Chapter 25
Mr. Shelley arrived just before calling hours.
“Forgive me for coming so early, but I didn’t wish anyone else to hear what I’m about to say.”
Juliet’s face went white, her mouth falling open.
Mr. Shelley reached out a hand to her. “All is well, my darling. Jeremy is safe, and I’m not giving you up.
Let me explain.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter.
“This came yesterday. It is from George Fairweather, and it says that if I pay him two thousand pounds, he will stop the rumors he has been spreading about you.” He looked at Juliet.
“That horrible man,” I said, gasping. “What an awful thing to do.”
Mr. Shelley went on. “I took it to my friend, who is the editor at The Times. With his help, we composed a letter, and now I intend to travel to Shropshire to force Fairweather to sign it. The last I heard from Jeremy, he was going to Shropshire to find Fairweather. Do you know if he is still there?”
“As far as we know,” I said, as Juliet seemed incapable of speech.
“He and I can work together, force him to sign the letter, and then my friend will publish it in the paper. But I wanted to let you read and approve it first.”
Juliet’s hand shook as she took the piece of paper from him. She motioned me closer, and we read it together, but silently.
To Whom It May Concern,
I, George Fairweather of Woodville, Shropshire, wish to confess that I invented vicious lies about the good character of Miss Juliet Beaumont in order to blackmail her brother Jeremy Beaumont and her fiancé Timothy Shelley into paying me to stop the false gossip about her.
I did it out of desperation and to pay my debts, which are substantial.
I humbly ask forgiveness of those I have hurt, and I henceforth commit to mending my ways.
George Fairweather
The name was printed out in neat print, with an open space above it for a signature.
“What do you say, my darling?” Mr. Shelley was leaning forward.
Juliet looked at me. “What do you think? Is it a good idea?”
“I think it could work.” It certainly seemed better than threatening the man or dueling with him and hoping people would just forget everything that had been said about Juliet.
“Then yes, do what you planned.” Juliet handed him back the letter.
Jeremy had found Mr. Fairweather’s home in Shropshire right away.
A man they met on the road with a cartload of straw gave them directions.
The house was built in the simple and sedate Georgian style, but the roof was obviously in need of repair, and there was a general look of neglect surrounding the estate.
It was Sunday, so he and Dawson attended church, looking all around for Mr. Fairweather before entering the church. They continued to search for him before and after they sat down and as soon as the church service was over, but Mr. Fairweather did not appear to be in attendance.
They asked around. Jeremy said his name was Martin Hayes, as his middle name was Martin and his mother’s maiden name was Hayes. Dawson gave his name as John Smith.
“We are acquaintances of Mr. George Fairweather,” they told an older gentleman in the churchyard afterward. “We were hoping to see him, as we are in the area for a short visit.”
“Friends of George Fairweather, are ye?” He eyed Jeremy with a narrowed gaze.
“More acquaintances, actually,” Jeremy said.
“Well, I ain’t seen him.” He made as if to walk away.
“The last time you saw him, was it a few days ago? Or weeks ago?”
“I seen him two days ago.” He spat on the ground, but he stopped walking and faced Jeremy again. “If you see him, tell him if he keeps on neglecting to pay his help, they will leave him for greener pastures, and that’s the truth.”
“As well they should,” Jeremy said.
“A man or woman, even if they’s poor, has got to have something to live off of, ain’t they?”
“Indeed. Very true. If we see him, we will tell him.”
The man grunted and went on his way.
They asked a man and woman who were walking along the road together.
“We have not seen Mr. Fairweather. Isn’t he in London this time of year, endeavoring to marry a rich heiress?”
“Better that he stays there,” the woman added, “where he won’t be able to trifle with any of our village girls.”
“We’ll say no more.” The man gave his wife a pointed look.
Jeremy thanked the couple and bid them a good day.
“Sounds like he’s laying low,” Dawson said.
“But he was here two days ago.”
“He could be long gone by now.”
Jeremy blew out a loud breath.
Dawson said, “I’d wager they are having trouble keeping servants, since he neglects to pay them. I could go and offer my services as a groom and horse trainer, or whatever they need. That would get me on the premises, and I’d be more likely to discover if he’s there or not.”
