The Peeler

By: Will B
(© 2009-2010 by the author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

That evening, Frederick, Edward, John Williams, and Jane Barton were sitting down to a light supper, when there was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” said Williams. He got up, went to the door, and came back with a young police constable.

“Begging your pardon, gentlemen and lady, but I have a message from Superintendent Lane. He wants to know if Mr. Fitzwilliam could come to the station. He says it’s rather important,” the constable said.

“Of course I’ll come right now,” said Frederick.

Chapter 4

Earlier that day, an older couple was walking along a street in London, planning to do some shopping. The woman stopped for a moment to look at some new bonnets in a shop window. As she turned back to her husband, she saw two boys approach him, and the older boy, who appeared to be about fourteen years old, gently lifted his coattails and attempted to lift his wallet—without the man knowing what was happening. The younger boy just stood there with a look of surprise on his face.

“Stop, thief! Catch the thief!” the older woman shouted. “Police! Police!”

The older boy darted off into the crowd and the younger boy stood, panic stricken. Another man took the young boy by the arm and said, “No, you don’t, you young imp of Satan. You’ll not get away.”

A policeman appeared, “’ere, ere. What’s all this?” he asked.

The man said, “A lady called out to stop a thief, and I caught him. Right here he is. You can take him away, Constable.”

“No, no, Constable,” said the woman as she approached. “I saw the whole thing. This boy did nothing wrong. The other boy, the thief, ran off into the crowd.”

By now the woman’s husband, an older man, wearing a clerical collar that proclaimed his occupation as clearly as if he had carried a sign on his back, joined the woman.

“You can take my wife’s word for what she says, Constable,” the clergyman said. If she said the boy didn’t do anything, then the boy didn’t do anything.”

The constable  took off his helmet and scratched his head. “Well now, sirs, madam, I think the best thing would be to take the boy to the station and allow Superintendent Lane to question the boy. Will you all come to make statements?”

The three adults agreed, and the constable hailed a passing hansom and took the young boy, now rigid with fear, and incapable of speech, to the police station. The older couple and the other man walked the few blocks to the station.

When Frederick arrived in answer to Lane’s summons, he found the superintendent, the duty officer, the constable, the three adults and the boy, gathered. The three adults were attempting to explain what happened, but the boy was shaking and crying.

“Oh, good, Fitzwilliam, you’re here. Help me straighten this out,” the beleaguered Lane said.

“I think it would be a good idea if we all introduced ourselves,” Frederick said.

“Good. First of all, I am Richard Lane, Divisional Superintendent of this station, and this is Frederick Fitzwilliam, a sergeant currently on special assignment. I will say that I trust him implicitly.”

“Constable Bert ‘iggins,” the policeman answered. “I ‘eard the lady call for police, so I arrived at the scene in time to see this gentleman ‘olding the young boy by the arm, and the lady saying that the boy ‘ad done nothing wrong.”

Lane looked at the lady and nodded.

“I am Harriet Bredon, and I know what I saw. The actual thief got away.” Mrs., Bredon was dressed in a dark blue dress, with a white lace fichu* around her shoulders. She wore a cameo brooch at her throat. Her bonnet was of the same color as her dress.

Her husband spoke next. “I am the Reverend Peter Bredon, the Rector of St. Botolph’s Billingsgate.” The sixty-three year-old man wore his clerical color, and was dressed in black suit and gaiters.** He had a kindly expression. “If my wife says that this boy was not the one who attempted to pick my pocket, then I believe her.”

The concerned citizen who had first grabbed the boy introduced himself. “I’m John Owings, grocer. I heard the lady, Mrs. Bredon, that is, call for help, and I saw this young boy and I assumed he was the thief, so I took hold of the young perisher couldn’t get away.”

Frederick knelt down and spoke to the boy. “It’s all right, young sir. Nobody is going to hurt you, and nobody is going to lock you in the cells. Will you tell me your name, please?”

“N-n-n-nicholas, Sir.”

“Do you have a last name, Nicholas?”

“L-l-l-ester, Sir.”

“Do you have a home, Nicholas,” Frederick asked.

“No, sir. I’m from Bedfordshire, and my parents died, and I was afraid they would put me in the work’us [workhouse] so I ran away and came to London. I heard you could get rich quick in London.”

“What happened when you got to London?”

“I didn’t have nowhere to stay and then this older boy, named ‘Sparrer’ said he would take me to where he lived, and he got me some food and some new clothes. He was real nice, but one day this older man, named ‘Hawk’ told me it was time I started to earn my keep, and I was to go with ‘Sparrer,’ and watch him, so I could learn to do what he did.”

Reverend Bredon and his lady just shook their head in sorrow. They had heard this same sad story from many boys and girls so many times.

“Please, sir. What’s gonna happen to me?” Nicholas asked. “Am I in trouble?”

Lane asked the group, “Did anyone actually see the boy commit any crime?”

Owings looked a little embarrassed as he replied, “Well, no, I just assumed….”

“Mr. Owings, did you see the boy actually do anything wrong?” Lane asked again.

“Uh, no! I did not, and I apologize to all and sundry if I caused any trouble. And young Nicholas, I do apologize to you.” Owings stuck out his hand and Nicholas timidly shook it.

“Now the question remaining is what shall we do with the boy? Sergeant Fitzwilliam, do you have any suggestions?” Lane asked with a twinkle in his eye as if he knew what Frederick’s answer would be.

