by Betty Annand
He moaned pitifully as she laid her hand on his bony shoulder, but he didn’t look up. She bent down and was shocked to see the deathly ash tone of his countenance. “You are going to be alright, Mr O. Just stay there; I shan’t be long,” Gladys assured him. Receiving no response, she went back into the pub and called out, “There’s a man outside who might be dying. Will someone please help me take him to the infirmary?”
When no one answered, she couldn’t stop the tears from running down her cheeks. Ignoring the Watts’ scowls of disapproval, she was on the verge of begging someone to help when a young man rose and came towards her, “My buggy is just down the street, so let’s see if we can help the poor chap, shall we?” He followed her out with the best of intentions; but when he saw how dirty Mr O was, and how badly he stank, he might have withdrawn his offer if Gladys hadn’t offered to fetch a blanket to wrap around the poor fellow.
The young man had a large frame and was huskily built and had no trouble lifting Mr O into the buggy and laying him down on the seat. The buggy, a handsome model, upholstered with fine-tooled leather, had only one seat, and with Mr O lying across it, there was no room for the two to sit. “It seems we shall have to kneel on the floor, Gladys. You don’t mind me calling you that do you?” Before she could answer, he held out his hand and added, “My name is Tom, by the way, Tom Pickwick.”
Gladys took his hand, and he didn’t let go until he had her in the buggy. There were no side pieces in front of the seat, and when the horse took the first corner rather swiftly, Gladys almost fell out. Tom held the reins in one hand, then put an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. He laughed, and said, “Oh, ho, I can’t lose you now. Not so soon after finding you, can I?”
At a loss for words, Gladys answered with a smile. Although she was concerned with Mr O’s condition, the feel of Tom’s strong arm around her during the short ride to the infirmary was so comforting that she was sorry when it ended. After arriving at the infirmary, Tom lifted the unconscious Mr O out of the carriage and started toward the door while Gladys ran on ahead to announce their arrival. A middle-aged man dressed in a white smock answered the door but refused to allow them to enter, even though Gladys explained how deathly ill Mr O was.
“I’m really very sorry, but I am only allowed to admit charity cases, and even then, they must have a letter of recommendation from a governor or a subscriber,” said the man, and although he seemed sincere in his apology, Gladys wasn’t going to let Mr O die without a fight. She had no idea what the male nurse was talking about, and she didn’t care. The guilt she felt over trying to sing loud enough to deaden the sound of Mr O banging on the inn door was more than she could bear, and damned if she was going to let any man stop her from getting help. Luckily, before she could say a word, Tom came to the rescue.
“My father is Andrew Pickwick, and he is a ‘Governor for life.’ Now this man may not survive if I were to take the time to find my father and have him draft a recommendation. However, if you were to admit him now, he might live, and I shall bring you a letter before the night is out.”
Andrew Pickwick was well known for his frequent donations, and the attendant was not about to endanger that relationship. “I would appreciate it if you would do that, Mr Pickwick. Now let us get this poor fellow attended to.”
After Tom laid Mr O on an examining table and helped remove the blanket, the male nurse could tell by the stench that he had developed gangrene in what was left of his leg. In spite of his filthy condition in contrast to the sterile white of the infirmary, he handled him with as much tenderness and concern as he would a man of higher standing. Knowing what he might find when he exposed Mr O’s stump would shock and sicken the young couple, he advised them to leave.
“You can do no good if you stay. I will call for assistance, and we will do what we can to ease his discomfort. By the look of the poor soul, he may not survive, so if you have any idea who I should contact in the case of his demise, will you write their name and address down for me? There’s a pencil and paper in the hall by the entrance door.” Gladys said she didn’t know of anyone but would try to find out and return the following afternoon. Then she and Tom left.
Chapter Eleven
On the way back to the inn, Gladys was so engrossed in her troubling thoughts that she sat quietly with her eyes downcast and her hands clasped tightly on her lap. Although she felt sympathy for Mr O, she knew he could be a threat to her future. If he were to regain consciousness and inform the Watts of her true identity, they would likely call the police and have her sent to prison. In all fairness, she couldn’t blame them if they did. The situation was so frightening that, for just a second, she wished the poor man would die, but she loved Mr O and really wanted him to live. Therefore, the only solution she could think of was to be at the infirmary early in the morning and try to talk to him before he had a chance to give her secret away.
Tom took her silence as a show of concern, and her unusual benevolence impressed him. Obviously, the man was nothing more than a beggar, but the way she had behaved toward him, he could have been a Lord. He was anxious to tell his father about her, knowing that he would appreciate her unselfish act of kindness more than anyone. Tom’s father, although very wealthy, was a true humanitarian whom Tom respected and looked up to more than anyone he had ever known. Surprisingly, Gladys’s silence didn’t disturb Tom, and he smiled as he turned his head to look at her.
She appeared so vulnerable and sad that he felt the urge to protect her but had no idea what it was that she needed protecting from. He had been attracted to her the first time he heard her sing at the inn, and now studying her, he could understand why. She wasn’t the most beautiful young lady he had ever seen, but she was the most attractive. He noticed that even though she was quite tall, she was still much shorter than he, and she had a figure that was too tantalizing to ignore. She had a rather large mouth for a woman, but Tom thought it far more tempting than the lips of most of the ladies he knew who looked as though they spent their time sucking lemons.
