Short Story #3- How to Lose a Fortune in 10 Weeks (Part 1)

Here's the first part of the short story I promised. Stay tuned for Part 2 next week. 

How to lose a fortune in 10 Weeks 

Lord Anthony Viles needed a bride. Ever since he had received a mysterious letter from a certain Mr. X, that had been the only thing on his mind. 

Two months had passed since the death of Anthony’s father. Being the only son in a barren family, he was the sole heir to the family fortune. The Viles fortune invited the awe of many, the scorn of a few and the wrath of one mysterious Mr. X. If fact, Mr. X was the reason Anthony had decided to get jump into the abyss of marriage at the 23. 

After receiving the news of his father’s sudden death, Anthony had rushed home from Oxford. His mother had passed away in grief almost a week after his father. That meant he was the sole legal heir to the fortune. The thing was, he didn’t know what to do with it. Anthony had led a sheltered life at Oxford and Eton. The only interactions he had were with other aristocrats. To top it all, Anthony had decided to study Philosophy at Oxford. He had fallen deeply in love with the subject. However, it distanced his dreamy mind from the practicalities of life. 

Almost a month and a half ago, things changed. Anthony received a letter from Mr. X. He was in his library, mourning the death of his mother when the letter was delivered to him. He remembered that fateful day. It was sealed with Lac and stamped with a seal he did not recognize. The contents of the letter deepened his gloom. 

It was a letter of warning. He remembered the short letter vividly.

Dear Mr. Viles,

If you do not get rid of your fortune by your 24th birthday, you will pay with your life. 

Yours truly,

Mr. X 

Those words frightened Anthony. He decided to report the letter to the police. However, the police hadn’t been able to discover anything about the letter or its sender. The symbol was enigmatic and the content vague. 

Anthony decided to ignore the letter and went on with his life. Alas, it was not meant to be. While horse riding, Anthony missed a gunshot narrowly. The shooter was never found. One month ago, he had found a dead fox in his plate. It had been brutally stabbed. It was a warning. Mr. X’s words was not empty words. Somebody was targeting Anthony. The police, after all the investigation had failed to find Mr. X. Anthony was really worried. One thing was clear. Anthony would not live beyond his twenty fourth birthday if he still had the inheritance. That meant he had ten weeks to lose his fortune. The question was how?

Lord Anthony had consulted his dear friend Peter. Peter had studied law at Oxford. Their friendship had grown deeper over the years. Peter advised Anthony to gamble his entire fortune in London’s infamous gaming hells. Anthony, being spiritually inclined and disinterested in the pleasures of the world, had never tried his hand at gambling. He took an immediate fancy to the idea and began making connections in the gaming hells of London. 

One night, he arrived at the most unlucky club in the city. The club had made a pauper out of many a famous gambler. Industrial smoke combined with fog lent a mysterious hue to the elusive club. The gaming hell was a toxic dump. The place smelled of nothing but cigars and alcohol. Cigar smoked encircled the room, making Anthony cough. Anthony had weak lungs. He wanted to get out of this place as soon as he could. Drunk men brawled in an uncivilized fashion over the slightest loss to their fortunes. The brandy had a strong smell. It nauseated Anthony who had given up drinking after reading about religious reservations against intoxication. Not that his liver could take it. 

Anthony challenged the most skilled gambler in the country. The Marquess of Devonshire was an expert at gambling. The world had never seen a gambler as skilled or experienced as him. Many suspected that he cheated but there was no proof. Anthony boldly challenged the Marquess filled with hopes of losing the game. 

But as luck would have it, Anthony ended up winning the game and his fortune doubled within one night. He was not elated. He was deflated. He had more wealth to get rid of. Peter had told him about beginner’s luck but he hadn’t believed it until now. He challenged the Marquess again the following week and won. He tried gambling at other places but after a week of doubling and tripling his fortune, he resigned himself to his fate. The plan was not working. 

Peter came up with another plan. 

This time, he took loads of money in a horse carriage. The roads were famous for highwaymen who stole the fortune of the rich and titled. Anthony’s carriage bore his family’s seal. He shuddered inside the carriage. England was cold in October. The perpetual rain didn’t help. The night air was still and cold. There was silence all around. Anthony was alone in his carriage with the large suitcase of cash tucked under his chair. 

The carriage suddenly stopped. Anthony heard a gunshot pierce through the still night air. They were here. Anthony’s bony legs began to shiver. The chill pervaded through his spine, igniting his survival instinct. Somebody knocked the carriage door. Anthony’s hands shook violently. His weak spirit had almost left his sick body. 

One of the highwaymen pushed the door, knocking over Anthony. His body forcefully moved to one end of the carriage. 

“Give us everything you’ve got.” the highwayman demanded in an authoritative tone. The sparkly silver revolver pointed towards Sir Anthony’s weak head. 

“It....it’s....all in the box....” he said, pointing to the trunk under the seat. The highwayman stepped into the carriage, shoving him aside and opened the trunk. Others stayed outside the carriage and watched the spectacle unfold. What they saw took their breath away. The trunk was filled with bank notes and jewelry. Sir Anthony had shoved everything he could into the trunk. Despite the obvious fear that he was supposed to feel, Sir Anthony felt a temporary sense of relief. He could go to India now. He’d never have to come back to England and face Mr. X. Anthony had no interest in the estate. All he had ever wanted was to go to India and learn the ways of the saints. The ways of the materialistic English society did not suit him. 

Anthony heard another gunshot that jolted his dreams. The horses made loud noises. The carriage began to move. The highway man who was trying to steal the jewelry fell over. 

“Stop right there!” he heard another loud voice say. The police men were here. They broke into the carriage, arrested the highway men and restored the possessions. 

