The Girl who was a Gentleman (Victorian Romance, History) by Anna Jane Greenville (4)

BLASTS AND BULLETS

 

Our mission took much longer than expected  because Hanson knew far more families than I could have possibly imagined. When we came home it was already dark and very, very cold. I would have preferred to go straight to bed but was subjected to the usual routine of tea, stew, and bath, which culminated in re-telling everything to Sofia. And by everything, she really meant everything. The girl noticed instantly when I left out bits to get through the story faster. She insisted sleep would elude her if she did not hear every little detail about Hanson's and my doings.

Defeated, exhausted and with both my tongue and my brain in a knot, I sat on the far corner of her bed and told her how Mrs Bank had first refused but then tearfully accepted the beautiful dresses for her daughters, how her daughters had put them on and danced around the room pretending to be at a ball, I told her how Molly and her siblings had accepted their new wardrobes after a great deal of scrutiny, I told her how Betty and her Baby were grateful for a warm coat and how the other families rejoiced upon seeing the doctor who was always looking out for them, I told her how I had played with the little ones and dressed them when their parents and older siblings had been pre-occupied with themselves or each other, and I ultimately told her how happy Hanson had looked when all was accomplished. Then Sofia said one thing and asked another and I thought I answered but my memory of it was blurry.

 

I was torn from my dream brutally when someone grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out of the bed shouting words I was unable to distinguish as I was still halfway in my dreams. It was not until a hand crashed down on my face that I came to my senses. I was in the hallway and a big man I did not recognise towered over me still holding me by the collar. His green eyes were blazing like a snake's ready to poison its prey with the most evil glare. I rubbed my cheek – too  dizzy to comprehend but awake enough to make an effort to break free.

'How dare you,' he barked at me with such a tremble in his voice that I thought the ground was shaking.

I slipped away and tried to scramble to my feet only to be pulled back in again by a huge hand that was half-breaking my upper arm. He dragged me down the stairs as I whimpered in terror. My head was spinning and the walls were melting.

The stranger towed me down the stairs as though I was a sack of potatoes, ignoring the fact that I was stumbling and almost falling. Into the office he went with me and pushed me into an armchair. While I tried to catch my breath he went to the cupboard which stood at the far end of the room. The man was strangely familiar with his surroundings and swiftly pulled out a box and opened it. Something in his hand reflected the weak moonlight that shone onto the man's back from the curtained window. It drenched the room in an ominous whiteness. Suddenly a pistol pointed directly at my face. I jolted out of the chair and jumped behind it. My heart was hammering against my ribcage like a drum predicting a tragedy. I heard a shot and squealed like a hurt animal. Panting and gasping for air I looked at my body and found it to be unharmed. My relief was only temporary for I was trapped behind the chair. Soon the man with the pistol would come forth and end my miserable life and I would never learn what I had done to deserve it. That being the prospect I bolted for the door in a desperate attempt to escape. I heard another gun shot. The loud noises had caused stirs around the house. I could hear foot steps coming from everywhere. Unfortunately, those following me where the loudest and closest.

In my haste I slammed against the wall in the hallway. The wall grabbed me by the shoulders. It was Hanson.

'Run,' I shouted at him. He was the last person I wanted to be murdered along with me. But Hanson did not move holding me firmly. 'Please, run,' I begged. He looked with serious determination to where I had come from.

'What is the meaning of this, father?' Hanson's voice was ferocious and trembled in accord with my heart.

'Hold him, Charles, I must kill him for he has attempted to disgrace your sister,' the other man growled.

I pushed deeper into Hanson's embrace knowing now that he would protect me from the other man's blood lust.

'Whatever do you mean?' he asked hugging me closer.

'I found him lying in your sister's bed,' the man screamed as if in pain. I winced. I had completely forgotten. A man could not be alone with a lady in her room at night. That explained why Hanson had looked disapprovingly at me last night, when I had walked nonchalantly out of Sofia's room. It was highly indecent. Yet, he had not said anything then. Hanson looked down on me, now. I saw the same enraged green eyes that had tried to murder me moments ago.

'This is a misunderstanding,' I hissed, my voice failing. Shacking like a dry leaf in the freezing winter air I grabbed onto him with all my might unable to form another word in my senseless mind.

'I must disabuse you of your notion, father. Jo did not do what you are implying,' Hanson said considerably calmer this time. I dug my fingers into his shirt.

'He was in her bed,' Mr Hanson cried as if it was he who had been shot at.

'Nevertheless, Jo would not,' Hanson persisted. I did not know why he was so sure of me when I had acted so carelessly but I hoped he would not change his mind.

'Hand him to me,' Mr Hanson demanded.

'I will do no such thing.'

'How can you betray your own sister?'

'No one betrayed me, papa, and Jo certainly did nothing that would justify your accusations,' Sofia was by the balustrade. Like a princess she sat in her wheelchair – calm and composed.

'Sofia, angel, please go back to your room. Charles, explain yourself,' addressing Sofia Mr. Hanson's voice was soft but talking to his son it was as hard as stone.

Hanson did not speak, it was Sofia who said it.

'Papa, Jo is a girl.'

My head spun even faster now. The dizziness that had subsided while I was struggling to survive was back. My hands trembled and stiffened as the blood drew away from them. My throat felt like I was being strangled with a thick noose. I was scared and confused. I looked up at Hanson who stood unmoved. His expression was firm. His grip on me also. I could not believe he and his sister had known my secret all along. I felt betrayed and humiliated even though it was I who had tried to trick everyone.

Over my shoulder, I could see the surprised look on Mr Hanson's face.

'But he is dressed as a boy and has short hair and...' Mr Hanson protested.

'If I wore a dress, father, would you think I was a girl?' I heard Hanson say and then my vision went blank. For a moment I could hear distant voices and a scream but all that soon disappeared. I was embraced by blackness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 19

 

CONFIDENCE AND CONSCIENCE

 

I was lying in a soft bed frozen with fear. My eyes fluttered open from a horrid nightmare, the terrors of my vivid dream had drained my body of all its strength, worse than the images that flashed before my inner eye was only the incredible thirst in my throat.

Somebody said my name softly.

The light streaming from the window was bright which made it hard to focus my vision, nevertheless I knew who had spoken, for I would recognise his voice among hundreds.

'How do you feel?' he asked and touched my forehead with a pleasantly cool hand.

I felt miserable and was drenched in sweat, the blanket was hot and heavy, and I tried to kick free of it but my movements were slow and mismanaged. He helped me, and I looked at his blurry face and was about to mouth 'water' when the glass was already before me. The blanket rustled gently and he propped my head up so I could drink, some water went down my neck and dripped onto the pillows. Settling with my temple in the cool patch was all I remembered. The next time I woke, my nightgown and pillows were dry, the windows were pitch black and the only light in the room was a dying candle.

'What time is it?'

'A few minutes past one.'

'A.m.?'

'Yes.'

I nodded and closed my eyes.

The third time I woke my head, back, and limbs were throbbing from unbearable pain, I needed to turn around or I would die from discomfort. Again, he helped me and as soon as my position had shifted I slept again.

The forth time I woke from a slow recognition of my surroundings. My ears started to distinguish noises, the chirping of a lonely bird on a branch that caressed the window sill, the crackling of fresh wood in the fireplace, the soft turn of the page in a well-read book, the quiet presence of another person beside me in a chair. My nose started to take in the smells about me, the dusty blanket, burned wood, fresh winter air from an opened window. My eyes saw my fingers lying on the pillow beside my face. Although my body felt weak and strange I tried to push myself up on a wobbly elbow.

Hanson put the book, that had been hiding his face, on the bedside table and looked a mixture of relief and renewed worry. He made a move to help me but I breathed a 'no' and sat up and leaned against the headboard all by myself. It felt like a tremendous accomplishment.

'Thank you,' I said and he frowned and smiled – all at once. 'I am sorry.'

'It is not you who should be sorry,' he said and although his voice was calm I could hear the bitterness.

'Did it really happen,' I asked, 'all of it?'

He clenched his fists on his knees, 'I am afraid so.'

'I am sorry,' I lowered my head.

'Stop.'

Then I asked the hardest question I had ever had to ask anybody in my entire life: 'Since when?'

He looked away and after watching a log turn white from the unscrupulous heat of the fire, he said: 'Richard Redford hurt your throat and I examined it and there was no Adam's apple,' he said composedly and added in a much more glum tone, 'although I should have realised from the first moment.'

'Sofia?'

'I told her about you when you first arrived at Oliver Kenwood. She grew an incredible fascination for the stories I told her. She had always liked to know everything about everything but with you it was different. She always listened with a sparkle in her eye and never dared to interrupt or glared at anyone who did. When I told her that I thought you were a girl, she squealed excitedly and said she had suspected all along. She has wanted to meet you ever since.'

'Why did you not end it?'

He paused for a moment in surprise, as if he had anticipated all the other questions but not this one.

