Chapter Two: The Society for Reformation of Manners
A/N: HEY GUYS! Before we jump into this chapter I want to discuss something VERY important. The topic? French. I've noticed (irritably) that many people tend to use "vous" and its conjugations when France speaks. Please understand that "vous" is a formal way of saying "you". France WOULD NOT use the subject "vous" to speak to England, Canada, America or any other nation he deals with on a regular basis. When France is talking to these nations (the common ones being the aforementioned) he will use the subject "tu". It is the informal (relaxed, casual, familiar) way of saying "you". Many of us know the phrase "Je t'aime." (I love you). Ever wonder what the "t'" is for? It stands for "tu".
If you are doing an Alternate Universe fic, as this one is, and you have Francis and Arthur meeting for the first time, as they are in this chapter, than using vous (as has been done) is appropriate. But once they become acquainted with each other you should immediate switch to "tu". That being said, when translating sentences (which you SHOULD NOT be using Goggle Translate for; try how to sayin .com, french. about. com, yahoo ask or other translation forums) be sure to swap out "vous" for "tu" and add the appropriate verb conjugation. Ex. Vous êtes aller à la maison (you are going to the house)? Changes to: Tu es aller à la maison? OR make it reflexive: Es-tu aller à la maison?
XD To save your brain from exploding I won't go into reflexive verbs.
*Take the spaces out of the web addresses or just google them.
Sorry for the lecture...now to the story:
Arthur stared up the grand estate. It was one of the largest houses he had ever seen, and would certainly be the largest house he had ever had the privilege of entering. He followed Sir John inside.
Upon entering a formal dining room he was greeted by a dozen of other guests. Most were upperclassman like Gonson, working in the law or government.
Gonson gestured Arthur to sit down at one of the seats near the end of the table. Arthur obliged.
The men, and some women, sat at the long, rectangular table littered with fine silverware and crystal wine glasses. Most of the guests were chatting away about shopping, artwork and personal advancements and the hefty salaries that went with them.
Gonson stood, grabbing the attention of all those present. "Good afternoon gentlemen,"
Arthur quickly stared at his watch. Indeed it was the afternoon now, just a little past twelve.
"I would like to call this meeting of the Society for Reformation of Manners to start. First order of business is the raid on the Molly House on James Street. Three men were successfully caught and rightfully placed in the pillar."
The guests cheered and Arthur stared blankly at their satisfaction. He was no fan of the Molly Houses but was still rather cautious of this rambunctious group.
"We've also made some improvement on our push to destroy the gin market. Parliament is considering passing an act to tax the sale of gin."
The group cheered again and Arthur dared to wonder why. This was fairly common knowledge, he had found out days ago.
"Lastly," Gonson's voice became more direct and serious, "Our new young friend here has been robbed and I'd like to think a thief taker was behind it."
Arthur had thought the same thing, but now that someone had said it aloud he was doubting the idea. He stayed quiet and allowed the Justice of the Peace to continue.
"I saw the act myself. The man who robbed him looked an awful lot like one of Wild's men!"
One of the guests, an old man in his sixties jumped up, "Do you suppose Jonathan Wild is behind it!"
Another guest jumped up, "Are you sure? It could've been Hitchen!"
"Yes, yes." Gonson rubbed his chin, "I guess it could've been. Either one will do."
Arthur couldn't believe what he was hearing. Either one will do? It seemed as though his robbery was a convenience for this troupe to go thief-taker hunting. It didn't matter if they caught the right man so long as they caught the man they wanted. Arthur stood up,
"I'm sorry but –"
"But what?" Gonson looked at him.
Arthur could feel the sweat coming on again. He rubbed it off his thick eyebrows and held himself back from shaking.
Gonson repeated his question more sternly.
