Deseret

Chapter 1

The carriage careened from one side of the brick pavement to the other of Saint James Street as it raced out of control. Sparks flew from the iron rims that covered the oak wheels as they slammed into the stone curbing. The four black carriage horses shook their heads wildly throwing white froth against the darkening sky; the driver’s reins hung perilously close to the hoofs of the lathered steeds.
Christopher Wolf, his body aching and covered with grime from toil, had just entered the crossroad on foot making his way home from the docks on the River Thames in London. His reaction came mostly by instinct. The burley dockworker’s body was trained by lifting cargo on ropes and pulleys from the pier to the decks and into the holds of the tall sailing vessels leaving London for all parts of the world. His eyes never moved to the frightened face of the carriage driver or to the panic on the faces of the finely dressed passengers. His eyes were fastened on the flopping reins; he saw them as loose ropes ready to send a cargo crashing to the deck and on his fellow stevedores. Every muscle tensed and his feet braced so as not to be pulled under the pounding hoofs or the carriage. His arm shot out with muscles rippling beneath the tight knit shirt. A jolt came with tremendous force dragging him alongside the carriage but he was prepared and retained his stance using his own body weight to counter the rush of the team. The lead horse felt the biting pain from the bit and turned his head trying to avoid it, pulling the bit of the other lead animal into play. The second horse threw his head up trying to get rid of the pressure of the reins, causing the brass bridle plate containing the silhouette of Westminster Cathedral to hit him between the eyes. The public carriage carrying passengers to the church for Sunday services came to an abrupt stop.
“God bless you, man, you saved our lives.” Christopher looked up into the pale face of the passenger, a gentleman who had spoken with a trembling voice. Even in the dim light Christopher could tell that the man was impeccably dressed in the highest fashions of 1830 London. The sleeves of his long black tailored frock coat showed a freshly starched white ruffle. His tall hat was made from beaver imported from the Americas. The ruffled collar of his shirt was slightly askew and beads of perspiration showed on his face. A tuft of blond hair stuck out from beneath his hat and Christopher could see that his eyes were blue in color.
Two other passengers were in the coach, another gentleman and his lady. The man’s clothing could not hide the rolls of fat flesh or the fact that he was sweating profusely. The woman had been arrayed in the finest Paris had to offer but now her carefully prepared tresses were in a frenzy, her lavender attire in chaos, her cosmetics running and her face showing pure panic. Christopher knew in normal circumstances these people and their coach and driver would have driven over him or splashed mud from the pavement on him while passing and have thought nothing of it.
“Just trying not to get hurt by stampeding horses, Governor,” he replied.
“Nevertheless,” the man replied in a trembling voice, while his two companions tried to put themselves into some kind of order, “take my card. You deserve a reward and I have some information that you might find useful. You will find me at the Lincoln’s Inn this evening.”
“Don’t need a reward,” Christopher answered, “I just did what needed to be done.”
“Pay the man off,” the woman said to her plump companion, “and have the driver take me back to our lodgings. Who could go to the Cathedral now? I’m feeling faint and I look a fright!” Her companion tossed a halfpence coin at Christopher that bounced on the pavement and rolled into the street and the driver, now in control of the horses, turned the horses’ heads to circle the carriage away.
Christopher picked up the card that had fallen from the carriage along with the coin.
“The Lincoln’s Inn off Newgate – tonight!” the other called out.
* * * *
Ann met him at the foot of the stairs to their flat. You could see her Irish breeding in the dark red hair, flashing green eyes, full red lips and lithe form. “Got a good dinner for us, I have,” she said laughing. “Mrs. Brown next door got a hen, fat one it was, and killed it. She said her husband does not like the neck, feet and drumsticks so she gave them to me. I made some meal dumplings and stewed them with the chicken and a few onions. Wash up and I’ll have a real Sunday supper ready.”
Most men did not work on the “Lord’s Day” but when a boat was in port it needed loading and Christopher was glad to get the extra pay. Things were hard at this time in London. The weather seemed to stay cold and damp and coal for the little fireplace in the flat was scarce. Ann and Christopher had married the previous spring and he had not realized that being a woman, she would need things he could get by without.
They had two attic rooms that had walls of dingy white plaster and dark oak beams. A window from each room looked out on the street where street lamps had already been lit. The only furniture was a bed, a table and two chairs but that was about all that the small space could hold. The heat and cooking came from the coal fire. Water had to be carried in by Ann from a public well two streets away and up the stairway. Outside the apartment the street was filled with thieves; even children would pick your pocket. Women sold their bodies for food; murder and rape were not unusual. Work was in short supply and Christopher had to take it whenever he could find it. He wanted to get Ann a warm coat and a second pair of shoes. She would be so pretty if he could dress her like that lady was dressed but Ann’s dress would be green not lavender. Oh, he would like to move her to the country where they could have a garden, green grass and woods to walk in, a warm cozy house to raise a family in! He dreaded the thought of having his children raised on the streets of London.
The chicken and dumplings were as Ann had described, hot and good. She had it poured out into two clay bowls. They had some biscuits and a tankard of ale to go with the meal. While they were eating, Christopher told her about his day, the cargo of tea, leather goods, and materials, going on the ship that was to be carried to the Americas and the incident with the carriage and horses. He tried to make it seem trivial but Ann wanted to know what the lady was wearing and laughed when he told her of the lady’s appearance after the carriage ride. When he told her about the man and the invitation to the Lincoln’s Inn she got excited.
“Do go, Chris!” She always called him by the shortened name when she wanted something. “You can never tell what fate has brought. The man might have a good job for you –
You saved his life and he may want to reward you handsomely.”
“All I did was stop the horses,” Christopher replied. “That hardly counts for saving someone’s life. The chap owes me nothing for that!”
“Well, the gentleman may feel differently about it,” she answered, her voice showing the excitement of the anticipated reward.
“Don’t know if I want to go to the Lincoln’s Inn.” he grinned. “There might be some ladies of the evening there that would tempt a gentleman like me – not that I would have the price they would ask, mind you!”
“How would you know what hangs out at the Lincoln’s?” she asked, pretending irritation.