"How was your journey back from Europe?" she asked once she had finished telling me of her activities.
"Long. The days simply blurred into one. Those long days at sea did nothing for my mental state; I was fatigued from the constant travel and lack of stimulation."
"Being on a boat for so long could never do a man good." Lilly opened the cupboard beneath the stairs, dusting away the cobwebs and dust before letting out a short gasp and reached out for something. "Oh look! Eric, it is Fathers' old chest!"
I walked up beside her, glancing into the dark cupboard to see a great oak chest. It was a family heirloom, passed down from generation to generation. A great thing it was, with a thick and heavy lid of oak. As a child I used to believe it was full of treasure, my mind no doubt corrupted by the stories of the Penny Dreadfuls of the time. Whenever I used to ask my Father if there were any treasures in it, he would merely respond, "Do not be so foolish, for such things do not exist."
Lilly pulled the lid open, revealing a cache of letters and diaries. My Father was always one for keeping his papers in order, whether they were personal reminders or logs of his finances. Lilly brushed off the topmost book and opened it. A smile spread across her face, but appeared to slowly fade as she held it up.
The absence of our Father was painful enough to deal with without the reminder that he had once lived there, slept there and worked there without ever giving the passing semblance that the days may have been his last. I lifted the diary from her hands and placed it back in the chest, closing the lid. "I do not think we are ready for such things just yet."
Lilly gave a melancholy nod and stood to turn out of the cupboard, but as she did so she let out another gasp and reached out for something else. It was an old business coat, which she brushed off and draped over my shoulders. "Here, it was Fathers. Seen as you are stepping into his shoes I think it is only right."
The coat was too large for me, but Lilly seemed pleased with it so I kept it on. "I am not so sure that I can fill Father's shoes at all Lilly, you know how I am with such business."
The twinkle in her eye shone brighter than the sun seeing me in that coat, as if the spirit of our Father was continued on by myself. "Try Eric, if not for him, then for me? You need a way to sustain yourself in London. This is all you have right now. Anyway - you would do best to set off now. Do you remember where it is?"
"It is not something so easily forgotten."
She flashed me a charming smile and opened the front door for me. I wished her a good day and set out into the busy streets.
Stepping out I immediately realised how alien the whole place had become to me. So strict and so cold compared to the casual lifestyle that I had grown accustomed to over the past year of my life. I had barely been back a week and I already missed the freedom of travelling. Returning to London felt more like a sentence, a formality that I had to carry out, but not one that was meant to last. My sentence, it seemed, had been extended and I was forced stay against my own will. The only hope I had was that by biding my time and gaining enough money I may be able to escape London. Hopefully forever, as I felt there was little there for me.
Nobles and businessmen walked and rode through the streets to their place of work as I began down the street. Some of them smiled at me. Others nodded, perhaps presuming me as of the same cloth as them. Others ignored me as they shuffled to their work, never searching for anything more, content and ignorant to what they could have if they only tried.
The feeling of alienation only grew as I made my way further into the commercialised high street. A mass of human beings moving, existing, suffering together, without order nor goal they moved in undisciplined unison, driving headlong through the streets; barely acknowledging one another. I hastened to my destination, hoping to escape the insufferable banality of it all. The features of the city were without detail – cold, uncaring stone walls stretching up the sides of buildings, where windowed offices stretched further into the sky than any man should have ever dared to build. The angled rooftops and prickly chimneys dotted the city horizon, the jagged landscape under the smog laden sky like a wasteland of human construction.
There was some consolable relief that the great terraced building of my Father’s company imbued within me when I saw it nestled between the other establishments of the high street. I had not warmed to the business, but a gentle wave of familiarity overcame me as I slowly approached. It was just as I remembered it and the implication of sanctity drew me in closer. I felt the calming presence of one on whom I could depend. The building, at least, had remained the same over the course of a year.
I peered through the windows expecting to see my Father working until I was reminded of the state of things. Instead of this memory repeating I could see a content Gilbert scribbling away with the same quill once used by my Father. He was a short, round man who bore no similarity to the greatness of my own Father.
The bell above the door tinkled brightly as I walked in. Without looking up Gilbert simply called out, "What is it you want?"
I had no response to the question, so did not offer him one. I made my way over to my Father's desk, now occupied by the short, stubby, bespectacled man who envisioned himself to be great enough to sit at it. As I drew nearer he peered up with neither surprise nor joy.
"I could not shake the feeling you had not died out there," he said plainly, almost as if he were disappointed.
"That did not prevent you from jumping in my grave."
"Your grave, child? If you are referring to this company I think you will find that it was always a joint partnership between your Father than I. You never came into the deal. In your absence I had to preserve my investments and continue as I had. The loss of your Father was a terrible shame to me, but your behaviour was not going to impact my business and goals."
"I think you will find that it only stayed in your name whilst I was gone. One half of this company belongs to me." I made this bold statement purely out of bitterness. I only assumed this to be the case, having no intimate knowledge of these situations. My Father must have intended to leave his estate and company to me, as there was no reason for him to have left the entire company to Gilbert. I continued, "It would appear that my return has a negative impact on your managerial role."
