incited Abigail to chatter on nervously.
“We’ll head for Derbyshire, a goodly distance but Aye got kin there. Aye worked at Pemberley when Aye was the merest chit of a girl. Richer than God, them people are.”
“You were never a chit of a gerl, Abby,” leered Reed.
Unexpectedly, his tone altered. He lay back across the dishevelled bed and ruminated.
“Pemberley? Me brother boasts him a place on that coach. Said they weren’t all that rich. Stays behind the house here in London.” He lay there silently a moment and then bid Abigail, “Yer say it’s a fine place, eh? Very rich?”
“The finest. The richest,” she assured him. “Didn’t yer brother tell you?”
No, his brother did not tell him. Not surprisingly either, Reed thought, knowing his brother had little gumption and no enterprise. Suddenly, better humour favoured him with a near-smile. This odd alteration of his features struck mother and son identically. They both recoiled.
He stood with a distant look upon his face, then slapped her behind again and said, “Thanks to yer, Abby.”
Abigail had no idea what he was thanking her for, but she spoke not a word of question. Few people in the bowels of London questioned fate when it smiled. And providence looked quite happily upon Abigail if she escaped either a beating or a dip of Reed’s wick. She did not watch as he walked out the door and up the street whistling absently.
“There goes a no-good muck of a man, John.”
Without further comment, both began a furious compilation of meagre possessions to stuff into a dilapidated holdall.
* * *
Reed took advantage of the cold weather by stealing a ride clinging to the foot-board of a closed carriage. He dropped to the ground as it rounded the corner of Haymarket and Monmouth, strolled up the street whistling until he spied a red brick mansion, and presented himself at his brother’s quarters in back. When told he had a visitor, Frank Reed came directly, but seemed less than pleased when he recognised his guest. They had not seen each other but once since Tom’s flight from justice as Tom had hit Frank up for half a crown. Knowing his brother as he did, Frank did not suppose it was a loan.
At Frank’s dour countenance, Tom slapped him upon the shoulders, assuring him he had not come for more money. He wanted more than mere cash. Tom wanted Frank to open the bank.
He set about his plan post-haste by pressing Frank to promote him for the position of footman, that situation to become available forthwith. Tom took out his ever--present knife and commenced to pare his nails with it in front of the coachman who rode next to Frank. The intimidated man loved his life more dearly than gainful employment, took the hint, and fled.
Contrary to his brother, Frank had been a dependable and complaisant employee, hence, when he gave assurances of his brother’s character to the rather prissy houseman, it was accepted as true as any other tale told in London. The houseman saw that the brothers held the greatest want of footmen, that of the same tall height and good leg. Additionally, Tom fit the newly vacated jacket. Could there possibly be anything else wanting? As easy as that.
Reed fancied the runty houseman’s eyes spent a little more time than necessary looking him up and down than professional appraisal would have demanded. The position attained, he swaggered away, complaining over his shoulder to his brother who plodded sullenly behind.
“That nimminy-pimminy looks like that at me again, he’ll be-a eatin’ his danglers for dinner.”
Frank Reed cringed at what he considered more than loose talk. Reed noticed his head hanging despondently as he walked.
“Ah, Frankie, me boy,” he reassured him, “they’re a waste on ’im anyways.”
10
Yes, he could do it several times more than once, and with no little vigour. Light was barely filtering into the room, but Elizabeth was awake and contemplating that new understanding.
One might reason,
“We’ll head for Derbyshire, a goodly distance but Aye got kin there. Aye worked at Pemberley when Aye was the merest chit of a girl. Richer than God, them people are.”
“You were never a chit of a gerl, Abby,” leered Reed.
Unexpectedly, his tone altered. He lay back across the dishevelled bed and ruminated.
“Pemberley? Me brother boasts him a place on that coach. Said they weren’t all that rich. Stays behind the house here in London.” He lay there silently a moment and then bid Abigail, “Yer say it’s a fine place, eh? Very rich?”
“The finest. The richest,” she assured him. “Didn’t yer brother tell you?”
No, his brother did not tell him. Not surprisingly either, Reed thought, knowing his brother had little gumption and no enterprise. Suddenly, better humour favoured him with a near-smile. This odd alteration of his features struck mother and son identically. They both recoiled.
He stood with a distant look upon his face, then slapped her behind again and said, “Thanks to yer, Abby.”
Abigail had no idea what he was thanking her for, but she spoke not a word of question. Few people in the bowels of London questioned fate when it smiled. And providence looked quite happily upon Abigail if she escaped either a beating or a dip of Reed’s wick. She did not watch as he walked out the door and up the street whistling absently.
“There goes a no-good muck of a man, John.”
Without further comment, both began a furious compilation of meagre possessions to stuff into a dilapidated holdall.
* * *
Reed took advantage of the cold weather by stealing a ride clinging to the foot-board of a closed carriage. He dropped to the ground as it rounded the corner of Haymarket and Monmouth, strolled up the street whistling until he spied a red brick mansion, and presented himself at his brother’s quarters in back. When told he had a visitor, Frank Reed came directly, but seemed less than pleased when he recognised his guest. They had not seen each other but once since Tom’s flight from justice as Tom had hit Frank up for half a crown. Knowing his brother as he did, Frank did not suppose it was a loan.
At Frank’s dour countenance, Tom slapped him upon the shoulders, assuring him he had not come for more money. He wanted more than mere cash. Tom wanted Frank to open the bank.
He set about his plan post-haste by pressing Frank to promote him for the position of footman, that situation to become available forthwith. Tom took out his ever--present knife and commenced to pare his nails with it in front of the coachman who rode next to Frank. The intimidated man loved his life more dearly than gainful employment, took the hint, and fled.
Contrary to his brother, Frank had been a dependable and complaisant employee, hence, when he gave assurances of his brother’s character to the rather prissy houseman, it was accepted as true as any other tale told in London. The houseman saw that the brothers held the greatest want of footmen, that of the same tall height and good leg. Additionally, Tom fit the newly vacated jacket. Could there possibly be anything else wanting? As easy as that.
Reed fancied the runty houseman’s eyes spent a little more time than necessary looking him up and down than professional appraisal would have demanded. The position attained, he swaggered away, complaining over his shoulder to his brother who plodded sullenly behind.
“That nimminy-pimminy looks like that at me again, he’ll be-a eatin’ his danglers for dinner.”
Frank Reed cringed at what he considered more than loose talk. Reed noticed his head hanging despondently as he walked.
“Ah, Frankie, me boy,” he reassured him, “they’re a waste on ’im anyways.”
10
Yes, he could do it several times more than once, and with no little vigour. Light was barely filtering into the room, but Elizabeth was awake and contemplating that new understanding.
One might reason,
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