The Girl who was a Gentleman (Victorian Romance, History)

by Anna Jane Greenville

  'Admiral Lowell?'

  'Yes, we've heard of him.'

  'Seen him.'

  'Very elegant man.'

  'Dashing.'

  'Must be around forty.'

  'Forty-five is what I heard.'

  'He is staying at a hotel near Covent Garden.'

  'We work there.'

  'For the fine folks.'

  'Admiral Lowell is among the finest.'

  'He stops there every year for a month or so.'

  'Always in April.'

  'Although this year will probably be the last.'

  'He is looking to buy a house around Primrose Hill!'

  'For his wife.'

  'Beautiful woman.'

  'Charming.'

  'As fine as a lady.'

  'And as kind as a country girl.'

  'Gave me a guinea on Monday.'

  'Gave me two on Tuesday.'

  'They married yesterday.'

  'Madly in love.'

  'We know, we would be.'

  Lucy and Daisy started giggling. They were twins. Very sweet girls of fourteen. One might even call them pretty, were they not quiet so thin.

  Mrs Banks offered me more coffee. After drinking two cups of it, and listening to Lucy and Daisy, who spoke like one person with two heads, I was beyond jittery. My heart was beating like that of a small rodent. My right knee was trembling, making my heel hammer uncontrollably against the leg of my chair. What I heard did not exactly calm me. Hanson had bought warm rolls at a bakery near Charing Cross. They were crisp on the outside and soft like cotton wool inside. I stuffed a chunk into my mouth in hope of pushing my emotions down my throat with it.

  'Is he travelling alone with the lady?' asked Hanson.

  'There are two ladies.'

  'The older is called Eleanor.'

  'No, that is the younger.'

  'No it is not.'

  'Yes it is.'

  'No.'

  'Yes, the older is Elizabeth.'

  'Oh, right.'

  'Elizabeth Lowell as of yesterday.'

  I started coughing as the bread caught in my throat. There were too many emotions and they refused to be pushed down. Hanson gave me two pats on the back.

  'Admiral Lowell, was he promoted recently from Captain?' he continued. I did not like the underlying concern with which he voiced his question.

  'Yes, indeed.'

  'Yes, indeed.'

  'Do not repeat after me.'

  'I did not.'

  'Yes, you did.'

  'He was promoted at the end of last year.'

  'When he returned from the East Indies.'

  'Is he actually a Rear-Admiral of the yellow?' This from Hanson, but his question caused little more than confusion.

  'How do you mean?'

  'Yes, how do you mean?'

  'You are doing it again.'

  'No, one word was different.'

  'Stop it.'

  'You, stop it.'

  'Behave yourselves,' said Mrs Banks and the girls were instantly quiet.

  When we left two hours later I asked Hanson what he knew. He was reluctant to admit that he knew anything, but I was not to be taken for a fool.

  'The way you in which you asked those question has made it clear that you know exactly who he is.'

  He did not look my way or say a word. After four cups of coffee I was on edge and not willing to play games. Jumping in front of him I blocked his way.

  'Tell me what you know,' I demanded.

  'I might be wrong.'

  'You know everything about him, his ranks, where he served. You cannot be wrong. There are not enough Admirals in the Royal Navy for you to be wrong.'

  'It will upset you.'

  'I am upset already.'

  'Captain... Admiral Lowell is Abigail's father.'

  I stepped back and looked at Hanson for a moment that stretched into eternity. This could not be.

  'Her name is Miss...'

