EARLY 1800s

It was a brisk fall morning, and the weather was erring on the side of cold and unforgiving. Brand Charlton sat in his horse’s saddle and was swiftly exiting the stable as the wind started to blow. He looked up at the grey, overcast sky. It was odd to him that the weather seemed to match his emotions. As he rode away from his house, and into the tree-lined pastures of dying grass, a few spattering rain drops hit his hand. Yes, he thought, Rain, the perfect backdrop for the demise of a heartbroken man. He rode until his horse’s hooves clattered against the gravel of a country road. He was actually enjoying himself, though he had not expected to. The sprinkling rain had only dampened him, and he felt the fresh air was good for his soul.
After approximately ten minutes of riding, although Brand never carried a pocket watch, (he liked to think himself outside of time), the rain began to pick up. His mood was brought back down again, perhaps by the freezing rain, but more likely by the circumstances which had made his mood so foul in the beginning. He recalled the previous evening with much distaste. Without going into too many heartwrenching details, he had a quick flashback.

After almost a whole year of having his heart set on her, she had stood there in front of him, a dark silhouette in front of the smoky fire. Evelynn had looked up at him, her pained blue eyes the only constant in a face of flickering shadows. “I…well, I …” her voice broke into a sob, “I came to give you your locket back. And if there’s anything else you want from me.”
“Why…” Brand trailed off, knowing full well why she would give back the locket.
“Brand,” Evelynn choked, “the engagement is broken off. To my father, it’s as if it never was.”
“Is there nothing we can do to remedy the situation?”
“No. I’m sorry. It’s not my choice. Now can you please help me take this locket off?” she looked down at the floor as if she was blushing, “I don’t know how to work the clasp.”
Brand couldn’t keep himself from laughing. Evelynn turned around, but now that she was facing the fire, he could see the tear tracks down her face. He immediately sobered. She held up a few small curls of hair that had fallen out of their up-do as Brand fumbled with the tiny gold clasp. As soon as the necklace was off, she turned around and dropped it into his hand. After one last long look in his eyes, Evelynn turned and fled out the door.
    After that he had stood looking out the window, watching her carriage roll away. As much as he could see the outside, he could see himself, backlit by the raging fire behind him. His fists were clenched and there was a wild look in his eyes.

The rain pelted Brand as he ran his horse as fast as it would go. The English countryside on either side of the lane flew by in a blur of bright green lawns, with the dismal grey sky above. Soon, the road took a sharp right turn. Brand, lost in his own despairing thoughts, wasn’t paying attention and didn’t see the white fence approaching. His horse tried to jump the fence, but it was too high of a jump for Brand to stay on his back. He fell to the rain drenched grass just off the road.  He jumped up to catch his spooked horse, but wasn’t fast enough to catch hold of its reigns before it ran off into the rain. He sighed and turned to walk back to Charlton Park.
    After twenty minutes of jogging, Brand stumbled into the trees on one side of the road. He stood panting for a minute, until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He quickly turned around, finding himself face-to-face with a complete stranger. The man appeared to be in his late thirties, and wore an attractive, but well worn suit, at least ten years out of style. The man extended a hand and Brand shook it hesitantly.
“Who are you?” Brand asked. “Have we met before? At a party or something?”
“No. You don’t know me,” the man paused as if trying to place something, “You’re Brand Charlton, though.” At Brand’s surprised expression, the stranger laughed, running a hand through his wavy black hair. “There is a man I just saw walk into your house. Do you know his name?”
Brand shook his head.
“You will know him soon, as it appears he is staying in your house.” The handsome stranger pointed to the bags being lifted off the top of the man’s carriage. “His name is Jacob Moulder. He used to be one of my closest friends, but… well, he’s changed. He’s not the nice, gentle soul he was as a young child. He’s hard, entitled, spiteful, vengeful and a bit over-educated, which may be the worst fault of all.” The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a grey pewter key, with a large loop at the top. “You may need this.” He said this last bit very deeply and seriously, looking into Brand’s eyes as if judging his character. Then with a smile, he handed over the key, gave a polite nod and walked out into the rain, opening his umbrella.

