Beginning, Next Section
Hello! I've been a lurker for some time who has very much enjoyed the offerings here. I started posting this story at Bits of Ivory, at the Republic of Pemberley, and a kind reader suggested I post here as well. (If you don't like it, you have one of your own to blame! ;-D ) Many, many thanks to Michele V for letting me use her Mr. Blevins, and for her suggestion for this story. Comments, critiques will be gratefully accepted.
Prologue
Mr. Blevins leaned back into the seat as his carriage began its journey to London. His countenance was thoughtful as he kept in mind the young boy he had just seen settled at school. The financial arrangements had been easily made, but as for the boy's daily life... That it would be difficult - of that there was no doubt. The lad himself, now - no winning ways about him, almost too clever - he would make it no easier. And if his true situation should become known... Well, that bridge would be crossed only if need be. Still, such an education was more than could otherwise have been hoped for. Mr. Blevins sighed, then recalled to mind the inherent limits to his assistance. Placing the future where it must rest - in the hands of Providence - he turned his mind to the other matters of business which would soon claim his full attention.
Upon reaching London, Mr. Blevins went directly to his office, where he found several letters which had arrived in his absence. Looking though the accumulated material in quick succession, he arrived at one piece which looked to be of immediate concern...
March --, 17--
Mr. John Blevins
_____ StreetDear Sir:
You have been most highly recommended to me as a man of resourcefulness and discretion, both of which I am at present in great need of.
As the matter is of not a little concern, I herewith disclose the particulars, in the hope they may persuade you of the urgent nature and merit of my request.
After an absence of three years, due to my military duties, I have lately returned to England, and had been in hopes of seeing a beloved sister-in-law, Eliza Brandon, whom I had known from childhood. She had been lost to my family for some time (a situation itself of great sorrow to me, and of some delicacy), but I, by chance, happened upon her in the most tragic and deplorable of situations. In short, she is completely destitute, and has only a short while longer to live, months at the outmost, as she suffers from consumption.
My desire is to provide a home for her, as long as she may require it, to ease the discomfort of these last of her days. Due to various circumstances, including the impropriety of such were it even possible, I am not able to offer her a home with me; therefore, my first requirement is the recommendation and arrangement of good, respectable lodgings for this young lady (not yet two and twenty), as well as for her three year-old daughter. In addition to a housekeeper, a woman somewhat experienced in nursing, with a cheerful manner, would be most desirable to take care of Eliza's daily needs, and the little girl's.
Although this is of secondary importance, lodgings in the country, but not too far from London would be preferable, as I hope to spend as much time as possible with these young women.
Although I am a younger son and have no estate of my own, I will endeavor to pay whatever you deem necessary. As you may have surmised, this lady is very dear to me - under other circumstances she might have been my wife - and her comfort in these days is all I desire. I add this to help you understand my situation, trusting you will be discreet with these revelations.
I hope to hear a favorable reply at your earliest convenience. If you do not find yourself able to assist me at this time, I would ask that you recommend another person such as yourself - of discretion and reliability.
I am, respectfully,
Lieutenant C. Brandon
--- St James' Street
Chapter 1, Part 1 ~ A Time to Lose February --, 18--
Dear Sir:
After an interval of some years, I find I am again in desperate need of your assistance. You may not recall the circumstances of our earlier business, but it is imperative that I meet with you at your earliest convenience. I expect to be in London shortly after your receipt of this letter, at my lodgings in St James' Street.
Respectfully yours,Mr. John Blevins
_____ Street
Colonel C. Brandon
Delaford, Dorsetshire
February --, 18--
Colonel C. Brandon
Dear Sir:
I would be pleased to wait upon you tomorrow morning at 10 o'clock, if that is acceptable to you. If not, please send word by the same messenger who has conveyed this note.
Sincerely,
Mr. J. Blevins
--- St. James' Street
Mr Blevins:I will await your arrival tomorrow. Thank you for your prompt reply.
C. Brandon
On the morrow, a young man arrived at St James' Street promptly at 10 o'clock, and, having sent in his card and been admitted to the house, he was shown into the study, and announced: "Mr. Blevins, sir."
As the man entered the room, Colonel Brandon looked up from the papers he had been perusing, and started visibly when he saw his visitor: a very young man, surely not more than two or three and twenty, tall and thin, with dark brown eyes and thick black hair. With a frown on his face, he asked sternly, "Who, may I ask, are you, sir? I was expecting Mr. John Blevins. You, clearly, are not he."
Chapter 1, Part 2 ~ A Time to Lose
The young man, standing easily before Colonel Brandon, gave a wry smile, and began. "I understand your confusion and concern, sir. Allow me to explain." He spoke quietly, but with confidence, his words well-chosen, as if this were not the first time for such an explanation.
"As you referred in your letter to a prior connection with Mr. Blevins, I realized that, as soon as we met, despite the passage of time, or perhaps especially due to it, you would perceive a 'difference' between the Mr. Blevins of your previous acquaintance and myself. May I first reassure you, sir, that all Mr. Blevins' business matters, former and present, are being held in the same confidence as in the past. Whether or not you choose to retain my services, you may rely on that." As he spoke, the young man looked directly at the colonel, never turning his eyes away from that gentleman's face.
"The gentleman you knew thirteen years ago had been active in his profession for a long time. Several months ago, after 41 years in such work, he decided to retire. I had been working with him, first as an apprentice, then as an associate, for close to six years then. I had earned his trust, as well as having learned many of his skills, and he suggested I continue with the business upon his retirement. He also honored me by allowing me to take over his professional name, Mr. John Blevins, as my own. Since that time, whenever I am retained by a former client, I am in contact with him to assure my understanding of any relevant history, and I have his permission to refer persons to him for corroboration of our business connections. If you wish to do so, I am at liberty to give you his current direction. You may write to, or visit, him yourself. I can only assure you that as 'Mr. Blevins,' I offer the same services as he. I will endeavor to help you in every way possible, and can promise to carry out all my activities in a discreet and honest manner."
Colonel Brandon sat, absorbing this information, while a series of expressions played over his countenance in turn: bewilderment, suspicion, hesitation. As he watched the young man's face, he noted the steady, dark eyes, and their forthright expression. He spoke slowly, but with growing confidence. "Sir, if you have indeed earned the trust of your former employer, I will be willing to bestow my own. You say that you have taken over the entire business. I assume that includes information regarding all previous work. Can you tell me if you are familiar with the particulars of my dealings with that gentleman these many years ago?"
"I can, sir. In short, Mr. Blevins provided accommodations and servants for your sister-in-law, Eliza Brandon, and her daughter, in Auldbridge, Surrey for some three months. Upon the death of Mrs. Brandon, the little girl, three years old, I believe, was placed at school in Dorsetshire." Mr. Blevins spoke carefully, his face seemingly impassive, but his eyes speaking compassion. He could see that, even now, the relation of this brief history gave pain to the colonel.
Brandon sat silently for several minutes, perhaps reliving that difficult time, before replying. "Mr. Blevins' records are, indeed, precise and complete. I can see that you are well-informed," he said, with a sigh.
John Blevins remained standing, as the colonel rose and paced to a window to gaze out, with blind eyes, at the street below. The rattle of carriages and the clamor of street vendors could be heard but dimly from this room, and they seemed to have faded entirely away for the man standing above, lost in his past. A few moments later, as if swiftly coming to a decision, he swung about. "Please, sir, be seated," motioning to a chair before the fireplace. "I would like to review this history, the events of thirteen years ago, as well as some of what has happened more recently, so that you may have as complete a picture of the present situation as possible."
Author's Note: Much of the following was taken directly from 'Sense and Sensibility.'
Before beginning his story, Colonel Brandon ordered tea be brought. It was carried in and poured out. The two men picked up and held their cups, and gazed at the fire, each thinking back thirteen years. For the colonel, the memories were bittersweet, of a time when he had spent days and weeks with the woman he had known and loved since childhood, yet with the certain knowledge of how short the time together would be. Blevins' remembrances were mixed as well, of a time of change as he - as John Thomas Barrow - had begun his schooling at Eton, and of the difficulties and isolation he had at times endured, followed by the self-imposed exile, six and one half years ago, from that school and from the few friends he had come to value there.
A log in the fire broke apart, sending sparks flying, and recalling both men to the present.
"Well, Mr. Blevins, although your familiarity with my history is welcome, I believe I shall repeat much of it, in order that you may better understand my actions then, as well as those in the ensuing years, and my desperation today.