  'Johnson, yes, she is born Lowell. Most people still call her Miss instead of Mrs because few know exactly what happened. It is a delicate matter. She married a Lieutenant five years ago. A young chap of great promise. His family was among the richest in London, but instead of enjoying the easy life he chose to serve his country. At the age of nineteen he was made acting Captain of a frigate as the Captain and half the crew had fallen ill. Upon his return to Britain, the Admiralty recognised young Johnson's exceptional talent and promoted him to Commander. As such he sailed under Captain Lowell. It was a matter of time until the young man would be given his own ship. Serving under Captain Lowell, Commander Johnson inevitably met the Captain's daughter, Abigail, and within a week of their acquaintance he asked for her hand in marriage. Captain Lowell, at the time, did not approve of their alliance, as he was reluctant to let his darling go, yet his daughter was as headstrong and stubborn as she is now. They married. A few months later Johnson embarked on a journey whence he never returned. There have been rumours, as you can imagine, with regards to the cause of death. But Captain Lowell was never proved guilty in court. Abigail became a widow at the age of eighteen. She inherited her husband's wealth and lived for four years in America until her return last December.

  'Admiral Lowell has a house in Portsmouth. Abigail refused to live with him though she never severed their ties completely. She suffered a great deal, for not only did she loose the love of her life, but it was also her father who stood accused. Once, she admitted to me that she did not believe her father to have killed her husband but she did think him capable of not doing enough to save him. '

  'It is he who married my sister?'

  'I am afraid so.'

  'Oh.'

  I could feel my face become pale as the blood drew away from it.

  'Oh,' I said again.

  My body felt as though I had dived into ice cold water without a warning.

  'I should not have told you,' said Hanson.

  'No, you did well in telling me. I-' I felt tears welling up. 'I am sorry. Poor Abigail. I have said such mean things about her.'

  We were standing in the middle of a crowded street. Masses of people were heading in every direction. Hanson positioned himself in front of me to shelter me from view.

  'I knew you would react in such a way. But I could not not tell you.'

  'Do tell me one more thing, please.'

  'And what is that?'

  'What is an Admiral of the yellow? Is it very bad?'

  'I would not say it is bad exactly. You see, normally there are three more ranks between Captain and Admiral. Captains are promoted to flag rank to allow them to retire in dignity. Yellow is the colour that signifies redundancy. In other words he may now enjoy his remaining days in peace.'

  'Well, at least there is some good news.'

  'Although,' he began and my heart sank some more, 'this usually happens to Captains of a much older age And while holding the rank of Admiral is an honour, an Admiral of the yellow retires at half pay and sometimes this procedure is used to rid the Royal Navy off officers who have served for many years but have displayed incompetent behaviour on one or more occasions.'

  'Does that mean my sister is poor as well as married to a horrible man?' I sobbed.

  'I do not know if he is horrible, but I am sure he had enough time to save up a small fortune. With Abigail managing her own affairs, he needed to care only for himself. How long his fortune will hold is another matter,' he paused, 'I am sorry to tell you all this. It is why I wanted you to hear what Lucy and Daisy had to say because they have a more favourable opinion of people than I do. They said he was a fine gentleman.'

  'It is all my fault,' I admitted. 'I wanted to provide for my sisters so they would not have to marry men like that.'

  'You have not met him. I only met three or four times. He was at sea most of the time. I might be wrong about him.'

  'No,' I sobbed again, 'you are never wrong about people.'

  Had Elizabeth married that man for money alone? But that made no s
ense, with the old man's provisions we had enough – or perhaps Elizabeth did not want to rely on me. Perhaps her wish for independence was as strong as mine, and she did not want to sit at home idly and wait for me to manage our affairs, especially as she disapproved so greatly of my means. She chose some man, a stranger, whom she might not even love to take agency over her life rather than allowing me to give her a choice.

  I had imposed my services where they were not wanted. I might even have pushed her into marriage. I should have talked to her more openly. I should have gone home for Christmas. I should have allowed her to see more of my life, included her, made her understand. Maybe then her conduct would not have been quite so drastic. No matter how I looked at it, there was nothing I could do to change it now. It was probably better, in fact, if I did not impose myself on her any further. She chose not to tell me and I had to respect it by staying out of her way, even though it hurt severely.

