by Bonnie Leon
“I will.” Hannah offered Ruby a smile. “Thank you for your kindness.” She watched Ruby go and then closed the door and returned to the stove to add more coal. The outdoor chill had invaded the room.
Perhaps I should contact Mr. Walker. If things go on as they have, I’ll soon be put out of my home.
The thought of ending up on the streets of London sent a chill through Hannah. The city was congested with disreputable sorts who would have no conscience about taking advantage of a solitary woman. She doubted she’d make it through even one night.
2
Hands clasped behind his back, John Bradshaw walked between rows of workbenches. Occasionally he’d catch the eye of a craftsman. He’d nod and move on.
One young apprentice smiled broadly and said, “Good day, sir.”
“Good day to you.” John stopped and looked at the planer the man was constructing. “Fine work, lad.”
“Thank ye.” The young man bobbed his head and turned back to his task.
John continued on. The boy had apprenticed at the factory only a few months, but already he demonstrated a high level of aptitude for machinery work. He would do well, and most likely serve out his days happily constructing and assembling tools.
Years of tedium stretched out before John as he imagined his life overseeing the business his father had built. He knew he ought to be thankful for his prosperity, but adventure was more what he wanted. With a sigh he tightened the bow holding back his dark, shoulder-length hair and then smoothed his waistcoat.
Noticing a new apprentice who appeared to be having difficulty, John approached him. “Can I be of service, young man?”
The worker brushed thick red hair off his face and turned to look at John. He held up a partially assembled hammer. “I am havin’ a bit of trouble, sir. Not sure how this joint ought to fit.”
John’s mind carried him back to his early years in the shop. It had been just him and his father. He’d struggled to learn the business of toolmaking; it wasn’t something he truly enjoyed, but he had liked working with his father. Those had been good days.
He took the hammer and examined it. “You’ve got it just about right. Might I suggest . . .” He pushed the head forward a bit. “Ah, there. It just needed to be tilted a bit more up front.” He handed the tool back to the lad. “You’ll get it. No need to worry.” He clapped the boy on the shoulder.
“Right, sir.”
John moved on, briefly examining each employee’s work.
The air was heavy with dust and the smell of cooking metals. His eyes rested for a moment on the founder as he poured a mix of melted lead and copper into a mold. Another man worked furiously at the bellows, keeping the blaze blistering hot.
In spite of the fire, the shop felt chilled. John glanced at an ice-encrusted window. If only winter would pass. I’ve enough of the cold. He tried to envision spring’s revival and could almost smell the aroma of damp, green grasses. He craved the outdoors and places beyond London. The machinery business no longer suited him, nor did the city.
John stared out the window, but it was so dirty he could barely see across the street. All the windows were in the same condition. No wonder it’s gloomy in here, he thought. I’ll see that they’re cleaned.
The idea of managing one more trivial task railed at him. He wished his father had created a business of importance, something more challenging to the mind. Building tools seemed of little significance. Surely the Lord had something more noteworthy for him to do.
The familiar pull to explore the world and establish a legacy nagged at him. Enough. He’d been down this road before. It always ended up back here. He glanced about the shop. It’s better than nothing. The business is thriving. I’m able to provide well for myself and for Margaret. His mind momentarily settled on his wife. From time to time, she could be a bit demanding, but most generally she was kindhearted and loving. I’ve reason to be thankful.
How many times had his father tried to convince him of the value of what they did? “This is a good, solid business, son. Where would people be without tools? And we provide jobs for fellow citizens.” He’d smile and pat John on the back. “One day it will be yours.”
His father had known that John’s untamed spirit wanted more. But he’d understood the importance of stability and had striven to teach his son the value found in steadiness. Some of what he taught did catch on, and though John stopped complaining, the desire for daring endeavors never ceased to tantalize him. When he was only twenty, both of his parents were taken by the sweating sickness and the business became his.
