Chapter 8: High Society Braggart

The sun shining through the window was like a persistent gnat to Johnathan the next morning. He was able to ignore it for a time, but eventually it roused him.

Opening his eyes slowly he let out a yawn that left his jaw aching.

It was a long moment before he finally rolled from his bed, nearly falling to the ground before he was able to stand upright.

Stepping to the mirror, it took sometime before he was able to focus his eyes. When he did he nearly jumped back.

He hardly recognized the face that stared back at him.

"What in god's name?" The grogginess was near immediately cleared from his mind.

He had a sandy blond beard that reached down to his collarbone. It hadn't even existed yesterday.

Reaching up a hand Johnathan tugged it only to wince in pain. It was real.

Pausing for a moment, he stared at it. Its presence was unwelcome, but yet it looked nearly regal. It was with an oddly heavy heart that he reached for the shaving razor.

Not even sure how to tackle such a growth as this Johnathan simply began hacking away at it, all but ripping out the hair when the razor caught, pushing too deep. The hair was deep and thick, seeming as if he'd spent months growing it.

At long last, with more than a few clumps of blond hair sitting around his feet, Johnathan was at long last able to pull out the shaving power and lather himself up.

The feeling of the cool, wet blade scratching against his skin made him feel alive. Made him feel like a man.

Even then it was still the better part of half an hour before Johnathan was ready to meet the world. There was little he could do for his hair, it had grown nearly as much as his beard, and he'd be damned if he was about to bind it in a ponytail.

Heaving a sigh, Johnathan turned to change into a fresh set of clothes.

There should be a fresh, prepared wardrobe sitting on the counter for him. There was nothing.

"Odd," he mused to himself. A moment later he'd picked out his own selections and dressed. He hadn't had to do this since he'd come home from the city.

Leaving his chambers Johnathan walked across the upstairs balcony towards the stairs. It was even later in the day than he'd gotten up before, the rest of the staff should already be about and at their tasks.

Yet he heard nothing.

Pausing for a moment at the head of the stairs, Johnathan couldn't hear anything at all in the fresh new morning but the subtle creaking of the building itself. Not a single human voice broke the silence.

Descending quickly, Johnathan's feet didn't make a whisper to disturb the silence.

In only moments he'd returned to where he'd tucked in Manson last night.

This was not good.

The man was gone, but far more damming was the blanket Johnathan had brought to him last night. It lay tossed aside on the floor. The Manson Johnathan knew would never stand for such a thing.

Continuing on Johnathan passed through the kitchen. It sat cold and empty. Not a single burning ember glimmered in the range. No one had been here for breakfast.

Passing quickly through the remaining rooms of the manor Johnathan's heart fell. They were all as equally empty and devoid of life.

Even if something had gone terribly wrong someone should still be here. There should be some indication of what had happened last night. But no, not a single note of message could be found no matter how hard Johnathan searched.

Breaking through the front doors, Johnathan was nearly at a run as he headed towards the stable.

He let out a long held breath when he saw Ginny there.

The old mare had found her own way home last night. Johnathan was with half a mind to cuss her out soundly for her actions but at the same time he couldn't hold back the urge to wrap his arms around her, the only living thing on the estate.

Coming closer to her, Ginny startled at Johnathan's approach. Fearing she might bolt, as she only stood in the middle of the stable by her own accord, Johnathan stopped dead.

A moment passed and Ginny turned to look at Johnathan. Directly in the face. She pulled a deep breath, then another one.

She took a hesitant step towards him.

Johnathan held his ground and let her approach at her own pace. There was no use in rushing it. He'd managed to spook her somehow last night and it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do it again.

One last step and Ginny was right before him.

"Hello, girl," Johnathan whispered, "You know me, you know who I am. I'm sorry for giving you such a fright last night."

She lowered her nose to brush the top of Johnathan's long, untrimmed hair, taking another snort of breath.

With that she relaxed. The strain fell from her muscles and she let her tail fall back relaxed.

"I knew you'd remember me, girl." Johnathan reached out a hand to pat the side of her neck. "Just what was it that frightened you so last night?"

She didn't have an answer for him. For all the world Ginny seemed to have forgotten the events of the storm. She was more interested in knowing if Johnathan had a treat for her.

