Although I could have resumed the name, life and personality of William Underhill, I instead kept up the charade and told everyone who asked that I was Levasseur. The fake back-story, the made-up parentage, the fictitious purpose for travelling in England and my accent, were all rehearsed and perfected on the stagecoaches when a chatty person wanted to speak and enquire about me. I felt that I had developed the character that I was pretending to be so well that my story would be believed by everyone unless I came under intense and scrutinising questioning.
At one stage stop on my journey to London, I stayed at a tavern in the city of Reading and had a restless night's sleep as drinkers remained there all night and sang and fought and talked loudly. Whether or not the owner of the tavern had tried to eject the drunken people throughout the night, I am not sure, but I was unable to get more than a couple of hours sleep that night. Then I took two days rest in Windsor and decided that I would visit the old town, see the park and gardens, and then on the third day continue my journey. The distance to London from Windsor was short and the final stage only took five hours to complete. The twenty or so miles that needed to be covered were nothing of a challenge to the four horses that pulled the stagecoach.
"You are looking for accommodation?" a woman passenger asked me after I had inquired about lodging in London once we were only a couple miles away from arriving at the destination.
"I am. Do you know of any such places?" I responded.
"Do you want to be in the heart of the city?" she asked.
"Of course," I said politely.
"For a man of your position, I would recommend going to Mayfair. There are many new and interesting things going on in that place all the time."
"Thank you, I will," I said.
"And between us, there are a few houses in Albemarle Street that offer great accommodation. Good hosts, cheap prices and they are located in the centre of all that seems to be going on in London at the moment. I was there last year and can't say a bad word against it."
"Once again, thank you for your advice. I will certainly make my way there."
It was this conversation that made me go directly to Mayfair as soon as I arrived in London city. I asked for directions to Albemarle Street and found a Georgian Townhouse that had been transformed into a hotel that offered accommodation to the public. After a short conversation with the proprietors, a room was secured for me and my travelling trunk was brought directly to the room. I could not be certain how many other lodgers were in the hotel or what the capacity of the townhouse was, but it was quiet and peaceful which was a stark contrast to how my stay in Reading had been a few nights previous.
After unpacking my trunk, securing my pistol and purse and changing my clothes, I went for a walk around the neighbourhood. The woman who had suggested for me to go to Mayfair certainly seemed like she knew what she was talking about. The area was a hive of activity with market stalls set up everywhere. Numerous shops and restaurants lined the sides of each street and flocks of people walked up and down the busy area. I had been to Mayfair before but I did not remember it ever being so popular. London is a huge city with many different districts and although I was not familiar with them all, when I was younger Mayfair didn't have a reputation for being a congested and busy place, not compared to other districts.
I got food and browsed around the different stores in the streets of Mayfair. I then returned to the hotel where I had reserved a room for a week.
"I am finally home," I said to myself as I shut the hotel room door behind me. "Well, I'm almost home. There are still a few things I need to do first."
Chapter 12 - Day One
I was awake before dawn arrived in London. I was awake with the meowing cats and the light droplets of rain. There were no sounds from humans, not even the snoring from sleeping neighbours or other guests at the hotel. I was all alone despite being in one of the largest cities in the world.
There was a bedside candlestick in my room and when I awoke in the lightless hours of the early morning I lit the candle that rested by my side. I used one of the matchsticks that rested on the table beside it. The items had only come into existence during my captivity abroad, so I got some amusement out of striking one and watching a flame burst into life. With my room now illuminated by the candle, I thought that it was best to begin my day rather than let the hours and minutes of the day dwindle.
Sticking to my new morning ritual, I began writing in the journal that had I purchased in Bath city. The journal's cover was made of tanned leather and the pages within were bound by rope. First, I wrote about travelling and arriving in London. Then, I started to write and plan about the future events that I hoped would unfold. I also wrote in detail about the actions I would need to take if I was to reach and create the outcomes that I wanted.
The drizzle of rain that had started and stopped all morning began falling harder from the sky. It pattered against my window and it occasionally stole my attention away from the journal and my plans. I was a Christian and the thoughts that I had conceived and the plans that I had begun to put in motion were not in line with the teachings of the church. If I was to follow the teachings of the church then I would forgive those three who wronged me, and I had considered that option a few times over the years. The interruption that the rain caused made me think that it was a sign from heaven to pardon the wrongdoers instead of plotting against them. Once again I considered the idea of forgiving my three friends who had caused me such suffering and altered my life forever. I thought about it long and hard as I watched the raindrops hit the window and then trickle downwards.
"No," I thought. "There will be no forgiveness or easing of my fury at those three. The three friends of mine, who had tried to kill me in a barbaric way, by throwing me overboard and leaving me to die, they deserve no forgiveness. After all, they had been unprovoked, I was not their enemy and they tried to dispose of me in the most cowardly way. They do not deserve to live or experience a moment of happiness after what they have done to me. They are demons on this earth and heaven should thank me for doing such a service as ridding the world of them."
