“This is terrible. I am truly shocked...” Henry whispered. He could hardly believe what he had heard. There had been times when he had truly thought that Sarah was just some nasty girl by nature. Then he had begun to sense that she might not be that nasty at heart and that there had to be a reason for her behavior. Never would he have guessed, though, that she had already been battered so much by life.
“You must know that Sarah has always utterly idolized her mother,” Oscar continued. “Having no real emotional connection to Anthony Farringworth at all, Melissa meant everything to her. And it is no wonder, as Melissa was a really loving and caring mother and not as cold and bitter as Priscilla. Ever since Sarah began to live with my sister and her husband, she has changed so much that it is hard to recognize the girl in her that she used to be. Living in that place has made her aggressive and depressed. She is well aware of the fact that Priscilla hates her, and she does not know any other means to respond to it than equally with hatred. When I noticed at some stage that all of this was beginning to spiral up, I tried to convince Priscilla to let Sarah come and live with me, but it was already too late as Horatio had suddenly come up with his plans to make her marry someone truly influential. In this respect Sarah really proved to be his trump card. Apart from that, most people had by then already begun to believe that the girl was the Partridgesʼ daughter. It would have made no sense to anyone anymore if she had suddenly started to live with me. So I had no chance at all. All I could do was to quit my job in London, move to Oxford into Sarahʼs vicinity, and take up a position there so that I could always check on the well-being of the child and be there for her when she needed me. You know, Henry, she is the sweetest and caring human being one can ever meet, if only she feels safe and loved. All her outbursts find her root merely in her despair over not being welcome.”
She longs to be loved, Henry thought with a heavy heart.
She longed to be loved, but instead all that awaited her was a marriage with a man she despised; a man who was obviously incapable of giving her the love she so desperately craved for.
Henry suddenly wondered if she would have enough strength to do it differently than her beloved mother, if she would be able to turn her back on everything which was safe and which she was used to in order to loosen herself from the strong grip of her family. He wondered whether she would risk getting involved with a man who might not be as wealthy and fortunate as Damian but who would be truly capable of providing her with endless love and care.
Lost in thought, Henry let his gaze wander out of the window.
If he could be this man.
Chapter 5 – London
You are losing yourself in illusions, Henry thought for the umpteenth time, wondering if a little peck on the cheek and an occasional blush was enough to believe that Sarah was somehow attracted to him. And what about Oscarʼs assumption that she might fancy him just because she allegedly had a certain look in her eyes whenever his name was mentioned?
“Tell me your opinion, Henry,” Oscar said. “Shall I put on the bow tie? Or do you think that this might make me appear a little bit overdressed tonight?”
You are losing yourself in illusions, Henry thought yet again upon recalling that Lord Partridge had treated Damian Cox just like a relative and had let this arrogant man call him by his first name—something that not even his own sons were allowed to do. Who was he, Henry, to believe that someone like himself, a teacher with a working class background and only a few pennies in his pockets, could outdo Damian who had all the means to impress the Partridges in terms of money and influence?
“Henry! Will you stop brooding for a minute and help me get dressed? I am so terribly lousy at making decisions...”
Startled, Henry looked up.
“Oscar, I am sorry...” he stammered confusedly and got up from his chair next to the window where he had spent the past hour leaning at the window frame, blankly staring out onto the nightly street.
Oscar laughed and shook his head in disbelief.
“Donʼt be sorry, dear friend, but somehow I really wished I had not let you in on our inscrutable family history. It seems to me that my words have terribly unsettled you.”
Oscar was standing in front of the mirror, carefully checking his looks. The whole room was filled with the tangy odor of his aftershave lotion. Henry came to the conclusion that Oscar was a little bit too concerned about his appearance. But as the doctor was a really handsome man, he could afford it to be a little vain.
After their arrival in London, they had taken lodgings in a guesthouse. The owner was an old lady called Mrs. Potter, who immediately made a major effort to look after their every need in terms of food, drinks, fresh towels and carafes of water so that the two travellers could refresh themselves after the journey. The rooms were not first class; definitely not appropriate for a man of Oscarʼs standing, as Henry found. But Oscar had been determined to stay in a guesthouse close to the city center where the amusements were.
Mrs. Potter was only able to offer them one room with a double bed, but Oscar didnʼt mind. And neither did Henry; after all, he used to share a bedroom with his parents, his brother, and a dog during his childhood—which had been quite a challenge because his family back then had not really cared about cleanliness and nice smells as much as Oscar. Yes, Henry really welcomed the fact to have Oscar and his good-humored, optimistic spirit around all the time, as he found that it gave him the much needed distraction. After all, Henry could hardly endure the fact that Sarah currently was so far away from him. It tortured him not to know what was happening to her right now, just as it tortured him to be unable to interfere with any uncomfortable situation that she might find herself in. He wanted to ease her pain, wanted to give her assurance that everything was going to be alright, although he was not certain at all if everything was really going to be alright.