"Thirteen years ago, after three years in the East Indies, due to my military duties, I had returned to England, and had been in hopes of seeing a beloved sister-in-law, Eliza Brandon, whom I had known and loved from childhood. This young lady was one of my nearest relations, an orphan from her infancy, and under the guardianship of my father. Our attachment to each other became fervent as we grew older, and, at seventeen, we were within a few hours of eloping together for Scotland, when we were betrayed by a maid. Eliza was instead married, against her inclination, to my brother, for her fortune was large, and our family estate much encumbered. It is enough to say that the marriage was not a happy one. She and my brother divorced not two years after their marriage, and she had been lost to my family from that time; but I, after six months in England, did find her, quite by chance. While visiting a former servant of my own, who had fallen into misfortune, I happened upon her in the most tragic and deplorable of situations. She was in a sponging house, confined for debt. She was completely destitute, and had only a short while longer to live, months at the outmost, as she was in the last stage of a consumption. My desire was to provide a home for her, as long as she required it. Life could do nothing more for her beyond giving time for a better preparation for death; and that was given. Due to various circumstances, including the impropriety of such had it even been possible, I was not able to offer her a home with me. Lodgings in the country, in Auldbridge, Surrey, just as you said, were arranged. I visited her every day during the rest of her short life; I was with her in her last moments."
Colonel Brandon stopped, and took time to recover from the visible effort the re-telling thus far had taken. He drank, without tasting, from the cup in his hands, and composed himself to continue.
"She left to my care her only child, a little girl, who, as you recalled, was then about three years old. It was a valued, precious trust to me; and gladly would I have discharged it in the strictest sense, by watching over her education myself; but I had no family, no home; my little Eliza was therefore placed at school. My military duties were increasing with the years, with my rank, but I saw her, at school, whenever I could. She was a lively child, of passionate disposition, much like her mother..." This last was said in a lower tone, more to himself than to his audience of one. He cleared his throat and continued. "After the death of my brother, which happened about five years ago, and which left to me the possession of the family property, she visited me frequently at Delaford, my family's estate in Dorsetshire. At her fourteenth birthday, I removed her from school to place her in the care of a very respectable woman residing in Dorsetshire, who had the charge of four or five other girls of about the same time of life. For two years I have had every reason to be pleased with her situation, and have been able to see her quite frequently."
Again the colonel stopped and his eyes held a far-away look, as if recalling the happy times he just spoke of. A wrinkle creased his brow, and his eyes clouded over, as his thoughts returned to the present. "Earlier this month, she suddenly disappeared. I had allowed her (imprudently, as it has since turned out), at her earnest desire, to go to Bath with one of her young friends, who was attending her father there for his health. I knew him to be a very good sort of man, and I thought well of his daughter. When I received word of Eliza's disappearance, I traveled there at once, but they could give me no information to aid in a search. In short, I could learn nothing but that she was gone. I returned to Delaford, in hopes of finding her there, or news from her, at least. My hope went unrewarded. I then undertook to write to you, and followed my letter to London." With these last words, spoken in a tone devoid of all feeling, Brandon replaced his cup on the table next his chair, leaned back, and closed his eyes, as if to shut out all thoughts of what may have befallen his charge, and in the despair of having failed in his promise to his sister.
Mr. Blevins sat without moving, without speaking, allowing this sad history to sink in, and already forming plans in his mind of how best to go about finding this unfortunate young girl. After some time, he finally spoke. "Colonel Brandon," he said, gently, as if unwilling to break the silence, yet determined to go forward. "Sir, if you would be so good as to answer a few questions, I will do my best to find the young lady, and return her to you in safety."
The colonel started, as if waking from a bad dream, lifted his head, and nodded wearily. "I will tell you all I know. Ask your questions."
"First: if you would tell me the names of Miss Eliza's friend and her father, and their current address. Second, it may be of no help, but by what surname has Miss Eliza been known? Third: I will need as accurate and detailed a description of the young lady as possible. If you have a recent likeness of her, it would be of great assistance. Fourth: what resources does Miss Eliza possess in terms of money, knowledge of the countryside, familiarity with traveling? Would she be capable of traveling any great distance alone? However great the impropriety, however much the risk - of which she may be completely unaware - we must take into account the possibility of her attempting to travel alone, or... of her having been abandoned to do so." This last was spoken hesitantly, as Mr. Blevins had not, at first, wanted to put such a dismal prospect before the colonel. He realized, however, that the possibility must be faced, and that nothing would be served by silence or delay on the subject.
Colonel Brandon blanched and shuddered slightly at this last suggestion, but straightened in an attempt to collect his thoughts. The questions were to the purpose; the answers would need be as well. Mr. Blevins, though young, exuded an air of competence, as well as compassion. His manner gave strength to his client, who began with the requested information.
"Young Eliza is not the son of my brother; she was given the name 'Williams,' her mother's own name before she married. My brother knew nothing of the child's existence, nor did my sister wish him to. I will give you a description of her, but I do also have a good likeness taken of her not long ago. It was well-rendered, so I believe anyone would recognize her from it. She is just sixteen years of age, of medium height and slightly plump. She has hair neither blonde nor dark, more the colour of honey." As if smiling at an amusing thought, he continued. "It was forever getting in a tangle when she was a little girl. How she would scream when the maid tried to comb it through! And though of a medium shade, how it sparkled, as if shot through with gold, when the sun shone on it. It is very long now, and slightly waved. Her eyes are blue or grey, changing with her mood. She has always preferred shades of blue for her dress; however, this may no longer be the case. She has no visible moles or markings which would be helpful in finding her, I am afraid; but, with this description, and the likeness I will give you before you leave today, I hope you will know her easily."
Standing somewhat stiffly, and moving back to the desk, he began again. "As to her friend's name, and direction..." He wrote rapidly on a piece of paper, quickly consulting a nearby letter as he finished. Taking up the letter as well, he returned to the fire and offered both to Mr. Blevins, who took and glanced at them briefly before returning his attention to Brandon. "This letter is the one I received from Mr. Robertson from Bath, communicating his first concerns about Eliza. It may serve as an introduction for you. How long they will continue at Bath, I do not know; however, since the gentleman was sent there for his health, I assume he, at least, will remain there for some time yet. I wish you better success in your interviews with them than I have had. The girl is most obstinate; with an ill-judged secrecy she would tell me nothing, would give no clue, though I suspect she must certainly know something. Eliza is not one to keep a secret all to herself. Depending on its nature, she must always share a confidence with at least one other person. How to best obtain any information from this young lady..." the colonel sighed in frustration, "I cannot begin to advise you. Her very silence leads me to believe that Eliza disappeared by choice, though whether she now remains so, I do not know. The girl's father, a well-meaning but not a quick-sighted man, can really, I believe, give no information. He was generally confined to the house while the girls ranged over the town and made what acquaintance they chose. He tried to convince me, as thoroughly as he was convinced himself, of his daughter's being entirely unconcerned in the business. As I have said, of this I am in serious doubt. I fear he is as much deceived in her character as I was in Eliza's. I can only hope and pray that he will never suffer for his lack of insight and care as I do now."
With this, Brandon stood once again, and began pacing the room. His agitation was betrayed by his restless movements. He was again recalled to the business at hand by a further question from his visitor. "As to her resources and experience with travel, sir..." Mr. Blevins continued to sit, waiting patiently, with his attention divided between the paper upon which he was making notes, and the tormented man before him. The colonel slowed his pacing somewhat, but did not return to his seat.
"Yes, of course. Forgive me, sir. This is no time for self-reproach - it serves no good purpose. Eliza received a pocket allowance regularly. Until the death of my brother, it was a modest amount, and always overseen by the mistresses at her school. Over the past five years, I am afraid I have rather spoiled her, indulging whims when perhaps I should have been more severe upon her. Even so, the money continued to be handled chiefly by the schoolmistresses, and later by Mrs. Howell, the woman with whom she has resided for two years. Only for this trip to Bath did I allow Eliza full control over her pocket money. I had hoped she was grown enough for this responsibility. She may also have brought away an extra amount obtained from Mrs. Howell. As such, she may indeed have sufficient resources with her for travel, and even lodgings of some sort, for a time. As to her knowledge: while at school, I visited her there, and sometimes brought her to London for short trips, especially to have new clothes made. As I had no carriage of my own at that time, we traveled by stagecoach or post. She may have learned enough from these times to remember how to acquire tickets for a particular destination. Since my assumption of the family properties, we have made several other journeys as well, during her school holidays. Though it may be an accomplishment of dubious merit, I believe she may be considered to have the necessary knowledge to travel about the southern counties of England herself." Standing still at a sudden thought, he added, "Albeit, alone, surely she would attract the attention of respectable gentlefolk, who would doubt the propriety of a lady of her age traveling without a companion. She could not have traveled far before being stopped or questioned." He spoke as if to convince and comfort himself.
