Chapter 11 The Pawn Shop
Jamie’s days were filled with appointments.
The bishop’s office, the attorney, the bank, the bishop’s office again, the attorney again, the rectory, the attorney yet again…
there seemed no end to it. By the end of the third day, all was in train for the wedding the following day and he was glad to be heading home to Georgie’s cottage.
Home… home was wherever Georgie was, now. Such a strange thought.
It was already almost dark and a sleety rain was beginning to fall.
He pulled his hat a little lower on his head and pushed his hands into his pockets for extra warmth.
It was not a good day to be out of doors, and he hurried along, the thought of a good fire and a glass of wine adding speed to his steps.
He was confident enough in his bearings now to take a short cut through one of the many narrow lanes that branched off the main routes.
The lane was dark, and the houses he passed mostly had shutters or curtains closed to shut out the winter night, but one or two lamps lit over doors showed the way.
From inside, he heard the sounds of families settling down for the evening — a burst of laughter, pots rattling, a thread of music from a pianoforte.
In the distance, a church bell was announcing an evening service.
There were shops here and there, some with lights inside, but it was too dark to see into their windows to determine what they sold.
However, a couple passing by with a lantern held aloft briefly lit a window, and Jamie almost cried out in astonishment.
For there in the window, amidst a motley collection of objects, was the pair to Georgie’s miniature, with the exact same ornate gold frame.
The lantern moved away, rendering the window dark again, but there was a light burning inside, so Jamie pushed open the door, setting a bell jangling, and went inside.
“Just closing,” came a voice from the depths.
The shop was stuffed with goods, from furniture to china to silverware to large paintings, with shelves of books and ornaments and boxes filled with clothes.
A pawn shop, perhaps. At the back was a long counter, where a small lantern provided a dim pool of light.
The owner of the voice could not be seen.
“I will not keep you a moment,” Jamie called out, “but you have a miniature in the window that—”
A head popped up from behind the counter, the man’s features indistinct in the gloom. “Miniature? Who wants to know?”
“My name is James Hammond.”
“Never heard of you. Oxford man, are you?”
“No, I am secretary to the Duke of Brinshire.”
The man stood up to his full height, which was considerable. He looked like the sort of man who routinely got into fights at the local hostelry, and enjoyed it, too. “What does the Dook of Brinshire care about that miniature?”
“I am sure his grace does not, but I do. I believe it may be of a good friend of mine, Mrs Henry Hastings, and—”
The man beamed. “Georgie? You know Georgie? Wait, let me show you the thing. It’s very like her.”
He picked up the lantern and emerged from behind the counter, threading his way delicately through the detritus of his shop. Reaching into the window, he stepped back and pressed the miniature into Jamie’s hand.
“There! Pretty little thing, ain’t it?”
“It is, and as you say, very like her. It was a wedding gift from her uncle, and I am sure she would be glad to have it back. How much do you want for it?”
Jamie could see the desire for money pass across his face. “Well, now, ’tis awkward, sir, very awkward. It rightly belongs to… to a friend of mine, who left it with me for safe keeping, like.”
“For money, you mean, and he has not yet reclaimed it. I would be happy to pay you twice what he would give you for it.”
“Well, that’s right gen’rous, sir, but… well, he’s a friend o’ mine… although it’s a year since he left it here, so… but he don’t expect me to just sell it.”
“Perhaps if you could give me his direction, I could talk to him… redeem it from you and then buy it from him,” Jamie said, wondering just how much money he would have to lay out to recover the miniature. “I want to be fair to you both, but Georgie would love to have this back.”
“Nothing easier, sir! In fact, I’ll come with you, if’n you can wait while I lock up. I could do with wetting me whistle meself.”
From which, Jamie deduced that the mysterious owner of the miniature was currently engaged in wetting his own whistle. He sighed, foreseeing that the purchase of ale was going to be part of the transaction.
The pawnbroker introduced himself as Silas Green, who led him no more than fifty paces to the high street, still lively with traffic and people, and round the corner to the Angel, where the tap room was already growing rowdy.
Green’s friend, one William Keeley, at once agreed that the miniature was his.
