The Baker's Tale

by Thomas Hauser

  Sincerely,

  Alexander Murd

  Ruby’s heart beat rapidly. She feared that Edwin might be hurt.

  She had no inkling—none, I am quite sure—of what lay ahead.

  The coachman drove Ruby to Murd’s home. Another servant met her at the door and brought her inside.

  Ruby had been in Octavius Joy’s home many times, so she was familiar with elegance. This was wealth of a different order. There was richness and splendour at every turn. The house was filled with luxurious things. The most expensive furniture, the softest carpets, beautiful gilded mirrors, articles of dazzling ornament.

  The servant escorted Ruby to Murd’s study.

  Isabella Murd was sitting in a chair. She stared at Ruby with cruel eyes and a haughty smile. A man that Ruby presumed to be Isabella’s father sat behind an ornate desk. He gestured for Ruby to sit. There was a dark expression on his face.

  Ruby sat with her hands folded in her lap. She was aware of the contrast between her plain clothes and the fine attire that the man and Isabella wore.

  The man studied her at his leisure, not speaking for a time. Ruby’s face, he observed, was remarkably pleasant. She was prettier than he had thought she would be.

  Ruby grew a bit flush with the awareness that she was under inspection. But she looked steadily at the man’s hard eye.

  Finally, he spoke.

  “I believe that you have met my daughter, Isabella. I am Edwin’s employer, Alexander Murd.”

  His manner was cool, and he spoke with the tone of one who had assumed the high moral ground.

  “We meet under troubling circumstances,” Murd said. “This is an awkward and delicate situation, and I request that you honour me with your full attention. I will be as plain with you as I can possibly be, so there is no misunderstanding.”

  Ruby waited.

  “Edwin has asked me to inform you that he will no longer be coming to the learning center. He was not there today because he does not wish to see you again. He requested that my daughter and I speak to you instead.”

  Murd turned toward his daughter.

  “Would you make certain that the door is tightly shut. Servants have a way of listening, and I would be uncomfortable if our conversation were overheard.”

  Isabella followed her father’s instruction. Murd returned his attention to Ruby.

  “I have heard that you harbour sentiments, fantasies—I do not know what to call them—for Edwin. You are a clever young woman for your station in life. But your attachment for this young man is more fantasy than real. You have been a plaything for Edwin, a trifle for the occupation of an idle hour. When I was a young man, I had a few such toys myself.

  “The object of my bringing you here,” Murd continued, “is to assure you that there is no more hope for a future between you and Edwin than there would be had he died last night. You could change the colour of the sky from blue to green as easily as you could be with him. Edwin is far above you. You are not worthy of him.”

  “Edwin is the best judge of that,” Ruby said defiantly.

  “Hold your tongue when I am speaking to you. The relations between us are unfortunate. But they are of your making, not mine.”

  “I am the best judge of my own affairs.”

  “But not of Edwin’s.”

  It was a strange contrast, the two hearts beating opposite one another. The innocent heart of the guileless young woman, palpitating with anxiety and apprehension. And the villainous heart of the cunning man with his wily calculations and plots.

  “I will break your spirit,” Murd thought. Then he looked at Ruby. It seemed to her as though not a muscle in his face moved except for those he used in speaking.

  “I have done some investigation out of concern for Edwin. There is a mystery about your birth. Have you ever wondered about your mother and father? What fantasy were you told?”

  He knew not to play too fine a game. He held her now by a thread. If he drew the thread too tight, it might snap.

  “Were you ever told of your mother’s profession?”

  “I did not know that my mother had a profession,” Ruby answered.

  There was uncertainty now in her voice.

  “It is in the police files. Your mother is your disgrace, and you were hers. She was a whore.”

  For the first time, Isabella spoke.

  “Ruby is a harlot’s name,” she all but shrieked. “You may think that your fortune lies between your legs—”

  Murd silenced his daughter with the slight raise of his hand.