“That is a good plan, if you’re sure you’re willing.”
“’Course I’m sure. I’m ready to get this scoundrel. I may shoot him myself and save you the trouble.”
“I would never ask you to do that.”
“You wouldn’t have to ask.” Dawson had a smirk on his face as if he were imagining shooting him and relishing the image of it.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I wouldn’t do it,” Dawson said, “even though he deserves it, unless I had to, to defend myself.”
Jeremy was glad every day that he’d hired Dawson.
Dawson did as he said and was hired as a horse groomer and stable hand. It seemed all but one of the stable workers had quit, as they hadn’t been paid in months. He was to start the next day.
After his first day of work, Dawson met Jeremy at a stile in the rock fence at the edge of the Fairweather property.
“He’s home,” Dawson said. “I saw him skulking about the garden this afternoon. I went right up to him and told him I was the new stable hand and told him there was a man asking after him. He asked me to describe the man and I did my best to describe you. He says, ‘Good. Do you think you’ll see him again?’ I says, ‘I may.’ He says, ‘I have a note for him, if you’ll give it to him. ’ And here it is.”
Dawson placed a folded piece of paper in Jeremy’s hand.
“You will give me 2,000 quid if you want me to stop the rumors about your sister and me. F”
“So that’s his game. He wants me to pay him to stop the rumors.” Jeremy shook his head. “He’s more foolish than I thought.”
“Desperate too,” Dawson said. “His man told me that he’s been getting threats about some debt he owes. He may have to forfeit the house.”
Jeremy took a pencil from his pocket and wrote on the back of the note: The sheep pasture north of the house, pistols at dawn. Bring your seconds. J.B.
“You know he will probably run,” Dawson said as he reached for the note.
“I’m counting on it.” Jeremy didn’t give it to him. “I’ll take it myself. You wait near the house and watch and see if he tries to run.”
Dawson hit his fist against his palm. “And then we get him.”
They made their way to the house. Dawson found a place to stand, on a slightly elevated spot in the edge of the tree line, where he could watch the house.
The house looked even more dilapidated from here, where he could see that the bushes had not been trimmed in a very long time, the garden had not been tended and was completely overgrown, and there was a broken window that had been crudely patched with what looked like a horse blanket.
Jeremy went to the front door and knocked. After a long wait, a servant girl opened the door.
“I wish to call on Mr. George Fairweather.”
“Mr. Fairweather is not at home,” the girl said, her eyes wide.
“Then give him this note.” Jeremy handed her the piece of paper.
She nodded and closed the door.
Jeremy went around the side of the house and into the trees where Dawson was hiding.
After several minutes of discussion, they concluded that Fairweather would not leave by foot, he’d retrieve his horse from the stable. So Dawson went back there.
Jeremy was in sight of the small inn where he’d paid for a room for the night when he noticed a man dismounting from his horse. It was Timothy Shelley.
Jeremy galloped his horse up to the inn as Shelley was handing his reins to a servant.
“It is good to see you,” Jeremy said.
“Glad you were so easy to find.” Shelley smiled and shook his hand.
They filled each other in on what had passed in the last few days over a pint of ale.
Sitting at the table in the corner, Jeremy read the letter Shelley planned to force Fairweather to sign and then publish in the well-known London newspaper, The Times.
When Jeremy finished reading it, he said, “It is a good idea and a good plan, but you may be too late. I’ve challenged him to a duel at dawn tomorrow, and Dawson is waiting at the stable for him to try to make good his escape.”
“And if he doesn’t run away?”
“Then I will let him live to sign the letter.”
They rode the short way to Fairweather’s estate and knocked on the front door. Shelley gave his name to the servant girl, who said, “He is not at home, but you may give a message.”
“I’ll wait for him to return.”
The servant looked at him a moment, then closed the door.
They stood on the front step, quietly discussing what to do next, when the door opened again. “Mr. Fairweather will see Mr. Shelley, but only Mr. Shelley.”
Jeremy thought about entering with Shelley anyway, but Shelley held up his hand, indicating he should stay outside, so he allowed Shelley to go with the servant girl.
A few minutes went by and Shelley emerged from the house.
