Five

BEFORE MANY MORE DAYS passed, the two finally arrived at the family’s home in London, near the warehouses in Cheapside. The house was new and modern, a testimony to the emerging wealth of the middle class businessmen. Gracechurch Street was not in a fashionable part of town, being rather too close to Cheapside, but it boasted attractive and stately homes that might rival some of the finer establishments of the haut ton, with the elegance of quiet and understated success. The coach stopped at the steps leading to the Gardiners’ front door and almost immediately, Hollings, the butler, was standing at the threshold and welcoming young Mr. Gardiner home.

“Hollings, good man! I am pleased to be back. Some assistance, if you please. I shall direct the coach to the warehouse shortly to dispose of my gleanings, but I have some more special cargo that must be delivered here instead.”

Hollings looked curiously at his employer’s son, but upon seeing a second scruffy head through the window of the coach, he nodded briskly and descended the steps to help Edward with his charge.

“Hollings, my trip was a great success, but of all the trinkets I acquired, this is my favourite. Meet Matthew, mathematical genius and my new assistant. Young Matt has a broken ankle, and will require some assistance with the stairs whilst he recovers.”

The butler nodded his head without a suggestion of surprise. “Of course, sir. Matthew, allow me to help you to the house.”

Matthew hobbled up the stairs, mostly on his own power with the crutches for support, but with Edward and Hollings right behind lest he misstep and fall. Once seated in a small sitting room off the main foyer, Edward again spoke to Hollings, requesting that a room be assigned to the youth he had brought home. “He has had a rough life, Hollings,” Edward confessed quietly to the butler, “and requires a private space. I do not know what his story is, but something has him quite terrified and anxious of his person. Nonetheless, as you will soon discover, he has some remarkable talents, and I am willing to tolerate his eccentricities. The boy does figures like you cannot believe, all of them entirely in his head!” Hollings bowed as all butlers ought, then set off to inform the housekeeper of the boy’s requirements.

Soon tea and cakes were served, as Edward’s parents came down to greet their son after his long journey. “Edward, darling!” His mother swept into the room and folded her only child into a warm welcoming embrace. “I wondered when we would see you next. I am pleased at your prompt return home.” Now in her middle-fifties, she was still active and energetic and seemed younger than her years. Her face, never particularly handsome, had settled into the refinement of middle age, and her appearance was pleasing. With the smile she now bestowed on her son, she presented a very attractive and comfortable figure.

James Gardiner lumbered into the room after his wife. He was several years older than her, and in contrast to his wife, showed his years. He walked with the aid of a cane, and as often as possible settled uneasily into the closest chair he saw. He did this now, groaning quietly as his joints protested at the movements. “Edward,” he said tersely in greeting.

“Indeed it was. I have much to tell you, and more to show you. Our warehouse will be the talk of London once our shipment of Irish cloth comes in.” Edward fought to keep a serious look on his face, wishing nothing more than to grin in a most unfashionable manner. His eyes kept darting to the boy on the small chair in the corner of the room, and quick in mind if not in body, his father noticed the action and turned his attention in that direction as well.

Now all eyes turned to Matthew. His clothing, which Edward had found for him on their journey, was ill-fitting and unfashionable, and his hair, although now clean, had not been cut and stuck out from his head at strange and awkward angles. He presented the figure of an urchin, a child of the streets, waiting for a coin from a gentleman before disappearing once more into the underbelly of the city’s warrens and alleyways. Under the scrutiny of Edward’s parents, the boy shrunk back into the chair, the usual fear showing wildly in his pale eyes.

“Assistant?” his father roared. “Whatever need have you for an assistant? You have managed quite well without one thus far! Are we to feed and house this changeling child? And I do not even begin to wonder at your use for him! Those actions are quite unnatural, son!”

“Father!” Edward’s voice was harsh and cold. “How dare you think such things? And how dare you say them in the hearing of this lad? I have no unnatural inclinations towards Matthew, or towards anyone else for that matter, and I am shocked that you would think me the sort of man to take any sort of liberties with a child.” Edward glared at his parent.

Edward walked towards Matthew now, a cup of tea in his hands. In a calm and gentle voice, he urged the boy to drink, and then asked, “Matthew, if I may?”

“Yes, sir, of course,” was the tentative reply, scared eyes darting to James Gardiner's red and angry face.

“One hundred and twenty eight, and four twenty-fifths,” Matt responded after a few seconds concentration.

James Gardiner found a scrap of paper and a pencil and began scribbling. He looked up shortly in amazement. “You devised that display in advance. You cannot fool me. Do another.”