Rolling his eyes, Johnathan led her back to her stall and pulled off her saddle. Manson must not have seen her before he'd left this morning. Manson was no horseman, but he knew enough not to leave an unbound horse wandering about, especially one that still had her saddle on.

An hour later Johnathan had Ginny put away properly and, surprisingly, his own nerves had calmed.

He still had no idea whatsoever where Manson and the maids were, but his next step was to walk back to Hammerwood and find them. There really was nowhere else for them to be.

For a short time Johnathan weighed riding Ginny, but the thought quickly passed. She was still flighty and on edge. Not to mention that he'd been damn lucky to land without any broken bones after being thrown from her.

The walk to Hammerwood without her would be long, all the way back up the bridge and around, just like last night, but it was a safer bet.

After taking one last look in the stable to ensure Ginny was well, Johnathan stepped into the manor to pick up his walking jacket.

It felt... odd to step into the house with no one here. Johnathan couldn't remember a single time in his life that the manor had been completely empty. Every time, all the way back to his birth, there had always been someone else here. Manson, the maids, his parents. This was the first time in all his years he'd been alone in his own home.

Stepping quickly back towards the door, he slipped out before the familiar creeks and groans of the building began to disgorge ghosts and horrors.

He'd already had quite enough playing on his mind last night and had no interest in anything more making him doubt his sanity.

Last night was more then enough of a thought by itself. Had it truly been? He had the bruises and torn clothing to prove it so, but yet it simply didn't feel right.

Taking a deep breath, Johnathan tried to pick out the scents that had sliced through his mind so only hours ago. There were there... after a fashion.

All the same scents played through the air, but they were not nearly so clear, nor nearly as plain and obvious as they had been.

And the same with his limbs. Last night he'd seemed to crawl as quickly as a bird could fly or a steed could run. Now the idea of falling to all fours was ludicrous.

Shaking his head, the only answer Johnathan could find was that he must have been ill. Whether it was the food or the wine of last night, something had set off him, sent his mind spinning.

It was a troubling thought, but of no immediate concern. The illness seemed to have passed with the rising of the sun. All he could do now was ensure it didn't come again.

The walk was slow and refreshing. Taking the normal path from the manor, rather than questing through the back forest as he'd been forced to do last night, Johnathan made good time through the trees.

It was less than half an hour before he made it to the fork in the road. One leg went to town, the other out to the west. There was no sign here to indicate, but the choice was obvious to anyone who had taken the way before.

He'd been this way a thousand times before and yet he'd taken the wrong path.

Pausing for a moment, Johnathan looked down at the road in some vain hope of picking up his own tracks from the last night.

The dirt and gravel way was hard packed and deeply rutted. There wasn't the faintest sign of his passing, nor that of Manson and the house staff.

Sighing, Johnathan continued of his way.

Coming up to the edge of Hamerwood, Johnathan was mildly surprised just how much the town had grown.

When he'd left for university there had still been farms and gardens along the outer edge, they were gone now, replaced with warehouses and factories.

It was on odd sight. The town had grown so quickly that the agriculture hadn't had the opportunity to slide away, but rather it had been gobbled up. There was no buffer between the forest and the bustling town. One moment Johnathan found himself in the woods, the next he was walking down the crowded road of Hammerwood.

Taking a deep breath, Johnathan coughed. The scent of industry was strong here. Not only the smoke and fire of the mills but also the stench of unwashed bodies. He'd forgotten just how much humanity smelled. It was nothing compared to London, but it did most definitely cause his nose to wrinkle.

Walking down the choked roadway a few men stopped to wave at him, Johnathan waved back absently.

When he'd left Johnathan had known many if not the great majority of the people who called this town home. It was troubling now that he saw so many faces he didn't recognize. Men and women walked down the road and leaned against walls smoking pipes who he'd never before seen in his life.

For just a moment Johnathan had the image of himself drowning in a massive human whirlpool. So many people flowed around his that he was dragged down by their faceless identities, covered over by their sounds and smell, blinded by their insentient moments.

Gasping in a breath, Johnathan had to stop and lean against a nearby wall, wiping the back of a hand across his brow.

Glancing up the building that now supported him, he recognized it as one of the houses his parents had helped build, now the property of its residents.

