Chapter Seven: Caught!
Note: I found the French Ambassador's name in an 18th century cookbook of all places. LOL!
A/N: I thought I'd make a note since FrUk27 brought it up, but sodomy in France at the time was a serious crime and not tolerated. You have to remember France was heavily Catholic in the 18th century and homosexuality is against the teachings of the Catholic Church. Homosexuals were treaty poorly and if caught were burned at the stake. The last record we have of this happening is in 1750. It wasn't until the French Revolution in 1791 that homosexuality was decriminalized. They still, however, were hastled by the masses for "improper behaviour in public".
The next day Arthur wandered the streets of London alone. He had successfully convinced Francis to see the French ambassador and the two were going to have an early supper together. Francis chatted excitedly to the Brit that the ambassador had invited Voltaire to join them. He walked the Frenchman over; who was dressed up in the frilly blue outfit Arthur had first met him in, before departing on his aimless walk.
That very morning Arthur had received his own dose of exciting news. He had finally been accepted to practice under Samuel Barlow, a high-priced lawyer and friend of Gonson. The Brit was convinced that his association with the Society was paying off.
As he travelled the streets of London he crossed many locations he had taken Francis to on the first full day they spent together; The London Bridge, the Square where they watched the Punch and Judy show and the intellectual restaurant. He stopped when he crossed paths with The Wax Work shop.
Opening the door, Arthur scuttled inside shutting the door promptly behind him. He turned round to see all the displays. He noticed on in particular on the windowsill. It was a clay demonstration of the Jonathan Wild hanging. The scene gave Arthur butterflies. He remembered how Jackson Parley had happened upon Francis and himself, worrying the Brit that the young brown-eyed man may suspect something; if not sodomy than surely something else. Collaborating with the enemy maybe? Disturbing the King's Peace? High treason?
He walked away from the set up wanting to take his mind off those grand assumptions. Wandering towards the back wall he found the presentation of Joan of Arc. He reflected on how casual Francis had been on the subject. It bothered him to think the English were paying greater respects to this woman than her own people.
Sighing, he turned on his heels and left the store, heading back towards his dwelling. He concluded the best thing for him to do this afternoon, with the absence of Francis, was to study and prepare himself for his first week as a law intern. Making a sharp left, he headed down one of the many alleyways wanting to get home quicker using the shortcuts.
Upon making another sharp turn, to the right this time, he crashed into a tall figure in front of him. Arthur toppled over, landing on his buttocks. He gritted his teeth, slightly annoyed, and stood up brushing off his pants.
"Pardon me, sir." Arthur vented, "Do you think you could be a little more aware of where you're going?"
"Oh, sorry about that boy."
"Yes well, do be more considerate next time." The Brit shrugged. He moved to pass the man when the black hood that covered the person's face was pulled back.
Arthur stood, frozen in place. It was the man who'd robbed him!
"You!" Arthur spat out angrily, "You stole from me!"
The man grabbed the blonde's wrist, "The boss would like to see you. He's got something he wants you to do for him."
Arthur twisted his face, slightly terrified. Who was this mysterious person that wanted to see him?
The draped man dragged Arthur through the alleyways until they came upon a wooden door. This particular alleyway seemed troubling to Arthur. It smelled like urine and had rats poking out of garbage piles.
The cloaked man knocked on the door, informing those inside that his "special delivery" was here.
"Good." The door swung open to reveal the face of a moderate looking middle-aged man.
"Hitchen!" Arthur hissed. He knew this face well; it was of the other known thief-taker who also held a considerable position of authority.
"Ah," Charles Hitchen stepped aside allowing the mysterious henchman to pull Arthur inside, "How good of you to join us, chum."
Arthur barked back, "I'm not your chum! What do you want with me!"
Hitchen closed the door and sat down on a wooden chair in the room. It was mostly pitch black with nothing more than a fire place in the wall to keep it lit. On the other side of the room was a wooden bench with three other cloaked men sitting on it. Arthur could see the face of one of them; he had no teeth and it made the Brit shudder.
"I've been keeping watch of you." Hitchen spoke up, "You have company with you. French company."
Arthur stood stiff. These people knew about Francis. Did they also know he was a member of the Society for Reformation of Manners? Was this some sort of ploy to take vengeance on the Society or on the criminal justice system as a whole?
Arthur repeated himself more strictly, "Why am I here?"
"Because," Hitchen sliced off a piece of apple, taking a bite then swallowing, "I've decided to do some recruiting. I figured you'd be a good person. I saw you chase after Wild – you're clever and fast."