"That may be," returned Mr. Blevins, "but, we must consider all possibilities, however unlikely they may seem." He turned in his seat and faced Colonel Brandon, who had taken up a position near a window again. "Sir, you said that Miss Eliza went missing not long after her arrival at Bath. Perhaps a friend or acquaintance in Dorsetshire may give some clue as to her mind before leaving for Bath."
The colonel turned and spoke quickly, "Yes, of course. I did not think to visit Mrs. Howell, or to speak with the girls who live there as well. As I said, I think it unlikely that Eliza kept her confidence entirely to herself. It may very well be that one of these young ladies may help you. They most likely do not even know she is gone missing yet." He returned to the desk once more to write an additional name and direction. Giving it to Mr. Blevins, he asked, "Is there anything else I may add to help you, Mr. Blevins?"
The young man looked at the accumulated papers in his hand, then stood and shook his head. "Thank you, sir; there is nothing that I can call to mind at this time. What you have told me should enable me to begin my inquiries directly. I will detain you no longer today. If you would be so good as to give me the likeness you spoke of, I will take my leave and begin my work."
Brandon rang for the servant, spoke to him briefly when he appeared, and returned to Mr. Blevins. "We have not yet spoken of your fees. As I am now master of quite a considerable estate, I can assure you that I wish no expense to be spared in your search for Eliza. I can give you a draft now, and provide for further expenses as they are incurred."
Blevins looked at the colonel searchingly for a moment, then replied quietly, "I will inform you of my expenses as I find them. Your love and care for the young lady are evident, and I will do my utmost to find her for you. If I were fortunate enough to have had a sister, I would be as anxious in such a circumstance as you, sir, and will seek her as I would my own sister. As soon as I have any news of Miss Eliza, you may be assured I will inform you at once."
As the servant returned with the likeness of Eliza wrapped in paper, the colonel held it briefly, as if to bring her close to him, even for a moment, before giving it to Mr. Blevins. With that, the young man quitted the house, and, climbing into his carriage, allowed his thoughts to begin ordering themselves, as he considered all the possible courses available to him to begin his search.
Chapter 2, Part 1 ~ And a Time to Seek
As he sat back for the short ride from St James' Street to his quarters, John Thomas Barrow thought of the work that lay ahead for John Blevins. He thought also of the gentleman he had just left, of the grief endured so many years ago, a wound now reopened, with the possibility of such sorrow and grief to be endured once more. How he must have loved his sister-in-law! Mr. Blevins' records showed that his account had been paid promptly, and in full. The general inquiries made under the circumstances, regarding Brandon himself, had revealed that the colonel, then only a lieutenant, with few resources of his own, had dismissed his own manservant and groom in order to pay for three months' lodgings for Mrs. Brandon and her daughter. He had further stripped himself of almost everything of value during that time, save his horse, clothing and firearms, to meet the expenses of attendants for the young ladies, and the special draughts and foods ordered by the nurse. Mr. Blevins, unknown to his client, had reduced his own fees in the face of such deep and sacrificial love. John Thomas approved of this kindness on the part of his mentor, especially having now met the gentleman in question himself. Said gentleman had, at present, much more at his disposal, but would undoubtedly be no less willing to give his all, and no less persistent, in the search for his niece, of this John was quite certain.
Later that day, John made his final preparations to travel to Bath, and to Dorsetshire or other destinations, as the circumstances would dictate. His carriage and horses were readied, and his clothes packed, with appropriate costumes for any manner of meetings and situations. Two sturdy umbrellas, of the type seemingly designed with Bath in mind, particularly at the beginning of March, had been stowed away as well. He had consulted once more with his former employer, now Sir John Murdock, as to persons in Bath who might be prevailed upon to help Mr. Blevins. Contacts of such sort never came amiss. Sir John had also parted with information regarding the situation and character of Mrs. Howell, in Dorsetshire, and a more detailed history of the persons involved in the care and nursing of Eliza Brandon thirteen years ago. I wonder what manner of people I will meet in the coming years, pondered John, as he carefully added these new pieces to the papers already waiting to accompany him to Bath, and which of them I will have occasion, for good or ill, to see more than once?
The following day dawned cold and clear, an excellent start for his journey. John settled himself in the carriage, with his papers and notes close at hand. The letter from Mr. Robertson made for an interesting, if somewhat useless, study. John read with amusement, tempered by sympathy, the innocent protestations of surprise and dismay which the gentleman had repeated again and again throughout the missive, in a somewhat shaky yet legible hand. Of fact there was little to be learned save that Eliza had simply gone missing one day. The daughter had replied to all queries that she was as mystified as her father. He himself seemed to have no suspicions whatever that his daughter could have any notion of, let alone complicity in, the disappearance of her friend, whom she professed to love as a sister. Interviews with both father and daughter should prove diverting, thought John. Whether either will yield anything to the purpose is yet to be seen. Once in Bath, John would first secure rooms for himself, and become familiar with the area, before attempting his more formal inquiries.
While not in a fashionable part of Bath, the accommodations offered by the River Inn were acceptable, and would be wholly adequate for the estimated length of his stay. Fashion and appearance, excepting in his own attire, did not concern Mr. Blevins overly much. As soon as he was settled, John left the Inn to begin his explorations of Bath, and to find the lodgings of Mr. and Miss Robertson, with whom young Eliza had been staying. This was easily done, as they were close by, not in one of the more fashionable streets, either, though nearer to them, the neighborhood looking to be respectable and comfortable. Being too late in the day to call, he merely walked by the buildings, noting the clean, whitewashed steps, the well-varnished doors with their polished brass fittings, and the starched curtains hanging at each window. Making use of the unusually fine weather, wholly unanticipated in Bath at this time of year, he continued his perambulations, taking note of the several public buildings and teashops near the Robertsons' lodgings. Some were of a rough nature, clearly best suited to sailors and soldiers on leave, but a good number looked to be welcoming places for young ladies and other members of good society. These would be excellent locations for meeting other young folk, and for planning excursions and adventures, perhaps? mused John, not for the first time wondering why a young lady, orphaned though she was, but so clearly loved and well-cared for by her guardian, would seek to exchange such a situation for one which could only be less to her own advantage. It will be interesting to meet this Miss Williams, to know her, and to see if she has begun to conceive of the anguish she is causing her uncle.
John returned late to his rooms, after an excellent meal, went to bed, and promptly fell asleep, the sleep of confidence and an untroubled mind, with the morrow's schedule neatly planned.
The next morning, Mr. Blevins set out once more for the lodgings of the Robertsons. When he arrived, he asked to see that gentleman, sending in his card, as well as the letter received by Col Brandon from Mr. Robertson, and a note in his own hand. After a short wait in a sparsely furnished morning room, John was ushered into the drawing room. As the door closed behind him, he surveyed his surroundings, finding them in perfect accord with the room he had just quit, and a marked contrast to the elegant, or at the least, more lively, rooms of most families with young people at home. No unnecessary items were to be found in either room: no books, no musical instruments, no pictures, no lace-edged cloths, no amusements or mementos of any kind. No half-finished needlework, no paintings or drawings in progress, not so much as a letter ready for the post adorned the tables next several chairs in this room; nor was there a hint of such activities having ever been begun. A neat but dreary kind of place. Small wonder that the young ladies 'ranged over the town,' with such a dull setting for afternoons at home. I wonder if the remainder of the rooms are as cheerless as these? Turning to the gentleman seated before the fire, he saw a man who looked to be well above fifty years of age, with a shock of thick white hair crowning a ruddy face. Wide, faded-blue eyes seemed too young, too child-like, for the aged body in which they found themselves. They betrayed the innocent character and mind which had authored the letter received by the colonel, now being held in blue-veined hands resting in the man's lap. John advanced, with hat in one hand and the other outstretched, as he began, "Mr. Robertson, it is very good of you to see me..."
Chapter 2, Part 2 ~ And a Time to Seek
Less than half an hour later, a servant came to remind Mr. Robertson of an appointment with the apothecary, and upon this announcement, Mr. Blevins took his leave. Quitting the room with very little more information than that with which he had entered, his primary feeling was one of frustration. John had not expected to gain much of use from the father, but the gentleman had proceeded to flatly refuse permission to speak with his daughter. The queries already put by Col Brandon had upset her to such a degree that she had neither eaten, nor spoken more than three words together, for fully two days following the colonel's visit. No, a repetition of such distress to the young lady was simply out of the question. He would not be moved. Nothing that John could say was of use in persuading the old gentleman of the urgency of the situation, or of his intending to handle the interview with the utmost gentleness and delicacy. All his most eloquent and well-reasoned arguments were presented, but were equally all in vain.
