At university the following morning I studied my fellow third year students looking for one who was truly my peer. I say this not because I'm a snob, although I may well be one. But because of the age difference and my military service, both of which have caused me to be more mature physically and mentally then they. Not only did I not find one among them that I thought might make a worthwhile contribution to my sexual dilemma; but I reached a decision in the process of examining them and their habits that would cause me to leave Oxford within a fortnight.
For I had concluded thusly: A man goes to university for two obvious reasons. First, one hopes to gain sufficient knowledge so as to be competent enough to make a decent fortune in the course of their lifetime. Second, one hopes to obtain through both university and the company it provides to become a gentleman of manners as well as means.
With the sudden inheritance from Mr. Dorian Gray I had my fortune. With my family gone, I had the good fortune to be nurtured along with my brother Harry, by the local Squire, a gentleman named Galvin. Squire Dennis Galvin as it turned out saw to it that Harry and I learned proper etiquette and good manners sufficient enough for us to be offered entry level rank as officers when we joined to fight in the Crimean War. That we declined the offer and entered as privates in all probability is the sole reason I'm alive today. For the officers were always the prime targets of the enemy. I saw many felled by a sniper's bullet while standing a foot or two away from them. To be sure I could have been taken out just as easily as they, but as the shooter had his choice, the officer died and I lived.
The money goaded me into taking action. By ten in the morning I had decided to leave Oxford. I spoke with the registrar and the Dean's assistant and on making clear that I had come into a substantial amount of money found that they tended to agree with me. Before I could make my departure, they were besieging me with requests for donations. I informed them that I would certainly make a donation after I had a clear understanding of what it was that I had inherited. I made a note to send them a thousand pounds the following week in order to remain in their good graces.
After leaving the university I stopped by Mr. Wainwright's office as I had determined that as a man of means I should have my own home, and not live in a boarding house as it was unbecoming in that I could well afford a home.
Mr. Wainwright agreed with me and promptly engaged the services of a man familiar with certain properties that might interest me.
Now it should be made clear that I am now and always have been a person who is ultra punctual. I have a deep seated phobia about being late for anything. I'd like to be late for my own funeral, but not much else. I was never late for school once. I've only been late for what I'll term work on two occasions and even then I was late of my own violation in that once I stopped my carriage to enter a burning building and wound up rescuing a child's pet dog. A fireman was already inside holding the girl herself when I arrived.
The other time was simply because I allowed myself to be seduced by my wife. We were newly wed, but I confess to yielding to her temptations and was seven minutes late for a meeting. Neither missed appointment sat well with me, but I realized that I was after all, human and susceptible to human foibles as well as the next man. Nor did I ever feel that on those occasions I had done the wrong thing. I had simply used my time to do something more important at the time.
Other people often keep me waiting, for appointments, important interviews and dinner engagements. I detest them for it and manage to devise a means of punishing them for it. Not a severe punishment, but something that satisfies my need for recompense for the wasting of my time. Now with regard to traveling, one can expect the transportation to be tardy for a variety of reasons no matter how new the conveyance may be. For example, in Manchester if a train arrives within ten minutes of the time given on the timetable it is logged as being officially on schedule. That you miss a vital connection due to this is nothing to the railway staff or its management. One learns to expect such treatment and act accordingly. I have made it a rule of principal to add time to any trip I take to insure that I at least, arrive on time for my appointment.
We all know the frustration of Doctor's waiting rooms. I have been billing them for my time for some years now. Most ignore me, but two have, after apologizing to me, reduced their fees and it was not in fear of losing me as a patient, but that they agreed with me.
The one person who will agree with me on the precious value of time --- remember, we only have so many hours on this earth --- is one who is incarcerated in prison. For it is when one is bored or trapped that time leaps into one's consciousness. And even though I know well the value of time, I am guilty of wasting it more often than not and this troubles me greatly. We can do our bit; by being on time, and recognising that time is limited. In our group meetings, which are usually limited to a few hours at best, we should be punctual; we should keep our questions short and snappy, we should let others who haven't asked a question get a chance before we leap in again. Be considerate. No one wants to hear a continual one to one dialogue between you and the speaker. Give others their time too. You might have a lot of unanswered questions, but that's life. Religious people think they can afford to waste time. They believe in a Heaven and a few hours late won't matter much in an eternity. Yet their sermons are dull. One starts dreaming of being somewhere else while the pastor drones on and on. I admit to being amused by those Christians who are saved because they daren't do anything with their time; for fear of losing their piety and God's favour; and much of what they would do is forbidden to them anyway. The ultimate irony being that life can end unexpectedly and instantly. Suddenly there is no time left. So we must pay heed to it while we can for even this planet of ours will die one day as the Sun that feeds us life begins to fade. Of course, some things take time. You can't read War & Peace in a day. Some long term projects need time, may take years of preparation, and planning. But that is making good use of time. We should enrich our lives with great memories, and set the future up with many expectations, some of which will and some of which won't come to fruition. I tend to travel with one eye in a book and one eye staring out the train window. I don't like missing anything. Though I'm punctual, I like life to move around me slowly. You see more when you have time to admire the detail