'To my great shame, it was indeed my very first thought. I was angry at you for fooling everybody, for making fun of them and me, for invading our space. But when I asked you for your reasons you simply said that you were good enough. It was so plain, so true, and who was I to decide your future based on my arrogance and pride? It has never been your intention to anger anyone, you just want to take part in something that you are passionate about, and you have done your best in everything no matter how hard it was,' he stopped talking and was lost in thought. I felt he had more to say and remained quiet until he spoke again.

'You are so much like Sofia, so much like what she could have been. I would prefer her to beat up boys and climb wells. It would be a nice change from all the pity that is thrown her way if she is not ignored altogether that is.'

The hurt in his voice and face was painful to look at but impossible to look away from, thus I merely stared with my heart cringing.

He looked me straight in the eye.

'That is why I never ended it and neither should you if it is what you are thinking of now.'

This time it was I who was taken by surprise.

'I will take care of my father. If you choose to come back to Kenwood you are free to do so.'

I looked down on myself. My nightgown smelled of soap and had bow folds. It looked like I had not been wearing it for long. In my exhaustion I merely took in the information and did not dare to ponder on who had changed my clothes when I had fainted, and who had kept on changing them every time they were soaked wet with sweat. If I went back to school I would have to come to terms with the fact that Hanson knew all there was to know. Every time I would have a fight with another boy, every time I would have to take a bath, every time I would have to behave like a barbarian to uphold my facade, he would know that there was a gentleman's daughter disgracing herself and her family.

His sigh called me back to the present.

'Is it really so utterly impossible for you to trust in me? I have kept your secret to this day and I will continue keeping it.'

'If Sofia had not said it,' I said, 'would you have?'

It was not fair to ask but I felt I could get away with it due to the state I was in, although I was feeling better every minute. Mentally at least.

'No, I would not have. But I am glad she did because it was making me insane to keep from you that I knew.'

'I am sorry.'

'I do not believe you.'

Our eyes met.

'What a cruel thing to say,' I hissed.

'Is it really?' he hissed back.

It brought the colour to my face. Since I was probably pale with dark shadows around the eyes, the flush might have made me look a tiny bit closer to my usual self. However, the sudden change in my blood circulation made me dizzy. I made an effort not to show it, otherwise Hanson would worry again and I much preferred making him angry than worry.

'If you are sorry, at all, then it is for allowing me to find out, is it not?' he was building a temper fast, 'what have I done to earn your distrust? Please do tell me I would love to understand.'

'First of all,' I said and then paused in an effort to steady the dizziness which became stronger as I spoke, 'you disliked me. I was late and I was not skilled at fencing but you did not simply scold me, you made fun of me and deduced from my lack of physical fitness that I was dumb besides. You were as prejudiced against me as everybody else and always assumed everything was my fault before listening to my side, although you did listen eventually. And, every time I thought you had become kinder you suddenly turned around and proved the opposite,' I had worked myself into a temper, too, and thus had to stop and lean against the bed column to avoid fainting again.

He was stunned by the honesty because I would not usually say this much but my defences were down and I blurted out everything without thinking and regardless of whether my accusations were of an emotional nature or had actual grounds.

'Well,' he smiled that poisonous smile of his complete with squinted eyes, folded arms and all that went with it, 'you are not entirely wrong... only mostly. You were arrogant and self-assured in class but pathetic in the fencing hall. I knew instantly the others would bully you for it and at first I thought you had it coming. But when I found you on the green between the buildings drenched to the bone and scared I could not help but feel sorry and I gradually grew fond of you despite myself. And then I learned you were a fraud and a liar and remembered all the reasons for which I had not liked and trusted you at first, thinking I had been right from the start because it was easier to accept that the fault lay in you. But I am a grown man, and as such, reasonable enough to see my mistake, therefore I have taken your side ever since. I helped you wherever I could without being too obvious in my actions as I am sure you would have disapproved otherwise. Nonetheless, you must have noticed. When Terry broke his leg the headmaster had already written your letter of expulsion but I convinced him that you had behaved as decently and gentlemanly as was possible under the circumstances, which I truly did believe and still do, and urged him to take a closer look at the case which luckily he agreed to. More importantly than everything else though, I have introduced you to my sister which is the highest level of trust I can betray towards someone and I have - are you all right?'

The dizziness had subsided but now my head was spinning from all the new information. I held my head in my hands in shame. Hanson was a good man and I was ungrateful, mean, and childish. I was about to tell him so but there was a knock on the door and Miss Durdle was asked to come in.

'So sorry to bother you,' the massive woman said, 'but I heard voices and- Oh joy! You have woken up Mr Ryde!'

'My name is...' I began, embarrassed to be addressed as a man still.

'None of that Mr Ryde. You see, I am a plain, not very well educated woman. If I am presented with a fact I will take it as a fact until the presenter of the fact chooses to mend his previous declaration of that fact. To all other notions I must declare myself ignorant. Therefore, you remain Mr Ryde in my books,' she smiled broadly and proudly after having formed such a complicated sentence.

My emotions pressed against my heart.

'Thank you,' I smiled.

'Now, what I came here to ask is whether Master Charles will attend dinner.'

'Has his Royal Highness sent you?' Hanson asked cheekily and just as cheekily Miss Durdle nodded.

'Let my father know that I will take dinner here along with Mr Ryde and Sofia if she pleases.'

Miss Durlde pulled a face as if that answer would not do.

'You can't have your father dine alone,' I interposed more afraid of Mr Hanson's wrath than his loneliness, 'don't worry on my behalf, pray, do dine downstairs. I feel much better already.'

He looked at me briefly then turned back to Miss Durdle, 'whether Sofia chooses to dine with us is up to her but I shall remain here.'

Miss Durdle nodded and looked concerned, she did not seem too keen on delivering the message, it did not take long for her to return.

'So sorry again, but Master-'

'Good Gracious,' Hanson exclaimed and rose from his chair. The back of his suit was wrinkled, he must have sat by my side a long while.

Miss Durdle fidgeted awkwardly with her apron as Hanson stormed past her. She was not as much in control of the house as she usually tried to be, as a door slammed downstairs, Miss Durdle became even more nervous.

'I think they might need you,' I said smiling encouragingly.

'Oh, do you think? No, I should not leave y-,' a loud thud echoed from downstairs and she was gone.

In her hurry, Miss Durdle had left the door open and with the window open as well there was a very strong draft which angered the fire and and made it reach high, afraid it might jump onto the carpet I slid from bed and slowly walked to the window to close it. It was early evening and the sky was as grey as it had been on my first day in London, I had gotten used to the sea of roofs and chimneys, the Isle of Wight seemed many years away. Perhaps it was time to go back.

By the urgency with which Miss Durdle had left, I could guess at the severity of the argument ensuing below and Mr Hanson did seem like the man with whom one should avoid arguments. Without a doubt my presence in this house was what raised father against son.

In the wardrobe were my things among all the clothes Miss Durdle had given me. I picked out the first piece I came upon and started to struggle with the night gown, I could not find its buttons, thus I merely slid out of it and put on a dark shirt, green trousers, and a light brown jacket, in its stead. It was not the best match but adequate enough, I was still a little unsteady and therefore glad not to have fainted half-naked on the floor – what a sight that would have made.

It was Hanson's old clothes I wore and they were so much nicer than my own. Sadly, I would no longer need men's clothing back on the Isle of Wight.

I held on to the wall while descending the stairs. The distance to my room and the distance to the office were approximately the same but in my state, both seemed incredibly far away.

The door to the office opened and closed quietly and Miss Durdle walked out pale as a ghost, she was so very upset that she walked past me without paying me any notice. Suddenly, somebody slammed their palms on the table and suddenly I heard an incredibly harsh and angry Hanson: 'I am afraid that if you do not come to your senses, father, you will loose your heir.'

'A greater loss for you than me, no doubt,' trembled the other, 'who has paid for your education and supported you all your life, providing for you and your foolish notions?'

'Paid?' exclaimed Hanson with infuriated amusement, 'you have loaned me the money and I have repaid you with every Pence I have earned in the past five years. But the debt and its ridiculous interest is almost cleared and I shall be a free man!'

'Free? You shall ruin yourself soon and if I postponed the moment of your downfall by five years then I am very much glad of it.'

'It will be none of your business very soon.'

'Very well.'

'Very well, indeed.'

'And I suppose you won't want to see your sister any more?'

A brief silence followed. Mr Hanson served a fatal blow to his son's most vulnerable weakness.

'You cannot come between me and Sofia. Even if you wanted to, you only come to London during Christmas.'

'Unless I took her with me to the North, of course.'

'Yes, and by doing so ruin her health. Who will tend to her then? Strangers? Practitioners who have never had a case such as hers? Would you like them to touch your daughter with their inexperienced hands? Have you forgotten how it used to be, father, before I started looking after her? Will you place your egoism over her well-being?'

'They can go on like this for hours,' Sofia appeared suddenly beside me or perhaps she had been there all along without me noticing. She did not look as upset as I thought she would be upon hearing such phrases about herself. I did not know if I should be happy that it was not me they were arguing about.

'How do you feel?'

'Good,' I lied to the two Sofias I suddenly saw. Luckily, they melted into one after I blinked several times.