Although Gladys was nothing more than a common barmaid, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He thought her hair was about the same colour as a bay mare he had had when he lived on his father’s estate. He couldn’t recall if her eyes were blue or brown but felt a nagging need to find out. They were almost back to the inn when he broke the silence with the only excuse he could think of and said, “Gladys, I think I scraped my face on the door of the infirmary. I’ll pull over by the next lamp, and perhaps you could see if I’m bleeding.”
“Oh dear, I hope not,” she replied. After they stopped, she began examining his face, but there was no visible sign of injury. Thinking there may not be enough light, she ran her hand over one of his cheeks and then the other. She had been so worried about Mr O that she hadn’t really paid much attention to Tom’s appearance. Although there wasn’t much light, she could see that he was really quite handsome. His eyes were a little too deep set, but she loved their colour; the same warm shade of brown as her father’s. His eyelashes were so thick and black that they reminded her of someone else’s, but she couldn’t think of whose. Then she remembered and almost called out, “Toughie!”
She was so busy studying Tom’s face that she forgot to remove her hand from his cheek. Tom, mistaking her lingering touch as an invitation, leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. Gladys had never been kissed by a man before and had no idea how to reciprocate, but when his tongue came between her lips, she answered it with hers. The kiss was long and caused such an aching desire in her loins that it was almost as painful as it was thrilling. She had no idea such feelings existed between men and women.
His hands began to wander, and although she would have loved to surrender to his touch, the self-preservation she had acquired, both in the slums, and by listening to Millie’s astute advice, took precedence and she pushed him away. “No, stop! I am going to be a governess.”
Tom, now wi
th a throbbing tool between his legs, couldn’t hide his anger. “I don’t give a damn if you’re going to be a bloody nun, you don’t kiss someone like that and expect them to turn away.”
“I am very sorry, really I am, but I didn’t mean to kiss you any more than you meant to kiss me. Now, please take me home.”
“I shall damn well take you home when you finish what you started and not before.”
“Very well, I shall walk.” And before he could stop her, she jumped down from the carriage and set out at a quick pace for the inn.
The sight of her walking haughtily down the street with her hips swaying from side to side did nothing to lessen Tom’s desires, but pride prevented him from running after her. He was on the way to his father’s flat when he suddenly exclaimed, “Damned if they’re not hazel.”
__________
When Gladys returned to the pub, the Watts had finished cleaning up and were sitting at a table waiting for her.
“Did he die?” Laura blurted out hopefully, as soon as Gladys came through the door.
“Not yet, but he may. I’ll find out tomorrow,” Gladys answered quietly.
“Did you tell him what I told you to?”
“No, he was unconscious.”
“Then you dinna give him the money?” Neil asked.
“I will give it to him tomorrow if he survives. If not, perhaps you can find a way to get it to his family.” She bid them both goodnight and turned to go to her room when Neil asked about Tom.
“What about the Pickwick laddie? Did he give you a ride back?”
“Yes, yes he did,” she lied.
“Ah, he’s a good laddie. He’s a soldier in the infantry and weel be off to India one of these days.”
Gladys just shrugged, not letting on it was of any interest to her, but once she was in her room, she flopped down on the bed and, as though he was still with her, she said aloud, “So you will be here today and gone tomorrow. I’m so glad I didn’t give in to you.” Nevertheless, the memory of his lips on hers persisted before, and even after, she fell asleep.
__________
The following afternoon Mr O, heavily sedated with laudanum, was only semiconscious and made little sense when Gladys visited him, so she didn’t stay long. She slept very little that night, worried that someone might talk to him before she did. She was also afraid that Laura wouldn’t allow her to visit him again in the morning before her chores were done. She needn’t have worried—Laura was just as upset over Mr O’s presence in town as was Gladys, and insisted that Gladys leave her duties and rush to the hospital immediately after she had her breakfast. She even offered to pay for a cab, so Gladys could arrive there as quickly as possible.
When Gladys arrived at the infirmary, one of the attendants met her at the door and, before taking her to see Mr O, asked if she was a relative. When Gladys answered that she had never met him until he collapsed outside the inn, she felt so guilt-laden that she couldn’t look him in the eye. Luckily, her discomfiture went unnoticed. The man smiled, commended her for being so compassionate, then said that they had done all they could for Mr O except to amputate all that was left of his leg.
“And, I am certain that with the poor state of his health, he would not survive such an operation,” the man added. “He knows he has only a limited time left and, although he seems determined to return home to spend his last days with his family, he refuses to leave until he has seen someone he calls, ‘Ellie’.”
“Hmm,” Gladys said as she paused before answering. “You know, I think that is the name of one of the maids who works at the inn. I shall find out if it is her. If it is, I shall bring her to see him tomorrow, or maybe the next day,” she promised, while not having the slightest idea how she was going to manage it. The attendant then told her that she could visit with the patient but warned her not to stay too long, as he needed his rest in order to build up enough strength to go home.
