Beginning, This Section, End Section
Posted on Tuesday, 24 July 2007
Chapter 11
Early next morning they took the letter to a posting station and saw it off.
They again resorted to switching hacks to cover their tracks, and Hadley inquired at a church that was some distance from the Swan about the location of an orphanage . He had done well in business lately, Hadley explained to the curate, and wished to make a donation.
The directions were cheerfully provided, and again it was Hadley alone who visited the orphanage, made the promised donation – he hoped that Mr Darcy would appreciate the generosity that he was funding – and was given a tour of the place. He managed to ask inconspicuous questions in the process: how often were children brought here; what age were they usually; were sibling groups often brought or individual children?
The matron answered her generous benefactor most willingly, even pointing out two little girls who had arrived less than a month ago along with a little brother. Hadley picked up one name: the older girl was Lizzy.
With that they found it necessary to catch up on the sightseeing that they were supposed to be doing and had the coachman take them a ways out of town toward the upland dales.
The scenery's attractions duly noted, they returned to the Swan, where they once again supped under Becker's watchful eye before climbing the stairs to their room.
Reviewing the situation in the privacy that their lodging afforded, they hatched a plan to bring the Wickham children to Pemberley. It required that they speak again to the maid that knew the Wickham name. If she desperately needed a situation – if she had reasons for wishing to work somewhere other than the Swan – they would offer her exactly that.
It took another day before Mrs Becker again sent the same maid out on errands. Again Hadley waited until she was well away from the Swan before approaching her. She did not appear pleased to see him, resentfully informing him that she had already given as much information as she could.
He made her as much of his offer as he considered safe, since he as yet knew not that she would either trust him or be willing to risk her current position to travel to a place and to a family completely unknown to her.
Nothing was resolved; it was back to their supposed hunt for scenery which focused this day on the wild beauty of the heather-carpeted Yorkshire moors. Returning to the Swan that evening, Johnson made a point of telling Becker all about their expeditions to the moors and the dales. He was certain, Johnson assured the innkeeper, that the wealthy lady would indeed find locations to suit her taste.
When they awoke the next day it was to a downpour that showed no signs of letting up. Johnson wrote another detailed letter to Pemberley; they left the inn only long enough to post it.
"Makes a bloke thankful to not be an express rider," Hadley muttered as they sloshed their way back through puddles and oozing mud.
Late the next day the rain let up at last, but it would be another couple days before the roads dried off.
They took up their stations to watch the Swan again the following morning. This time Hadley's patience was more thoroughly tested – it was a good three hours before the maid came along, forced to carefully pick her way to avoid the numerous puddles. He managed no better; when at last they met, she gave him a wry grin.
"Persistent you are, I'll give you that," she said, now speaking a little more willingly.
Obviously she had been considering his offer. While she did not appear to be completely easy about it, there was interest. With some optimism, he considered that life at the Swan must not be her ideal – a view Hadley believed he could understand.
When another two days passed and she at last agreed to the scheme, Hadley and Johnson sprang into action. They needed a roomy coach, traveling supplies, possibly another donation for the orphanage – in twenty-four hours all was set.
The men checked out of the Swan immediately after breakfast and purchased as much for the trip as they could. Everything was placed in the coach, which then waited for Lucy Bowes around the corner from the inn. She did not take long; Hadley had assured her that she needn't wait for the Beckers to hand over the wages due her from the past month; her new employer would cover that.
The trio headed straight for the orphanage, where Hadley informed the matron that he was so taken with the place that he would be making another donation, and he knew a family who was willing to take three children off her hands.
The matter was surprisingly easy. Few questions were asked; Mr Hadley was willing to provide a home for three orphans, the matron handed over three orphans. It was as simple as that, and yes, he could have his pick of the lot.
When Lizzy was brought to them, she shyly went to Lucy, whom she obviously remembered. She was soon joined by Janie and Alex, and off they went, headed for Derbyshire. By the time they would arrive at Pemberley, Mr Darcy should have received Johnson's latest missive and be ready to take in not only the children but the maid that came with them as well.
Lizzy and Janie were hard put to choose between clinging to each other and clinging to Lucy, but little Alex showed no such indecision. He settled himself firmly on Hadley's lap and dozed off. For the rest of the trip, the little tike made it clear that Hadley was the man he adopted as his own; as long as Hadley was near, Alex was content.
Chapter 12
Johnson and Hadley had expected their meeting with Mr Darcy to be brief and to the point as they turned over the Wickham children and received further instructions about the two boys that were still missing.
It was not quite that simple.
In Bakewell, their last stop to switch horses before Lambton, the party was approached by a servant sent out from Pemberley to re-direct them to Swithers Grange.
Mrs Darcy, it turned out, had entered her confinement and no visitors would be entertained at Pemberley. They set off for the Bingley estate, Hadley having to explain to Lucy the circumstances and the relationship between the Wickhams, the Darcys and now the Bingleys.