"N-nothing." Arthur sat back down. He wanted to protest but what could he say? Even more daunting was the fact that Gonson had seen him with gin. If a law were to be passed what would stop the Winchester Chairman from taxing him? Perhaps if Arthur stayed in their good grace he would be spared the taxes and would even gain considerable advancements in his career. He loathed the thought since he admired honesty but those who angered the high-ups tended to find themselves in places they'd rather not be. Like his father…
"Good," Gonson smiled, "We'll set out this evening to find the bastards and drag them to Newgate!"
Arthur released a heavy sigh as he exited the estate. He would head home and rest before meeting with his new "group of friends" at the rendezvous point.
"Oh! Excusé moi!" A rather enthusiastic voiced called out to him.
Arthur looked over and raised an eyebrow of intrigue. This robust young man came frolicking, yes frolicking, down the road waving wildly, two luggage bags in his hands, his long blond hair bouncing with each step.
When the young man, who could not have been much older than Arthur, stopped in front of him he panted momentarily catching his breath, then looked into Arthur's green eyes with his own shimmering blue ones.
"Pardon moi but…would you happen to know where a local inn is?"
Arthur's face twisted in disgust. He was French. Arthur, like many Englishman, hated the French. However, a tourist was a tourist and he was obligated to do something. He'd rather that something were to push the Frenchman off the London Bridge, or at least lose him there, but a little voice inside him told him that was impolite.
He sighed heavily, showing his distaste, "Very well."
"Excellente!" The Frenchman beamed with joy.
The only thing worse than that was –
"I'm Francis! Francis Bonnefoy! Comment vous appelez-vous?"
THAT. There was nothing worse than that. Arthur was rather reluctant to give his name. He didn't know much French but he knew enough to understand what the Frenchman had been asking. Instead of being rude he simply decided to ignore the question.
"Hey!" Francis frowned, "I asked a question. Did you ne comprenez-pas?"
Arthur glared, "Again with the French. You're in England. Speak English please."
Francis sadly shifted his gaze down, "Yes, I will try that."
"And for the record," Arthur added, "I understood quite well what you were asking. I simply chose not to answer."
"Why is that?"
"Because," Arthur looked away.
"Is it because you have an ugly name?"
Arthur looked back dumbfounded. "Excuse me?"
Francis laughed, "That is ok. Most Englishmen have ugly names, I understand."
Glaring hard the Brit spoke, "Arthur. My name is Arthur. You'll get no surname though."
"Ar-tur is fine."
Arthur gawked. He felt uneasy and insulted by the way Francis had said his name, "No, not 'artur', Arthur. With a "th" in there."
"But I don't say it that way."
"Well that's how it's pronounced so that's how it should be said."
"But I can't. We don't have that sound en français."
"Again with the French!" Arthur raised his voice in anger, "And what do you mean you don't have that sound? Don't you have T.H. in any of your words!"
"Many."
"Then how can you not say it!"
"Because," Francis started at him, "They are all silent. We pronounced the T but not the H. In bibliotheque, it's tech, not theck."
Arthur frowned at being lectured but at least Francis had made the effort to try to pronounce the 'th' when explaining his vocabulary.
The two stared at each other quietly for a moment before Francis inquired again about the inn.
"Oh, right." Arthur stuttered before collecting himself and leading the way. He had thought about taking the Frenchman to an inn on the other side of the borough he lived in, just to be as far away from the traveller as possible, but decided he was too tired to make the effort. The looming night ahead just made his day even worse.
The two reached the quiet inn, Francis talking the whole way. Arthur had learned a lot about this traveller, not that he cared to, while walking ahead of him. He was the son of a wealthy French aristocrat and had a particular love for French theatre. He was being financed by his father to go on a "grand tour" of Europe. Arthur wondered why he'd bother visiting England but didn't want to strike up another conversation so he dropped the issue in his mind.
"This is the inn." Arthur said plainly pointing to the building. It was neither run down, nor well kept. The look on Francis' face showed displeasure but also zeal. The expression said, 'this isn't what I'm accommodated to but I'm on an adventure and am willing to try anything!'
"Well, this is where we part ways." Arthur turned and quickly moved away.