Gladys was pleased to find that Mr O had been scrubbed clean, had his hair cut and washed, and was wearing a clean, white gown. Although his features were skeletal and his skin had a sallow hue, his gentle and kind nature showed clearly in his eyes, and as soon as Gladys saw him, her love overtook any concerns she had about being exposed. She threw her arms around him, crying, “Oh, Mr O, it’s me, Gladys!”
The tears ran down his cheeks. He patted her on the back until they both gained control of their emotions. Then he pushed her away so as to look at her face, and in a soft and tender voice, said, “Of course ’tis you, Gladdy, me girl. I knowed it was you when you came yesterday, but me tongue wouldn’t mind me brain.”
“I’m so ashamed of the way I’ve treated you, Mr O. You see, no one here knows who I really am. I’ve told them my name is Gladys Tweedhope, and that I came from London. Oh, Mr O, can you ever forgive me for not interfering when Mr Watt threw you out of the pub?”
“Don’t you mind, Gladdy. Why I’d a done the same if it were me. You’ve no need to worry, I’ll not give your secret away. You know when me boy fetched that piece o’ gunmoney home it didn’t half give Mrs O and me a good feelin’. We knew t’was yerself that sent it an’ that our little Ellie was in good hands. Now, Gladdy, I’ve to ask you to do somethin’ for me. I wouldn’t ask it if I weren’t dying.” Gladys shook her head and began to cry again, but Mr O continued, “Don’t be upset, me girl; I’m not about to go right now. And when I am ready, you needn’t cry—I’m quite looking forward to it. It will be that nice not to have any more pain.”
Gladys thought he had such a look of peace and contentment as he was talking that perhaps there really was a place like the heaven she had heard people go on about. He gave her hand a squeeze, saying, “You know, I don’t have much time left, Gladdy, and I don’t want to die without seeing me darlin’ little girl once more. Mrs O, and meself, we never did get over feeling bad for sending her away, so if I could jest see for meself that she’s happy—well I could tell the missus when I get home. T’would be better’n any present I could give her. Now, me darlin’, if you can make that happen, I’ll promise to keep an eye out for you from up there, if that is where I’m goin’.”
“You are going up there, Mr O; I know you are! And don’t you worry; I promise I will have Ellie here tomorrow, or the day after.”
“Do you mean that, Gladdy?” When Gladys nodded, he insisted, “You know it will have to be soon. I plans to get home before I passes on, even if I have to crawl there.”
“I will bring her, I promise, and maybe Pinky can come too. And, Mr O, you needn’t worry about how you will get home. I have some money here for you from the Watts, my employers.” When she handed him the five pounds, she explained how they had practically adopted Ellie and were afraid that he might take her away.
“I’d never do that if she’s happy. I know she’s better off where she is,” he answered.
Both fear and guilt had been Gladys’s constant companions since Mr O came to town, but when she left the infirmary, she felt lightheaded with relief. She didn’t think about the impulsive promise she had made until she was confronted by Laura and Neil a few minutes after her return to the inn. When she told them that Mr O was dying and how much he appreciated the money they gave him, they were relieved, but when she said that he wouldn’t leave Dover without seeing Ellie, they became agitated and angry at her for not telling him the girl had left the country.
“But you must understand; he doesn’t want to take her away from you. He just wants to see her once more, and then only for a few minutes,” Gladys explained. “I feel so sorry for the poor man. I could tell that he really doesn’t want to cause trouble. I know he will be happy to see how much you’ve done for her. I told him I would bring her to say goodbye, so please do not disappoint him,” she pleaded.
Gladys’s deep concern for what Laura thought to be a beggar was beginning to make her suspicious, and she answered sharply, “I canna see what busi
ness ‘tis o’ yours. What has the beggar to do wi’ you?”
The question took Gladys aback, and she had to think quickly so as not to raise the woman’s suspicions. Then she said, “Well, Mrs Watt, I realize that he is just a poor old man, but my mother taught me to have compassion for all those who suffer.”
The shamefaced reaction of both Laura and Neil was enough to convince Gladys she had come up with the right answer. They offered to think about allowing Ellie to visit her father, but later that night, they called Gladys aside and said they had told Ellie her father was at the infirmary and had not long to live. They also told her that he wished to see her before returning home. Ellie, shocked and angry, didn’t hesitate with her refusal. She enjoyed living with the Watts and wanted nothing to do with the life she had left behind in Old Nichol.
The day her brother brought her to meet Gladys at Warehouse Corner, she had no idea of the agony her parents were going through and was thoroughly convinced that the money they received for her was their only motivation. Now, she only felt hatred toward her father and was adamant in her refusal to visit him. The pandering that she received from Laura Watt had managed to erase any memory of how much her father loved her.
Nevertheless, Gladys had given her word to Mr O, and was not about to accept Ellie’s refusal so easily. After she devised a plan, she had no trouble convincing Hilda, the cook, to play along with her. Ellie had been quite rude to Hilda lately, and the cook thought that it was time the girl had a little comeuppance. So the next morning they were both waiting for her in the kitchen when she came down for breakfast.