Exactly. Only the rub is for Gallatin now, not him.
Thomas’s eyes twitch. It feels like an iron clamp is tightening in his chest. He has to get his feet moving to get breathing again.
He’s avoided saying it for days, but the plain truth is he was deceived. Nay, betrayed, twice betrayed. Not only by her but also by him. Oh, just say it. The word is “cuckolded.” And by the one he thought was his friend, earnest Jean Gallatin.
Thomas glances up from the cobbles. His legs have taken him down to the far end of Church Street. If he doesn’t turn round soon he’ll next be walking down Brick Lane, headed for who knows where. With a sigh, he turns round. Hands clasped over his rejected manuscript, which is pressed to his chest, he begins the return. His feet do so reluctantly. They scuff at a funeral pace.
Thomas imagines that on his return from the Friend at Hand earlier this night, Gallatin will have told Hélène that Thomas did not join the evening’s group. She asks why not, a surprised look on her face. Gallatin looks away. He replies, voice lowered, that the poor fellow appears to have had his manuscript rejected by Edward Cave. The bookseller will offer that Thomas must have been downcast. Or maybe he’ll dare say what he really thinks: that Thomas was too cowardly to show his face after wasting months writing a book no one wants. Yes, that’s more likely it. Then, clinching the portrait of a poor pathetic Thomas, Gallatin confides to Hélène that instead of facing his true friends, Thomas took off a-whoring with a known degenerate rake, one John Cleland by name.
Oh, so what? Let Gallatin say what he will to blacken Thomas’s name. The only question that matters is what will Hélène say to all that? Does she speak up on his behalf?
Thomas goes to the steps of number 5. The black-painted door and its handle are but an arm’s length away. Does he go in or not?
He supposes he has let his imaginings run wild. Gallatin would not sabotage him like that. They’ve been friends for too long.
As for Hélène, of course she’ll still be sleeping in her separate room. She’ll not make that move until Thomas moves out.
Thomas reaches into his pocket to get the key. It’s cool to the touch. He holds it up and runs his thumb up its bow to feel the indentations of its blade.
What if Thomas does not move out? No, better still, what if he does indeed leave, but does not go alone? That’s right. What if the eviction the other day by Hélène was really a test – a test that he failed the first time round? What if what she wanted him to say was no, you have to come away with me?
He likes the sound of that. But if so, there’s not much time left. He has to talk to her, show her she’s making a mistake. Making but not yet made. The key to that happening lies clasped in his hand. He’ll take the key and let himself in. He’ll pad silently as a cat by the parlour and creep up the stairs. He’s only following nature’s call. Past Gallatin’s room and into Hélène’s. With any luck at all, she’ll still be awake. If not, he’ll tenderly caress her to rouse her from sleep. She’ll welcome him into her bed and warm him up. He pictures those dark, glowing eyes and the enticing smile on her lips.
Thomas climbs the steps and put his key in the lock. So why does he hesitate to make it turn? Because he’s uncertain about the words he needs to say. He doesn’t need a script, but he does need the crux.
Is it not to tell Hélène that though at present Gallatin might appear to be the more successful of the two, Thomas is far from done? He’ll have to affirm that he will be rising to higher rungs and soon. That’s the message he has to get across. That he has prospects.
But why would Hélène take his word on that? He’s not sure he even believes it himself. Ambition is grand, but hardly comparable to actual success.
—
Thomas takes hold of her trembling frame. So, she’s a little nervous as well. He finds that a comfort somehow. Oh, but no, the trembles are not from her nervousness. The window is open nearly a foot. Along with the cold wind comes the sound of a distant barking dog. Those cries are answered by another dog, its roar deeper than the first.
“Do you know I’ve been waiting for you,” she says.
“Wait,” he says. He goes to close the window.
Standing together, each in only their chemises, each with arms round the other’s waist, silence comes to them both. She directs her gaze to the thick sheaf of pages Thomas brought into the room. It’s the rejected manuscript he placed on the seat of the small chair beside her bed.
“Come to read?” she asks.
“I suppose we could.”
“Your choice.”
“No, I think I’ll choose something else.”
“What would that be?”
He pulls her close. Her chestnut eyes are startled, but she says nothing, she does not resist. Thomas reaches to untie and remove her mob cap. He throws it across the room. Her dark hair smells of oranges as it tumbles down.
Next, up and off comes her chemise. Thomas leans forward to smell her neck. It’s the welcome scent of soap on her skin.
“You’ll keep yours on?” she asks.
“Soon enough gone, but how about this to start?” Thomas tips back and with the tip of a single finger he traces a winding path across her chest, in and around her breasts.
“Do you know where you're going?”
“I'll find my way.” Thomas bends down and gives each nipple a quick suck. Then he straightens up. He whispers in her ear. “So, tell me, who are you?”
“Who am I? What do you mean?”
“What’s your name?”
“Hélène.” Her expression says she’s bewildered that Thomas would ask such a question.
“Vraiment, Hélène?”
“That’s right, Hélène.”
Thomas hunches his shoulders. He shakes his head.
“But Billy says you wanted Hélène.”
Thomas holds up both hands. “I know what I asked for, but de grâce, your real name.”
“Élisabeth.”
“Élisabeth. I like that. And the accent is not exactly French. What is it?”
“Swiss. If Billy asks, I didn’t tell,” she adds hurriedly
“I didn’t ask.”
They stumble over to the bed. Thomas lifting her up and placing her down. He pulls off his chemise and tosses it to the floor. He presses close on top of her.
“You must have a story,” he says, gazing into her eyes.
“Don’t we all?”
“I guess we do.”
“Yours first, Monsieur?” Élisabeth shifts her position to open herself up for his full embrace.