It wasn't long before Johnathan pushed on into the centre of the town. Hamerwood was growing quickly, but was still a village at heart. Unlike the sprawling new part of town, the village centre was quiet and meticulously thought out. Every building here was designed with a plan, every street laid down with a purpose. Unlike the haphazard new roads, the design of the village centre was made to make you feel calm. The background sounds here were muted, the shops small and carefully maintained. It was like Johnathan had stepped from an industrial city into a storybook country village.

Just the way his parents had designed it.

Johnathan passed a barber's shop, but despite his interest in a haircut he continued walking. It was a minor social gaff to be seen in public in such a state, but he was currently more interested in the whereabouts of Manson and the rest of his staff.

Appearances could wait until he knew they were safe.

Not truly sure where to even start looking for his wayward valet, Johnathan started by touring the man's most frequented shops. It was little use, none of the proprietors had seen him in the last few days.

It wasn't until Johnathan walked past the local police station that a constable came running out on the street.

Johnathan vaguely recognized the man. Alexander was his name if memory served. Constable Alexander. Johnathan had known him in some small measure. They'd attended school together despite Alexander being two levels his senior.

The athletic man raced out into the crowded street, making a beeline straight for him, pushing all the other townspeople out of the way.

"Johnathan! Mr. Pennyfare!" His deep voice called.

Johnathan came to a stop and waited for the man to approach. Thankfully, the officer didn't sound unhappy. Despite this a tiny flame of indecision flickered in Johnathan's gut, urging him to run.

Whatever could he have done to attract the attention of an officer of the law?

Red faced from his headlong sprint, Constable Alexander came to a stop in front of Johnathan, panting mouth open like a dog.

"Sir..." he paused for a moment to catch his breath, "Sir, we've had people out looking for you for the last hour! Wherever have you been?"

"Me?" Johnathan was taken aback, raising a hand to his chest, "Why were you looking for me?"

A wide grin spread across the man's face as he reached out to take Johnathan's hand. For just a moment Johnathan felt the urge to pull back from the man's gentle grasp, but an instant later he felt the steel in those muscles and allowed himself to be led like an errant child to the station.

Not letting go of him until they were safely within the small station house, Alexander finally release him to take a seat across a small table choked with paperwork.

"We've been looking for you half the morning! God, just about all the police on the force mobilized to search for you, half of them combing the forests between here and the Talbot's estate."

"Why?" Johnathan sat down across from him, looking quizzically into the young officer's wide brown eyes.

"Why?" The man just about fell over backwards, "Your man Manson was in here first thing this morning. He said he'd sent you off to the Talbot's last night and you'd never returned. We checked with the Talbot estate and they said you left right as rain last night. No one's seen you since! It's not on my watch that we'll let the one and only heir to the richest and most well respected family in the county wander off and drown himself in a puddle--" He cut off with a gagging sound as he realized what he'd just said. And to whom.

Reaching across the desk Johnathan set his hand on Alexander's arm.

"Don't worry about it, friend," he chuckled softly. "My old mother hen just got a little too roused up. I managed to get thrown from my horse last night and knock my head. Spent a few hours wandering around in the trees as redemption for my foolishness, that's all. You can call of the search, I'm fine."

The peeler's face turned a shade redder.

"I can... uh, see that now, sir. I'll just get a hold of the other officers and call off the search then." He laughed nervously.

Johnathan smiled. "That would be wonderful. And," Johnathan had just begun rising from his seat when he turned back to the man, "Thanks. I didn't realize I was so important to the town to have the whole force mobilized just because I spent the night cold in the bushes."

Alexander snorted. A most unprofessional sound. "You need hardly thank me, sir. Your parents were the one's who built this town. They built my parent's home, and mine too. Without them we'd still be little more that the working poor back in London. Out here we have a fair start. No landlord standing over us demanding a backbreaking rent, decent people. It's the least we can do to repay them."

Johnathan closed his eyes for a moment as he turned and walked away. "Yes, thank you. You're right. It was the least you could do for them."

Back out on the street, Johnathan got little more than ten steps before messengers shot past him, running off to god knew where. They were more than likely carrying the news he was alright.

Putting them out of his mind, Johnathan wandered down the crowded streets.

He'd been out of town long enough, and his hair had grown enough that few people seemed to recognize him. The only way Alexander had likely picked him out was my a description Manson had given when he'd reported Johnathan missing.

In some ways Johnathan found the anonymity refreshing. He'd always been recognized before when he walked the streets of Hammerwood. Now it was more like London. He was just another man.