'I am glad. Charles should have taken better care of you when you have been visiting all of those poor, sickly families and you should have dressed warmer, you go out without buttoning your coat and you don't wear a scarf. No wonder you got sick!'

'Well, Dr Hanson's old coat is a little too small for me and I cannot button it,' I said trying not to sound ungrateful. I had missed the transition that had shifted the focus from the argument in the office to my dressing habits, and was surprised it had happened so quickly.

The door to the office opened, again, and out came a flushed Hanson. He was breathing just a tiny bit heavily, his eyes were just a tiny bit wider than normal, surely wider than when he squinted them.

'Why are you out of bed?' the words came out fiercer than he must have meant them because he was still under the influence of the fight with his father.

'Jo feels a lot better and she is ready to have dinner with all of us. Cook has truly outdone herself this time,' she manoeuvred her chair past Hanson who was too deep in thought to object or comment any further on me.

'Papa, do make haste. The most delicious Sunday roast is waiting for us, we cannot allow it to grow cold,' she announced cheerfully.

The grim antagonist of my nightmare came through the door and for a short moment the ground beneath my feet felt like jelly. Hanson steadied me by the arm and asked if I was sure about dinner. I nodded for my voice had deserted me.

'We have not been introduced,' said Mr Hanson and crossed his hands behind his back.

It was a strange observation as I felt like we were very closely acquainted. Myself, Mr Hanson, and his pistol. I had his murderous glare before my inner eye and the sound of the shots he had fired in my ear constantly.

I curtsied stiffly with Hanson continuing to hold my arm.

'Jonathan Ryde, George Hanson,' said Hanson.

'And what would be the real name?' said the big man with the closely trimmed, dark blond beard and the thick brows which met in a frown.

'Joanna,' I said voicelessly.

'Joanna who?'

'Joanna Ryde, sir,' I put more weight on Hanson.

'I prefer Jo,' cheered Sofia happily.

'Do join us for dinner Miss Ryde in something more becoming for a young woman, if you please,' said Mr Hanson dryly, and following Sofia into the dining room, left Hanson and myself behind

With him gone from my sight the air around us became lighter.

'What you are wearing is fine, do not be intimidated by him,' said Hanson with his father still in ear shot. For a moment I feared he would come back to state an objection but he did not.

Hanson lowered his voice, 'are you sure you feel strong enough already?'

'Yes.'

The dining room with the elegant, long table on thin, curved legs, that stood on a green and brown carpet appeared a lot less friendly and welcoming than when I had dined here last, because the wrong Hanson sat at the head of it. The temperature seemed to have dropped, too.

Even though, his face was hidden behind a vase with a thick belly that did not only contain a vast bouquet of flowers but had one painted on, as well, I felt his intense, disapproving glare. When I sat down I was forced to look up at Hanson's father who was scrutinising me. Wrinkles of judgement creased his forehead. He cleared his throat.

'Sofia has told me a great deal about you. What you are doing is truly...'

'Father,' Hanson warned.

Mr Hanson dismissed his son with a short and swift movement of a hand but did not pursue his train of thought further. Instead he said: 'I must apologise for our... misunderstanding.'

Mr Hanson was a big and important-looking man to whom apology must be the equivalent of a foreign language.

'It was not your fault, sir,' I returned avoiding his eyes.

'It surely was yours,' he stated. 'Nevertheless, an apology is due.'

'It is nothing worth mentioning, sir,' I whispered feeling the remains of the bruise he had put on my face itch.

I could hardly eat anything and I did not hear much of Sofia's chatting although I did make an effort to smile every time she addressed me.

After the table was cleared Mr Hanson retired to his study and wished not to be disturbed. I could finally breath again.

Hanson motioned with his head for Sofia to leave, which she did begrudgingly, and sat down in the chair beside me.

'You look very pale, and your fever...,' he touched my forehead, 'is still high. I will ask Cook to prepare a light soup for you as you have hardly touched your meal. I suppose your throat is still sore and you probably still feel dizzy which, of course, you won't admit.'

'I thought you were fighting over me,' I changed the  subject because I had not listened to him.

'Very shortly,' he said, 'most had been discussed directly after you had lost conscience, none of which I would like to repeat. You do not have to worry, Sofia has spoken so highly of you in father's presence that he has no choice but to be civil towards you and stay out of your business. His love for her won't allow him to do otherwise. Sofia can be very clever sometimes.'

'I am always clever,' Sofia corrected from behind the closed door.

'And she loves to eavesdrop,' explained Hanson not the least bit surprised.

'Only because you treat me like a child.'

'Only because you behave like one.'

'A coincidence indeed, Miss Durdle says the same about you.'

The conversation was continuing through a closed door which made neither of them seem very mature.

'I think I should return to the Isle of Wight,' I whispered.

'Oh no!' squeaked the door.

'I agree with you,' said Hanson ignoring the talking door. 'Is it not the reason why you got dressed and came downstairs in the first place? Shall I sent Arthur for a ticket for the next train?'

It was a reaction I had not expected and it hurt to hear him be so nonchalant about it, for I thought he would try to convince me to stay, I thought he wanted me near him – more than that, I wanted to continue my studies and to be at Kenwood and to have hopes and dreams about the future. On the Isle of Wight you could only content yourself with the small things in life, I had no illusions about my home. It would be a place to run away to, but it did not solve any problems, at all.

'Or stay and see what the future brings, it might not be as glum as it seems at the moment.'

I looked up to see a sly look in his eyes and realised that Sofia was not the only one who was clever. From behind the door her voice sounded: 'Can you whisper a little louder, please?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 20

 

WORDS AND WRONGS

 

On the 24th of December the first snow of the season sailed lazily to the earth. The white pureness stood in stark contrast to the dark city. Small icicles formed on the window pane during the morning and dripped away before the early evening came. The air was ice cold and the chimneys steamed more than they ever had. Orange windows guided the way and dim oil lamps turned the few people in the streets to black shadows.

The house was warm and bright and smelled of cake and roast, and gravy, and pudding, and baked apples, and chocolate, it was a big and marvellous house, bigger and more marvellous even than the Hanson mansion.

Candles were lit wherever there was space to place them, despite the tremendous gas-lit chandelier which was made entirely of crystal. The formidable piece of craftsmanship hung above the dining room table and threatened close to one hundred and fifty lives with its thousand shimmering diamond-shaped glass pieces. No one seemed to notice, for the dinner was so very splendid that it consumed all the attention, which was not yet exhausted by the even more splendid company.

Big men with big bellies and their wives, who were dressed like the Christmas tree in the parlour, sat at the tremendously long mahogany table. The silk cloth, spreading from one end to the other, was white with silver flowers woven around the food and wine stains - collateral from the hungry crème de la crème of society.

The noise in the vast dining room drowned every thought in my brain but one – the fear of the chandelier. It swung just a tiny bit when the bald man next to me stomped on the floor with his enormous foot, after the other bald man opposite him had said something funny. They both laughed with their mouths wide open displaying half-chewed turkey in all its glory.

'If it falls at least it will put us out of our misery,' whispered Hanson under his breath and smiled when I did.

'What are they saying I can't hear from where I sit,' Sofia leaned towards Hanson who sat between us.

'Something about Jolene's husband who hanged himself after she presented him with the dressmaker's bill. He only survived due to the two butlers he could not afford to hire but Jolene insisted upon. Apparently they held on to a leg each until the grand piano, which he could not afford either, was manoeuvred under him so he could stand on it. The grand piano however broke from the weight. It must have been quite a scene according to the two gentlemen.'

'Oh, that's old news, the two ladies over there discussed it an hour ago and I must say your two gentleman forgot quite a vital detail. Apparently the dog, a Yorkshire Terrier - very expensive breed, was caught under the piano and Jolene, who is very fond of it, flipped the piano upside down along with her husband and the two butlers.'

'No!'

'Yes, indeed.'

'Ladies,' whispered Hanson shoving both of us gently with his elbows as we had leaned all the way over him from each side. 'You are both mistaken for I know from a reliable source that it was the maid who flipped the piano for it was her dog. At this Jolene threw the maid and the two butlers out and single-handedly saved her husband's life and retained the piano and the dog. They now live happily without servants and Jolene spends all, that is saved by not employing anyone, on dresses,' he pointed his fork almost unnoticeably towards the other end of the table where a woman sat with a Yorkshire Terrier on her lap and a man with a red mark around his neck beside her.

Sofia and I stared at them, then at each other, and finally at Hanson who was evidently gloating.

'How do you of all people arrive at such knowledge?' demanded Sofia suspiciously. 'I thought you had absolutely no regard for gossip.'

Hanson wiped his mouth with the red silk handkerchief on his lap and smiled challengingly at his sister.

'If you refuse to give up your source I shall think you to be no more than a fraud and dismiss what you have said as a pitiful lie which serves the sole purpose of making you look important,' she said raising her nose in the air.

'It so happens that the man himself told me, for I,' he paused enjoying his moment of triumph, 'am his doctor.'

'Oh, you are such a tease. Why have you not told us sooner?'

'I am sorry to say, I am bound to my patients by confidentiality.'

'Yet you just blurted out everything?'