As they approached the house, Lucy's eyes widened in amazement. Never had she seen the inside of such a magnificent place. The more the adults were impressed, the more the little girls clung to Lucy, who had become the sole source of stability in their young lives. The only member of the party who remained untouched by the approaching splendour was little Alex, who was once again comfortably snoozing in Hadley's arms.
They were greeted by the housekeeper, who explained that Mr and Mrs Bingley had left for Pemberley the moment word of Mrs Darcy's confinement had reached Smithers Grange.
But, Mrs Gambert assured them, she had instructions to look after them as long as their hosts were away, and look after them she would.
A sleepy Alex could not be persuaded to leave the soothing company of the bemused Hadley, while Lizzy and Janie clung with ever increasing tenacity to Lucy.
It was easy enough to have Lucy escort the little girls to the nursery, but Mrs Gambert was somewhat uncertain about dealing with Alex. The child could certainly be removed from Hadley, but the resulting protest might well be both loud and lengthy. When the man offered to take the toddler upstairs himself, she breathed a sigh of relief.
It took Hadley and Lucy nearly two hours to get all three little ones to bed. By that time Johnson was getting restless for some companionship and eagerly awaited Hadley's return. To his utter amazement, though, his partner did not join him in the library. Instead, Johnson saw him walking on the grounds with the maid in the day's lingering light.
What was Hadley up to?
By the time the Bingleys returned with news that Mrs Darcy had been safely delivered of a baby girl, Johnson and Hadley had spent three days at Smithers Grange. They then had a session in Mr Bingley's study, and were promised that they would finally see Mr Darcy the next morning.
By the time little Alex came downstairs, the men had left. He seemed quite content to spend his day with Lucy and his sisters as the children enjoyed playing with the little Bingleys on their expansive grounds. To his cousin Dorothea, Alexander was another doll to add to her collection – or so she thought at first. To her utter amazement, her active little cousin was nothing like the placid baby sister she was used to. Alex had a mind of his own, and he made sure that Dorothea knew it.
Chapter 13
Back in Newcastle, Johnson and Hadley conferred once again with Colonel Cleland. The regiment had turned up nothing new regarding Wickham. Little help could be expected from the local constabulary; coaches were now travelling undisturbed along the Great North Road; the ringleader was dead and his men caught and jailed. The case no longer interested the law.
Mr Darcy had provided a copy of Wickham's miniature for each man; as well they were equipped with a detailed map of the city. Once settled into a room at The Green Man, the hunt for Wickham's lodgings began.
At the end of each day they marked off the streets they had covered. Once a week they reported to Colonel Cleland, every second week a letter was sent to Pemberley.
Over six weeks later they had marked off every possible location on the map: nothing. No one at any inn or rooming house knew George Wickham, or Tom Bennet. No one recognized the face on the miniatures.
"This leaves us only the option of a house-to-house search," Johnson grumbled. "There's no telling how many people in this town take in lodgers, or how quickly a landlady would throw out his stuff once the bills pile up in his absence. It has been a while already . . . ."
"True," Hadley confirmed. "But unless we hear otherwise from Mr Darcy, house-to-house it is. The gentleman pays us, after all, and he pays well."
They began in the north-west corner of Newcastle, the area closest to the Great North Road that Wickham's gang had frequented. Again it was a methodical, street-by-street search, with the ground they had covered carefully marked off on their map.
On the third day Hadley came up with a new strategy: they would commission street urchins to seek out houses that took in boarders. Once Johnson got used to the idea, he wondered why they couldn't attempt two birds with one stone: look for the missing Wickham sons while they were dealing with abandoned boys.
"They're as likely to be roving the streets as attending school," he suggested.
The scheme was attempted the next morning. It was not difficult to convince three boys roaming a neighborhood just off Highbury Road to work for the coppers the men promised daily for their services, with a jackpot promised to the boy who located Wickham's lodgings.
Hadley carefully explained that they were looking for the lodgings taken by the man shown in the miniature, making certain that each boy had a good look at the small portrait. The biggest of the boys, who went by the name Jack, wanted to know why they were looking for the gentleman. He seemed satisfied when Hadley said that Wickham was absent from his regiment and the Colonel was determined to have him returned.
"He's a bad bargain,* is he? Jack nodded knowingly.
That day they focused on the area around Forsyth and Fairfield Roads. At dusk they met the boys, listened to the three accounts – none sounded promising – and paid them as promised. Hadley assured the youngsters that he and Johnson would be back the following morning, which brought enthusiastic responses that they would be helping the search again.
The next day was spent much the same way, searching this time along Lavender and Ashley Streets. In the evening young Micky came forward hesitantly. He thought he might have something, but he could not sure. Mrs. Ingel, he said, did not much like answering questions, but perhaps if she saw the miniature . . .
Johnson offered to accompany the youngster to Mrs Ingel's house. Micky uneasily looked at his companions, but they were involved with Hadley and took no notice of his concerns. He snuck a quick peek up at the man – Johnson thought the lad's appraisal of him wasn't encouraging – he shuffled his feet, looked up at the man he was to go with again and finally, with a deep sigh, agreed.