After a few more minutes of brisk walking, Brand arrived at Charlton Park. He checked the stables, and saw his horse standing in its stall. It was mocking him with its warmness and dryness. He left the stable, not without a quick eye roll directed at the horse. He walked up the gravel drive to the front of the grand Charlton Park House. He knocked on the front door, and he heard footsteps clattering inside. Soon the door opened to reveal Charlotte, a young serving girl, her mouth open in surprise at seeing ‘Mister Brand’ soaking wet from the rain.
“Why!” she said loudly, “Mister Brand! You look as if you’d took a bath in your clothes!”
“Charlotte,” Brand tried to restrain his temper, “Let me in please.”
“Oh! Sorry!” she stepped out of the way.
Brand quickly ran upstairs before anyone saw him. He left a trail of rainwater in the front entry hall.
At that exact moment in the parlour, Mrs. and Mr. Charlton were entertaining a Mr. Jacob Moulder. He slipped into the room as silently and effortlessly as a ferret. He was tall and slender with sunken eyes and shaggy sideburns. He may have been quite handsome as a youth but now he appeared to be past his prime. His joints seemed a bit disconnected and he walked with an unnatural ease.
“I thank you kindly for your invitation, but I must say it is a rather unpleasant day to host a guest.” He smiled half-heartedly as his eyes darted about, evaluating each piece of furniture.
“Well! It was not really my choice what the weather did today, was it, Mr. Charlton?”, a flustered Hortense Charlton elbowed her sleeping husband. He awoke with an undignified snort. He blinked groggily and looked in bewilderment at the visitor.
“Jacob Moulder, Sir.” he said loudly, as if Mr. Charlton were nearly deaf.
“Yes.” muttered Otto Charlton, as he attempted to fall back asleep.
“Charlotte!” Hortense yelled, waving her over with one pasty hand. Charlotte came running and Hortense asked her, “Be a dear and tell Mollie to get us the tea now?”
“Yes, Mrs. Charlton,” Charlotte said, complying with a smile and a sloppy attempt at a curtsy. “Also, would you like me to get Mister Brand?”
“Send someone to get him, yes. But tea first!”, Hortense called as Charlotte quickly left the room. “Mr. Moulder, why haven’t you sat down? Take that seat by the little table.”
Jacob sat down, his smile lacking all friendliness, as if he was just showing off his crooked teeth. He took off his top hat and set it on the ground, revealing a head of dust brown hair. “Mrs. Charlton. Can I call you Hortense?” he practically purred the words then paused, expectantly, awaiting her answer.
“Oh, Uh, Of course! I mean we, are we, friends? Yes, friends.” She nodded vigorously, her chin jiggling.
Mollie brought in the tea then and they each took a cup of it. Hortense Charlton sat down with the steaming teacup in her hands and looked expectantly at Jacob Moulder, “So tell me more about the horse you’re selling. What color is it?”
“It’s white.” Jacob said quickly, “And it’s tall and well built. I dare say that it may have some Arabian stallion in it.”
“Ooooh!” Hortense exclaimed, “Brand will like that, won’t he Otto?” She elbowed Mr. Charlton and he grunted affirmatively.
“Brand Charlton is your son?” Moulder’s eyes lit up with an unnatural gleam. “This is interesting. You know my future father in law has mentioned him before as, I quote, ‘No good stinking rotten scum’, but I have never met him and therefore have never gotten the chance to form my own opinion.”
“And who is this father in law?” Hortense Charlton asked, wringing a cloth napkin nervously with her plump hands.
“Edvard Moore.”
Hortense nearly gasped at this development and could hardly contain her shock. It was well apparent to Jacob Moulder that she knew the man and probably that she knew of Brand’s engagement to Mr. Moore’s only daughter.
Just then Brand Charlton stepped into the doorway. Jacob looked up, a half smile creeping onto his face. Brand ignored him and walked proudly over to his mother, picked up the napkin she had dropped and offered it to her. In utter silence he then went and took the empty seat. For a moment, no one spoke and the only sound was the battering of the rain. Finally Brand looked calmly into Jacob Moulder’s watery blue eyes and said, “I’ll buy the horse.”

Dinner was less than satisfying. Hortense invited her sister Rolinda, and from then it was nonstop chatter and gossip.  Otto was at the head of the table, drifting off, then waking with a snort each time the laughter got too loud. Brand was eating his soup and breadsticks in silence, with the downcast look that had lately been his resting face. Jacob Moulder sat in quiet contemplation, a smug half smile on his face. After an especially good joke from Hortense, Rolinda let out a sputtering laugh. Jacob looked up, seeming to notice her for the first time. Rolinda caught his gaze and giggled, her frizzy reddish grey curls swayed. The rest of the night was tedious to no end.

