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A few weeks later Lawrence decided after a long day to go to the tavern and enjoy the company of others, maybe find a prostitute. This was unlike Lawrence, as he rarely drank and never gambled or propositioned women of the night. He met his longtime friend at the bar and the two began chatting about Lawrence’s painting business, his love interests, and his return to Britain.

‘Why would you leave for Britain? You have a good thing going here?’ his friend mentioned, referring to the paint store.

‘Bah! It pails in comparison to the riches of my royal estate!’ He cried loudly. Voices around the pub lowered, just temporarily at his cries carried, then returned to normal volume.

‘You just bought that plot for your new home. Are you still going to build?’ the friend questioned.

‘Oh, don’t you be concerned, I will have the riches to build one hundred of these homes. I may even be so kind as to give one to you, old friend!’ He chuckled, the two laughed, his friend pounded the table lightly.

‘I have to take a piss.’ He said, departing the table and disappearing into the crowd.

A few seconds later, three men walked up to Lawrence, making themselves at home at his table. The men were dirty, clearly laborers fresh off the job and needing some libations. Two of them were stern and intense, the third smiled a yellow, gap filled grin, the breath was rancid. Lawrence was polite and cordial.

‘Good evening gentlemen! What do I owe the pleasure of your company?’

The men were confused by his manner, ‘We heard you say you was English,’ the smiling one said.

‘That’s correct, I’m British, but I’ve lived here my whole life.’

‘What makes you think there’s anything for you in Britain. Just piss, shit, and disease, just like all of you English.’ One of the men said. Lawrence became equally enraged, erupting violently, surprising everyone around. He scooted his chair back, and began lambasting the three men, orating loudly.

‘That’s because MY KINGDOM HAS BEEN STOLEN FROM ME! My people live in squalor because my estate, MY ESTATE! MY BIRTHRIGHT! STOLEN FROM ME BY THE KINGS!’

The men also rose, scowling at Lawrence, surprised and unnerved by Lawrence’s boisterous speech. The group stepped closer to Lawrence, who looked around the bar for his friend, nowhere to be found. The bar was completely silent, including Lawrence, everyone staring slowly returned to their spirits. Some turned their backs to Lawrence assuming he was another drunk slob, while others kept half their body turned towards him continuing to monitor the strange patron.

‘You know sir, I promised my father that if another Brit came into this pub, I’d have to club him.’ The table was intense.

‘Your people burned this city to the ground, you think we forgot about that. Your people burned the Presidential Mansion to the ground.’ The three men were seething to harm Lawrence after his outburst. Suddenly, another man approached the table, he was well dressed, wearing a well manicured peacoat. He visibly appeared to be a higher class than the three men.

‘Please, gentlemen. Your entertainment is taken care of by me.’ The man said, side hugging the man speaking.

‘Alright Mr. Peabody.’ The man said smiling, slowly rising from the table to meander back to the barkeep for more, his friends followed. The man sat down directly in front of Lawrence. The two stared at each other for some time, letting the sound of the pub regain it’s strength, the ruckus was a good place for clandestine conversations.

‘Do you know who I am?’ the man asked, Lawrence said nothing, maintaining an unblinking stare at the man.

‘People call me Mr. Peabody. That’s not my name, but for you it’s all the information you need, Mr. Lawrence.’ Peabody continued, ‘They call me Mr. Peabody, because I represent Mr. George Peabody. His firm lent you some money a while back Mr. Lawrence, and we intend to begin collecting on that money.’

Lawrence sat in silence, staring through Mr. Peabody, smirking slightly.

‘Mr. Lawrence… Ignoring this situation will not stop us from collecting what’s ours.’ Lawrence was blank, still not having blinked or moved. Mr. Peabody puzzled waved his hand in front of Lawrence’s face with no response. Peabody rose from the table. Finally Lawrence spoke, his eyes shifting first, ‘I will. Put a ball. Through your head, sir.’

‘I hope for your safety, you change your outlook on the situation. I also wouldn’t try to leave this great country, you will be stopped or killed unless I’m paid what is owed.’ He re-approached the bar and began speaking to the three men he just sent away.

They approached Lawrence again.

‘Alright Mr. Lawrence. It’s time to go.’ Lawrence still sat transfixed on the same spot Peabody had been sitting, immobile. One of the men grabbed Lawrence who took a glass mug and swung it at the man, colliding with his head. The glass shattered and the tavern erupted in a brawl. the group landed several blows on Lawrence, who was eventually picked up, kicking and screaming in a roaring fit. He was thrown outside into the mud, spit on, cursed and told to never return.

Covered in mud, defeated, and enraged Lawrence returned back to his sister’s house. He let himself in, being seen by his sister.

‘What happened to you? You never let your clothes get that dirty!’ He ignored her and began heading for his room. ‘Certainly, not fit for King Richard.’ She joked. This was a nickname the family had given Richard when he was young, but hadn’t used it sense the British burned D.C. Lawrence stopped at his open door.

‘Are you mocking me?’ He said without turning to her.

‘No! I just, was having a bit of fun was all. Clearly you’ve had a hard day and I – Is that a saddle in your room?’ He slammed the door.

‘You’ve never taken me seriously, always mocking me, thwarting my attempts to restore this house to it’s glory!’ He was approaching her aggressively. She shrieked as he struck her and pushed her to the ground. The sister screamed and squirmed away from Lawrence who had fallen on top of her to prevent her from escaping. She kicked and bucked towards the front door, Lawrence reached up to a table in the hallway and grasped for anything to help subdue his sister, he grabbed a four pound paper weight, which he raised and slammed down. Luckily, he missed his sister’s head, scoring only the wooden floor. Her husband, Mr. Redfern flew down the stairs and attacked Lawrence, striking him several times.

After subduing Lawrence, his sister went to the neighbors for help and the authorities eventually came. Lawrence was arrested and taken to jail that night. He would now only have his paint shop left for himself (which was late on rent as well.) Lawrence would languish in the local jail until a Grand jury heard whether he was liable for assault charges brought up by Mr. Redfern and his wife. Amazingly, the jury would eventually find there wasn’t sufficient evidence to bring charges against him.

Lawrence was released, back to the public, with no charges, no way to restrict this person’s movements or his plans. King Richard was free to continue his quest for his estate.

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