by Aria Norton
Her heart broke at the sights that had assailed her on her 'outings.' It would do Joshua good to follow her example and take an excursion of his own, dressed in rags, to see how most of the population lived. The injustice of the system angered and disappointed her. How could the nobility live in such luxury, their every whim and fancy tended, while others starved and perished from disease? That was what Joshua should make his aim to change if he was elected to the House of Commons.
She went downstairs, guided by the early morning light streaming through the windows. The rain had let up sometime during the night. A thick mist hung over the city, slowly dissipating as the sun began to rise. Abigail took a moment to enjoy the morning's beauty, parting the lace curtain in the hall to gaze out onto the street.
The cherry blossoms were in bloom, giving their street an air of magic. Soft pink petals floated to the ground as a gentle breeze began to blow, sending the mist into tiny swirling dervishes. If only their lives could be as peaceful as the scene before her.
Sighing, she turned away from the window and went to the kitchens to talk to the cook about the day's menu. She sat down on a stool and sipped a cup of hot tea.
"Let's prepare the lamb this evening and then we shall have the beef tomorrow," Abigail instructed, going over the handwritten menu that the cook had prepared.
"Yes, ma'am." The cook turned away, lines of worry etched on her brow. "What is it, Betsy?"
The young cook turned. She had come to work for them shortly after Abigail had arrived in London. The old cook had given her notice when Joshua could not give her a raise in pay. Betsy was a godsend, though. She was a widow with two small children. This job had allowed her to keep her family together, living in the small apartments located in the house's attic.
"We do not have enough money for beef. It is too expensive, ma'am."
"I see. Well, we shall get along just as well with mutton, won't we?"
Abigail stood and drank the rest of her tea in one gulp. She set down her cup and smiled at Betsy. "Don't worry. Master Joshua and I have weathered worse storms than this together." She could not think what at the moment, though.
She turned and left the kitchen, climbing the steps with a clip in her step. She did not want Betsy to see the worried look in her eyes. What they needed now was a miracle. Determined not to leave London in disgrace, she began formulating ways that they could economise even further. However, they lived so tightly already that Abigail did not know what else they could do besides letting all the servants go. It was difficult for widows to find work. If Joshua had to sack Betsy, she would likely have no other choice but to go to the workhouse. Her young children would not survive such a place. Shuddering, she tried to push the very thought out of her mind. No, she could not allow Joshua's career to fail.
When she came into the drawing-room to make sure that Mazzie had seen to the fires, she was greeted by Joshua. Usually not an early riser, she was surprised and drew back with a momentary fright.
"Oh! Good morning, brother. I did not think you would be awake so early."
She came to sit next to him before the hearth.
"I could not sleep. I received a note that the debate has been canceled. Sir Filmore had to leave London on urgent business."
Abigail could not be sad about that. Perhaps Filmore's leave of absence would give Joshua the time he needed to prepare himself better. "What urgent business is more important than a debate? Not that I'm complaining. This will give us a bit more time to prepare."
"I don't know. But I'm relieved, too."
Abigail bit her lip. She had to be subtle with her advice. Joshua wanted to make it in his career on his merit alone. "You would do well to study the people you mean to lead. Go to the poor sections of the city. Visit the places that no one else would."
"What good would that do, Abby? I can't change the slums in time for the election."
"You're right there. It will take years to make the lasting changes that people need. But the people aren't worried about what is going to come years from now. They care about being able to put food on the table tomorrow."
She let that sink in for a moment. Underneath all the insecurities her brother carried, he had a kind heart. "Brother, your problem is that you think if you want to effect change in one area of our nation, you have to change everything. If you do that, you'll overwhelm yourself into indecision and settle for doing nothing. You must focus on little changes at a time. What can you do for the people tomorrow to make their lives a little easier? What can you do to help them help their families?"
Joshua raked his hands through his hair, his hair standing on end as he did so. She let out a laugh and smoothed his hair as if he were a small child. "I don't know how to do that. What is it that I'm supposed to focus on first? Religious reforms? Working conditions? Better pay? The rights of the workers? There is so much to do."
"You're right. And there will always be so much to do, Joshua. All you can do is a little bit at a time. What is that French saying? Petit a petit, l'oiseau fait son nid. Little by little, the bird makes its nest."
"We are not birds, Abigail," Joshua teased.
"No. But we have patience and perseverance. That is what being a politician is all about. It may take years, even decades, to affect the kind of change you want to see in the world. Take the slave trade, for instance."