As he left the house, he was considering the ways still open to him for questioning Miss Robertson, without arousing the suspicions, or ire, of her father. A shrill whistle rent the air as he reached to replace his hat on his head, and a dark shape darted between his legs, causing him to stumble. Before he had time to regain his footing, the shadow made a return dash, and all hope for a dignified recovery fled, as John landed on the unyielding pavement none too gently. "Are yoo 'urt, sir?" came a high-pitched voice from just behind his ear. " 'Ere, lemme 'elp ya 'hup," it continued, in a tone of concern, while two thin arms reached under John's, and struggled to hoist him to his feet once more. The gentleman managed the ascent without further harm, though rather more laboriously than would have been the case without the determined help of his assistant. Turning to face the small figure, he saw a boy who could have been no more than eleven or twelve years of age. Sharp blue eyes highlighted a thin face decorated with a dusting of freckles, which just matched the pale orange hair visible under a cloth cap. Clothing, appearing to have been pieced together from an untold number of previous owners, with equally varied tastes and proportions represented, hung from his frame as on a diminutive hat rack, with the tips of his shoes just peeping out from beneath a rather shabby pair of trousers.
"I thank you," said John, summing up the appearance of his helper with an amused and practiced eye.
"No need, sir. T'was 'arry 'ere 'oo made yer fall," pointing a none too clean finger at a mongrel of indeterminate colour and ancestry, now sitting quietly a few yards away, regarding both of them, his head cocked to one side, eyes twinkling as he panted with his tongue out. "On'y right that I should 'elp ya now."
"Well, I'm much obliged all the same. Though perhaps you'd best train Harry a bit before he goes upsetting someone he could hurt," cautioned John, with a slight smile. He made to continue on his way, when he realized his coat pockets had been rendered considerably lighter through the unexpected encounter with boy and dog. With suspicion kindled and rapidly turning to certainty in his mind, he turned swiftly back and grasped the boy's hand, as if to thank him, but with a hold that allowed for no escape on the part of the youngster.
" 'Ere, now! Lemme go!" cried the surprised lad, squirming in an attempt to rid himself of the iron-like grip in which he found himself. "I in't done nuthin' fer yoo ta 'old me! I said I was sorry!"
Paying no heed to the boy's struggles or protests, or to the dog, now inching closer with his teeth bared in an incipient growl, John calmly began searching the boy's pockets and sleeves until he retrieved the papers which had moments before been in his own possession. "Oh," said he, "then perhaps you can tell me how you came by these items of mine." John held the boy away from him slightly and eyed him closely, shifting his grip to the boy's upper arm. "Now, what would you be wanting with these, anyway? They are no good to you, no money here. If you think there is, you're not as clever as you look."
A stubborn silence filled the air between the two, while the boy doggedly continued his attempts to free himself and flee, but to no avail - Harry, with quivering frame and watchful eyes, all the while awaiting the outcome of this turn of events for his companion. Finally looking up at his captor, the youth met clear dark brown eyes, which seemed to penetrate his very mind, and which hinted at the futility of lies or evasion. Realizing he'd met his match, he quieted, and ceased his struggles. "A'right, sir. I'm trooly sorry, an' won' do nuthin' to ya no more." And to his comrade in crime, "S'alright, 'arry, set down, now."
John scrutinized the youngster's face. Reading nothing but compliance, for the moment, he loosened his grasp a little, but remained watchful lest his youthful assailant take it into his head to escape. "What's your name, now?" he asked, with eyes searching the face before him constantly, alert to every fleeting expression on it.
"Samuel T. Pickens, sir, 'hat yer service," the lad replied, touching the fingers of his free hand to the edge of his cap in a cocky manner.
"Well, Sam, what did you want with my things?"
The boy's expression turned to a scowl. "M'name's Samuel, not Sam, nor Sammy neither," he said with dignity, drawing himself up to every one of his fifty inches, and staring straight up into John's face.
John repressed a grin, and replied, "Samuel it is, then. What does the 'T' stand for?"
" 'Tain't none o' yer business," came the cool answer.
Mr. Blevins called on much of his training in self-discipline to suppress the laughter that threatened to erupt at the sight and demeanor of this odd little person before him. "I see. And what about my papers? Do you steal from all the strangers you see, or had you some particular reason for setting upon me? By the by, you've trained Harry fairly well. Do you get much from the people he upsets for you?"
A look of pride flashed across Samuel's face as he acknowledged, " 'Arry's a right smart one, 'e is. Din't take 'im no time a'tall ter git the way o' business. An' lots o' people visitin' here 'bouts has int'restin' stuff on 'em. Worth somethin' ta somebody. Mr. Robertson's vis'tors is usually 's absentminded er feeble 's 'e is, and carry all kinds o' val'ables."
John's eyes narrowed as he considered these statements. "How do you know Mr. Robertson?" he demanded. "And how did you know I'd been to see him?"
"I know evr'yone along this street, an' the next two the same. This 'ere's my patch, an' I know 'oo comes and goes, 'oo lives where, an' fer 'ow long. 'S my business ta know. An' ya din't make it a secret w'en ya asked fer the gen'lman 'hat the door, now, didja?" Samuel's voice held a touch of scorn, as if suddenly thinking the less of his interrogator for asking such foolish questions.
Recognizing a child of the streets, as are found in almost every town in England, and with dawning apprehension and appreciation of this particular boy's skills, Mr. Blevins began to reflect on the possibilities of putting this unplanned meeting to use. "And what if I decide to go home with you and tell your parents what you've been up to?" he asked the boy, waiting for the inevitable response.
As if on cue, the boy replied, "H'ain't got no parents, an' no 'ome. If'n ya don' believe me, take me ter th' Abbey stables. They lets me stay there some, 'n I does work fer 'em w'en they need 'elp."
It was the answer John had expected. The boy had a look about him which bespoke years of practice at shifting for himself. He thought a few moments before speaking slowly. "Well, maybe I need some help, now. Do you think you could do some things for me? I'm going to be here for several days, I expect. If you do what I tell you - no tricks, now, mind - you'll eat well, and have tuppence for each day of useful work."
Samuel looked doubtingly up at John, and voiced his suspicion. "An' wot could I 'elp ya wif', eh? 'Ow do I know ya won't just set me 'hup ter put me in some place fer kiddies wot 'hain't got no 'ome? er get me ter do some kind o' dirty work fer ya, and me ter get the blame w'en yer gone? 'Oo are ya, 'hanyway? Yoo knows my name; 's'on'y fair I should know yers."
John grinned, touched the fingers of his left hand to the brim of his hat, in precise imitation of Samuel's earlier gesture and manner, and added a small bow. "John Blevins, at your service, Mr. Pickens. And, as to believing what I've told you as the truth - you don't know, not for sure. You'll just have to trust me. I haven't done you any harm yet, though I could have, for trying to steal from me," John said sternly, "and I don't do anything against the law, not if I can avoid it. I try to help people who need help," summing up the tedious, painstaking, oftimes frustrating, but ultimately rewarding work of his chosen profession with these eight simple words. He continued, "Now, I'll show that I trust you by letting you go. I expect you to stay and not run away. I warn you, I'll catch you if you do." He removed his hand from the boy's arm, and watched the thin face carefully for what would come next.
Samuel squinted as he looked up at John, searching just as intently for the truth in this man's face, as John had in his. In the lad's countenance was evident the battle being waged between doubt and a desire to believe this stranger, the latter being against all his instincts, hard-won over the past six years of his life. It would seem, however, considerably to his own profit if the trust were justified. After a few moments' suspense, he relaxed, breathed out a sigh noisily, and nodded. "A'right. Wot is it ya wants fer me ter do?" he asked, as swift and complete in his capitulation as he had been in his suspicion.
"Well, first off, I'm hungry," said John, "and I'll wager you might be ready for a bite to eat, too, as well as being able to tell me where we can get some good bread and cheese or hot pies close by. We can talk as we eat."
Samuel's eyes lit up, and he betrayed the irregularity with which he was able to enjoy his daily bread by the alacrity with which he began to lead the way down the street toward the river and the Abbey, with Harry trotting eagerly beside, as if already anticipating their destination. In a tone of greater respect than he had thus far favored John with, the youth agreed, "Yes, sir, that I can!"