They picked their way along the street as dusk fell. Johnson tried to encourage a conversation between them, but it did not go well.
"How old are you, Micky?"
"Dunno. Er . . . dunno, sir."
"Your mother has never told you?"
"Got no mom, sir."
"Indeed? Then who do you live with?"
Micky looked alarmed.
Johnson understood.
"Don't you worry, young man. I am not looking to turn you in to an orphanage."
Silence.
"Have you known Jack long?"
"Dunno, sir."
"Indeed."
Johnson gave up on conversing with his companion. Near the end of the street Micky stopped in front of a house that looked much like its neighbours.
"This be Mrs Ingel's," he informed Johnson, then went back to scuffing his feet in the dirt.
"Very well. Let us pay Mrs Ingel a visit, shall we?"
Micky would not meet Johnson' eyes, and gave no answer.
Johnson strode up to the door and knocked forcefully. A slovenly woman opened; Johnson pulled out the miniature of Wickham and stated his business. He couldn't help but notice that Micky was doing his best to hide behind him.
She eyed the small portrait disdainfully at first, but once she'd had a good look at the face, her interest was aroused.
"That be Mr Darcy, indeed. He 'asn't been 'ere for some weeks, though."
"Mr Darcy? Are his belongings still here?"
"Oh, no. He left nothing when he moved out."
"Did . . . Did Mr Darcy leave a forwarding address?"
Mrs Ingel seemed affronted by the question.
"He did not," she huffed. "Just said he'd send someone around to pick up any mail that came for him. That floozy of his hasn't been here in some time, either. Just as well, I dare say. Who needs the likes of that Libby around?"
"It is important that I locate this Mr Darcy," Johnson assured her, "and I am prepared to pay well for your trouble. His family is seeking him most urgently."
"I'm afraid I can't help yer."
"Should anything turn up," Johnson informed her, "I'm staying at The Green Man. You can contact me there."
She shrugged her shoulders and closed the door in his face.
Johnson's own shoulder shrug matched hers to perfection as he turned away from the house. Only when he was heading back down the street did he notice the boy beside him again.
"Managed to stay away from Mrs Ingel, did you?" he grinned at Micky.
The boy nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir. And – I think – I'm quite sure, that is, that I know Libby. I think I could find 'er for ya."
"Indeed."
Perhaps something could be salvaged from this encounter after all.
Rejoining Hadley, who had dismissed Jack and Ben, they opted to search for Libby right away.
Micky led them confidently down narrow alleys and around corners until both men found themselves quite at his mercy. He undoubtedly knew the way back to Highbury Road; neither Johnson nor Hadly felt confident that they would find it easily.
At last Micky stopped in front of a rather dilapidated building. "The Moorhen," a sign proclaimed.
"Libby's often here," he informed the men.
They looked at each other dubiously.
"There's two of us," Johnson muttered.
Reluctantly they followed Micky into the inn. A dim, smoky interior greeted them with no little noise.
"And where do we find Libby here?" Johnson asked their young leader.
Micky looked uncomfortable.
"We just wait," he finally replied.
Wait they did. Once Micky had picked a table that offered a good view of the door, Hadley invited him to join them for supper. The look of pleasure that lit up the boy's face upon hearing this was impossible to miss.
The food served at The Moorhen was better than the men expected, and obviously Micky thought it was pretty good, too. Hadley and Johnson could hardly believe the quantity their young guide managed to put away, all the while keeping an eye on the door.
Mere minutes after Micky sat back with a sigh of pure satisfaction, he fixed his gaze on two ladies who had just come in.
"That be Libby," he indicated. "The one in red."
"Could you convince her to come to our table?" Johnson asked. Micky frowned at him.
"Libby might not like that," he said nervously.
"We only want to talk to her," Johnson reassured him.
"Libby might not like that, either."
"Then what would Libby like?"
"She likes to get paid."
"Very well. If you tell Libby that you are here with two gentlemen who will pay her just for talking to them, would she like that, do you think?"
Micky eyed Johnson dubiously.
"I . . . I dunno. Where would you take her?"
"We have no plans to take her anywhere," Johnson explained patiently. "We want to ask her some questions, right here at this table. We are willing to pay for any information she can provide. Then we leave, and Libby can do what she likes."
Micky still looked doubtful.
Johnson looked at Hadley, raised an eyebrow and pulled out two coppers. These he placed on the table right in front of Micky.
The boy still appeared uncertain. After a moment's hesitation, though, he pocketed the coins and crossed the room to Libby.
It had not taken the new arrivals long to strike up a rather lively conversation with some men standing at the bar, and Micky had plenty of competition for Libby's attention. Hesitantly he stood beside her, hoping she would notice him. Libby was looking for attention from other sources, however, and Micky had to keep moving along with her. It was only when his efforts caught the attention of some of the men that Libby's notice was directed toward the boy.
