As the final week of term wrapped up, the classes were not as structured as they might normally have been. Exams had been sat, results were pending, and the discussions were designed to test their memories and expand their minds. The following day, Thomas hovered in the doorway of a lecture hall in the midst of one such debate.
There was, perhaps, ten young men in the room, sitting on wooden benches towering in an imposing amphitheatre. At the centre – on the stage – was an older, bearded man leaning on a podium. Thomas found Vincent easily; he was seated in the second row of chairs, distinctly removed from the others who were gathered closer to the front. Whilst the others reclined, or exchanged hushed comments, Vincent was bent over his desk, scrawling hurriedly on some paper. His closest classmate was an overweight blonde fellow with red cheeks and bad posture who seemed completely satisfied with ignoring the man behind him.
Thomas was too busy frowning to realise he'd been noticed until the professor called out to him. "May we help you?"
Vincent looked over his shoulder and offered one slow blink, clearly surprised to find Thomas in the doorway. The emotion didn't fade – Thomas could have sworn some pink entered his cheeks – and he cast confused looks between the professor, his notes and Thomas.
Ever happy to cause discomfort, Thomas smiled broadly. "Hello! I was just waiting on Lord Humphrey and thought I might pop my head in. Do you mind if I observe at all?"
As one, the men inside turned to look at Vincent; if he wasn't embarrassed before, he most certainly was now. The professor let out a world-weary sigh.
"I suppose so," he said slowly, his inflection suggesting he would much rather bar Thomas from the room if only be had the energy. With the words said, he appeared to dismiss the intrusion from his mind, turning his attention back to his pupils. "But what statute supports your argument, Mister Hayes?"
As Thomas circled the back of the room, the blonde man in front of Vincent shifted in his seat, his elbows rising back onto the bench behind him. The movement knocked the inkpot on Vincent's desk, drawing his gaze immediately off Thomas and back to his work in time for him to steady the pot without accident. Concentration restored, be continued scratching out his thoughts.
The man – Mister Hayes – sniffed. "The Manchester Resolution limits working hours in factories to twelve-" he caught the eye of a peer who shook his head ever so slightly, "To ten hours."
"And you believe that is sufficient legal support for laborers?"
Thomas sunk into the seat beside Vincent – not that the man noticed – and remarked to himself that the professor must have been an awfully successful whist player; his face did not reveal a drop of emotion.
"What else-" This time it wasn't a glance from across the room preventing Mister Hayes from misspeaking, but the flourish of paper appearing under his nose. Vincent's arm was outstretched, and he waved his notes slightly until the man snatched them from his grasp. Hayes scanned them quickly. "The Factories act of 1802," he said abruptly, the stilted words leaving no doubt that he was reading directly from Vincent's page. "It provides sleeping quarters, food, and v-venit...ventilation for the protection of apprentices."
The professor adjusted himself on the podium, his head stilting slightly to the side without his beard appearing to move. "And again I ask you, Mister Hayes; do you believe that is sufficient legal support for laborers?"
This time the man was smart enough to wait. He extended a hand, chubby fingers wrapping around the next sheath of paper Vincent pressed into them. "No," he finally announced. "Discussion are already underway to amend the act, with additions such as working hour and age restrictions. This ought to..."
Thomas shook his head and tuned the man out; this was ridiculous. He leant to the side, until he was could whisper to Vincent without fear of being overheard by the burly man; Thomas was irreverent and antagonistic, but he wasn't stupid.
"What are you doing?" he hissed, finger reaching out to tap the next page Vincent was already filling with notes.
Vincent's head snapped to the side, his eyes wide and his brow furrowed, as if he'd suddenly remembered Thomas was present. He swallowed, glancing between his writings and Thomas. "The... I... The law is a collaborative profession." His voice was pitched even lower that Thomas', though they were both overshadowed by the ramblings of Mister Hayes.
Thomas rolled his eyes. "Looks to me like you're the only one 'collaborating'."
Vincent pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, a wave of austerity sweeping across his face. Gone was the embarrassment, the hesitation, replaced with a hint of iron will that Thomas was not used to seeing.