An hour later, having watched the young boy down several portions of bread and cheese, a hefty portion of meat pie, drain one tankard of steaming cider and start on a second, John thought of how his own life might have been that of Samuel. Experiences and knowledge normally beyond their years had been thrust upon each of them as young children. They were both the natural sons of women with little family or consequence of their own. John's grandfather, Lord Thorne, however, with sufficient means at his disposal, had troubled himself at least enough to have employed the first Mr. Blevins to 'tidy up' the 'loose ends' of his son's indiscretions, John being one of those loose ends. Lord Thorne, the younger, having truly loved John's mother, but not been allowed to marry her, had then gone so far as to provide, with some considerable effort of his own, a gentleman's education for this natural son. The young boy devouring food before John now had not been so well-favored. Samuel had shown his growing confidence in John by relating his own short history during their meal, alternating large mouthfuls of food, gulps of drink and the divulging of information by regular turns. It was a common enough story. His mother had been employed in a factory in London; Samuel was the result of a brief liaison with an unprincipled overseer. The young woman, not much more than a girl herself when Samuel was born, had taken ill not long after, during the fevers that had swept through London in the year '01. Unable to recover her health, having lost her position, and thereby her only means of support, and having an old aunt in Bath, she had come here with her then four-year old son, hoping that the waters might be a cure. The cure had proved too little and too late. Samuel's mother had died, and shortly thereafter the aunt as well, leaving the boy with no one to claim him or to call his own. At the tender age of five, he had begun considering the streets of Bath his home, his immediate address changing whenever the desire arose, or whenever the fickle hospitality of the weather made it expedient to do so. His familiarity with much of the town and its regular inhabitants, and the ingenuity evidently involved in surviving and providing for his daily life, became more apparent with each word. John felt sure the lad would be of great assistance in discovering Miss Eliza's movements, and was confirmed in his decision to befriend and 'employ' him.
"So, what do you know about Mr. Robertson, Samuel?" began John's queries, as he finished his last draught of cider.
" 'E's been comin' 'ere fer 'bout five years now. Al'us stays in the same place, 'n mostly sees the same folk 'hev'ry time. 'E used ter be 'hin trade, did lots o' travelin' in the colonies from wot I 'ear. 'Is vis'tors be mostly other gen'lman in trade, er old sailors. This's the first year that 'e's brought 'is daughter, Miss Cecily. Funny, tho', there was another young lady with 'em w'en they first came, but I hain't seen 'er fer nigh on a month now. Din't even get ter know 'has much 's 'er name."
"Oh," said John, wanting to know more about precisely this person, but unwilling to show an undue interest in her as of yet. "do you know Mr. Robertson's daughter, too? From what I saw in their lodgings, there's not much that would prove at all diverting for a young lady at home. She must feel it somewhat dull staying there for days or weeks on end."
"That's all yer knows!" sniffed Samuel. "She don't stay 'hat 'ome no more'n she can 'elp it, she don't. Gaddin' about the town's more like 'hit fer 'er." Seeming now completely at ease with John, the youngster leaned back, cupping his hands around his once again empty tankard and crossing his legs as he had seen older men do, and settled in to retail what he knew of the Robertsons, father and daughter. The gossipmongers in Bath, those unofficial historians and purveyors of newsworthy happenings regarding personages great (particularly) and small (less particularly), were herewith shown to have substantial resourcefulness and unbounded curiosity at their disposal, for Samuel's knowledge proved to be of considerable quantity, seemed of respectable quality, and comprehended astonishing minuteness of detail.
Mr. Horace Robertson, originally from the north of England, had been born free of the encumbrances of overabundant wealth, family connections or even much in the way of family itself. He had raised and educated himself, and determined to make his fortune, thereby becoming comfortably settled without the inconveniences of a position in Society, or the expectations of others, to uphold. He became a prosperous tradesman, doing much business in the American colonies, before the war, and resuming some time after for a short while again. Due to his frequent travels as a young man, he had not married until his fortieth year and had then taken a wife in Plymouth, where his ships had frequently come to port. His wife was reputed to have been sickly from the beginning of their short marriage, and had not survived the birth of their only child, Cecily, who was now a young lady of eighteen. The gentleman, having done his duty for posterity once, had thereafter avoided the allurements and implicit - in some cases, explicit - invitations of all other women with matrimony, and his fortune, on their minds. He continued to travel, traversing the greater part of the civilized world, those parts where the English were met with all due respect and deference, and thereby had opportunities to meet with a number of the King's soldiers and sailors, as well as other roaming citizens. (Presumably this is how he had made the acquaintance of Col Brandon, concluded John.) During Mr. Robertson's last journey, he had fallen ill, and not been properly treated, with the result being that his health had suffered a vast deal. His physician had recommended him to go to Bath for regular treatments with the healing waters. Thus far they had not seemed to do him much good; but he remained alive, and seemed pleased to continue his periodic journeys to, and sojourns in, Bath.
He was, despite his frail health, still reckoned a remarkably handsome man, with upright bearing and courtly manners, recommending him to all whom he chanced to meet. From the tales among the servants at the lodgings he preferred, it was common knowledge that he was a practical man to the extreme, eschewing much decoration and excess furnishings in favor of a spartan abode. He felt that this made it easier for the servants to keep the rooms clean, and for him to move about and to find whatever he wanted. He had few needs or desires, having long ago inured himself to the seductiveness of the useless trappings of wealth, which most people of sufficient - and in some cases insufficient - means seemed not to be able to do without. With clean clothes, plain food and warm rooms, he was content. He passed the days reading the news of the world and the latest doings in trade, and subscribed to several London newspapers. Despite having a considerable income, he was satisfied with very little for his daily subsistence. That he was something of an oddity, no one disputed. But, as he paid his bills, was courteous to all, from servants to visitors, attended Sunday services when his health permitted, and caused no one any undue grief or vexation, he was genuinely liked by those who benefited from his presence in Bath, and otherwise generally tolerated with good humour. Though watchful and immune to the blandishments of women seeking his approval, he nonetheless appeared blind when it came to young ladies, as to their true intentions and their very natures and characters. This last information came as no surprise to John, having had the very evidence of it earlier this day, and in the correspondence sent to the colonel.
As for the daughter, she had stirred up no little comment and speculation with her arrival and subsequent activities in Bath. She had been sent to school at an early age, spent very little time actually living with her father, and had, for the past few years, lived somewhere in the country with several other young ladies of her own station and years. Mr. Robertson had wished her to grow up in places where she would be able to have regular intercourse with others her own age, and with women who would raise her to be a gentleman's daughter, though she was but one generation removed from trade and complete obscurity. With such a difference of age between them, he had never felt equal to the task of raising her himself, of being a companion to her, or of expecting companionship from her. This visit to Bath was to be her introduction into society of a wider sort. Her father assumed her to be frequenting the dainty, fashionable teashops, visiting the assembly rooms, and generally keeping company with matrons of respectable family, as well as other young ladies of good rank. In truth, this young lady had been seen visiting almost all but the dainty teashops, and in the company of some less than fashionably respectable folk of both the fair, and less than fair, sex.
During this entire recital, John sat quietly, allowing the story, with all possible avenues and implications for his own work, to sink in. Clearly, this Miss Cecily would need to be interviewed, and with all possible haste. How to go about this was his next concern. Leaning forward to replace his tankard and retrieve paper and pencil from his pockets, he asked carelessly, "What are some of these not-dainty teashops Miss Robertson seems to enjoy, Samuel? Can you tell me where they are?"
" 'Course I can," came the swift, patronizing reply. He reeled off the names and locations of half a dozen locales without drawing breath in between. John noted them down, and then thought of the difficulties involved in keeping watch over all of these - as they were well-scattered over Bath - and perhaps others as yet untried by the young lady, before finding an opportunity to speak with her. Even with Samuel's assistance, this could prove to be a task demanding much more time than he had anticipated, or felt advisable to use in the circumstances. Perhaps there might be a way to narrow the possibilities, and thereby the time needed. He considered the small figure seated near him, now relaxed and tending toward drowsiness, evidently induced by the largess in rations which his body was not accustomed to enjoying, and came to a decision.
"Samuel, does Miss Cecily go to a particular place on any given day?" he asked, carefully.
"Nah. She don' keep ter no routine that I 'hever 'eard of," came the disappointing but not entirely unexpected answer.
"Well, then, do you think you could follow her tomorrow - at a distance now, so she doesn't get suspicious - and then tell me where she is? We could meet at a certain place once you think she's likely to stay in one establishment for a time."
The lad thought about this plan for a moment with a serious look on his face, then nodded and agreed, "Sure, I can do that. Wot 're ya goin' ter do wif 'er, w'en ya finds 'er?"
"I would just like to talk with her, and ask her a few questions."
Sharp attention and suspicion were revived in Samuel's face as he sat up and asked, "Why don't ya jest go ter 'er rooms w'en she's there, then? Wot do ya want wit' 'er anyway?" The stated goal now seemed too simple for the amount of trouble Mr. Blevins was obviously considering. The boy's eyes were narrow with sudden distrust and accusation, and a scowl returned to cloud the pleasant interlude John and Samuel had been sharing.
John realized that the boy was too clever, and alert to his own voice and meaning, almost as much as he himself was when interviewing others. Nothing much less than the truth, or at least some reasonable part of it, would serve to allay his skepticism now. He sighed in resignation, and arranged the story in his mind before beginning.