“You're right,” Thomas says. “Let’s not give away too much.”
FIN
Acknowledgements and a Note to the Reader
This suite of novels (which began with Thomas, A Secret Life, published in 2012) is based loosely on an historical figure named Thomas Pichon (1700-1781). The historical Thomas Pichon belongs to historians; the one I write about belongs to me and to the readers of these books. He’s a fictional character living in a fictional world, though one grounded in no small amount of research. Readers interested in the key sources I relied on to help me create the world in which Thomas and the other characters move are invited to contact me via my website www.ajbjohnston.com.
Worth mentioning here, however, is that the name “Tyrell” that Thomas adopts in this novel is the same name the historical Pichon used when he came to live in England in the 1750s. Similarly, the historical Pichon became friends with John Cleland (1709-1789), as does the Thomas in this book. Whether or not he met William Hogarth, Samuel Scott or Edward Cave I do not know. Aside from the above-mentioned details, the rest of this second novel is entirely imagined rather than based on any known facts from Pichon’s life.
Of the many sources I consulted to create the London described in the second half of this book, two deserve a speci
al mention here. The first is a website called Spitalfields Life. Its creator, known as the Gentle Author, makes daily postings of a wide range of material. Some of that material was a great help in writing this book. The G.A. also kindly informed me via email as to which streets and parts of London date from the 1730s. One of those was Fournier Street, which in the 1730s was called Church Street. That’s where I ended up placing Jean Gallatin’s house, where Thomas and Hélène lodge for many months.
The second source I want to mention is Hallie Rubenhold’s Covent Garden Ladies. It presents a period a little later than the one I depict. Marvellously written, Rubenhold’s study gave me the inspiration for the scenes where Thomas goes to The Rose and to Shakespeare’s Head. My Billy Bing is a precursor of the pimp Jack Harris whom Rubenhold writes about.
Special thanks go to the three people who are slowly bringing me along as a novelist: Mary T. for extremely good advice after reading the first draft; Mike Hunter for ongoing encouragement and support; and Kate Kennedy for her outstanding editorial work. Kate’s initial suggestions on structural matters had a significant influence on the shape and texture of the story. So too, these pages benefitted immensely from Kate’s copy-editing to tighten the whole thing up.
All flaws and weaknesses are mine alone.
AJBJ
Previous Books by A. J. B Johnston
FICTION
Thomas, A Secret Life. Sydney, NS: Cape Breton University Press, 2012.
HISTORY
Ni’n na L’nu: The Mi’kmaq of Prince Edward Island. Charlottetown, PEI: Acorn Press, 2013. Co-authored with Jesse Francis.
Louisbourg, Past, Present, Future. Halifax, NS: Nimbus, 2013.
Endgame 1758: The Promise, The Glory and the Despair of Louisbourg’s Final Decade. Lincoln, NE and Sydney, NS: University of Nebraska Press and Cape Breton University Press, 2007.
1758 : La finale. Promesses, Splendeur et Désolation dans la dernière décennie de Louisbourg. Québec : Presses de l’Université Laval, 2011.
Storied Shores: St. Peter’s, Isle Madame and Chapel Island in the 17th and 18th Centuries. Sydney, NS: University College of Cape Breton Press, 2004.
Grand-Pré, Heart of Acadie. Halifax, NS: Nimbus, 2004. Co-authored with W. P. Kerr.
Grand-Pré, Coeur de l’Acadie. Halifax, NS: Nimbus, 2004. Traduit par Sylvain Filion.
Control and Order: The Evolution of French Colonial Louisbourg, 1713-1758. East Lansing, MI: Michigan State University Press, 2001.
Life and Religion at Louisbourg, 1713-1758. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1996 [Previously Religion in Life at Louisbourg, 1713-1758, 1984].
La religion dans la vie à Louisbourg (1713-1758). Ottawa: Environnement Canada, 1988.
Tracks Across the Landscape: A Commemorative History of the S&L Railway Sydney, NS: UCCB Press, 1995. Co-authored with Brian Campbell.
Louisbourg, an 18th-Century Town. Halifax, NS: Nimbus, 2004 [1991]. Co-authored with Kenneth Donovan, B. A. Balcom and Alex Storm.
Louisbourg: The Phoenix Fortress. Halifax, NS: Nimbus, 1997 [1990]. Photographs by Chris Reardon.
Louisbourg, Reflets d’une époque. Halifax, NS: Nimbus, 1997. Traduit par Robert Pichette.
From the Hearth: Recipes from the World of 18th-Century Louisbourg. Sydney, NS: UCCB Press, 1986. Co-authored with Hope Dunton.
The Summer of 1744, A Portrait of Life in 18th-Century Louisbourg. Ottawa: Parks Canada, 2002 [1983].
L’Été de 1744: La vie quotidienne à Louisbourg au XVIIIe siècle. Ottawa: Parcs Canada, 2002 [1983].
Defending Halifax: Ordnance, 1825-1906. Ottawa: Parks Canada, 1981.
La défense de Halifax: artillerie, 1825-1906. Ottawa: Parcs Canada, 1981.
A. J. B. Johnston has so far published fourteen books of history and more than a hundred articles on 18th-century French colonial or Acadian history. In recognition of his prolific career as an historian and writer, John was invested by France with the title Chevalier of the Ordre des Palmes Académiques (Order of Academic Palms). Johnston has now turned his hand to fiction. Long inspired to know more about Thomas Pichon (1700-1781), in his first novel, Thomas, A Secret Life (CBU Press, 2012), Johnston applied his considerable sense of 18th-century French history to imagine young Pichon’s early life in Normandy and Paris. For The Maze, Johnston did extensive research on 18th-century London.
www.ajbjohnston.com | @ajbjohnston
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