Before I reached cathedral I saw a glimpse of the river between the houses to my right. The wind picked up and the waves crashed in a familiar manner against the shore and the boats lying on the pier. In the distance, several bridges arched over the water which painted a distorted picture of the House of Parliament and the moon above it, and delicate lights from windows and street lamps set little stars into the river.
A gust of wind blew the hair from my face and I took a deep breath. This was London. This was the city I lived in, I knew so little about it but the more I found out the more it scared me and the more it left me in awe.
Themes' beautiful brown waves soothed my troubled mind but the weather turned chillier and the cold was pinching my skin telling me to go back, before anyone realised I was gone.
There were not many people on the streets but enough to make me feel safe, particularly, since it was Christmas Eve and Christmas songs sounded from the bright windows all around. Everyone was visiting friends and families and I wondered what my sisters were doing this very moment. Were they enjoying themselves in Portsmouth? I hoped they had spent a small fortune and treated themselves to a wonderful Christmas, knowing their recklessness in monetary matters they probably had.
At a crossroad, I wondered which way to go. Though the road I had taken initially lay straight ahead, but turning right seemed like a shortcut, only it was a darker and slimmer street, the sort you would not advise the hero in a fairytale to choose because a wolf dressed in an elderly lady's nightgown was certain to lurk behind one of the trees. But it was Christmas and everyone was merry, there were people all around, hence I did not need to fear the wolf.
Soon however, those people became scarce, and so did the lights in the windows, and eventually the windows themselves, in their stead a public house appeared a hundred yards away where drunk men staggered in and out of the narrow double door, and dirty laughter filled the cold air. Everything around me turned dead quiet – there was no wind, no rustle in the trees.
Very much afraid of the wolf now, I pulled up my collar and lowered my head, and tried to keep a steady pace. As the public house drew nearer the urge to run became stronger, and the smell of cheap liquor invaded my nostrils. The men's faces, their drunken expressions became clearer, if I crossed the road to walk on the other side, they would notice and know I was afraid. Men like that could smell fear and even if they had had no intention to harm me to begin with, they would certainly get funny ideas if they felt their own superiority.
A few more steps and I would be past them, but suddenly, a brawl broke out in front of me. My way was cut off by a body that was pushed in my path, it fell and sprawled across the pavement at my feet. Two other men shouted something at each other and surrounded the man on the ground, who was trying to pick himself up, but one of the other men kicked him and he fell over once more. Sticky strands of red hair clung to the man's sweaty forehead, with his hands he grabbed the ground and dug his nails into the pavement until the skin came off at his finger tips. Due to the blow he had suffered, and the alcohol in his blood he had trouble to stand up quickly enough, thus he received another kick to his ribs. This time he fell sideways and I caught a better look at him. He wore a suit that had suffered from being in bad company, some buttons had been ripped off and the white collar was smeared with brown stains, on his knee was an ugly hole in the fabric, but it was of an elegant and fashionable cut, thus identifying its owner as a member of the gentle class.
With the hand that was not supporting his body he brushed the sticky strands from his face – it was that of Richard Redford.
One of the man behind me did not wait for the information I was attempting to comprehend to sink in and smashed a bottle across Redford's face, glass fragments splintered in all directions, wine spilled over my shoes. I hoped it was wine.
'Stop,' I shouted. 'What are you doing?'
How could one person be so recklessly cruel to another? Redford lay on his belly while a small pool of blood formed around his head. How could that stranger do that to him? Who gave him the right?
'Oy, whoat d'ye think ye doin'?' thundered the man closing in on me, holding the broken bottle by the neck. With his free hand he gave me a shove and I felt the other two come up from behind as their collective interest shifted from Redford to me.
The commotion had caused a stir among the other men who had formed a circle around us, they did not appear particularly happy about having their merry evening interrupted by a brawl.
'Calm down boys, there is no argument that can't be settled over a good ol' pint,' someone in the crowd made his opinion known.
