Jack had much on his mind as he made his way back to Acorn’s house. He had found the stable of The Bull & Crown with its makeshift cockpit, and had met up with Southby. Against Southby’s advice, he had put his last seven shillings on the big, brown bird belonging to a brash Yorkshireman. Jack had been so convinced that it would destroy its scrawny opponent that he had borrowed two guineas from the paunchy actor. A few wins, and he might be able to raise the thirty guineas he owed Thirsk. The cocks, both armed with vicious silver spurs, stalked around the pit for a few seconds, then rushed each other with extraordinary ferocity. The Yorkshireman’s bird may have had the weight advantage but, like all bullies, soon lost heart against unyielding opposition. Amid the gleeful cheers of those wise enough to have backed the smaller bird, it was summarily torn to shreds. Now Jack was in debt to Southby as well! Not that his friend would press him for the money just yet. And – Jack felt slightly guilty – he would never see it anyway once Hodsock had finished.
Jack was met by the insolent Hilda who said that Bowser wanted to speak to him.
‘When?’
‘As soon as you returned.’
‘But it is getting dark now,’ he protested. An evening with Bowser was the last thing he wanted just then. ‘Oh, I suppose I had better go,’ he muttered tiredly to himself. ‘Is Miss Acorn in?’
Hilda leered horribly. ‘The mistress is oot. She ganned to Mr Courtney’s.’
‘What for?’ Jack didn’t like her tone.
‘To practise her part for the play. At least that’s what she said to us.’ It was obvious what she was implying.
‘And that is exactly what it will be for… and nothing else,’ Jack said sharply. This girl was a troublemaker and no mistake, he thought ruefully.
All the same, what Hilda had said planted a seed of doubt which Jack vainly tried to weed out as he trudged reluctantly towards the town walls. The way was dark under the shadow of the walls on his left; the opulent gardens of Sir Walter Blackett’s imposing family mansion stretched out on his right. He turned through the Pilgrim Gate and out of the town. New residences had sprung up on Northumberland Street – the road that ran directly from the gate to Barras Bridge and which formed a triangle with the equivalent road running from the New Gate. They were large houses with long, pleasant gardens. Here, rich men had found the space denied them within the compact town to build tangible symbols of their new-found wealth.
What was so urgent that Bowser wanted to see him? Jack could think of two reasons and neither brought him comfort. Bowser had found out either that Acorn had dismissed him or that he had been in communication with Thirsk. Bowser would not be pleased either way. It was now quite dark. Jack nervously hung around outside Bowser’s ostentatious three-storeyed house. Then, with a sinking heart, he climbed the steps to the lantern-lit front door. The entrance was in the Palladian style with full-blown Roman portico, an arched doorway and two flanking rectangular windows. Jack thought it looked ridiculously out of proportion to the building it opened into.
He was shown into a high-ceilinged dining room by a short, fussy butler, whose mincing manner was in stark contrast to his rough and boorish employer’s. For a new house, the room was peculiarly old-world. What immediately caught the eye was the brown-painted panelling all the way round the walls. A lighter, fashionable colour such as olive green or white would have made it less like the inside of a ship. The immense size and lack of decoration added to the Spartan feel – not unlike the main hall at Jack’s old school in Worcester. A massive sideboard ran along one length, and in the opposite wall, there were a number of large windows. In daylight, Jack surmised, they must afford a view onto the garden. At the far end was an enormous stone fireplace that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a medieval castle. Above it hung the only painting in the room – a portrait of Bowser in all his finery. The artist had gone out of his way to make the likeness as flattering as possible. Despite his best efforts, the face staring down at Jack was still unpleasant.
The man himself sat with his back to the fire, portrait behind him, at the head of a table that could comfortably seat thirty. Bowser’s usual powdered wig had been replaced by a red turban-like cap and he wore a matching silk, double-breasted banyan. He was still dining, though it must have been approaching five o’clock. Two dark port wine bottles stood in front of him. He indicated with a half-eaten turkey leg for Jack to sit down at the other end of the table.
‘Goosemoor, take this slop away.’
The butler scurried down the room and picked up a plate. ‘Now get out of my sight!’
‘Yes, sir.’ Goosemoor’s little legs rapidly propelled him out of the door. Bowser poured some port wine from one of the bottles. It only half filled his glass. With a grunt, he topped it up from the second bottle. There was no offer of a drink for Jack. Bowser took a long swig, which nearly emptied the glass, and then he began to pick at his yellow, rotting teeth. With his mouth full of fingers, he said, ‘’Tis Miss Acorn.’
That gave Jack a jolt. He hadn’t thought of that. Bowser must have heard he was romping with his intended. Could he use the man-to-man tack to steer him out of stormy waters? Not with a jealous Bowser, he concluded.
Bowser took a morsel of meat that had been stuck between his teeth and flicked it over his shoulder in the direction of the fire. This was not the Bowser that came a-courting Miss Acorn.
‘This place,’ he waved a hand airily about, ‘needs a woman’s touch.’ A bit of elegance and imagination wouldn’t go amiss either, Jack added silently. ‘Now, Miss Acorn’d grace a house as grand as this.’ Bowser finished his glass and refilled it. ‘Do you not agree?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘What?’
Jack raised his voice. ‘I agree, Mr Bowser.’ It wasn’t easy to carry on an intimate conversation at such a distance.
