The Good Thief

Rowland Parker arrives, uninvited, at the Ainstock Christmas dinner. Lord Wilchester’s second son isn’t exactly adored by Lord and Lady Ainstock, but it doesn’t have the whiff of a Shakespearean tragedy about it. True, Lord Wilchester still felt aggrieved by losing his coveted EID MAR Roman coin to Lord Ainstock in a card game fifteen years ago, but that’s as far as it went. They were made of better stuff than Italian nobility and declined to try to kill each other for sport or vengeance.

“Freddy couldn’t make it. Did his ankle on a morning ramble, the clumsy blighter. Thought I’d pop ‘round and deliver the news in person.” Rowland speaks in an easy manner that Lady Ainstock doesn’t like. He’s overly familiar, she judges, too at ease with her and her daughter, Beryl. That he wants to marry her daughter further deepens the ill will Lady Ainstock has towards the youngster.

“Won’t you stay for dinner? Take Frederick’s place and make a full table of it.” Beryl, immune to her mother’s glaring countenance, beat her mother to the punch, which always enlivened her.

Beryl may seem to be an unsympathetic character in this tale, but she has reasons to be as she is. While it’s true that she is now a thief, having stolen her father’s prized possession this very morning, she did it out of desperation. Her parents, while loving and caring for the most part, absolutely refuse to allow her to marry young Rowland. They prefer that she marry Frederick, he being the future lord of Wilchester.

It’s common knowledge that Frederick is a blister of the first order, much like Beryl’s older brother, Perry. Both run up astounding debts at the racetracks, drink away small fortunes, and carouse in London after hours, for months at a time. The Lords Wilchester and Ainstock can bear these expenses because they are obscenely rich. They allow such behavior because they were young once, and the sewing of wild oats, to them, is a God-given right for all first sons.

“Happy to, Berry,” Rowland says, using his pet name for Beryl solely for the purpose of antagonizing Lady Ainstock.

Beryl slips a coin into his hand. The coin. The future, for them.

Although Lady Ainstock doesn’t think much of Rowland, there is a strength in him that doesn’t allow for the Lady Ainstocks of the world to subdue him. His own father finds it impossible to make him settle into a decent profession. Rowland’s obsession with owning a ranch is tantamount to spitting on the family escutcheon, in Lord Wilchester’s opinion. He and Lady Ainstock has this in common, along with their desire to see Beryl marry Frederick.

The dinner is a subdued affair, as it always is during Christmas dinner. Lord Ainstock feels it his duty to invite his relatives to the feast, though he doesn’t like most of them. They are poorer than him, and, more importantly, none will ever be an earl. A couple of knights and a baronet grace his table, and he looks upon them with something approaching benevolent tolerance. He’s always willing to be benevolent to those he views as being beneath him, which is practically everyone in his sphere of acquaintance. Even Lord Wilchester, he feels, is below him because 1) his castle is bigger than Wilchester’s and 2) he has more money than Wilchester, despite Perry trying like the dickens to spend it all.

With dinner concluded, the older men retire to Lord Ainstock’s study for port and cigars, the younger men to the billiards room to bet on who could hit a ball in a hole better, and the women to the Large Parlor to drink tea and shred reputations. No one notices Beryl and Rowland slipping off to the greenhouse.

Beryl eyes the astoundingly valuable coin in Rowland’s hand. The plan was made months ago, and so far, everything is working a treat. They then spend the next several minutes holding hands, kissing, and whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears.

A beautiful scene, one might say. The beauty and tenderness of youth, its hopes and dreams awash in the moonlight, amid the greenery. But, like the first Paradise, a snake invariably creeps in to disrupt the glad tidings.

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Halston, the butler, hasn’t appeared yet, which is to his credit. All good butlers are not seen, but their presence felt. The port laid out, the cigars clipped and ready to light, plenty of matches and glasses.

But mention him now we must, for his actions are crucial to what happens. To wit, he retires to the Butler’s Room and proceeds, as per, to drink an admirable amount of wine. Halston’s love affair with wine can be seen by the colour of his nose. It has the deep, wine-hued tone of a Cabernet. His cheeks take on the shade of a cheeky Malbec, his ears the tint of  an expensive Beaujolais.

