Chapter 16 – Stories

"I do not ask out of disrespect or because I am in anyway ungrateful, my lady, but may I ask why you have taken us into your home and treated us so wonderfully well?" asked Maggie.

"There is indeed a reason for everything. And, if you do not mind Margaret, allow me to answer your question by telling you all a little story," replied the Countess.

The children's silence indicated they were in agreement with her wishes.

"Bear with me then children and indulge a lonely old woman; for it is a remarkable but, nonetheless, a true story. It concerns a woman called Marie Antoinette. Have you ever heard of this woman, children?"

They all shook their heads, Maggie thought she had a vague recollection, but did not want to embarrass herself in case she was wrong.

"No matter. Marie Antoinette was the Queen of France when I was a child and when I lived in that once, great country. I met her on a number of occasions and I played with her own children numerous times when I was invited to the palace. She always treated me as if I were one of her own. But then, Marie Antoinette was a great lover of children, and a devoted mother too. However, before she became a mother, there was a period in her life when it all but seemed she would never bear her husband, King Louis, a child. Or, more importantly, an heir to the throne."

"Then one day the Queen was out in her carriage driving through the countryside, on route back to the palace. Suddenly a small boy ran out onto the road and was caught under the wheels of her carriage. Marie leapt from the carriage on hearing the child's cries and thrust him into her arms to comfort him. She then announced to her entourage that she was taking the poor child home to her palace. He is mine now, she is reported to have called out."

"On hearing the commotion, the child's grandmother ran from inside her small cottage to be confronted with an image of the beautiful Queen holding her grandson to her bosom. The Queen asked after the child's mother. The grandmother answered that her daughter had died the previous winter, and left five small children for her to tend to. Then it is destiny, announced the Queen. I shall take him and provide for the rest of the children who have been left upon you. Do you consent? She asked. The grandmother agreed and the Queen took the child, whose name was also Jacques," she said looking towards Jack, who smiled, pleased with himself that someone in such a story should share the same name as he.

"The grandmother warned the Queen that Jacques was a badly behaved boy." She again looked toward Jack. "And may be the cause of much trouble. Indeed on the way back to the palace, little Jacques bawled and kicked at the Queen and her attendants, crying for his grandmother and his siblings."

"Once home at the palace, the Queen dressed him in the finest clothes. He looked like a Prince and he sat with the Queen at breakfast. In time he was put to learning and proved himself a smart and intelligent young man. Regrettably, when Our Lord blessed the Queen with children of her own, Jacques was sometimes, maybe understandably, forgotten. Although her own children always treated him as an equal."

She paused and looked at the faces around the table, hanging on her every word. "When you ran from out of that London passageway last night - and straight in front of my carriage - I felt fate had once again intruded into my life. I felt once more like dear Marie Antoinette, one of two great women whose lives and examples I try to follow." She coughed and took a sip of water, wiped her mouth and spoke to Maggie. "Does that answer your question?" She asked. "Yes it does," answered Maggie now feeling a somewhat embarrassed. "I'm sorry, my lady, for sounding so doubtful or ungrateful for all you have -"

"Do not for one moment think I believe that of you, Margaret. It is the most sensible question of all to ask. Why would you not be wary? I'm sure the boys have the same misgivings too, but," she winked playfully to Maggie, "perhaps they are a little afraid to ask."

Jack, still seemingly in a world of his own, turned to the Countess and said, "I like the sound of this boy Jack in your story. What came of him and the Queen? Are they still alive?"

"Unfortunately, Jack, a terrible tragedy befell all of the people involved in this particular story. History happened, I'm afraid. The bloody revolution came to pass. The guillotine took the head of Marie Antoinette. And the poor boy, Jacques? He, I am afraid, had his head turned against his dear Queen. He joined the revolutionaries and was killed during a great battle, a year before his adoptive mother was finally executed - after all those terrible years she suffered in torment and imprisonment."

Her voice faltered as if the events she was recalling happened a mere week before rather than fifty years in the past. Before they were allowed to leave the table to explore their new home, the Countess' manner became serious once again, as it had previously when she warned them of the folly. She asked if the children could endure another of her stories.

They agreed it would not be too much of her to ask of them. "I'm sorry but I am not in the best of health at present. Yet before you enjoy the rest of the day and I go for a rest, I must speak further to you all."

