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On the cold, dirty, stone ground of the jail, lay Richard Lawrence, the deranged attempted assassin of President Andrew Jackson. It was in these brief periods of self-exhaustion that Lawrence could accurately delve into his past. He thought back to half a year ago. He was peaceful, conservative, and a working man back then.

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‘Do you have work today?’ A cheerful woman’s voice was heard from the other room.

‘Yes, I have a house I’m finishing this week!’ Lawrence replied, matching the level of cheeriness.

‘How lovely, surely you’re saving up a hefty sum by now. Perhaps enough to get a place of your own. Perhaps you can invite that lady friend you’re always talking about!’ She teased. The woman’s husband walked in behind her, interjecting himself into the conversation.

‘I don’t understand why you’re so secretive about her! We don’t even know her name! Is your lady friend perhaps a married lady!?’ the husband joked.

‘That would be my fortune, my only love, taken from me, never to be released!’ Lawrence responded heartily, putting his coat on and heading towards the door. Lawrence waved happily as he left the house and headed off to work. The couple looked at each other for a moment, left alone now.

‘When will your brother be out of here again?’

‘We must have sympathy, soon he will make another attempt to visit England, he spent a lot of money going to New York before the Winter prevented his journey.’

‘That’s not an answer, and is he going to England or staying put?’

‘Just a bit longer, you know he’s trying to save money for a home for himself and his love interest, whoever it is. England may be on hold.’

‘If there even is a girl, it may be a man..’

She shushed him slapping his chest in disapproval with a slight giggle.

Lawrence made his way to his paint shop. It had a single door with a protruding window, he unlocked and shoved his body into the door. With a loud scraping noise it fell open, inside Lawrence could see the dust int eh rays of light being let in from the window. He had left his shop for three months previously. He had aspirations to travel to England and paint pictures of the landscape there, England called him. It was his heritage, though he knew very little of life in Great Britain, but he was fascinated by it and eager to be assimilated into it.

His attempts proved futile as a very harsh winter had blasted the North East and prevented Lawrence from having any safe travels by ship across the Atlantic. He decided to try to wait out the Winter in New York, but could not find steady enough work or shelter to last, and he certainly would have died in the elements. He made his way back to Washington D.C. to live with his sister and brother in law. They were gracious, providing Richard with clothing, a place to live, food, and money for supplies to restart his painting business.

He stood in his doorway, slightly elevated above those passing by. He would stare and admire the women who walked by.

‘That will be my lady. Or that one. Any will do.’ He would say, eyeballing seemingly every woman who would walk by. He pointed at another pedestrian, properly dressed, surely a married woman with a wealthy husband.

‘You! Young lady! How would you like to be Mrs. Lawrence! All this could be yours!’ He shouted jovially as he swung his arms back to his dilapidated shop. Children around giggled as the lady hastily walked away, pretending Mr. Lawrence didn’t exist. Deflated, he grabbed his painting supplies and headed to his appointment.

He arrived at a modest, yet spacious row home, it was half dilapidated, with a few craftsmen rushing to and fro. Lawrence walked up to a ladder without speaking to anyone and positioned it to against a wall next to a large opening to what was likely the great room. He looked around to gather paint and moved it over to the ladder and began to climb and paint the wall a navy blue. He inhaled deeply, Lawrence loved the smell of the paint, especially coupled with some spirits, which he would occasionally tip out of his flask.

While Lawrence painted, he heard a commotion outside. The noise grew louder as the voices drew closer, he could tell it was a happy occasion as there were plenty of chuckles and jolly tones being exchanged. The noise died down as the two men exchanged farewells. The thuds of slow footsteps drew closer to Lawrence, who looked down and saw the black hair of the presumed owner. He looked up and met eyes with Lawrence.

‘Well, hello there!’ The man said, he had a slight twang to his voice, he was certainly from the Southern states.

‘I’m George Poindexter, Senator from the great state of Mississippi.’ He continued smiling.

‘oh yeah! You’re the guy that wanted to give Jefferson’s daughter 50,000 acres in Virginia, right?’ There was an uncomfortable silence that Lawrence broke up with laughter.

‘I’m Richard Lawrence, esteemed painter!’ He responded, reaching his hand down to Poindexter.

‘Lawrence… Is that a noble name from England?’ Poindexter asked.

‘Oh no, you’re mistaken.’ Richard chortled.

‘I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I know a Sir Lawrence! I know Richard is a king’s name isn’t it?’ The Senator joked.

‘Well it was a pleasure to meet you, Sir Lawrence!’ He continued as he walked away.

At the end of his painting he approached the foreman for Tallman & Bucklin, the Architect of the building who was paying for the workers.

The foreman looked Lawrence up and down, ‘You’re not a worker here.’

‘Well I certainly worked! I spent all day painting that room! And you’re going to stiff me! I’ll have you know I know Senator Poindexter!’ Richard began winding up.

‘All right! Let me just see your work.’ The foreman went and inspected Lawrence’s painting job. He returned pleasantly surprised by his work.

‘It only took you a day to paint those rooms?’ He asked, Lawrence nodded.

The foreman paid Richard and informed him if he ever needed work as a painter to come back.

Now Richard actually had a house finish this week and he’d get paid for it.

He wondered back to his shop where he stood for the next several hours in the doorway, contemplating what Senator Poindexter had told him. Perhaps his attempt to go to England wasn’t necessarily just the weather, perhaps there was more to that.

‘They’ve sailed in worse weather after all…’

‘I’ve traveled in far worse weather…’

He looked at his money and began to think about England, and the claim Lawrence now believed he may have to potential untold riches and subjects.

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