Passing the business on High Street, Johnathan perked an ear to hear the shop keepers gossiping out in front of their stores.

"Did you hear the Talbot's have run their bank?" one asked, a pipe clenched between their teeth.

"You're telling me," the other replied back in a gruff voice. "They came in this morning to place the biggest order I've had in years! Just waltzed right in a picked the most expensive dress I had in the entire store! Didn't even look at it! They didn't even bring the bride to be with them. Just told me to put it on their account and they'd have her in before the wedding to fit it. You'd think the old man finally managed to make one of his schemes pay off. It's like they're back in the money again!"

The first one laughed. "What's to say they haven't. The rumour is they ensnared the young Pennyfare. That sounds like one of the old man's schemes to me. Once they wed I'm sure he'll be more than into their money before the vows are finished." He snorted. "He'll run 'um dry in no time at all. The old Pennyfare's had sense, but the kid is too young. He'll be financing the old man's schemes in no time, mark my words."

Feeling the urge to turn to the men and vent his rage, Johnathan none the less walked on. It would do him no good to yell at two men simply speaking their minds.

And the fact they were possibly correct did not help.

The very centre of town held a small plaza.

It was nothing large or formal, based loosely on the town squares so common in Italy, it was flanked by cafés and quiet shops.

Wandering up to one of the cafés, Johnathan sat at the patio table, letting the warm sun wash down over him. Only now did he realize just how his feet hurt. He'd walked further in the last twenty-four hours than he had in months. The stroll from the manor to town was not taken lightly, and now it was wearing on him.

He thought for just a moment about Manson. A slight pang of gilt sounded in his chest. Johnathan wished he'd woken the man last night, given him a quick moment to realize he was home. But rather he'd left him to sleep. It had seemed like such a simple answer at the time, simply to slip past him.

Letting out a sigh, Johnathan was just about ready to fall asleep when a shadow fell over him.

"Can I help you, sir?" Came a soft female voice.

Opening his eyes, Johnathan was face to chest with a rather fit young woman. Her long red hair flowed down her shoulders and her plain clothing did little to hide her generous curves.

"Hmm?" It took Johnathan a moment to snap back to reality after dozing off.

She laughed, the sound was enough to bring Johnathan back into focus like following a thread.

"You're sitting in the café, sir. I assume that means you want to eat something."

"Oh," Johnathan's stomach growled, reminding him he'd nothing to eat since leaving the Talbot's home last night. "Yes, that would be fine. Whatever you have."

She looked at him quizzically. "We don't really have anything yet prepared, sir. It is still rather early in the morning."

"Oh, yes." Johnathan waved his hand, not really bothering with the conversation. "What do you suggest?"

She paused for a moment. "Well, if you're hungry we could always do up a full fry-up..."

Johnathan cut her off before she could continue, "That would be perfect. I'll have that."

"But..." She was about to argue when Johnathan shooed her away. He was more interested in returning to his nap right now.

As the girl walked off back into the café Johnathan watched her from the corner of his eye. She swayed in a most pleasing fashion as she walked. Now if he could only pair her up with Emma he'd have a fine start to a...

Sitting bolt upright the sleep was suddenly banished from Johnathan eyes.

What in god's name was he thinking?

He'd only just gotten permission to take Emma's hand in marriage last night and now he was... now he was...

How disgusting.

But yet no matter how hard he tried Johnathan simply couldn't banish the image of having a score of women at his beck and call.

Returning slowly to his nap, it took everything he had to keep Emma's smiling face front and centre in his mind.

Sometime later, Johnathan wasn't sure how long as he'd dozed off, he was awakened by a scent crawling past him.

Opening his eyes slowly, Johnathan was able to see a shadow coming towards him from the café door. It was carrying a large plate wafting steam.

Bringing himself to full awareness with few long blinks, the timing was just right as the red haired beauty set the serving platter down in front of him.

"Here you are, sir." She laughed. "You wouldn't believe the argument I had to have with the cook to get this made. Hope it's not too much. He didn't want to spend all that effort just to do a single portion."

Johnathan took a quick look at the food spread out before him. Despite himself his mouth began to water.

"No, no." He smiled up at the girl. "This will do nicely. And," he added, "a cup of tea."

A short time later Johnathan was alone with is food. The occasional person passed by in the square but they paid him no attention as he ate. That suited Johnathan just fine. It let him focus on what was important.