She took a small sip of water again, before continuing. "This is the most important thing I will say to you during your stay here. And it is this. Your stay here is dependent upon obeying one main rule. But before I tell you this rule, I wish to tell you the history of all the servants I have acquired, and have working and living here. All the servants were once like you - living in great misfortune on the streets. They too were beggars, vagabonds and scavengers - call them what you wish. So many of the meanest and poorest individuals have been through this house. I may not be Marie Antoinette, but I believe I have a great social conscience and feel the pain of those most abused and mistreated in this world."

"Many of the children I took from the streets once stayed at a charitable home I set up for orphans and street children near London. Some of these children were so responsive to goodness and charity that I took them on here as servants. Some have stayed for many years and some have moved on to better things. Others grew tired of country life and ran away or vanished. Some had to be sent away. And then there are those who completely failed and abused my good nature. Those who failed were all defective in one way or another. Yet, they all shared one distinctive flaw: they were all thieves."

She paused for a moment for that final phrase to sink in. "Children, they stole from me!" She banged the flat of her hand down upon the table.

The children flinched for a second.

"They took property that was not theirs to take. When I had given them a chance, they threw it back in my face. And for that they were taken from here and put back to the grim life they had previously endured. Some I simply abandoned on the canal path a couple of miles south of here and left them to find their own way. Others I handed over to the authorities. Some were sent to jail, others transported. But all were punished for looking a gift horse in the mouth, as you say. Their punishment was the end of the good life - here at Little Serrant. The end of a life they will never get the chance to experience again."

The children sat open-mouthed and afraid to speak.

The thought of giving up the luxury and comfort that surrounded her seemed unimaginable to Maggie. Who, she thought, would throw such an opportunity away?

"Do you understand what I am telling you, children?"

They all nodded. "No thievery. No stealing - or you are out! One chance, children. That is all you have: one chance." This new tone and its severity shook Maggie. It had been well hidden beneath the Countess' kindly features.

As she finished her short speech, a man - the coachman from the previous evening - entered the room. The children, unsure of his name, merely referred to him as 'the coachman'. Jack at first called him the fart-catcher, much to Tom's evident delight. But he was admonished by Maggie and told to behave himself in front of the Countess.

Since their arrival, the coachman was frequently at the Countess' side, looming like a large raven, his sharp, black eyes taking in everything around him. He was a well-built man but the shape of his head reminded Maggie of an ill-tempered ram, the curls of his black hair shaped like horns; he also had a goat-like beard which crawled its way across his long chin. He always dressed in black and Maggie had come to believe that a smile and his mouth were very unlikely ever to meet. When he walked, he moved in long, quick deliberate strides. He was slightly more measured in his steps, however, when he held the Countess by the arm.

"Ah, here is my man now," the Countess said, as she always did when he entered. She had a number of servants in the house, but it was Sexton who did all of her fetching - be it her walking stick, a glass of water, or anything else she required. If she decided to go on an extended walk, he held her by the arm as they moved around the house or the grounds.

"I was just telling the children about my servants," she said addressing the coachman. "Like you, my man Sexton here was running wild on the streets of London. How long back was it I discovered you?" she asked.

He did not answer, and gave the impression he was not about to speak either, as he stared impassively at the children. "Must be over twenty years ago." She turned to the children and with a glint in her eye she continued, "He was a tough one to tame. Oh yes, a natural rebel was our Mr Sexton. Eventually, however, he came to heel. I tamed him. And he has been my most valuable asset - and a wonderful assistant - these past twenty years or so. This man is the embodiment of loyalty. Indeed, I doubt there is another manservant in this entire nation who is as appreciative or as well rewarded as he."

With her arms outstretched she announced, "I have taken them all from greatest misery and misfortune. I have raised them up, as I hope I can do for you children. If you treat somebody well, they mostly return the kindness and show great loyalty and obedience. There are exceptions of course - troublemakers and the naturally ungrateful. My people, however, know their true positions in this world, and they recognise my authority, without which you only have disorder. And disorder ruins everything - especially for those who are less fortunate. With authority, and everyone knowing their places, we create a sort of harmony. Things work. It is natural. If only our rulers in France had understood this fifty years ago - we would not have had the terror, the bloodletting, or the unfortunate death of the Queen. Oh beautiful Marie Antoinette!"

She wiped away a tear from her pale cheek.

Suddenly she began to look tired. "Those who rule must show kindness and benevolence to those most in need. Charity begins at home, as you English are fond of saying. And Marie Antoinette has shown all of us how we must act."

