Welcome to Bow Street

[Connor O'Flanaghan]

When you saw all of your things packed up in boxes you had to realize how little you really owned. Everything that Connor brought with him that morning was still in its boxes and he was amazed as he came back up into the room that was going to be his quarters at how few of them there were. He was also amazed at how many stairs there were in the house. The servants had helped him heave all of them up to his room and dropped them on the floor in the middle. Now he had some haphazard oak boxes and the furnishings of the room that the Brintons provided. He sat on top of one of the boxes and looked around at it all.

Mr. Brinton had enough money to be able to give him a good place to live even if it was in a garret at the top of the house. It was a little bit cold right now and maybe just a little bit drafty, but there was a fire place where he could light something soon. He reminded himself to do that pretty quick since it was just going to get colder. There was a French paper on the walls even if they were sloping. He had a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a four poster bed. Of course there was a wash stand too, and a chair and desk. There was even another little table by his bed that had a candle on it.

It just seemed kind of small and sad to him to see his life all packed up in boxes in the middle of this strange room. Connor wasn't feeling sorry for himself, but he did feel a little uncertain and out of place. He didn’t want to unpack yet. Putting out his books and things would make this place home, and he wasn’t ready for it to be home yet. He missed his family home in Ulster and he even missed his little attic room in Covent Garden. Connor sat down on the chair by the desk and put his chin in his hands while he looked at the room. He was going to be very comfortable here. But it was going to take a while to get used to it.

He left his things where they were sitting and went down the stairs to the library, where Mr. Brinton already invited him to go any time and have free use of his books. It was next door to the school room. He took a quick peek inside there before going into the library. It was just a room with a slate blackboard behind a counter top and three chairs and desks. It looked bleak and dead…Connor’s mind starting turning it over in his head, how to brighten it up. He did have a few ideas…

He closed the schoolroom door and opened the oak engraved door that led to the library. Connor could smell the familiar and friendly scent of the old leather and paper and smiled as he relaxed. There were shelves of books that lined the walls and that made isles among the busts and works of art that stood on plinths in the room. The books were his instant friends. He walked toward the far end of the room and ran his fingers over the spines of the books as he went in a loving caress. Most of them had titles in Greek and Latin but low down on a shelf he saw a few in English. It seemed like Mr. Brinton liked novels too.

Connor walked around the corner of the book shelf near the end of the room and stopped suddenly when he almost walked into the chair that was there, he stumbled to catch his balance and he cleared his throat. Someone was sitting in the chair with their back to him. It was a girl, her hair and face were covered by a white mob cap. He put his hands together behind his back and bowed slightly even though her back was still to him. “Excuse me for intruding,” the fox haired Irishman said politely and he prepared to step out of the room.

[Abigail Brinton]

“Excuse me for intruding.”

He had startled her quite a bit, and she blushed and put the book down she had been reading. This, after all, was her father’s library, and it meant there were books there that most young women her age would not be touching, nor have the desire to touch. Abigail however, was not like most. She craved to learn, to see, to understand the world. She didn’t just accept facts. Usually, she wanted to have a good reason for why she was supposed to agree to something being common law. The green eyes held him with interest for a moment, temporarily forgetting the book however. He was attractive and obviously friendly, but why was he in her house?

“Tis nothing.” She said with a blush on her fair cheeks, and quickly rose to stash the book on geography away. “You are welcome to come in here as you wish.” The only logical answer in her head was that such a man must be a friend of her father’s. A thief would not have gone up to her and spoken so sweetly, (unless they were a very dull witted thief, and by the look in his eyes, he seemed the farthest thing from dull witted,) or so politely, and she curtseyed a little and said, “My name is Miss Abigail Brinton. I am Richard Brinton’s daughter. And who might you be?”

With everything she was, she tried to cover her slip up of having read such a book. Family pressures were great on her, being the eldest, (or second eldest really, but that was a long story, and Abigail did not want to get into that,) and was expected to carry on a good example for Catherine and Benjamin. Personally Abby felt her parents put too much stock in her – she did not think she was so very important, but obviously they did, so she tried her best to represent them in a good light.

“Is there something I can help you find?” She said, tipping her head curiously at him. “I assume you are an associate of my father’s…forgive me if your name slips my mind. I was by the fire and it was quite a distraction from my thinking clearly.” She explained, nodding to the dying embers that sat in the grate. Ah she loved nothing more than to curl up with a good book and read for hours with Maurice (her cat) on her lap. She was highly embarrassed to have forgotten his name, but then perhaps he was a newer associate, and it wasn’t her fault? She did not know.