and craftsmanship. I hate people who rush through an art gallery in half an hour flat. Some things deserve more time and attention. Take the time to look more closely. I want cremating after death; so I don't have a gravestone. I don't want my life represented by a simple dash between my date of birth and my date of dying. I hope my life won't be seen as just a mad dash between those two events. We don't have long. This weekend is disappearing quickly. The past is behind us. The future is shrinking before us, so let's get on with it --- let's take our time. Now that I've wasted a considerable amount of time discussing time I should inform the reader of the reason for my drifting off the subject at hand, to wit: I was looking for a property and the aforementioned agent was late. Thirty minutes late to be precise. He had not been robbed at pistol point. He had not been run down by a carriage; no, he had gotten up late, an excuse that I refused to tolerate. However he was there, as was I and I would have been guilty of wasting even more time had I dismissed him then and there as I wanted to. So we set off in search of the ideal property and my future home. After first determining that the residence of the late Mr. Dorian Gray was not available to me, we set off in the afternoon to find the right place for me. The next place was nice enough on the outside, with a very pleasant garden, but the interior was . . . hideous, at least from my perspective and I demanded we leave at once. The following home was fine with me, save for the price. It was far more than I intended to pay. Far more, for I was willing enough to stretch my budget, but this asking price was absurd. I released the gentleman showing me the available flats to keep another appointment on Saville row. I needed to acquire some clothing more suitable to my new standing in society. I walked down the Row, stopping here to purchase a Victorian frock coat; and there to acquire several pair of fine trousers. Then only two doors down I managed to select a fine walking stick and a fashionable top hat. At the next shop I ordered seven shirts cut to my exact size and I tell you all of this came at affordable prices and with exceptional customer service. I completed my wardrobe by adding a cravat, pocket watch, and a pair of dress gloves to my purchases. After finishing my shopping I actually found myself whistling while walking down Saville. I could not have been more pleased with the knowledge and service found at each shop I went into. I vowed to go back more often, to revisit the shops I'd been to and to explore those I had not been to as yet. I was beguiled by the neighborhood. It was in a choice section of London; Burlington Gardens to be exact. And on the next block, which was actually the first one on Saville Row, I saw a small for sale sign in a window on the first floor of a handsome dwelling. It was a mansion in and among the finest tailors in the entire world.
I could smell the very history of England in the air as I looked at the property. I considered the property a mansion. Though not lavish in any sense of the word, I thought it would prove exceedingly comfortable so far as I was concerned. Venturing into the Farnsworth Tailor shop next door, I inquired as to the owner and was told that a Mr. Gainsworthy was the owner and person to see if interested in acquiring the property. The gentleman was kind enough to provide Mr. Gainsworthy's address and I was pleased to see it was only two blocks south. After a short, but brisk walk in which I perfected the twirling of my walking stick, I came to the address I was seeking. Mr. Gainsworthy not only saw me, but offered tea, which I gladly accepted; and made me a price that I thought undervalued the property in question. But remembering that I had yet to set foot inside the house, I merely nodded, finished my tea and arranged to tour the home the following day.
I will omit needless details and sum up by saying I found the interior to be as resplendent as the exterior and made Mr. Gainsworthy an offer of 5000 pounds over what he was asking. I did this for two reasons. Firstly, I wanted the house and I wanted to possess it that day. Secondly, I was positive that he, an older gentleman, did not have the correct price set on the dwelling and not wanting to feel that I had taken advantage of the gentleman, gave him what I thought the property was worth. Needless to say, he accepted my offer and I took ownership of the property the following day after our attorney's finalized the paper work.
My choice of No. 7 Saville Row proved correct for I have remained here in comfort all these years save those few times that I was given to travel to the continent and beyond at the exhortations of my beloved wife, Aouda, of whom I'll have more to say later..
On October 17, 1857 I moved my meager possessions into Number 7, and spent the next three months furnishing the place. Annabelle Lee and her sister Katherine Ann were devastated by the news that I was leaving their mother's boarding house. But I cheered them up by having them accompany me and this with their mother's consent, mind you --- on my many forays seeking the right pieces of furniture to decorate the place. Mrs. Mooring's feelings on the matter were simply that it was an opportunity for her daughters to explore the various shops and learn how to procure furniture and accessories without costing her a sixpence. It also gave the sisters and I an excuse to spend much more time together.
Twas a fortnight before the Mooring sisters and I reconvened as it were, but twas a most interesting afternoon, P. T. Barnum might have tried to hire us for his great circus show if what we were doing were not considered indecent in the eyes of the Queen Mother herself and probably most of the British Empire as well.
Of course, I made sure that in my parting from the Mooring's boarding house that I left on good terms. I apologized for what I called a hasty departure and insisted that Mrs. Mooring take an additional month's rent as a good faith gesture on my part. I also invited her and her daughters to visit my new residence, and as Mrs. Mooring was a woman of some curiosity, she readily accepted my offer. They came by the following morning and I played the gracious host, having no furniture to speak of made it relatively easy as I merely procured four wine glasses and several bottles of a decent vintage.
Mrs. Mooring was quick to inform me that she would be delighted to lend her daughters to me to help guide me through what she termed "the maze" of shops that must be frequented in order to furnish a home as grand as mine. I did not tell her that I had engaged a person for that very purpose and that they were already acquiring furniture and accessories with which to adequately provide all the basic necessities for me.