When the waitress had enquired about the quantity it had been no minor boast. The amount that sat before Johnathan now was enough to feed three people. There was many a poor family in town that would be more than happy to have this split across their plates.

Digging in with no remorse, the first causality was the black pudding.

Hot and fresh, it was a touch undercooked. A few drops slipped from the sausage as Johnathan cut into it with his knife. Lifting it to his lips, he could still feel the warmth of the fire that had made it. The oatmeal within was still soft from absorbing all the blood.

Johnathan didn't normally care for black pudding all that much, even less when it was undercooked. But this was the exception. It tasted perfect.

In the blink of an eye it was gone.

Johnathan hadn't realized how hungry he was when he'd sat down, but now he'd broken his fast he was ravenous.

The next up was the generous rashes of bacon. They were gone just as quick.

Working his way through the plate in record time, the only thing that remained untouched was the half tomato that sat in the middle of the plate. He worked his way clean around it without so much as scraping its skin.

Sitting back calm and full, Johnathan looked up at the clear blue sky.

"Figures," he muttered to himself. One again the sky was empty and placid, not a hint of the wind that had raged against him hours ago.

With a grumble Johnathan vowed that tonight he would make a point of getting home early, and make a point of avoiding whatever it was the night was reading to throw at him this time.

The waitress came out again to clear his plates.

"You want the bill now, governor?" She looked down in surprise, realizing Johnathan had nearly scraped the plates clean.

"Yes," with a grunt Johnathan levered himself off his chair, following her inside with is eyes firmly clamped on the back of her head. "I'll have it put on my account."

Dropping the plates off, the girl stepped up to the accounts book.

"Oh," her voice was sweet, "sorry, gov. I don't recognize you. Who did you say you were again?"

Johnathan arched one brow. He'd been away from town for sometime, but he was surprised that he was that unknown.

"Johnathan," he dipped forward in a mock bow, "Johnathan Pennyfare."

Now it was her time to raise an eyebrow. "Pennyfare? They're dead, aren't they?"

He let out a long sigh. "You're thinking of my parents."

"Oh." She pulled back a step, raising a hand to her breast. "So sorry." A moment later she was paging through her book. "I, uh, I have an account for your parents, but none for you."

Johnathan rolled his eyes. "That's likely because I've been out of town for the least few years."

Her face went red. "I'd like to set up an account for you, gov, really would, but only the boss can do that and he'd not in now."

With a strangled growl Johnathan rolled his eyes heavenward. "Not a problem."

It was only by good fortune that Johnathan had remembered to bring his wallet with him this morning. He'd rarely used it since coming home, Manson covering for near all his expenses.

A few coins later and the amount was settled. It was only the heaviness of a good meal in his belly that kept Johnathan from annoyance.

He'd have to come here again, but not before having an account setup.

Departing the café, Johnathan once again turned to wandering the streets. Few people seemed to recognize him. The crowds seemed to mill about almost as if he wasn't there. Without any effort Johnathan seemed to be able to slide past the edges of people, unseen and unnoticed. It was a skill he'd never seemed to possess before, but it pleased him to no end now.

Not that the conversations he leaned in upon raised his mood.

He'd been annoyed enough to hear about the dress that Talbot's had already purchased for Emma, but it seemed their impropriety hardly ended there.

Johnathan quite clearly remembered telling Stewart in no mean words that he was to leave the wedding planning up to Manson and Johnathan's estate. It seemed he had not taken that request to heart.

No matter if he passed by the tailor, that baker, or the florist, the buzz of Johnathan's wedding was upon everyone's lips. Had Johnathan not known better he would have believed the Talbot's were a block ahead of him, sowing orders and spending money they didn't have just out of sight.

An order for a dozen new top of the line suits had been placed with the finest - and most expensive - tailor in town. The baker was overjoyed to have an order for the largest wedding cake he'd ever been asked to make.

With a slight moment of horror Johnathan realized that a wedding date hadn't yet even been picked. The Talbot's had ordered a cake made without even knowing when it was needed.

Gritting his teeth, Johnathan walked onward. Emma was worth all this, but her family was most certainty not.

The florest had also received an order. It was with a shock that Johnathan heard the man discuss a date not a week off.

Pushing out of the centre of town, Johnathan began to feel suddenly claustrophobic. There were too many men, too many building pressing close. He had to get away, back out into the forests and the farm land.