Bowser grunted again. ‘I’ve asked for her hand thrice. Thrice!’ He slurped at his glass once more. ‘And d’you know,’ there was a hint of a slur in his speech, ‘she’s put me off thrice.’
For how much longer could she repel his advances? Jack wondered. ‘I cannot understand it. You can offer her so much.’ He felt like a weasel, but he knew it was safer to humour Bowser, especially in his cups. He was perfectly capable of springing a nasty surprise or two.
‘Exactly. I have wealth. I have…’ He obviously couldn’t think of a second. Even he wasn’t listing appearance and personality. ‘Aye, and soon,’ and he wagged a finger at Jack, ‘I’ll have power. You mark my words.’
Jack couldn’t see Bowser as mayor. He doubted if even his money could influence the old-established merchant families, who passed the offices of mayor and sheriff around among themselves. Obviously, Bowser thought otherwise.
‘Flyford,’ Bowser continued abruptly, ‘you are a young man. You’re nearer her age. What should I do to win her heart?’
So this was the reason he had been summoned. The silly old fool was only seeking his advice. That was a relief!
‘Sir, I am but a novice in the arts of love.’
‘Come, man, I’m sure you know enough.’ Was he alluding to Bessie and himself?
‘Miss Acorn is an honourable and virtuous young lady,’ Jack put in hurriedly.
‘This I understand, dammit.’ As he spoke, he thumped the table, which made Jack jump. At least Bowser wasn’t aware of the truth. What was he to say, for Bowser, in this mood, was hardly going to be content with no answer? Yet Jack didn’t want to encourage him too much. Bessie mustn’t be allowed to marry this man, vile of manner and habit. Once he had won her and dispensed with his wooing, he would probably treat her no better than his servants. What could he get Bowser to do that would set Bessie against him? If he didn’t think of something quickly, he could see her giving in to the brute’s next marriage proposal.
‘Though I am not well versed in the ways of women, I have spoken often to one who is.’ Bowser squinted over the rim of his glass. ‘When it comes to studying the contrary ways of the weaker sex, Mr West Digges is a veritable professor. I believe he would counsel the following action.’ This was a good angle. If, as Jack hoped, the advice would put Bessie off Bowser, he could deflect the blame – and hopefully Bowser’s wrath – onto Digges. As he admitted himself, he knew nothing of women. ‘According to Digges, when charm, flattery and bounteousness fail, storm the main gate.’ In fact, Digges had given him similar advice with a well-to-do Edinburgh lady whom Jack had been chasing enthusiastically, hitherto without success. It had been an embarrassing disaster and all he had to show for it was a reddened cheek from a vicious slap.
Bowser screwed up his eyes in puzzlement. ‘Your meaning escapes me.’
‘Mr Bowser, you have shown Miss Acorn great kindness, which I know she appreciates. You have thrown beautiful gifts at her, spoken soft words, and displayed grace and charm in her company.’ Bowser nodded in drink-addled agreement and managed to fart at the same time. ‘Yet all this has come to nought.’ Not bloody surprising! ‘Maybe this is the wrong approach. Maybe what Miss Acorn is looking for is a man who possesses both gentleness and strength. You have demonstrated your gentleness; now is the time to reveal your strength.’
Jack peered at Bowser in the distance. He didn’t seem to understand what Jack was drivelling on about. ‘The iron fist in the velvet glove.’ Bowser’s expression remained blank.
‘Sir, what Digges would advise is to be most forward in your advances. Show her you are a man, an ardent lover. Show her who is master.’
Now he twigged. ‘Storm the main gate, you say. Ravish her!’
‘No! Not exactly ravish her.’ Jack was alarmed he might be pushing Bowser too far. ‘More let your hands wander and see the distance they are allowed to travel.’
‘I like it well.’ Bowser didn’t even bother filling his glass this time. He drained the remaining port wine from the bottle and when he had finished, tossed it aside. It bounced without breaking and rolled noisily along the wooden floor until it came to rest at the foot of the sideboard.
‘And this is your advice?’
‘Not mine, Mr Bowser, but that of Mr Digges.’
Bowser mumbled ‘Digges’ to himself. ‘Ah,’ waking from his reverie, ‘there’s another matter of which I should speak. As I’m courting Miss Acorn,’ – slight pause for a raucous belch – ‘is it seemly for you to be living under the same roof?’
That was an easy question to fend off. ‘Sir, I appreciate your sense of decorum.’ Jack paused for an inappropriate noise from another part of Bowser’s anatomy. ‘However, you must see the matter from Miss Acorn’s point of view. It is a short time since her father was brutally murdered in that very same house. The event has caused her great heartache and not a little fear. At the present time, she would be happier if someone, whom her father trusted of course, kept a watchful eye in case the villain returns.’
Bowser grimaced sceptically. ‘There is another advantage,’ Jack swiftly continued, ‘for yourself. I can keep an eye open for any man who tries to thwart your intentions for the lady’s hand. I can intercede on your behalf – for I believe I have some influence with Miss Acorn – and can report directly to you if I discover some beau trying to trifle with her affections.’
Bowser got unsteadily to his feet. ‘Jack, I can see you’re a bright lad. You’ll be my eyes.’ Funny how people used his first name when he became useful. ‘And now I’ve a further matter that I need to discuss with you.’