A sudden urge to get away swept over John; he needed to be outside. No matter how cold it was outdoors, it would be better than one more minute inside this shop.
“Sir.” The man who’d been working on the hammer approached. “Is this more to your liking?” He held up the tool.
John examined it. Ran his thumb over the handle, and then rested it on the joint where the metal head met the wood. “Much better.” He smiled and returned the tool.
Wearing a pleased expression, the apprentice hurried back to his place at the bench. Watching him, John let out a slow breath. He felt weary. Perhaps a walk along the Thames would help.
I’d best let Henry know I’ll be gone, he thought and headed for the office. Opening the door, John stepped into a small room crowded with desks, cabinets, and bookcases. His twenty-two-year-old cousin, Henry Hodgsson, looked up from a registry he’d been working on. “You look a bit tight.”
“I am feeling worn down. I was thinking a walk might help.”
“A pint would do you more good.” Henry kept his quill close to the paper. As always, he held his shoulders rigid.
“It’s a bit early for that, wouldn’t you say?”
“Never too early to imbibe in the benefits of the vine.” Henry smiled. “What do you say to tipping up a pint together?”
“I think not.”
“Ease up, man,” Henry said, his blue eyes glinting.
Henry could be amiable when it suited him, but more often than not he was obnoxious and secretive. John tried not to spend more time with him than was required. On more than one occasion he’d regretted bringing Henry into the family business, but when the young man had come seeking employment, John couldn’t turn him away. They’d worked together for two years now, and although Henry had a good mind for figures, he possessed few scruples. John seemed to be forever getting him out of some scrape or other.
“Give me a moment; I’m nearly finished here,” Henry said. He turned back to his work. “We’ve done well this month. There’ll be sufficient funds to pay the workers and still add a good deal to the coffers.” He dipped the pen into a bottle of ink.
“I’ve work to do here. I ought to stay,” John said, preferring to keep his associations with his cousin to business.
Henry looked at John, mischief on his face. “No more work for you today. Time for a respite.” After setting the pen on the desk, he snapped the ink bottle shut. He dusted the ledger with sand, sifted it over the page, and tossed the remaining powder into a trash bin.
“I suppose one short drink won’t hurt,” John said, walking to the coatrack. He picked up Henry’s hat and coat and tossed them to him. “Suppose I’ve seen enough of this place for one day.” He grabbed his tricorne hat and pushed it down on his head, then pulled on a knee-length coat.
“I’ve a real thirst,” Henry said with a wicked grin.
John opened the door and stood aside while Henry strode out, still settling his hat on his head. Pulling the door closed, he followed the younger man down the steps and onto a congested London street. The cold air felt invigorating. He walked quickly, his long legs carrying him farther and faster than Henry’s short, stocky ones.
“I’m not about to run to keep up with you,” Henry said with irritation.
John looked behind him. “Oh. Sorry.” He slowed to a stroll and studied the partially frozen Thames. A ship moved down the unfrozen channel in the
middle of the river. “Have you ever considered what you might do if you had a different life, something exciting and meaningful?”
“No. I’m content.” Henry eyed John closely. “You thinking of stepping away from the business?”
“No. Course not.” His eyes lighted on a martin and he wondered why the bird had not flown away before winter had arrived. Using its beak, it groomed its deep blue feathers, trying to clean away soot that had settled on them, just as it had on everything else in the city. It was a hopeless task. The bird would never triumph. Even if it cleaned its feathers today, they’d be coated with the city’s grime tomorrow.
Henry cupped his hands and blew into them. “What is it you’d do if you did walk away?”
John pried his eyes away from the pathetic bird. “Don’t know exactly. There’s a lot I haven’t seen. And the years are passing.” He glanced at Henry. “I’m not so young anymore.”
“You’re only twenty-six. You sound like an old man.”
John smiled slightly and gazed down the street. “Time passes quickly. I don’t want to wait until it’s too late.”