  Ruby had heard enough.

  “I have never been in this house before,” she said, rising from her chair. “And I will never be here again.”

  “Sit down,” Murd instructed. “You will hear me now, or you will hear me later. But later will be too late for Edwin’s well-being. If he suffers, I trust you will remember that I brought you into my home today, and you acted in a manner that brought him harm.”

  A shadowy veil was dropping round her. Ruby sat. Yet there was still spirit within her, and Murd understood that she would fight him.

  He was accustomed to balancing chances and calculating odds in his mind by studying the faces of those who sat opposite him in negotiations. He was able to form conclusions quickly and arrive at cunning deductions. Now was the time to move to the marrow of his persuasion.

  “Do you have genuine care for Edwin, or does nothing move you beyond your own selfish longings?”

  “I have feelings for Edwin.”

  Murd signaled with his eyes, and Isabella spoke again: “There is no hope that you will ever call him your own. He is promised to me.”

  “That is absurd,” Ruby scoffed.

  “Is it?” Murd asked. Then he handed Ruby a letter.

  Dear Mr. Murd,

  Thank you for welcoming me into your home and sharing your family and friends so graciously with me. I am most appreciative.

  Sincerest wishes,

  Edwin

  Ruby face coloured and she breathed quickly for a moment. She recognized Edwin’s hand from the inscription in the book that he had given to her.

  The moment passed.

  “What of it?” she said. “Perhaps Edwin was a guest in your home for dinner.”

  But there was a kernel of doubt in her eyes.

  “Then how do you explain this?” Murd asked, his last word sounding like the hiss of a snake.

  He handed Ruby a second letter.

  Dear Miss Murd,

  Thank you for the pleasure of your company this past Saturday evening. You have brought the most beautiful music into my life. I envision a future with laughing children learning to read and write.

  Very truly yours,

  Edwin

  Ruby trembled. Murd saw the movement and knew its value. The hook had been baited and was lodged firmly in the mouth of the fish. All that remained was to skillfully reel the catch in.

  “What does this mean?” Ruby asked, staring at the letter.

  “You may draw your own conclusions,” Murd said.

  Now Isabella was speaking.

  “You poor deluded girl. Where is your arrogance now? You are a cloth for dirty hands, a piece of pollution picked up from the river to be made game with for an hour before being tossed back to its original place.”

  Ruby was feeling a bit faint. “Could I have a glass of water, please?”

  Isabella’s face contorted into something more hateful than before.

  “A glass of water. Bring a bucket and throw it over her head.”

  Murd poured a glass of water from a decanter on his desk and handed it to Ruby. Her face was fully flush now, and he congratulated himself on how well calculated his moves had been in striking at her spirit. The worst that was within him had gained the upper hand. There was something unnatural in the calmness of his voice, spoken while her world was crumbling.

  “Marriage is a civil contract,” Murd said. “People marry to better their worldly condition. It is an aff
air of house and furniture, of servants and stables, and the proper breeding of children. Society requires that a young man such as Edwin place himself in a better position by marriage. If Edwin were in a more primitive state, if he lived under a roof of leaves and kept cows and sheep instead of mastering the coal trade, your little fantasy would be less foolish. But Edwin does not live under leaves and keep cows and sheep. He is learning to be a man of business. He is as far removed from your reach as Heaven will be if you continue your wanton conduct.”

  Ruby sat silent, weighing the letters that had been written in Edwin’s hand and the fact of his absence from the learning center. Helplessness and desolation welled up in her breast like blood from an inward wound.

  Isabella was speaking again.

  “When Edwin and I are married, we will have a large house in a fashionable neighborhood, a footman to open the door, a housemaid, a cook, a butler to wait at our table, and a carriage and horses to drive about in. I believe that is more than the dowry you would be able to offer him.”

