In the Lion's Den

Simon

London, Friday, 1st of August 1919

Simon waited on a narrow bench in front of the solicitor's office. It was a little run-down, not the big, representative place he had imagined the most sought after solicitor of London to have. But Melinda Crawford had recommended the man and he trusted her judgement unconditionally. Also, when he had seen the man for the first time he had seemed competent enough and, what was more important, had given him some hope that there would indeed be a solution, although he could not predict the outcome of a court case with certainty. It was about time for a solution.

There were two other people waiting in front of him. Simon had been tricked into signing that damned contract when he was thirteen years old.

He thought back to the day when he had held the tiny bundle, looked into the perfect little face that could not yet understand the pain that lay ahead of it. He had suddenly been overcome with an intense feeling of sadness and pity for that little girl who would grow up an orphan, never being able to walk and run like other kids, growing up with relatives who would not care for her more than necessary and inheriting a debt that he could not imagine. The sadness had mixed with his own, but at least he had his own two feet and a plan that would bring him as far away from his cruel grandfather as possible. He was quite sure he could execute it soon - given the rate at which he was growing.

But the army would be no alternative for this baby, and so the pity grew into the decision to find out if he would be able to do something - anything - for this little girl with soft blond fluff on her head and wide blue eyes taking in every movement of his mouth and eyes as he started quietly talking to the girl.

Later when her nurse had come back and shooed him out of the room in order to feed her, he had asked Mrs. Caldwell if nothing could be done for the girl. She had been his governess once, but not for a long time, as had been the case for most of them, especially the ones he liked. And he had liked Mrs. Caldwell. Back then she had been Miss Lindsay of course, but when she left she had married Mr. Caldwell, a man Simon had been afraid of forever. He had felt sad for his Miss Lindsay, but as Mark had been born only a few months after the wedding, it must have been the right thing to happen. Simon never understood why, but his grandfather went to Yorkshire to visit them regularly and on the few times he had accompanied him, he had been terribly jealous of the way his grandfather spoiled Mark with toys and affection he himself had never received. He never saw much of Mr. Caldwell on those occasions.

This visit to the Caldwells would forever change his life though.

Mrs. Caldwell had smiled sadly and said that she was sure the child's godmother would be helping out, and that other than that we could just trust that god would keep her safe. That hadn't convinced Simon. Ever since he lost his parents he had been quite sure that the god the priest would talk about in church was either quite biassed or not very good at keeping people safe, especially those who would most need it.

Later that evening she had come to him with some papers. "Simon, dear, the girl's uncle asked me if you could help him out. I know that it is a lot to ask, but he felt your grandfather would not understand. The godmother will care for her for now, but she is not the youngest anymore and we can't be sure what will happen to the girl after she dies. It would just be a small part of your inheritage, but it would ensure her education and future." Simon did not care for the money he would inherit, he was going to set off to earn his own living quite soon anyways. He trusted Mrs. Caldwell and signed the papers without thinking much of it.

When he found out what he had actually signed and that his grandfather had concocted the plan, he decided that never ever again would he trust another adult. And that now was the point to run, plans ready or not.

The contract had hung over his head for the last 19 years. He had ignored it most of the time, deciding that there was a lot that could happen before he'd have to fulfil it. He had never talked about it to anyone either. And then, it had come back with full force. And it had taken somebody else to tell him that maybe, a man could not be held responsible for what he signed aged thirteen. But by then, he also had discovered something that had painfully renewed the sense of responsibility that had made him sign in the first place.

When he was called into the office having to mind his head not knocking into the narrow door frame, the small middle aged man in a run-down suit greeted him empathetically.

"Mr. Brandon, good to see you, I think you will be quite pleased with what I have found out and prepared."

"I hope so. We don't have a lot of time, it's just a little more than a week until August 9th."

"Oh, don't worry. August 9th does not need to happen if you do not wish for it. Look."

Pulling a neat sheet of legal paper out of a helplessly overflowing stack, he pushed it over to Simon.

"See, due to the Infants Relief Act from 1874, the contract is voidable. So that's what we're doing with this document."

"It is possible then, even though I did not take immediate action after reaching majority?"

"Yes, that's the good news Mr. Brandon. I have written up the reasons you gave me for the inaction the last time, and that would not even be necessary. The law does not give a time frame in which the contract has to be voided. So, you'd have to sign here, and basically free yourself of any responsibility and debt that goes with it."

"But what about the girl? She will be left with nothing if I void the contract."

"Ah, Mr. Brandon, that is the best part of the news. I have thoroughly revised the terms of the contract and as your grandfather did sign as well, the parts concerning his part of the agreement stay in action even if your part of the agreement is voided."

"So basically he'll have to pay if I fail to fulfil the contract, but I will not be held responsible at all?"

"Exactly."

His grandfather would be furious. And Simon would be free.

"May I read the whole document before I sign?"

"Of course. Given your story I would not recommend signing anything you have not fully understood. Just don't take too long, we still have to send it to court and then inform all parties involved."

"I'll just sit outside and read it."

15 minutes later, Simon had signed his ticket to freedom and seen to the solicitor's secretary sending it off post haste with a little extra cash. There was a telegram sent to Sinclair and MacArthur calling off Saturday the ninth.