Halston, as is his wont, falls into a sleep that only a bottle of the Lord’s wine can produce. He snores, but otherwise, no sound or movement comes from his domain.

Beryl knows this to be Halston’s nightly routine. Rowland knows this because Beryl imparted this particular piece of information to him.

And now, to hide the coin. Again, we see Beryl’s mastery at work. The plan is cunning. It is perfect. Except for the snake.

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Two items of note before we continue:

1) Halston doesn’t like children, especially at this time of year where they seem to multiply and behave with even more heathenish characteristics than usual.

2) Children cannot delineate between intrinsic value and extrinsic worth.

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Rowland watches as some of the young men play billiards. He doesn’t take part in this because he has other plans to complete, the main one being oiling down the stairs and placing the EID MAR in Halston’s coin receptacle.

The task is laughably easy. Halston is ensconced in the arms of Morphia, the coin receptacle easily at hand. He places the coin beneath the plethora of pences and other coins of various denominations. He slides back upstairs and rejoins his comrades. Rowland smiles the smile of a man who has done his job for the night.

It was a little after midnight that Rowland retires to bed, sleeping soundly, until a frightful alarm is raised.

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Things now move swiftly. Lord Ainstock, amid wailing and gnashing of teeth, runs through the castle, bemoaning his missing coin.

His nightly routine never varies. After his third glass of port and second cigar, he ambles along to the family museum to view his coin. The museum houses many objects that are worth a pretty penny, but it’s the coin that he loves the most, having won it from the odious Lord Wilchester fifteen years ago. To him, it represents his superiority over the earl of Wilchester, cementing what he has always known in his heart.

But now – now! – the coin is missing. Halston was aroused, as were most other members of the staff. Lady Ainstock, her mind a steel trap, has one object in mind: searching the person and the room of Rowland Parker. Second son to Lord Wilchester or not, she will ensure that the boy will not leave the castle with the coin.

She is certain, you see, that he’s the culprit. It never occurs to her that her own flesh and blood would stoop to such a thing. That she is wrong can be forgiven, for who among us don’t think more highly of our children than we ought?

Rowland, though, still has a part to play in the drama. We will again see Beryl’s genius and Rowland’s stout heart at work.

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Every room is searched, but Rowland’s is a special case. By Lady Ainstock’s commands, he is ordered to remove every stitch of clothing he has on so that Halston can search them. Three footmen are going through his room as if they’re detectives on a big case. In the end, nothing more incriminating is found than a hip flask and a pair of American cowboy boots.

“I know you had a hand in this, young man. I’m never wrong about these things.” Lady Ainstock spits out the words through gritted teeth, yet Rowland remains at ease. Now for his second act.

“I didn’t take the blasted thing! Could have scarpered off with it ages ago, don’t you know.”

“Mummy! Leave the poor man alone. You found nothing,” Beryl entreats her mother, knowing her defense of Rowland will spur her on.

“Go to bed, Beryl. Now!” She points a finger down the hallway before turning a full glare to Rowland.

“I’ll find it, and when I do, your visits to this castle will come to an end. Beryl will marry your brother, and that’s final.”

Rowland scratches his jaw and shakes his head.

“You underestimate me, Lady Ainstock. As I said, I could have stolen the coin eons ago. And I would have had a duplicate made first, to put in its place. The earl would never know the difference. How’s that for cleverness!”

“Ha!” And with that, the chatelaine of Ainstock stomps away.

She is not defeated, but the idiot Rowland gives her an idea. Breathtaking and bold in nature, and absolutely the right way out of this mess. She smiles and goes to be, leaving a bereaved husband and sleepy staff in her wake. She has no idea that the idea of a duplicate coin was deliberately planted in her mind.

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The one thing that Beryl doesn’t account for is Halston’s dislike of children. No plan is perfect, but this one is about to go off the proverbial rails.