Picking up speed, Johnathan could see the edge of town tantalizingly out of reach not a hundred yards away. If only he sprinted for it...

Without warning a man stepped from a side street, directly into Johnathan's path. The two of them collided with a mighty crash, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a cloud of dust.

"You crazy blighter! What in god's name..."

Pulling himself off the ground, Johnathan turned to face the man who'd already begun cussing him out in a thick midlands accent.

Before Johnathan could even open his mouth to return some of the venom that was being spit at him the voice went silent.

"Johnathan?" The voice was suddenly calm.

The red mist that had grown in Johnathan's vision slowly cleared as he looked into the face of the man he'd nearly clobbered.

A name tugged at the back of Johnathan's mind.

"Thomas?"

With a bellowing laugh the man jumped from the dirt and lunged forward to wrap his arms around Johnathan in a crushing embrace.

Thomas Rowan. In an instant all the memories came flooding back. Thomas had been one of Johnathan's best friends when they'd been young. He hadn't seen the man since going off to university.

And he was dressed up in the blue surge of the police force.

Back on their feet, Thomas and Johnathan stood there for a moment as people flowed around them. For the life of them Johnathan couldn't find a word to say.

It wasn't that he was unhappy to see his old friend... he just couldn't find anything to say, anyway to relate to the man he'd grown up with.

"You're, uh, with the police force now?" Was all Johnathan could push past his lips.

Thomas looked down, almost as if surprised himself.

"Yeah," he laughed, "Just jointed last year. Seemed like the best thing for a guy like me, eh? Don't have the brain to go to university like you, don't have the looks like Emma, so have to find a living here in town." Throwing an arm over Johnathan's shoulder he pulled him out of the centre of the street.

"God, man," he continued, "It's been years since I last saw you." For just a moment his smile faltered. "Sorry I didn't come to the funeral. You know I wanted to be there. I had a mission out to Crawley. I got back as soon as I could but by then the service was already over." With an effort he put forth a smile again under his thick, straight as a slide-rule black moustache. "But that's in the past. The buzz about town is that you finally proposed to Emma!" He slapped Johnathan on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward. "You're a lucky man, eh? Everyone's been expecting you to for years. What took you so long? I'd have done it myself but we all know a copper's wages aren't enough to pay the way for a family like the Talbots!"

Johnathan fought to regain his footing as he searched his mind for another topic. The one thing he truly didn't want to talk about now was Stewart and the purchases.

"Were you out searching for me this morning?" Johnathan glanced down to see the mud that coated Thomas' otherwise spotless black leather boots.

"Yeah." Thomas' arm around Johnathan's shoulders tightened a fraction. "The entire force practically bolted out the door when Manson gave us his report. I was the first among them." For just a moment Thomas puffed out his chest before realizing how silly he looked. "Where were you anyway?"

Johnathan's face went red. "All a bit of a misunderstanding. I was safely asleep in my bed the whole time."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "That's the way it always is, eh? The one time an interesting case crosses our desk an it's nothing. Who knows, perhaps this country life isn't what I'm cut out for. I could always hand in for a transfer to London."

Johnathan shivered at the thought. Finding his old friend again was a boost he'd been needing. And he could just about guarantee that Thomas wouldn't last one year in London.

Thomas was, as far as what little Johnathan knew, a good cop. And Johnathan could most definitely vouch for him being a good man, but he was a county man at heart. Having to deal with his first murder or dead body floating bloated and blue in the Thames would be more than enough to send him running back to Hammerwood.

Not even noticing where Thomas was leading them, Johnathan startled when the man pushed open a door and led into a dark smokey room.

It only took Johnathan a moment to recognize it as the Wolf and Lion pub. Time hadn't seemed to change it. Other than a few more scars on the floor and tables it was the same close, oak and brass pub he remembered from growing up.

Stepping up to the bar Thomas waved a hand and called. "Barkeep, a couple of glasses of bitter over here, eh? We've got a man back from the dead."

Johnathan glanced over at his friend. "Aren't you on the clock?"

Thomas shrugged. "Who's to tell? I was assigned to tromp over hill and glen to find you this morning. And so I have. Now you're nice and safe with me. I think that's something even the Captain would be willing to celebrate."

The barkeep was before them a moment later, setting two overflowing glasses of pale ale before them. Johnathan got a "Glad to have you back" before the man was off again.