“Too late for what, man? You live first-rate. You have a charming wife, a grand home . . . a lucrative business. What more do you want?”
John didn’t know how to answer him. He didn’t really know what he craved—only that it was something other than what he had. He moved swiftly down the street.
Henry hurried to keep up. “Where is it you’d want to go?” He spread his arms wide. “This is the center of the world. What could be better than living in London?”
John glanced around, taking in the ocean of businesses and cottages crammed together in an untidy hodgepodge. A filthy street separated the muddle. Pedestrians, carts, and animals plowed through or stepped over a virulent stream washing down one side of the lane. A mongrel of a dog lifted its leg on the front door of a cottage while a woman tossed some sort of waste from a second-story window. A persistent brown fog encased the putrid-smelling city.
“I could think of better places.” John chuckled.
Henry shook his head. “You have what all men long for. You’ve the money and the good name that brings you whatever you wish. You’re refused nothing. And you’re still unhappy?”
“You’re right, of course. But I’m not unhappy. It’s just that sometimes I’d like to have the opportunity to begin again.” John thought about the hunger he’d never been able to still. He smiled. “I rather think an excursion to the Americas would be grand.”
“The Americas?” Henry shook his head. “And what would you do there?”
John thought for a moment. “I might have a hand at one of those plantations I’ve heard about and live the life of a country gentleman.”
“Don’t mind telling you I’m pleased to stay right here.” A strange expression touched Henry’s eyes. “And what of Margaret? She’ll have none of it, you know.”
“You’re right there. She’d not find pleasure in such an adventure.”
Henry tipped up his hat slightly. “She’s rather attached to this city and not doddery enough to retire to the country. You’d be hard-pressed to pry her loose from here.” He grinned. “And I dare say London would miss her.”
Lifting a brow, John said, “You mean the shopkeepers would miss her and my money.”
All of a sudden the sound of bells ringing accompanied the incessant noise that already permeated London. More bells joined the first, and they grew louder and louder. “Those confounded youngsters,” Henry lamented. “Could they not find some other form of entertainment?”
“Have you so quickly forgotten our own youth?” John asked. “It seems to me that once upon a time you were one of the best of bell ringers.” He grinned.
“I was young.”
“And so are they.”
Henry stepped around a frozen puddle. A small, white dog ran under his feet and nearly tripped him. Instantly enraged, he kicked at the animal, managing to catch it just below the ribs. The dog yelped. “Out of my way, mongrel!”
A boy ran after the canine while a group of his friends stood on the walkway and glared at Henry. “Ye didn’t need t’ hurt me dog, mister. He meant no harm.” The boy lifted the filthy animal and clutched him against his chest.
John looked at Henry, expecting an apology. Instead, the man kept walking.
“Sorry, lad,” John said. “No harm done, eh?”
The boy bobbed his head, tucked the dog under one arm, and dashed back to his friends. The small band ran up the street, and John hurried to catch up to his cousin.
“Ah, here we are,” Henry said, stopping at the door of the pub. He grinned at John, his blue eyes glinting. Pushing open the door, he disappeared inside.
John followed reluctantly. A blast of warm, stale air hit him as he stepped inside. There were only a handful of patrons scattered about. “A bit early for the crowd, I’d say.” He tipped his hat toward the barmaid. “Afternoon, Abbey. How you faring?”
The buxom woman smiled. “I’m doin’ well. You?”
“Good.”
“We need a pint,” Henry said. He sidled up to Abbey and circled her waist with his arm. “I’ve found myself an angel.” He pulled her close.
Abbey managed to wriggle free and stepped back. “An angel, indeed. I doubt you’ll find what you’re looking for here.”
Henry laughed. “I suppose that today a pint will have to do.” He gave her behind a friendly swat. “Course another time, eh?”
She glared at him. “I’ll never have time for the likes of you.”
A scowl touched Henry’s face for a moment but was quickly replaced by a smirk. “You can’t blame a man, now. You’re a tempting morsel.”