'I merely prevented false rumours from being spread.'

'By spreading the right ones,' I offered unable to let this opportunity to join the conversation pass.

We all laughed so much that the chandelier started swinging again. What made us stop laughing was not the crystal executioner though, but the appearance of a much greater threat by the name of Abigail.

'Abigail,' cheered Hanson just a small tiny bit too enthusiastically.

Sofia rolled her eyes in anguish.

'Charles, my dear, Sofia, darling, do you enjoy my small and cosy Christmas party? I hope you do not find it very dull.'

'Not at all, Abigail, darling,' said Sofia mockingly but Abigail did not notice the mockery. She took the hand Sofia offered into her own with what looked like heartfelt gratitude towards Sofia's benevolent - if not entirely honest – answer. I wiped my mouth with the silk handkerchief to hide a grin.

'We enjoy ourselves greatly,' added Hanson giving Sofia a warning look because she had leaned her head to the side and was flapping her eye lashes at Abigail – mimicking the latter.

'Have you been introduced to everyone?'

'Yes,' said Hanson politely.

'Yes,' said Sofia, 'I have never been introduced to so many strangers, in fact. It was the best way to avoid the people one really wanted to talk to.'

'I am glad,' said Abigail because she had either not listened or refused to acknowledge criticism. 'We must talk more later, and Charles, I have saved the first two dances for you so don't you dare ask anyone else, or it will make me look rather silly before all the many men whom I have turned down.'

'I would not dream of it,' said Hanson making me wonder if his exaggerated enthusiasm was only a way to hide the annoyance. If so, he was the worst liar I had ever come across.

'Very well. I must go now and greet every one of my one hundred and forty eight guests,' said Abigail and I could not tell whether she was showing off or complaining or both.

When she left I realised that I had been ignored throughout the whole conversation. How exceptionally marvellous.

Sooner than I would have wished, the dinner was over. The servants moved the massive table noiselessly to the wall and took most of the chairs away. The piano player who had been solitarily playing in the corner, was joined by half an orchestra. With the centre cleared and the music gaining in dominance, the dining room was transformed into a ballroom. Sofia was surrounded by suitors as soon as she sat down by the window to play cards, and Hanson was kidnapped by Abigail.

Sofia had left her wheelchair at home and walked on her own two feet with only a walking cane as aid. When she had first told Hanson that she would not take her wheelchair he had refused to allow it without even letting her finish the sentence. They had fought all day, paused shortly during afternoon tea, and then continued throughout the evening until finally Hanson gave in. His one condition was that she would not dance but sit as much as possible. He was afraid that she would fall and break her limbs and take years to heal. I could understand them both but of course I had been on Sofia's side, and therefore particularly glad about her success. It was my opinion that had made Hanson finally agree to Sofia's wish and I was a tiny bit proud of it.

I had promised to look after Sofia but she seemed well taken care of and I felt more like I was the one who needed looking after. In the vast ballroom surrounded by strangers and abandoned by the only two people I knew, a sensation of loneliness settled and I thought of my sisters, Eleanor and Elizabeth would have enjoyed this ball very much, I missed them.

I positioned myself by a window with my arms crossed behind my back, same as another gentleman, whom I had taken the liberty to copy. From my position I observed the ongoings. Hanson danced three dances with Abigail after which five ladies surrounded them, and insisted Abigail had to give-up her monopoly over him. Said monopoly was hence interrupted for one dance. As soon as it ended, Abigail was by Hanson's side and clung to his arm like a monkey. He did not seem to mind at all. In fact, they looked rather natural together. None of the other ladies stood a chance.

Sofia was the centre of attention in her own respect. She sat in a white chair with golden cushions and the four young gentleman she had been playing cards with for the past hour all bend down keenly to hear her every word. Now and again they laughed, made their comments, and became perfectly quiet once she resumed speaking. Surely they had been drawn towards her due to her beauty, but it was her wit that had made them stay.

Only a few metres away was a party of young ladies – entirely neglected by the gentlemen. They looked enviously at Sofia and flapped their fans in front of their flushed faces. They were dressed in what must be the newest fashion. Silk, jewels, frill, feathers, the prettier the dresses were the more obvious their owners' deficiencies became

One of them had a very slender face with very big eyes that made her look like a fish, an association which was enforced by her blue and green shimmering dress – the many layers of skirts looked like fish scales. Another had red hair and was wearing an orange dress that had a rim of yellow-coloured feathers, it was a beautiful dress of glowing colours but it made her look like she was on fire. The third of them was small and chubby and wore a white dress with white pearls which accentuated the redness of her face, that last one reminded me of someone.

I was bored, and my feet hurt from mere standing, and since the ladies seemed to be around my age and I usually did not have much opportunity to talk to members of my own sex (not including Sofia), I decided to try forming new acquaintances. As it was neither my looks nor reputation that attracted masses of people maybe I could at least charm myself into company however, the fact that they stiffened and turned away upon my approach did very little to build my confidence, as a result, I did what every man in my situation would do: I cleared my throat.

The red-haired girl glanced my way and then gave her friends a look of annoyance, she had broad shoulders and was a lot taller than me. Usually I would be intimidated by people who surpassed me in social standing, height, and number, but today I was willing to regard the situation with humour – if only to tell Sofia about it later and make her laugh.

'Dear madams, my name is Jonathan Ryde,' I said.

They ignored me.

'Would one of you care to dance?'

One of them began fanning her fan more vehemently.

In a last desperate attempt I said: 'Have you heard about Jolene's husband?'

I thought there would be another silence but instead the small chubby lady with the red face started to whisper something with regard to the mentioned topic, she was corrected by the tall red-head and the fish-lady – a fierce argument ensued. When I told them what had really occurred they were left in awe, and, just like Sofia previously, they were not willing to believe it unless I betrayed my source. No sooner had they learned of my connection to the Hansons as my position in their hearts was secured.

'You are rather popular with the ladies, are you not?'

A deep and throaty voice sounded behind me and I turned to face Richard Redford. The jolliness abruptly ended and I had to enforce all my willpower not to step away from the ice-cold eyes that pierced me with a mixture of hatred and amusement.

He greeted me with a handshake and pressed my hand so hard that I thought it would become a diamond.

'I did not know you were acquainted with the Johnsons.'

'Only very fleetingly.'

'Yet, you are here.'

'Just like the rest of London, it seems.'

'Is Mr Jonathan Ryde one of your schoolmates, brother?' asked the red-headed lady.

As a man of few words, Redford had probably exhausted his lingual resources and therefore merely nodded. A slow regretful nod.

'You are related to a lot of people,' I said in an attempt to break his stare.

At this he surprised me by introducing formally his sister and his cousin, the chubby girl, who was also Terence Barclay's sister. Terry had been left at home for he still needed crutches to walk, a condition that his sister regarded as an embarrassment, and I was relieved because I knew that Terry would not have enjoyed a party such as this, although, I would have liked to see him, for he was the only one whose friendship I did not need to doubt.

'Richard how good to see you,' Sofia suddenly appeared beside me leaning on her walking stick. There was no mockery in her voice. She was truly happy to see him and smiled fondly at him, a smile which he returned. I was confused.

'Sofia, how do you do?'

'Oh, very well, thanks to Jo, he is such a pleasure to have around, one cannot possibly suffer from low spirits, but what am I saying, you two go to school together therefore you must know better than I do.'

'Indeed, Jo is very special to have around,' he gave me a short and accusing look.

He behaved very differently from how I had gotten to know him. It almost seemed like he was an ordinary human being, he smiled, he made polite conversation,  I had not seen him at the dinner table, but found it difficult to imagine this man eat like a civilised gentleman rather than like a starving beast – even the beastly appearance had vanished from his countenance. His beard was combed and trimmed, his hair too, his suit might be criticised for a lack of extravagance, but it was impeccable in every other respect, he even wore an Ascot tie. I could not believe him to be the same person I had shared a room with over the duration of several months.

'I was about to go outside into the garden for some fresh air, would anyone care to join me?' asked Sofia sweetly.

As a matter of course, I volunteered immediately, the other three ladies declined immediately. It was plain to me that their reason's were of a vain nature, being seen with Sofia meant being compared to he, a comparison which would not be in their favour, even  though she walked on a stick.

She reacted politely but I could tell she would have liked their company.

Richard was very keen to come, too, even though it meant he had to endure me, his sister and cousin  convinced him however that it was better to stay with them, they surrounded him, and pushed in a less than subtle way towards the fish-lady. He had an air of forced composure and slight despair about him and suddenly remembered that he had urgent business to attend to, hence he excused himself and he took his leave. The disappointment was vivid in the fish lady's face.

Outside, the air had a chill to it and the cold crept under my skin. Only when I sensed the night air did I realise how hot and sweltering it had been in the ballroom. The noises had left a humming in my ears to which the present peacefulness stood in stark contrast. Our footsteps crunched gently on the frozen ground, as we descended the stone stairs, the garden was breathtakingly beautiful in the moonlight, a small bridge with an elegant but bulky balustrade led over a small lake, the shallow waters had become ice and glistened like the crystal in the chandelier.