"Eh, Libby. Looks like ye got yesself a new customer," one man roared, obviously impressed with his own wit. Others took up the cause, and poor Micky, blushing furiously, hardly knew where to turn. But he had Libby's attention at last.
His effort to make her understand what he wanted did not fare well, for the simple reason that the noise around them drowned out the boy's voice. Finally he just pointed across the room to his companions waiting at the table.
Libby eyed the men, looked her wonder at Micky, but finally followed him to Johnson and Hadley, conversing all the way.
"Yer wantin' to speak to me?"
Johnson rose and bowed formally to her, which obviously surprised Libby. He invited her to join them. A puzzled Libby looked at down Micky, who only shrugged his shoulders before slipping back into his own seat.
"My time's not free," she informed Johnson, then looked intently at Hadley. He also nodded to her to be seated.
"That'll cost yers a drink," she announced, and promptly called over a waitress.
Once she had a drink in front of her, Johnson pulled out his miniature of Wickham.
"This man has gone missing," he informed her, "and his family is eager to locate him. I understand that you are acquainted."
Libby glared at Micky.
"Where'd ye get that notion?" she demanded of Johnson.
"I spoke to Mrs Ingel."
"What does that harridan want?"
"She'd be much obliged if you could steer us in Wickham's direction. That would keep her from getting annoyed by us, and Wickham's Colonel, and the law."
"Don't know anyone named Wickham."
"Oh, but you do. He just used the name Darcy in your company."
Her look at Johnson was decidedly unfriendly.
"Haven't seen him in weeks."
"Undoubtedly," Johnson agreed. "But we want to locate his last lodgings.
"Why?"
"His family's looking for him, and we're tracing his whereabouts as best we can."
She finished her drink, indicated her lack of interest in the topic, and prepared to leave. Johnson beat her to it, however, and stood in front of Libby before she managed to slip away.
"We are prepared to pay for good information, ma'am."
"How much?"
"How good is the information?"
She hesitated.
"I never knew where he lodged after he left Mrs Ingel's. He always came here to meet me."
"Would anyone else here know more?"
"They might."
"Very well, Libby. As agreed, I'll pay you for your time. Should you remember more information about the man we're looking for, you can find us at The Green Man."
With that Johnson handed her the money and she quickly slipped it into her bodice before returning across the room to her friend .
The men left with Micky. Once outside they had to ask him for directions to leave the area. He willingly offered to return them to Highbury Road, but as for The Green Man – that inn was obviously out of Micky's territory.
Back on familiar terrain, they parted from Micky with the explanation that, tomorrow being Sunday, they did not expect to be back until the day after.
*bad bargain – a worthless soldier
Posted on Saturday, 28 July 2007
Chapter 14
After a leisurely breakfast Hadley raised the question of attending a service. Not far from the inn there was a church with a unique lantern tower that they had visited on previous Sundays, but this time Johnson brought up a different idea: why not a church in the district they had been searching?
"You never know . . . ."
Hadly was indifferent to the idea. But he voiced no real objection, so they set out again for the northern edge of the town.
The old chapel on Forsyth Road looked to have seen better days, but that did not stop the locals from entering that morning. Johnson and Hadley slipped into a pew close to the rear and observed their surroundings.
The parishioners were obviously not a wealthy lot, as they'd expected in this neighborhood. What neither man did expect, though, was the presence of Micky, along with Jack, Ed, and several other boys who looked as scruffy. The urchins marched up to the front pew and confidently sat themselves down, looking very much like they belonged.
No one in the congregation seemed at all surprised to see them.
The elderly parson soon appeared and began the service. While his voice was not strong, the men could not fault his message, and even without an instrument, the congregation sang lustily.
After the service, all the boys from the front pews slipped quietly out a side door. The parson moved with his slow gate to the entrance, where he affably greeted the parishioners as they filed out. Recognizing Johnson and Hadley as strangers, he welcomed them to St Mary's and inquired if they were to remain in the neighborhood.
Hadley assured him that they would be in the area but briefly, depending on the degree of success their business met with. On a hunch, Johnson pulled out his miniature of Wickham and asked if the pastor recognized this man. Peering intently at the portrait, the old man finally shook his head. No, he had not noticed such a man.
That led Johnson to inquire about the boys they had recognized, and the parson explained that three ladies of his parish cooked a good meal every Sunday for the street boys who attended service. It was an incentive for the lads to show up, certainly, and the parson hoped that not
only their bodies were nourished when they came.
With that the men returned to The Green Man for their luncheon and a relaxing afternoon.
*
Hadley and Johnson had developed a morning routine in their room at The Green Man that gave each a chance to prepare for the day without getting in the other's way.
So it was that Johnson washed and shaved first, then got out of Hadley's way to enable him to do the same while Johnson usually retired to the window and observed the scene below. Over several days it had struck him that at about the same time each weekday morning, rain or shine, three boys hurried by, satchels on their backs, all heading in the same direction.
