Favors Returned


Authors note: Some of you may be familiar with this story, as it has been archived elsewhere on the web since 2000. My premise in writing it was to show the events of Pride and Prejudice from an outsider's perspective, but somewhere along the line, the story and its characters took on lives of their own. In its final incarnation, Favors Returned runs parallel to and intersects with Pride and Prejudice's storyline and characters, while allowing glimpses into the lives of the criminal element, the poor and working classes and their unvarnished, often unsavory environs. The central character, John Barrow, bridges these two very different worlds

To previous readers, I hope you don't mind a second perusal. To first time readers, I hope you enjoy the ride!


Prologue

John Thomas Barrow sat at his desk in near darkness. The early morning sky had yet to show any trace of oncoming dawn; the stars still displaying gemlike against a black velvet expanse. To this solitary, contemplative man it was all quiet, still perfection. Moving his candle closer, he unfolded the first of two letters he had recently received. Having already read and responded to both of them over a week ago, this perusal was simply for his own enjoyment. The pleasure was manifold. Smiling as he considered how the ink blots, smears, and hasty corrections garnered more than their fair share of space on the elegant stationery, he felt a surge of affection for the author. The execution of this missive reassured him that the executor of it had not changed. Its contents gave him even greater satisfaction.

Dear Friend,

You are a very difficult man to track down. It is my sincere hope that this letter finds you well, at peace in both body and in mind. We were very concerned for your well-being when you left so suddenly seven years ago. Indeed, has it been that long?

I am about to cross a major milestone in my life, which gives me occasion to consider the past as well as the future. That being the case, you have been much on my mind of late, my friend. I mention a milestone. Rest assured, it is a happy one. I am soon to be married to a wonderful lady, Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire. This lady's goodness is matched only by her beauty, and it is my own private source of wonder and amazement that she has consented to have me at all. This happy event is to take place in about a fortnight at Longbourn church, on the eleventh of December at ten o'clock. My happiness could only be increased by your presence there.

Also to be wed on this day is our mutual friend, Fitzwilliam Darcy. He has been equally as fortunate in his choice of a wife. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, sister to my Jane, is to make him the second happiest man in all of England. I have informed Darcy of my finding you. He is delighted, and wishes to join me in requesting that you come and share in our joy. Indeed, you will likely hear from that quarter yourself very shortly. I took the liberty of giving him your direction, and he has stated that he will write.

Again John, only your being such a well concealed recluse prevented me from sending you a proper invitation. It is my sincere hope that the lateness of this letter does not prevent you from making plans to attend.

With Warmest Regards,

Charles Bingley

The smile on John's face continued intact as he opened his second letter. The style of it, brief, to the point, and calculated to make one see its writer's point of view, was also reflective of its author.

Dear John,

I see that you have not fallen off the end of the earth as we had once feared. This is a pleasure indeed, my friend, as we had despaired of ever seeing you again.

It is my understanding that Bingley has made you acquainted with a certain event that is soon to take place, and has informed you of the particulars of time and place. You must come. Indeed, you must. There can be no other answer. I have secured my London carriage for the sole purpose of being put to good use during these next two weeks, and can think of no better employment for it than to transport an old friend to be with us on this day. Please write soon and inform me of the time best suited to bring you to Netherfield. I remain,

Your Friend,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

And this was the day. He had declined the invitations. Pressing obligations, etc., etc., had unfortunately prevented him... Though true that he did have commitments of his own to attend to, another sadder truth was that he had grown out of the habit of having friends. And as pleasurable as this re-acquaintance promised to be, he preferred to meet with Bingley and Darcy at another more private time. Natural curiosity played no role here. That had been satisfied long ago and there would have been little novelty in attending. Months before his friend's engagements were secured, John was well aware of the dramatic twists and turns in his friends lives, and could in some small way take credit for the happy outcome.

This was no idle boast for John possessed a knack, an almost uncanny ability to uncover facts and get to the bottom of things. And his considerable talents had been put to good use during the past year or so. This was something he'd excelled at for as long as he could remember. By the time he had reached the tender age of three, he had come to understand that he was not completely an orphan, and that he was really not related to his guardians 'Aunt' and 'Uncle' Barrow at all. By the age of five he pretty much knew who his father was, and that the nature of his birth would likely consign him to a precarious existence at best. By the time he went away to school, he had put most of the puzzle together. Despite considerable efforts on the part of his aunt and uncle to shield him, he knew. He knew, for example, that his father was a rather prominent Member of Parliament's House of Lords who could ill afford to have certain secrets come to light. He also knew that this man had pulled considerable weight to have him admitted to Eton. All of his father's influence, however, could not alter the fact that he was only a natural son after all, and that his mother had been a tradesman's daughter who had no wealth to speak of, and whose father kept only a very small shop.

In the rarefied air of Eton his adopted identity, orphaned nephew of a country attorney, was not calculated to make for an easy life, and so it was. But even this sin, though weighing heavily against him, might have been easily forgiven had he only been an attractive child, pleasing in face, figure, or at least address. But alas, he was not. His address was not calculated to please. He did not pander and tended to speak his mind. Someone describing him might have called him remarkable in an ornithological sort of way. Everything about him, dark piercing eyes, small sharp nose, slender stilt-like legs, served to remind one of some as yet unknown species of bird. In a child born to wealth or position these features might have been called aquiline, distinctive, even noble. But he was not. Consequently they called him Finch, and there at Eton among the well-heeled and well connected, it was always open season...