"Merci Artur!" The voice shouted loudly, so all could hear.
Arthur cringed, not only did he shout in French, but he said his name wrong…again.
Arthur headed to a small church a few blocks away from Arthur's home. It was the meeting place of the Society for Reformation of Manners. He still felt extremely uncomfortable being with these people but he was too far involved to simply walk out.
When the last of the group had arrived they planned out their move. Charles Hitchen, one of the thief-takers they were targeting, was hiding out in a run-down building not too far away from where Arthur lived. The group decided to simply invade the place, but only after it was confirmed beyond a doubt that Hitchens was in the building at the moment they were set to walk in.
The informants returned with positive news. Not only was Hitchens in attendance but he was also rather intoxicated. This meant he wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight. The informant also delegated information about Hitchen being in the company of other men.
"So that damnable Upper City Marshal is also a sodomizer!" Gonson cried out. "I swear by God he'll hang for it!"
The Society gathered their weapons, some with pistols and others with swordcanes and Arthur with nothing at all – he had no money for such fancy tools, it was all directed towards his education and living costs. They marched down the streets, everyone before them moving out of the way. Gonson paraded in front with a torch lamp guiding the way. The leader pushed open the door and bellowed out, frightening all those inside,
"I hereby arrest Charles Hitchen on account of theft!"
Arthur looked around and noticed a shadowy figure taking off via the back of the building – which was now clearly identified as a brothel by all the half-naked prostitutes fleeing the scene.
"There!" He shouted and pointed to the disappearing man. Arthur was so caught up in the intensity of the moment that he hadn't even thought to why he pointed the escaping man out. As dodgy as the figure looked, Arthur did not feel like he was the one responsible for his stolen bread and gin.
He watched the Society members chase after the man. In their hast they knocked over the lamp and its glass case shattered after hitting the floor. The room was full of wooden furniture which was easily flammable and the first floor was beginning to smoke. Flames rushed up the side of tables and chairs and engulfed the room in a red-orange blaze.
Arthur fled to the front of the building and exited the main door. He turned to see window's breaking and people on the streets panicking. He too was in a panic, worrying that another great fire would dissolve the city once again.
People were rushing out of their homes and other buildings nearby with buckets of water and other liquids, hoping to tame the fire. Some liquids, those that were alcohol, made the flames worse, but water and urine were working to smother the intense inferno.
Arthur watched in horror as the dancing flames spread from building to building. It set itself upon a familiar structure, one that the Brit had seen recently. The inn!
Looking around at the crowd in front of the hostel he spotted the Frenchman, who seemed equally horrified.
Not knowing why, Arthur made his way over. It was in times like these that being near someone, anyone, that you knew was comforting.
"Artur!" The Frenchman noticed the Brit out of the corner of his eye, "My things are inside there! They are burning!"
Francis looked greatly distressed and Arthur found himself feeling rather guilty. He dared not to speak a word but watched as the conflagration enveloped the entire building. By the time the newly invented fire cart arrived, the inn, brothel and two other buildings were nearly reduced to ash.
The Frenchman sat on the curb, looking disappointed and lost. He stared with dead eyes at the cobble street before him.
"Francis?" Arthur watched him.
"What do I do, Artur?" France questioned, continuing his wounded gape.
Normally Arthur would be livid at the mispronunciation of his name, again, but he found himself more sympathetic. He hadn't the slightest clue what would make him respond this way but…he found himself suggestion the most uncharacteristic idea of his life. "I suppose you could stay with me…"
It was absolute madness, but that didn't seem to stop Francis from leaping with joy and embracing the Brit.
Arthur quickly looked around to make sure none of the Society members were present, lest they assume incorrectly about the nature of the hug. He frowned inside feeling like somehow this would lead him down a terrible path.
End Note: I don't normally pressure for reviews, but it'd be nice if you'd leave one. As fellow authors I'm sure you know all about the time and effort one puts into their stories and how much a review (no matter how simple it is) means. So please review…it's be nice if you did.