Chapter 2
An Unforgettable Memory
Milton,
16 years before prologue
"Eh John, do you know what we've just heard?" The short boy said. He had one of those thick Milton accents.
"What?" I replied in a tone that was hardly excited, I was not really interested in what he had to say. But I decided against telling him that.
"Something about a huge speculation. My dad was talking about it yesterday. Gonna be a big'un".
"I don' know why you're so excited ". I replied, half turning to walk away. I really didn't understand what all the excitement about spending all your money was, when you really don't know if you're going to get it back. The boy, who's name was Mark Slickson, spoke in an even quicker tone. Evidently, he was much more excited about this then I knew.
"Ah but that's where it gets interesting, see. My Dad's going be joining in with it, and if you ask me, he's gonna be well off for it. And he said your dad's going have a go too. Best thing to do, I say. Else you don't know what's gonna happen to your money". He lowered his voice to a tone that could almost have been a whisper, if it were not for the bubbling enthusiasm that was still as evident as the sky was blue.
"My Dad said this is the hugest one they ever had, six hundred pounds he's bided. Don't tell no one, will you mate? Only he told me not to tell".
Six hundred. Dear God! I could only hope that Father wasn't as foolish. I knew he had taken to gambling of late, exactly how much I did not know. Surely he wouldn't put that much at stake?
I waited impatiently for dinner to end that evening. I was going to ask him about this new speculation, and maybe I can at least see how far he is into it. I rarely have opportunities to talk privately with Father, he would be out of the house a lot of the time. But it was necessary, and I was determined to speak to him. Once Mother had gone to put Fanny to sleep, I approached him. He was sat at the table with one leg crossed over the other, reading a newspaper. It was a good sign, it showed he was relaxed.
"Father", I started, moving slowly closer to him. "I've heard about a speculation that's going on. Is there a lot of money involved?"
"Where did you hear that?" he answered, immediately putting his newspaper down and looking at me with a suspicious stare.
"Someone mentioned it today".
"Did they, eh? What else did they tell you?"
"That you are involved in it".
"Well maybe I am, and it is big money, not that it's any concern of yours, John. You should be thinking on your studies, not pondering what I'm doing".
There was my answer. He was very deep into it. How much I did not know, and I doubted if I wanted to. The only thing on my mind was to somehow persuade him to not gamble so much.
"But Father, why are you speculating with so much? What of you lose it? Do you really need to..."
"I said it's none of your concern. What do you know of business, boy? Now pour me a drink and run along to bed. I don't know when you became so nosey".
My Father was now very far from the relaxed position he was in just a few moments ago. He was raking his hands through his hair and I was sure his skin had turned a shade of pink. The fact that he had reacted so much to what I had said made me even more worried. He was stressed, very stressed. I knew instantly he had put a huge amount of money on the line. I dared not think again on it, but I had the scary suspicion he had used all of his money. The money that was supposed to pay for the servants, for food, for Mother, for my school!
I wanted to tell him he couldn't have the drink he had asked for. That was another worrying thing that Father had recently fell into the habit of doing. He was slowly becoming an alcoholic. But there was nothing I could do, and I knew it. Father would never listen to what I have to say. He had not listened to anything I had to say for a long time, he preferred to play with my sister. But that was only when he was not out making wild speculations or drinking.
I walked forward and reluctantly poured him the wine, making sure to only pour him half a glass and pick up the bottle as I walked out the room. As soon as I had shut the door behind me, I rushed to the kitchen to hand the bottle to a maid to put away. Hopefully, Father will not need it again that night.
The day was cold and damp as I sat at the small wooden table, quill in my hand, writing out my thoughts on the industrial revolution Milton had found itself in these days. It was a fascinating subject, with business and trade being things I was eager to explore. Not that Father encouraged me in it - he was much too interested in finding out the outcome of the speculation that had taken place recently. Still, I loved learning and took the utmost pride in my studies. The room was quite, each student immersed in their writing. That was until there came a loud knock on the door, followed by a small boy entering the room looking as if he had news of the utmost importance to tell.
"Mr Dobby would like to speak to you, John. He asked me to come and tell you at once".
He said, in a tone that suggested equal importance as that of his expression. Why would the Headmaster wish to speak to me so urgently? Without uttering a word, I arose from my desk and left the room. A horrible sickening feeling was forming in my stomach.
"Come in" I heard Mr Dobby say after I had rapped on his door. As I entered the office, the sickening feeling grew considerably, for I saw one of Mother's servants standing there with a horrified look on her face. I was about to ask her what had happened, desperate to know whether something had happened to Mother or Fanny. But Mr Dobby spoke first – in a tone very unlike what he would normally use. It was shaky and quiet.
"My boy, sit down..."
"Please tell me what is the matter, Mr Dobby, for I know there is something".
The look on Mr Dobby's face changed somewhat. He knew I would not, could not, sit down.