I backed away while I had the chance.
'Tha' re'head owes me boss a good chunk o' money an' I'm going to beat it out o' him,' growled the man with the broken bottle.
'What good is he to you dead, Shivvy? Can't get no money from a dead man,' said a man in the back.
I shivered upon hearing talk of death.
'Yeah, Shivvy, it is Christmas for fuck's sake.'
'Kill 'im tomorrow.'
'Aight, aight, I get it,' said Shivvy and turned to me. His ugly face was long and sharp, with a V-shaped mouth and thick short eye brows, the mouth formed into a grin and revealed the teeth of a horse.
'Give 'im a message for me kid, willya?'
I stiffened with fear.
'Tell 'im, if he don't get those two hundred fifty pounds by mid January, krrrrrch,' he made a horrible noise, displaying the full length of his horse teeth and drew the broken bottle slowly across his own throat, mere inches away from it.
Shivvy and his two friends left me standing there, and I dared not move until someone gave me a pat on the shoulder and the merry mood returned to everyone around me. No one helped Redford who was still lying motionlessly on the ground. From the corner of my eye I saw his attackers linger, standing under a lamp, at some distance, Shivvy smoked a cigarette while staring at me with wide-open, manic eyes. When he caught me looking, the V-shaped mouth turned downwards, the broken bottle was still in his hand and he pointed it at his throat again. Having left a lasting impression he motioned to his companions and they disappeared in the shadow of a side street.
No one betrayed an overly extensive amount of concern regarding Redford's situation, and I felt that asking anyone of the men for help would amount to little more than ridicule. After all, they had already done more than I could have ever imagined, they had saved me.
Meanwhile, Redford raised himself to sit with his head between his knees, and swayed back and forth, left and right. The alcohol probably dulled the pain but also made his blood thinner, at this rate, he might die of blood loss. I took off the scarf Hanson had given me and, while the coldness lay its frosty fingers about my neck, I pressed it against the boy's forehead firmly. If I managed to reduce the blood loss and speedily take Redford to Hanson, the brute would be safe, hence I tied the scarf around his head and tried to convince him to stand up. Redford betrayed little weakness. With astonishing ease he hopped to his feet, his stance, however, was nowhere near steady and it most likely would become wobblier the longer it took to put him under medical care. At first, I merely had to tug at his sleeve to guide the direction, but soon he began swaying dangerously, and I was forced to lean against him to offer support. When we arrived by the gate I was practically dragging his full body weight, thus we stumbled into the house almost falling over at the doorstep. With what was left of my strength, I was about to yell for help but remembered that Mr Hanson Senior had his study very close to the entrance. Day and night he could be found there going over his business accounts and book keeping, if I were to yell he would be the first to hear it.
With my mind strangely clear I sat Redford down by the stairs and mounted its steps two at a time. I entered Hanson's room without knocking, for I knew he would be asleep. His room was much more spacious than the guest room, the double-bed had no canopy. The white bedding had gone astray., there was an abundance of pillows, but his head lay on the blank matt
ress. The blanket covered only one of his legs, he lay with his face towards the window, the curtains of which were not drawn and the little light flowing into the room softly caressed his features. He looked very serious even in his sleep.
The room smelled like him, entering it was like diving into his embrace. Were it not for the urgency of the moment I would have remained there staring at him all night. Time was of the essence but he did not wake upon my calling him, hence I shook his shoulder, that too provoked no reaction, therefore I added force. His eyes shot open, his expression changed from momentary confusion within the quarter of a second to lethal fury, he grabbed me and pinned me onto the bed, hovering atop with the readiness to kill. I winced in surprise rather than fear, for it happened so fast that it was impossible to generate fear in such a short moment.
He came to his senses before I did: 'Joanna? What in the name of...' his face went through a number of expressions until it wrinkled in disgust: 'What happened to you? What is that stench?' His eyes widened in sudden worry: 'Whose blood is that?'
