Revenge of an Englishman

by Kevin Patrick

  "It certainly is a large piece of art," Aunt Tilney said upon inspecting the dimensions of the frame which was visible even under the linen. "If it is suitable then there is a perfect place in the saloon where it can hang."

  A few more words were spoken, but there was such an interest in the artwork that soon all focus was shifted to revealing the painting. The servant was issued with another order and then he removed the linen cover. All eyes fell upon the artwork and there were audible gasps and awes shared by everyone in the room in unison. Many of the party gasped in appreciation of the fine artwork. Aunt Tilney and Alice gasped from surprise. James Cromwell gasped in horror as his eyes touched upon the painted eyes in the painting.

  The painting that Miss Jane had completed for me, the one that everyone in the dining room now gazed at, was a portrait piece containing two people. Both people in the painting stood beside each other and they both wore big smiles on their faces. Anyone looking at the image would ascertain that the two subjects were close friends with one another, perhaps even brothers. The two people in the image were James Cromwell and me, William Underhill.

  When I first asked Miss Jane to paint the image for me I pretended that a positive image of James Cromwell with his deceased friend would bring about a positive effect on his troubled mind, but secretly I hoped and suspected that it would have an adverse reaction. When Miss Jane asked me for source material to help her draw the image of a young William Underhill I told her to draw him in a similar appearance to the sketched portrait she had drawn for me of him many months before. I then told her to paint Mr. Cromwell into the painting as if the two subjects had posed for such a portrait to be taken of them together. She complied with my request and the gasps and awes received from the guests in the dining room were a testament to how well the painting had been completed. It truly was a work of art.

  "My goodness, this is probably the best piece of art I have ever seen." Aunt Tilney said as her eyes filled with tears as she looked at the image of her deceased nephew.

  "It certainly is a beautiful painting," Mrs. Alexander said. "Who is that beside you, Mr. Cromwell? I don't think I have met that gentleman before."

  "That is my nephew, William. He was Alice's brother, but he has unfortunately passed away. He and Mr. Cromwell were close friends," Aunt Tilney responded.

  While this conversation took place between Aunt Tilney and Mrs. Alexander, James Cromwell kept his focus on the eyes in the painting and his face had turned an even whiter shade of pale than before. Many people kept their eyes on the painting as they studied it and the faces present within it. However, Alice's gaze was targeted at me.

  "Who was the gift from?" Alice said to the servant, although she kept her focus on me.

  "It didn't say, Mrs. Cromwell," the servant repeated.

  "I know who it is from," Mr. Cromwell said solemnly, his voice quivered. "Can you all excuse me for a moment?" He added as he stood up from the table and walked out of the dining room.

  When James Cromwell left, he was gone for a long time but his absence was not missed by anyone at the table. Aunt Tilney made sure that the conversation was not focused on him leaving but instead by the artwork and predominately her nephew. She began to tell stories of William Underhill to everyone around the dinner table and she even said that he would have slotted in nicely to the group that had gathered there that evening for dinner. She said that the loss of William was felt by everyone who had known him, especially Alice.

  "Isn't that right, Alice?" Aunt Tilney asked her niece for confirmation.

  "Yes, it is," Alice responded, her gaze never leaving mine.

  When the conversation about William Underhill was exhausted, my aunt then moved the subject along to whether or not the artwork was worthy enough to be hung in the Cromwell house. She said that there were already many fine pieces of artwork displayed in the house and she wanted to make sure that this new gift would not interrupt or lessen the prestige of the already hanging art. In truth, she had already given her opinion about the piece of art to everyone and now she was merely looking for validation from the guests. Mrs. Alexander was the first person to respond to her musings and she said that any such art that captured two esteemed and happy friends should always find a home upon a wall where the piece could be viewed and admired daily. Other members of the party then repeated Mrs. Alexander's comments in their own and unique way.

  Eventually, Aunt Tilney called on one of the servants to take the painting away and see that it got hung up immediately on the wall of the saloon room. As the servant carrying the painting away to be hung on the wall left the room, another servant entered. The servant went directly to Mrs. Cromwell and whispered something in her ear. The servant then went to Aunt Tilney next and repeated the process. Both my sister and aunt's faces showed a look of horror.

  "Cut him down and lay him on the bed," I heard Aunt Tilney whisper to the servant.

  Mr. Alexander stood up in alarm upon hearing Aunt Tilney's words. He wanted to know what she was talking about and what had happened. Everyone's ears pricked up at the sentence and there was absolute silence in the room while everyone was waiting to hear what had transpired.

  "Mr. Cromwell's illness relapsed and in his poor mental state, he has hung himself. The servant has just come to tell me that he found him dead in his library," Aunt Tilney said.

  Wails of sorrow and rivers of tears followed the announcement. Everyone was in shock about what they had just heard, even myself. Mr. Alexander demanded to see the body to confirm what my aunt had said. Mr. Alexander and Alice were the first two people to go and see the corpse of James Cromwell. Mrs. Campbell did not permit her two sons to see the remains of James Cromwell, nor did she want to see the corpse herself, so I went with Mr. Campbell as he said he wanted to go and pay his respects and say a prayer to the recently deceased.

