When I finally did ask him about the dinner he declined immediately.
'Those things are not for me, boy. All these polite conversations one has to live up to knowing well that neither party is enjoying the least of it. Besides, I could not stand a room full of women. I am much too old to take pleasure in their presence.'
I knew he would say this and yet there was something I had long wanted to ask.
'Why is it that you oppose women so fervently? Let us assume I was a girl, yet the same person that I am, would you prefer not to know me?' I phrased carefully.
'You could be neither and still remain the delightful annoyance you are,' he laughed. 'Although, if you were actually a girl I would like you not to tell me. I would hate my theory about men being better company, to be contradicted.'
For a short moment, I wondered whether he had already found me out. It would have been very much like him to simply play along all this time, being the eccentric old man he was. I pictured him laughing himself to sleep, every night. Even if he did exactly that, I could not hold it against him. On the contrary, I was relieved.
'But why is it that the company of women is so atrocious to you?' I pushed the subject further.
He sighed and I twitched. A sigh escaped him rarely, but when it did, it was usually because his body would not move the way it was supposed to, paining him as a warning, or worse yet, a hurtful memory was brought to his mind.
'You see, my boy, I was not born old. It is something I grew up to be. Before that, however, I was a young man, some called me handsome even. Although, I am quite sure handsomeness is a trait people like to imagine in anyone, who is well dressed and in the possession of a certain income. Everywhere I went, a flock of ladies followed. Every girl more beautiful than the next. Their mothers behind them pushed their offspring my way. Being nothing more than a man, I enjoyed the attention and the looks of envy that other men threw my way. But I was clever enough not to be fooled by appearances, for it was my money they saw, not the books I had read. I took pleasure in dulling them with conversation, watching them squirm in boredom, yet not leave the ground like brave soldiers protecting the last stand. With the years passing, and becoming decades at last, the women surrounding me became less. I had to give way to younger gentlemen, who were more decisive than I was, picking the prettiest or the one with the best family name and being done with it. Before I was fifty, they all eventually left me alone. I came to see balls and other social events for what they truly were. Exhibitions of silliness and wealth. It was not until I travelled to India that I found love, or what you may call it. She was the most extraordinary thing I had ever beheld. Her caramel skin sparkled in the Eastern sun like the gold in Queen Victoria's crown. Her colourful gowns caught my gaze as soon as I set foot on the foreign continent. Her English was broken, yet it sounded like poetry to an old fool like me. I never understood how, but she came to love me just as much as I loved her. We met in secrecy for she had already been promised to another, breaking such a promise would have meant her death. I was determined, however, to take her with me to London. We made plans on our elopement and I counted the seconds to the moment when she would finally be mine. She was supposed to come to my ship, and simply disappear with me into the vast blue ocean which would lead us back to England.
'I waited for her upon the arranged time. But she did not come. I asked the captain to wait. Being my friend he did, for an hour, then two. When we could wait no longer, I climbed the ship. I imagined she must have been caught in her attempt to escape. I imagined all sorts of punishments she would have to face. When the ship was leaving harbour I almost jumped into the water, thinking I must protect her. But then, there she was, standing at the dock, wearing rags as disguise. She was far away, but I could see the tears glittering on her cheeks reflecting the setting sun. She shook her head once, ever so slightly, and I knew, she had chosen her family over me. And who could blame her for not leaving with a man she only had known but a few weeks, to come with him to a strange, cold country, which would have been much too different from the one she knew? I had only myself to blame and her to love for being such a wise, perfect creature whom a fool such as I could never strive to deserve, not for the rest of his life. This is why, I do not like the company of women. The pain of loosing them once you seal them in your heart is much worse than the pleasure of holding them can ever be good.'
When the old man finished, we sat there for a very long time in silence. I was overwhelmed. The way his face looked when he spoke of his lover made me see a glimpse of the young man he had once been. Courageous and fearless, arrogant and spoilt, having had everything except for the one thing he was left wanting for decades. The experience probably defined him more than I could credit myself to fathom.
'Has the speech been knocked out of your usually blunt mouth?' He mocked me and I could see that he had regained his spirit.
'Yes, sir,' I said truthfully for I was not going to belittle his painful experience by denying its impact on me. 'I hope I will never fall in love.'
He laughed heartily: 'When the time comes you will, lad, and the one you fall in love with will be just as stupid and plain as you are.'
'At least, I hope, that person won't be as dull and boring as you are,' I countered.
'That person will be much more boring than I am, and ugly, too, but you will love them because you are as dumb and sincere as they come.'
I did not argue because I could not win the argument and because no matter how badly he insulted me I always felt flattered.
Soon he asked me to leave for the day. He seemed more tired than usual.
At home, I was yelled at for returning alone. But I was too melancholic to be provoked.
My sisters had polished all the rooms to a point, at which I barely recognised my own home. There was not a grain of dust anywhere, and fresh flowers everywhere.
The roast, mashed potatoes, various cooked vegetables, onion soup, and gravy smelled and looked delicious. We might not have had this kind of dinner for some years now and the last time must have been Christmas. I did not want to know how much they had spent on it and yet, I could not wait to eat it all.
