'Yes, Dr Hanson.'
Rajesh Greenfield caught up with me on my way to the dining hall. His hair was damp from recent washing. He brushed away the dripping strands from his forehead and gave me a broad smile, he had such an easy and amiable demeanour that I did want to believe in his kindness. But to be proved wrong could be fatal, therefore I kept my guard up, however, to fortify my position among my peers I needed friends. What to do?
'How do you do, Jojojonathan?'
'Not too bad, thank you.'
'You left early today.'
'Indeed I did,' said I unsure of whether to encourage conversation or to end it there. 'I am now entitled to private fencing lessons by personal request of Dr Hanson,' I elaborated eventually.
'What an achievement,' the boy cheered mockingly.
'A very questionable one!'
We walked on in comfortable silence, it was uplifting to walk the school premises with a companion by my side. For this short moment I felt a lot less alone, and my posture straightened of its own accord. If indeed his design was of an evil nature then what was he to gain from it?
'Would you like to join myself and some good friends for breakfast?'
My heart skipped a beat, I made enemies by simply entering a room, thus I was surprised there were students, apart from him, who would not mind my company.
'Or do you have another engagement?'
His good and friendly nature made it impossible to refuse, or suspect maliciousness. Then why did I?
Two boys waited on us by the entrance to the main building. They looked highly strange together. One had blond hair that was almost white, and a very slim figure, which exceeded six feet by far. The other one was short and round, with chubby cheeks, and dark hair. They looked like the bat and ball in cricket.
Despite their appearance, only made more strange by one standing next to the other, Rajesh Greenfield introduced his friends with such pride, that I could not help but think them to be the most handsome of men. I instantly liked them, as if they had been my own close relations for many years.
'Lawrence W. Larrington,' Greenfield pointed his chin towards the very tall boy, who blushed and asked to be called 'Larry', 'and Terence Barclay,' Greenfield motioned to the small, chubby boy, who did not say he wanted to be called 'Terry' but I was determined to address them as 'Larry and Terry', nonetheless, since they all thought it extraordinarily humorous to call me 'Jojojonathan'.
Breakfast in pleasant company was decidedly more preferable to sitting alone on the floor, even though I found it a trying challenge to keep my head from dropping into the scrambled eggs on my plate. Greenfield had not told Larry and Terry about my nightly adventures, which honoured him and earned him one trust point. However, this led to Terry thinking I could not sleep due to home-sickness. It was not a very manly explanation but I had no strength to disagree. Feeling he had found a fellow sufferer the boy confided in me but not without Larry providing his take on the matter. According to the latter it was not his mother Terry missed dearly but the sweets the woman provided for her fine boy.
'You see,' Larry said like a professor who had concluded many years of study on his subject, 'Mrs Barclay is much more willing to share her desserts with Terence than us mean school boys, for we have the indecency and impropriety to express our displeasure when poor, dear Terence discovers our secret hiding holes and plunders them like a ruthless pirate.'
'I am very sorry, indeed, but unlike you, dearest Lawrence, who has reached his height limit at the tender age of three, I am still growing. And it is a truth well-known that a growing body requires supplement.'
'And grow you do, most dearest Terence, in width.'
Terry, quite stricken with the remark, blew up his cheeks in anger.
Greenfield broke up the argument by suggesting that if both boys were thrown into a pot and melted into one, a normal person might come forth.
Their performance was very amusing, I could no longer believe any harm could come from such earnest friendship and companionship.
'I am most glad you have made friends,' said Hanson at the end of mathematics and science.
'Thank you, sir.'
'A very good choice of company as well.'
'To be sure,' I wanted to leave but he blocked the way as was his wont. In a much quieter voice he said, 'I trust there have been no incidents today.'
'No, sir. None that I know of, sir.'
He studied me for a moment, then stepped away to put the books on his desk back onto the shelves. Half-way through the door, I felt the urge to clarify one thing.
'Sir.'
'Yes.'
The last student left. Hanson stopped arranging the books and put them back on the table.
'I am quite capable of taking care of myself, despite what you have witnessed last night. As you have suggested, I won't come running for help.'
'I might have been too harsh on you yesterday, when clearly you weren't at fault. There is nothing wrong with asking for help, but you should...'
'Fight my own battles, sir, I am aware of it.'
'You should be able to avert battles altogether. Now, that is an art. However, if something like last night happened again, I would rather you told me.'
'I will, sir.'
It was a lie and a rather obvious one at that. Hanson was the last person I wanted to take notice of any more disgrace on my part.
Due to the delay my new friends had already gone ahead and I walked down the empty hallway by my lonesome. Suddenly somebody grabbed me from behind and pushed me into a corner. A fencing mask appeared in front of me, and one more on each side of it. With their faces darkened by the shadow, I could not distinguish any features, but they seemed a lot less threatening than when they had been in the cold fog.
'The doctor's darling, are you,' hissed the left mask.
'Tell on us and see what happens,' spat the mask in the middle.
'Go home country boy, leave elitist institutions to the elite,' the right mask rumbled.
'If you are the elite, then the elite seems to have trouble keeping up with this country boy,' I protested and it took quite a bit of courage.