“Yes, sir. I do. I am starting a school where boys can be taught to read and write, and live in a safe environment. As of now, my staff consists of Edward Kent, my teacher, John Williams, a former constable who is Steward of the school and his sister Jane Barton, who is our cook, and myself. It looks as if Nicholas will be our first pupil.”

Reverend and Mrs. Bredon looked at Frederick with respect. “Where is your school, sir?” the clergyman asked.

“It’s in your parish, Reverend Bredon.” Frederick gave him the address.

“I wonder if my wife and I might call on you tomorrow afternoon? I think what you are doing is a very worthwhile project, and I would like to know more about it,” Bredon asked.

“I would be honored if you both would visit tomorrow. The workmen are just about finished with their repairs, and you will see what the school will be like as it grows,” Frederick said.

“And I do hope you and your people will be able to come to St. Botolph’s on Sundays,” said Rev. Bredon. “It’s a beautiful church, although I am afraid the roof needs repair; there are leaks! I hope to start a restoration fund…”

“Reverend Bredon. This is not the place!” His good lady expostulated. “What will Mr. Fitzwilliam think? Sir, I do apologize…”

“There’s no need to apologize, ma’am,” said Frederick with a smile. “If it hadn’t been for you speaking up for Nicholas, who knows what may have happened to him! If you would allow me…”

Frederick got out his wallet and took a five-pound bank note out and handed it to Rev. Bredon, saying, “Would you allow me to contribute…”

Every adult in the room stared at the piece of paper in Frederick’s hand and the thought went through their minds: ‘Bank notes in the parish!’

“I thank you, sir, and we will call tomorrow. Come, my dear. I think it is time we went home,” said the very pleased Rev. Bredon.

“I think there’s just one more thing to be settled,” said Lane. “Nicholas, would you like to go with Sergeant Fitzwilliam and live at his school and learn to read and write? I can tell you that Mrs. Barton is an excellent cook, and there will be plenty of food.”

“Yes, sir. I’d like that. I’d like that very much,” said the ten-year-old boy. He went over to Frederick and put his hand in his and said, “I’m ready to go now, sir?”

Frederick and Nicholas left the police station and hailed a hansom cab. In a short time they were home. Frederick had already come to think of it as home, and he hoped that in time Nicholas would do so as well.

Their arrival was greeted with smiles and cries of welcome. Nicholas gravely shook hands with Edward who was to be his teacher, and with John Williams who was to become his good friend.  Jane Barton was having none of that, however. She grabbed up Nicholas in a tight hug, and asked him if he were hungry.

“Yes, ma’am. I am a bit,” was his reply.

Jane went to the kitchen and brought out some chicken soup and bread that she had baked that morning. She went back to the kitchen and brought out a small tub of butter and a mug of slightly watered-down ale. She returned to the kitchen again and brought out an apple tart. Nicholas showed his appreciation by eating every last bit.

When he had finished, Nicholas yawned and then yawned again.

“I think it’s time this young man went to bed,” said Frederick. He and Edward took  Nicholas up to a room near theirs, and showed him his room which had a comfortable bed, a table and chairs, some shelves, and the ever-present close-stool.***

Nicholas took off his shoes, his shirt, and his trousers, and then, wearing his small clothes, he knelt down by the bed to say his prayers. “Dear God, God bless Mr. Frederick and Mr. Edward. God bless Mr. Williams, and Miss Jane. Help me a good boy and learn to read and write. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

Then he got in bed and pulled the blankets up. (Even in July, London can be cool at night!). He looked at the two men and said, “Good night.”

Frederick and Edward bade him good night and went back downstairs.

After some conversation, the adults decided it was time for them to retire for the evening also. They went their separate ways: Williams and Jane to their rooms on the ground floor, and Frederick and Edward to their rooms on the first floor.

About eleven o’clock, Frederick got out of bed, and went to Nicholas’ room and looked in on the lad. A chink in the curtains allowed a moonbeam to shine across Nicholas’ face. He was sound sleep, and he must have been having a pleasant dream, or so the adorable little smile across his lips indicated.

Frederick was aware of someone behind him. “He looks like an angel, doesn’t he?” whispered Edward.

“Yes, he does. You know I have just about everything I could want, a building for my school, good people to work with, and our first student,” Frederick said.

“What more could you want?” Edward asked.

Frederick didn’t answer him at first, although he knew what he wanted to say. He suddenly found his voice very husky as he replied, “Edward, I am so glad you’re here….”

Frederick reached out to shake Edward’s hand, but somehow, the handshake became an embrace, and the embrace led to…a kiss!  Waves of happiness washed over both men as the first kiss led to another and then…

Let us just say that Edward never did make it back to his own bed that night.

 

Needless to say that of the five people in that building, only three: the youngest one and the two oldest people, slept soundly that night!

To be continued...

Author’s notes:

*A fichu was a three-cornered lace or muslin cape worn by a woman over her shoulders.

**Gaiters were a cloth or leather covering for the instep and ankle and sometimes the calf of the leg.

***A close stool was a chair with a seat that lifted to reveal another seat with a hole in it, and beneath that a chamber pot.

Readers, your author must confess that two of the characters and some of the dialogue were inspired by D. L. S. (don’t forget the ‘L.), a very gifted mystery writer of the 1930s and 1940s. All right! Two lines were copied from one of her stories.

As always my thanks to my reader, mentor, and friend, “Critter.”

Posted: 11/12/10