by Aria Norton
He nodded, "I've said it a million times, but you should have been the politician."
"I will not argue with you on that point," Abigail laughed. "Now, come on. You don't want to keep Lord Brampton waiting."
Chapter 14
"You look dreadful, Thomas old boy." Frederic slapped his back as he walked into the main room of the gaming house. Thomas had come to get some dinner and to try and take his mind off his troubles.
"Thank you," Thomas replied, all joy devoid from his tone.
"That bad? I am sorry, my friend." Frederic sat down and ordered a drink, offering another round to Thomas.
"No, thank you. I do not think I will be able to touch another drop of alcohol again for as long as I live."
Frederic leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table. Here in the gaming house, the usual rules of etiquette were relaxed. Things such as smoking and leaning one's elbows on the table were not frowned upon.
A raucous sounded at the other end of the room as a group of gentlemen came out of a private meeting room. Thomas did not give them much mind until Frederic turned and growled, "There is Sir Filmore. It is a wonder he has the nerve to show his face here again, after everything that's happened."
Thomas perked up at this. He had not told Frederic that he had tried to see Sarah the other night and witnessed them kissing through the window. Ashamed of his weakness, he had not wanted to admit his failure to his best friend.
The group of gentlemen came closer, their laughter grating. Thomas was thinking about leaving when he heard Sir Filmore's irritating voice rising above the rest.
"Tell us how you won such a beautiful young woman for a bride, Filmore. You are not that good looking."
Thomas agreed. Filmore had a rather long face, making him look somewhat like a horse. His eyes were set close together, and his higher-pitched voice made him sound like a woman at times. A mop of thick dark curls sat atop his head, often falling into his eyes when he was drunk.
"It is not all about looks when it comes to wooing a lady, Mr. Trenton. Where a man is attracted by the visual, a woman is attracted by the emotional. My wife fell for me in a matter of days. She is very impressionable."
Thomas could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, his fists clenched in front of him on the table as Filmore went on.
"Sarah is the most beautiful woman in London to be sure. But it was her dowry I was most interested in. Of course, having both beauty and riches made her my first choice for a wife. Coaxing her away from that ogre of a fiancé was not difficult in the least. She does whatever I ask in order to please me," he said with a lustful glint in his eyes. "Take my advice, gentlemen, a pliable wife is the best wife. And even better than that is a pliable, naive wife. I can go on living just as I have been and she will never be any the wiser."
Thomas sprang out of his chair then and strode over to the group.
"Ahh, Lord Brampton. What a pleasant surprise. I assume you overheard the news? I am now married. Will you not congratulate me?" Filmore asked, his eyes flickering with villainous amusement.
"You cad! Everyone knows you stole her from me. Why would you do it, if you don't love her?" Thomas exploded.
Filmore laughed at this. "You know that love has nothing to do with marriage, my good man. Ours was a battle for Sarah's heart, and I won. Admit defeat gracefully and let us be friends."
Thomas lunged for Filmore, who took a step back. Frederic caught hold of Thomas before he could do anything more. "Let it go, Thomas. He isn't worth it," he whispered harshly.
"You will regret this, Filmore. I swear it on my mother's grave!" Thomas shook Frederic off him and left the room, panting with the effort to control himself.
Frederic followed him out of the lobby and into the street. The rain was pouring down off the roof, inundating the road below.
"Come, we'll call a cab and go to your house!" Frederic called over the din. Thomas stood with his hands over his head, panting still in the heat of his anger.
"No. I will walk." Thomas started off in the direction of his home, but Frederic caught up to him and took hold of his arm. Thomas jerked his arm free and turned, the thirst for bloodshed shining in his eyes. Frederic took a step back.
"I'm sorry, my friend. I cannot imagine what you are going through right now. It will do no one any good if you come down with pneumonia."
"I appreciate your concern, Frederic. I am past help now." Thomas let his head fall to his chest and then whipped his head to the side to get his drenched hair out of his eyes. "Leave me be, please. I'll see you tomorrow."
He walked away without another word, leaving Frederic standing alone in the rain.
"I'm not going to leave you to roam the streets alone this time, my friend. I will walk with you." Frederic wrapped his arms around his middle to ward off the chill. Thomas sniffed, smiling at his friend. The water ran down his face and dripped off the end of his nose.
"You would do that for me?"
"Of course. Who knows what kind of trouble you would get yourself into?"