The left mask's right arm grabbed me by the jacket and yanked me towards it, 'Repeat what you have just said.'
One of my buttons came off and hit the floor rolling away, as if fleeing the ship.
'Three against one sure is cowardly,' I snarled at him. My blood was pumping so fast that it extinguished all fear. After all, how much harm could three good-for-nothing wolves do?
Pushing his accomplices aside, he grabbed my jacket with the other hand, and pulled me across the hall to the opposite wall.
'How about a one-on-one fencing duel?' he whispered and I saw his eyes and the deep frown separating his brows. It was a mistake to direct his face away from the shadow, and into the light of the window.
'I do not mind, William Chester,' I hissed his name into the mask, and for a short moment his black eyes glistered with nothing but hatred. It was the boy who had shoved me in French, the same one who had answered Hanson's questions about Natural Selection wrongly. His action towards me began to make sense. I was better than him and he was jealous. He shoved me again, as violence seemed to be his only asset. My bottom made a loud thud on the marble.
'Keep your mouth shut, Ryde, because I can make your life more miserable than you can imagine,' he said walking backwards, he then turned, and ran. The other two wolves followed their pack leader and howled as they disappeared behind the corner.
I searched for the cowardly button on the floor, it was not easily done with the tears blurring my vision. Hanson's classroom was close, if I remained sitting on the floor he would come to enquire after me, on his way out. I knew the wolf's name, and with Hanson on my side, the headmaster would have to take my complaint seriously, but it was not what I wanted. The other boys would not respect me. Hanson would not respect me. I would not respect me.
When Hanson's foot steps echoed down the hallway I ran.
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In law and politics, Greenfield informed me that I looked slightly pale. Indeed, I would have preferred to spend the rest of the day hiding in our room, but I could not afford William Chester to think he had succeeded in his attempt to intimidate me.
He glared at me across the classroom, and I glared back at him. Before every student found their seat, I made up my mind to answer each and every of the teacher's question sooner than that wolf could.
Chapter 8
SELF-REGARD AND SUNDAY
With the days packed with studies and my mind packed with thoughts, I did not even notice how my first weekend at Kenwood approached. By accident, I stood at five o'clock sharp in front of the fencing hall, only to realise after thirty minutes of waiting for Hanson, that it was, indeed, a Sunday. With a mixture of frustration over my own silliness and relief over the fact, that Hanson's harsh training would not spoil my morning, I ran back into my room, and jumped into my warm bed. It was my firm resolve to sleep until noon. A vile knock on the door made this impossible however. Even the pillow over my head did not block the unnerving noise from outside. Rajesh Greenfield allowed the culprit in.
'Ryde,' a very angry voice rolled thunderously over my head. The owner of the angry voice went even so far as to yank the pillow from my grasp, which was not much of a protection, anyway, from a snake's poison.
'What are you doing here, sir?' I mumbled into the linen.
'I should ask you the same question. You were to come to my office at ten.'
'I will, sir.'
'Have you invented means to travel as much as twenty minutes back in time, Ryde?'
Greenfield scoffed in the background.
'I will, sir.'
'Ryde, wake up!'
'Yes, sir,' I sat up and rubbed my eyes.
'Make yourself presentable, and come to my office at once, and for such insolent behaviour you will dust books until the end of term!'
He turned on his heel and stomped off fuming like fifteen London chimneys.
'You really should not have vexed him, Jonathan,' said he as if I had offended him in any way.
'I didn't,' I protested astonished that my room mate took it quite so seriously.
'He hates unpunctuality,' repeated he and looked at me accusingly. I could not help but wonder why he cared so much about it.
'It is Sunday!' I threw my hands up in the air.
For once, the sun had risen above the roofs without clouds penetrating its yellow brightness, golden rays caressed the leather bindings of volumes and volumes of knowledge. Hanson impatiently tapped his finger on the shelves disturbing the thin layer of dust that lay on top of them. He was dressed for journey. The long black coat lying on the man's shoulders almost touched the ground, and were he of an average height, it certainly would have. A dark red silk vest was underneath it, which suited the neck tie in colour. Only the impeccably white collar of his shirt lightened the darkness of the elegant suit.
He kept directions brief and spoke quickly. It was apparent that he was determined to be on his way. She must be pretty, I thought, if she made him this anxious. When Hanson was by the door, I could not help but say, 'give my most heartfelt regards to the lady,' simply to test his reaction.
He stopped, and observed me for a moment, then nodded, and confirmed that he would. A smile raised the corners of his lips for a split second, and his mood improved, then he was gone.
I made a turn about the classroom and traced my fingers on the leather of the books. Some, I took out to flip through their pages, and the urge to read rather than work was overwhelming, after all, Hanson would not be back for a long time.
His collections focused mostly on scientific and medical research, and there was a significant amount of biological theories and essays by scholars with more academic titles, than I knew could be acquired. Many of the writings did not seem to be destined for revision in class due to their complexity, hence I wondered why Hanson owned them. His books seemed too purposefully acquired to serve a general interest, there were ten volumes, at least, on different types of influenzas; a whole shelve was occupied by copies debating on long term consequences of child diseases, and their possible cures – I could imagine such a variety was not easy to come by, these books deserved to be treated with the uttermost care, for their content was of immeasurable value. Not even the old man could have prided himself with such an in-depth assortment of collected medical knowledge. Maybe it was time to start thinking of Hanson as an actual doctor.