She signalled to Sexton to take her arm and turned once more to the children. "Off with you now. Go play and enjoy your freedom. Seize the day. Gather, girl, the roses. Isn't this how we are meant to live our lives?" She smiled - the faintest of smiles - then left the room accompanied by the Sexton.

The children stood alone looking around their vast new home. The silence was broken when Tom announced: "I'm going rowing a boat!" and he raced out of the house in the direction of the lake, swiftly pursued by Jack. Maggie stood alone for a moment. She looked around at the paintings upon the wall and speculated on which one bore the face of the sainted Marie Antoinette.

Later that afternoon, The Countess looked refreshed and walked without the aid of a stick. She had Maggie called from the lake by Sarah, a curious and meek servant who could never quite look Maggie in the eye. Sarah led her upstairs to her new room.

A room of her own.

Sarah presented her with the key, so she could lock out the entire world if she so wished. She said it wasn't the prettiest of rooms in the house and that the furniture was plain and ugly, but she acknowledged it was at least comfortable - for the time being.

When Sarah left, the Countess appeared. She took Maggie by the hand and led her to the wardrobe. Maggie opened its doors and saw an array of clothes, made of fabrics she imagined you could only find at the top London stores.

"Alas most of it is now second-hand," the Countess said. "But some items have not been worn at all. Try them on in your own time and anything that requires to be altered in any way can be given to one of the servants."

Maggie picked out a beautiful red dress, put it against her body and moved to the mirror to see how it looked. Looking at her reflection she saw the Countess behind her watching on in admiration. She moved closer to Maggie and looked at both their reflections, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Oh Margaret!" she exclaimed. "How beautiful you look. How truly beautiful." She paused, then looked from Maggie to her own reflection and whispered. "Oh how age takes it toll. Leaves its scars for all to see." She moved a handkerchief to her eyes then walked from the mirror's view to the door.

Maggie hesitated, felt uneasy for a moment, but turned around as the Countess moved to leave. She expressed her unending gratitude to The Countess, who left waving her hands and muttering something which sounded like a foreign phrase.

Once alone, she fell back upon the bed and stretched her body. She felt free. She felt as if this was the life God had intended all to enjoy. She thought back to the masses of poor people who would sleep that very night in London upon hard floors, inside broken down shacks, or underneath bridges - poorly fed and poorly clothed. She thought about them, as she sank into the freshly washed bed sheets, and determined that when she grew up, no one would suffer as she - and the thousands like her. She would dedicate her life to help curing the ills of poverty, just like the Countess.

***

Metropolitan Police Evidence: The Power Papers - Document 9

Undelivered Letter from Sergeant Samuel Blake to Colonel Charles Rowan, Metropolitan Police Commissioner dated 2nd June 1842.

Dear Sir,

Firstly may I say how greatly honoured I am to have been chosen to represent the force in the newly formed Detective Division. I will do my utmost to uphold the good name of the force, when I finally take up my official duties in August.

However I have some rather pressing business, which leads me to write to you personally. The case I am currently investigating is experiencing a great deal of press attention and speculation, and I feel under great pressure to see it through to a satisfactory ending. Yet my every move in this investigation is being obstructed for a purpose, which I have yet to fully understand.

I am referring of course to the case of Mr William Turner, missing and presumed murdered, and also the two missing children - who reported the alleged crime. Unfortunately, it may well be the case that these two poor individuals are also now deceased, so evident was their fear when they volunteered information about Mr Turner's fate.

The cause of all my frustration is the special government investigator, Mr Henry Thomas Whitmore, who appears to have set himself up permanently here at Holborn station house.

Indeed, he seems to have taken a special interest in the case of Mr Turner, and has an extraordinary curiosity about the fate of the two missing children. It is as if he knows my every move. For just as I think I am about to make a breakthrough in the case, he appears with information which is contrary to what I had previously believed. He then sends me on a wild goose chase to another part of London, with little or no reward to show for my efforts.

If I decide to go out amongst the population in every day clothes - as these special circumstances require - he will approach me on the street and speak to me as an officer of the law, rather than as the anonymous individual I aim to suggest. My cover has been exposed a number of times this last week and I worry when I take up my role full time as a detective, many of the criminals in my current area will be aware of my true identity.

In desperation I appeal to you on a personal basis, only as a very last resort you understand. Can you please inform me of the role Mr Whitmore has in regards to this case? And would you see to whoever directs him, promptly reassigns him to another area of the force? If we can get him clear from Holborn, we may have a chance to finally conclude this most difficult of cases.

Yours sincerely

S. Blake.

***