I had assisted Hanson throughout the night and once I had focused on my tasks I was not affected by the sight at all, and it was not a pretty one. Cleaning all that blood from Redford's swollen face led to a sense of pride in having helped another human being who would have suffered or even died without me.
'It makes no difference, you know,' I said to Hanson.
'Yes, I know. Yet I would have preferred you not to hear it,' he replied solemnly.
'Then it is my turn to pretend as though I do not know,' my earnestness forced a weak smile form Hanson's features and he nodded.
His expression betrayed there was more to worry about. A few times he was about to say something, but merely shook his head, scoffed quietly, and went back to silence.
'What is it?' I asked imagining all sorts of horrors.
He looked at me with both hurt and reproach sparkling in his eyes.
'Will you please be honest with me?'
'Yes, of course,' I said without hesitation then remembered that my recent record of honesty was very slim.
'Yesterday night,' he began without looking at me, 'did you try to run away?'
'Of course not,' I retorted with a start. 'Why would I do something so foolish?'
'You foolish? Never!' he exclaimed dramatically.
I could not suppress the the urge to clarify: 'I do not wake up in the morning thinking today is a good day to do something foolish. It just so happens that not all of my conduct is supported by solid reason.'
He sighed and confirmed that indeed it was so. A burden seemed to have been lifted from his heart. Then he did something I had not seen him do for quiet a while. He smiled at me, and this time, it was honest and tender. I had almost forgotten what it looked like.
'What made you think I would run away?'
He looked out of the window. For once, the low winter sun became visible through the thick white clouds and directed its strong rays through the East window. Hanson did not seem to mind the bright light and continued to look directly at it. His features were lit by it and I had to renew the very first thought I had of him: he was not horribly ugly, at all.
'A lot of things to be honest.'
'Really?'
'Did you never think of it?'
'I have thought about going home once or twice maybe, but it never occurred to me to run away. Why should I?'
'If I were you I doubt I would think of much else.'
I paused trying to figure out what he was alluding to. Could he mean to say that I should be so utterly ashamed of myself that running away and hiding from society was the only way left for me? Admittedly, I never strayed far from the edge of the slope that led to ruin. But I did hope Hanson was not one to judge me quite as severely as his father did, or Redford would if he ever found out.
'I seem to have upset you,' Hanson said, 'please know that it was not my intention. But it is precisely what I mean,' he threw up his hands in sudden frustration. 'I upset you time and time again when you deserve better.'
A solemn sadness invaded his posture, it took hold of his voice and intruded upon his expression. He knitted his brows and lowered his head – same as he had done when responding to his father's devastating remarks. It was not a man I was looking at, but a mere boy – who was as hurt and as lost as any child without guidance. He was just like me.
As if with a will of its own my arm reached out to him and my stiff fingers slid around his sleeve and grabbed it firmly. I hoped that somehow the tension in the room and the regret in his voice would resolve if I looked at him intensely enough. I hoped he would read my mind and understand how highly I thought of him.
He pressed me to his chest so that I heard his heart beat. Heavily he sighed, but it felt like his chest became lighter with it. The moment was surreal, time slowed down, but I feared that once he let go, it would be as though it had never happened. He would deny it if ever I asked about it, which I never would due to a lack of courage.
All I could do was enjoy this moment while it lasted for it would likely never return.
When he let go, the red curtains were still the shade they had been, the pattern on the carpet had not changed, the wardrobe still stood in its place, the dust on the canopy remained where it had been, and Richard Redford's steady snore was still audible through the blanket covering his mouth – but something was different.
Chapter 24
TIME AND TENSION
The grass still swayed to the wind, the wind still found its icy way around the corridors, the corridors were still adorned by an army of massive portraits, the men in the portraits still looked scornfully at everyone who passed them – Oliver Kenwood Boarding School was still majestic – but something was different.
When the brass gate made way for me, I did not feel intimidated by the buildings or the people therein. It was but a few weeks which I had spent at Hanson's, yet it was such an eventful time that it might as well have been years. Years during which I had learned a lot about Hanson and even more about myself. Going back to our positions as student and teacher seemed almost unnatural to me. My image of him was changed. I did not regard him as a flawless statue of a Britannic hero on a pedestal any longer, but rather as my equal. He and I were not so different. Both of us had a lot on our minds. Another half a year at Kenwood lay ahead and I had not yet spent much thought on what I would do after school. Suddenly there was very little time left to contemplate my future.
The old man had intended for me to do something brilliant but how to accomplish brilliancy without connections, without going to Oxford or Cambridge? I had to lay my dreams to rest and be realistic about my possibilities, though it pained me to admit it. To have any chance at all, I would have to continue living a man's life. Being small and slender I passed as a boy but would people believe I was a man? Even if they did, I doubted I would ever be as happy again as I had been this Christmas. With a sudden pang I realised that I should enjoy the months which I had left at Kenwood for it was not likely that my life would change for the better after it.