"I... Can..." The change in attitude did not help his stutter, Thomas reflected. Vincent let out a small sigh but eventually continued. "When you speak like I do, it's easy enough to get in the way. By passing suggestions, I can contribute without being..." he shifted in his seat, the grip on his quill tightening and then relaxing, "problematic."
That admission stopped Thomas' mind still. He had never thought to consider Vincent's impediment 'problematic' before. In truth, it frustrated him that the man took so long to speak, slowed down conversations that he liked witty and spontaneous. Vincent was incredibly intelligent, he knew, and he felt sorry for him that he was hindered by something so...
Problematic.
As the professor called the class to a close, Thomas was wincing at his own thoughts.
Mister Hayes rose quickly, a move that belied his weight, and tossed the sheathes of paper back towards Vincent. One landed on the desk, one Vincent caught between two fingers, and the other swept dramatically to the floor. As Thomas watched, neither man made to speak, and Mister Hayes pulled on his coat as he walked away.
Thomas erupted to his feet. "Perhaps some gratitude to my friend would not go amiss?"
Mister Hayes paused with one arm only partly sleeved. He turned slowly, only a quarter of a circle, and pinned Thomas with a flat look. "I beg your pardon?"
Thomas made every effort to appear genial, though inside he was fuming. "That's all well and good, but it's not your pardon I want."
Mister Hayes made no such efforts to control his emotional response. His thick brow descended, shadowing his eyes as they flicked to Vincent. "Muzzle your dog, Humphrey, or I will."
Thomas harrumphed as the man walked away, his arms moving to fold across his chest. "I don't know who I'm more offended for; you or myself!" He turned to the other man with a smile that instantly froze.
Vincent was frowning at him.
"Alright, fine – I'm more offended for you! Very ungrateful of the bugger to not even thank you for your assistance. Chap was floundering until you..." He trailed off as he noticed the deliberate force with which Vincent was packing his belongs back into his satchel. "Or... I'm more offended for myself?" There was no change in the ferocity of his movements. "I'm not sure what the right answer is here, Vincent."
The other man suddenly stilled, inkpot in one hand, stopper in the other. He very carefully connected them, lowering the pot into his bag, before he raised his gaze to Thomas'; the anger in his eyes was undeniable.
"The answer," he said, words carefully articulated with no hint of stumbling, "is to cease speaking for me. It does neither of us any good for you to treat me like a child."
Thomas huffed out an incredulous laugh. "A child? I do not treat you like a – I'm only speaking for you when you-"
"I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself." Vincent lifted his satchel, draping the strap across one shoulder. "When I want, if I want. I do not need – nor want – you to leap to my defence every time you perceive a threat."
He began his descent towards the main door, each step deliberate and in time with the thumping of Thomas' heart. This was not how he had expected this conversation to go.
"That's what friends do," he called after the man gently, his arms flapping uselessly by his sides.
He doubted he was meant to hear Vincent's muffled reply. "Perhaps that is why I do not have friends."
Ahead, Vincent ducked his head at the professor, who returned the gesture with a perfunctory nod of his own.
"Satisfactory work today, Daniel. Your arguments were –" The man sighed yet again. "- well enough."
Thomas took the stairs two at a time, meeting Vincent just as he passed out of the lecture hall. He felt awkward – perhaps guilty – and he dug his hands into the pockets of his coat as he sought a distraction.
"Did he just call you Daniel?" he asked as cheerfully as he was able.
Vincent glanced at him, a quick flick of his eyes that lasted only long enough to demonstrate that most of his irritation had faded. He let out a short sigh, shifting the strap on his shoulder.
"If... I... It is my name."
Thomas blinked. It had been a question only intended to distract, but now he was intrigued. "Why does everyone call you 'Vincent', then?"
The responding sigh was longer and deeper, and Vincent came to a stop beside him. It was getting to late afternoon, and most students seemed to have disappeared from the campus, leaving the two of them standing in the otherwise abandoned walkway. "Vi... that...'Vincent' is also my name. I'm named for my father; he was Daniel. I was always called Vincent, I assume to avoid confusion."
