The American Boy

Lottie interrupted her sister with a well-directed kick to the ankle. 'No, sir, please, sir, he begs the favour of a word with you.'

As she brought the last words successfully out, a smug smile spread over her freckled face. Her sister pulled her hair. I broke up the altercation, as I had broken up many of their altercations before, by interposing my body between theirs, and marched them downstairs. In a way I was glad it had come to this: the decisions were made for me; there was no need to debate whether to stay or to run, to take the ring or to leave it where it was. As we walked, the children chattered to me, each apparently oblivious of the other's presence. My mouth was dry and I felt light-headed.

In the hall, a man in a black coat stood waiting. His back was turned to me, and he appeared to be studying the drops of dried blood on the floorboards that marked the place where Lottie and Lizzie had fought for possession of a sugar plum on Sunday afternoon. As I reached the foot of the stairs, he turned to greet me. I recognised the plump white face of Atkins, Mr Rowsell's clerk.

'Mr Shield, sir, I trust I find you well.'

While we said what was civil to each other, though without warmth on either side, he examined me with barely concealed curiosity. I thought it probable that he had known of the reception awaiting me at Mr Rowsell's house, but he had not warned me. He felt in his breast pocket and produced a letter.

'Mr Rowsell begged me to give you this. He said that if I found you here, he wished me to wait for an answer.'

I turned aside, broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

My dear Tom

I regret the misunderstanding that occurred when you called at Northington-street in January. Would you be kind enough to allow me to explain the reason for it? It would give me great pleasure if you were able to dine with me any day this week, apart from Saturday. In the meantime, believe me to be

Your affectionate friend,

Humphrey Rowsell

I looked at Atkins. 'Pray give my compliments to Mr Rowsell, and Thursday would be quite convenient.'

69

Mr Rowsell took me to a tavern in Fleet-street. We drank first one bottle of claret with our dinner and then another. He was as amiable in his manner to me as ever but at first he steered our conversation resolutely towards general topics. He talked in fits and starts, rushing at his words as though he feared they might escape him if he did not hurry, and laughing boisterously at the slightest opportunity. Not that there was much cause for amusement – I remember we talked of the Cato Street Conspiracy against the government, which was then in the news, and the Peterloo Massacre in Manchester the previous summer. For all its wealth and vigour the country was tearing itself apart.

'These are troubled times for the nation,' Mr Rowsell said, as we broached the third bottle. 'I fear there may be a crash, a great crisis in public confidence that will make the collapse of Wavenhoe's seem no more than a trifling upset. So keep your capital safe, Tom, do not be tempted into speculation.'

'Thank you, sir.' I eyed my host's face with some anxiety, for it had grown dark with wine. 'May I ask what you meant in your letter? About an explanation?'

'An explanation?' He shut his eyes for a moment. 'Aye, well, first I must tell you that I have written to Mr Bransby. When I was trying to find you out, he was naturally the first person I thought of.'

'In that case you will know that I have resigned from my position at his school.'

'Yes – he – well, not to beat about the bush – he made a number of allegations about your conduct which I found hard to credit.'

'That is perhaps because they were untrue.'

Rowsell's eyebrows shot up. 'I am glad to hear it, Tom.'

'Theft, philandering and neglecting my duty to his pupils?'

He nodded. 'I reminded the reverend gentleman that there was a law of libel in this country. He did not reply to my second letter.'

'Surely Mrs Rowsell must have known of my disgrace long before you heard of it from Mr Bransby?'

'Yes, yes, Mrs Rowsell – yes, I shall come to that.' His colour darkened still more, and he applied himself to his wine. 'I did not know where you were. I cannot tell you how glad I was when Quintus Atkins came up to me on Monday morning and said he had found you.'

'On Monday? Not Tuesday?'

'Yes, it was Monday, I'm sure of it – you would not think it to look at him, but Atkins has a gift for talking to strangers, for asking harmless questions in a way that does not cause offence, and a wide acquaintance. I did not think it likely you would have returned to Rosington, or even left town. I determined to concentrate our search on the vicinity of the Strand – I thought it the most likely part of London for you to choose, you see, because of its long association with your aunt. It was merely a matter of his tramping the streets and asking questions for long enough, and there you were. To be precise, he was introduced to a stonemason in a public house. It turned out you had written a letter for the man. And later Atkins confirmed it by buying a glass of rum for a former sailor who lodges on the floor below you. I may say that both men gave you fine testimonials. So then I wrote the letter he brought you.'

I hesitated, wanting to pursue the matter further but uncertain how best to go about it. 'Forgive me for labouring the point, sir, but I heard that another man came looking for me at Gaunt-court on Tuesday. I wondered whether someone else, perhaps less benevolent than yourself, wished to find me.'

'I'm positive that Atkins told me the news on Monday.' Rowsell frowned. 'Mr Carswall? Could it have been he?'

'It's possible.'

'Do you feel able to tell me more about the circumstances?'

'I left Monkshill-park under a cloud. The cloud was none of my making, and Mr Carswall treated me unjustly. His malevolence pursued me to London, for he wrote to Mr Bransby and made certain accusations – those you have already heard. He manufactured evidence to support the most serious of those accusations. He meant to cost me my position, sir, and possibly my liberty – and even, perhaps, my life.'

'If you were my client, I would advise you not to repeat those accusations in public.' Rowsell dabbed his finger in a circle of wine on the table and drew the outline of a head resembling a fox's. 'He is a wealthy man, Mr Carswall, and one with a certain reputation. He may be an old dog, but he can still bite.'

'I was forewarned of his scheme by a friend,' I continued. 'So I came straight to you, intending to lay the matter before you and ask your advice.'

Rowsell lowered his head over his glass. 'I am sorry. It was most unfortunate that I was not in the way when you called.'

'I went to Lincoln's Inn first, and Atkins sent me on to Northington-street. I concluded from Mrs Rowsell's reception of me that Mr Carswall had reached you before me, and poisoned your mind and hers against me.'

'Very natural, my dear boy. That was not the case, however – the first I heard of what had happened was when Mr Bransby replied to my letter of inquiry. No, Mrs Rowsell's conduct sprang from another source. I hold myself very much to blame. I have not been altogether candid with you, I am afraid, and the fault is entirely mine. Circumstances placed me in an awkward position, and indeed they still do.' He swallowed half a glass of wine. 'That is why I asked you to dine with me here, rather than at Northington-street.'

'If I have distressed Mrs Rowsell in any way, I regret it extremely.'

'No, it is not you who have distressed her: it is I. And of course I have also distressed you. Tell me, did you never wonder why your excellent aunt placed her affairs in my hands? I do not wish to seem immodest, but it must have occurred to you that I am moderately successful in what I do, and that I would not usually attend so assiduously to the affairs of a lady in her circumstances, however amiable she was in her personal character. Mrs