“Indeed.” James' eyebrows shot up. “You have worked that out as well. I will give you some figures.” And he did, asking one calculation after another, much as Edward had that first day at the inn in Derby. Mary looked on in calm amusement as the battle of numbers was waged in her sitting room.

Eventually, Old Mr. Gardiner was satisfied. “He’s a veritable abacus,” the old man said to his son later that evening. “How any man can compute that quickly, I will never know. I take hours to do the calculations he does in short minutes. And he reads too, you say?”

“Yes, indeed, Father. He is astonishingly well educated for a whelp from the wilds of Derbyshire. Quite beyond his years. He says he learned with the master’s son. The son must be a smart, smart lad if this boy was his learning partner. I wonder if we shall ever hear of him. I wonder about the master, though. Matt says nothing, and will not even divulge his family name. I sense a mystery, but the boy seems happy enough with me, and has given no trouble at all.”

“Then let things be, Son. He will be useful to us, that seems certain. I approve of your decision.”

Once settled in London, Matt was given a small room in the house near the servants’ quarters. It was private and warm and comfortably, if simply, furnished. Matt was offered free access to the library in the house and to the kitchens if he desired not to eat with the family. He agreed to the offered wages, and made the strange request for two days off a week: Sundays, as no business should be conducted on the Lord’s Day, and Wednesdays, should there be no pressing need for him on that day. “I have never been to London, Sir, and I should wish to explore it some, if I may.” This was deemed a suitable plan, and the Gardiners and their charge settled easily into the new arrangements.

It had now been more than two weeks since Matthew’s accident, and on the advice of a London doctor, he was beginning to gingerly place some weight on his injured ankle. The splints given to him by the doctor in Derby had been replaced by new ones, which were better suited to his size and which supported his leg more securely. Stairs were still difficult, but once on a flat surface, Matt found he could move around fairly easily. His first foray into the city was the short walk to the Gardiners’ warehouse. There, Edward introduced him to the more important people at the facility, and found him a place to work. Matt would have a seat in the ante-room to Edward’s own office, where he could work at a small desk until such time as Edward needed him, whereupon he would sit at the table by the fireplace across from Edward’s desk to write or take notes, as was required.

Seeing the warehouse for the first time, Matt was fascinated. Edward was amused at the interest the boy showed in the various types of textiles he had in store. He wandered through the shelves, all stacked thickly with bolts and piles, running thin fingers over the beautiful cloths and commenting on the colours and textures as he went. Edward soon found himself caught up in the exploration and the two spoke for some time on the varying qualities and uses for the different materials.

“I had no idea a fourteen-year-old boy cared about the difference between muslin and chiffon,” Edward teased. “And the way your eyes landed upon the Indian silks left me in mind of my mother! You have an eye for quality.”

Matthew blushed. “My old master’s daughter had an interest...” He faltered. This was the first time Edward had heard about a daughter of the house. He wished to inquire further, but at that moment he was interrupted by a question from a regular customer, and the work of the day began in earnest, his curiosity forgotten in the business of daily life.

And so the days passed. Edward was more and more pleased with his new assistant, and Matthew proved his value with each sum, letter, and task that he undertook. The boy often chose to eat in his rooms, rather than with the family, and steadfastly refused to talk about his previous life, although on other topics he was quite keen to enter into conversation. He became interested in local politics, and was very interested in the changing political landscape in France, where the young General Napoleon had so recently saved the government from collapse.

He read all he could about Napoleon’s military campaigns in Italy and the Corsican's interest in Egypt, and would often join the family as they broke their fast each morning over tea and eggs and the latest edition of The Times. Matthew sat patiently as the various sheets were read and discussed by the others, but Edward saw he was eager to get his own hands on the broadsheet and adopted the habit of rising a wee bit later than was his wont to allow his assistant time alone to read the daily news.

Discussions often followed the digestion of the news along with the coffee, and Matthew soon surprised the Gardiners by being fluent in French and proficient in Italian. “A scruffy boy from Derbyshire speaks Italian?” old James Gardiner had snorted one evening after Matt had taken himself off to bed. Mrs. Mary Gardiner had smiled knowingly and said nothing as she embroidered a lovely apron for one of her husband’s grandchildren, but Edward wondered what that strange look upon his mother’s face might mean. By now however, he had become used to such surprises from the lad, and took it all in his stride.

About ten days after their arrival in London, Edward made his way to the breakfast room to take his morning meal, only to find Matthew staring at the paper in his hand, his face white and blank. What had he read therein that disordered him so?

Matthew blinked rapidly and shook his head, still in dire need of a haircut. In an instant, the boy rearranged his expression to one of benign unconcern, but he could not change the look in his eye that shouted to Edward of some dire anxiety.