He began examining and touching me, and went as far as tearing open my coat before I could brush his hands off.
'I am all right,' I shrieked, 'let go, please.'
Humiliation claimed my senses, I was incredibly happy the room was dark, for otherwise he would have seen the full extent of my red and embarrassed face.
'Yes, of course,' he stepped off the bed and helped me up, suddenly self-conscious of his actions.
He blushed slightly which surprised me even further. In an awkward effort to make amends for assaulting me, he brushed invisible dust from my jacket and said, 'there, good as new.'
I blinked at him and his poor attempt at humour. I almost laughed probably because I was becoming slightly hysteric.
'What are you doing in my bedroom?' he demanded remembering that I was the intruder not him.
We had wasted enough time already, hence I took his hand by the sleeve of his dark night gown and led the way to were I had left Redford.
Hanson was quick to react. He shouted for Miss Durdle and Arthur, the butler. As I had feared Mr Hanson came too, in order to observe the scene and draw his conclusions, but seeing the situation was under control or maybe even for lack of care and interest he withdrew to the study whence he had come.
Arthur helped Hanson carry Redford upstairs. They brought him to another free guest room, pushed the blankets aside and placed him on the bed. Miss Durdle and Arthur helped arranging and preparing the utensils that would be needed and went back to bed as soon their work was done.
'Ryde, you will assist me.'
Chapter 23
PREJUDICE AND PERSPECTIVE
'Miss Ryde, I must say,' were the words that greeted me at the breakfast table. The small hair on my neck tickled with anxiety, 'you have an extraordinary talent for putting yourself in the way of highly compromising positions which offer a number of unfavourable interpretations.'
I heard Hanson's fork fall to his plate while his father looked at me expectantly. The only times he and I crossed paths were during meals. This was the first time he addressed me in such a way, for usually he contented himself with comments for which he could not be accused of direct hostility towards me. Yesterday, for example, he had read an article from the paper out loud which depicted a lady in a scandalous affair, he said that eventually there was just punishment for all who attempted betrayal. His son had asked him, through gritted teeth, to refrain from such remarks. Mr Hanson opposed that he was in a mood to discuss the article as it had left such a strong impression on him, unless Charles had someone else in mind whom it concerned.
'I am very sorry for having caused a great deal of trouble in the short time of my stay,' I said tensely.
'Indeed, you should be,' said he.
Swallowing my food became progressively more difficult.
'Father,' spoke Hanson yet was silenced with an upheld hand.
'Let me say this Charles,' he uttered with a look of unwavering authority. This instant I imagined him telling off Hanson when he was a boy. How much terror this look must have caused then, when it still had such a strong effect on the grown-up Hanson, and how similar that look was to the one Hanson gave me when I provoked his scolding.
'I do not approve of my children's exposure to her company. She will bring a scandal upon herself sooner or later and I do not like the idea of having the Hanson family name associated with it.'
Hanson the younger rose to his full body height with the screeching sound of the chair on the floor.
'Stop this talk instantly or I will-'
'You will what, my son? Stomp off angrily to your room? Leave my house? How many times have you threatened to do so and to what avail? You poor bastard have nowhere else to go and always wind up here. I pity you, I truly do. You are a man of an age which yearns for independence yet you are bound to me. My compassion for you runs deep, not least of all because I have a lot to thank you for but even my angelic patience has boundaries.'
I held my breath expecting more but he stopped there, and turned his attention to his food. His words stayed like a cold dagger at my throat, and at Hanson's. Hanson's face was red and breath was quick. Quietly he sat back down and began cutting the omelet on his plate without eating it. It hurt to see him this way. The shattering of his heart was almost audible.
Mr Hanson suddenly looked up at me as though he had a revelation: 'Miss Ryde, we know so much about you it seems unfair to me that you know so very little about us.'