"Yes, I suppose you're right," Joshua conceded.
"I know I am." Abigail had looked up to the man who worked for twenty years to abolish slavery in England. Her father had been livid when, at twelve years old, she had decided to stop drinking sugar in her tea as a protest against the slave trade in the Caribbean.
"Well then, I shall start with improving the working conditions, shall I?" Joshua stood, a smile on his face.
Abigail joined him but was not as optimistic as he. "If it were left to me, I would go after the workers' wages. They are paid next to nothing for twelve-hour days. If they have higher wages, they will be able to better provide for their families. You should go and visit Whitechapel. It is absolutely appalling..."
Joshua's face turned pale. "You have been to Whitechapel?"
She bit her lip, realising her mistake in revealing her little adventures around the city. "I... well, yes, but..."
"How could you be so careless, Abigail? Don't you know you might have been killed? That is the most dangerous section of London!" he bellowed.
"I was fine, Joshua. I only wanted to look around so that I might understand how others live. It is frightening the way they are forced to live." Abigail drew back, seeing her brother's face growing redder. He was not the violent type, but he was fiercely protective of her.
"I suppose you'll want to go and do my debates for me and talk to the constituents next." He swore under his breath. "Abigail, how could you be so stupid?"
Hurt, she closed her mouth and lifted her chin. "Everything I have been doing has been to help you, to make sure you have a future here in London. If you would go out and see how your voters are living, we would not be in this predicament."
He huffed, laughing joylessly. "That is not your decision to make. How did you even go about it?"
Honesty would be the best in this situation. Her brother was not one to take being lied to well. "I dressed up in some of your old clothes and took a hackney to Whitechapel. I walked around for a few minutes, and then I came straight home." She did not tell him about the several women she had interviewed, revealing that she was a woman as well before they had the nerve to talk to her. One woman had lost her two-year-old daughter to a fever. She did not have access to medical care. Abigail's heart had shattered for the woman. There had to be something they could do for her.
"The people of this nation depend on the men they elect to lead them, to represent them to parliament. You owe it to represent them as best you can, presenting the issues that matter most." Abigail took his hand. "I'm sorry I went behind your back. I promise I was in no danger. If you go and tour some of these places, you w
ill understand."
He patted her hand and sighed. "No wonder Father had such white hair. He was trying to rein you in."
Abigail rolled her eyes. "He was trying to do the same with you, until you capitulated."
"I suppose we must all be broken in at one point or another. I will think about your suggestion. Although I think there are safer areas than Whitechapel that we might visit."
Mazzie knocked on the door to announce breakfast. They both turned and headed towards the small dining room. "We?" Abigail asked, her heart fluttering with excitement.
"Yes. If you agree to go with me, I think we can find some way to help the voters. You're right in that I have been too overwhelmed with everything that has to be done. I will focus my energies on improving people's lives through better wages. I don't know how far we will get with it, but it is worth a try. Everything I have been doing so far has failed."
They entered the dining room and sat down to a modest meal. It took a while for her brother to notice that they were not eating their regular breakfast.
"Where is the butter, Abigail?"
She wiped her mouth with her napkin and swallowed. "I'm sorry, Joshua. We had to forego buying butter this week."
"Are we in that dire of straits?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Well, we shall have to do something fast to turn this campaign around. Or we'll be the ones living in the slum."
Chapter 5
The only way Thomas knew how to drown his sorrow was to turn to drink. The house was too quiet, the echoes of the halls reminding him that he was once again alone. Sarah had filled the void left when his parents had died. Now, the depression that had dogged him came back in full force.
Sitting in the gaming house the following day, he watched the other gentlemen laughing and playing cards, downing their drinks in much the same way as he was. But he had had an early start and was already the worse for wear by nine o'clock in the morning. As his friends and colleagues filed in during the lunch hour and beyond, his eyelids grew heavier. Soon, he was fast asleep with his head cradled in his arms on the table.
Everyone left him alone. With rumors circulating the city about what had happened between the unfortunate love triangle, most were giving Lord Brampton a wide berth. Thomas was glad that no one had tried to approach him besides the waiters. He had not come to talk about his woes, only to drink them away. He flitted in and out of sleep, strange dreams jolting him out of his slumber.
He dreamed that Sarah had come to his house, laughing at him in the doorway. She pointed at him and sneered, calling him weak for not seeing the signs of her growing fascination with Sir Filmore. "He is the true object of my affections..."