'It is perfect for skating,' I said and stepped onto it.

Sofia watched me curiously as my soles glided over the ice in V-shaped forms, when I reached the end of the lake, I turned around and dashed towards the bridge, Sofia gasped, I ducked and glided safely underneath it, then reappeared on the other side. After skating another semicircle, I looked up at Sofia, who stood on the bridge and giggled.

'I wish more people were like you,' she said.

'Why? Did you not enjoy the company of the gentleman whom you have talked to? If I had known I would have saved you from them.'

'I am sure you would have,' she laughed, probably imagining the clumsiness with which I would have performed the saving. 'It is not that,' she continued to smile but suddenly there was sadness in her features. 'I enjoyed their company and attention, indeed I did, which is probably why I was punished for my vanity.'

'But you are not vain, at all.'

'We are all vain when it comes to dressing up and showing off in society, some of us do it less obviously than others but no one is free of charge,' she leaned over the balustrade of the bridge and looked at her shadow on the ice, while I looked down on myself and wondered if I was vain, too. Hanson's dark blue jacket from when he was thirteen hung loosely on my shoulders, it was a beautiful colour and made of wonderfully soft and rich fabric, the beige trousers made me walk straighter and in longer strides, the brown waistcoat and perfect white shirt made my breast swell. Perhaps, I was just the tiniest bit vain, too.

For a short moment I wondered what I would look like in a dress such as Sofia's. Would the light blue silk accentuate my rosy cheeks like it did hers? Would the pearls make me look elegant? Could my hair be as long, and curly, and pretty as hers? It was a silly notion that had arisen from a lack of oxygen in my brain after having been in one room with a million people for too many hours.

'I saw the other girls standing aside from the gentlemen I had talked to and I should have probably invited them to join us. But I preferred not to share the attention.'

'Which was your right,' I assured her.

'You are much too kind, Jo. I doubt they share your opinion.'

'Who cares what they think?'

She shrugged, 'I care, I think.'

Her eyes glistened with loneliness, I had never seen her so sad, and it made me cross with the people who had taken away her cheerfulness.

'In the end, neither the gentlemen nor the ladies wanted anything to do with me. I suppose I deserve it.'

'Deserve it?' I exclaimed. She, the sweetest and kindest creature on earth, deserved nothing but happiness and loving.

'The moment I stood up and those gentlemen saw that I need a walking stick, and that I walk strangely even with that, their interest in me faded. Who would want to court a cripple?'

'No, do not say that,' the heat came to my face despite the cold temperature

'Let me finish,' she uttered and her eyes locked in a wistful gaze. 'When I realised I was no longer wanted, I searched you out even though I had neglected you for two hours, knowing perfectly well how uncomfortable you must have felt alone among so many strangers – selfish girl that I am – I only thought of myself, and when I came to you, you were as friendly and open as ever and talked to the girls whose company I had not wanted and who in turn refused me.'

She rested her elbows against the cold stone balustrade of the bridge and lay her head in her hands, her big eyes sparkled moistly, the lower lip quivered slightly.

How could she torment herself with such thoughts when she looked so pretty in the soft light of a foggy full moon? Standing on the white stone bridge of a frozen lake she looked like a fairy. Fairies were not meant to be sad.

Trying with all my might to think of anything to say at all, I realised what really bothered her. It was not her selfishness but that she was rejected for being an invalid. One could mend selfishness, one could apologise for it, but there was nothing one could do about a disease such as hers, and even less could be done about the opinions of people. Suddenly, I understood why Hanson worried so much, surely there were physical threats, but the social threats, the ones that caused unseen harm, were the more dangerous ones. He probably considered things Sofia had not yet realised herself.

'I', I began still searching for words, 'I do not have many friends myself, you and Hanson are my closest friends, in fact. And as for suitors, I have even less than you, and the prospect is not too promising,' she looked at me with wet eyes that pierced right through me. 'You only need one good man,' I said thinking of Hanson. 'He will come to you one day, or if he won't I am sure your devoted brother will drag him to you by the poor fellow's ears.'

That made her laugh and I seized the opportunity to  walk up the bridge without fear of her bursting into tears.

'Do not worry too much about those gentlemen at the ball. They are fools who will be stuck with wives such as Abigail which is punishment enough,' I wiped her eyes with the sleeve of my tremendously marvellous jacket upon which she laughed more,  she hugged and thanked me, and then I insisted she had to try ice skating if only to distract her further.

She was very unsure about it, but I promised not to let her go, I held both her arms as she abandoned her walking stick and stepped onto the frozen surface. It was slippery and she squeaked with joy when her feet started gliding. We were giggling from one side of the lake to the other until my attention was caught by a rapidly approaching figure.

'What are you doing?' Hanson shouted exasperatedly.

He was in front of me in a heartbeat and scooped up Sofia in his arms. His breath came heavily and he gave me the most evil glare I had gotten that day, and I had gotten many.

'I can't believe you two,' he uttered looking only at me.

'There was nothing to it. I was perfectly safe,' reasoned Sofia.

'Be quiet,' he hissed at her. 'You and I will talk at home,' he hissed at me.

My heart sank and chills ran down my spine. This was when I saw Abigail standing by the bridge. Arrogantly she looked down on me. My heart sank further.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 21

 

DISCOURAGEMENT AND DISAPPOINTMENT

 

The air in the carriage was colder than outside. Hanson looked out of the window even though there was nothing to see but the perspiration on the glass. Every now and then he sighed a heavy and long sigh. And every time he did, I cringed.

Sofia fell asleep on his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. The same arm that had been in Abigail's possession all evening. It was silly of me, but I was angry at him for it. As I had no way of expressing my anger it changed into envy and self-pity, and when we arrived at the Hanson mansion it had become self-reproach.

I held the carriage door open for Hanson who carried Sofia. He was relieved of her by Arthur, the butler. Arthur and Miss Durdle who had got out of bed to welcome us home, carried her to her room. Hanson and I were left alone in the entrance hall. I watched his back as he slowly took off his scarf and coat. I dreaded the moment he would turn to express his disappointment in me. But he did not turn. Instead, he sighed another deep and heavy sigh and walked into the parlour. I followed, but stayed by the door. Watching him walk the room deep in thought I felt like an invader.

He poured himself a glass of Brandy from the carafe that stood in a dark, polished, wooden cabinet. The golden brown liquid shimmered as he raised the glass to his lips. I wondered what horrors were circling in his mind that required him to dull his senses with alcohol. Without a word he offered a glass to me. It was an offer I seemed to be unable to refuse judging by his look. I took a sip and coughed from the fire it sent down my throat and into my belly.

'What a gruesome evening it was,' he finally said and sighed another deep and heavy sigh.

'Did you find it so?'

'Did you not?'

I mumbled something but as it made no sense I shut my mouth.

'What do you think of Abigail and myself? Do you think us a suitable couple?' he asked looking at me with an unreadable expression.

The fire came back up into my throat and burned down the words before I could say them.

'My father certainly thinks her to be a marvellous match for me. Ha!' he took another gulp from his glass.

'Do you court her because of your father?' I asked carefully.

'Dear God, no.' he took another smaller gulp and I pretended to take a small sip not to seem impolite. He snorted, 'I do not court her. She courts herself with me. I merely put up with it.'

'Do you mean to say that you do not like her?' My heart skipped a beat.

'Like her?' he smiled wickedly. 'Are you jealous, Joanna?'

My heart skipped another beat and then stopped very shortly. I thought I had died.

He came closer waving the Brandy in his hand.

'You have a dream, do you not, Joanna? What is your dream exactly? Living as a man for the rest of your life? Marrying a nice girl and then fathering her children?'

'I-' I bumped into the cupboard behind me.

'What do you want in life?'

I wanted to study, to learn a profession, to provide for my sisters. I listed a million things in my mind but none of them would come out of my mouth.

Hanson leaned closer to me and the squinting started.

'Tell me,' he said.

And I blurted out some random vowels until I finally managed to say, 'pursue a career.'

'In what?'

'I am not sure. Something that will make me feel useful and needed...'

'You do not know what you want yet you go to extreme lengths to achieve it? Well, imagine you had an actual aim. You would do anything, would you not?'

'I believe I would,' I said and he shortened the distance between us even more.

'Well, I have a dream myself, you see, but to achieve it I depend on people like Abigail. I need her money in fact.'

I looked at him with wide and stunned eyes.

'Would you marry Abigail for money?' I asked and I felt not just fire in my throat but also the Hounds of Hell.

'If I have to.'

He smiled again. But this time I saw his smile for what it was. An effort to hide the hurt in his pride. He was as trapped in his role as I was in mine and none of us had the means to break free from it, thus both of us swam with the strong current, choking on loads of water.

'Are you disappointed?' he asked.

I could not reply. He looked at me for a long moment, then sighed again.

He tossed the remaining Brandy into the fireplace and put the glass back into the cabinet and walked past me.

'I should not have interfered with you and Sofia,' he suddenly said, 'life without joy is nothing.'

