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Chapter Three
After the loudness and busyness of London, the countryside seemed dreadfully dull and ill-suited. But then, everything was ill-suited to Reginald. Even his short stay in gaol hadn’t been as uncomfortable as the beautiful, polished carriage he now shared with his own father. Reginald turned his head towards the window, watching as the sunlight danced on the lake which followed alongside the road. If he could manage to ignore the sweeping grasses and the fallen leaves, he could almost pretend that it was the Thames, slicing through the heart of London.
He could almost imagine the docks, where the poorer families did their work and lived in small, cramped houses. He could almost imagine the fishermen preparing their boats in the early morning hours. Then, his father cleared his throat, and Reginald was forced to admit that he wasn’t in London at all.
“Are you quite certain that your associates deserved to be likewise freed from gaol?” his father asked. “Their lot isn’t like you. They don’t come from your lofty lineage.”
That handful of words were enough to make Reginald wish that he’d never agreed to leave with his father. Admittedly, it wasn’t as if he had been given a choice, and yes, he knew that he ought to be grateful. Most men weren’t so easily freed from prison, especially with his impressive amount of charges.
But really, I’ve just traded one cage for another.
“My associates were good men,” Reginald said evenly.
That was, except for Isaac who’d betrayed them, but Reginald had accepted that there was nothing he could do about that. Still, the others—Charles and Edward—were loyal and compassionate. If there were any faults in either man, it was that they’d simply been born with fewer chances than they truly deserved. They were desperate.
At least, he’d been able to convince his father to free both men, as a condition to his freedom. That had been the last good thing Reginald had been able to do for them. What would become of them now, with him gone? He’d always been the leader in their operations.
“I see,” his father said. “Well, I—ah, hope it’s not a decision you regret. I don’t know that I saw much good in them, but if you believe there was some, I suppose I can still sleep at night knowing that I’ve let two criminals loose on London’s streets.”
“And why do you think men turn to crime, Father?” Reginald asked, his temper beginning to fray.
His father waved a dismissive hand, as if the question was the most obvious one in the world. Maybe to him it was. Once, it might’ve been to Reginald, too. Now, Reginald had people he cared about, people who deserved every comfort in the world, and now, they would only struggle all the more without his aid. They depended on him!
“I think some men enjoy causing misfortune to others,” his father replied. “That’s a good deal of crime, I think. Laziness is a part of it, too. People do not wish to work for their livelihood and to earn a good, honest living. You know that as well as I. There are the poor who are deserving, those who we want to be our tenants. And then, there are another class of people, who commit crimes and other foul deeds.”
“And what does that make us, Father?” Reginald asked. “Are we any better than those criminals if we turn a blind eye to the people who are suffering?”
“We don’t turn a blind eye to it,” his father replied, sounding hurt. “Don’t we give to charity? Don’t we also support social programs throughout Britain? Education, for one?”
Why does he believe that’s enough?
In his heart, Reginald already knew why. His father had never really understood the working man. No one in thetondid. They’d never been forced into poverty, never had to choose between their morals and survival. Reginald had.
Reginald dug his nails into the palms of his hands. He knew that he was in the right, but he wasn’t sure how to argue his point and make his father understand. The man was stubborn, and the situation was already uncomfortable enough.
“I think you’ve been away from your home for far too long,” his father said. “You’ve forgotten how things ought to be, but you can remember. You can learn again.”
“Maybe I don’t want to learn again,” Reginald said quietly. “Maybe thetonis wrong, and we are wrong.”
His father laughed nervously. Had he always done that? Reginald couldn’t recall, and he didn’t really care to linger much over his past, anyway. If he thought of his past, he’d inevitably think of the night he’d fled, meaning never to return. And he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough yet to face that night. Maybe he never would be.
“Once we’re returned home, I’ll send for the tailor,” his father said, “with all haste. We can find you some more suitable clothing, befitting of your position. You don’t have to wear that anymore, and then, I think you’ll feel more like my son. The Marquess of Hurrow.”
Reginald tilted his head back against the seat cushion. “What is wrong with my clothing?”
His father smiled, and a small, wavering laugh tore from his lips. “Why, your clothing looks better suited to a clerk than to a gentleman. I can imagine that you want to be rid of it.”
“Are you implying, Father, that there is something disgraceful in the way which clerks dress?” Reginald asked, keeping his gaze on the countryside outside the window.
This wasn’t going to work. Already, he was frustrated with how much his father just didn’t seem to understand about the world outside thetonand their grand estates.
“Why, nothing,” the Duke replied, “but they are clerks. They aren’t like you.”
Reginald let out a low breath of air. “I know a clerk who lives on Lant Street. He walks five miles to his employer every day, and he works from nine o’clock to ten in the evening. Then, he returns home to his wife. Her name is Emma Smythe. His name is Matthew. They have a little girl named Helen and another little girl, who is their niece Elizabeth. Matthew’s sister died of consumption, you see. She followed her husband.”
“A tragic situation, certainly.”
Reginald nodded. “And do you know how much Mr. Smythe makes a week? Fifteen shillings. His wife earns four shillings working for a seamstress, sewing silk stockings. Do you think that meager salary is just compensation for such good people who work so hard? Is the world just, when I would’ve earned four times that amount just from robbing you?”