At around five o'clock, Thomas woke up with an imprint of his shirt sleeves wrinkled across his left cheek. He sat up and blinked several times before the room came back into focus. The smoky haze still hung around the room, as it always had. However, the smell of tobacco was making him nauseous now. Or was it all the drink he had consumed? He wasn't sure. He closed his eyes again and held his palms to his pounding head. It was time for him to return home. He called one of the waiters over and asked him to help him get outside and into his carriage.
He stood on shaky legs, the waiter placing an arm around his middle to steady him. As they slowly made their way to the lobby, Thomas spotted two gentlemen talking at one of the tables. Usually, he would not have paid them any mind, but one of the young men caught his attention for some reason.
"Thankfully, Sir Filmore has vanished from the city. With any luck my opponent will stay away for a while after his hasty marriage to Lady Sarah Thorne."
Thomas perked up when he overheard the hushed conversation as he passed. He motioned for the waiter to halt so that he could listen in, clumsily ducking behind a fern. He stumbled, almost taking the waiter to the ground with him.
"Please, sir!" The waiter righted him and made to leave, but Thomas held on tight to his arm. He needed all the support he could get since his world was spinning from the copious amounts of alcohol he had imbibed.
"I must do whatever it takes to best him during this election. My very livelihood depends on it!" Thomas recognised the man who was speaking. He was running for a position in the House of Commons, a newcomer. Pointing a shaky finger through the leaves of the fern, he asked the waiter to remind him of the gentleman's name.
"That is Mr. Joshua Staton. His father died last year and had distinguished himself as a great family doctor in one of the county parishes. The son would have made a better merchant than politician, or so the other gentlemen say."
Thomas nodded wearily, wishing that Master Staton would reveal more about Sarah and Filmore. As an opponent running against Filmore, perhaps he could glean some more information on where he and Sarah had vanished off to.
"This lady he's married comes with not a small fortune for a dowry. No doubt he plans to use his wife's wealth to further his political career, buying favor with the other MPs and the public. Heaven knows he doesn't have any money of his own."
Thomas bristled at this. Sarah had handed over her fortune to a man she barely knew. Not that Thomas was worried about the money. He had more than enough of his own wealth to sustain him throughout his life. He was angry that she had chosen a more exciting man than himself, after all the years he had spent trying to show her how much he cared about her. His heart hardened against her. He wanted to inflict the same kind of pain she had wrought on him. But how to do it?
"He'll work his way through her fortune in a year's time, mark my words. Filmore has always been unlucky at the gambling tables. He cannot resist betting at the races. Poor woman. She'll be destitute, with a brat on each knee." The men laughed.
Even in his liquor-clouded mind, a plan was beginning to form. He could take his revenge on Filmore and Sarah by ruining the man's political career. And Joshua Staton would be just the man to help him exact his retribution for the wrongs he had suffered at Sarah and Ezra's hands.
"Take me back to my table, would you? And please alert Master Frederic Bauer that I am waiting for him when he comes in."
The waiter gave him a sideways look before helping him back to his table, no doubt irked by the run-around. "Of course, My Lord," he replied, and hurried away before Thomas could ask him anything else. Thomas hung his head, letting out a long sigh. He watched Mr. Staton, hoping that his friend would arrive soon so that he could introduce them. He did not have long to wait, for no more than ten minutes later, Frederic appeared.
Frederic's face fell when he saw Thomas, looking disheveled and worn from the long day of drinking. "What in heaven's name happened to you, Thomas? Don't tell me you've been drinking since last night."
"I have. Sit down, my friend. I have a favor to ask of you," Thomas slurred.
Frederic sat down, his face lined with worry. "Anything. You know I want to help. Shall I call your carriage for you? You look awful."
"Thank you for noticing," Thomas said dryly. "No. First I would like you to introduce me to that gentleman over there." He tried to point at Joshua, correcting his finger's position when he realised he had been pointing at a potted plant at first. He was seeing double. "No not the fern. Mr. Staton. I'm told he's a politician running for a place in the Commons?"
Frederic nodded, trying not to laugh. "I can't introduce you, I don't know him."
"But I need someone personable to introduce us. His name is Joshua Staton."
"I know who he is, it's just we've never been introduced. Why do you need me to do it? Introduce yourself," Frederic said, standing to leave. He did not like getting tangled up in awkward situations. "Besides, you're in no shape to talk to anyone in your current condition."