He hadn't noticed a school along the street, yet the behavior of these young boys suggested there ought to be one. Where else would they be hurrying to so consistently?
At breakfast that morning, Johnson inquired of the serving girl if there was, indeed, a school down the street. She looked surprised, then promised to consult the innkeeper.
That gentleman soon appeared at their table. Mr Addyman appeared concerned – a bit nervous, even, which puzzled Hadley and Johnson exceedingly.
Why should a simple question about a school in the neighborhood upset their host?
Having established that Mr Johnson did, indeed, want to know about a school nearby, Mr Addyman's first question was whether the gentleman had a son.
"Why, no," replied a surprised Johnson.
Then why was he asking about "that school?"
Johnson, with no little astonishment, explained that he had been observing some boys pass by every morning, at the same time, carrying satchels. Having seen no school along the street, he had become curious.
After hesitating for a moment, the innkeeper admitted that there was a small school in Pilgrim Street, just around the first corner.
"But I would na' recommend you send a boy there, if you had one."
"Why ever not?" his guest wondered.
The innkeeper glanced around – did he want to be certain no one overheard? – before saying in a low, conspirational voice, "I hear tell they's brisket beaters,* the whole lot of 'em. A good Englishman would want to keep his young'uns away from the likes of them. They's nothing but trouble, that's for sure."
Mr Addyman seemed to think that his guests were not sufficiently impressed.
Still speaking in the same low voice that seemed designed to send shivers down the listeners' backs, he continued,
"School's been there more 'n' a dozen years. The town's been plagued by trouble ever since."
"Indeed," Johnson said. "What sort of trouble?"
"They's turnin' the place into back slums," continued the ale-draper furtively. "And the storms – never had storms like that afore."
"Back in '08 it was, we was visited by the most awful thunder-storms ever. Houses were damaged, roofs ripped off, lightning set off a fire a couple streets over, one lady was even struck by the lightnin.'"
Judging that his audience was yet not sufficiently impressed, Addyman tried again.
"More storms in 09; set the bark-mill near St. Andrew's on fire. Why, the workins of a gold watch hanging up in Mrs. Hawkes' house were melted by the lightnin'."
"And up on the Cowhill, cattle was scorched with lightnin'; and one man drivin' a gig with four horses were killed at the Cowgate. It ain't natural, I say."
Johnson managed to suppress a smile, assured Mr Addyman of his gratitude for the information, and observed the relief with which the man nodded and returned to his work.
Having left the inn to return once more to their search, the men burst out laughing.
"Brisket beaters," choked Hadley. "Suspects the poor folk of treason, if not witchcraft, I wouldn't doubt."
"Might as well call them craw thumpers*," chortled Johnson. "I wonder what those papists ever did to earn our host's disdain. The days when the Romish pope could throw bell, book, and candle at an Englishman are so far behind us you wonder when the fear of it'll finally let go."
Hadley could only shake his head in amusement.
Having met their boys, the day was spent searching Mayfair and Oakland Roads. They turned up nothing of interest, paid each boy his copper and returned to The Green Man for supper.
Two more days passed in similar fashion.
Thursday morning they woke up to rain – torrents of rain – beating against their window, running in the gutters, and setting up numerous beau traps* in the street below.
Johnson was at his usual post, observing the activity outside. Again the boys with their satchels hurried past, obviously not deterred by the inclement weather.
"Brisket beaters," he chuckled, recalling their landlord's worry.
After a leisurely breakfast the men returned to their room and wrote the usual letters to Colonel Cleland and Mr Darcy.
"This would be far easier if we had something to report," grumbled Hadley as he searched his mind for words neither trite nor vapid to put down on the paper before him.
"Tell 'em we discovered a nest of craw thumpers," smirked Johnson, not faring much better with his own report.
*brisket beaters – Roman Catholics
*craw thumpers – Roman Catholics
beau trap* - a loose cobble stone under which water lodges, and on being trod upon, squirts it up, to the great damage of white stockings
Chapter 15
It was Sunday again before the rain let up. Heading toward the Lantern Tower that revealed the location of St Nicholas Church from a considerable distance, Hadley and Johnson again attended service there. It was a rather more prosperous parish than St Mary's, complete with an excellent, if old, organ and a respectable choir.
"Place doesn't appear to be back slums yet," Hadley murmured on their way out.
After service, neither man was particularly keen to head back to The Green Man. The three long, boring days they had been cooped up in the inn still chafed. Hadley had no particular plan, and listened with no little surprise when Johnson declared that he'd like to see the school that so upset their landlord.
"Addyman's likely to throw us out if he learns of our visiting the place," Hadley grinned. "If there's another lightning strike . . . " Johnson merely shrugged his shoulders and they were off to Pilgrim Street.
At first glance there seemed to be nothing that resembled a school. What finally drew the men's attention was a small but steady stream of families that all converged on the same building. The place looked unobtrusive – just another building on a street lined by numerous like it.
Seeing nothing else that looked to be open – it was Sunday, after all – Johnson looked his query at Hadley, who indicated no opposition, and they followed everyone else.
