‘There are other ways to sort this out, Vennor. Meet me at the stables in half an hour. There is an errand that needs doing and I want you to come with me.’
* * *
Mr Burrows looked in the mirror as he straightened his waistcoat and necktie. He tilted his head, this way and that, to see if there was room for improvement. Deciding there was, he licked his fingers and raked them lightly through his hair with short jabs, finishing with gentle strokes on his moustache. Finally content with his appearance, he put on his bowler and manoeuvred it with the finest of precision, all the while ignoring the reflection of the unconscious woman in the bed behind him.
Outside, Mr Burrows saw that night had already fallen. Half the street remained in darkness, whilst the other half hissed with the sound of gaslights, their bright glow illuminating the cobbled street below. A man, carrying a ladder and lamp, passed him on his way to light the rest. Mr Burrows was about to leave, when he noticed his way was blocked. Two men, one young, the other in his early fifties, stood shoulder to shoulder glaring at him. Mr Burrows automatically reached for his pocketbook to ensure his money was safe.
‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will be on my way,’ he said, touching the brim of his bowler and attempting to sidestep them. The younger man was quicker and blocked his path again.
‘We want a word or, so help me, I will lay you out right here,’ warned the youth.
The threat would have been more ominous if they were not standing in a street full of witnesses. Mr Burrows looked at him with a haughty tilt of his chin, ready to scoff and put him in his place. Instead he saw the young man’s struggle to hold on to an immature temper. The lad really did want to beat him and he did not care who would see him do it. Mr Burrows’ mouth turned dry as his confidence drained away. Perhaps he had misjudged the danger he was in.
‘What do you want?’
It was the older man who replied. ‘We know who you are, Burrows, and the company you like to keep. If you value your reputation, you will do as we say.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ replied Mr Burrows, as he kept his eyes on the younger, more unpredictable one of the two.
‘Do you think Sir Robert, or any other family of consequence, would knowingly entrust their child’s care to a patron of a whoring establishment?’
So this is what the confrontation was about. Blackmail.
‘You want money to keep silent?’ He withdrew his pocketbook and took out some coins. The men, no doubt, wanted some money for a drink. This was a problem he could sort; after all he had done it before. ‘How much do you want?’ he asked, selecting a few coins.
The boy would have lunged at him, if the older man had not steadied his temper with a firm hold on his arm.
‘We don’t want your money,’ the older of the two replied calmly. ‘We want you to resign from your post and move away from here.’
Mr Burrows paused in his searching and looked up. His fingers curled round a coin. This was more serious than he first thought.
‘And why would I do as you say?’
‘It would be for the best,’ ground out the older man.
Mr Burrows’ eyes darted nervously from one to the other. He swallowed noisily. He had thought the younger one was the bigger threat, but there was something in the other man’s tone that carried a stark warning. Yet he did not want to leave his employment. The money was good and the position was envied. Their demands were ludicrous.
‘And what do you propose I say is the reason for my sudden departure?’ he challenged.
‘Family commitments have called you away and you do not intend returning. We do not care, as long as you leave.’
‘And what if I refuse? Will you set your mongrel on me?’ said Mr Burrows. He tried to laugh, but even to his own ears it sounded forced and pathetically dwindled away before it had begun.
‘Sordid stories sell newspapers, Mr Burrows. I’m sure I can find a newspaper editor who will be happy to hear your story. I can see the headline now. “Respectable tutor finds gratification between the sheets and legs of Cornwall’s finest whores.”’
For the first time, the younger man was forgotten as Mr Burrows turned his full attention to the older man. A weathered face looked back at him from the shadows of a wide brimmed hat. His straight, firm mouth did not invite further negotiation. This man meant every word he said and he was prepared to do anything to be rid of him. It was happening again and if an eager journalist delved further, it would not be long before his other sordid secrets were revealed. Mr Burrows paled at the thought.
‘Is there no other way? No agreement we can come to?’ The two men glared back at him. ‘I have no choice, do I?’
‘You have no choice,’ said the youth.
‘Then there is no more to be said. I will send a note to Sir Robert tonight and be gone by the morning. Now get out of my way. You have won and I hope you both rot in hell!’
Mr Burrows walked briskly to a waiting coach. He informed the driver of his address and climbed inside. He reached for a handkerchief and mopped his brow with a trembling hand, before resting his head back against his seat. Mr Burrows was not a brave man and the incident had shaken him. It had also changed everything.
He would have to leave Cornwall, he decided. The county was nothing more than a backwater, where life remained stagnant and nothing progressed. He would return to London. Yes, that is what he would do. He would seek his father’s help to obtain another position. He had helped once before, perhaps he would help again. Somewhere he could blend in and people did not give two curses for their neighbour’s troubles. Not like this provincial place, where curtains twitched and everyone was either related or knew one another. Where else would you have two labourers caring for the reputation of a man like Sir Robert? Mr Burrows frowned as he thought of the mounting difficulties in his future that needed to be overcome. Sir Robert, on the other hand, would remain oblivious to his hardship and continue to enjoy the comforts of his ostentatious house. He knew it would not take him long to employ another tutor for his pampered daughter. There were many who would clamber over bodies to obtain it. Mr Burrows’ dedication to his son would soon be forgotten. Well, perhaps he would leave a few chosen words for Sir Robert to ponder on. Why should he be the only one to suffer?
Mr Burrows craned his neck to watch the two men who had challenged him. They were walking back to the hole they had crawled out of with their heads bowed against the growingbreeze and their hands thrust deep in their pockets. As the coach passed them, they briefly lifted their heads and noticed him sitting inside. He tilted his chin and looked the other way.
