Hearing a shout in the distance Mark stopped and looked around… Where in hell was he? He searched for the name of the road on which he was walking, or the name of the street that crossed it, and when he identified both he cursed a blue streak – he’d been walking in the wrong direction! Blast and damn, wasted time that’s all it was! Now he really would be late, and Lucille would behave distant; and, worse than that, hurt. Ah, Lucille. Am I doing the right thing there?
Perhaps Matthew was right; perhaps he should wait for true love to find him. The thing was friends he knew who had been madly in love when they married soon fell out of love with their wives, or had their hearts broken by them, and then found mistresses. Look at all the misery Matthew had experienced with his wife, Clarissa, before he found love with his mistress.
Of course, that hadn’t ended up happily either.
Much more efficient this way. Forget about love – that was a fool’s game. Better to marry properly and settle. Bunny was a good companion, perfectly adequate in bed; and, that was enough for him. Certainly it was.
Meanwhile, he still was a bit uncertain of his location. Bah. All he needed was to turn down the next street, and then circle back to something familiar. When he felt the first drops of sleet he sighed. Wonderful. I shall completely ignore the fact that it’s begun to rain; been through worse. A chest cough would follow in two days, that was certain. Perfect. Sublime. He supposed Bunny would give him the old hairy eye again for tracking wet shoes through her immaculate drawing room… I’d better rethink this proposal business.
Well, it was all Matthew’s damn fault, arriving in that ridiculously expensive racing carriage, a man his age – rather, their age. Going through a second childhood, that what was happening to him. Then again, he’d always been rash, impetuous, had never considered consequences. If we had taken the older, more sensible carriage I could at least have ridden up top with the driver – a reflection that was useless to him now, however. Now he was hungry, tired, cold and wet.
And lost.
Ghastly inconvenient, this; and, now the goddamn sleet is turning to snow, the temperature colder! Shite weather. Shite area. Shite… shite! He pulled his collar up and trudged on, not once concerned that he was walking alone in a deserted back area of warehouses. He was broad shouldered, muscular, taller than most men; Deacon had the right of it – even rowdy fellows avoided him, and those that hadn’t still regretted their decision.
Besides there was no one else around.
Turning yet another corner he was relieved to finally recognize something – a shipping office with whom he was familiar. That was more like it, now he was getting his bearings! Pulling the scarf up over his mouth and ears he trudged on, his mother’s admonitions from years before coming to mind. Always wear gloves and hat in inclement weather, button your coat, refrain from jumping in puddles, take care selecting companions, pay attention in strange surroundings, and most importantly, always wear clean smalls. He chuckled and groaned. Heaven help me if you caught a whiff of me now! Sorry, Mama. Come to think on it, heaven help him if Bunny did. Oh well, he would need to bathe at her house. Better yet, time permitting, they could bathe together. Very efficient, that…
The first blow came hard and swift from behind, knocking him nearly unconscious to the ground. He struggled to his knees, disoriented, confused. He touched the back of his head feeling a sticky wetness there, but never called for help, never had a chance to even look up. The second blow struck his head again, the third his legs. He thought he heard men laugh when the true beating began.
With blood dripping down his face and blinding him, blood running into his mouth and ears, covering his hands, he tried to crawl away under the steady, vicious, pummeling of fists and boots before finally collapsing.
His last thought before darkness was amazement at how he’d never known anyone was behind him, sound muffled more and more by the driving snow. Every sound but the birds chirping overhead that is. Lovely, they were. Sweet... until gradually there was silence.
Chapter 10
When Harry Penrod saw his step-brother Luke at the ice pond’s edge, he skated toward him and called out, “Is everyone here do you know?” Having just finished a turn around the area of the skating area reserved that morning for the children’s bandy game, he was still uneasy about the strange weather they’d been experiencing, with the temperatures freezing at times, then warming, then sleet and snow, then sunshine.