The Londoner chuckled, "What makes you think I'd willingly work for you?"
It was Hitchen's turn to laugh, "Who said anything about willingly?"
Arthur narrowed his brows, "What are you getting at?"
The man in his thirties with some facial hair, the starting of a beard, leaned forward, "I've seen you with that Frenchman. The two of you are together nearly all the time."
"So?" The Brit failed to see the point.
"I saw him kiss you. My employees have seen it too."
Arthur's eyes shot wide open. His worst nightmare had been realized. He made a desperate attempt to foil them, "Oh really? You don't honestly think you're going to hold me down with that! You're a known thief-taker and liar! Even if you do tell everyone who's going to believe you?"
"How about your neighbours?"
Arthur's bold look turned to a frightened one. If Hitchen had others willing to testify who had no connections to him whatsoever he might make others wonder. It was still risky though so the Brit pressed on.
"Everyone knows my neighbours are idiots. No one will believe them!"
"So you wouldn't mind if I had him sent away as a spy?"
"But he's not!" The prisoner blurted out, "He's not guilty of any crime!"
"Except sodomy." Hitchen corrected him.
Arthur frowned, looking to the floor. Hitchen was a clever man, even worse he was a desperate one. Those two qualities together were a bad combination.
"I just want you to do me a few favours. After that I'll let you go; you and the Frenchman."
The Brit looked up, "What favour?"
)()()()()()()(
Arthur entered the street keeping his eye in dead contact with the little linen store on the corner. The area was a secluded one where not many shops were set up. He passed under a bridge that tunneled directly in the middle of a building. He marched up the slope, crossed a small open space, and clutched at the handle on the door.
The building was small and neat. It could easily have passed off for a tiny, one-room cottage in the countryside. He pulled the knob and entered the establishment.
Inside was a plump old woman placing linen into a fine, chestnut box. She stacked the box on one of the shelves behind her before greeting Arthur with a friendly smile. The kind act made the Brit's stomach turn, knowing he was about to ruin her day.
"M-madam…I don't…suppose," Arthur stuttered, biting his lip, "I don't suppose you have any fine cloth from Italy, do you?"
"Why, yes, I do." The old, gray haired woman turned around, reaching for a dark, wooden box on her shelf. Putting the box on the table and pulling out a cherry red satin cloth she asked, "What's the special occasion, dear?"
"Oh," Arthur swallowed his contempt for his deceit, "I'm getting married. I'd like to present my fiancée with a luxurious gift."
The old lady beamed with enthusiasm, "How wonderful! Congratulations! I'm certain she'll love it."
The Brit put on a fake smile as the lady discussed all the details of the cloth; everything from the manufacturer to the price – 50 pounds, beyond Arthur's budget. His stomach stirred reflecting on Hitchen's demand. Arthur was to steal expensive lace from the old lady and bring it back to Hitchen who would then return the box for a reward. That was how this lucrative business was done. Even more disturbing was the realization that when Hitchen had no further use for Arthur he'd simply sell him out. The thought made Arthur want to ignore Hitchen's threats, but an even more pressing matter was eating him – Hitchen could put the idea out that Francis was a spy. Even though he had no proof the French were deemed suspicious and people would easily buy the accusation.
"Will you be buying this, sir?" The old lady's voice interrupted his thoughts.
Before Arthur could respond the door flung open and two flashy looking men entered the business.
Arthur gawked at one of them, "F-Francis!"
Francis smiled with excitement, "Artur!"
"W-what are you…doing here?" The Brit was stunned. He looked to the man behind the Frenchman, assuming it to be the French ambassador or Voltaire.
"I'm here looking at lace. It seems you are doing the same." The Parisian looked at the lace on the table. He frowned and looked back, "Are you sure about that choice?"
"Uh…I…haven't decided." Arthur chocked on his words. He was so dazed by the run-in that he failed to notice Francis had reverted to calling him 'Artur' instead of 'Arthur'.
"What's wrong with this choice? It's exceptionale."
Francis looked back at his company. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped and looked back at Arthur, "Oh! Artur! This is the French ambassador, Duc D'Aumont."
Arthur nodded, "Pleasure."
The ambassador gave a light laugh, "Non, the pleasure is mine. I have heard much about you."
The Brit blushed wondering what Francis told him.
"Would you like me to help you buy that?" Francis spoke up, catching Arthur attention.