One term was a very short time to solve all of my problems, therefore I had better focus on what I needed most of all, which was a steady source of income. I needed to find a lawyer or doctor or engineer who would hire me as his assistant when I graduated. In order to be of interest to any such man I needed to achieve the best possible mark in my final examination. Sadly, Hanson was in no position to hire – he would have been perfect.
My train of thought was interrupted by a glowing red scar. Richard Redford was in our room sitting restlessly on his bed. When I attempted to come through the door, which was tighter than I remembered, my newly acquired trunk got stuck in the door frame. The trunk was a courtesy of Miss Durdle. She had insisted I should take all the suits, shoes, shirts, jackets, vests, and coats with me that she had placed in the wardrobe of the guest room. The fact that the sack I had come with was a great deal smaller than the double-doored wardrobe was utterly neglected. The solution was this enormously big trunk which created more problems than it solved because it was big and clunky and heavy and it was physically impossible to get it through the door. How I had managed to carry my luggage all across the green and up the many, many, many stairs was beyond me. The deep trail I had left in the muddy path leading up to the halls of residence could probably be seen from the moon. To realise that all the pain and the suffering had availed to nothing, because the trunk was too fat to enter the room, was terribly frustrating.
'Here, let me help,' Redford climbed over the wooden box and kicked it so hard that it slid inside and across the wooden floor all the way to my bed.
'Thank you,' I said unable to hide the scepticism in my voice. Where we friends now?
He shrugged, looked left, looked right, fidgeted a little, and then left the room as if remaining civil was more than he could bear.
Following the incident at the pub, Redford left Hanson's house and care as soon as he had slept off his drunkenness. He had not displayed much gratitude towards Hanson or me
and appeared displeased that we had meddled in his affairs. Sometime between then and now he must have realised that I really had acted quite heroically which was why he tried to be – I hardly dared think it – nice. How my chest swelled with the recollection of my selfless bravery. The more I thought about it the more my memory distorted the facts. Suddenly there were not three men attacking Redford but thirty, and the weapon was not a broken bottle but knives, swords, and pistols. Of course, I single-handedly defeated them all with my formidable fencing skills. How they all pleaded for mercy and cried for their mothers. Their cries changed to cheers.
'Ryde! Ryde! RYDE!'
Now that last shout was more angry than those preceding it. It was so angry, in fact, that it did not fit with the image. I blinked a few times and the foil in my hand changed to a pen. No wonder it had been so light. Worse though was the fact that I was not in the middle of a duel, which I would have infinitely preferred, but in a classroom. Mr Walsh was towered over me. To tower he had to stand on his tiptoes even though my head lay on the desk. I sat up instantly as straight as a candle – and sweated like one, too. The classroom was one I knew well, but all of the other students were unfamiliar. Slowly, I remembered that I was now a third year and that I had to catch up on such a vast amount of study material that there was hardly time for me to sleep at night.
'Mr Ryde, such behaviour from you – from you of all people,' he tried to maintain an angry voice but he was much too disappointed. He screeched in my ear: 'Go to the black board and translate the next twenty pages of Hamlet into Latin!'
The blackboard could never hold twenty pages. It was a detail I had best not mention. To show my good will and how much I regretted having fallen asleep I performed the penalty as best as I could. No one laughed at me. In my old class, everyone would have lain on their bellies and cried tears. But now that I was a third year, the only response I provoked was cold indifference. My new classmates did not know what to make of me. I looked like a first year, had been at Kenwood for half a year, yet would graduate along with them in summer. I felt terribly out of place.
Though I was not accepted, no one bullied me either which I had to thank Richard Redford for who was now in the same class as me. He was by my side constantly and strangely protective. Although I found his devotion flattering, it did complicate things. I had to be more careful than ever before, especially when changing clothes. The only place to escape his watchful eye was in Hanson's office – he never followed me there. Hence, I was a frequent guest, particularly as Hanson allowed me to use his bathtub whenever I chose. More often than not, I stayed the night studying in his office when he had long gone to bed. This arrangement inconvenienced him, but he did not say so which I exploited fully.
It was a little dangerous because if someone noticed they might tell the headmaster – and he would certainly disapprove, but I needed to study in peace and quiet which was impossible in my room with Redford and Greenfield in it. Every time I looked up from my books there was Redford staring at me. Though, he seemed to mean well, it was scary, but not as scary as Greenfield. The latter glanced my way only rarely but when he did there was pure hatred in his eyes. Having Redford as my watchdog kept Greenfield away but angered him severely, which in turn made Redford even more protective. It was a vicious cycle. The tension between the three of us was exhausting. That, and studying and the doubled caution ate away my days and I had no time at all to spend with my friends. I missed Terry most of all.
One day I found Larry lurking outside my room. Upon enquiry he said that he had come to apologise. He was a very tall boy of almost two metres, but he looked at me with sad, tearful eyes like a small child. His back was bent, his hands and feet fidgety as though he was about to be led to the gallows and was making his final appeal. When he finally apologised I promised that I held no grudge and also said that it was not I whom he needed to apologise to. Larry knew that, but he lacked the courage to face Terry alone, and wanted me to accompany him. I was glad to neglect my studies for a good cause.