  “But we still have a problem,” Murd said, fixing his eyes on Ruby. “The whispers about your attentions to Edwin have begun. It is not town talk yet. It is not yet cried in the streets or chalked upon the walls. But whispers have been heard. Perhaps you are unversed in the realities of civilized life. And so, recognizing the truths of the world we live in, I feel compelled to remind you of the immense disadvantage at which you have placed Edwin. His future promises all of the honour and wealth that a man of his talent can attain. But his future will be bleak if he is seen as mingling with a woman such as yourself, who has fastened herself as a leech upon his progress in the world.

  “You are a dark cloud that is shadowing Edwin’s future. If the situation is not corrected immediately, I will have no choice but to dismiss him from his employment. Not only will Edwin lose his job, he will be disgraced. It will ruin his career irretrievably. Therefore, you shall pledge never to see Edwin again. You will abandon all pretense that he has feeling for you and forget him as the object of your desire. You will relinquish any and all ties to the relationship. Is that clear?”

  There was no response.

  “What are your thoughts?” Murd pressed.

  “I think that you are a horrible man.”

  “I am not interested in what you think of me. I am interested in what you think of ruining Edwin. Those good looks of yours are worth money, and you shall make money off of them. But not at the expense of my reputation and my family. Either we will come to a friendly agreement today or we will come to an unfriendly explosion. If it is the former, Edwin will not be hurt. If it is the latter, I have told you what will happen.”

  “When would you dismiss him?”

  “Perhaps tomorrow. And one thing more. The law intervenes to prevent good English citizens from being troubled by unlawful intrusions upon their daily life. Properly implemented, it takes hold of a transgressor and punishes him, or her as the case may be. I regret the need to be impolite. But if you are ever seen with Edwin again, I will give you over to the police.”

  It was too much. The colours of Ruby’s life were changing.

  “You claim to have high regard for Edwin,” Murd said in a calm measured voice. “If that is so, I am sure that it would be a source of great unhappiness to you were you the cause of ruining his future.”

  “She cares nothing for Edwin,” Isabella interposed. “She cares for no one but herself.”

  A look from Murd silenced his daughter.

  He returned his attention to Ruby.

  “And one thing more is required of you,” he said in a calm measured voice. “You have compelled us to this course. The fault is yours, not ours. If Edwin is to be saved from ruin, it will not be enough that you abandon your foolish designs on him. You must remove yourself from London.”

  “I do not understand your words.”

  “Then I will speak more clearly. You will leave London tomorrow.”

  “London is my home.”

  “You will be provided with travel and funds to begin a new life. You will put an ocean between yourself and Edwin. It will not break his heart to lose you, nor would it have broken his heart had you never been found. Your departure will be a relief to him. He has told me so. There is no other way to mitigate the harm that you have done.”

  Ruby’s thoughts were colliding now in a chaotic jumble.

  “I understand, now, Isabella’s hatred of me . . . If I do as Murd says, Edwin will maintain his position and hope. If I do not, Edwin will be plunged into ruin . . . I am shamed by my past . . . In London, I will cause suffering and sorrow . . . I cannot reason clearly . . . I am humiliated for thinking that Edwin might love me . . . I have seen the words written in Edwin’s own hand. He dreams of a future with Isabella and their laughing happy children . . . I do not want to believe it. I have no choice but to believe it . . . I cannot live with this.”

  “Take warning by what I have said,” Murd intoned. “What I say, I mean. And what I threaten, I will do.”

  Isabella picked the second of Edwin’s two letters off of her father’s desk and waved it before her face like a fan.

  Ruby was broken.

  “Where would you have me go?” she asked quietly.

  “To America.”

  Murd had borne his part in the proceeding with a cold passionless demeanor. There was no change now.

  “I will arrange for a carriage to meet you at your residence tomorrow morning at six o’clock. Before boarding the ship, you will be given a pouch with coins that are negotiable in America. If you do not board the ship, Edwin will lose everything that he has worked for his entire life and I will take further action against you.”

  Ruby sat silent with her head down.