"Samuel, I'll tell you what it is I'm trying to do. I told you that I try to help people when they need help. You spoke of the girl that came here with the Robertsons, whom you haven't seen now for a while. Well, that young lady - her name is Eliza Williams - has no parents, just like you, but does have an uncle, an acquaintance of Mr. Robertson, who loves her very much and who has taken care of her since she was a little girl. She left here without telling him, and without his permission. He is very worried about her, and is terribly afraid that something bad might have happened to her. He also thinks that Miss Cecily may possibly know something about Miss Eliza's plans, about where she went. I would like to talk to her, to question her." John sighed again, this time with some frustration. "When I spoke with Mr. Robertson this morning, he maintained that his daughter has no knowledge of any of this, and he forbade me permission to speak with her then, as he was convinced that it would only upset her. From what you yourself just told me," he put in dryly, "that doesn't seem likely. She may in truth know nothing about Miss Eliza's plans, or she may know everything; but, if I don't have an opportunity to speak with her, I'll never find out. Without any information from her, it will be very difficult to even begin looking for Miss Eliza. And the longer it takes, the better the possibility that she will be in trouble, or worse," he added soberly, "when I do find her."
This explanation, given candidly, seemed to mollify the youth's mistrust. Although he seemed at ease and at peace with his own life, as regards family - or, rather, the lack thereof - and situation, it was clear to him that a young lady needed a proper home, and a family around her, and that she ought not to go off by herself, worrying her relations and friends for no good reason. Again, his change from skepticism to understanding and agreement was swift, and he became eager to help John according to the plan suggested. He, too, was of the opinion, given with all the assurance of his youthful but experienced years, that Miss Cecily was undoubtedly not the innocent her father supposed her to be, and that she could, in all likelihood, be of material assistance in tracing her friend's initial movements from Bath, and possibly even her ultimate destination. The plan for the following day, including meeting places and times, was set, and the two parted, each satisfied with his new connection, and the business transaction being entered into.
Chapter 2, Part 3 ~ A Time to Seek
The Hole in the Wall Inn bore out its name in every particular, being built into a part of the old Abbey wall, which had stood to protect the ancient building and its inhabitants during tumultuous times in centuries past. Its mood was also of a piece, being a dark, ill-lit set of rooms, where the patrons could scarcely see the tables in front of them on which was served their food and drink, much less the other occupants of the Inn.
It was now two days following John's initial encounter and conversation with Samuel. The previous day had found Miss Cecily Robertson so restless, that no sooner had she entered an establishment, than she emerged a few minutes later, either dissatisfied with the offerings, or in search of better, or possibly worse, company. Samuel had decided there would be nothing gained in bringing Mr Blevins to meet a lady whom they would be constantly chasing a half-mile behind. This day, however, the lady's tastes appeared to be more settled. By the time John had made his way into the building and found her, managing to seat himself at a table quite close to hers, she seemed content with her situation, and was happily ensconced alone, sipping tea, and enjoying a large assortment of biscuits, while deeply engrossed in the book spread open on the table in front of her. John ordered tea for himself, and while waiting for it to be brought, glanced at the young lady of whom he had heard so much - and from whom he wished to hear so much more - with a view to reconciling the stories with the subject herself, now directly before him. He observed a young lady with light brown ringlets allowed to run riot about her head, large hazel eyes, fashionable dress and - looking more closely at her chosen literature and observing the intensity and emotion with which she read - a fascination with the novels of Mrs Radcliffe.
The girl who brought John's tea curtseyed when she had finished serving him, and had turned to leave, when her skirts caught the edge of the tray protruding from Miss Cecily's table, sweeping it to the floor with a most unceremonious clatter. The girl turned crimson with confusion and embarrassment, and held her hands in front of her mouth for a brief moment, surveying the carnage on the floor, before hurriedly stooping to begin the task of cleaning it up. She apologized profusely all the while, to the young lady whose tea she had upset, as well as to John, as the nearest neighbor, who might have been expected to object to the noise and mess resulting from her unguarded actions. John dismissed her words graciously, though quite absently, being much more interested in the reactions of Miss Robertson herself, who seemed to have noticed nothing at all amiss. She had not so much as glanced up from her book when the tray met the floor, and was as yet still oblivious to the commotion going on at her feet. She must truly be transported to another world, thought John. Perhaps...
"Excuse me, Miss," he essayed, in a tone designed to gain her attention, yet without frightening her out of the concentrated review of her novel. No reaction was to be observed on the part of the preoccupied reader. He spoke again, and yet again. Upon the third repetition, she finally looked up to meet his eyes. One hand flew to her breast, and she started up, as she met a countenance wholly unexpected and unknown to her.
"Oh!" she cried, with a breathless voice. "Please excuse me. I did not expect anyone here." Eyeing him more closely, and pleased with what she saw, she quieted down quickly and added, "Is there something I may do for you?" Her countenance now underwent a change, from absorbed to curious, and inviting.
"On the contrary," replied John. "I was about to offer to share my tea, since it arrived at the cost of substantial
misfortune to yours. Or, perhaps, you would allow me to replace yours with a fresh portion altogether?" This last John added in a tone of intended gallantry, hoping to gain the lady's favor sufficiently to be allowed to remain in conversation with her for some time.
Glancing at her table and the surrounding floor, and now realizing what must have transpired while she read, she giggled, and allowed, "I thank you, yes. I would be pleased to share your tea. I seem not to have noticed a misadventure here." Finding her new acquaintance more attractive with each glance, she laid aside her book to favor him with a wide smile, a welcoming gaze, and her most refined manner. "I must admit, I was quite lost in another realm. That is a frequent occurrence when I begin to read. However, I find myself now in reality much better situated than in my book. Please, will you not join me here?" indicating the seat at her table next to hers.
Wincing inwardly at the obviously flattering and forward nature of her suggestion, he was nevertheless grateful for the circumstances now being exactly those he had sought since coming to Bath, and determined to make the best use of them. He gracefully transferred tea and personal articles from his table to hers, and set about a way to bring the conversation to a more useful turn, for his purposes, at least.
"How do you find Mrs Radcliffe's works? Have you read others of them?" he began, fingering the now discarded volume which had so lately gripped the young lady's attention.
"Oh, yes, ever so many. They are so wonderfully written! Not that I believe such things as she describes to be possible, of course," wishing to raise herself in the esteem of the obviously learned and elegant gentleman who sat next to her, "but they are so very diverting, especially when one has little better to do with oneself all day long."
John's countenance took on a more playful expression as he raised one brow. "So, you do not think such adventures to truly happen? I must beg to disagree with you. I believe Mrs Radcliffe to have described such things as do occur, undoubtedly, and probably more often than not."
At this the young lady's expression turned to scorn. "No, that cannot be; you cannot be serious. Life in England is generally quiet and peaceful. Where do people with such experiences live, then? for I have never seen or heard of such doings myself. Come, sir, I don't believe you have, either. Such stories are all well and good for amusement, but to believe in them as actual happenings... no, no, I should not like to be thought so credulous as that!"
John picked up his cup, and drank from it ere he began his now-prepared story. "Well, now, I just happen to know a tale, much like that of one of those novels. And, it involves a well-bred, educated young lady, much like yourself. Shall I tell it you, that you may be convinced?"
"If you wish," came the answer, with a look that attempted to convey sophisticated indifference, but which scarcely concealed the very great interest his words had piqued in her.
John leaned forward slightly in his chair as he began. "This is the story of a young couple, very much attached to one another, and having their hearts set on wedding quickly, who decided to travel to Gretna Green. There were strong objections to the marriage among family members; on one side the complaints were of low connections, on the other, the lack of sufficient wealth. The lovers had told several of their closest friends what they intended, but only of their plans for Scotland, not beyond." At this, a conscious look flitted over Miss Robertson's face, and a small sound escaped her lips, just as rapidly stifled; John affected to have noticed neither. "They succeeded in the immediate goal of their journey, as was later discovered, since the clergyman who performed the ceremony remembered the two perfectly. He recalled how happy they had seemed. They had left Gretna, man and wife, and were not heard of again. It was as if they had vanished from the face of the earth." John noticed that his listener's attention had now been firmly captured. "For a time, their families did nothing, feeling that the young people had disgraced all their relations by their disobedient and impulsive act, but as months passed without a sign, without letters or notes even to those who had been their supporters and friends, a hue and cry went up to try and discover the pair. The men of the families - brothers, cousins, fathers and uncles - combed the countryside seeking to follow their movements, but, alas, they had waited too long. Not a trace remained. The clergyman could but dimly recall the coach upon which the couple had left; the coachman, when discovered at last, vaguely remembered one of several coaching inns where they may or may not have disembarked to continue their journey in another direction... In short, they had disappeared." John had leaned ever nearer Miss Robertson with the progression of the story, sinking his voice throughout the telling; he ended in ominous silence, sitting back slowly.