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Halston can already hear them. Why, he thinks, do their mothers allow them to run the halls as if they own the place? Whip the little blighters early in the morning is his advice, and they’ll behave until lunchtime, then whip them again. He groans, grabs a handful of coins from the receptacle, and strides out to the main hallway.

The kids congregate around him, yelling this and imploring that and wiping their hands on his trousers. He hands out coins to make them go away. They will now go to the village and buy sweets, giving him a few hours of respite.

And this is where the snake creeps in. A certain Clarissa eyes the three coins she has been given. A joey, a bob, and some ugly old coin that, she knows for certain, won’t buy anything at the village shops. She tosses the ugly coin in the fountain and runs to catch up with the others.

The snake, fate, has done its work. Beryl goes to retrieve the coin, finds it missing, and feels the world crashing in on her. Rowland, upon hearing the news from Beryl, sits on the edge of the fountain and shakes his head. The bells of doom ring in his head. He feels dizzy. He falls back.

Beryl tries to catch him, but she succeeds only is being pulled in as well, not letting go of her true love. The couple hold each other and commiserate on the evil that has befallen them, not caring that the water was freezing and unaware that they are inches away from their prize.

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The course of true love never does run smoothly. This one meanders for three months before righting itself. I mention this simply because it validates the strength of Beryl’s love for Rowland, and vice versa, for they never stop loving each other.

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Lady Ainstock has a replica of the EID MAR made. She rushes to her husband and claims to have found it underneath a suit of armor in the museum. Hallelujahs and Hosannahs reverberate through the castle. All is well, for God and the EID MAR are where they belong.

Beryl, three months after the tragedy of the lost coin, is sitting on the fountain’s border, idly swishing her hand through the water and devising various ways to avoid Frederick and her mother. A sigh escapes her lips, the sigh of a lover fighting against fate and family. Frederick as a husband is not going to happen, but permanent spinsterhood looms as a possibility.

“We can elope,” Rowland suggests.

Beryl shakes her head. “Not in the cards, dear. We wouldn’t have a groat to our names. And do we really want to listen to Dorset fisherwomen yelling obscenities and dodging sniffling kids on our way to whatever work we can find? I don’t think so. I wouldn’t mind being poor, but it would break my heart to see you slinging fish or vegetables or whatever gets slinged for a mere pittance.”

Rowan nods. The thought of the fair Beryl cutting up substandard vegetables for the weekly stew, all the while longing to bathe more than once a week, fills him with melancholy. Better to pine for a lost love than to subject them to a life of toil and misery.

“And to think, for want of £3000, we could have a ranch outside Ipswich. Plenty of water, good grass. Agh!”

Rowland’s despair is noted by Beryl, but barely, for she has spotted something glinting in the fountain’s water. Her heart stops, starts again, stumbles a few times, then takes off with a leap and a yell. The EID MAR is once again in her possession.

Rowland stares at it in a daze, the cows and the horses and the sweet grassland, disappearing before his eyes only a few seconds ago, now reappearing with vigor.

The happy – and fortunate – couple hold hands for some minutes, dreaming dreams that now appear possible.

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In due time, they marry, buy the ranch near Ipswich, have two boys and two girls, and proceed to live a quite ordinary but also remarkable life. Rowland continues to love his wife, despite (or because of) her brown skin, rough hands, and steely gaze as she peers across the horizon. Beryl likewise continues to love her husband, especially when he is astride a horse and herding cattle.

When they visit the castle, Lady Ainstock receives them both graciously, though she is still mystified as to how Rowland suddenly came up with £25,000. The kids run riot through the house and Halston, heavier and older and even less tolerant of kids, has plenty of coins to distribute to them. Lord Ainstock continues to marvel at his rare coin, and he still chuckles at the thought of the look on Lord Wilchester’s face when he laid down a straight flush against Wilchester’s four kings.

Frederick and Perry marry women of good stock and both men are mildly disappointed that their fathers continue to live, but such is the way of future earls.

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And, in a final twist that should round things out nicely, Lord Wilchester denied Frederick apartments in London because he had recently discovered a rare EID MAR coin for sale. He bought it for £37,500, and he reasoned that the young blighter could jolly well do without something expensive for once.