It was nearing midnight and Sir Ebenezer Throate was still awake. He was sitting up in his bead, a guttering candle nearby and a glass of brandy in his hand. He knew that sleep would not come easily to him that night: his mind was awhirl with all the events that had occurred that day. He had longed ceased to love, or indeed care about his wife, but he would miss her – miss her as one did a tooth that was extracted because it was giving you pain. He was sure that she would be feeling the same about him if he’d had the misfortune to tumble from the roof.
The drama with Trench prayed less on his mind. In a stoical fashion, Sir Ebenezer had accepted his fate when the villain entered his bed chamber and thrust a knife to his neck. The Lady of the Manor had gone; it looked like it was his turn now. Well, someone had already tried to make mincemeat of him and now it looked like this grotesquely masked fellow, like a renegade from a Penny Dreadful, was about to complete the deed. The drama that enfolded was theatrical in the extreme: the two young legal chaps acting in unison like a well-trained circus act performed a miraculous feat, disarming and disabling the murderous felon. What brave men they were. He must remember to pass on a little reward to them before they return to London with a letter of gratitude and praise to pass on to their employers.
But, and what a huge and glorious ‘But’ it was – But the real joy on the day was finding his son again. A son whom he had been harbouring under the roof of Throate Manor for some time. He was a young man of who he was already naturally – and loved that word ‘naturally’ – naturally fond. He was boy he respected and admired, and he was his father. He beamed with joy at the thought.
It was at this moment, when he was about to take a small sip of brandy to add to his natural inner warmth, when the door of his chamber opened, and a figure slipped inside. For a moment, all ease evaporated from his body and he slithered down into the bed full of apprehension.
‘Tis only me, Lizzie,’ said a voice.
Sir Ebenezer relaxed again and pulled himself up into a sitting position.
‘I have heard the news. The wonderous news,’ she said.
‘Oh, my goodness, my dear, I have been so wrapped up in events, I forgot to come and tell you myself. What a marvellous boy you gave birth to.’
‘It is so strange to think that he was here under our noses and we didn’t know it.’
‘Fate was playing a trick with us, no doubt. But in my ignorance I grew fond of the fellow without being aware that he was my own. And rest assured I will do all in my power to make up for my cruel and stupid behaviour of years ago when I… when I abandoned him.’
Lizzie sighed. ‘For different reasons, I abandoned him also. It is a parcel of guilt that I shall carry with me to my dying day.’
‘No, no. You must not feel guilty. I was the one to blame and anyway it was your ‘ghostly’ performance that prompted me to seek him out.’
She nodded sadly. ‘So, my work here is done. I will leave by the end of the week.’
‘You will do no such thing. You must stay. I insist.’
‘I cannot.’
‘Why not?’
‘I … I don’t know.’
‘You are his mother…’
‘No. No! He must never know. I beg of you. He must not be told. I could not bear it. I am happy he has been brought here. Throate Manor is his rightful home. That is all I wanted’
‘Then stay and watch him grow and develop. Become his loving friend. You can help me guide him along the path of life. I will keep your secret as long as you want me to. Please, I beg you.’
She hesitated, casting her head down. ‘I don’t know,’ she said at length.
‘How can you bear to abandon him again? He is your flesh.’
His words lingered in the air like motes of dust.
Lizzie Barnes fought back the tears. ‘Yes. You are right. You are right. Very well, I will stay and do as you ask on the condition that you swear that you will never, never reveal my real identity.’
‘As you wish. I will respect your decision. But I suspect that you will change your mind.’
The tap at the door was recognisable. Jack Dawkins had a way with his knuckles and wood that was as identifiable as his grating laugh. He didn’t wait to be asked to enter, but slipped into Oliver’s bedroom, carrying a bottle and two glasses. ‘I got this claret from the sideboard in the dining room. I reckon they won’t miss it. More importantly I also reckon we deserve it. We did save the master of the house today, after all. You’ll have a drink with me, Oliver, won’t you?’
Oliver grinned. ‘How could I refuse?’
Jack poured the wine and raised his glass ‘To us and Fagin’s Diversion.’
Glasses were clinked, smiles exchanged, and glasses drained.
‘What a lark it’s all been, eh, Oliver. Been great fun, hasn’t it?’
‘I wouldn’t quite say that, but his has been a colourful detour from our usual routes.’
Jack whistled. ‘My, you do have a way with words. No doubt you will become a very famous lawyer in time, baffling the opposition with your eloquence.’
‘Pour me another glass and I’ll see what else I can come up with.’
Jack did as he was asked. ‘I reckon old Gripwind & Biddle will make you junior partner after this lark. Sir Ebenezer is very pleased with the outcome. He’s sure to put in a good word for you.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘You always were a cautious one, Oliver. Except today with the old FD. You were as quick as a whippet.’ He guffawed loudly and Oliver joined it.
‘I must say,’ said Jack, pouring them both another glass, before lolling back I his chair, ‘I haven’t enjoyed myself as much in years. This Throate business has been a real tonic. Colour, excitement mystery and drama. Like a real melodrama. It’s a pity we don’t get involved with more larks like this’.
‘Well, you never know,’ said Oliver softly, taking a long drink of the rich red wine. ‘You never know’.
THE END
Oliver Twist and the Mystery of Throate Manor Page 23