Luke, sitting on a bench lacing his skates to his boots, didn’t seem to hear him – or, more likely, was hung over – so Harry raced forward, sliding to a stop sideways, sending shaved ice and snow right into his brother’s face. “Damn it, Harry!”
“No cursing, Uncle Luke,” Will Darcy, George’s son and goal tender for one of the teams, smoothly skated past. “Little ears, remember.” He laughed at his uncle’s glower then sped off.
“I’m getting too old for this, Harry.” Luke wobbled a bit at first but soon found his footing. “I’m exhausted already. How long are we playing? I’ve a train to catch at one o’clock.”
“We’ll play fifteen-minute half’s, that’s all. The younger ones lose attention for much longer, and the old folks such as you tire easily.”
“Don’t you worry about me. I plan to fall over after about five minutes and sit with the women for the rest.”
“Impressive. That’s longer than your usual duration. Afterwards the boys are racing for around an hour, competing for trophies, but you needn’t stay for that. Where are you off to that’s so important?”
“Mark is meeting me at the train station in Hampstead; bringing him Mama’s ring.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten. That’s rather a long ride just to deliver a ring. Awfully nice of you.”
“I’m a new man, haven’t you heard? Maturing like cheese. Besides, Mark generously paid for my ticket there, as well as for my return trip. You remember my school friend, Parker Stewart? He’s accompanying me, loves riding the trains nearly as much as I do. We’re looking into investing with a group of American entrepreneurs forming now that their Congress passed the Pacific Railroad Act, laying rails westward from Omaha and eastward from Sacramento. You know, eventually trains will allow one to travel from Boston all the way to San Francisco.”
“You’ll be heading our American Fitzwilliam branch yet. So, tell me who isn’t here?”
“Matthew asked if we could wait for Ewan Durand, said he would be arriving in a few moments. You know, Matthew’s acting very strangely today, more than usually wound up. Don’t think he’s pleased about Mark’s upcoming betrothal. I say, he’s awfully young for this, isn’t he?”
“Mark? Hardly, he’s nearly forty years.”
“No, you idiot, the Durand child, he’s only eight years old. Most of the younger players are at least ten.”
“Suppose the lad is a bit young but I’ve watched him, he’s solid, strong, and tall for his age. We’ll keep an eye on him nonetheless.”
Luke leaned in to whisper. “Is it true the boy looks just like, um, Papa?”
Harry was the oldest of the boys, the one they took their cues from still, even as adults. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
“Who’s been speaking with you?”
“Your wife, actually. Alice heard it from her maid who happens to be stepping out with Mrs. Lamb’s son – you know her, she’s been pastry cook for the Darcy family for years, knows everything. Young Ewan personally thanked her for her excellent scones. That is to say the cook was thanked, not the maid… or Alice.”
“Yes, Luke, I was able to follow that all on my own.”
“The maid said the cook burst into tears, took him into her arms and nearly hugged him to death. The boy I mean, not…”
“Please finish this.”
“Yes, all right. Kept giving the youngster kisses and pinching his cheeks. Poor lad was likely traumatized. The woman is bosomy, nearly seventy and smells heavily of butter.”
“
Listen, we keep this all between ourselves, Luke. No one will question anything if we stand together.”
“That goes without saying. One question.”
“Yes.”
“Keep what within the family. I still don’t know anything.”
“Good. Another thing, Papa will be here soon. Watch him, steer him away from the boy if you can. I doubt if he’ll notice the child in this crowd since the old man’s too vain to wear his glasses; but, still…”
“Still, it is Papa. One never knows what will happen. Whatever it is.”
“That was an Homeric day, warriors facing off against a sworn enemy. 24 December, 1842; I remember as if it were yesterday.” Fitzwilliam stood before several exhausted little ones with his hands clasped behind his back, his feet braced. Some of the children yawned, others wondered out loud when he would hand out the candy canes and chocolate caramels he had promised them.
Darcy, sitting to the side, raised his hand. “It was 27 December, 1850, Fitzwilliam.”