I arrived at the same conclusion I always arrived at and I felt no remorse for it. Instead, the thought of revenge gave me a surge of energy, as it always did, and it made me want to take immediate action. Now that I was in London, I could finally begin to take action. All I needed to do was wait for the morning sun to rise and the people of the city to wake up, and then I could start my first day of enacting my revenge. I only needed to wait another few hours and then the thing that I had been dreaming about for three years would be put into action.
Another dream and another thought process that I had thought about while in captivity and that had gotten me through the difficult time was my family. Thoughts of my family gave me hope, just as much as thoughts of revenge gave me strength. I planned to make contact with my family at the first available opportunity, too. My family’s house which was in the centre of London, in Southwark just south of the Thames River, was easily accessible for me to get to. I calculated that from Mayfair to Southwark it would take no more than an hour to reach on foot and a lot faster by carriage.
I considered what activity I should do first between visiting my family and laying the foundations of my revenge down. I decided that my family should be my first point of business. I had missed them daily and I thought that they would never forgive me if they learned that I was alive and had kept the truth from them intentionally. Therefore when the sun came up and the candle in my bedroom was extinguished I made my way over to Southwark. I travelled on foot since the day was still only beginning and many people would still be asleep.
The streets that I walked were partially clean, the air was clear and the roads were not congested with travellers. I knew that soon all of that would change. London was the hub of industry in England and smoke output from the factories tended to dominate much of the sky. Likewise, the workers and owners and businessmen travelled from home to work and work to home using
the roads and footpaths. Soon the streets would be full of carriages and people walking with intent and they would fill the empty spaces on the street and leave behind parts of their trash as they always did.
It took me closer to two hours than one, to arrive a few streets away from my house. Had I walked at a quick pace and not stopped every so often to take in the sights, then I probably could have reached my destination at the hour mark. As I neared the house of my family, the house where I was born and raised, my hands started to become moist with sweat and I felt myself grow more nervous. I was excited and longed to see my family, but for some reason, I was extremely anxious too.
All signs of my anxiousness dissipated after I knocked on the door of my family home and there was no answer. I knocked on it repeatedly and I expected that even if my family weren't at home then our butler or one of the maids would have been in the house to answer the door to any visitors. However, there was no response and after multiple attempts and minutes of waiting, I was left standing outside and alone. Despite all my planning and the proposals I had written in my journal, this outcome was one that I had not expected. My father, my mother, my sister and my brother, I had expected them all to be at the house. I had played the scene out a thousand times in my imagination and there were always smiles and tears and hugs of embracement, but the solid front door was never left unopened.
Feeling deflated, I knocked upon a neighbour's door. I hoped that they could provide me with the answer as to why my family's door remained unopened. Throughout my childhood there was always at least one person in the house, be it someone in our service if not in our family. The only times that it was ever vacant were the times when we went on holiday to Bath or Bournemouth, and those trips always took place in late spring or early summer. It was now the middle of autumn so I could not think of any logical reason why the house would be vacant.
"Hello, sir. What can I do for you?" the butler who opened the door of the neighbour's house asked after I had knocked on it and he had opened the door.
He opened the door with the speed and intimacy with which I had expected my own family's house door to open. The butler wore a black suit and a white apron around his waist. He was balding and had a thick moustache that hid under his long protruding nose.
"I'm sorry to bother you. I was hoping to speak to the family next door, but there seems to be no-one at home. I was wondering if you have any information about their whereabouts or when they will be expected home," I said to the butler.
"I have heard from other neighbours that the residents of this house have left it vacant for a week as they need to attend to business, or a holiday or visiting relatives of some manner. However, I'm not certain that a family lives in that house. I have been in the service of this house and the great people who own it for two years now and I have never seen a family live there. I only ever see a man enter and exit the house, or on rare occasions an elderly lady."
"Mr. Underhill?" I asked giving the butler my family name to ponder over. I was sure that the people he spoke of seeing must have been my father and mother.
"I am uncertain of the name, sir," the butler simply stated.
"Ok, well thank you for your time," I said, slightly bowing a little to the butler.
"Not a problem at all, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you?" The butler asked gently with a smile printed across the front of his face.
"No, nothing else, except, perhaps, please give Ms. Austen my best. I knew her many years ago and she was always a kind woman."
"Who is Ms. Austen?" the butler's smile turned into a quizzical frown.
"Ms. Austen, the lady who lives in this house."
"I'm afraid you're mistaken, sir. The lord and lady of this house are Mr. and Mrs. Richards," the butler responded.
