Quickly scouting the room and looking for a familiar face, my eyes finally spotted my aunt. Without thinking or considering the position I was in, my legs immediately began walking towards her table. I saw that she sat at a table with four other ladies who all seemed to be of a relatively similar age. The youngest woman at the table looked fifty and the oldest looked as elderly as sixty. I knew my aunt was in the fading years of her fifties.
"Excuse me, Ms. Tilney," I said to her and the diners at her table once I approached it. I hesitated not knowing what I wanted to say to her or how I could make a natural introduction.
She looked at me quizzically and waited for me to finish my sentence. I could see her eyes study the features of my face as her eyes moved from my eyes to my mouth to my cheekbones and then to my forehead. After she had studied me she quickly looked back at my eyes.
"Yes, what is it?" she said. "Who are you?"
"I'm sorry for interrupting you. My name is -"
"Monsieur Levasseur!" someone bellowed from across the fine dining room. The shout was so loud that it not only stopped me from continuing my speech but it changed the atmosphere of the entire room as the low murmurs of the conversations that were taking place were stopped and all looked at the source of the sound.
I quickly turned to see who had called me, startled that someone knew my alias. I turned to find the driver of the stagecoach staring at me warmly with a great grin on his face spread from ear to ear. He was standing up and pointing over at me from the table where he was moments ago just eating. I glanced at him quickly and the party with whom he was dining. Their table had half-eaten remains left on their plates and their glasses were not yet empty. The driver smiled at me and I smiled back and nodded to him.
"I didn't expect to see you here. How have you been?" the driver said loudly across the room to me.
All the diners in the room stared back and forth between me and the driver. Some of them looked interested in the exchange, others looked irritated by the interruption and some just looked confused. I felt my face go warm and knew that my cheeks would be wearing a nice shade of red from embarrassment.
"I have been fine, sir. I trust you have been well?" I responded eagerly wanting to bring this exchange to an end.
"I have been great. My company has been treating me well, as too have the general public, ever since we dealt with that highwayman," he responded once more, raising his voice even louder as if he wanted everyone to know what his great accomplishment was.
The driver then looked away from me and to the members of his party and the diners in the room who were still willingly, or unwilling, observing our conversation and raised his half-filled glass of wine.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Monsieur Levasseur. He was paramount in stopping the highwayman that haunted the roads just outside of Bath. He has done a great service for this city, as have I," when the driver finished speaking he gulped the remains of his wine glass and sat back down to his table and continued conversing with his the members of his table.
The remnants of onlookers who had not grown weary of the driver and his words now looked at me, eyeing me up and down and taking in my attire, physicality, and how I held myself. There were a few nods of approval, some sneers but mostly disinterest. A moment passed and the restaurant's atmosphere returned to how it had been before the rude and boisterous interruption from the driver.
I turned my body once more to turn my attention back to my aunt and the ladies at the table where I had tried to introduce myself before I had been cut off mid-sentence. The expression on the ladies' faces, especially my aunt's, had changed significantly. Their initial looks of confusion had subsided to portray surprise and a hint of amazement. When I tried to introduce myself for the second time, I was interrupted by one of the ladies at the table and she said that an introduction was no longer necessary as now the whole restaurant knew who I was. The old woman spoke the words kindly and without any malice, but I still felt embarrassed for the poor behaviour of the driver as I was associated with him and a party in the conversation that had transpired. The ladies then went round the table in a circle and introductions were made and back-stories were told until I knew each of them almost intimately. However, none of them were interesting or worth making conversation with. All I wanted to do was to speak with my aunt, who did not recognise me and now believed that I was Monsieur Levasseur.
Almost as soon as the introductions were completed, the young waitress who had served me, and Thomas who had been so gentle with my aunt upon her arrival were soon upon me. The waitress told me kindly that I was not allowed to be in this area of the restaurant as it was restricted for customers with reservations, while Thomas reiterated everything the young waitress said but in a harsher and less forgiving tone. He then apologised to the ladies who occupied the table for the rude interruption that I had no doubt caused them. He instructed me to return to my designated table promptly or I would be asked to leave the premise entirely.
"Come now, Thomas. This gentleman is a visitor to our land and it seems the city of Bath owes him a lot of thanks for his services. Let a place be made for him at this table and he can join our company. We shall show our friend good British hospitality," one of the women said to the waiter. All of the other women nodded in agreement at the proposal.
The table settings were altered and a place was made up for me. The ladies continued to talk and tell me about themselves until they were certain I knew them intimately. My aunt was the only one at the table who did not divulge any information about herself and she just stared at me. I could feel her glare from the corner of her eye. I asked questions and follow-up questions to the ladies who had told me their mundane stories and I tried to seem chivalrous and attentive.
"And you," my aunt, Emma Tilney, began. "I'm sure all the ladies here would certainly like to hear more about you. I, for one, am extremely interested. Tell us how you knew my name and what acquaintance we are to each other if we are one at all."