“No, not at all, Mr. Gardiner,” his voice was steady. “I am well. ‘Tis merely the news from the Continent and the French attacks against the Italian states and Napoleon’s more recent assault upon Bergen. Shall he ever turn their eye to England, do you think?”

This was by no means the cause of the lad’s concerns, Edward knew, but he also understood that the boy would not discuss the true seat of his worry. The two sat for some time discussing what they knew of the ongoing strife across the Channel. At length, the tea and eggs long gone from his plates, Matthew stood and begged his master’s permission to ready himself for the day ahead. He reached for his crutches and swung out of the breakfast room, leaving Edward alone with his own coffee and the abandoned newspaper.

What page had Matt been reading? Edward reached for the paper and scanned the dense pages. There was a report about the most recent speeches in Parliament, an account of some irregularities in the House of Lords, an article by George Shaw of the British Museum describing a most unusual creature from the Antipodes, a northern gentleman’s plea for news regarding his missing niece, concern about the increasing cost of wheat, a tally of the latest bodies fished out of the Thames, and yes, there it was: a report by one of the Duke of York’s soldiers recently returned from Bergen. But what the man had related to the reporter was not scandalous or new. Perhaps Matt had been concerned by the recent spate of deaths in the river; the Derwent was a mere trickle when compared to the mighty Thames as it flowed through London, and the number of lives it claimed, whether by accident or design, must be shocking to a lad from the crags of Derbyshire.

Perhaps he ought to take some measures to teach the lad to swim; this might allay his worries about the great river so nearby. With this in mind, Edward finished his coffee and took himself off to begin his own busy day.

It was addressed to Mr. E. Gardiner, Gracechurch Street, and was written in a fine, elegant hand. A woman’s hand, graceful and precise. Matt handed it to Edward in person. “It is from a lady from my former home,” he blushed. “I have a way to contact her without the others knowing. I told her what you done for me, and she wished to thank you.”

“Indeed! How extraordinary!” Edward’s eyebrows shot up, but he accepted the letter without further comment and proceeded to examine the small package. The seal was unbroken, but it was a plain expanse of smooth red wax, with no imprint or other identifying mark. The paper seemed to be of good quality, white and thick, but common enough amongst those with some means. It provided no suggestions as to its origin. Intrigued, Edward broke the seal and perused the contents.

The letter was written in the same hand as the direction: elegant, precise and careful. Almost too careful, whispered a part of Edward’s mind, as if the writer were engaged in an exercise in penmanship, forming each letter to a tutor’s expectations of perfection. Or, whispered a suspicious part of his brain, as if the writer were hoping to disguise her handwriting. None of this Gothic Novel nonsense, Edward. Read the note! He chastised himself. Having concluded the better part of his business affairs for the day, he gave in to his curiosity and rang for some tea before sitting down in the library with the letter, where he began to read.

Mr. Gardiner,

I beg that you will excuse my forwardness and lack of propriety in sending you this missive. I am quite well aware that an unmarried lady should not write to a man whose acquaintance she has not made, nor with whom she has no understanding, but I find that these curious circumstances compel me to ignore the guidance of my tutors and my more delicate sensibilities and speak with you through whatever means I have at my disposal.

I write to you about young Matthew. Matthew lived in my home as a child, and he is closer to me than a brother. I care greatly about his welfare. He has arranged to correspond with me through a mutual acquaintance, whose identity must remain concealed for Matthew’s safety. I cannot speak of the circumstances that forced him to leave his home, but accept my word, Sir, they were real and dire. Had he remained in the house, his very existence would have been threatened.

Matthew has informed me of your great service to him. I am much relieved at his safety and current situation. Sir, when you rescued him from the river, as he informs me, you saved his life! For that, I can never thank you enough. He will not speak to you of his undying gratitude - his shyness and intense sense of privacy will forbid it - but I can speak, and speak I shall. How kind you are, how generous and full of feeling for your fellow man! So many would not have searched out a crying youth, nor would they have risked the safety of their own limbs to wade through icy water in order to bring that youth to safety. And then, to take upon yourself the cost and inconvenience of treating his injuries - that is so much more than any person would expect.

But you, Mr. Gardiner, have surpassed even those generous actions. You took the time to get to know my young friend and have discovered his unique abilities. Further, you have provided him not only with life and the possibility of healing, but you have also provided for his security with a position. For this grand act of charity and humanity, I cannot tell you enough of my gratitude. But I beg of you, do not waste Matthew’s abilities. Teach him, guide him, challenge him! He is willing to learn and will repay your efforts manifold.