Through a wide-open doorway they came into a typical courtyard with several smaller doors opening from it. A few men were speaking quietly in small clusters, but most of the people continued through the yard into another building at the back.
Johnson led the way to the second building with Hadley in tow. They were somewhat surprised to find themselves in a chapel. It was rather more ornate than the men were used to, with the altar in a niche displaying a sizeable mural of a crucifixion scene.
A railing separated the altar area from the pews in which the congregation was already gathering. Most were on their knees, running beads through their fingers, lips moving in what seemed to be prayer. Except for the sounds of footsteps as more people entered, the place was absolutely quiet.
Again the men slipped unobtrusively into a pew near the back, wondering what they had gotten themselves into. Hadley's look to Johnson said nothing as much as, "This is certainly no school!"
Two boys robed in black, with white surplices over top, now approached the altar, touched one knee to the floor before rising again, then lit several candles before disappearing back through the side doorways.
When the men again saw movement up front, small bells tinkled and the entire congregation rose as several boys robed like the first two had now entered, followed by what could only be a clergyman, based on his vestments.
"High church," Hadley murmured.
But Johnson wasn't paying attention. His eyes were firmly fixed on two of the boys in the procession – boys that he had certainly seen before, passing by outside his window.
The priest arranged things up on the altar before descending the steps and turning toward the altar again. The boys who accompanied him knelt, as did all the congregation.
His words were distinct enough for Johnson to realize that this was not the King's English.
"Introibo ad altare Dei," he picked up, and nudged Hadley. "Latin," he mouthed soundlessly.
"Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa," the priest continued. Johnson nodded with conviction. "Latin," he mouthed once more.
Suddenly they heard the same from the congregation, and realized to their amazement that everyone was striking the breast at the second round of "Mea culpas" – everyone but the stunned visitors.
"Kyrie Eleison," they now heard. Johnson was taken aback.
"Not Latin," he mouthed to his neighbour.
Hadley shook his head. "Greek."
"Oh – right!"
"Gloria in excelsis Deo," the priest now intoned, and the congregation easily chanted the rest of the prayer.
And so it went.
Hadley and Johnson could only watch and listen in amazement as they did their best to sit, stand and kneel along with everyone else.
"Well," Johnson offered as they walked out, "at least the sermon was in English."
"You should have paid more attention to your Latin at school," Hadley grinned easily.
In the courtyard they were approached by a man; they took note of two others watching carefully but a few steps away.
"Are you new to the black Indies*," he inquired.
Hadley had to smile at the appellation.
"We're here on business, and shall depart as soon as it is concluded," he explained.
"We don't often get visitors to the chapel."
As hints go, this one was not exactly subtle.
Johnson offered his explanation: "Actually, we were looking for a school that we've been told was in the area."
"A school? How would you know about such a school?"
"Quite simple, really," Johnson told him. "From the inn I look out my window every morning, and at the same time each day I see boys walking by, looking very much like they are on the way to school. Eventually, I wondered where the school was, since I hadn't seen it. A simple query, and we were informed it was in Pilgrim Street – and here we are."
"You have sons?"
Johnson could not help but smile at this echo of Mr Addyman's question.
"I am not a married man, sir. I have no sons."
"And yet you are looking for a school?" Their questioner sounded mystified, if not a bit suspicious.
"I am," Johnson told him firmly.
Silence ensued at this point, each man apparently waiting for the other to speak.
Finally Johnson asked, "So, there is a school here?"
"If you have no sons, why would you wish to know?"
Hadley began to understand that this conversation was fated to either deteriorate or simply splutter to a halt. Not interested in experiencing either, he interjected, "Sir, we may have taken a room at The Green Man, but that does not mean we have taken on the innkeeper's attitude."
A hint of a smile crossed the man's face
"I see we understand each other," and he extended his hand. "Thomas Malby's the name, sir. If you are truly interested in our school, you will need to speak with Mr Clitherow. Shall I introduce you?"
"Thank you, I would appreciate that." Johnson was back in form.
Mr Clitherow had to be retrieved from the chapel, and turned out to be a dapper, middle-aged man with a shock of greying hair and a friendly smile. It took a moment for Johnson and Hadley to recognize him as the clergyman they had just observed at the altar.
Thomas Malby introduced the three men and mentioned Johnson's interest in the school.
"Ah, yes," Mr Clitherow nodded. "You do understand that it is in part a charity school, but only in part. We require tuition from about half the boys to be able to support the remainder of the student body. Unfortunately we currently have all the charity students that we are able to support – unless some kind soul turns up that's willing to provide for further cases."
Johnson assured him that if he were to place a student in the school, tuition would be paid.
As he explained his tentative plan to the priest, Hadley began to understand why his partner had been so determined to visit Mr Clitherow's school.