“Are you all right, my lord?” the constable asked. Anthony nodded weakly. 

“We’ve been looking for these men for ten years. The prize of £10,000 is all yours now.” he said. Sir Anthony’s heart sank deeper in despair. This was proving to be a very unlucky week. 

“I only did my duty as a citizen.” he said, trying to sound normal. The police awarded him the prize money, nevertheless. Sir Anthony’s fortune had tripled after just a week and a half in London. He returned home with a deep sense of gloom filling his anxious mind. The day of his death inched closer. His dreams of fleeing to India became hazier by the moment. 

He consulted his trusted chum Peter again. The following evening, Peter rushed to Anthony’s house. The mansion’s splendor had grown since his last visit. Attracted by the recent surge of wealth, many servants had found their way to the mansion. It was cleaner than ever. The estates were doing well. Peter was surprised to learn of the unexpected turn of events. 

“You’re a lucky man.” he said. Anthony now had three times the original amount to dispose of. 

“Is there any other way?” Anthony asked, deflated. “Must I give all my wealth to Mr. X?”

“We don’t know who he is.” Peter said.  He paused for a moment. “There’s one thing you could do.”

“What?” Anthony asked, his eyes lighting up with hope.

“Get married.”

“There must be another way.” 

“I know you’ve never thought about it but this is the only option now.” he said. “There are many women who would marry you for your wealth and title.” 

“How is a wedding going to help?” Anthony asked. 

“Have you heard of ‘gold diggers’?” Peter asked.

“You mean it’s better to be killed by your wife than Mr. X?” Anthony asked, with a weak sense of humour. 

“No. Fake your death. Nobody will suspect it. Get married to a gold digger and leave for India. I’ll help you fake your disappearance. Everybody will think she killed you for the money.”

“But...but what about my body?” 

“Let’s say you died by drowning. They would never be able to find the body.” Peter said.

“But why must I get married before I die?” Anthony asked.

“That’s the only way you can get rid of the fortune and go to India. Killing two birds with one stone, eh?” 

“I wonder who Mr. X is.”

“I am curious too.” Peter said. 

That is how Anthony ended up in a ball, of all places. The ball was hosted by the Duke of Lancaster. The Duke was a man of connections. His wife was a flamboyant woman who wore the most exquisite fashions. Her mouth was colored with dark lip paint and her cheeks were eternally painted with bright rouge. Her large grown covered a one meter radius around her. She smiled brightly at the guests who walked into the ball. The Duke’s residence was magnificent. Large, glass chandeliers hung on the exquisitely painted ceiling. When candle light hit the surface of the chandeliers, they shone like diamonds. The ballroom was spacious and well decorated. The splendor of history vibrated through the hall. 

Peter, who was a close friend of the Duchess had informed her of Anthony’s plight. She made sure to invite every eligible bachelorette she knew. She assured Peter that Anthony would find his match. Attracted by Lord Viles’ recently inherited fortune, ambitious mamas and greedy daughters swarmed like bees attracted to nectar. He was supposed to be in mourning. Not that they cared. 

There was no way Anthony Viles could walk out of the ballroom a bachelor. Dowagers were desperate to make his acquaintance and little missies blushed at the sight of the young Lord Viles. Needless to say, his dance card was full of women he had never met before. Anthony was in heaven. Not, really. Though all the women were attracted to his wealth and status, none seemed to be aggressive enough to kill him for his wealth. This was not going to do. Anthony was beginning to get bored of seeing pretty little misses. He excused himself to the garden for a stroll. 

During his short stroll, he met Miss Anne Greene. Miss Greene was at the bottom of the social ladder. She was the daughter of a gentleman. Her father, Mr. Greene was a clerk. He had suddenly come down with a life threatening illness. If rumours were to be believed, he was on his death bed. 

Miss Greene was on the lookout for a husband. At twenty five years of age, she was an aging spinster. According to most, she was not on the shelf anymore. That’s not what she believed. Miss Greene possessed moderate beauty and little wealth but, she possessed abundant brains. What intensified her desire to marry was not age, social status or marital bliss. It was money. Miss Greene was the proverbial ‘gold digger’.

Mr. Greene had saved a meagre amount for Anne’s dowry. The money was locked up in the bank and the only way Anne could receive it was by giving in to holy matrimony. He was not in a position to re-write his will or consent to any financial transaction.

She was looking for a rich husband who possessed moderate looks and no brains but abundant wealth. Anthony Viles fit all her criteria. At twenty three, he was fresh out of school. He had neither the interest nor the smarts to live in a world as materialistic as Victorian Society in the late 1800s. Anthony had no worldly desires. That meant his wealth was Anne’s to enjoy. 

The news of Anthony’s newly acquired fortune had spread far and wide. Not much was known about him since he had spent all his time at Oxford. However, not even the young and chaste Lord Viles was free from the chronic illness of gossip that plagued Victorian society. There were rumours that he wanted to renounce the world and become a saint. The contents of his newly acquired fortune were well known. The fact that it was only growing by the day attracted the fancy of many an ambitious Victorian mama.

Nothing could deter Anne Greene. Anne had her mind made up. Anthony Viles would be her sacrificial lamb. It was a mutually beneficial bargain. Anthony would have somebody to look after his fortune and Anne would control his title and wealth. It was a match made in heaven. 

Anthony could not agree more. His eyes met Miss Greene’s from across the dark garden. She bent her head, deliberately shying away from his gaze. Her eyelashes fluttered, shielding her green eyes. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Not even the tight corset could hide her ample belly and bosom. Her skin was turning red. She held her breath. She wasn’t going to choke to death. She had found her prey. 

(To be continued....) 

- P. Wish


Disclaimer: The historical background is not accurate and all characters are fictional.