If I may ever be of assistance, I should be happy to offer such to the best of my ability. Matthew will know how to find me.

Yours,

Miss Grant

Edward sat for a long time in the library, reading and rereading this strange letter. What a singular woman this Miss Grant must be, to have penned, and then contrived to send, such a note to a complete stranger. Unusual, also, her clear interest and affection for Matthew. Was she a sister? No, that made no sense, for she would have said as much. The daughter of the house, then, sister to the boy in whose lessons Matthew was able to sit. The daughter of a landowner, more than likely, for her writing was good and her English tutored and precise. These were not the words of an untaught peasant... but then, Edward chuckled, he would not have expected such erudition from young Matt either. Perhaps they had different expectations in his part of Derbyshire!

But these humorous thoughts aside, Miss Grant must be the daughter of some squire. What estate could it be? Not Pemberley, that he knew, for there was only the one son there, and perhaps an infant as well, but no young woman.

Was she a young woman, or old, or even a child? Now Edward wondered some more as he raked his fingers through his hair. She had given no indication as to her age. Edward assumed she was a child of the house, but could she be older? A housekeeper, or an aunt? No, indeed. She had likened the boy to a brother. If Matt was no more than fourteen summers, Miss Grant might be only a few years his senior. With her careful use of language, she could not be younger than him. No, he decided, Miss Grant might be five or six years older than Matt, but surely not much more. He was bemused, perplexed, and intrigued. Whoever was this person who had taken the initiative to write to him like this?

He puzzled over the letter and its author all that afternoon. He was distracted through supper, occasioning his parents more than once to ask if anything was the matter. That evening he summoned Matt to the library, wincing as the boy hobbled in on his crutches and ruing his demand that the lad take the stairs once more that day.

“I have no pain now, Sir,” Matt assured him with a smile. “Dr. Wallace come by last night and he said I can try to put more weight on it now, only until it hurts. He thinks I be nearly healed.”

“Near on five, sir. I might need my crutches for a while yet, and I cannot leave off the wrappings and splint, but Dr. Wallace thinks I’ll be dancing in no time.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Edward moved to a chair and beckoned Matt to take the one across from him. “Now I have another question to put to you.”

If Matt was surprised by this question, he did not express it, and indeed, he must have expected that curiosity would arise from the delivery of the most unusual letter. He furrowed his brow as if thinking of the best way to explain matters and then spoke.

“Miss Grant is.... Her father was the old master, and when he was alive, we were happy.” There was a smile, tinged with sadness, on young Matt’s face. “Mr. Grant were a good man, and we all miss him dearly, Miss Grant most of all.”

“I lived in the house, before my mother went away. Mr. Grant let me sit in on lessons with her brother, and we were like family. That’s where I learned my letters and numbers.”

“She learned with her brother?” Matt nodded. “So she is well educated, then.”

Matt nodded. “Aye, sir. She is smarter than him too, no matter how she loves him. She never could let him best her at their lessons.” His voice was full of pride.

“How old is she? I would imagine her to be quite young, and yet she writes a very self-assured letter for someone who cannot be much older than you.”

“Miss Grant knows her own mind, that’s for certain!” Matt smiled here. “She is twenty years of age now, near one and twenty, if I remembers rightly.”

“And not married! Why ever not? No, forgive me, that was an impertinent question, and not one that should concern me.”

“Miss Grant would laugh with you, Mr. Gardiner. She has received offers, but has declined them all, much to the current master’s chagrin. She won’t take a man who will not accept her as she is.”

Edward listened with only half of his attention. How could this lad, speaking in his rough country dialect and untutored grammar, in his very next sentence use words like ‘chagrin’ correctly, and then read fluently in French and Italian? This was just another piece of the puzzle that baffled him. Edward pulled his thoughts back to what Matt was saying. “What on earth can that mean?” Edward was more intrigued than ever.

“She has her habits and her, well, her unconventional ways, sir, what many men find inappropriate for a lady of her station.” Now he was looking uncomfortable. “I mean—.” He paused.

Edward took note of this discomfort and reassured the lad. “Do not trouble yourself. I see that you care deeply for this young lady and don’t wish to speak ill of her. It does you credit, and I will not pry where my nose is not wanted. But,” he said, slowly, “Miss Grant indicated that I might reply to her through you.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“I will not seek to discover your secrets until such time as they interfere with my business, never fear. But I will ask you to return a message to Miss Grant in the near future. I have questions, the answers to which I cannot ask another to divulge.”

Matt smiled as he hobbled out of the library, grabbing a book on the way and placing it into a pocket. “Goodnight, sir.”