'No, father, please,' begged Hanson. His voice was heartbreakingly pleading.
'I know all I need to know,' I interposed. If Hanson did not want me to know I did not want to hear it.
'No, no, I insist,' said Mr Hanson with a grin that did not affect his eyes, 'you see, my son is not the only one with a weakness for scandalous women. I, too, was smitten with the excitement of courting a lady of a questionable past. Charles' mother, you see, was a divorcee and, oh, what a tremendous actress she was too. The performance she put on when telling the agonisingly painful story about her previous husband was positively superb. How he had mistreated her in a vile manner. He had even laid hands on her, she swore. Oh, I was empowered and uplifted by the sensation of being her knight in shining armour when everyone else had turned their backs on her. My own dear, wise mother begged me to reconsider marrying that woman. She disapproved to such an extent that our very wedding killed her for she lived not a day past it. Despite all the warning signs I stood by her and how happy I was to hear she was expecting our child. I could not wait to look into the eyes of my first-born and indeed I did not have to wait long. Charles was born only eight months after our wedding night. Now please excuse me, Miss Ryde, for betraying such a delicate detail but as a woman, who lives in one room with men, it will hardly shock you.'
It did shock me so very much that I wasted not one thought on his implication at my own indecency.
Hanson rose to his feet again. The chair made no noise this time. He held on to the table with both hands as though he might fall over without its support.
'I told you father, I was born prematurely. It is common when women go through notable emotional and even physical pain,' he looked at his father with a great deal of emotional pain of his own. 'I look so much like you, father, why do you doubt me and mother? Neither she nor I have betrayed you for even a minute of our lives. Mother's first husband was dark-haired and fat and short. I, on the other hand, have your face, your hair, your build, why can't you lay the topic to rest?'
'Well, my son, if you spent all your married life wondering if that child you are holding is yours or someone else's it ceases to matter at one point or other. I can never be clear of doubt and I find it easier to accept you not to be mine than to wonder and wonder. Once, I made that decision everything became so much easier.'
'I see. Clearly and as always your own comfort is placed above everyone else's.'
'Why should I compromise it and for whom?'
'Pleas
e excuse me, I need to look after my patient.'
'Make sure he is fit enough to leave as early as possible. My house is not a hospital,' scoffed the older Hanson.
'As you wish, father,' said the younger Hanson, bowed his head, and left.
My body felt as though it was drained of all strength.
'Why do you put him through such pain?' I whispered knowing I was out of place for asking but felt Hanson's misery so keenly that I could not help myself.
'It is none of your business Miss Ryde,' he said squinting his eyes just like his son did.
'You have made it my business by telling me all about it.'
He gave one loud laugh, then looked at me while arrogance invaded his every feature: 'Well, Miss Ryde, perhaps I meant it as a warning to you. A bond made under unhappy circumstances will never prosper and only destroy everyone in it's path.'
I wanted to ask what it was that made him think his son and I were forming a bond for there really was no reason to make such an assumption but the double-door swung open and Sofia entered in her wheelchair: 'I am so sorry for being late. I overslept and not one of you wretched creatures woke me. What have I missed?'
Neither Mr Hanson nor I gave an answer. To avoid spoiling Sofia's morning too, I asked to be excused.
When I found Hanson he was sitting by Richard Redford's bed changing the bandage. Redford was asleep although he had woken several times during the night and complained of a severe headache. Hanson had given him light anaesthetics claiming Richard was strong enough to bear some of the pain so it would remain in his memory next time he touched liquor.
The wound, that had claimed an enormous amount of blood, was a vertical cut through his eyebrow. It was a sensitive spot, and Redford was lucky not to have ended up blind in one eye. It was, however, not quite as bad as it had looked yesterday, for he had meaty brows. Other than that he had some very dark bruises covering his body and a fractured rib which would heal quickly if the patient rested it properly.
The Girl who was a Gentleman (Victorian Romance, History) Page 18