As soon as we sat down at the table, the disappointment was forgotten and Elizabeth told a funny story, that had occurred at the market. Eleanor laughed so hard, that she almost chocked on her mashed potatoes.
It was at moments like these, that father's and mother's chairs were the emptiest. Even though time had moved on, it still felt as though they would come through the door and pay one compliment to each of us girls, and then we would share our troubles or our joy with each other.
The past was a haunting creature. It sneaked up like a shadow. But I was strong and told myself so every day when I went out the door to face a new morning. Having too much to be grateful for I could not afford being sad. I loved my annoying, beautiful sisters, and my friend, the old, grumpy man. I loved the knowledge he introduced me to and I loved wearing trousers! I loved how Eleanor vexed me with the most insignificant things, I loved how Elizabeth reprimanded me to behave more like a lady, and I loved how they laughed despite themselves when I altered another piece of father's clothing to fit me.
I wished we could all stay like this forever.
Summer was slowly coming to an end and autumn was becoming more visible in the changing colour of the island's vegetation. I scuffed my feet through the carpet of yellow and brown, creating an orchestra of crunching noises. With every step, I kicked the leaves up in the air and watched them sail to the ground.
My mood was exceptionally cheerful for the old man had promised me a rematch. I had lost three games of chess in a row, which was slowly but surely making me angry. It seemed as though my teacher was no longer holding back and this rendered all of my previous triumphs insignificant. Being of a competitive nature, I could not stand others to let me win. I wanted to win because I was the better player not because someone else took pity on my lack of skill.
Today, was going to be
the day, when the old man would admit defeat because I had spent all of last night meditating on a new strategy. I entered the house with my usual cheerful and loud 'Good day, sir!' which let him know I had arrived. Not waiting for a response I ran into the parlour to set up the pawns. When I finished, I sat in the arm chair, unafraid to be devoured by it, as I no longer felt like a pathetic insect. The large wooden clock tick-tocked away my patience as I waited and waited.
He lay in his massive bed under a colourful, Indian blanket. Thick, black wood with carvings of exotic birds with lowered beaks held up the mattress. A large faded map covered most of the wall over his head. Jade elephants stood with mourning heads on his bedside table. A big, blue vase painted with golden ships, that flew their flags at half mast, was next to it.
His skin was paler than usual and his upper body did not heave because his lungs no longer needed air. I ran my fingers over his hand that lay by his side. It was stiff and cold.
'I have a new strategy to defeat you in chess,' I told him softly. The fact that the old man did not answer annoyed me. What a rude old man.
'Who am I supposed to play chess with now? Who am I supposed to talk to about things no one else cares about?' I screamed until my voice broke and even then I could not stop. 'Who is going to teach me about Plato and who am I going to read Shakespeare to? I am not as rich as you, stupid old man. How dare you? Come back and finish our game of chess!'
Tears could not express my sadness, therefore I refused to cry. Dry sobs made me hiccup. His last words to me echoed in my mind: 'The pain of loosing them once you seal them in your heart is much worse than the pleasure of holding them can ever be good.' My heart broke. I had noticed his health receding but I would have never thought it would happen so soon. He had never mentioned anything.
I sat at the beach all day until my hands and feet were numb with cold. When I returned home I went straight to bed. The next day, I walked around the fields until the sun disappeared again behind the horizon. On the third day I told my sisters what had happened. Their reaction was agonisingly reserved.
'I am sorry for your loss,' said Elizabeth eventually and rubbed my shoulder.
'He was one hundred and seventy years old, what did you expect?' remarked Eleanor without even going to the trouble of feigning compassion.
They then went on to discuss what was to be done about our finances, and who of us should look for a position as a governess. Eleanor was too young, and Elizabeth was pretty, hence she was more likely to marry advantageously, therefore it was best to send me away. I went upstairs with the intention of staying in bed for a week. The old man's passing had left a whole in my life, Elizabeth and Eleanor might as well send me to the Moon – it was all the same to me, now. But before the week ended a Mr Davenport came to call on us. His whiskers were of the most remarkable facial hairdo – they ended in perfect circles at each end. I had no time to observe this small man much further, as he presented me with a letter and smiled broadly as he watched me open it.
Dear Mr. Ryde
The fact that you hold this letter in your hands means that my legal adviser Mr Davenport has come to you – it also means, well, let us not speak of things we cannot change but consider what lies ahead. I have taught you all that was possible in the short time of our acquaintance. Yet, for a young gentleman of your enthusiasm and talent there is much more to learn. As I can no longer live up to the task of being your teacher and friend, I have, with Mr Davenport's help, made arrangements for you to attend Oliver Kenwood Boarding School for Boys. You will enrol as a second-year and probably be one or two weeks late for the beginning of the term – do not let this distress you. As long as you pursue your academic career you shall receive one hundred and fifty Pounds a year. Arrangements have been made on this account also.
Should you wish to become a lawyer, or doctor, or engineer as you have mentioned before, the school I have taken the liberty to choose for you, will open doors. And now, wipe your nose and go pack your bag instantly.
