting it if he did), but it would give him great joy to have these two as such again.
John reflected on the fact that he had successfully accomplished what he set out to do. He had crafted a life for himself that was as far removed from his father's life as possible. All the more satisfying since he had never needed to bend his knees to anyone. He made his living doing what he did best, what he truly enjoyed doing. And as everything was done in secrecy and under the strictest confidence, it appeared to the world at large that he had absolutely no profession at all, as well befits a young gentleman of self-sufficient means. Since there was never a shortage of vice and deceit, there was never a shortage of business; he was able to support himself very well, indeed.
Of one thing he felt most justly proud. He could list among his clients one of the three ladies on record ever to have been granted parliamentary divorce. His findings (and the Winslow family's healthy purse) had helped to secure the case. Though such public disclosure bought disgrace to her husband's entire family, it could not in conscience be avoided. His father's influence kept the man from prison, but could not protect him from censure. He was now branded a scoundrel and a wastrel, with a black-hearted, vicious soul. Yes indeed, John had been more than happy to be of service to Penelope Thorne the once, now former, wife of the Honorable Edward Thorne. John Thomas Barrow had returned all favors.
He did have one thing in common with his father though, he had found himself a tradesman's daughter. She was intelligent, honest, courageous, and more dear to John than life itself. Yes, John Thomas would have his share of happiness and, having waited so long to attain it, would brook no further postponement. Only a day or two ago, his beloved had declared with mock gravity that she now rather liked the musical sound of 'Arabella Barrow' and would no longer need to grow accustomed to it. That being the case (John had responded with equal gravity), his lady should have no material objection to a very short engagement. All wisdom and loveliness, Arabella could not help but agree. What was already abbreviated became even shorter still, as yet another fortnight was duly removed. With special license obtained, this most recent change in date posed no difficulty at all. Attended by her parents, they would be wed in five days time. Sir John Murdock would stand by Barrow's side.
These happy thoughts coincided with the clock striking ten. And this is the hour. Bingley, Darcy, I am with you in spirit. John raised his glass in silent tribute.
finis
Author's Notes
When I first started planning this story over three years ago, John Thomas Barrow was intended to be sort of a poor man's Darcy, with his story playing parallel to the events in Pride and Prejudice. But somewhere along the line I fell in love with Mr. Barrow. To return the favor, he wrestled my story away from me and made it go in completely unexpected directions, often testing my patience in the process! In fact, this story does require a great deal of patience to follow through to the end, so to anyone out there stubborn enough to still be here (some for the second time), I cannot thank you enough. Your feedback... speculations, insights, words of encouragement... has made the process even more enjoyable.
So what's to become of John and Arabella? After all they've been put through, a very happy ending is in order, don't you think? And how could it possibly be otherwise? Their love has a firm foundation, based on trust, mutual respect, and admiration, as well as physical attraction, and they're the very best of friends. Thanks to Arabella, laughter will become a vital part of their life together, John even learning not to take himself so very seriously. Coming from such divergent backgrounds, a well developed sense of humor will be a useful commodity for both of them, especially since, at any time during the course of their intimate conversations, Arabella will likely be inclined to observe how much softer her husband's hands are than her own. John will probably rejoin with observations on the need for diligent hand protection, and advice on where the best gloves can be found.
And they will always be close. Observers will often note how protective they are of each other. John will stop at nothing to assure the safety of his wife, and Arabella will be quite the lioness in defending her husband. Since neither one is adverse to the laborious act of creating children (In fact, they both rather like that line of work.) they will have several. John, always old for his years, will finally get to experience childhood, albeit vicariously. As for Arabella's helping John professionally from time to time, perhaps, but without his knowledge or consent. He would be far too protective to allow it, but perhaps Arabella might know better than to ask. She is, after all, a very clever woman and accustomed to being useful.
What will be the outcome of the reunion between John and his former friends? Tune in for the sequel, By Trial and Error. After several false starts, I promise to try my hand at that story once again. What of Lady Armbruster? She will likely meet John again, perhaps under similar circumstances. Her most recent husband will probably have departed this life defending her name on a field of honor. (Blindness in love, and in battle, is often inauspicious!) Daphne, never one to brook disappointment, might be tempted to test the waters once again. It will be edifying indeed to see a second meeting between Her Ladyship and Arabella.
When Sir John Murdock dies (Not any time soon, we hope!), he will leave to John Barrow a fortune of well over eighty thousand pounds, a neat little estate in the country, and that perfectly respectable town house in London. Unknown to Barrow, Sir John's personal fortune of just over forty thousand had been augmented over the years by infusion of funds from Lord Thorne, who had just this goal in view. John's father did have a conscience, and the wisdom to know that his only worthwhile son would accept nothing from his own hand. Perhaps they will come to terms some day.
After gaining financial independence, will Barrow continue on as 'Mr. Blevins'? I think so, for a few years at least. He loves what he does. At some point in time he might begin to entertain thoughts of leaving it all behind, but I believe he will have a few years as 'Mr. Blevins' ahead of him before retiring to the life of a gentleman. And even as a gentleman, I'm certain that he can be lured out of inactivity from time to time, to come to the aid of a friend... or the service of the Crown. There are times when refusal is unthinkable!
So much for all my speculations. In closing, I would once again like to thank Kathlyn and Stephanie R for committing their ideas to paper, and for keeping John B. so well occupied in their sequels and prequel to this story. I will always be amazed at the time and care they've put into getting John and Arabella, Mr. Timothy Scoggins and Willie Barton 'just right'. The results have been enormously entertaining, and highly gratifying. Hats off to you both!
Michele Venable