  There was another situation – one I could still change. It was a change I was afraid to bring about as I did not know if it was going to be for the better or worse. I had avoided it until now, but I was not going to wait any longer as I had learned in the most painful way possible what silence could do.

  Upon my return, Rajesh Greenfield sat at the desk in our room. I could not help but marvel at how big it looked without Richard Redford there. The box bed had been taken out, as well, and I enjoyed the privilege of a proper bed now.

  When I entered it was room mates back that faced me. Even though, we now lived alone in the shared room, I had not found a convenient moment to talk to him. The tension of unspoken accusations between us was thicker than the fog that haunted London at night. With every passing day it became harder to address him. Soon the last feelings of familiarity would be gone, and there would be no words that could re-establish our ties.

  Greenfield crouched above books and papers, studying fervently – an activity I should be practising myself, yet had completely neglected today, for if I failed the final examination Hanson would take back his promise to take me on as an assistant. Such was his condition and it was not my intention to disappoint him.

  With a sudden sensation of ease and relief I realised that I had only myself to look after now, even if I earned very little or nothing at all, the only one who would starve was me. I felt a wry smile on my face, and relief in my heart that left an emptiness. My family did not need me any longer, they had not even seen it fit to inform me about my uselessness to them. So very inconsequential was I.

  But, I had come to my room with a firm resolve. There was no time to be glum when important measures had to be taken.

  'Good afternoon, Rajesh,' I sad in a full voice and waited for the silence which I assumed would be his reply.

  Though he was busy at work I could see his back stiffen.

  'How do you do,' he said in a chilly tone. I had forgotten that it was not his custom to be childish and ignore me even though we had not spoken in weeks.

  'Rajesh, may I bluntly ask what is on your mind?'

  He stopped writing but he did not turn towards me. I continued looking at his back.

  'You may. I might not reply, however,' his voice was emotionless and steady. There was no weakness or viciousness in it, but I knew I had taken him by surprise, for he was one to prepare, to think things through, now he was confronted without warning. It was my chance to break the barrier between us if I made no mistake, a mistake would be become emotional, or to attack him. None of that, I had to sort out our differences in a calm and collected manner, a talk from man to man, by the end of which we might not leave this room as friends, but at least we would no longer be enemies.

  'Did you tell Chester to bully me when I first arrived?'

  I waited for him to consider this.

  'No. You managed to attract his disfavour all by yourself.'

  Now, there was malice in his voice. It was just an underlying tone which I would not have noticed had I not lived with him for many months.

  'But,' he continued. 'I have done nothing to stop him.'

  'Have you not called Hanson when I was attacked by Chester and his friends on the college green at night?'

  'Sorry,' he turned around smiling. The smile did not touch his eyes. 'Hanson came because he heard you scream. I merely watched from my window. Despite the fog I saw enough to understand the situation. I did not help you but I did use what I had seen to my benefit. And now you are probably going to ask me about the destroyed classroom, too, aren't you? That was not me either but I might have accidentally put the idea into Chester's mind.'

  Sarcasm did not suit him.

  'I do not know what you gained form pretending to be my friend,' I smiled too, and made sure the smile did touch my eyes for it was honestly meant. 'But I would like to thank you for your pretended friendship, it gave me the strength I needed in order to make real friends.'

  'It was not my intention to be of service.'

  'I am sure of it.'

  'It is merely my wretched nature.'

  'You cannot help being kind even to those you hate.'

  He laughed and shook his head.

  'You grew, Ryde. I can see now why-' he stopped, startled by what he was about to say, but he had said enough.

  'You can see why Hanson likes me more than you?' I asked well aware that I was about to stab my own heart, as well as his, with my words.

  'Do not be silly,' he turned away and hastily began going through his papers.

  'Rajesh, my relationship to Dr Hanson is not of an intimate kind. I am not his lover. We are but friends.'