They walked in silence for a few minutes, dodging cabs that would have sloshed muddy water on them as they passed. "Thank you again for keeping me from calling Sir Filmore out. I would have killed him back there."
"You would have tried, my friend. Everyone knows that Filmore is an expert swordsman."
"And I'm not?" Thomas halted in his tracks, the rain streaming down his face. "I would have bested him."
"No, Thomas. You would have fought bravely, but he would have bested you in the end. Along with being an expert swordsman, he is also a cheat. Besides, it would do no good to have you carted off to prison and hanged for murder."
"How is it that he has stolen everything of worth from me and he is going to get away with it? Is there no justice in the world?" he cried passionately.
"Sometimes, the good do not always get what they deserve in this life. But a Judgement Day is coming, where all men's hearts and deeds will be laid bare. If not in this life, he will pay for every evil deed in the next." Thomas did not gain much comfort from the sentiment. Patience was not one of his strong suits when it came to injustice. He was not a deeply religious person, unlike Frederic. However, he did draw comfort from the fact that Frederic was trying to help.
After half an hour of plodding through the rain, Frederic let out a shrill whistle as a hackney passed by. "Enough of this, Thomas. Let us get in the cab and go home."
Thomas halted. "You go, Frederic. I want to be alone for a while. Go around to my house, if you wish. If not, I shall see you in the morning."
Frederic hung his head. "Is there nothing I can do to persuade you?"
"I will not do anything rash, my friend. I promise. I only want to clear my head." Thomas placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him towards the cab. "Please, go. I will be alright."
Fredric climbed into the coach reluctantly. "Very well. And promise me you won't go to Filmore's house and try to avenge yourself."
"I promise." Thomas tried to smile to reassure his friend. However, Frederic looked anything but convinced that Thomas would not do precisely what he had feared all along.
In all reality, Thomas had been thinking no such thing. Frederic was right. Filmore was an excellent swordsman, from all that was told. It was not worth facing the hangman's noose to take his revenge. No, it would be much more beneficial to continue on with his plan to ruin him. Mr. Staton was collecting information on him, and he was sure that they would be able to move forward with their goal soon.
His thoughts turned to Abigail unbidden. Why had he been thinking of her so often lately? He was sure it was because he was impatient to get the plan underway. She had an aura of mystery about her. Perhaps it was her failure to go along blindly with tradition and etiquette that piqued his interest.
He rounded a corner and realised that he had stumbled on an unsavory part of town. Scantily clad women stood about in the street, waiting for customers. He put his head down and tried to avoid the 'wor
king women' as best he could. He did not need a scandal to his political career on top of everything else.
"Looking for some fun, Mister?"
Thomas nearly jumped out of his skin when a young woman stepped into his path from the shadows.
"Ahh... No, thank you," he said and tried to step around her. She placed a hand on his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
"Come on, Mister. I'll give you a good price."
Thomas jerked his arm free and took several steps back. "No, madam. I'm just passing through." He asked her if she knew which way Abigail's street was, and she told him.
"Madame, huh? Don’t get many gents callin’ me that.” She smiled sadly. "You a prince or something?"
"No, not in the least," Thomas replied. He felt for the girl, who looked to be no more than seventeen. Her clothes were in tattered rags, hanging loosely around her shoulders. These were the people he and his colleagues should be trying to help. However, no one would be seen with them, the 'filth of society.' Her eyes shone with hunger, and not just of the physical kind. Underneath the provocative mask, her soul seemed to be crying out for someone to notice her plight, for someone to care.
"Here," he said, and began digging through his jacket pocket. He did not have much money on his person, but even this little would help her he was sure. He handed her a ten-pound note, folding her fingers around it. Her fingertips were like ice. "This should help."
"You don't want nothin' in return?" she asked, no doubt shocked by his generosity.
"No, I don't want anything from you, my dear girl. Go home and get out of this rain before you catch your death."
"Bless you, sir," she said softly as he turned and hurried away.
He was able to find his way out of that section of the city and turned onto the street where Joshua and Abigail lived. What exactly was he going to say to them? He was showing up unannounced. Of course, he had not known he was going to call on them that evening. Finding that he was impatient to know what Abigail and Joshua had learned about Filmore, he continued down the street.
The rain had slowed to a soft pitter-patter as he'd walked. What would Abigail think of him, showing up a drenched, shivering mess without sending his card first? It was highly irregular, and if he were not in earnest, he would have turned away and gone home. His curiosity got the better of him, though, and he climbed the steps to their front door.