I was initially confused by this piece of information but I thanked the butler again for his time and then left. He said it was his pleasure to help me and then closed the door. As I walked away from the street that I knew so well I thought about the information I had received in such a brief period. The first thing I concluded was that Ms. Austen must have passed away during my time in captivity. She had been very elderly so this was an easy conclusion to arrive at. It was sad but I knew full-well that it was a fate that we must all meet at some stage. The passing of Ms. Austen and the new arrivals in her house, including the new butler who worked there, had disrupted my ability to gain information about my family. However, the butler told me a piece of information that was all that I needed. The residents, my mother and father, had vacated the house and were expected back in a week. That meant I just had to wait another seven days until I could become reunited with them once more. They would no doubt cry in joy and I would no doubt cry, just like it had played out in my imagination many times over the years.
While in Southwark, I decided to walk around the many places that I had known as a young boy. It was still morning and my plans of reuniting with my family had come to nothing leaving me with an ample amount of free time, or rather, I had free time until the evening when I would begin to put my plan of revenge into motion.
There were storefronts and market sellers in Southwark, in the same places they had been in before I had set out on my adventure for treasure. The names and signs of the shops that hung above the door and buildings remained the same as I had remembered them being three years prior. Some of the signs' colours had faded and some had been repainted or redesigned slightly, but the changes were minuscule as to how I had remembered them being. The stores stocked the same type of products they did before with the occasional new items on display and different price tags attached to the old products. Even the faces of the employees and the owners who worked in the shop were the same and I recognised many good people whom I would always speak to in passing.
I had only been away for over three years, so the fact that I thought the shops or the people would be massively different was naivety on my part. I had not grasped the thought that although life had forever changed for me, it continued as normal for everybody else. London was still the same as it had always been. The only change was I was different. In my absence, the shops continued to run and the schools continued to educate, I was foolish to think anything, except me, would have changed.
It was around midday when I made my way back across the bridge towards Mayfair. As I walked across the Thames River I found myself walking behind two ladies. They were of around my age and I found it strange that they walked unaccompanied. One wore a beautiful blue dress with a hat and headscarf, while the other wore almost the same costume but in a lime green colour. I walked behind them so I only saw their backs, but on occasion, they would turn their heads to stare at me. Their faces were as pleasing as their dresses. As they slowed their pace, I slowed my pace behind them so that I could have the pleasure of being near them for a while longer. They giggled and stared at me from time to time, they were attractive and I thought that they must have found me attractive too.
The two ladies were a good distraction and they made my walk back to the hotel more pleasant. I considered talking to them, but I knew I wouldn't know what words to say to them. Even as Monsieur Levasseur, I felt that approaching such beautiful creatures would be too challenging for me, at least when I was completely sober.
On arriving back at the hotel, I ordered food to be brought to my room and notified the employee of my desire to take a bath soon after I ate. Both demands were agreed upon and two hours later I found myself back in my room having completed my bath and cleaned myself up. In my room, I put on fresh clothes and adjusted my hair and pruned my moustache and beard accordingly to look suave and foreign.
When evening finally reached the Mayfair part of London city, I made sure that my clothes were clean, my appearance was handsome and my pocket was full of coins. During my week-long stay in Bath, I had exchanged some of the gold coins that were given to me by Francis Farewell for smaller change so that I did not need to flash my wealth when unnecessary. Tonight, however,
as I had to play the part of Monsieur Levasseur, the character that I had created, I would need to portray myself as a wealthy Parisian with class and style. I needed all the wealth that was afforded to me by Francis Farewell to be on show for the entire world to see.
My destination for the evening was the expensive and up-market area of London City. The restaurants, the drinking bars and anywhere else that required an excess of money, were my intended locations. The logic behind this idea was that, first, I had to build a reputation for myself and then get my name recognised by distinguished people in society. If I was able to do that then I would be able to move in and among the highest circles of society and with this came greater freedom, resources and access to the three people who I would severely punish. There is no doubt that this approach was a laborious one, but to me, it was a necessity if I truly wanted to wreak havoc upon the three people who had ruined my life.
I went to a restaurant named 'Brown's' first which sat on the corner of the street not more than forty footsteps away from the world-famous St. Paul's Cathedral. When I arrived at 'Brown's' I had to join a line of customers waiting to enter the restaurant. It was a popular location and soon other people joined the line, waiting behind me. When I reached the front of the line, I was met by a handsome and smiling waiter. I told the waiter that I had no reservation, no prior experiences in the restaurant and most importantly I told him that I did not want to wait a single minute for my table. The waiter was taken aback and said that there were rules and regulations in the establishment that had to be respected and followed.
"I'm sorry, sir. You must have a reservation," the waiter again said to me in a hushed tone so that the customers behind would not hear our conversation.
"Well, I don't have a reservation. I do, however, have an abundance of money. How much will it cost? Just give me a number," I said as I removed a stash of gold coins from my suit pocket.
Revenge of an Englishman Page 11