Larry came prepared. He had brought with him to school a huge trunk – bigger even than the one Miss Durdle had given me – filled to the rim with sweets. It was so big and so heavy that we had to carry it together.
Terry opened the door to his room and shut it in Larry's face immediately. Despite Larry's plea he refused to open it. It took my voice to convince him to at least listen to what Larry had to say. Grudgingly, Terry came out into the hallway. The two boys who could not be more different in appearance wore very similar expressions. They stood opposite each other staring at their feet with knitted brows, puffed cheeks, and pouted mouths. Though I was keen to watch this exchange my excitement wore off after ten minutes of solemn silence. A silence that was worse than the one in the third year's classroom. Five more minutes passed and I grew impatient as I remembered the pile of books which awaited my reading.
'Terry,' I said, 'Larry came here to say how very, very sorry he is, and look he brought you a whole trunk full of sweets.'
Terry shrugged and his cheeks inflated some more.
'Larry,' I said, 'Terry does not know if he can really trust you, because you did hurt him by leaving him when he needed you most.'
Larry mumbled one or two undistinguishable vowels.
'Terry,' I continued, 'Larry will never ever do that again. He will run naked through a girl's school and have a painter make a drawing of it and send it to his father rather than abandon you ever again.'
Larry nodded and Terry's cheeks deflated a little. It was progress.
'Furthermore', I was beginning to enjoy my role and felt my creativity thrive, 'you are his best friend and have been since the two of you were drooling and wetting yourselves, and you must remain best friends until you start drooling and wetting yourselves all over again,' into my left hand I took Larry's hand, and into my right I took Terry's.
'Larry do you promise to stay true to your word, for better for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?'
Larry nodded timidly.
'Terry, do you take Larry to be your friend, to stop stealing his food and forgive him?'
Terry glanced at the the big trunk full of sweets that stood between them, and nodded.
'You may kiss the bride,' I concluded.
Both boys withdrew their hands and looked at each other in disgust and we all burst out laughing.
The little time I had with my them, I enjoyed thoroughly. When we ate lunch together or accidentally met in the hallways I forgot my worries for a moment.
Chapter 25
BLOOD AND BLUFF
'Jo,' Hanson said one evening in a serious yet feeling voice. I knew what he was going to say.
'Please do not turn me out the door,' I retorted pathetically.
He chuckled: 'I am not turning you out the door, but you have to admit that my office has slowly but surely become yours,' he motioned towards the desk, and sofa, and floor, all of which were covered in my study materials. You could not even tell the pattern on the carpet any more or guess the colour of the cushions.
'I fail to see what you mean,' I said cheekily.
Hanson smiled at me but gave me a look that made it clear he would not be quite so tolerant any more.
I lay the letter aside which I had attempted to write to my sisters – it seemed to become increasingly difficult to find the right words to say, or even to choose a topic to write about. We were family and I loved them but we had drifted much too far apart.
'Sorry,' my voice was a little more heartbroken than I intended.
'I understand that you do not feel comfortable in your room but it does seem strange that you are never there. It will raise suspicion... it might already have.'
What he said was not unreasonable but I really liked being in his office because he was there or at least next-door, but, of course, I did not want to be a burden.
'Perhaps there is something I can do about the situation in my room that keeps me from staying there.'
'Please do.'
'Good evening,' I said formally. The door behind me closed noiselessly.
'Is it?' Richard Redford returned.
Having gotten to know him a little better during the past weeks I was able to tell that this reply – the fact that he replied, at all – was his way to show he was in the best humour his body allowed without the addition of morphine, opium, or laudanum.
Greenfield was not there. He avoided our room for the same reason I did.
'There is something I would like to discuss,' I said shifting from one foot to the other.
'What do you want?' he sat up fully alert.
Last year, I could not have imagined claiming Redford's attention without provoking anger and annoyance. It was a privilege I did not want to loose, therefore I had to measure my next words very carefully.
'Richard, I am aware how highly you must think of me, after I have saved your life without regard for my own health and safety,' I was about to get a little carried away in terms of drama but noticed and swiftly changed path, 'I am sure you would have done the same for me, therefore let us assume we are even and be friends from now on. All other obligations resolved.'
'Saved my life?' he repeated after a pause. Then he shook his head as though he was slowly taking in the information: 'Obligations?'
He took it the wrong way. I had feared he might and therefore avoided speaking to him. There was no going back now. I had to do all I could to reduce damage now.
Richard threw his legs over the edge of his bed which was decidedly too small for him.
'When have you saved my life and how does it bind me in obligation to you?'
My old fear of the big and broad, bearded man who did not fit in with the image one might have of a schoolboy, rose to the surface, while Richard rose to his full height. The red evening sun shone on his back through the big window highlighting his dark silhouette with a warning glow.
'I thought you were behaving the way you did because you were grateful for the night in which I have brought you to Hanson. You had almost bled to death.'
The Girl who was a Gentleman (Victorian Romance, History) Page 19