By this time, the young lady had lost some of her pretensions of elegance, and was sitting stiffly, eyes wide with suspense. "Do go on! Where were they found? For surely," she realized her manner as being too eager, and sat back slightly, feigning a return of unconcern, "they were found, no doubt in some secret place which they had sought out, and where they had been living quite comfortably. Their entire adventure sounds to be a very good joke, no harm in it at all." The last words were spoken with a smile of disdain, as if to say that she would not have been so foolish as to be taken in, had she been a member of one of the affected families. To prove her strength of mind, she carelessly poured out some tea for herself, and nibbled at a biscuit.
John looked the girl straight in the eyes when she had raised them again, and consciously allowed his silence to stretch out several long moments. "What makes you believe they were ever found?" he asked, finally, drinking again from his cup, and holding it as he leaned back, all the while looking at her deliberately.
She choked on her refreshment, and hurriedly drank some more tea, before gasping, "Y-you mean to say they were not f-found?" she stammered, doubt returning to her eyes, sitting forward as if to hurry his next words.
"No," John answered calmly. "They were not found, not for many, many years. One day, a forester, making the rounds of a remote part of his lands in Nottinghamshire, noticed smoke coming from an area of woods so dense that he himself had never penetrated to the interior of it. The smoke came from an ancient building, long considered abandoned by even the oldest local inhabitants, who had once or twice visited it as a hunting lodge several score years past. Investigating more closely, he found it all but burnt down. Among the debris, however, were the easily recognized remains of a woman, her thick dress having protected her form from being completely consumed." John considered the effect his words were having on his audience of one, wondering if the story were become too grotesque, or whether it would suffice to loosen this young lady's tongue as to the whereabouts, or plans, of her friend. Miss Cecily had paled at his last words; no skepticism or ease remained in her face.
"Surely... this was not..." she managed weakly, her eyes round in shock.
"Yes," John confirmed. "From other items found unburnt, a ring, a necklace, and several more, it was determined that this was the woman who had run away to be married so many years before. What happened to her husband, no one to this day knows. Perhaps he died of illness, perhaps he went away, perhaps he was killed."
Miss Robertson sat, stunned by this revelation, her horrified thoughts chasing plainly across her countenance, her demeanor nothing now but frightened.
John decided to press his advantage. In a low voice, drama ringing in every word, he continued, "What precisely happened to the young couple when they left Gretna Green, no one can tell. Whether they were overset by robbers soon after they embarked on their journey as man and wife, whether they arrived at the lodge of their own free will, or as prisoners of another, or of some group with nefarious plans for them, who knows? Who can tell the terror of the young lady, at the hands of ruthless ruffians? Who knows the horrors she experienced, and for how long? Did she and her husband finally escape, to make it to the lodge which would see one of them, at least, dead? Did she flee alone, after having seen her beloved husband brutally murdered at the hands of conscience-less men? What other nightmares did she suffer and experience over the years since their disappearance?" John shrugged his shoulders. "If not for the complete secrecy which the couple had insisted was necessary, someone might have raised the alarm in time to save at least one of the doomed pair."
John paused, and lowered his head to take another sip of tea, while spying upward with his eyes to note the reaction of his companion. It was everything he could have desired. She had paled further, eyes open in terror, and with the dawning of guilt in them. I hope it is enough. It seems that though she reads Mrs Radcliffe, she is fortunately unfamiliar with the older books of E. J. Grantham. Ah, the benefits of a public, and perchance unintentionally catholic, education, where boys often shared such stories with each other under cover of darkness, and under the covers of their beds, caves hazardously lit with lanterns, ready to be snuffed out should a schoolmaster happen by at an untimely moment.
John drained his cup, replacing it on the table, folded his hands in his lap and waited patiently for the anticipated results of his tactics. He had not so very long to endure.
Miss Robertson, her mind wracked with pangs of conscience, reeling with the possibilities now presented to her, cleared her throat, and said, in a subdued tone, "Is this... Can such a story really be true? For such doings to happen today! Are you absolutely sure, sir, you understood aright?" hoping yet to allow her own secret to rest in peace.
John reflected a moment before answering, unwilling to tell an outright falsehood while endeavoring to gain her trust. "I did read this very account as I have told it you some years ago now, but I believe I understood it quite well."
The young lady looked as if she did not know how to proceed. Slowly, she began again. "But... if such a thing were to take place today, perhaps even here, what could be done to prevent such evil consequences? if there were such a couple, in such circumstances," she amended hastily, still not ready to commit herself completely.
"Well," said John thoughtfully, "the couple's entire journey could be traced, and their whereabouts and safety ascertained. It would have to be done fairly soon after the fact, before people met along the way had themselves disappeared, or forgotten the particulars of their meetings with the persons in question."
"Oh," came the response, in a small voice. "Yes, I suppose that would be sensible. But," as another objection crossed her mind, "to whom could one entrust such information and such an investigation? Family members, if they were to find the lovers, might separate them forcibly and unjustly, and act most cruelly towards them."
"You are quite right, miss. That would be a matter of some delicacy." John nodded in acknowledgment of her argument, and was silent a short while, as if attempting to solve this dilemma. "Perhaps... some third party, someone... neutral, shall we say, would be best in such a case. He could trace the couple, be assured of their situation, and communicate only such details as necessary to ease the minds of friends and relations."
Miss Cecily looked up eagerly, relief spreading across her face. "Yes, of course! That would be a splendid idea." A perplexed look took over the place relief had briefly won. "But, how is such a person to be found? Who could be entrusted with such a delicate and possibly dangerous commission? Anyone already known to the two persons would surely be biased to one side or the other." She bit her lip as she considered the calm and open features of the man facing her. Dared she? What would happen if she did? Or, worse still, what would happen, may have happened, might possibly, could still most horribly happen, if she did not?
Chapter 2, Part 4 ~ And a Time to Seek
Miss Cecily Anabella Robertson dared. She trusted her instincts, her ready liking for this young man, who was so handsome, so diverting, such a gentleman, such a deliverer, a knight in... well, armour wouldn't be the thing at all, so cumbersome, and not at all comfortable. She herself would be the deliverer, the saviour, of her bosom friend; appearing so would surely be of advantage, as well, in furthering the attentions of this enigmatic gentleman, of whom she quite longed to know more.
John continued to sit, at apparent ease, and in no hurry to leave the Inn, though his tea had long been consumed, while she canvassed her own mind and heart. At length, she brought forth the story. She confided, and he listened, evidently quite willing to be the recipient of this most exciting of secrets. How her own dear friend, so quiet and confined in her living circumstances, never allowed freedom of any sort, not daring to disclose a recently formed attachment, had planned for this trip to Bath as the perfect opportunity to run away with her avowed love. Who he was, Cecily unfortunately could not say. He had been described as uncommonly handsome, gentlemanly and elegant, of open temperament, generous, and doting on her friend as much as it was possible for a man to do. The only appellation she had ever heard was 'my dear John.' John, snorted Mr Blevins inwardly. So I am to look among all the young males of England for a personable John! Hopefully we can reduce this population by some means or other! He kept his thoughts to himself, however, allowing no change of countenance, and continued to gather in the information now being eagerly shared by Miss Cecily.
As to her friend's name, with much hesitation - but encouraged by the flattering interest shown by her companion - did Miss Robertson finally confess it: Miss Elizabeth Williams, Eliza to all acquaintances. She begged Mr Blevins - who had by then introduced himself by the name, Mr Browning - most earnestly, to seek out her friend, but under no circumstances to contact her own father, who had been most distressed by said friend's disappearance, and who would simply worry all the more were the subject to be raised with him in any form. He need not be bothered with this. She would willingly tell all she knew, and only desired to know that Miss Williams were well and happy. To this Mr Browning most readily agreed.
Phrasing questions to make them appear unstudied, John continued to extract the particulars of Eliza's recent doings and plans, those to which her friend had been privy. These included the fact that the immediate destination of the pair had not been Gretna Green, their intention not being marriage as of yet, but simply a tour of pleasure, although Eliza was convinced that this man was her one true love, and that a wedding would surely follow when the appropriate time and opportunity arose. They had intended to travel together for a time, beginning with Bristol, then possible touring some other parts of England, as Eliza had as yet seen nothing to the north of London. Miss Robertson's easy acceptance of this plan seemed the height of naiveté for a young lady so evidently well-practiced in flirtation, thought John, as he continued to notice, with some disquiet, the admiring glances of that young lady, even as she unhesitatingly answered his questions.