Mrs. Potter had prepared some sandwiches for them, but as these had a slightly stale aspect and smelt as if the good woman had made them already a week ago, Oscar and Henry had politely declined and instead had gone to a restaurant for lunch. Then Oscar had mercilessly pulled through his carefully worked out holiday program for the weekend, starting with a visit to the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square, followed by yet another visit to a Colonial and Indian Exhibition in South Kensington with Oscar being particularly interested in the portraits of natives and temples. Then they had strolled along the River Thames to the Docks in order to get a glimpse of the site where recently construction work had begun for a new bridge across the river; the ʻTower Bridgeʼ as it would be called. But there had not been much to see apart from two pillars which had been lowered down into the riverbed.
Then they had gone to Covent Garden where they had listened to some street musicians for a while. Ultimately, they had headed for Regent Street where they had got lost for hours amidst the crowds of street vendors, who were selling fresh fish, fruit, vegetables, flowers, cheese, beer, candles, ice-cream, shawls, and ribbons. Henry had his shoes polished by a shoeshine boy, and Oscar had bought a pair of new gloves at a tailorʼs shop where he had also ordered a new suit, which he intended to pick up the next day and which would cost a ridiculous sum three times higher than the salary that Henry got from Lord Partridge for a weekʼs work. Henry had bought a newspaper, while Oscar had his hair trimmed at a barberʼs shop. Then Oscar had gone to a tobacconist, stocking up his supply of exquisite cigars and buying some for Lord Partridge on the way.
Having spent only a couple of days in the solitude of the countryside, Henry had found himself suddenly overwhelmed with the noises of the city. What a contrast it was, the chatter of the people on the streets mingling with the vendorsʼ cries as they were offering their goods; mingling with the music of buskers, playing a merry tune; mingling with the laughter of children chasing each other. And all of this accompanied by the constant thudding of hooves as innumerable horse-drawn coaches and oxcarts were passing by.
Towards the evening hours, Henry had begun to feel terribly exhausted
. But having been distracted from his brooding for a couple of hours, his mind seemed to have become a little clearer. Seeing London again and feeling its vibrating energy had opened his eyes towards the fact that there was still another life out there which revolved around completely different things than Sarah and the Partridges. He even somehow managed to drown out the memory of her kiss and her scent. He knew now that he had been completely out of his mind to believe that he could change anything about Sarahʼs fate. He knew that he needed to let go of the ridiculous belief that he would be able to somehow break the Partridgesʼ rigid family patterns.
Yes, he had finally come back to his senses and had realized that there simply was no future for himself and Sarah.
Still, this realization devastated him, and he longed for nothing else but a few hours to himself and an early night. He wanted to be alone, wanted some time to work out what exactly he would say to Lord Partridge the next day in order to explain why he suddenly intended to quit his position. He wouldnʼt tell the lord the truth, of course; he wouldnʼt reveal that he couldnʼt bear being with Sarah day by day if he was permanently confronted with his amorous feelings for her. But he had to come up with something. As for now, he didnʼt have the faintest idea what to say. He found that it would be highly unfair towards Sarah if he—just like all his predecessors—claimed that it was because he was unable to deal with her; that it was because she was evil. After all, she had not really been evil to him. He wanted to find another reason which had nothing to do with Sarah, even if this sounded implausible to the Partridgesʼ ears.
Henry hoped that once having solved this problem and having left Oxford behind, he would lead a normal life again. He also hoped that he would be able to find himself another beautiful girl who wasn't controlled by an army of callous imperialists who used her as a mere means of trading.
Daughter for marriage in exchange for stupid plough deals... he thought sadly.
Thinking about this, Henry could sense that he was on the brink of becoming slightly inconsistent again, but he forced himself to remain strong. He would not let the memory of Sarahʼs sad eyes upon leaving by coach make him change his mind again. He would put an end to it all before it was too late and before he entirely succumbed to her. He would leave the house of the Partridges and would file all of this as a less positive experience in his life. And that would be it.
And as for now, he only longed for his bed.
But Oscar didnʼt accept Henryʼs pledge to spend the evening alone in the shabby room of the guesthouse while he himself would mingle with the nightlife.
“There is no point in sitting around, feeling depressed,” he said, gently squeezing Henryʼs shoulder. “Tonight you must join me. There are so many chances out there, Henry. Letʼs go and take them.”
Oscar winked at Henry mischievously. He didnʼt allow any objections and ignored Henryʼs explanation that he was afraid he would spoil everything with his bad humor. And so Henry let out a sigh, opened his suitcase, and went in search of something decent to wear.
* * *
Despite the fact that it had begun to rain, Oscar was in a chirpy mood when they left the guesthouse. He had ultimately decided on wearing the bow tie and a white suit and had even stuck a little flower in the buttonhole of his jacket.
“Are we going to the opera?” Henry asked puzzled. Considering Oscarʼs enormous effort to appear smart that night, he wondered what kind of entertainment the doctor had in store for him.