The old woman interrupted, "Why would he have you do that? It's a gift for his wife-to-be, you see."
"Wife?" The Parisian raised a brow.
"Never mind," Arthur shrugged, "I'm no longer interested."
The Londoner left the shop listening to the old lady blame the two Frenchman for the loss of a customer. He laughed to himself thinking that she should instead be thanking them. He couldn't bring himself to steal, but he couldn't watch Francis be dragged into court and threatened for no reason. He knew what he had to do.
)()()()()()()(
Arthur sat on his bed awaiting his roommates return. When the door knob turned and the Frenchman entered he took a deep breath preparing to confess.
"Arthur," Francis said, closing the door behind him, "What was wrong with you today? Since when do you have a fiancée?"
"I don't." Arthur answered.
"I know," Francis looked at him, "That's why I pointed it out. Why did you lie to that old lady? What were you doing?"
"I…" Arthur was struggling to find the words. He wanted to blurt it all out and cry in Francis' arms. What a fool he was for agreeing to such a stupid idea. Yet, he was fearful of the bad things that could happen to both him and his friend if he didn't.
Francis walked over to him and stood in front. He placed a hand on the Brit's head and drew him into his torso. Stroking his rough, blonde hair he whispered, "You can tell me, mon cher. What happened to you?"
Arthur couldn't bear to look the Frenchman in the eye. Hesitantly he said, "The day I met you…I was robbed by someone."
Francis pushed him back slightly, cupping the Londoner's face while lifting it, "You were robbed? By who?"
Arthur pulled the Parisian's hands off his face, looking into his concerned blue eyes, "The robbery isn't important. What's important is that he's come back and his boss is trying to use me for his own gain."
"His boss?"
"Hitchen. He's a thief-taker like Wild." Arthur folded his hands in his lap, waiting for the onslaught of questions.
"What do you mean he's like Wild? How is he using you? Why did you agree? What were you supposed to do? How long do you plan on doing this for?"
"Just breathe for a second and I'll tell you," Arthur glared. He originally intended to keep it all secret but when Francis walked into the linen store he knew the gig was up. There was really no point in holding back, "Hitchen has been spying on us. He thinks we're romantically involved so he wants to use that as blackmail to force me to work for him. I think he may also have intentions of counter-spying on the Society, who has been trying to convict him for some time."
Francis frowned, "thinks?"
"He says he saw us kissing."
The Parisian looked gloomy. He wasn't requesting information on why Hitchen's had made a bold assumption about their relationship. His question was more of a rhetorical one. He was disappointed that Arthur would use that word, as if to suggest they weren't romantically involved, as Francis had thought they now were.
Arthur continued with his explanation, "He wanted me to rob that woman of her finest silk and give it to him to fetch the reward she was certain to give."
"He would've snitched on you."
"I know," Arthur exhaled heavily, "It's good you showed up. I almost went through with it. But still,"
Francis stared, a raw feeling in his gut.
"You have to leave; London at least. No questions this time! Now that I've aborted the heist he'll be after me and he's threatened to make you look like a spy for the French!"
"That's silly, the ambassador will surely-"
"The ambassador is French too! He can't do anything to protect your name!" Arthur jumped up frantically and grabbed his only suitcase opening it up. He ran into the bathroom/wardrobe room and grabbed a handful of cloths, running back he pushed them into the luggage.
"Uh, Arthur…" Francis watched as the Brit ran back and forth, packing cloths into the leather bag.
The Londoner continued to race back and forth, pushing shirts, pants, and other articles of clothing into the suitcase. He only stopped when Francis grabbed his arm.
"Arthur, stop!" The Frenchman held the Brit in place, staring him dead in the eye. When Arthur looked calmer Francis spoke, "Those are your cloths, Arthur."
The Brit slowly spun around to see the sartorial in the suitcase. It was indeed all his. All of Francis' clothing had been burnt at the inn. The Frenchman only had a few pieces that he bought afterwards; most what he wore was borrowed. Arthur moved back to the bed, falling on it, dazed.
"I'm sorry…" He looked down at the floor beneath him.
Francis grabbed the Brit's chin and lifted his face up to his.
"I don't want you to talk about leaving again," He narrowed his eyes, staring coldly at the Englishman, "Never again. Do you understand?"
Arthur froze up. He had never seen Francis so angry before. Trying not to shake he nodded.
Hmmm...does this chapter feel a bit rushed to anyone...or is it just me? Anyway, things are starting to get good now! The next chapter should be up by the weekend.