He was about to knock when he caught a glimpse of Abigail through the parlour window. Her long, dark hair hung in loose curls over her shoulders and down her back. She straightened the small clock on the mantel, dusting the wood with a little rag as she went. Turning, she seemed to sense his eyes on her.
Her gaze was so captivating that for a moment they simply stood there, peering at each other through the window. She took a step to the side, nearing the windowpane. He realised that she probably could not make out who he was through the water streaming down the pane in little rivulets.
He stepped back and knocked on the door.
Abigail stood behind the maid, who answered the door. She looked lost for words at his appearance. "Lord Brampton, what a... pleasant... surprise."
Chapter 15
"It was unbelievable, Abigail! They rushed me as soon as I started my speech. It was awful!" Joshua said as he came into the parlour late that evening.
Abigail stood immediately, ushering her brother in to be close by the fire. She had hoped that the weather would let up soon, announcing the beginning of summer. However, the spring rains and cold were hanging on with an iron grip. ”Sit down and tell me all about it. You are not injured, are you?"
"No. Only my pride, that is. Sir Filmore's speech was brilliant, detailing how he would bring reform if he were elected. Then, when it was my turn to speak, the crowd rushed forward in tandem and started shouting at me. They started asking what I was going to do to bring social change and pay attention to the plight of the common man. They didn't even give me a chance. I was going to address all of that in my speech, but Filmore beat me to it."
Abigail steeled herself against her anger. "It sounds like the crowd was paid to act that way. Why would they attack you and not Filmore? It all seems highly suspect to me."
"You really think he would stoop so low?" Joshua rubbed his clean-shaven chin in thought.
"I do. We have heard how he treats the women he has courted. Why wouldn't he stoop to paying some men to stir up trouble for you during your debates?"
"Whatever the case, it was a disastrous day."
"I wish I would have been there. I don't know how, but perhaps I could have done something to help you." Abigail stood, stirring the coals of the fire. She added a log to the hearth, poking the coals again to encourage more flames.
Once the fire was blazing again, she turned. Joshua was lost in thought, oblivious to her desire to go with him to his debates. He had told her that her place was in the home. It was too dangerous for her to be out among the people. He didn't understand that she felt the most alive when she was with him at the debates.
He had only ever allowed her to attend two of them. His reasons for forbidding her to go were his concerns for her safety, but she knew it was more than that. Was he jealous of her, thinking that his colleagues would see that she was the real politician in the family?
Despite his warnings, she had snuck out dressed in his clothes to watch a few of his debates from afar. How else was she going to help him unless she saw first-hand what he was dealing with? Besides, with the unease after the Prime Minister's assassination, she had to be sure he was safe too. She could not bear it if anything were to happen to him.
"I know what will cheer you up. I'll play for you." Abigail stood and went to the pianoforte in the corner, smiling as she was seated. She began to play her brother's favourite song, a lilting melody about a young maiden in love with a shepherd boy. Joshua was a romantic at heart.
Her attention was caught by someone coming up the steps to the front door. Her heart leapt, thinking that a low-life was prowling around their front stoop. She stopped playing, standing up to see if she could get a better look. A man with dark hair stood in the window, his face distorted by the water running down the pane.
"I believe we have a visitor," she said and went out into the hall. Sure enough, a few moments later, there was a knock on the door. Joshua joined her in the foyer, opening the door to the stranger.
"Lord Brampton!" Joshua exclaimed as the stranger lifted his face. Abigail's heart skipped a beat. He met her gaze, his own apologetic.
"I'm sorry to call so late." Joshua placed a hand on his shoulder and ushered him into the house.
"Nonsense. Come in and sit down by the fire."
"I'll fetch a towel for you," Abigail said, and went off to the kitchen to get it. Lord Brampton had a bad habit of showing up without warning. It was socially unacceptable to do so. However, their relationship with the gentleman was secretive to say the least. Perhaps it was for the best he had taken to visiting them in the evening, giving him less chance of being recognised coming into their home.
Abigail hurried back up the stairs from the kitchen. "My life is ruined," Lord Brampton was saying as she entered the library. Standing next to the fire, he turned and took the towel she offered him. He dried his face and hands, then ran the towel over his hair.
"Please do sit down, Lord Brampton." Abigail motioned towards a chair before the hearth, taking a seat next to her brother.
"Yes, of course. Excuse my rudeness, Lord Brampton." Joshua stood and scooted the chair closer to the hearth.
"No, thank you. I would not leave a water mark on Miss Abigail's furniture."