Be not afraid of greatness
Anthony Sears
Chapter 4
BOYS AND BOUNDARIES
Intimidating was the first word that came to mind, when I stood before the ornamented bars of the elegantly curved brass gate. My breaths came in irregular intervals, as my heart beat drum rolled towards my entrance into a new life.
The Portsmouth Direct Line had brought me to London Waterloo. Despite Elizabeth's nightmare imposing threat, my body did not implode due to the great velocity and speed of the train. Whether she meant to scare me so that I stayed at home, or whether she really believed her own warning to be true, I knew not. But I did know for a fact that it was the seats that left a more lasting impression than the speed; from bumping up and down on hard wood for hours, my limbs had become wood.
Never before had I travelled by train or been so far from home on my own. Our aunt from Portsmouth had once taken Elizabeth to London for the season. But the only times I recalled travelling, were visits made to distant family members in Portsmouth and Bournemouth. London was a strange, and unfamiliar place. It's magnitude overwhelmed me.
At Waterloo Station huge crowds of odd people pushed and shoved me about the platforms. On my way out I got lost an innumerable amount of times and was certain never to find the exit, until a nice lady took mercy on me, and guided me outside. She expected a reward for her kindness, but I had nothing to give to her, which was when I realised, that she was not so nice after all. It was her spit on my shoe which provided proof of that last notion. At least, she did not seem to doubt I was a man, for she directed strictly masculine insults at me. I found solace in it as I rubbed my shoe clean.
After that rather less than more glorious victory over Waterloo's platforms, and tunnels, and arched halls I believed the worst to be over, but when I stepped onto the street, a flood of human bodies, cattle, carriages, and coaches drowned me. I felt as though I had swam out too far into the open sea, and had now been caught by a massive wave which whirled me around like a forlorn piece of seaweed. It was all I could do to stay afoot. If I were to fall, or merely resist the direction, I would be trampled down and surely killed.
The stream of living things carried me up a street and across a long and broad bridge. Above the shouts of people, the cries of cattle, and the squeals of wheels, I suddenly heard the splashes of water caught in a strong current. It must be Thames, I thought, with a leap of the heart. I really and truly was in London.
Squeezed to half my size, I emerged on the other side of what appeared to be Waterloo Bridge, and finally caught my breath. There was not sufficient life left in me to mind the rain which had only just began but was steadily fortifying.
I unfolded a map of the city, which I had found in our attic. Unfortunately, the map provided only a vague idea of my whereabouts, as it hardly represented the recent architecture of the city. According to the map, I was standing in the river. With the aid of some guessing, a little asking, and a great deal of luck, I arrived at Oliver Kenwood Boarding School for Boys very late in the evening. Try though it might, London's traffic, and weather did not take my life. Even if I probably looked like they had done just that.
Now, I pushed against the school gate which reluctantly opened to display a muddy gravel path that led to a broad and majestic building made of scarlet bricks and forty-four paned windows. Three rows of bold, white cornice emphasised the wealth which had gone into building the school – should anyone doubt it after seeing the massive arched entrance with a large column on each side of it, and the golden school emblem, depicting a quill and a sword, above it.
The small sack dangling from my shoulder might as well have been made of lead for it felt just as heavy now that I saw what I was up against.
Inside, a long hallway with a high ceiling and echoing walls awaited me. Marble stones of different shades of grey and varying shapes were laid out into patterns underneath my brown, laced boots. The ruthless London winds found their way into the corridor and howled
in an unwelcoming manner. Lined up along the wall were over-sized oil-paintings of important looking men, who followed me with their eyes.
In our communication by letter, the headmaster had included instructions that would lead me to his office. My memory of them was knocked out of me by the magnificence of the place.
Was it the tenth door on the right or the twelfth on the left? Was it on this floor or did I have to go up the broad, white marble stairs?
A low hum of voices filled the hallway and I wondered if they were real or if my mind played tricks on me. Before I could decide, two boys emerged from a large double-door at the other end of the corridor. With an echoing creak it fell shut behind them. The heavy sound rocked me in its wake.
Even though I was afraid that my voice, my speech, my face, my movements, and my very air could give me away, I asked the boys about the headmaster's office and where to find it. They stopped. I was expecting them to see through the lie I was staging. I could already picture them laughing and ridiculing me. But they did not. Instead, without the slightest trace of interest, they motioned towards the door, whence they had come.
I knocked twice and waited an eternity before an invitation sounded from within.
The intimidating aura the man seated behind an enormous desk emitted went well with the rest of the school. He made me feel even tinier in my father's altered clothing.
'Yes?' his voice rolled like thunder as he looked at me from underneath a pair of thick glasses that turned his eyes into two small, black dots.
'I am the new student,' I said clutching my braces until it hurt the inside of my palms. 'Jo... Jonathan Ryde.'
'Mr Jonathan Ryde, yes,' he said tasting the sound of my father's name. 'I have received a very detailed account of your character from Mr Sears. He appears to have great hope in you.'
The Girl who was a Gentleman (Victorian Romance, History) Page 3