Hanson walked out the door and I heard his footsteps on the stairs. They were slow and sad. The wood cried underneath them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 22

 

SENSE AND SOLIDITY

 

The moon illuminated the guest room so beautifully through the six-pane window that I dared not light a candle. Everything appeared strangely different at night, the dark wooden wardrobe turned pale under the white light, the red canopy bed was graced by silver streaks that flowed like waves through the tender silk fabric, all the shapes gained in contrast and their shadows ran deep.

My own shadow, as I leaned with my back against the window, drew across the flower-print on the carpet, and climbed the ornament-adorned wallpaper until it reached an oil painting which depicted a frigate of the Royal Navy caught between two big and strong waves. The vessel leaned dangerously close to the dark blue water whence it was pushed by the wind, and gale, and heavy rain, despite its unfavourable position the ship fought the forces of nature, and the tiny crew ran about the deck and worked hard not to let the majestic piece of superior craftsmanship on which their lives depended succumb to the furious sea.

The sea. With a pang I missed its waves that crashed upon the shore in a sometimes idle, sometimes ferocious manner. In the eighteen years of my life I had witnessed all its moods, the beauty of storms and the soothing power of calms. How I missed the noise of water splashing about the beach and cliffs.

When I went to bed that night I was determined to fall asleep right away, but instead of giving in to the soft embrace of the pillows my mind began racing. Back and forth it went between scenes of tonight with nauseating speed, bits of dialogue echoed out of order and out of context. I opened my eyes to stop the whirlwind of images and voices but I could not bring myself to think of nothing and at the same time I could not focus on any one thought, if I stayed in the room I would be mad by morning.

The air had become warmer or maybe I was just flushed from exasperation. A gust of wind made the trees rustle and one of the street lamps go out, rather  quickly a man with a long stick melted from a shadow and re-lit it. He touched his old, shabby hat and wished a 'Good night to you, sir.'

A toothless smile turned his features into a grimace that was accentuated by the light of the newly re-lit oil lamp, I gasped a quick response and accelerated my pace to an extent that would put a reasonable distance between the man and me, but did not give away my fear. When I inclined my head to look back the street behind me was deserted, the lamp had gone out again and there was no sign of the man with the long stick, however I felt he was watching me from the shadows and walked even quicker yet.

I knew not for sure whether the direction I had chosen led to the destination I hoped for, and my only navigation point was the crest atop St. Paul's Cathedral which rose above the roofs of London. St. Paul's was so very big that when you stood near it, you had to crane your neck as far as it would go, to see the top, if you walked around it, you needed at least fifteen minutes to make a full circle. Made of white stone it was adorned with statues and columns about the facade, the cathedral was truly magnificent.

St. Paul's was not far from Thames, which was were I was headed. It was not the sea, but it was the closest thing to it, watching its waves just for a moment would soothe me.

Before I reached cathedral I saw a glimpse of the river between the houses to my right. The wind picked up and the waves crashed in a familiar manner against the shore and the boats lying on the pier. In the distance, several bridges arched over the water which painted a distorted picture of the House of Parliament and the moon above it, and delicate lights from windows and street lamps set little stars into the river.

A gust of wind blew the hair from my face and I took a deep breath. This was London. This was the city I lived in, I knew so little about it but the more I found out the more it scared me and the more it left me in awe.

Themes' beautiful brown waves soothed my troubled mind but the weather turned chillier and the cold was pinching my skin telling me to go back, before anyone realised I was gone.

There were not many people on the streets but enough to make me feel safe, particularly, since it was Christmas Eve and Christmas songs sounded from the bright windows all around. Everyone was visiting friends and families and I wondered what my sisters were doing this very moment. Were they enjoying themselves in Portsmouth? I hoped they had spent a small fortune and treated themselves to a wonderful Christmas, knowing their recklessness in monetary matters they probably had.

At a crossroad, I wondered which way to go. Though the road I had taken initially lay straight ahead, but turning right seemed like a shortcut, only it was a darker and slimmer street, the sort you would not advise the hero in a fairytale to choose because a wolf dressed in an elderly lady's nightgown was certain to lurk behind one of the trees. But it was Christmas and everyone was merry, there were people all around, hence I did not need to fear the wolf.

Soon however, those people became scarce, and so did the lights in the windows, and eventually the windows themselves, in their stead a public house appeared a hundred yards away where drunk men staggered in and out of the narrow double door, and dirty laughter filled the cold air. Everything around me turned dead quiet – there was no wind, no rustle in the trees.

Very much afraid of the wolf now, I pulled up my collar and lowered my head, and tried to keep a steady pace. As the public house drew nearer the urge to run became stronger, and the smell of cheap liquor invaded my nostrils. The men's faces, their drunken expressions became clearer, if I crossed the road to walk on the other side, they would notice and know I was afraid. Men like that could smell fear and even if they had had no intention to harm me to begin with, they would certainly get funny ideas if they felt their own superiority.

A few more steps and I would be past them, but suddenly, a brawl broke out in front of me. My way was cut off by a body that was pushed in my path, it  fell and sprawled across the pavement at my feet. Two other men shouted something at each other and surrounded the man on the ground, who was trying to pick himself up, but one of the other men kicked him and he fell over once more. Sticky strands of red hair clung to the man's sweaty forehead, with his hands he grabbed the ground and dug his nails into the pavement until the skin came off at his finger tips. Due to the blow he had suffered, and the alcohol in his blood he had trouble to stand up quickly enough, thus he received another kick to his ribs. This time he fell sideways and I caught a better look at him. He wore a suit that had suffered from being in bad company, some buttons had been ripped off and the white collar was smeared with brown stains, on his knee was an ugly hole in the fabric, but it was of an elegant and fashionable cut, thus identifying its owner as a member of the gentle class.

With the hand that was not supporting his body he brushed the sticky strands from his face – it was that of Richard Redford.

One of the man behind me did not wait for the information I was attempting to comprehend to sink in and smashed a bottle across Redford's face, glass fragments splintered in all directions, wine spilled over my shoes. I hoped it was wine.

'Stop,' I shouted. 'What are you doing?'

How could one person be so recklessly cruel to another? Redford lay on his belly while a small pool of blood formed around his head. How could that stranger do that to him? Who gave him the right?

'Oy, whoat d'ye think ye doin'?' thundered the man closing in on me, holding the broken bottle by the neck. With his free hand he gave me a shove and I felt the other two come up from behind as their collective interest shifted from Redford to me.

The commotion had caused a stir among the other men who had formed a circle around us, they did not appear particularly happy about having their merry evening interrupted by a brawl.

'Calm down boys, there is no argument that can't be settled over a good ol' pint,' someone in the crowd made his opinion known.

I backed away while I had the chance.

'Tha' re'head owes me boss a good chunk o' money an' I'm going to beat it out o' him,' growled the man with the broken bottle.

'What good is he to you dead, Shivvy? Can't get no money from a dead man,' said a man in the back.

I shivered upon hearing talk of death.

'Yeah, Shivvy, it is Christmas for fuck's sake.'

'Kill 'im tomorrow.'

'Aight, aight, I get it,' said Shivvy and turned to me. His ugly face was long and sharp, with a V-shaped mouth and thick short eye brows, the mouth formed into a grin and revealed the teeth of a horse.

'Give 'im a message for me kid, willya?'

I stiffened with fear.

'Tell 'im, if he don't get those two hundred fifty pounds by mid January, krrrrrch,' he made a horrible noise, displaying the full length of his horse teeth and drew the broken bottle slowly across his own throat, mere inches away from it.

Shivvy and his two friends left me standing there, and I dared not move until someone gave me a pat on the shoulder and the merry mood returned to everyone around me. No one helped Redford who was still lying motionlessly on the ground. From the corner of my eye I saw his attackers linger, standing under a lamp, at some distance, Shivvy smoked a cigarette while staring at me with wide-open, manic eyes. When he caught me looking, the V-shaped mouth turned downwards, the  broken bottle was still in his hand and he pointed it at his throat again. Having left a lasting impression he motioned to his companions and they disappeared in the shadow of a side street.

No one betrayed an overly extensive amount of concern regarding Redford's situation, and I felt that asking anyone of the men for help would amount to little more than ridicule. After all, they had already done more than I could have ever imagined, they had saved me.

Meanwhile, Redford raised himself to sit with his head between his knees, and swayed back and forth, left and right. The alcohol probably dulled the pain but also made his blood thinner, at this rate, he might die of blood loss. I took off the scarf Hanson had given me and, while the coldness lay its frosty fingers about my neck, I pressed it against the boy's forehead firmly. If I managed to reduce the blood loss and speedily take Redford to Hanson, the brute would be safe, hence I tied the scarf around his head and tried to convince him to stand up. Redford betrayed little weakness. With astonishing ease he hopped to his feet, his stance, however, was nowhere near steady and it most likely would become wobblier the longer it took to put him under medical care. At first, I merely had to tug at his sleeve to guide the direction, but soon he began swaying dangerously, and I was forced to lean against him to offer support. When we arrived by the gate I was practically dragging his full body weight, thus we stumbled into the house almost falling over at the doorstep. With what was left of my strength, I was about to yell for help but remembered that Mr Hanson Senior had his study very close to the entrance. Day and night he could be found there going over his business accounts and book keeping, if I were to yell he would be the first to hear it.