"We have never met," I began telling her. She nodded and said that she had not recognised me.
"Of course, if you had met him you would not have forgotten him. Excuse me for saying, Monsieur Levasseur, but you have a face and a physique that is commonly found on sculptures," one of the ladies at the table added to the exchange. The other ladies nodded and gently laughed at the interjection.
"No, I was quite sure that we had never met. Despite the proximity of our two countries, I have not had the pleasure of knowing many French people," Emma Tilney added.
"I am a friend of your nephew, William. We studied together for a few years when we were both students and he spoke fondly of you. He told me that when he visited Bath he would stay with you and you both cared deeply about each other. I told him that if I ever made it to this beautiful city that I would certainly ask for you and make the acquaintance of William's favourite family member."
"Well, then you must be an old friend of his from many years ago," my aunt responded as the tone in her voice softened.
"Yes, many years ago. He was studying French and I was studying English. We studied together and flourished together in our studies. Our friendship and bond was a necessity for the success of our studies."
"Then you were close friends?"
"We were brothers of the book and I certainly consider him a good friend. You would have to ask him his opinion of me, but I would like to assume he considers me a close friend too."
In truth, I did have a French partner who helped me master the language during my studies, so I knew this lie could be believed. I don't think that I ever mentioned such a thing to my aunt before, but I hoped I had. Regardless, she didn't comment on the past or the connection.
"You are aware then that my dear nephew, your dear friend, is dead?" Emma Tilney said.
I acted shocked and told her that I had no idea of the fate of William Underhill. I said to her that after my studies I returned to France and lost contact with my contemporary more than five years ago.
I then said that as I had come to England in the service of business and as my duty had brought me close to Bath, I had decided to come and find the beloved relative of William and try to re-establish the relationship I once had with him.
"If only it were possible to re-establish the relationship. I have prayed for it myself many times but to no avail."
Tears formed in the eyes of Emma Tilney and she could no longer continue her speech. She soon said that she no longer had an appetite, but that she was glad to have made my acquaintance as I was a reminder of her nephew.
"Monsieur Levasseur, if you would do me the honour of coming to lunch at my home tomorrow then I would be most happy. You have caught me at an emotional moment, the weakness of women. But, I would like for us to sit and talk of William. I'm sure you have a great many stories that I am eager to hear and I have many fond memories of William that I would like to share with you."
The dinner did not last much longer after that conversation took place. I accepted my aunt's request and told her I would be delighted to share lunch with her tomorrow. The mood at the table turned sombre after the topic of the deceased nephew was raised and despite every effort, the solemn feeling could not be extinguished. I received information about time and place for tomorrow's rendezvous, I bid goodbye to each of the ladies and said it was lovely to meet them and I told them I hoped to see them again before long. They responded in kind with my declaration.
Despite the distress and suffering I had visibly caused my aunt, which I did feel bad about, I returned to my rented lodging with a smile on my face. I knew that I needed to be tactful, resourceful and direct in my approach if I was to get revenge, and I had done exactly that. I went to sleep that night happily believing that I was more cunning than the highwayman had been and as an Englishman, I was much more resourceful and tactful than the savage Shaka Zulu was. I had taken the first necessary step on the long road of retribution and salvation, and it felt good.
Chapter 9 - Aunt Tilney
I was deeply fond of my aunt, Emma Tilney, and always had been. She was different from most of the other people that I knew. She was an old-fashioned woman and enjoyed elegant and luxury items. When I used to visit and stay with her, she employed two servants in the house and had another one to tend her stables and drive her carriage. She also hired a gardener from time to time to tend to her lawn and flowerbeds. Although her husband, my uncle, had long been deceased, his death had left her with a small fortune and she, herself, was an heiress who had inherited a significant sum of money from her father's estate upon her death. It was the money of others that had allowed her to live in such a good standing and it was her frugal nature that had allowed the money to last so long. She was my father's sister and the money that she inherited was a fair amount, but it was dwarfed by the amount left behind for my father who was the eldest son of the family. All lands and matters of business were also left under his name and care when their father died. I would not say that my family was rich, but we were educated, well-placed in society and prestigious.
Nervousness at seeing the interior of my aunt's house woke me up early and the feeling of anxiousness had refrained me from consuming too much of my breakfast. I supposed it was better that I arrived at the lunch party with an empty stomach so that I would eat a hearty lunch and compliment the delicious food and hospitality of my aunt. She always loved compliments, but that characteristic is shared among all people.
My aunt's house was three-thousand four-hundred and sixty-five steps away from my lodging. I know this to be true because I counted every step along my walk to the lunch party. There was the occasional puddle on the ground that I had to side-step which hindered the precision of my counting, but I believe my calculation was quite accurate. While I was counting the number of footsteps on my route, I also observed the weather. There had been morning showers which had made the air moist and the roads wet, but it also left the grey clouds lingering in the sky. I could not tell if the clouds had finished with their raindrops or if they had more to give the city of Bath.