Chapter 1

In the huddled posture of two souls in wrapped in strictest confidence, John Barrow and Charles Bingley made their way across the sun dappled Eton courtyard. It was pure coincidence that the surroundings should so accurately reflect their contrasting natures, sunlight and shadow, openness and reserve. Yet despite these differences, or perhaps because of them, they had become fast friends. And now, these two friends had important matters to discuss.

"And you're absolutely certain, John?"

"Charles, there can be no doubt. Bold as day he was! I saw him glancing toward my paper, and when I moved my hand to cover it, he took a scrap of paper from his vest pocket. It comes as no surprise really. He's a simpleton."

"I overheard him John, he thinks you're going to tell."

"I am. He was wrong."

"Do you think they'll believe you?"

John was quiet for a moment as he considered, "Yes, they'll believe it of him. I doubt that anything will be done, but they'll believe. And meanwhile, things will get more difficult for me. The blockhead!"

They continued talking as they entered an arched entry leading to the maze of stairways, corridors, and domiciles that comprised their dormitory. Suddenly, the sound of someone running reached their ears, and a single word seized their attention.

"Finch!"

He has wasted no time I see, thought John.

"Come back here, Finch!" A hand reached out to grab him. "My friend Edward says you should stop it, you little nobody!"

"I will not stop it! He was wrong. I don't care who his father is! He was wrong and shouldn't be cheating. I've found him out and I'm going to tell!"

With that, Winslow pinned John to the wall and threatened him with his fist, "You're a snitch then, Finch, and I don't like snitches."

"Well you're a toady! A tuft-hunter!"

"Well, you're dead!" Winslow was drawing back to make good on his threat when a small but commanding voice took him entirely by surprise.

"Leave him alone!"

Without releasing his prey, Winslow turned to address this brave or foolish boy, "Go on Bingley, this is none of your concern."

"I will make it my concern if you don't leave John alone." Bingley drew himself up to the full, though insignificant height of his eight years.

Robert Winslow, ten year old bully, saw just enough humor in the situation to laugh with tolerable good nature, before shoving Bingley to the floor and sauntering away.

John, the intended victim of this most recent show of force, ran to his friend's side and helped him to his feet. He put his best handkerchief to use, as Bingley's nose was bloodied by the fall and in need of attention. "Thank you Charles. That was meant for me. I'm sorry you got the worst of it."

"It's all right, John. It doesn't hurt much."

"Let me help you on to your room and get you cleaned up." John put his arm round Bingley's shoulder and guided him through the labyrinthine series of twists and turns that constituted a seldom used short cut. Unknown to them, their passage was also being used by someone coming from the opposite direction. Someone whose quick step would bring them all very shortly to an unexpected juncture. It's unlikely that we'll encounter any more bullies along the way, thought John as they quickly turned a corner... and ran squarely into that someone. A very tall someone.

"Hello!" a hand reached out to steady them, "What have we here?"

"Excuse us sir!, said John and Charles in unison. John continued on, "You're not with them too, are you?"

"I don't know who 'they' are, but if they're responsible for that pounding, then probably not. Let's have a look." He whistled softly as he lifted the now crimson handkerchief, "Impressive show! Come… what's your name?"

"Charles Bingley, sir."

"Come with me, Charles. No more bloodshed in the corridor. My room is close at hand."

There, in the relative luxury of Fitzwilliam Darcy's room, John and Charles became acquainted with the curative powers of water with wine, and two ginger cakes apiece. And there, his curiosity not quite satisfied, Darcy continued with his interview.

"So, you're the one all of this was intended for, are you? And what might your name be?"

"My name is John Thomas Barrow. Most everyone in this hideous place calls me Finch, but my friends call me John... sir,"

Darcy might have given way to outward amusement, had his eyes not been met by such a serious, level gaze. Stifling his inclination to smile, he continued, "So John, cheating was the crime, was it? And who exactly are your adversaries?"

"There's only one of any consequence," John replied, "Edward Thorne."

"And his friend Robert. Robert Winslow." Bingley's hand gingerly touched the bridge of his nose in remembrance.

"No Bingley, Robert is nothing. He's only the henchman. Edward's the man."

Several boys out-ranked this second son of a duke, but when it came to ill-temper Edward Thorne was without peer, "You mean the Edward Thorne. Lord Edward?" Darcy let out a low whistle.

"Yes sir."

It was apparent from Darcy's expression that John was being re-appraised. That such a small boy would willingly stand up to such a mean-spirited, spiteful, tyrannical child as Edward Thorne was truly amazing. And to do it on principle! Darcy's head cocked to the side, as if to get a better look at this old, young boy. Next he turned to Bingley, "And what exactly is your interest in all this?"

"John is my friend, sir."

He's a loyal friend then. Many would have bolted and left him to stand alone. "I see. Yes, well the both of you could stand quite a few friends right now."

During the past year Darcy had, for the first time, taken on the role of older brother, and he liked it very well indeed. But much as he loved his baby sister he had no brothers and, in all probability, would never have one. The thought crossed his mind that if he ever had been blessed with a brother or two, he would have liked a pair very much like Charles and John. And so it came to pass that Fitzwilliam Darcy took two small boys under his protection.

-~O~-

Creative License Alert: I did research on Eton and learned that there would be no possible way for Darcy and Bingley to be there at the same time. However, I wanted them to be there together, so I put them there! Normally I try to adhere to accuracy, but every once in a while you gotta break the rules. Michele V