Crossings by A.J.B. Johnston

Author:A.J.B. Johnston [Johnston, A.J.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cape Breton University Press
Published: 2015-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

VIII

Encore

London – April 1739

Thomas takes in a shallow breath the instant he sees the seal embedded in the hardened red wax. He knows it well. It is the seal of the magistrate judge from his old job in Paris. Thomas does not delay. He had all but given up hope of a reply, for it has been several months. To his desk he goes for his opener.

Oh, this is good. Not great, but adequate. The judge still remembers him and has offered a position. Not at the level Thomas once occupied, but two levels down. He would be a simple commis again, like he was years ago. That makes him bite his lip, but still, he has to be reasonable. It is better than anything London has offered him. He will just have to impress and begin the climb all over again. Thirty-nine is old, but it’s not in the grave.

Still, it would be hasty to agree straight away. He should at least think it over. Measure twice and all that. True, judging by the grin he can feel on his face it seems the matter is already settled, but there might be some angle he is overlooking. He needs to take a bit of time to assess and reflect. Which means he needs to walk.

The letter goes in the right-hand pocket of his coat as he hurries to lock the door and clip down the stairs. He would not mind telling anyone in the building about the offer he has received, because they would like to know. They would want to be happy for him, whatever his final decision is, if they would only hear his clomp on the stairs and come out to ask what is going on.

But no one appears at any door, and a pity it is. They are in the dark as to how fortune’s wheel has finally turned for their neighbour.

The first soul Thomas eventually meets is a long-faced man, a bricklayer by trade it appears. He crosses paths with Thomas as they both turn the corner onto Hedge Lane. The brickie gives Thomas a sour look, which makes the new Paris commis doff his hat. It is sad to see anyone in such a glum mood on a day like this.

London’s streets are as busy as they always are, but there is no one Thomas sees who would not think it strange for him stop and chat, and hear him say, “Oh, by the way,” as he pulls out the letter he has received.

So where to go and who to impress?

He has to shake his head. Coyness does not suit him much. He knows very well where he should go and whom he would dearly like to impress.

Thomas does not lift the brass knocker. He does not even climb the two stone steps. Instead, he stays out on the cobbles in front of No. 5. It has been months since he made his last trek to this address, and years since he called this building home.

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