  I heard him scoff quietly. It was the best he could do. My attack was far too swift for him to muster up his defences. Sadly, I understood his feelings well.

  'And I consider you my friend and hope that someday you might be it.'

  His shoulders were shaking slightly. It was time to leave so he could sort his feelings out. It was not my intention to embarrass him.

  'How,' his voice was shaking too, 'how do you know?'

  'I wish I could say I noticed it myself, but regrettably it was Redford who told me.'

  'Not in a nice way I presume.'

  'As nice as fists can be.'

  'I see. He thought you were like me?'

  'Yes. And he was right, I do love Hanson, but I am afraid there is nothing I can do to act on it. You were braver than me by telling him about your feelings. Perhaps you can find solace in that.'

  'How can I possibly find solace in that? The man I love refused me, and although he did not show it, I am sure he was disgusted with me,' his eyes glistened with the pain in his heart. 'When I was a child, I did not know that it mattered whether you loved a man or a woman – I thought you could love whoever you wanted, because love was supposed to be blind. I have always loved men, I can't help it, it is the way I am, the way I feel, and the worst is knowing that Dr Hanson will never love me back, no matter what I do – if I were a woman, I would at least be able to hope that some day I might win his heart but for me that option just does not exist, and I came to terms with, but then you came along – why would he make an exception for you?' he ran out of words and out of hate, what he was left with then was utmost despair. I knew those feelings well. He began to weep quietly.

  'Rajesh,' I said softly, and I wanted to reach out to him but I did not know whether I had the right to comfort him when I was at least partly the reason for his misery, 'Hanson would never be disgusted with another person's sincere feelings, you know that for it was you who said he was good and fair.'

  It was not my place to watch him in his vulnerable state, therefore I went to the library and studied like a madman for the next few weeks. The more I filled my brain with knowledge the less space there was for thoughts.

  Chapter 28

  BONDS AND BETRAYAL

  For an English summer, June was swelteringly hot, the world looked as though it was melting. All clouds had been burnt from the sky.

  The strange thing about the sky in London was
that it was never blue, there was always a touch of pink in it because the smoke from the chimneys never quite cleared – a constant reminder of how everything that happened changed something in our world. If the chimneys were silenced for a hundred years, would the sky resume its initial colour , eventually?

  Little contemplations like these were a luxury which I allowed myself to enjoy for a total of five minutes a day. The rest of the time was spent in a dark corner of the library. Studying. Studying. Studying.

  Sometimes, I even fell asleep there. Today, for instance, I woke with my face resting on the back of the Trojan Horse. The thrilling battle over Helen was not thrilling enough for me to stay awake and read all of the Iliad in one night. This unfortunate circumstance stole three hours of precious time and the only way to make up for it was to skip breakfast.

  Lessons had ended two weeks ago. One might have thought the last school day would be cause for celebration, but it only marked the beginning of a month of library imprisonment, at the end of which lay the examination gallows.

  The more I studied the more stupid I felt. I could not imagine a life without eighteen hours of reading, writing, and calculating equations that had more letters in them than numbers. Once I caught myself trying to read one such equation thinking it was a phrase. I panicked for I thought that all the studying had caused such a shock to my brain that I had become illiterate.

  Hanson looked with amusement at my efforts and said it filled him with nostalgia as he remembered his own school and university days. He never failed to mention how glad he was that they were over. It was at those times that I wanted to lay my hands firmly around his neck – for research purposes, of course, to fully grasp Paris' feelings when he shot a deadly arrow at Achilles.

  Eventually, I decided to go for breakfast, after all, and recuperate what I could about Paris, Helen, and Achilles. Entirely lost in thought I crossed the college green and entered the main building. The dining hall sounded as busy as always. The clattering of dishes was audible from afar. I was alone in the hallway for I was late after passing by Hanson's office. He was away, though – I had forgotten that he was visiting his patients. Soon, they would be my patient's too. All I had to do was pass the exam.