Apparently I struck a nerve, for Gilbert rose from his seat with athleticism unbeknownst to me, pointing at the walls about him and proclaiming, more to the world than to himself, "I made this company!"
"My Father made it."
"-And I have sat here, listening to your Father talk for years. Well, it is my turn to talk now and you are going to listen. I was the partner of your Fathers. You contributed nothing. Do you honestly believe you can replace him? I am better off working alone. You were never an asset to this company." Gilbert snorted as he pointed at the books of contracts on his desk as if they meant anything at all to anyone other than him. "You descend from on high after a year and just expect to pick this up, for nothing? We broke our backs for this."
"If only it broke you, Gilbert. All you have done is stood on the shoulders of my Father’s greatness."
"And where were you when he needed you? Wasting your time out in the depths of some barren country, drunk no doubt! How does it feel knowing that he died thinking you had abandoned him? That poor man spent his final days pouring all his money into finding you. And to what purpose? I daresay a miserable wretch such as yourself was ill worth the effort. More like he was blessed to have lost you!"
A surge of hate ran through my body, every part of me tingling with the urge to burst with anger and lash out at that rounded smug face of his. A year apart had done little to reconcile our stormy relationship. I let the anger wash over me and I regained my composure. Arguing would do little for either of us. "I did not come here to steal your job."
"I thank you for the blessing," he retorted with a sarcastic snarl. "I do not need your permission – I already own half of this company. Although I do not agree with your inheritance of
such a great work, that is the agreement your Father had and I must adhere to it."
At the thought of our joint ownership I became inconsolable that my Father would have ever willingly shared his mantle with such a lesser man. A lesser man who now sat here gloating about his empire and the fact that I would have to share what was rightfully mine with a man such as himself. I felt bereft of compassion.
Gilbert slid back into his chair, surveying me with cold eyes. "You have not changed at all, Eric. You do know why he sent you out there in the first place, to Europe, do you not? The reason was your idleness. The son that his wife died for turned out to be a lazy, unambitious cad."
"Do not speak of my Mother."
But Gilbert continued. "He would rather have been caught dead than to admit that you were a bad son. So you were sent out in hope that you would learn a decent work ethic and sense of self-worth. And what did you do? You ran away. He spent his time trying to figure out if you just wandered into the unknown and gotten yourself killed. I knew the truth, but he would not accept it from me. His final months were spent in vain looking for someone who wished not to be found."
I became dazed by the realisation that within the few days previous everything I had held close to me was glamour. A means to secure my preferred lifestyle had slipped from my hands.
Slamming his fist into the books before him he bellowed out in rage. "When you disappeared I was all he had to keep him grounded. I was the one who helped him in his final months. No, I did not agree with him spending so much time to salvage a whelp such as yourself, but your Father asked and I obeyed. I will leave the decision to return to this company in your hands. If you wish to join me in preserving this company you may. If, however you wish to remain the degenerate you have apparently always strived to become, you may feel free do so. But know this; I will not pamper you as your Father did."
I found myself unable to continue listening to his vitriolic berating. A defeated snarl resonated from the back of my throat and I left the room, heading back out into the open street and charging through hordes of businessmen as I headed for the sanctity of my own home.
Furious thoughts raged in my mind as I stormed from the building that my Father had made. How dare such a vile man as Gilbert sit on my Father's throne and proclaim it as his own? How dare he consider himself worthy to stand in his shoes? If my Father could see this, would he have removed him as his business partner in some way? Could he? Perhaps it was too late. Perhaps this is something Gilbert had been planning all along, waiting for my Father's demise so that he could gain everything from him. His entire legacy. Snatching it from the rightful place of my family. I found myself consumed in such angry thoughts that I barely heard my name being called from the crowd.
"Eric? Eric Godwin? It is you, is it not?"
A hand clasped upon my shoulder and, in such an irritable mood, I swung around ready to confront whoever was wasting my time. In doing so I found myself face to face with Lucius, an old acquaintance with whom I had attended university with a little over a year previous. I must have had a horrid expression as I turned, for he looked at me queerly as if he had got the wrong person. I reassured myself that the man before me bore me no ill and all the anger seeped from me, albeit slowly.
Although Lucius was not a man I would refer to as a friend, he was a decent enough sort in passing and anything to draw my mind away from the events that had just transpired was a welcome occurrence in my mind. I entertained him. "Lucius? My God man, is that really you?"
A warm, business-like smile ran across his face. "I should be asking the same of you, Eric. How long has it been? I am glad you remember me!"
Remember him? Truthfully, I had been hard at work trying to forget him and his ilk. I knew Lucius from university. I did not care for him much back then, either. The sole reason we became acquainted, it must be said, was because we all came from the same background. Importance and social standing were Lucius' prime concerns. Prior to my departure from London, Lucius's parents business had secured a large part of the market, cementing their family’s future both financially and as some of the most recognisable faces in London.