“No, my dear friend, we are going to the theatre,” Oscar replied. “No stay in London for me without treating myself to a little bit of culture.”
Darkness had already set in and the misty streets were dimly lit by gaslights when the two men strolled through the city towards Piccadilly Circus. The owners of the shops were busy closing the shutters of their stores. Scotland Yard policemen on duty kept a watchful eye on the drunks, who were staggering in and out of overcrowded, stifling taverns. Beggars, pickpockets, and neglected, filthy street children were mingling with posh ladies and elegant gentlemen, the latter on their way to fine restaurants, while the former were heading for their places to sleep; under the bridges next to the smelly river, or right in the gutters.
Road sweepers were in the process of cleaning the streets from the horse manure of the cityʼs innumerable hackney carriages. They scattered straw on the ground which soaked up the muddy mixture of excrements and wetness of the rain. The air was filled with the pungent smell of coal smoke, which was emitted by the many factory chimney pots and which covered walls and roofs of the houses with black soot. Henry guessed that all of this was the price a nation had to pay for claiming to be the largest industrialized city in Europe.
When they reached the theatre in the West End—a majestic white Italian-style building with a grand staircase and a row of doric pillars lining the front—Henry noticed that he didnʼt have the amount of money that a ticket for ʻMyriads,ʼ the play they were about to see, cost. He didnʼt want to admit this to Oscar, however, because he felt ashamed. On the other side he asked himself if Oscar could not have guessed that he, coming from working class, would not be rich enough to mingle with the upper class on a Saturday night.
Nervously, Henry rummaged through the pockets of his jacket and trousers, hoping that he would miraculously come across another leftover tenner or at least a fiver, when Oscar suddenly stopped him.
“We do not have to pay, Henry,” he said.
“We donʼt?” Henry cast Oscar a puzzled look.
“Connections,” Oscar replied with a mischievous wink. “Life can be so easy if you know the right people.”
“I suppose so,” Henry mumbled and saw himself overcome with a little bit of envy.
He had never been to such a glamorous venue and felt terribly out of place. Still, he quickly tried to adapt to Oscarʼs worldly-wise mannerism and his fashion to never settle for second best. If one bought a suit, one opted for the finest fabric, and if one decided to go the theatre, one went to the most exclusive and popular one.
The only time Henry recalled having been to a theatrical performance was when he had been a child and when his friends had prepared a little makeshift play in someoneʼs backyard shed. They had all sat on straw bales and old empty barrels and had watched Simon Bromley and Michael Shanagan, the blacksmithʼs sons, in their attempt to stun their little audience with a rather lousy performance of some strange story they had come up with themselves. Henry had to admit that the overall effort which they had put into it had been admirable as the two little boys had taken over all the parts of the ten different characters involved—although this had led to a lot of confusion in the end because after a little while they couldnʼt remember anymore what they had agreed on in terms of who would play which character.
Now that he was in one of Londonʼs most popular theatres in the West End, Henry didnʼt sit on straw bales but on a chair with a purple velvet covering. And the performers were not two ten-year-old amateurs from the working class district, but highly talented and reputed actors.
“Do you know what the play is about?” Henry asked Oscar.
“To be honest, I do not have the faintest idea,” the doctor replied. “But from what I was told, it is something about kings, war, and deceit and all of that...”
Oscar made a dismissive gesture with his hand and then let his eyes wander over to a lovely young lady, who he had caught sight of earlier on in the foyer. She had been throwing him flirtatious glances ever since they had set eyes on each other. A big smile crept on Oscarʼs face when he saw her, and that smile grew bigger and bigger when the woman coyly winked at him. But the two were interrupted as suddenly the lights were dimmed and the curtains drawn because the play was about to begin.
Henry was immediately submerged by the scenery and impressed by the charisma and professionalism of the protagonists who were playing a duke and a duchess during renaissance times who were occupied with their daily struggle against other dukes about supremacy in their dominion.
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Henry was completely taken off guard, though, when suddenly a new character entered the scene in the form of a certain Lucinda, a young girl, with brown long curls and an angelʼs face. The moment he saw her, she instantly reminded him of Sarah. He found that there was a stunning resemblance between the two girls; at least as far as he was able to judge from his seat up on the balcony. He didnʼt rule it out that his mind was playing tricks on him in the course of possible withdrawal symptoms.
The girl played the duke and duchessʼ daughter, who was in love with a young man called Bunbury. A marriage between the two, however, was out of the question due to the unfortunate circumstance that the boy happened to be the son of a rivaling noble family. And what had originally been a story uniquely revolving around the question which family owns more land and more enjoys the kingʼs favor soon turned into a drama about unfulfilled love and the agony and despair that comes with it.
After about one and a half hours of watching Lucinda and Bunbury fight their emotions and boiling passion, Henry found it more and more unbearable to see them suffer so much because they didn't stand any chance at all of ever being united. He highly welcomed it when eventually the curtains were closed again and a man entered the stage, ringing a bell and announcing a short break.
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