With my mind strangely clear I sat Redford down by the stairs and mounted its steps two at a time. I entered Hanson's room without knocking, for I knew he would be asleep. His room was much more spacious than the guest room, the double-bed had no canopy. The white bedding had gone astray., there was an abundance of pillows, but his head lay on the blank mattress. The blanket covered only one of his legs, he  lay with his face towards the window, the curtains of which were not drawn and the little light flowing into the room softly caressed his features. He looked very serious even in his sleep.

The room smelled like him, entering it was like diving into his embrace. Were it not for the urgency of the moment I would have remained there staring at him all night. Time was of the essence but he did not wake upon my calling him, hence I shook his shoulder, that too provoked no reaction, therefore I added force. His eyes shot open, his expression changed from momentary confusion within the quarter of a second to lethal fury, he grabbed me and pinned me onto the bed, hovering atop with the readiness to kill. I winced in surprise rather than fear, for it happened so fast that it was impossible to generate fear in such a short moment.

He came to his senses before I did: 'Joanna? What in the name of...' his face went through a number of expressions until it wrinkled in disgust: 'What happened to you? What is that stench?' His eyes widened in sudden worry: 'Whose blood is that?'

He began examining and touching me, and  went as far as tearing open my coat before I could brush his hands off.

'I am all right,' I shrieked, 'let go, please.'

Humiliation claimed my senses, I was incredibly happy the room was dark, for otherwise he would have seen the full extent of my red and embarrassed face.

'Yes, of course,' he stepped off the bed and helped me up, suddenly self-conscious of his actions.

He blushed slightly which surprised me even further. In an awkward effort to make amends for assaulting me, he brushed invisible dust from my jacket and said, 'there, good as new.'

I blinked at him and his poor attempt at humour. I almost laughed probably because I was becoming slightly hysteric.

'What are you doing in my bedroom?' he demanded remembering that I was the intruder not him.

We had wasted enough time already, hence I took his hand by the sleeve of his dark night gown and led the way to were I had left Redford.

Hanson was quick to react. He shouted for Miss Durdle and Arthur, the butler. As I had feared Mr Hanson came too, in order to observe the scene and draw his conclusions, but seeing the situation was under control or maybe even for lack of care and interest he withdrew to the study whence he had come.

Arthur helped Hanson carry Redford upstairs. They brought him to another free guest room, pushed the blankets aside and placed him on the bed. Miss Durdle and Arthur helped arranging and preparing the utensils that would be needed and went back to bed as soon their work was done.

'Ryde, you will assist me.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 23

 

PREJUDICE AND PERSPECTIVE

 

'Miss Ryde, I must say,' were the words that greeted me at the breakfast table. The small hair on my neck tickled with anxiety, 'you have an extraordinary talent for putting yourself in the way of highly compromising positions which offer a number of unfavourable interpretations.'

I heard Hanson's fork fall to his plate while his father looked at me expectantly. The only times he and I crossed paths were during meals. This was the first time he addressed me in such a way, for usually he contented himself with comments for which he could not be accused of direct hostility towards me. Yesterday, for example, he had read an article from the paper out loud which depicted a lady in a scandalous affair, he said that eventually there was just punishment for all who attempted betrayal. His son had asked him, through gritted teeth, to refrain from such remarks. Mr Hanson opposed that he was in a mood to discuss the article as it had left such a strong impression on him, unless Charles had someone else in mind whom it concerned.

'I am very sorry for having caused a great deal of trouble in the short time of my stay,' I said tensely.

'Indeed, you should be,' said he.

Swallowing my food became progressively more difficult.

'Father,' spoke Hanson yet was silenced with an upheld hand.

'Let me say this Charles,' he uttered with a look of unwavering authority. This instant I imagined him telling off Hanson when he was a boy. How much terror this look must have caused then, when it still had such a strong effect on the grown-up Hanson, and how similar that look was to the one Hanson gave me when I provoked his scolding.

'I do not approve of my children's exposure to her company. She will bring a scandal upon herself sooner or later and I do not like the idea of having the Hanson family name associated with it.'

Hanson the younger rose to his full body height with the screeching sound of the chair on the floor.

'Stop this talk instantly or I will-'

'You will what, my son? Stomp off angrily to your room? Leave my house? How many times have you threatened to do so and to what avail? You poor bastard have nowhere else to go and always wind up here. I pity you, I truly do. You are a man of an age which yearns for independence yet you are bound to me. My compassion for you runs deep, not least of all because I have a lot to thank you for but even my angelic patience has boundaries.'

I held my breath expecting more but he stopped there, and turned his attention to his food. His words stayed like a cold dagger at my throat, and at Hanson's. Hanson's face was red and breath was quick. Quietly he sat back down and began cutting the omelet on his plate without eating it. It hurt to see him this way. The shattering of his heart was almost audible.

Mr Hanson suddenly looked up at me as though he had a revelation: 'Miss Ryde, we know so much about you it seems unfair to me that you know so very little about us.'

'No, father, please,' begged Hanson. His voice was heartbreakingly pleading.

'I know all I need to know,' I interposed. If Hanson did not want me to know I did not want to hear it.

'No, no, I insist,' said Mr Hanson with a grin that did not affect his eyes, 'you see, my son is not the only one with a weakness for scandalous women. I, too, was smitten with the excitement of courting a lady of a questionable past. Charles' mother, you see, was a divorcee and, oh, what a tremendous actress she was too. The performance she put on when telling the agonisingly painful story about her previous husband  was positively superb. How he had mistreated her in a vile manner. He had even laid hands on her, she swore. Oh, I was empowered and uplifted by the sensation of being her knight in shining armour when everyone else had turned their backs on her. My own dear, wise mother begged me to reconsider marrying that woman. She disapproved to such an extent that our very wedding killed her for she lived not a day past it. Despite all the warning signs I stood by her and how happy I was to hear she was expecting our child. I could not wait to look into the eyes of my first-born and indeed I did not have to wait long. Charles was born only eight months after our wedding night. Now please excuse me, Miss Ryde, for betraying such a delicate detail but as a woman, who lives in one room with men, it will hardly shock you.'

It did shock me so very much that I wasted not one thought on his implication at my own indecency.

Hanson rose to his feet again. The chair made no noise this time. He held on to the table with both hands as though he might fall over without its support.

'I told you father, I was born prematurely. It is common when women go through notable emotional and even physical pain,' he looked at his father with a great deal of emotional pain of his own. 'I look so much like you, father, why do you doubt me and mother? Neither she nor I have betrayed you for even a minute of our lives. Mother's first husband was dark-haired and fat and short. I, on the other hand, have your face, your hair, your build, why can't you lay the topic to rest?'

'Well, my son, if you spent all your married life wondering if that child you are holding is yours or someone else's it ceases to matter at one point or other. I can never be clear of doubt and I find it easier to accept you not to be mine than to wonder and wonder. Once, I made that decision everything became so much easier.'

'I see. Clearly and as always your own comfort is placed above everyone else's.'

'Why should I compromise it and for whom?'

'Please excuse me, I need to look after my patient.'

'Make sure he is fit enough to leave as early as possible. My house is not a hospital,' scoffed the older Hanson.

'As you wish, father,' said the younger Hanson, bowed his head, and left.

My body felt as though it was drained of all strength.

'Why do you put him through such pain?' I whispered knowing I was out of place for asking but felt Hanson's misery so keenly that I could not help myself.

'It is none of your business Miss Ryde,' he said squinting his eyes just like his son did.

'You have made it my business by telling me all about it.'

He gave one loud laugh, then looked at me while  arrogance invaded his every feature: 'Well, Miss Ryde, perhaps I meant it as a warning to you. A bond made under unhappy circumstances will never prosper and only destroy everyone in it's path.'

I wanted to ask what it was that made him think his son and I were forming a bond for there really was no reason to make such an assumption but the double-door swung open and Sofia entered in her wheelchair: 'I am so sorry for being late. I overslept and not one of you wretched creatures woke me. What have I missed?'

Neither Mr Hanson nor I gave an answer. To avoid spoiling Sofia's morning too, I asked to be excused.

When I found Hanson he was sitting by Richard Redford's bed changing the bandage. Redford was asleep although he had woken several times during the night and complained of a severe headache. Hanson had given him light anaesthetics claiming Richard was strong enough to bear some of the pain so it would remain in his memory next time he touched liquor.

The wound, that had claimed an enormous amount of blood, was a vertical cut through his eyebrow. It was a sensitive spot, and Redford was lucky not to have ended up blind in one eye. It was, however, not quite as bad as it had looked yesterday, for he had meaty brows. Other than that he had some very dark bruises covering his body and a fractured rib which would heal quickly if the patient rested it properly.

I had assisted Hanson throughout the night and once I had focused on my tasks I was not affected by the sight at all, and it was not a pretty one. Cleaning all that blood from Redford's swollen face led to a sense of pride in having helped another human being who would have suffered or even died without me.