Unhappy with Henry’s antics, John crossed to a table and sat. He pulled out another chair. “Sit down, Henry.” His tone demanded obedience. He placed his hat on the table in front of him.
Henry slid into the chair. “Just havin’ a bit of fun,” he said, watching Abbey make her way back to the bar.
“Barmaid or not, she’s a decent sort and deserves our respect.”
Henry reached into his breast pocket and lifted out a snuff box. Flipping open the lid, he dipped out a fingertip full of snuff and sniffed it into one nostril. He held out the box to John.
“No thank you. It’s a disgusting habit.”
Henry shrugged and put the box back into his pocket. He watched Abbey at the bar.
John was beginning to wish that he’d taken a walk along the Thames. His eyes rested on a group of men at another table. One of them looked familiar. He’d seen him here several times before. If memory served him, the man had been mouthy and a hothead. “You know that fellow?”
“Who?” Henry glanced at the cluster of men.
“The one there,” John nodded at the group. “The younger one, wearing the blue shirt.”
“Oh yeah. Name’s Langdon. Langdon Hayes.” He repeated the name with disdain. “He’s a whelp, rich and spoiled. Comes in now and again.” His attention returned to Abbey.
Although full-bodied, she moved with the grace of a dancer as she approached the table. She set the ale in front of the men. John gave her four pence. “Quiet today.”
“It’s early, yet.” She smiled. “Ye need anything else?”
Henry’s roguish smile appeared. “I was—”
“We’re in no need of anything,” John cut in. He brushed back a loose strand of dark hair, lifted his drink, and sipped. “Good ale. Always serve the best here.”
“We do at that.” Throwing John a look of mischief and Henry one of disdain, Abbey tossed thick, long hair off her shoulder and moved away.
“I dare say, she tempts a man,” Henry said, continuing to stare at her.
“She’s not the sort for you.”
“I’m not talking marriage, man. Just one night . . .”
John’s irritation grew. Henry was too often taken with the ladies, and when in that frame of mind, he made no attempt to hide his lasciviousness. He eve
n seemed partial to Margaret.
John studied the man. He had to admit that, although not a statuesque person, Henry was rather good-looking. He had a straight nose and strong chin and made sure his hair was neat and worn fashionably. And he was intelligent, as well as an asset to the business.
“Perhaps I’ll have another go at Abbey, eh?”
Leaning on the table, John looked squarely at his cousin. “You’re incorrigible. I doubt you’ll ever marry.”
A crooked grin lifted Henry’s lips. “You are most certainly right.” He took a long swill of ale.
John leaned back in his chair. “Marriage might be good for you. Margaret’s been a fine wife to me. You’d be lucky to have someone like her.”
Henry didn’t look at John, but kept drinking until his cup was empty. He smiled as if he had some kind of secret. Holding up his empty mug, he said, “Abbey, luv, get me another.” She quickly replaced the empty goblet.
Leaning back in his chair, Henry sipped his drink. “So if you went off on an adventure, what would become of the business?”
“It would be your responsibility.” Even as John said it, the idea unsettled him. What would his father have thought about placing Henry at the helm? John took a long drink. The discontent of his mundane life pushed him on. “Perhaps it is time I started spending some of my hard-earned money—”
“That’s the spirit.” Henry downed another mouthful of brew. “I offer my services. But you can’t be serious about the Americas?”
John shrugged. “Maybe. I want to return to France and Italy. I haven’t been for some time.” He grasped his cup between both hands and stared down into the dark ale. “I will most likely stay here. I’m afraid my course is set. Adventures are for dreamers.”
He glanced at the group of men across the room. Langdon stared at him, his expression cold.
Henry caught his look. “I’d like to drag him down from his high horse.”
“Ignore him.”
“No fighting today, Langdon,” Abbey called. “If you can’t keep your temper under control, we’ll put you out.”