"John" he began again, "I am sure you are wondering what I have called you here for. It is indeed a great matter, one that I am not certain I can speak of..." Here there was a pause of a few moments, before he spoke in a voice yet again altered. "Mandy, would you like to walk home with John? You will find your answer there, My Boy."
This made John even more worried to the point of demanding to know that very moment, but seeing Mr Dobby's face grow even paler than Molly's, he found he wanted to get home and find out himself rather than stand here any longer. Turning around instantly and almost storming out the school, he headed home as quickly as he could. Not remembering or caring that his mother's servant was supposed to accompany him. He had to find out what happened.
Once he had reached the house and opened the front door, the sinking feeling in his stomach doubled, and his gut instinct was that the terrible thing that had happened concerned his father, as he had feared for so long. He instantly ran to his fathers study, slamming in to the back of the butler who had just left the same room he was trying to enter. He grasped John's arm saying "No, Master John. I don't think ya should..." But John wasn't listening. He freed himself from the man's arm and burst open the door. What he found in there shocked and horrified him. He was prepared for something bad, but not this...
His father's chair was in the centre of the room, with the table in front of it, as always, but on top of the table hung his fathers figure. A tight was rope around his neck. He was facing away from John, but he knew his father was dead. The completely immovable figure and the growing stench told him so.
John didn't know how long he stood there, transfixed on his fathers back. Stunned. "Father!" He whispered. "What happened...how did it get so bad?" Silence fell again. The only sound in the eerie room was the boy's deep and quickening breath, followed by the pounding in his eardrums that accompanied his heartbeat. Finally John has the strength (or maybe it was curiosity) enough to walk around the desk and look at his father's face. It was an image that would imprint on his memory as the horrific result of his father's troubles and certainly became the last memory he had of him. His mouth was agape and his head tilted to the side in an unnatural angle. Later the physician would say that the rope must have strangled his neck hard, breaking it instantly. There was no sign of struggle or bruising. Undoubtedly, it happened very quickly.
After leaving his fathers' study, John's first thoughts were of Fanny and his mother. Surely his mother would know. But what about his sister? He half ran to her room and was relieved to see her sound asleep, evidently oblivious to what had happened downstairs. Placated that his sister, at least, was well, he went in search of his mother. He eventually found her sitting at her chair in the dinning groom. She was staring, just staring... John came to her and kneeled in front of her. He could see her eyes were bloodshot and that many tears had fallen from them. The puffy eyes looked no better than her face, which was a gaunt white from the effects of – exhaustion? Shock? He could not quite tell, though both were probably the case. Silently he put a hand on her lap. Wanting to let her know he was with her. She did not move, nor did her face alter for a long time and slowly John's head came forward to rest next to his hand on his mother's lap. He exhaled with his own shock at his father's actions and worry for his mother, who still had not stirred. Eventually, though, she raised her hand to her son's head stroked it. It was both a silent acknowledgment of his actions and a thank-you which would be the first of many silent gestures that were to pass between them. And given out the deepest of love that was only expressed in such a way, for both mother and son did not show feelings very often. But between it was all they needed to be reminded of the love the other had for them.
"When..." John whispered after some time.
"Early this morning". She replied, her voice low and strained with tears.
"Did you hear...?" He knew he did not need to elaborate on the question, and simply waited for the answer. At long last it came in a voice even lower than before
"Heard nothing till the servant found him. Just seemed very frustrated at breakfast. Could tell something was wrong but did not have chance to...I should have spoken to..."
"No, Mother". He said, springing up from his position. "It was not your fault Mother. I'm sure whenever father decided to...to...he would have done it. There was nothing you could have done to stop him".
"Yes, your father was always very stubborn..."
More silence followed for a time. John resumed his position at his mother's lap, squeezing her hand every so often. Eventually he spoke in the same low voice they had been talking in
"Fanny is asleep. Does she know anything?"
"No, thank God. She was having a lesson with Mary. I instructed her to keep her in her room once she had finished. The next time I went up, she had fallen asleep".
"We will have to do the same tomorrow, till we get...till...out of...the house".
"Yes, we shall have to arrange..." Her voice trailed off again. There was an unmistakable rise in her voice as she almost spluttered out the last word. John knew tears were forming in her eyes again.
They did not sleep that night, and declined offers of food from the servants. They could not eat at such a time, and the funeral needed to be arranged. Since John did not go to school, he took it upon himself that his sister did not get bored or suspicious at being in her room most of the day, and played with her, although his own heart was very heavy and sad. But he knew his sister would have to be told why there father was not with them anymore.
The funeral took place a few days later, with a fair amount of people attending. They stopped to offer condolences to Mrs Thornton and her son. But both knew they were not given from their hearts, for their eyes would momentarily gleam with sly laughter at the knowledge that George Thornton had committed suicide and the sorry state of debt he left his wife, now a widow, in.
