Thread: A Victorian Tale... Innocence Corrupted (Silvamoon and ThomasWaller)

Oh, theyve money a'right. Money but no depth if you get my meanin. Didnt my granddad and his work in the same bog, sweatin and cursin side by side, just as common as you and I... And now the airs and la-ti-dahs... turns milk to cider it does. The elderly patron of the Caldwell Arms, signaled for another pint and continued his oration on the merits and faults of the Barlowe family. Well, Ill take his money for service anytime. It pays for the pints in your belly and the tobacco in your pipe John Davies. The younger man smiled impishly as he spoke, knowing that this would incite the old one to rail even more vehemently on his favourite topic. Im saying and Im saying for all to hear, that Henry Barlowe is as low as I am. I dont begrudge him his success, true as God I dont. But hes no need to primp, preen and pose about Grandgate the way he do. He owns half the town true... but hes not the Lord Mayor... silk purse, sows ear...silk purse sows ear. He tapped the tobacco out of his pipe on the heel of his shoe, pausing for effect. The six or seven locals in the Arms nodded and chuckled, John Davies was off on one of his rants. He pursued his standard topic the berating of his employer. What particularly irked the old man was the disparity between his own sad fortune and the wealth of his one-time neighbour. The locals indeed shared some of the mans green-eyed envy and relished the old mans tirades. He worked as servant in the Barlowe home and revealed deliciously intimate facts about the towns wealthiest citizen. And her... Shes worse. Kathleen Barlowe... Kathleen Tully as we all remember. Her dah was the town drunk and her mah... long gone... took off and left the slew of them to raise themselves... Common as dirt she is. You should hear her go on about marriage and contracts and family names, shes never content with their bags of money but aches for a title like a babe for a teat. Its her will be the death of 'enry Barlowe. Mark me if she is'nt. If I had to take her with the offer of all his coin, Id refuse flat out... true as God I would. The young man prodding and instigating took a large gulp of ale and asked. What of the daughter... What of Josie? John Davies held both hands high in the air, as if taking an oath. Now that girl can raise even my tired John Thomas, old as I am. Have you seen anything that fine in this town... honest now... be honest... as sweet as clover she is... How she comes from that shrew Kathleen Tully is a wonder indeed... miraculous. Wonderous as Bethlem. Youve hit on it now John, the younger man nodded. Josie Barlowe is the ultimate prize. A beauty and a bounty all wrapped in one dick-raising package. He stood and held his tankard in the air. To Josie Barlowe... Let her pick the haystack and Ill be there day or night. The patrons stood in mock seriousness and jokingly drank the toast. Josie Barlowe. Now, Timothy. You aught not poke fun. Shes as gentle and shy as a lamb with a good word for everyone. Shed turn red as blood to hear herself toasted in a common ale house. All in good fun, John...all in good fun. Its not poking fun that interests me, theres another kind of poking that Im saving for Josie Barlowe.The crowd laughed heartily at the jest. Unnoticed by all of them however was a tall dark haired stranger, eating in the shadows of the stairwell. He was dressed in leather riding boots and a great coat, obviously apart from the gang of locals, in both mood and station. The patrons giggled and carried on to the exchange between Timothy and ole John. This man, however, listened differently, intently, broodingly. Wesley Smithers began to scheme as was his want. It was not so much a plan as a string of potentialities. Perhaps his visit to the small Wessex town might prove even more profitable than he had hoped. Then, as if to an imaginary partner he raised his tankard and drank to Grandgate. Grandgate, he muttered.