Fathers. This was an area Thomas felt he had some experience in. "Forgive me, but your father has been dead for 7, 8 years? I would think there is no more confusion."
He was aiming for levity, but once again he missed the mark.
"Some names weigh more than others."
That wiped the smile from Thomas' face. Without conscious thought, his hand drifted to the signet ring he wore on the smallest finger of his left hand, twisting the thorn-covered T around and around. "I know the feeling."
Vincent glanced up. It still made him uneasy to hear Thomas being sincere, more so when he related to him. There was a lot they didn't know about Thomas' life before they'd met him, but it was easy to imagine that the Thorne name hung like a weight around his neck. But this was not the place to discuss it.
He sighed, drawing Thomas' attention. He gestured to their location with a shrug.
"Ah yes!" The twinkle in Thomas' eye sprang back into place. "The man your brother suggested I contact sent me a note: an address. He thinks it might belong to the shipping company." He grinned at him, eyebrow quirking. "Fancy an adventure?"
Vincent sighed, not entirely sure what he was about to agree to.
.
They travelled to the shipping district, much as Thomas had the previous day, but then turned steadily north. They rattled to a stop, and Vincent was surprised to see Thomas frown. The man opened the door, leaning bodily out to have a short argument with the driver. It seemed the coachman won, as Thomas jumped down from the coach with a sigh.
"He won't take us any further," he explained, poking his head back into the carriage. "Worried about thieves and vagrants, apparently. Coward." This last was muttered under his breath.
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
Thomas' arms folded across his chest as his own brow raised less in scepticism and more in challenge. "Come, now. Surely you've dallied in a few unscrupulous places before?"
Vincent had not.
"This is the adventure I was talking about. Surely you can feel that we are about to solve a part of the mystery! Would you not be awfully disappointed if you played it safe and stayed behind?"
Vincent would not.
Thomas smiled a crooked smile, gripping the door frame with one hand and flourishing the other towards the street in invitation. "Do you trust me?"
Vincent... did. Thomas could be relied upon to be jovial and flippant, and to find any opportunity to goad others. He was quick to anger and impulsive, and continually put himself where he did not belong, but he was also kind-hearted – almost despite himself – and intelligent in a way that reminded Vincent of Matthew. He was... reliable.
Vincent grabbed his satchel, slinging the strap across his shoulder, and dismounted from the carriage.
Thomas looked pleased and not a little surprised.
The remaining journey was not far, perhaps ten minutes on foot, and Thomas led the way as he glanced continually between the streets around them and the scrap of paper in his hand. Eventually he steered them into a laneway, bordered by factories, and the further they travelled, the worse it became.
The last building in the lane was decrepit. Beyond the boarded windows and missing roof shingles of its neighbours, almost half its street-facing wall was missing, with solid beams protruding into the air before disappearing into a slightly more intact second storey. As they watched, a rat darted out from under a pile of bricks, making a break for freedom in the direction they had come. With the awful certainty that this was the building they had come for, Vincent was of half a mind to join the creature.
Instead, he looked at Thomas, who grinned. "More mystery."
Vincent sighed. He approached the front door with a hand extended, somewhat surprised to meet resistance and hear the rattle of a chain. He released the handle and stepped back with a frown.
A scuffing sound to the side drew his attention, and he looked to find Thomas hoisting himself through the wall, his boots sliding on rubble. He paused, crouched on a few intact bricks, and met Vincent's look with raised brows. "What? This is practically an invitation to enter."
Vincent's frown deepened as he tried to recall whether trespassing laws were applicable if one entered through a wall. Thomas rolled his eyes and hopped down into the factory, disappearing into shadow. With a reluctant sigh, Vincent followed.
As he jumped down into the factory, landing awkwardly on a pile of rubble, he squinted and waited for his eyes to adjust. Despite the partially destroyed wall, the setting sun and remaining second storey left the space in darkness. He could just make out Thomas to his left as the man wandered into the building, kicking planks of wood and scraps of metal aside as he went. With a cautious step in the other direction, Vincent began to explore.