Again a miniature of Wickham was shown; again it brought no recognition. But Mr Clitherow understood Johnson's goal of providing an education for one of the street urchins who had been helping in the search. As long as tuition was paid, a boy would be welcome in his school; his background was not an issue as long as the child was willing to learn. Provided that living expenses could be covered, the boy would also be welcome to board with them.
His two sisters, he explained, kept house for him as well as helping with the teaching. This support enabled the school to offer so much to boys in need.
After a tour of the premises, Johnson and Hadley left St Peter's, satisfied that it would be a likely place for one of "their" boys. While neither man came right out and said so, privately each was rooting for Micky.
*black Indies – Newcastle upon Tyne, named so because of its coal mines that brought wealth like that of the Indies to some owners
Chapter 16
A leisurely stroll along the river rounded out their Sunday before the men returned to The Green Man for supper and a quiet evening.
It was not to be.
Entering the inn brought them into the midst of a noisy argument between Mr Addyman and a large man with a florid complexion who had come there accompanied by Libby.
Mr Wilson, as he identified himself, loudly demanded to see the gentlemen who were looking for a Mr Darcy. Mr Addyman was already in a high dudgeon and insisted no such men were to be found in his respectable establishment and would the unwelcome couple kindly leave. In between the men's voluble argument could be heard Libby's screeching in a determined but vain effort to make herself understood. The louder she got, the more the innkeeper insisted that his establishment did not cater to Haymarket ware like her and if her friend did not take the both of them away promptly, he would see to it that Wilson's face would connect with a bunch of fives* 'cause he had rid the place of such bucks of the first head* before and knew just how to go about it.
Wilson had no intention of taking such insults without ably defending himself, and declared that he wasn't about to bree* because this bracket-faced* ben* had not the sense to shut his bone box* and sure an' the black spy* could come for him afore he was gonna back off when he indeed had business here and the beetle-headed* beggar-maker* was spoutin' nothin' more than a bag of moonshine* while raising a breeze* over nothin' at all.
Johnson nodded almost imperceptibly at Hadley and slipped back out the door. The latter did his best to blend in with the patrons who were observing the show from their tables or leaning against the wall so as not to miss such a spectacle.
When the innkeeper was able to get a word in edge-wise, he declared Wilson dicked in the nob* to be spoutin' such fustian nonsense* and promised that his men were about to draw the intruder's cork*.
Lest Wilson think this a bluff, three stout stable hands entered the room behind Addyman at that point and declared themselves ready to deal with the ruffian.
The dispute wound down with a whimper and Wilson stormed out of The Green Man, dragging a still wailing Libby behind him.
Hadley followed as soon as he deemed it safe, and walked out into the dark just in time to see a hack drive off which had to be carrying Wilson and Libby, to judge by the noise emanating from it.
His eyes scanned the street, and he quickly detected another pulling away from the curb, Johnson sitting up on top with the driver. That hack slowed down enough for Hadley to swing himself aboard and close the door, and they were off to follow what might be a clue to Wickham's lodgings – they hoped.
They headed north, and eventually Johnson was able to recognize some landmarks: they were returning to the part of town they had been searching with the boys.
When at last the first hack came to a stop, Johnson had his driver slow down enough to give him a glimpse at which building Wilson and Libby entered. Satisfied that he had seen all he needed, Johnson had the driver pull over several houses farther along, paid his fare and climbed down to meet Hadley in the street.
They staked out the place front and back and settled in for a long night.
Dawn was breaking when at last the front door opened and a figure stumbled into the street. It did not take Johnson long to recognize Libby; the call of a night bird quickly brought Hadley to his side. Johnson followed Libby; Hadley remained outside Wilson's lodgings.
Once they were sufficiently far removed from the house, Johnson caught up with Libby, planning to question her about Wilson. But one look at the girl's bleeding, swollen lip and bruised face changed his plans abruptly.
It took him several steps at her side to attract her attention. Then she met his eyes briefly and without enthusiasm.
"Libby? Why?"
She ignored him and kept on, but it soon became obvious that she was having serious difficulty maintaining her balance. Johnson took her arm as she swayed, and supported her along the way.
"You need to see an apothecary, Libby," he urged.
She shook her head, but seemed to immediately regret the motion as it caused her balance to be even more precarious.
"Libby – surely there is one in the area?" Johnson implored.
She sighed and attempted to keep walking, but it became increasingly difficult. Her gait slowed and she swayed more than ever, now clinging to Johnson for much-needed support.
"An apothecary, Libby? he urged.
At last she gave in. "Highbury," she whispered dully. "Number 26. He won't see me."
"He will indeed see you. He has to," Johnson declared firmly.
They made it to the apothecary's, and Johnson pounded loudly on his door until there were signs of life. A window was thrown open above them, and a head peered out.
"Who's there at this ungodly hour?" a voice hollered.
"There's a lady in distress here," Johnson informed him. "She needs your care."
"A lady?" sneered the voice. "There's no ladies about at this time o' the night."
"Night's over," Johnson said shortly, "and I'll just keep on pounding 'til it wakes all your neighbours, so you might as well open up and see the lady."