“Exactly what I said, Darcy. Quite right. We fought the mighty Bury Fen bandy players on that day. There had been a misunderstanding and two teams arrived for the match - Swavesey with Over, and our Chatteris team. Mr. Meadows of Bury Fen chose Chatteris to play, of course. It was a battle for the ages.”
“We lost, Fitz.”
“Indeed. We were slaughtered. A blind duck heading north for the winter.” Fitzwilliam gazed up into the heavens. “I found it impossible to stop any of their points, even when I hid the goal markers under rocks.”
A boy in the front began scratching his head. “Is that quite legal, sir?”
“Not in the least. And, may I say it was very unsportsmanlike for you to point that fact out.”
Then a little blonde angel who’d been staring in a trancelike state at her nails tugged on Fitzwilliam’s sleeve. “Are you nearly finished? May we have our sweeties now? You promised.”
Fitzwilliam sighed and opened a bag. Immediately he was swarmed by shrieking children before they all ran off with their bounty.
“No one can charm children like you can, Fitz.”
“It’s a gift, Darcy.”
Harry walked up carrying a chair. “Sit, Papa, be quiet and behave yourself. Please try to stay out of trouble for one hour, that’s all I ask. One hour.”
“Certainly, son. You know, I could polish the kit for the boys; makes the ball slide like lightening across the ice.”
Harry counted to ten. “That is against the rules, Papa.”
“Your point being…?”
“Good heavens, you’re impossible. All right, everyone on the ice and let’s begin.”
As the morning progressed, Matthew watched the children’s game from the sidelines, like any other father bursting with pride. His boy was playing defender, the same position Matthew had played as a lad. Young as Ewan was, he had strength, grit and determination, a born athlete. He was magnificent, holding his own against older boys who had been playing together for years, gaining respect and friendships. Everyone seemed to like him. The lad was honorable, absolutely nothing like the cripple raising him.
Speaking of whom, Durand was also standing at the edge of the ice, shouting his encouragement to everyone, but most especially to Ewan, and the lad beamed with each and every cheer. Try as he might he couldn’t fault Durand for that – if his son was happy, Matthew was content.
“Cousin Matthew?” Birdy fussed with the bow on her bonnet then raised her arms to him. “Please pick me up so I can watch the play.”
“Why, Roberta? There’s no one standing in your way.” He knew she wanted to be noticed by the boys; he had her number now.
“Of course I can see them, but they cannot see me. Please?”
“Me too, Papa. Hold me up after Birdy.” He hoped that, unlike Roberta, his daughter’s glow was from the excitement of the competition and the cheers only, the exhilaration of players shooting passed on the ice.
“Oh, all right. Up you go, Roberta. There, can you see better?”
“I suppose.”
“The ice is the other way, dear.”
“Thank you.”
“Can you see him, Birdy? Can you see Jeffrey?” There it was again, while hugging a doll his little girl asking about a boy. Damn. He would cling to his daughter forever if he could, keep her forever; but, the natural transition of life stopped for no man – nor, for any eight-year-old girl.
“No, sorry Manda. I can’t see anything, it’s all a blur. Oh wait – I do see Bradley! Bradley, here I am!” She shouted and waved as an embarrassed boy skated past. “Do I look all right, Cousin Matthew?”
“You look beautiful. Not to belabor a point, but you would see him better if you wore your spectacles.”
Roberta smiled sadly. “I couldn’t wear my spectacles, Cousin Matthew.”
“Bradley doesn’t approve?”
She shook her head, quite serious now. “I want him to think I’m pretty.”
“Roberta Durand, you are not only pretty, but you are beautiful, inside and out. He would be fortunate to have any of your attention. You are a diamond.”
She kissed his cheek and beamed. The fact that she too was holding a dolly while professing affection for a boy made him sigh, knowing both his girls were entering an age between childhood and young adult, between need and independence. Oh, how he remembered the dramatics of his sisters back then. Why, he wondered, did it seem girls found their footing earlier than boys? It was bound to be confusing for all concerned.