  The body of James Cromwell was stretched out on a green sofa in the middle of the library. His face was pale and there were rope marks around his neck, but other than that it just looked like he was asleep. Mr. Campbell closed his eyes and said a prayer for Mr. Cromwell, but I just kept my gaze on the dead body. Unlike Mr. Campbell and the rest of the guests, I felt no sense of sadness or loss on account of James' death, I did, however, feel a little surprised at the timing. I had hoped and expected that my gift would plunge him into more madness, but I had not expected his death to happen so quickly. I thought that James Cromwell was selfish to have killed himself during a dinner party. I believed that it would have been more polite and less selfish if he waited for the guests to leave.

  Alice and Aunt Tilney called an early end to the evening's festivities for obvious reasons and asked us all to leave the Cromwell house. Both ladies said that they had to call the priest to come over and say the final prayers and funeral arrangements had to be made. They bid everyone goodnight and held brave faces despite the current circumstances.

  As we said goodbye to one another, Aunt Tilney took me by the arm and apologised for being present in the house when such a horrible event unfolded, but I told her that I was sorry for her loss and the loss of her family. I also told her that I would say many prayers for Mr. Cromwell's soul and to help the bereavement of the family. Aunt Tilney thanked me and said goodbye to me, but Alice had a very different response. My sister did not look me in the eyes or say goodbye to me, she said nothing. She knew that I was responsible for the death of James Cromwell and although I did not know how she was going to react in the future, I knew that right now she was not happy with my actions.

  The night was cold but no colder than it had been on any previous night. I had walked to the Cromwell house, and instead of sharing a carriage ride with one of the other guests, I decided to walk back to my hotel. I took a slightly different route home, a longer one so that I could enjoy the fresh cool air of the night. I walked with my hands in my pockets and I whistled as I manoeuvred myself through the many streets of Mayfair. There was a smile on my face as I walked.

  Chapter 28 -
Sowing and Reaping

  The funeral of James Cromwell took place three days after he took his own life. As he was a Catholic, the whole procedure was done rather quickly. The last rites, the wake, the removal of the remains, and then the funeral service and the burial of his remains came and went so quickly. However, I suspected that the mourning of his death by many people would last much longer than the three days it took to bury him. In the newspapers, it was reported that he died due to an illness that had set upon him suddenly. The real cause of his death was not disclosed. Only a handful of the mourners present throughout the services knew the truth.

  I attended both the wake in the house and the funeral in the church. I kept a watchful eye on my sister to see how she was coping with the death of her husband and I was happy to see that she appeared to be ok. At no stage did I see Alice shed a tear or even look as if she was close to crying. The only real difference I spotted in her throughout that time was that she was solemn, non-communicative, and dressed in black.

  "I have done her a favour even if she does not yet realise it. Her children are too young to remember their father and they should grow up solely in the safe care of their angelic mother, rather than the joint care of an angel and a demon," I told myself.

  There was a funeral lunch arranged to be held in a luxury restaurant that was near the cemetery where James Cromwell was buried. I was invited to attend the lunch and it was a common practice done after many funerals as a way to pay tribute to the family and the life of the recently deceased. I went along to the lunch knowing that Alice, Aunt Tilney and Miss Jane would be present at the lunch. I also suspected that the Campbell's and Alexander's would inevitably be there, but their attendance would be of no real consequence to me.

  For the occasion of the funeral, I bought a new black suit. To afford the new attire I had to go to the bank with one of the bank slips and exchange it for money. The other nine slips I brought with me to the funeral lunch and I kept them secure in my blazer pocket. Today was the first time that I had any real use for them.

  There were teas and sandwiches served in the restaurant upon the funeral party's arrival and during the procession, many people mingled with one another and gave their condolences to Cromwell's living family members. I spotted Alice several times being tapped on the shoulder by people I did not recognise and then being hugged tightly by them and then conversing with them. It looked like a laborious task. Eventually, I went over to Alice when I saw that she was finally alone and not being disturbed by anyone.

  "How are you?" I don't know why I opened with that question or why I even asked it. I didn't know what to say to her, so I just said that.

  "You can imagine there have been better days than today," she responded. Her tone was moody and I could tell that she was angry with me.

  "I don't know what to say," I told her honestly.

  "No, I imagine it is hard for you to have empathy with anything that is happening today. You have got your revenge on all three of the people you made an oath to make suffer. Today is a day of victory for you, yet you have come to the same place as all the mourners."

  "I won't pretend to be sad that James Cromwell is dead, but I still empathise with you," I began talking but I was soon interrupted.

  "No, you don't. You made me a promise, to me, and although you didn't do anything physically to harm James, we both know that you were the cause of this event. You caused his death even though I asked and pleaded with you not to kill him," her words were like venom and her eyes like daggers.

  There was very little I could do in response to my sister's words. She was correct that I could not feel pity or sorrow due to the death of James Cromwell. Nor could I deny the fact that my clever scheme had been the source and tipping point that drove James over the edge and made him take his own life.

  “If you were not my brother and if I did not love, then I think I would have revealed your secrets,” Alice said.