“I got it,” he said, “but I had to promise him that you wouldn’t take any action against him, including the duel at dawn.”
Could it be that Jeremy’s dealings with Fairweather were finally at an end?
As they retrieved their horses and rode away, Jeremy had to unclench his teeth to be able to speak.
“It’s not right that he is getting away with what he did.
I hope you told him that if I see him come anywhere near my sister, if he shows up at any party she is attending, and even if I just see him in the street, I will give him a fat lip and a black eye. ”
“I did tell him something very similar to that, as a matter of fact, about both of us.”
He was glad, but it still didn’t seem to be enough.
After all, the man would probably do what he did to Juliet to someone else, perhaps taking it even further, especially since he escaped punishment this time.
Signing that letter and having it printed in the paper was hardly any punishment at all to a scoundrel such as him.
Truly, Jeremy’s main objective was to protect Juliet and keep the gossipmongers from ruining her life. Would this be the best way to do that? It seemed to satisfy Shelley, at least.
He turned to Shelley again. “I don’t see how you kept yourself from tearing into him, from breaking his nose and both his arms.”
“Oh, I wanted to. If he’d given me the slightest provocation . . . I wanted to punch out his teeth.”
He’d never seen Shelley look so angry or speak of violence. He could barely imagine Shelley giving the man a toothless smile, but he liked the picture it conjured up.
But perhaps this would be more punishment than he’d thought.
After all, Fairweather still had the debt hanging over his head.
He’d never be able to pay it now, since he’d been hoping to find a wealthy man’s daughter to marry whose dowry would settle his debts.
After the letter appeared in the newspaper, no gentleman in his right mind would allow his daughter anywhere near George Fairweather.
But would Juliet’s reputation be fully restored?
Certainly not. Would she be able to be happy the way she deserved, accepted by all members of society and held in high standing?
Likely not. These were serious consequences, but the most important thing was that Shelley would not break the engagement, they would be married, and Juliet would, no doubt, still have many friends who would not snub her.
Jeremy thought about what Shelley had said to him back in London, about how he wasn’t responsible for Juliet’s happiness, even though she was his sister.
In his thoughts, Jeremy argued with him.
He was responsible for Juliet. Hadn’t his father and mother asked him to take care of her?
She had no other male relatives. Of course he was responsible for her.
He would be a lout and a scoundrel if he didn’t feel responsible for her.
But perhaps being responsible for her wellbeing—seeing to it that she was safe and had the things she needed—was different from feeling responsible for her happiness.
If he was responsible for her happiness, he’d failed her.
That fiend, Fairweather, ruined her reputation and even molested her, for which Jeremy could never think about without wanting to murder the man.
But if he was responsible for Juliet’s happiness, that would mean he had to control her every movement, even her thoughts and intentions.
And no one should control another human being to that extent.
Happiness.
If he wasn’t responsible for Juliet’s happiness, did that mean he wasn’t responsible for Amelia Moore’s happiness either?
What if each person was responsible only for their own happiness?
Of course, if Amelia Moore became his wife, he would be responsible for ensuring she had all the necessities of life, as well as that she was not being mistreated by anyone.
But what if his wife and his sister were ultimately responsible for their own mood, thoughts, and feelings, their own decisions and actions?
It made sense, as everyone was responsible for working out his own salvation, as it was written in the Scriptures.
And if everyone was responsible for his own salvation and spiritual health, then everyone was responsible for his own thoughts and feelings.
After all, Jeremy would never hold Juliet responsible for how he felt, would he?
So why should he be held responsible for how she felt?
He’d been frustrated with Shelley, thinking he should have been doing more to make sure Juliet was happy, to change her mind and make her marry him instead of waiting for this crisis to be resolved.
But perhaps Shelley had been the wise one, stepping back and waiting for both Jeremy and Juliet to stop taking responsibility for other people’s happiness and to be wise, prudent, and trust God with the things that were outside of their control.
Shelley had succeeded in coming up with a good plan, better than anything Jeremy had been able to think of while stewing in anger and violent thoughts.
Now Jeremy could return to London, could practice not trying to make Juliet happy and taking responsibility for her life, and could work on securing his own happiness by courting Miss Amelia Moore in the way he’d intended.