The young man, the avowed admirer of Miss Eliza, was a man of some means, though precisely how much had never been specified. The reputed location of his estate had been equally imprecise, being given as 'in the south.' It could be assumed as referring to the south of England, a broad enough area in itself, but could just as easily be the south of any one of England's many counties or districts. Vague, too, had been Eliza's tale of how the two had met, or when this meaningful event had taken place. John began to wonder at the nature of confidences between young women, as the conversations between the Misses Williams and Robertson appeared to have been comprised more of feelings than facts, more of story than substance, more of romance than reality. But, it would have to suffice. Of real use was the initial destination of Bristol. Assured of her friend's secrecy in Bath, the couple might well have taken less pains to hide themselves once away from this town. Judicious questioning of coachmen and innkeepers in Bristol should result in further intelligence. The likeness given John by Col Brandon would be pressed into service. If it was indeed as well-rendered as he had claimed, some person or other would surely recognize it as a young woman recently seen. The date of their departure from Bath had been the tenth of February. Memories may have begun to fade over the past three and one half weeks, but surely not of a lady as young and lively as Miss Williams.
With these facts in hand, John felt he had sufficient information from this source to plan the next stage of his search. The immediate task, however, would be to tactfully disengage himself from the young lady, of whom he had had such great hopes, and who had not entirely disappointed him. No, the interview had proved diverting, educational, and profitable for his work. He was pleased that he would at least be able to report this small piece of progress to Col Brandon, in hopes of seeing the worry in that gentleman's heart lightened, if only by a miniscule amount. No mention was made of future meetings between John and Miss Cecily, although 'Mr Browning' gave his word to communicate with her as soon as he had a good report to tell of her friend, which promise Mr Blevins fully intended to keep. No address or card was offered by the young man, however, though hoped and hinted for by the young lady, as he continued all the while gentlemanly in his manner. With that, she was obliged to be content. They parted amicably, he with inward relief, though outwardly expressing assurances of being her servant as he made a slight bow, she with dreams of romance and intrigue, writ large on her countenance.
John now planned to remain in Bath for only one additional day. In consequence of the providential meeting with Samuel, John had postponed communicating with the persons recommended to him by Sir John. He had met with two of them during the day of Miss Cecily's unsettled roaming; he would visit the remainder tomorrow. Perhaps one of them had knowledge of some 'John' with a reputation for leading astray innocent young ladies, especially those in Bath for their first visit, and not well chaperoned or supervised. He would inquire as well about the coach schedules from Bath to Bristol, and from thence to other destinations throughout the country. It was even possible that someone at the coaching inn here would have noticed a young lady answering Miss Eliza's description, and even more important, be able to give better information as to the person of her companion. John was becoming ever more curious as to this man. Had he been honorable, he would surely have made himself known to Col Brandon, and not carried on a clandestine acquaintance and courtship, no matter the invitation given, or temptation offered, by the lady herself.
Upon speaking with them, Sir John's acquaintances all proved to be very amiable, and willing to assist Mr Blevins, but with, alas, no information at all regarding the young lady sought by him, nor of any man by the name of 'John,' making a practice of ill-using young ladies of any ilk. Most likely he was not a frequent visitor to Bath, but had chosen this town, and this time, for the simple fact of its suiting his current purpose. John Thomas had become inclined to this very opinion as well, and was now resigned to the intelligence from Miss Robertson being his only resource at the present time.
Less complicated than the parting with Miss Robertson had been, but more distressing to John, would be the parting with young Samuel. The addition of one more day had given him the opportunity of seeing Samuel fed properly several times more, but John was beginning to wish something better for the boy. So close an affinity did he feel with the lad, despite such a short acquaintance, that he would feel badly knowing the boy had only the streets of Bath, and the wits he had cultivated, in his future. John, himself, though not in a situation of which most in Society would feel in the least envious, realized how much he had been favored and blessed 'til this point in his life, through the care of his guardians and the subsequent interest and patronage of Sir John. Yet, had Samuel remained in London, long, dirty days working in a factory would most likely have been his fate as a child, beginning as early as five years old, stretching into weeks and years, until he had outgrown his usefulness, with little more than life as a pauper to anticipate as an adult. In Bath, a much smaller town, less reliant on factories and production of goods than on its reputation as a watering place for the wealthy, fashionable and ill - or all three - the prospects were less bleak. Certainly Samuel's current 'occupation' entailed risks, but they were faced in an atmosphere more wholesome to body and soul than that of London, or another large town. At the moment, little more could be done for him than what John had already provided, in honest labor and healthy fare for a few all-too-short days.
Before quitting Bath, John left with Samuel precise directions to his lodgings in London, and an open invitation should the lad ever wish to visit. No words of assistance were offered; none would have been accepted. The two orphans, each streetwise, self-reliant and hardened by experience, understood each other perfectly. John's last sight of Bath encompassed the cheeky youth strolling away, accompanied by Harry, gamboling at his side.
John left Bath in the same unexpected brilliant sunshine which had favored his entire sojourn there. A short distance out of that town, clouds gathered and rain began to fall. "Hopefully this is not a portent of disagreeable things to come," murmured John to himself, as, ignoring the dreary and increasingly sodden landscape flowing by the carriage windows, he began consulting the coach schedules for stage and mail leaving Bristol, and the further towns where a change in direction might have been contemplated. The possible combinations of routes, towns and changes made for a challenging puzzle. Between Bristol and London alone, the opportunities were many. At each coaching inn, a change to another coach, proceeding in another direction. In each direction lay more inns, more coaches, until the possibilities became a seemingly endless tangle. For John, the challenge beckoned, and seemed by no means insurmountable. England as a chess board, Eliza as... a pawn, a queen? It was difficult to say. The unknown John - was he a knight, or - what was far more likely - a knave? And John Blevins, would he be an opposing knight, a rook, or simply a pawn himself? Would there be bishops or kings to be encountered along the way? With animate humans moving about the irregular shape of the English board, this game should prove infinitely more satisfying, although potentially more heartrending and sobering, than the more sedate version he had mastered while still a young boy.
Arriving in Bristol, and at the Blue Heron Inn, his inquiries brought surprisingly satisfying replies almost at once.
Yes, the Innkeeper remembered this young miss very well. Yes, on the tenth of last month it was. The gentleman with her? Oh, a very well-looking man, probably between five-and-twenty and thirty years old, tall, dark hair, pleasant-seeming; 'John,' the lady had called him. Their destination? Which destination would he be interested in, the lady's or the gentleman's? No, they had not traveled farther together. The gentleman had given his companion quite explicit directions as to how she was to proceed. The gentleman? He had merely said he would meet her in London, or if not there, then in... Leeds... or was it Liverpool, now, or some other town beginning with an 'L'... Leicester? no... Lincoln? no... Lancaster, perhaps... when his business was finished. (All towns well north of London, and most likely unknown to Miss Eliza, according to Col Brandon, John noted, and agreeing with the information supplied by Miss Robertson.) The young lady had seemed quite put out, and her young man had had a time persuading her, but, she had, at length, agreed to follow his instructions; he had purchased her coach ticket, given her some traveling money, and come back to see her off. When she had gone? Oh, the fourteenth or fifteenth of February. Hard to overlook such a young lady, such a bonnie lass, so lively, and not at all afraid of traveling alone, only much disappointed that her companion would not accompany her. No trouble at all, pleased to be of assistance. All the best of luck in finding her was wished John.
From the suspicion of being less than honorable, Eliza's young man now descended to being quite dishonorable, and indeed everything that was improper. To send a young lady off, alone, to London, and then bid her wait there, or, worse still, travel on, still unaccompanied - this was beneath anyone worthy of being called a gentleman. But, why, once in London, had Miss Eliza not contacted the colonel? Surely by then she would have seen the folly of trusting this 'love' of hers. A puzzle indeed, was the character of Miss Eliza Williams.
From Bath to Bristol, from Bristol to London. Inquiries along the way yielded nothing new. No one else would acknowledge having seen Eliza. One old man at a tavern in Reading confessed to seeing a young lady alone sometime in the past few weeks, but balked at confirming it as the lady of the likeness which John presented.
John returned at dusk to a London shrouded in fog and chilled by a freezing rain. He was thankful to stop at his own lodgings, to be greeted by a cheerful fire, and equally cheery rooms, which, though neat and businesslike, exuded more life than had those of Mr Robertson in Bath. After perusing the correspondence arrived during his absence, John penned a short letter to Col Brandon, informing him of the intelligence obtained in Bath and Bristol, which although sparse as to detail, it did offer some possibilities, which Mr Blevins intended to pursue directly. Posting this letter immediately, John partook of a light meal and retired early, planning to continue his search the following day.