Still frowning, Harding loosened his grip and chuckled uncertainly. "You mean you weren't going to kill yourself? I saw that the pistol was missing and assumed the worst. I did not see you in your room and feared you...
"Lud, no ! It is not even loaded. I was simple going to throw this blasted gun in the fire." Jack glared at the pistol in his hand. "If I can't melt the metal, I'll at least burn the handle until it's useless. I loathe the damned thing for all the trouble it's caused me."
Harding looked suspiciously at the fireplace. it did indeed roar with more life than was warranted on a warm summer evening. Then he looked at Jack, who merely arched a brow and gave him a crooked half- smile.
" Very well, Mr. Fairchild. I see your point. I wondered why it was so hot in here."
" Yes, I'm sweating like a bloody pig. Now remove your hand so I can finish this nasty business. I can't keep the pistol that killed my father, nor can I sell it to some poor unsuspecting chap who doesn't know what a curse it bears. If not for this weapon, Henry Fairchild would be around to take care of his own debts. I blame him, and this weapon, for the burdens I now carry, so let me find some peace at last."
When Harding let go, Jack threw the wooden and metal contraption in the fire, then dusted his hands, which trembled with the significance of the act. "At last I have some revenge against the fates that have contrived such an impossible future for me."
He learned his tall, languid body against the hearth and gazed fondly around his drawing room. " I shall miss this place very much, Harding. It's been a good life here in London."
Harding went very still, raising his nose in the air as if sniffing disaster. "You speak in the past tense, sir. I never like to hear you speaking of London in the past tense."
"The plans was already made, I fear. I've corresponded with Mr. Pedigree, an old family friend in Middledale who has retired. I've arranged to purchase his law Offices.He's going to let me use them on credit for a year."
"Middledale." Harding grimaced. " Why, that's in the Cotswold."
"Yes, it's rather picturesque there, I fancy"
"Picturesque ! You might as well move to the Scottish Moors! Do you know how far Middledale is from London ?"
" Yes, and I don't care. if I never come to town again I will be glad of it."
"You may not care, sir, but I most certainly do. You test the limits of my loyalty if you expect me to resign my life of pleasure here for the exasperation of country life."
" I don't expect you to come with me if you do not wish it Harding," Jack said , pushing off the hearth and going to the window, looking down at the moonlit street with a wistful sigh. "But if I don't want to starve, or end up in debtors prison, there is only one thing left for me to do ...Work for a living."
" As a solicitor?" Harding asked, growing pale even by the moonlight standards. "But then you'll be a man in trade, thrown out of the best clubs in Town."
" What choice do I have? if I stay here I'm sure to land in debtor's prison. If I lose myself in the country, I'll have at least a month, and maybe more, before Abbington can find me. I know the odds of paying off debts are against me, but would you rather I simple loll around and wait for an arrest warrant?"
"Earning money would be much more palatable if you were a barrister," Harding be moaned, wringing his hands. ''Then you would not be cast out from the good society. But no! you were so intent on charity cases to spend the required time eating with the benchers until you could be called to the bar. Now all you are is a lawyer , a solicitor who must hire barrister to plead your cases in court."
Jack turned from the window and with a neat twist his wrist straightened his starched, white cravat. "You make me sound like a blasted ragpicker, Harding. How can you possibly blame me for this predicament? I fully expected to be a wealthy baron, not a barrister. I did not know you'd take my plight so personally."
Harding's eyes simmered in a pool of regret. "I have stood by you, Mr. Fairchild, because I knew your potential. You have greatness in you. I might have been secretary to a government minister, you know. But I chose you, sir."
Jack swallowed hard, feeling the weight not only of his own future , but of Harding's as well. "Thank you, old boy. I know you've been loyal. I do not plan to let you down."
Hearing his own declaration, waves of cold and heat washed over him at once. He had to survive. And he would. His Fortune lay in Middledale, he was sure of it.
A few days later, when they already started off from london and when Middledale was less than a mile away, Harding tried once more to dissuade his employer from country life. However, this time his arguments were punctuated by his own grunts and groans whenever the swaying carriage hit a bump in the road and jarred his gout-swollen feet.
"it's not too late, sir," Harding said. " We can spend the night and turn back on the morrow." He pressed a kerchief to his florid brow and watched his elegant employer for the signs of weakness.
Jack merely turned the page of the book of the poems he was reading.
" If all you need is money, Mr. Fairchild, you could...ouch ! ...go to a money lender." After hitting a pothole, the carriage pitched left, then right. Harding heaved to and fro, while Jack causally shifted his weight.
"Go to a money lender?" Jack replied without looking up. "And watch a three thousand-pound debt multiply ten folds before I could pay back? No, thank you."