The inside of the factory had faired marginally better than the outside. It was filthy, cleared damaged by the elements, but the internal walls were all standing. Scavengers had clearly picked the place apart, evidenced by the empty metal brackets hanging awkwardly from the walls and the stained floor outlining long-absent machinery. Vincent ducked under a tattered sheet that draped from a beam, narrowly avoiding a large spider's web. Disturbed, the arachnid scurried away, and Vincent could only imagine the glare he was receiving from those eight beady eyes.
Further away from the entrance, the floor cleared up substantially, transitioning from chunks of brick and leaves to a flat surface. Aside from that, it was equally as vacant, the only difference being a staircase pressed against one corner. Vincent scanned it – from the missing bottom step to the bend in the railing at the top to the slight scent of mildew that wafted towards him even from that distance – and let out a very reluctant sigh. There was nothing for it but to ascend, and he did so grudgingly and cautiously. The steps creaked beneath his weight, but held firm, and he was nevertheless relieved to reach the next storey in one piece.
The room was still barren, but this time the floor was littered with papers. Vincent glanced at them briefly, but many were blank, and others held hints of ink that had long since faded. What caught his eye were the empty sacks filling the far corner. They were hessian – a familiar brown weave – and he crossed the room quickly to examine them. There were tens if not hundreds scattered across the floor, stretching from the corner to a door embedded in the wall. There contents, if indeed they'd even had any, was no where to be seen.
Squatting down, Vincent tugged his spectacles from the pocket of his coat, perching them on the bridge of his nose as he held the fabric up in the poor light. There, on one side, was an inky circle with a roughly sketched anchor located within. It was the same emblem, there was no doubt about it, but the company name was still worn away. He cast a gaze across the pile, eyebrows raising at the number of empty bags to examine; he would need help.
He cleared his throat. "Thomas?"
There was a distant scuffling, only just audible. "Yes?"
He decided simple was best. "Upstairs."
If Thomas was irritated at all by the instruction, Vincent didn't hear it. Instead, he tracked the man's progress through the floor below. First the rattle of bricks as he crossed the entrance way, then... There was a short yelp, followed almost immediately by a cough; Thomas had found the spider, no doubt.
As the other man clattered up the stairs, taking them two at a time without any of the hesitation of his friend, Vincent brushed aside scraps of fabric, looking for a more intact emblem to inspect. The footsteps stilled behind him, and Thomas let out a low whistle.
"Looks like the place, alright," he said as he stepped up beside Vincent, knocking aside a few layers of hessian with the toe of his boot. As Vincent continued to sift through them, Thomas crossed the room, opening the door at the other side and peering through. He spoke, but his voice was muffled.
He pulled back into the room, raking his hair out of his face, and looked at Vincent expectantly. Vincent's mouth opened, closed, and he shook his head.
"I asked if you'd located a company name, yet."
This time Vincent would have shaken his head as an answer to the question, but he was distracted by movement behind Thomas.
"Uh... I..." his hand raised cautiously, preparing to indicate behind the man.
Thomas sighed, his arms folding across his chest. "I thought we were getting past this – or do you only find it easy to speak to me when you're scolding me?"
There was a particular irritation that flared when you were being lectured by a man you were trying to help; it appeared as a throbbing muscle in Vincent's jaw.
Thomas threw his hands in the air. "What, man? Just say it already."
Vincent simply tilted his head. He would not deny that the hiss of surprise from Thomas as he glanced behind him was validating.
~~
Hello Lovely Readers!
So, I got excited and now there's a new chapter! (Clearly I'm doing anything I can to put off studying - I also began an Instagram account, so if you're interested in seeing more about my stories/writing process, go give Flo_Writes_Books a follow on IG!)
On a DohD related note however, I am loving the tension between Thomas and Vincent - they are such different people and I'm really enjoying their journey to understanding each other better. Do you think they can overcome their differences and develop a friendship... or more? Or are they doomed to keep winding each other up and repeating the same mistakes? Let me know in a comment!
As always, please remember to vote if you're enjoying Vincent's journey!
xx Flo
P.S. I'm sorry for any mistakes in this - I haven't had a chance to proofread this chapter yet! Feel free to let me know if you see any glaring mistakes <3