  “I should like assurance of your acquiescence to these terms.”

  “You may feel assured.”

  “It is all arranged then,” Murd said, allowing a touch of cheerfulness to creep into his voice.

  “I wish to see Edwin.”

  “I do not understand your request.”

  “It is plain enough. I wish to see Edwin before I leave England.”

  “I have made it plain; he does not wish to see you.”

  “He must know what I feel for him.”

  The fish had been in its dying throes. Murd feared now that the line might snap.

  “What you feel for Edwin is of no consequence. The nub of the matter is what he does not feel for you.”

  “I will not leave London without first speaking with Edwin.”

  “I will make an arrangement with you,” Murd said, thinking as he spoke. “Edwin knows of our meeting today. Given the embarrassing circumstances of the moment, he and I, both of us, would prefer that no one else know. Give me your pledge of silence with regard to all that has happened, and I will deliver a letter from you to Edwin. That way, your feelings will be known to him.”

  Murd handed Ruby a piece of paper and an ornate fountain pen. There was a glass inkwell with silver trim on his desk. She dipped the pen in the ink and began to write:

  My Dearest Edwin,

  I am sorry for the discomfort that I have caused you. I hoped that you might love me someday as I love you. But I understand now that my foolishness has threatened your happiness and your future.

  If I did wrong—and I may have done much—it was out of love and because of my want of wisdom.

  Think of me at my best.

  Ruby

  When she was done, she put down the pen and turned her face away so the paper that was to be her messenger would not bear her tears.

  “I will give this to Edwin,” Murd promised. “Now let us review your instructions. To spare everyone from shame, you will tell no one about what has happened. You will leave London tomorrow. My coachman will confirm to me that you are on board the ship to America. I expect you to act with honour. Do I have your word that you will adhere to the terms of our agreement?”

  “I will keep my word.”

  “V
ery well, then. There will be a few tears, perhaps. But soon, I am sure, you will be happy. Class and rank are of less consideration in America than here in England. Someday, you will have a good husband and children.”

  Murd rang a bell on his desk. A servant appeared at the door.

  “Kindly escort Miss Spriggs from the house.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And watch her carefully,” Isabella instructed. “Make certain that she does not take anything that belongs to us on her way out.”

  Ruby stared Isabella in the eye.

  “I take away no hope, Miss Murd. But if you ask me whether I love Edwin, I will tell you that I do.”

  After Ruby left, Iabella’s face bore a triumphant look. She was pleased with the result. It was everything that she had hoped for.

  “There are deep wounds in her heart,” Murd said.

  “I know,” Isabella told her father. “I saw it bleeding.” There was a cruel smile on her face. “If Edwin touched her with his lips, let it poison her.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Murd took the letter that Ruby had written for Edwin, opened it, and read it through. “Very nicely worded,” he mused. “Full of what people call love, tenderness, and that sort of thing.”

  He handed the letter to Isabella.

  “Do with it what you will,” Murd told his daughter.

  Isabella laughed a wicked laugh. “It shall be burned.”

  If the childless kings and queens in fairy tales had known children like Isabella, they would never have asked the fairies to give them young ones.

  As for Ruby . . . Her heart beat rapidly as Murd’s servant showed her to the door. Her upper front teeth had cut marks into her lower lip. Her face burned as though it were on fire with embarrassment and humiliation. Alexander Murd and his daughter had taken the purity of Ruby’s young heart and converted her love for Edwin into an instrument of torture. Having been brought up in a cocoon of love, being not quite eighteen years old, she did not recognize the web of treachery and lies that had been woven round her.

  Once she was on the street, Ruby shed bitter tears. The withered dream, the vision of a life with Edwin that she had cherished, lay crushed in her breast. Her heart was broken. Had she known more of the world, she would have done more to question the truth of Murd’s words and the meaning of Edwin’s letters. But when a young woman is in love, reason sometimes deserts her.