Later that night, Brand picked up the wet jacket he had hastily tossed onto the ground. The key dropped out of the pocket and fell to the floor with a thunk. He picked it up and looked at it carefully. It was a plain looking key, cold and heavy in his hand.

The next day when Jacob Moulder and Otto Charlton were finalizing the deal on some horses, Brand slipped into Moulder’s room. He wasn’t sure exactly what the stranger had intended he do with the key, but he figured it must have opened some of his guest’s luggage. He looked around the room. A large battered leather suitcase lay on the bed. Brand walked over to it and saw it had no key hole. The suitcase was not locked. He opened it and was hit with the strong smell of sausages. The only thing it contained was neatly folded clothes. He looked around the rest of the room. At the foot of the bed were two smaller matching suitcases and a wooden chest. Brand decided to try the chest first, as it looked the most promising. The key slid into the lock cleanly, but it wouldn’t turn. He tried it a few more times, until he heard it click. The box creaked open to reveal some tri folded papers, coated in a thin layer of dust. Brand slipped them into a large coat pocket and left the room.

Brand Charlton smoothed down his dark hair, dusted off his jacket and took a deep breath. What was about to happen next required quite a lot of bravery, some smooth talking and quite a bit of flattery. Oh and luck and a short prayer wouldn’t go amiss either. He knocked on the door and waited to see Edvard Moore.
The door was answered promptly by a tall thin man wearing a deep brown suit. He had dark intelligent eyes, and a receding hairline. He looked at Brand for a long moment before saying, “Mr. Charlton, please come in.” If nothing else, Edvard Moore was civil, and he never let a man feel unwelcome in his home.
Brand walked in, unsure of what was to come next. It had been a while since he had been to the Moore residence, and he felt insecure there now. Everything was just a touch larger, finer and, may we say, more gilded than at Charlton Park. He waited in the entry hall while Mr. Moore went to get his glasses. Brand pulled the documents out of his coat pocket and looked them over one more time. Catching some movement, he looked up and saw Evelynn Moore standing in the doorway to the rest of the house. She was wearing a ruffly blue dress, and her hair was in perfect ringlet curls. She smiled and motioned for Brand to come over to her, but he shook his head. She glanced to her left then walked away. A few seconds later Edvard Moore walked into the room wearing tortoiseshell glasses. “Come this way.” He said, and led Brand  into a study that was filled with books, leather chairs, and the smell of books and leather chairs. The two men sat down and Brand pulled the stolen documents out of his pocket.
“I’m not interested in buying anything, Brand Charlton.” Edvard Moore said clearly.
“No, Mr. Moore, don’t misunderstand me. Is your daughter Evelynn engaged to Mr. Jacob Moulder?”
“Well, yes. It was his idea, and while the man is not as passionate about Evelynn as you might have been, his mind is sound and he earns considerably more per year.”
“Then it is true that you called me scum?”
“I said nothing of the sort. I just thought that my daughter Evelynn would be much more comfortably settled with Jacob Moulder.”
“Mr. Moulder has a bad habit of stretching the truth. Did he tell you that part of his fortune included invested stocks in a Canadian railway venture?”
“Yes,” replied Edvard, “He did. He showed me papers as proof.”
“You are a well educated man, Mr. Moore, but your vision is not what it used to be. Mr. Moulder is a guest in my house and I happen to have his railway stocks document with me.”
Edvard looked mildly astonished but Brand persisted, “If you hold this, an official document up to the light, it should have a watermark. However,” he paused and lifted the page so that it caught the lamplight. “there is no watermark.”
Mr. Moore looked uncertain as to what to say and a crease formed on his forehead. Brand continued, “Also here is his record of income for the last year. I found it with the other document. If you go over it, you will notice that most of his money is borrowed from a relative. Jacob Moulder has been living off of credit for the past few years. And a further look at his well kept records proves that he has been living well outside his means.”
“This is, I mean, thank you for enlightening me, Brand.”
Brand smiled and nodded.
Edvard Moore continued, “Although this is very dishonest, I can see why you did it. I can say now that if you still want to marry Evelynn, you have my permission.”
Brand grinned and shook Mr. Moore’s hand warmly. “Thank you. Thank you so very much!” He said, quickly exiting the room, and at the same time he pulled a heart shaped locket out of his pocket.