He continued before I had chance to respond. "Are you well? It has been a year now, has it not?"
I wondered if there was anybody in London who was not aware of my disappearance. "It has been a while. I took an extended vacation." I waved my hand and dismissed the topic. "Never mind about that, what is new with you? What have I missed?"
"Nothing in particular, same old business," he plainly stated with a bored stare. "Everyone is busy trying to get richer. It is almost as if that is all there is to do in London."
"And I trust your work is doing well?"
He paused and smiled to himself. "It is indeed. My parents have travelled to the Americas and left the company in my control for the time being. The entire English estate in my hands!"
I forced a smile, feigning interest at his self-indulgent boast.
He nodded and decided to change the topic. "Do you remember our old acquaintances from University?"
Again, more men who were friends out of circumstance alone, although some of them were a decent enough sort. Everyone had made a conscious effort to surround themselves with people of similar stature. "I remember them. Is there any news of them of interest?'
"Every week we visit the local men's club and play a game of cards. Should you wish to join us tomorrow night, you would be welcome."
"Who is it who attends?" I asked tentatively.
"I should hope you remember Palmer, Rufus and Harry?"
William Palmer was the son of a wealthy banker, sharing the same hunger for money as his Father. Rufus had followed in his Father’s footsteps as a solicitor, also inheriting his family's wealth. Harry Cowley was the son of an estate agent, a timid man who never seemed capable of running anything. There was another of similar standing during those times, James, but as he ventured towards the forces his relations with the other men grew more worn. A year can all too often change the course of events, so I presumed it best to ask.
Lucius responded, "You know he and I never saw eye to eye." This was not to my surprise. James remained close to me after university as I had never let social stature impede my friendship to such a hardworking, decent chap. Lucius continued. "Francis will be there too."
"Francis?" I found myself confused that Francis would return to the company of these people. Although he too attended university with this group, he never let himself become consumed by the greed for wealth. Until now I had assumed that Francis remained estranged to these old friends. The prospect of being trapped in a room with those overly ambitious men, no doubt gambling and drinking, was not exactly the most appealing to my mind.
Lucius grinned. "Yes. You should join us; I dare say you could do with a decent drink."
In an attempt to appease Lucius, I told him that I would at least consider the offer.
"I shall not take no for an answer!" he chirped up, apparently believing that such jovial actions would quell my mood, "Besides, it might give you some motivation; you never know when inspiration will strike."
"I doubt that," I murmured back.
We shook hands and with that we bode each other a good day and went our separate ways. Perhaps I should have seen the peculiar circumstances of the event there and then as a signal that perhaps I was entering into something that I wished not to meddle with. However, having spent so much time away from London and spending the previous night alone, my wish to be surrounded by company was greater than my desire to avoid these men. That and the curiosity of what would draw Francis to spend his moments in the company of these men only got the better of me.
Chapter III
I had originally intended to reject Lucius' invitation of joining old friends, having no interest in engaging the grand meeting of the minds. I made a decision only on the evening itself to attend, partly from the boredom of finding myself struggling to fill my days with any sort of worthwhile event and thus bec
oming hungry for any sort of activity. Better the evil you know. The club mentioned by Lucius was not far from my home - an elite men's club called The Flying Knave. The club attracted the affluent men of London and afar. It was members only; those who joined did so purely as a means to flaunt their influence and wealth amongst their peers. I knew these details only from my Father who used to occasionally visit the club to meet with certain clients who demanded it. I held no such membership, having little interest in such places, but I found upon entering that Lucius had put me on the guest list.
Instantaneous was my isolation and discomfort as I entered. I felt severely out of place, feeling all eyes cast upon me as I was illuminated as the stooge and myself and my attire were deconstructed in an awful manner. Communal criticising and lasting opinions formed through the haze of smoke and expensive liqueurs. The fortuitous inhabitants cast their verdicts – not entirely disparate from my verdict on many of them as it would happen. I knew that I would warm little to those men. For my own wellbeing I decided to remain reticent. I would avoid any converse with them. They commenced drinking and open bragging of their pursuits in an elevated manner to all who would listen. Amidst the crowd I saw nobody I recognised. Apparently the rich and successful did not walk beside me on the street. They must guard themselves behind veils as they passed me. It was not until I approached the well-stocked bar that I heard a familiar voice call my name.
"Eric? Eric, it is you!" I recognised Rufus immediately for he had not changed one bit, his tall slender frame unmistakable. "Francis mentioned you were back, but I could hardly believe it!" His hand clasped mine before I raised it. He shook it vigorously before I was aware that we were in contact. He was always an amicable sort of chap, but I did little to warm to him. I feared his affection insincere. He still had the same boyish face that I remembered from my youth, although by this time it was somewhat gaunt, but still as joyous as ever. His shoulders still slouched, although this could be attributed to the copious amount of drink of which he was in possession. "How have you been?"
The Killing Hand Page 2
