“My Lord, you have another visitor. A Mr. Thomas. He did not give his surname, I’m afraid, and rather rejected the title of mister at the same time. He said he was none but Thomas, and that you would know him.”
Charles sat up in alarm, his breath coming in quick gasps. How had Thomas located him here? How had the man even known he was in London?
“No, I have no time to see him at the present,” Charles began, but he recoiled in anger when he saw the door fly open and his valet Roberts shoved from behind until he was face-down on the floor.
“No time for me, eh? Too busy throwing yerself a little party, are ya?” Thomas said, a terrifying grin on his face. “Now why wouldn’t ya want yer old friend to come pay you a visit?”
The man looked around the sparsely furnished quarters and shook his head sadly. “Though I dare to say it, My Lord, but yer home ain’t quite the palace I’d have thought ‘twould be. Where are the fine paintings and the gold candlesticks? Don’t be tellin’ me ya don’t got any. What, had to sell ‘em all to pay yer bills? Like ya sold yer daughter?”
“What nonsense are you going on about?” Charles demanded brusquely, recovering from the surprise of seeing Thomas here.
Before Thomas could answer, the valet pushed himself to his feet and lifted the poker from the fireplace over his head. He brought it crashing down upon Thomas’ skull, the resulting blow sending the lower man sprawling to the floor.
“Quick! Help me tie him here then send for the constable!” Charles shouted, rising up from his seat to seize the opportunity.
The valet helped lift Thomas underneath his arms and dragged him to one of the straight-backed chairs, then ran to fetch something sturdy to bind him. While he was gone, Charles inspected the damage, concerned about the growing lump on top of Thomas’ head and the blood that seeped from the wound.
A sudden thought emerged. He had not been the one who struck the man, it had been the valet. And he had done it with very good reason, the most justifiable of causes. Moreover, the valet was no longer here, having run for the authorities.
Charles looked down at the somewhat filthy man, his head fallen forward from the blow. His hands hung limply at the sides of the chair where strips of linen bound his hands. Charles noted the faint aroma of rotten vegetables about him and the various stains on his clothing, some fresh and some rather old. There were a few scars on his skin, probably from fighting or poor health.
There was little doubt anyone would even miss this man should something unfortunate befall him. If this man were to succumb to this grievous injury, then many of Charles’ problems would disappear…
* * *
That afternoon, Marjorie was resting in her room with her writing desk, making a weak effort to write some letters, when Harriet knocked softly. She came in and sat close to her sister’s bedside, weighing her words carefully.
“Harriet?” Marjorie asked, sitting up in bed. “What is it? Is something the matter?”
“I know not how to answer that question,” Harriet replied in a calm, detached way. “Obviously, everything is wrong. You’re not to be married, Father’s debts will not be paid, we will be forced into a life of empty poverty… but for some reason, forgive me for saying so, but I cannot find the resolve in me to care.”
“I think I understand you too well,” Marjorie agreed. “Nothing has ever been right since Mother died, and now, it almost feels like the end is approaching somehow. I should be terrified, wringing my hands and pacing my room—if I could do so without pain, that is—but I cannot find the will to be… what? Sad? Fearful? I don’t even know what emotion to attach to all of this.”
“I am very afraid of our prospects,” Harriet continued, “but I know you could do well finding employment as a governess. As for me, I’m not clever enough for such things. I barely survived my own tutors, let alone could teach my young charges!”
“Nonsense, Harriet!” Marjorie said brightly, taking her sister’s hands. “Why, remember how recently you were complimented on your music? I think you would do very well as a music teacher. But I somehow don’t think it will come to that.”
“What do you mean?” she asked insistently, the first rays of hope appearing on her face. “Did you receive some news?”
“Oh no, I’m sorry to fill you with false hope. But I cannot explain the sentiment. Only today have I found a sudden sense of peace about all our troubles. I suppose we can only wait to see what will befall us.”
“Father is gone to London,” Harriet said. “I know he intends to accuse the Earl of Lanercost of a crime. But I saw with my own eyes the man who stole Valiant!”
“That’s right, and I happened upon Hermia in the Earl’s stable. He told me that he’d agreed to purchase the animal! As for our other horse, it was simply one of the work horses we use about the fields, not one of the valuable animals. I had ridden it to the Earl’s stables the day of the horse race, so of course it was still there after I had taken my fall.”
“So you did not see Valiant there?” Harriet asked, and Marjorie shook her head. “Then that means that the man who took Valiant, the one who whisked me away on pretense of going to find you, did not do so under the Earl’s orders! Why would he keep a work horse and not one so valuable as your own Valiant?”
“Harriet, we must stop Father from making his report,” Marjorie said, already trying to rise from her bed. “I know it is a late hour and I know it is not the wise or seemly thing to do, but a great injustice may occur if we do not.”
“I’m going with you, of course!” Harriet stood taller, her shoulders held back proudly.
“What? You’re not afraid of something for once in your life?” Marjorie teased, already limping towards her dressing screen.
“I’m not. I have lived for so long in the fear that I should do the wrong thing and cause someone to think less of me. All that has gotten me is a short lifetime filled with dread, which has benefitted no one. I no longer care what others may think, at least not when I have the opportunity to do the right and noble thing.”
Marjorie pulled Harriet close and hugged her fiercely. “I’m so proud of you, my sister,” she whispered. “For all that it’s worth, you have never once lost an ounce of esteem in my eyes.”
Harriet smiled as her eyes went moist. “Come, let’s get you dressed. We have a plan to unfurl!”