Taking a long pull from his glass Thomas had to wipe the suds from his moustache.

"So tell me, Johnathan, how'd you do it? Did you have to promise them you'd buy them the moon? The London Bridge? What was the cost of the sweet Emma's hand, I just have to know!" He let out a uproarious laugh. "Or did you just buy up their house and threaten to foreclose on them, eh?" He paused for a moment, eyes widening. "God. And what does Emma think of all this? I can't see her sitting meekly by! She must have had a good scream at her father for whatever amount you paid for her. I wouldn't want to be that man! She likely took the price of blood whatever she was worth, eh?"

"It wasn't nearly like that," Johnathan tried to cut in, "I'm just helping them through a bit of hardship, that's all." He felt like a cad for lying through his teeth.

Thomas put down his freshly empty glass with a loud clink, motioning for another. For just a moment the man stopped and stared and Johnathan.

Narrowing his eyes, Thomas didn't seem to blink for a long moment. It was only then that Johnathan realized how wise his friend had been in joining the service.

"Say no more." Thomas' voice was soft. "I'm sorry for pressing you. It's none of my business, eh? The two of you will be happy together, I'm sure of it."

Pausing for another moment, Thomas looked at him again. "You look different, old friend. What has London done to you? You didn't look like this when you left."

Johnathan lifted his hands selfconsciously to his hair. Clearing his throat, he laughed. "Oh, yeah. I need to take a trip to the barber's."

Thomas shook his head. "No, not that. Look alright by the way. It's something else. You look different, Johnathan. It's not your hair or your face. Something else." Thomas shrugged, taking another gulp of his drink he closed his eyes for a moment and forced the lines on his face soft. "It's nothing, I'm sure. Your time in London has changed you." He laughed. "Not the way I'd have thought though. I'd have figured you'd be more straight laced now, more civilized."

Searching for an excuse to look away from his friend, Johnathan reached over to take a sip of his drink. Minding his experience last night he took it only in moderation.

"How are thing in this end of the world?" Johnathan asked, changing the conversation.

Thomas shrugged. "The same as always. Other than the town growing nothing seems to change. Every month another building or two crops up. So far things are still quiet. We're still small in the grand scheme of things. Nothing like London." He cocked his head for a moment. "I guess I should be proud of that."

It was only a few more moments before someone walked up behind Johnathan to tap him on the shoulder. Johnathan didn't know who he was, but the man gave him a hearty slap on the back and congratulated him for his engagement with Emma.

Johnathan could have just as well hid his face when the man mentioned he was a baker and overjoyed with the order given to him for the wedding reception.

A moment later came another man. Then another. Each one wanted to give him a slap on the back, a thank you for some lavish order and buy Johnathan a drink.

In very short order Johnathan had a bruised back and a counter full of glasses.

Thomas' eyes nearly lit up when he saw the selection of beers and stouts that had been left behind.

"It would be a pity to leave these to go to waste, and you'll never drink them all..." he began.

Johnathan waved him on. The more Thomas drank the less he'd have to.

An hour later most of the glasses were empty and Johnathan was starting to feel quite ill. He'd hardly drank himself under the table, taking in far less than he'd used to in London, yet he felt as though he was far past his limit.

"That, mate, was a fine meal," came Thomas' slurred voice from beside him.

Johnathan could do little more than burp and hold himself standing up at the bar.

A quick glance around the room and Johnathan could count off nearly all the people who had bought him a drink. It seemed like the Pennyfare purse, through stewardship of the Talbots was employing nearly everyone here.

With the notable exception of one man who sat glowering at them in the far corner.

"Who's that?" Johnathan gestured unsteadily with a thumb as he fought to maintain his composure despite the pressure that grew in his gut.

"Eh?" While the liquor hung heavy on Thomas' breath the man still moved like he hadn't touched a drop.

A quick glance over his shoulder in the guise of scratching an itch and Thomas was back facing over the bar with Johnathan. The expression on his face was not so jolly now.

"Richard Bragsten. I doubt you've met him, mate. He's a sour fellow, always has been. Only now he's got a reason."

"Oh?"