“Ah, shweet Georgie!” he murmured, his speech already somewhat slurred. “Poor girl! So dist— dish— upset when Henry died. Aye, and ’twas right here that he died,” he added, with a sentimental sigh.
“Oh?” Jamie said. “What happened?”
“He was upstairs,” Keeley said. “Shpeshul shell— shelly—”
“Celebration,” Green said impatiently. “Gods, Will, can’t you hold your drink better’n this? Henry missed his step, fell down the stairs and broke his neck, the stupid ox. Got a wife like that, why was he even here? Shoulda bin home with ’is wife. I woulda bin. Lord, I’m thirsty.”
Jamie understood his cue, ordered a round of beer and then, since Green pathetically indicated that he was hungry as well, two bowls of stew.
After that, the two men rapidly becoming mellow, it was not difficult to persuade them to part with the miniature, although Jamie winced inwardly at the price.
He pocketed the miniature, ordered another round of drinks for Green, Keeley and the several friends who had gathered round them at the prospect of free beer, and prepared to take his leave.
“By the way,” he said as he buttoned his coat, “how did you come to acquire the miniature from Henry Hastings?”
“Won it at cards,” Keeley said promptly. “Henry was terrible unlucky at cards.”
And they all laughed uproariously, and turned back to their ale.
Jamie left without another word, too disgusted at Henry Hastings to linger among his rackety friends.
Besides, he had somewhere else he would much rather be.
Much as he disliked Green, he could not help agreeing with him on one point — if a man were married to Georgie, why would he spend all his time at an inn, drinking and gaming and who knows what else?
As he walked briskly back to the cottage, where a lantern burned over the door, light spilled out into the snowy night and as soon as he opened the door, a tempting aroma met his nostrils, he could only repeat the point to himself.
“Ah, there you are!” Georgie said, emerging from the kitchen with a smiling face. “I was wondering whether to send out a search party.”
“No need,” he said, throwing his arms round her and kissing her full on the lips. “I have had a small adventure, but I shall always come home to you.”
“Oh!” she said, and he thought she blushed a little. “And if you greet me so pleasingly, I shall always look forward to it. Although you are a bit snowy, and so am I, now.”
“I beg your pardon. I shall try to remember to remove my coat first in future.”
“No, no. Such enthusiasm is delightful. Do you want to wash before dinner? I have hot water in the kettle.”
He washed in the scullery, and then sat down in the kitchen for dinner. It was just the two of them, her friends tactfully leaving them on their own for once. They had all contributed a dish to the meal, however, and although sometimes the contents were hard to identify, they were all tasty.
“It is very plain fare,” Georgie said, as they lingered over a gooseberry tart. “Not like the duke’s table. No venison, I’m afraid.”
“There is nothing wrong with plain food,” Jamie said, and he thought that if he could come home to Georgie’s smiling face every night, he would be quite happy never to eat venison again. “Do you want to hear about my small adventure?”
“If you wish to tell me about it.”
“I found this in a shop window. You were right, it is an excellent likeness.”
He laid the miniature on the table, and with a gasp of recognition, she picked it up. “But how did it get there? I suppose Henry lost it somewhere and someone found it and sold it.”
That was close enough to the truth that he saw no need to mention cards or Keeley or the Angel, and fortunately she did not enquire as to the nature of the shop.
“Did you have to pay to get it back? Of course you did. How much was it? I’ll repay you.”
“Nonsense! It is a gift for my future wife. I could hardly leave it to languish in a shop like that, to be bought by a stranger. It should be with its pair.”
“No,” she said pensively. “No, it’s yours, just as it was Henry’s, to remind him of me. Not that it was very effective, if he managed to lose it. You will keep it safe, won’t you?”
She pressed it into his hand and folded his fingers over it. “I will keep it safe,” he said softly.
“You had better keep this safe, too,” she said, twisting off her wedding ring.
“You will have it back tomorrow. Well, I had better get off. I shall see you in church in the morning.”
“Don’t be late,” she said teasingly.
“I shall be there.”
He kissed her again, tucked the miniature and ring into a pocket and set out to walk back to his friends’ house for the last time. Tomorrow night he would not leave Georgie here alone. He would follow her up the stairs and then…
Then he would be a husband, and Georgie would be his wife. To love and to cherish, till death us do part.