Page 46 of Lady Charlotte and the Lending Library
When she entered the room with her friends and the clerk, she saw a large man with black hair beginning to gray at the temples standing behind an equally large oak desk.
“Please have a seat, ladies,” Mr. Jacobsen said, nodding to his clerk who proceeded to back from the room and close the door behind him.
There were four hard-backed chairs in the room. The room smelled of cigar smoke, and eyes watering, Charlotte took a seat in front of the desk, Edith and Louisa behind her.
Once she and her friends were comfortable, Mr. Jacobsen was seated behind his desk.
“How may I be of service?” His voice was pleasant enough, his drawn brows betraying his confusion at the visit.
“I will not introduce myself, Mr. Landry. Suffice it to say, my companions and I are friends of Mr. and Mrs. Thorne, the proprietors of Thorne’s Lending Library.” Her voice wavered only the slightest. “We have come here to ask you to have Mr. Landry cease his efforts to put the library out of business.”
“And why would I do that, my lady?” the man asked gently, a faintly patronizing smile playing about his lips.
She supposed Mr. Jacobsen assumed she was a lady by her dress and manner of speaking. At least she’d had the good sense not to tell him who she was. Charlotte stared at the man a moment while he stared back, unblinking.
Louisa said into the silence, “If your friend Mr. Landry wishes to ingratiate himself to the upper classes, putting our beloved library out of business is not a good place to start.”
Charlotte winced. She had hoped to keep the conversation positive.
Jacobsen gave a mirthless laugh. “And how should he ingratiate himself, my lady? By bowing and scraping to you? By allowing you to dictate how he and I do business?”
There again was silence in the room. She was surprised that Louisa held her tongue.
“There have been dead animals left outside the library,” Charlotte replied evenly. “Men loiter inside and outside the shop to intimidate the Thornes and their patrons. A man of honor would not employ such despicable business tactics.”
The landlord replied sternly, “You have no experience in these matters, my lady. Return home and see to your needlework.”
“We won’t let you or Mr. Landry put Thorne’s out of business.” Once the words were out, she realized how ridiculous they sounded. She heard Edith groan softly. “We will find a way to stop you.”
Mr. Jacobsen got to his feet, walked around the edge of his desk, and opened the door to his office. He turned to face her and said in a steely voice, “You shouldn’t have come here. My business dealings are none of your concern.”
She and her friends trouped past him on the way out of the room, their heads held high. It wasn’t until they were on the pavement outside that she realized Mr. Jacobsen’s clerk had followed them if only to make sure they left his premises.
As they were entering the hackney coach, Edith asked wearily, “What were you thinking, Charlotte?”
* * * * *
Ashford took it upon himself to speak to the night watchmen that evening.
A beadle oversaw the watchmen and was responsible for ensuring they were on duty at the appointed time and reporting any trouble in the district to the churchwardens. There was usually only one beadle on duty at a time.
The watchhouse was the headquarters from which the watchmen operated. It was where their equipment was stored, and the larger watchhouses would double as a gaol if someone were held for questioning. A watch book was also kept at each watchhouse, in which the watchmen kept a record of their shifts.
He eventually found the watchhouse by asking a tavern owner for directions. The beadle in charge that day was rather cautious about assisting Ashford. The man stood straight as a board, cane in one hand. He was obviously a military man.
Ashford made a stab in the dark. “You were in a regiment of foot.”
“Aye, my lord,” the beadle replied proudly. “The 3rd Regiment.”
He whistled and replied, “The Old Buffs. Your regiment saw some of the bloodiest battles on the Continent.”
“That we did.” The beadle nodded his head, his expression relaxing into a friendlier countenance. “Thorne’s Lending Library, you said? That would be the territory of Potts and Hobbs.”
“Yes, Thorne’s. The library is in Berkeley Square.”
The man jerked his head. “The pair are over there, just leaving the watchhouse for their shift. Potts was also in the 3rd. If possible, I try to give jobs to former servicemen.”
“That is very admirable,” Ashford replied with sincerity and took his leave of the man.