They heard some indistinguishable grumbling from above before the window was slammed shut.
It took several minutes, but at last the door was opened. By now there was enough light for Johnson to have read the sign on the house.
"Mr Connors, I presume?"
Connors ignored the attempted civility and glared at Libby.
"Tare an' hounds!* I knew she was no lady," he declared triumphantly.
Johnson glared right back.
"She is injured and needs help. She does not need your censure. Will you see the lady now?"
It took a moment before Connors stepped aside to permit Johnson to guide Libby in.
Johnson remained just long enough to be certain that Libby received the medical care she needed, then dropped payment for Connors' services on a table and left to return to Wilson's rooming house. Nothing had changed there. Hadley pointed out a small inn down the street, from which the front of Wilson's house could be observed in comfort. He took the opportunity to warm up and wake up with breakfast and steaming coffee before returning to the back, allowing Johnson to resume his watch from a comfortable table.
Their patience was rewarded at last when Wilson appeared well past noon, pulled his collar up and his cap down and marched off. Had he been paying attention, he would have heard a sharp whistle – Hadley certainly did.
They followed Wilson down the street and along several twists and turns, Hadley muttering that at least the man was going at a brisk enough pace to warm a fellow right up, before their quarry stopped to knock at the door of a nondescript house. A middle-aged woman allowed him to step inside, but his stay was brief.
He left the house and returned the way he had come, passing close enough that Hadley could hear him grumble about what a shag-rag the old lady Fife was, a windsucker of the first order . . .
It was quickly decided that nothing was to be gained by continuing their surveillance of Wilson. In spite of himself, he had conveniently provided all the help he could.
Mrs Fife was not in a good mood when, so quickly after giving that addle pate Wilson a piece of her mind, she had to open her door to more callers. These, however, looked and sounded rather better than the last, and she was willing to look at the miniature that one man showed here.
"Why, yes," she perked right up, "that's Mr Darcy. Have you any idea where he is? All his things are here, but I haven't seen 'im in weeks and he owes me rent."
Her emphasis on that last made the men's decision easy.
"Your boarder has met with an unfortunate accident, ma'am, and his family has been searching high and low for his effects," Johnson smoothly informed her. Of course we will cover the rent that is due – as long as all his things are intact."
She assured them that indeed, none of Mr Darcy's things had been touched, and willingly showed them to his room.
There was a good-sized trunk at the foot of his bed and a few personal effects strewn about.
Hadley asked how much rent was due her, and deeming the amount she quoted reasonable, he gave her half, then asked if she would leave them alone to verify that everything was there. He assured her that she would be paid the rest before they removed the trunk.
Once alone, they turned to the trunk. Johnson didn't take long to deal with the lock, and they quickly found themselves going through the belongings of the late Mr George Wickham, alias Fitzwilliam Darcy, alias Tom Bennet.
There was a significant supply of new clothes and footwear, two pistols, gunpowder, and an assortment of literature about both Upper and Lower Canada.
They removed everything, and found what they had expected: a false bottom.
The first item Johnson turned up there was a steamship ticket, Liverpool to Montreal in Lower Canada for a Mr George Younge, dated April 10th .
"How did he keep track of all the aliases he used?" muttered Hadley.
"Looks like he missed the boat," Johnson quipped as he pocketed the ticket.
There was a wad of bills in denominations of various sizes, but for a man who had been living the life of a highwayman, and was now planning to escape across the ocean, both men expected more. A most thorough inspection of the trunk turned up nothing.
They turned their attention to the room itself, but found nothing else of interest and certainly no money.
Finally, two sets of eyes instinctively turned to the same object: the mattress.
Quietly they removed everything from the bed and examined the mattress Wickham had slept on when he stayed here. Hadley found the first indication that they were right: stitches that didn't look as neat as the rest. Between the two of them, they turned up half a dozen places where stitching had been carelessly redone.
The mattress was soon slit open, and packages of gold coins, bills, banknotes, bills of credit and promissory notes tumbled out. George Wickham had not planned to arrive in Canada a poor man under any name.
Hadley left the room to appease Mrs Fife and offer to pay for a new mattress before she had a chance to see the damage and be upset with them. Then he needed a wagon to haul the trunk away, he told her, and did she know where such might be attained?
Mrs Fife did indeed. Her neighbour across the street had a son who owned just such a wagon. Why, he was the very one who had hauled the trunk here for Mr Darcy in the first place.
* bunch of fives – fist
* a buck of the first head – one who in debauchery surpasses the rest of his companions
* to bree – to frighten
* bracket-faced – ugly, hard-featured.
* ben – a fool
* bone box – mouth
* black spy – the devil.
*beggar-maker a publican, or ale-house keeper
*beetle-headed dull, stupid.
*bag of moonshine lot of nonsense
*raise a breeze make a fuss
*dicked in the nob mental case
*draw someone's cork punch in the nose and cause to bleed
*fiend seize it damn it
*fustian nonsense rubbish
*Tare an' hounds exclamation