Thomas' brows pulled down as he checked one of the glasses before them for a remaining drop. "Very much so. He came to town a couple of years ago, while you were gone. Made a name for himself right quick he did. Runs the new lumber mill. You'd think he'd be a happy sort of gent having made his pile at age forty, but it's never been so. He's always getting himself in some trouble or another. And mate, I'd bet my last copper you're on his list now. He's been lusting after Emma since he first set 'es eyes upon her. One of the few people in town who'd have a shot at getting past her father too." Thomas let out a long sigh that ended in a rough laugh. "Too bad for him, eh? Emma wouldn't so much as give 'em the time of day. She was waiting for you, mate. Neither of them would hear a word to the contrary though. He kept chasing her and she kept shooting him down like a marksman." His eyes narrowed again. "I'm just glad you're back. That'll put an end to all this nonsense. You two get married and he'll be out in the cold. That'll be that."

Thomas seemed to be able to hold himself well enough, but Johnathan was quickly feeling the distress of his drinks.

It was that moment Richard chose to stand from his table.

Both Johnathan and Thomas stiffened when the man moved. His actions were quick and whip like. They seemed perfectly suited to the tall, stringy body he possessed. In only strides he'd cleared the distance from his far table to the bar, pressing through the tables and patrons who blocked his way.

"Bartender! A beer." His voice was dry as the autumn leaves. Sparing a glance at his face, Johnathan noticed he was almost hairless. Save his eyebrows the man seemed to possess not a thread of hair on his entire body.

A moment later his drink appeared in front of him. The bartender didn't say a word as he retreated back away.

Spinning on his heel, Richard turned to face Johnathan. Thomas stood between them, still as stone.

"Back away, peeler. This is between me and the dog cowering behind you." He dismissed Thomas as if he didn't exist.

Johnathan was about to reply with an angry retort when Thomas raised his hand, silencing him.

"Mr. Bragsten, you're drunk. Go home."

"I said piss of, peeler!"

In the blink of an eye the glass went flying from the man's hand to shatter across the bar.

"Johnathan," Thomas' voice was level. He never moved his eyes from Richard as he spoke, "Leave. Now."

"But--" Johnathan began.

"Now." Thomas' voice was cold. "Mr. Bragsten is coming with me to the station. Don't make me bring you as well for disobeying a direct order."

Stepping back, Johnathan got all of two steps before Richard lunged at him with a yell.

The man hardly moved an inch before Thomas caught him.

In less than a heartbeat other men in the bar sprang to their feet.

Johnathan took the opportunity to slip behind the bar and out the back door, once again into the sunlight.

Hearing the sounds of the fight growing behind him, Johnathan moved faster down the alley. He got all of twenty feet before his stomach rebelled.

Falling instinctively to his knees, Johnathan braced a hand against the brick wall of the bar.

Seconds later the drinks he'd had with Thomas left him.

Feeling suddenly better and far more clear headed, Johnathan scrambled to is feet.

From somewhere close by he heard the piercing tweet of a shrill police whistle. A moment later it joined by another and another.

Johnathan began to run.

Johnathan didn't have his mind about him when he left town, it was only by good luck that he managed to leave in the right direction.

Following the same path as he'd before, he passed by the ford. The river was still high, but not as frighteningly as last night, or even this morning. It should be passable again, through not on foot.

The long walk back gave Johnathan more than enough time to reflect on the morning.

Well, it was the most excitement he'd had in quite some time.

But he hadn't resolved the issue that had caused him to wander into town in the first place, he still hadn't found Manson.

Johnathan rolled his eyes. The man had likely been informed by the police already, but Johnathan still felt guilty for having caused this in the first place. Manson cared for him like a son and was more than likely beside himself when he thought Johnathan was in danger. Manson was a good man, he didn't deserve that.

With a grunt Johnathan resolved to find a way to make it up to the man. The last thing Johnathan could afford now was to alienate the closest person he had to family. Especially while the Talbots were doing their exquisite best to try and ruin him financially.

Some time later Johnathan finally saw the roof of the manor poke itself over the top of the trees. It was a relief to be home.

Something was out of place thought. He couldn't quite place his finger on it but a scent wafted through the air. One that shouldn't mean danger, but it did.

Around another turn and Johnathan could see the front door of the manor house. Tied up sloppily was a old nag of a mule.

It took Johnathan to realize where he'd seen that sad animal from before. When his did he felt the overwhelming irrational compulsion to turn on his toe and walk back to town for another few hours.

It was the mount of Dr. Victor Robenson.