When I arrived at my aunt's house, I took in the beauty of the flowerbeds and the well-maintained garden that she had always been so proud of. I approached the door, knocked it and declared myself to be arrived and expected to the servant who had opened it. To my surprise, I recognised the servant immediately as one of the ones who had been in my aunt’s service throughout my childhood and later years. The servant was a woman and if the passing of time had aged Aunt Tilney poorly, then it had all but destroyed her loyal servant.
The inside of my aunt's house had changed little, if at all over the years. The servant led me through the reception area into the drawing-room. The artwork on the walls had not been changed or rotated around different areas of the house, the large Arabian rugs still decorated the floor and the same wooden furniture smelled of its familiar odour. When I was led into the drawing-room I found that I was the last expected guest to arrive. I knew my aunt was adamant about punctuality so although I arrived early to stay in her good graces, the other guests had arrived even earlier to avoid any scathing words. Upon my entrance, all eyes were diverted towards me and I saw a knowing smile from some, a look that was similar to contempt from others and wondering eyes that were doing a deep study of me from a few.
"You have arrived? How wonderful," Emma Tilney began. "I was worried that the directions I issued you last night may have been too complicated for you to understand. English isn't your natural language, after all."
Emma Tilney was seated on a couch alongside one other lady when I arrived. When she spoke to me, she rose from her seat, and instinctively the other lady did too. The couch where they had been sitting was against one corner of a wall and it was far away from where the other guests had been idling and waiting for my arrival. Two people were standing by a window and one of them I recognised to be the waiter, Thomas, from the night before, and the other was a young woman who I noticed was rather beautiful. On chairs near the fireplace were four others. There were an elderly man and an equally old woman, and then two young males who were both around twenty years old. It seemed that these lunch guests of Ms. Emma Tilney had broken into three separate groups and conversed among themselves within these groups. However, my arrival soon unified the group.
"Your directions were perfect, Ms. Tilney. I found this place easily and I'm glad I did. It is wondrous and magnificent, as is your hospitality for inviting me to this lunch today. I would just like to take this opportunity to first apologise for intruding last night and talking about a deeply emotional topic," I said to the host.
"A gentleman like you is always welcome and do not apologise for last night for it is I who is sorry. I was rather caught off guard with the mention of my dear nephew and I reacted badly, but I have gotten myself together now and I look very much forward to talking with you and learning more."
After this brief exchange, I was then introduced to the rest of the people inside my aunt's drawing-room. Aunt Tilney began first by re-introducing me to Mrs. Robinson who I had met last night in the restaurant. Despite having met Mrs. Robinson only the night before, until my aunt told me that we were already acquainted, I was certain that I had never seen her before in my life. Thomas was the next person that my aunt introduced and said that he had been the waiter who served us the night before. The beautiful girl who stood next to Thomas was his younger sister, Jane. She bowed slightly upon our introduction. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell were the two elderly folks, husband and wife, who were introduced second to last to me. The two young males that were beside Mr. and Mrs. Campbell were their two sons, Christopher and Phillip.
"It is so good to have you all here. I hope you will be pleased with the modest spread that I have prepared for you," Emma Tilney said aloud to all the guests. "It may not be like the lunches in London that you are accustomed to, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, but I hope it will be enough to satisfy you."
"I have no doubts about its excellence, especially as it’s coming from you," Mr. Campbell sa
id politely and his wife nodded profusely.
The unified group then chatted about a myriad of topics ranging from the weather to local news. I had not had the opportunity, or desire, to yet speak to the group collectively, but when the topic of the local news appeared, I became the centre of discussion.
"Is it true, you killed a highwayman?" one of Mr. and Mrs. Campbell's sons, Phillip, asked me.
"Yes, it is. This man is a hero," Thomas responded to Phillip, even though all the eyes in the room, and the question, were directed at me. "I heard so last night at the restaurant," he remarked in a tone full of disdain.
"It's partially true. I was travelling and a highwayman held my carriage at gunpoint and demanded our valuables," I elaborated.
The group listened intently as I tried to describe some of the details. I told the story as truthfully as I could, unlike both the stagecoach’s driver and guard, who had falsified and exaggerated every part of the tale. The lunch party clapped when I told them how I had thought fast and tricked the bandit with my unloaded pistol, they slightly nodded their heads in approval when I said that I was going to let the highwayman flee without his weapon out of pity for his ill mother and young daughter, but a consensus couldn't be reached among the party if the stagecoach employee had acted appropriately in killing the highwayman by shooting him from behind as he was fleeing.
"Your version of the story is a lot more humdrum than the one I had heard at the church last Sunday," Mrs. Robinson said to me.
"My version is the correct version. The other versions that have spread like wildfire are not true."
Revenge of an Englishman Page 8