“Oh, look at how fast Ewan can skate, Birdy!” cried Amanda.
“Where is he? Oh, I wish I could see him. Ewan! Look here, wave at me so I know which one you are!”
The boy heard his cousin and was distracted for a moment, long enough for a larger boy to skate into him and knock him down.
Matthew quickly set Birdy on the ground and was about to run to the ice but damn if the cripple wasn’t there before him somehow, calling out to Ewan – and, there was Ewan laughing and waving, assuring him he was fine, telling his ‘father’ not to worry. Durand you bastard! I pray the ice cracks beneath your feet.
Matthew would remember his vicious thoughts a few weeks later, and weep.
Chapter 11
Faint voices floated past, unpleasant smells, sounds of doors opening and closing. Footsteps. Snores. Moans. The black fog was lifting, though his eyes were still too heavy to open. Warm. I’m so bloody warm, burning up… why do I ache so badly… fucking bastards… must fight back... mustn’t sleep…
As Mark thrashed about, a woman’s voice tried to sooth him; a wet cloth wiped his cheek and forehead, his arms and chest, the momentary cooling a relief. The gentle words she spoke to him, the reassuring words, brought comfort. She sounded kind, gentle. He kissed her hand, relaxed.
Then he drifted off into the fog again.
Her clean scent woke him. He needed to open his eyes, damn it, but he was too weak still. If he could just catch her hand, hold onto her, he would be all right; then the dark pit could never retake him… wait… don’t leave.
Too late – how he knew for certain she had left his side he couldn’t tell, but her presence was gone, a bond broken. Then he sensed a threat approaching – something was happening. Voices raised in anger, shouting, tension… danger was nearing… danger was everywhere… she could be in danger…
Damn it, wake up! Open your goddamn eyes.
Pain! It was as if someone was slicing his arms open. Fucking bastards! Let go of me… weaker… life draining away…
A touch of liquid on his lips slowly roused him. “Just one more swallow of medicine – that’s very good, Bob. Are your eyes fluttering? Oh, those lashes. You have lashes any woman would envy – not certain you’d actually find that flattering, however.” A feminine hand stroked his cheek. "I shall need to shave you soon. Mustn’t have your family find you looking so disreputable.” Whoever she was she had a voice like warm honey. He reached out to hold her. “You are getting better,” she chuckled as
she pressed his hands back to his chest.
Better? Better than what? My damn head hurts like blazes; everything hurts.
She was so near now he could feel the warmth of her body. Was he in heaven? Well, either heaven was absolutely wonderful, or this was the best damn dream of his life. He turned toward the warmth, the scent, the woman. “Am I dead?”
“What? Bless you, no.”
“This isn’t heaven, then?”
“Far from it.”
He sighed. “That’s a mercy, I’d hate to spend eternity in this much pain. Just a moment – I am awake and you’re still here.” His swollen eyes opened to thin slits.
“Yes. I am. And look at you, smiling! You had us worried during the night, Bob. Oops, there go your lids once again. Can you please try to open them for me, dearest, just a little? Is it difficult? Here, I’ll wipe them again with a moist cloth, remove the crustiness… there, that’s much better, Ah! At long last I am able to see their color, a regal blue.”
She came into focus gradually, full lips, wide almond shaped eyes the color of silver, long black lashes, creamy skin, outrageous dimples. Her mass of golden auburn hair tucked loosely beneath a starched white cap seemed to form a halo around her face. “This must be heaven, because you look like an angel.”
“Nonsense,” she protested, her shy smile revealing the pleasure she found in his statement. “I have been called many names in this ward – Clarkey, My Dear Woman, Miss Too Mouthy By Far, – however, ‘angel’ is a first, and not at all warranted.” Her presence warmed his chilled bones like nothing else. “You are very handsome when you , you know.” She swiped away tears with the back of her hand. “Heavens. I am a silly goose. Sorry.”
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