'We have not seen you all day, Jo, where have you been?' asked Larry as I joined the boys for lunch.
Terry was eyeing Larry's pudding dangerously. As I sat down, I placed my own dessert as far away from the boy as possible.
'Jojojonathan has to dust books, you see,' explained Greenfield with a conspiratorial wink at his friend. Larry nodded understandingly and smiled at me mischievously. Now that his attention was distracted, Terry tried to reach for the tall boy's pudding, but Larry slapped his hand away without even looking. He must have developed a sixth sense by now with regards to the protection of his sweets.
'Yes, gentlemen,' I said taking a mouth full of the most delicious meat pie. When I had swallowed it, I added, 'and I quite enjoy it.'
They all laughed and insisted, that of course I did. There seemed to be no point in trying to convince them otherwise, or to explain to them, why being exposed to Hanson's library was a privilege.
'At the very least you do not need to fear tardiness, for you have to dust books until the end of the century, anyway,' joked Larry.
Again Terry tried his luck and again he was disappointed by Larry's quick reaction.
'Do not underestimate the doctor's inventiveness when it comes to finding punishments where he thinks needed,' warned Greenfield, and gave me a meaningful look. He seemed to know something about Hanson that I did not and it made me a little nervous, for I found Hanson quite scary the way he was, I did not need more details to prove it.
Across the dining hall, I detected William Chester and his fellows directing nasty glares my way. From then on, I found it hard to focus on my meal – so hard in fact, that I did not notice how Terry had managed to steal my own pudding...
Upon my return, I found Hanson's classroom in chaos. Desks had been flipped upside down and lay in disarray. Chairs were everywhere except for where I had last seen them. Shelves rested on other pieces of furniture. And books. Books lay on chairs, which lay on desks, which lay on more books; books lay like a carpet on the floor, their pages flew about like plucked feathers. The small ink jar from the teacher's desk was spilled and scattered, like a pool of black blood, across the floor, and the neighbouring chairs, and desks, and books.
Hanson's face painted itself in my mind. The disappointment, and distrust, and hurt was vivid in his expression.
With hands, that did not feel like my own, I started collecting the books, observing their damage and piling them on the window sill. I separated the ones without flaws from the ones with bent or missing pages. Five books were stained by ink, two of them had only suffered small drops, three had blackened pages beyond repair. I collected all the loose pages, bundled them up, and sorted them according to the titles incorporated in the running heads, and I moved the chairs and desks until their formation resembled their initial state, and I heaved the shelves up while almost being buried underneath their weight, and all the while, Hanson's face would not leave my mind, the poisonous, squinted eyes were so lively before me, that I almost felt the man's breath on my shoulder.
It took ages to put the books back into the shelves, after I had spent more ages sorting them by category and alphabet, the first of which was not the most apparent thing in the world. The ink stain on the floor needed solid scrubbing for a whole hour, and even then it was not entirely removed from the cracks in the wood.
To sew the loose pages into the spines of the books they belonged to I fetched a needle and small spool from my room. On my way to halls and back again, I saw the other boys
play football on the college green, and I would have much preferred joining them to sewing, as it had never been one of my strong suits, and it was particularly difficult to sew paper into leather, and the result was not at all satisfactory, but at least I was fast, and reduced the pile of books that needed mending to ten before the sun sank as deep as the roof tops. Soon, only a mere three titles remained: 'Scarlet Fever', 'Epidemic Infant Diseases - Symptoms and Cures', and 'Herbal Healing: Illustrated Edition', but there was nothing I could do for them, as they had suffered such severe ink stains that I could not even flip through their pages for they stuck together. If I put them back in the shelves would Hanson ever notice and suspect me?
'Ryde, you are still here? Quite the fervent lad!'
The books dropped from my hands and I jumped after them immediately. I clutched them to my chest and dared not look up. Hanson's feet, with the long black coat swaying about them, came into my view and his hand grabbed one book from me, even though I was trying to hold against it.
'What is this?' he asked and the cheerful tone, with which he had entered, vanished from his voice. He tried to flip through the pages but had as little success as I.
'What have you done,' the restrained anger in his voice made me speechless. I hugged the other books closer. He grabbed those from my hand as well. After observing the damage, he looked at me with fury.
'It was an accident, sir,' I barely heard myself say.
'This looks like intention to me, for I do not know how books from an upper shelf in the back of the room could have possibly come in contact with such an amount of ink,' his anger filled the entire room. He looked around and went to the shelves. 'Why, these books are in complete disorder!'
'I am sorry, sir,' my voice was hardly above a whisper.
'Sorry?' he repeated. 'Do you have the slightest idea what these books are? How difficult it was to collect them? Do you think I own them for pleasure?'
He came face to face to me and held one of the damaged books right under my nose. His knuckles were white from clutching it.
The Girl who was a Gentleman (Victorian Romance, History) Page 7