  "I am sorry. I just wanted to come over and let you know that I am here for you. Now and forever, I will always be here for you now," I eventually said to Alice before our conversation was interrupted and terminated by some other people who were fighting for the attention of the newly-made widow.

  Leaving my sister to the people who swooped around her like vultures, I retreated to a quieter part of the restaurant. It was there I found Miss Jane and Aunt Tilney sitting together. There were no people around them and they sat in silence. They both wore fully black clothes too, as was the tradition for attending funerals. Both of their faces perked up when they saw me making my way towards them.

  I took a seat beside Miss Jane and Aunt Tilney and we discussed the sermon that was said at the funeral by the priest. We discussed the large turnout of people that had come to pay their respects and the quality of the food that had been served at the restaurant. We talked extensively about a lot and for a long time. My aunt asked me whether I had any proposed plans for heading back to France and I said that as my business in London was coming to an end, I would have to make some decisions about whether I would remain in London or go elsewhere. She said she hoped that I would remain in London indefinitely or at least be a frequent visitor to the city as she had now decided to move to London to be closer to her niece and niece's children, the only surviving family that she had left. Miss Jane shared the same sentiment and hoped that my face would be a regular sight in London's capital city. I thanked them both for their kind words. We continued talking as a trio until Aunt Tilney spotted someone in the crowd of mourners that she said she had to talk to and she then excused herself from the table leaving me and Miss Jane alone.

  "And how are you? I'm sure this death came as a complete shock to you as it did for everyone," I asked Miss Jane.

  There was a comfortable difference between talking to Miss Jane and my sister. Alice knew who I was and she knew all about my bad intentions and deeds. However, Miss Jane knew nothing about who I was, and to her, I was still the well-placed and established French man who belonged in high society.

  "It is shocking," she said. "I am in a state of shock about the whole ordeal. If I can speak honestly to you, I feel partly responsible for his death and it weighs heavy on my conscience. Did you see his face after the painting arrived? He looked unwell and then he excused himself, and then he was dead."

  "Honestly, what harm can a painting do? You just added colours onto an empty canvas. You used no weapon, only well-placed brush strokes. It was not your painting that hung Mr. Cromwell, but the man himself."

  It took several attempts to deter Miss Jane away from accepting responsibility for James Cromwell's death, but I finally managed to convince her that she was in no way at fault for his death. The twists and turns in the conversation that led her to that conclusion also brought about the topic of payment for her painting. When I solicited her skills and asked her to paint the portrait for me, I also promised her that I would pay her for her efforts. I intended to keep that promise and since that conversation had occurred much had happened and the necessity to pay her a handsome wage for her work was now more essential than before if I was to fulfil another pledge that I had made.

  "Monsieur Levasseur, you don't have to give me anything. You are already doing so much for me," Miss Jane said when I raised the topic of payment for the artwork.

  "Yes, I do owe you something. It is because of my mission towards you and young Christopher Campbell that I must give you payment."

  "I like your intentions but I don't understand your words. What do you mean?"

  "Mr. Campbell, the father, adores you as does the mother. He thinks you and Christopher are well-suited but he has reservations. Being a stubborn Englishman he is obsessed with social standings and class, and he thinks that Christopher would be lowering himself if he were to marry you."

  "How do you know this?" Miss Jane asked. I could see that she was becoming upset at a rapid pace.

  "I spoke with him and I told him that his thoughts were silly and outdated. Throughout our co
nversation, he also revealed that his wife, Mrs. Campbell, was of a lower class than him, but because of the money her family had the union was considered suitable by Mr. Campbell and his parents."

  "So by giving me money for the painting, you think the Campbell family will think that the union between me and their son is acceptable?" she asked me.

  "I do, Miss Jane. Everybody knows that the union is favourable already but it is just the hard-headed English traditions that have stopped anyone from saying it or allowing it. I ask that you don't hold a grudge on Mr. or Mrs. Campbell because throughout the many conversations I have had with them about you, they have always said nothing but great things about you."

  Miss Jane said she understood how London society operated and she said that although she loved the city, she hated how it functioned. She promised that she would have no ill-will against Mr. or Mrs. Campbell because she admitted that they had been nothing but courteous and respectful to her ever since both parties met each other in Aunt Tilney's house in Bath.

  "I don't understand how payment for a painting will suffice to win over Mr. Campbell though," Miss Jane said in a confused tone.

  The confusion left her when I took out one of the bank slips from my suit pocket. I gave it to her and told her that it was payment for her painting. Her eyes lit up when she saw the amount of money written on the slip of paper. She looked at me in awe and then asked me to confirm that all this money belonged to me. It was evident that she had never seen such a large value before, even if it was just an amount figure written on a piece of paper with a bank stamp on the top of it.

  "You own all this money?" Miss Jane said bewildered.

  “It is only a fraction of my wealth," I replied.

  "Monsieur Levasseur, you are a very wealthy man. How much of this are you giving to me as payment for the painting?"

  "All of the money that is recorded on that slip now belongs to you and you can withdraw it from the bank whenever you desire," I said. "I am giving it all to you on the condition that you share it with Christopher and that the two of you marry and live a long and happy life together."