'It makes no difference, you know,' I said to Hanson.

'Yes, I know. Yet I would have preferred you not to hear it,' he replied solemnly.

'Then it is my turn to pretend as though I do not know,' my earnestness forced a weak smile form Hanson's features and he nodded.

His expression betrayed there was more to worry about. A few times he was about to say something, but merely shook his head, scoffed quietly, and went back to silence.

'What is it?' I asked imagining all sorts of horrors.

He looked at me with both hurt and reproach sparkling in his eyes.

'Will you please be honest with me?'

'Yes, of course,' I said without hesitation then remembered that my recent record of honesty was very slim.

'Yesterday night,' he began without looking at me, 'did you try to run away?'

'Of course not,' I retorted with a start. 'Why would I do something so foolish?'

'You foolish? Never!' he exclaimed dramatically.

I could not suppress the the urge to clarify: 'I do not wake up in the morning thinking today is a good day to do something foolish. It just so happens that not all of my conduct is supported by solid reason.'

He sighed and confirmed that indeed it was so. A burden seemed to have been lifted from his heart. Then he did something I had not seen him do for quiet a while. He smiled at me, and this time, it was honest and tender. I had almost forgotten what it looked like.

'What made you think I would run away?'

He looked out of the window. For once, the low winter sun became visible through the thick white clouds and directed its strong rays through the East window. Hanson did not seem to mind the bright light and continued to look directly at it. His features were lit by it and I had to renew the very first thought I had of him: he was not horribly ugly, at all.

'A lot of things to be honest.'

'Really?'

'Did you never think of it?'

'I have thought about going home once or twice maybe, but it never occurred to me to run away. Why should I?'

'If I were you I doubt I would think of much else.'

I paused trying to figure out what he was alluding to. Could he mean to say that I should be so utterly ashamed of myself that running away and hiding from society was the only way left for me? Admittedly, I never strayed far from the edge of the slope that led to ruin. But I did hope Hanson was not one to judge me quite as severely as his father did, or Redford would if he ever found out.

'I seem to have upset you,' Hanson said, 'please know that it was not my intention. But it is precisely what I mean,' he threw up his hands in sudden frustration. 'I upset you time and time again when you deserve better.'

A solemn sadness invaded his posture, it took hold of his voice and intruded upon his expression. He knitted his brows and lowered his head – same as he had done when responding to his father's devastating remarks. It was not a man I was looking at, but a mere boy – who was as hurt and as lost as any child without guidance. He was just like me.

As if with a will of its own my arm reached out to him and my stiff fingers slid around his sleeve and grabbed it firmly. I hoped that somehow the tension in the room and the regret in his voice would resolve if I looked at him intensely enough. I hoped he would read my mind and understand how highly I thought of him.

He pressed me to his chest so that I heard his heart beat. Heavily he sighed, but it felt like his chest became lighter with it. The moment was surreal, time slowed down, but I feared that once he let go, it would be as though it had never happened. He would deny it if ever I asked about it, which I never would due to a lack of courage.

All I could do was enjoy this moment while it lasted for it would likely never return.

When he let go, the red curtains were still the shade they had been, the pattern on the carpet had not changed, the wardrobe still stood in its place, the dust on the canopy remained where it had been, and Richard Redford's steady snore was still audible through the blanket covering his mouth – but something was different.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 24

 

TIME AND TENSION

 

The grass still swayed to the wind, the wind still found its icy way around the corridors, the corridors were still adorned by an army of massive portraits, the men in the portraits still looked scornfully at everyone who passed them – Oliver Kenwood Boarding School was still majestic – but something was different.

When the brass gate made way for me, I did not feel intimidated by the buildings or the people therein. It was but a few weeks which I had spent at Hanson's, yet it was such an eventful time that it might as well have been years. Years during which I had learned a lot about Hanson and even more about myself. Going back to our positions as student and teacher seemed almost unnatural to me. My image of him was changed. I did not regard him as a flawless statue of a Britannic hero on a pedestal any longer, but rather as my equal. He and I were not so different. Both of us had a lot on our minds. Another half a year at Kenwood lay ahead and I had not yet spent much thought on what I would do after school. Suddenly there was very little time left to contemplate my future.

The old man had intended for me to do something brilliant but how to accomplish brilliancy without connections, without going to Oxford or Cambridge? I had to lay my dreams to rest and be realistic about my possibilities, though it pained me to admit it. To have any chance at all, I would have to continue living a man's life. Being small and slender I passed as a boy but would people believe I was a man? Even if they did, I doubted I would ever be as happy again as I had been this Christmas. With a sudden pang I realised that I should enjoy the months which I had left at Kenwood for it was not likely that my life would change for the better after it.

One term was a very short time to solve all of my problems, therefore I had better focus on what I needed most of all, which was a steady source of income. I needed to find a lawyer or doctor or engineer who would hire me as his assistant when I graduated. In order to be of interest to any such man I needed to achieve the best possible mark in my final examination. Sadly, Hanson was in no position to hire – he would have been perfect.

My train of thought was interrupted by a glowing red scar. Richard Redford was in our room sitting restlessly on his bed. When I attempted to come through the door, which was tighter than I remembered, my newly acquired trunk got stuck in the door frame. The trunk was a courtesy of Miss Durdle. She had insisted I should take all the suits, shoes, shirts, jackets, vests, and coats with me that she had placed in the wardrobe of the guest room. The fact that the sack I had come with was a great deal smaller than the double-doored wardrobe was utterly neglected. The solution was this enormously big trunk which created more problems than it solved because it was big and clunky and heavy and it was physically impossible to get it through the door. How I had managed to carry my luggage all across the green and up the many, many, many stairs was beyond me. The deep trail I had left in the muddy path leading up to the halls of residence could probably be seen from the moon. To realise that all the pain and the suffering had availed to nothing, because the trunk was too fat to enter the room, was terribly frustrating.

'Here, let me help,' Redford climbed over the wooden box and kicked it so hard that it slid inside and across the wooden floor all the way to my bed.

'Thank you,' I said unable to hide the scepticism in my voice. Where we friends now?

He shrugged, looked left, looked right, fidgeted a little, and then left the room as if remaining civil was more than he could bear.

Following the incident at the pub, Redford left Hanson's house and care as soon as he had slept off his drunkenness. He had not displayed much gratitude towards Hanson or me and appeared displeased that we had meddled in his affairs. Sometime between then and now he must have realised that I really had acted quite heroically which was why he tried to be – I hardly dared think it – nice. How my chest swelled with the recollection of my selfless bravery. The more I thought about it the more my memory distorted the facts. Suddenly there were not three men attacking Redford but thirty, and the weapon was not a broken bottle but knives, swords, and pistols. Of course, I single-handedly defeated them all with my formidable fencing skills. How they all pleaded for mercy and cried for their mothers. Their cries changed to cheers.

'Ryde! Ryde! RYDE!'

Now that last shout was more angry than those preceding it. It was so angry, in fact, that it did not fit with the image. I blinked a few times and the foil in my hand changed to a pen. No wonder it had been so light. Worse though was the fact that I was not in the middle of a duel, which I would have infinitely preferred, but in a classroom. Mr Walsh was towered over me. To tower he had to stand on his tiptoes even though my head lay on the desk. I sat up instantly as straight as a candle – and sweated like one, too. The classroom was one I knew well, but all of the other students were unfamiliar. Slowly, I remembered that I was now a third year and that I had to catch up on such a vast amount of study material that there was hardly time for me to sleep at night.

'Mr Ryde, such behaviour from you – from you of all people,' he tried to maintain an angry voice but he was much too disappointed. He screeched in my ear: 'Go to the black board and translate the next twenty pages of Hamlet into Latin!'

The blackboard could never hold twenty pages. It was a detail I had best not mention. To show my good will and how much I regretted having fallen asleep I performed the penalty as best as I could. No one laughed at me. In my old class, everyone would have lain on their bellies and cried tears. But now that I was a third year, the only response I provoked was cold indifference. My new classmates did not know what to make of me. I looked like a first year, had been at Kenwood for half a year, yet would graduate along with them in summer. I felt terribly out of place.

Though I was not accepted, no one bullied me either which I had to thank Richard Redford for who was now in the same class as me. He was by my side constantly and strangely protective. Although I found his devotion flattering, it did complicate things. I had to be more careful than ever before, especially when changing clothes. The only place to escape his watchful eye was in Hanson's office – he never followed me there. Hence, I was a frequent guest, particularly as Hanson allowed me to use his bathtub whenever I chose. More often than not, I stayed the night studying in his office when he had long gone to bed. This arrangement inconvenienced him, but he did not say so which I exploited fully.

It was a little dangerous because if someone noticed they might tell the headmaster – and he would certainly disapprove, but I needed to study in peace and quiet which was impossible in my room with Redford and Greenfield in it. Every time I looked up from my books there was Redford staring at me. Though, he seemed to mean well, it was scary, but not as scary as Greenfield. The latter glanced my way only rarely but when he did there was pure hatred in his eyes. Having Redford as my watchdog kept Greenfield away but angered him severely, which in turn made Redford even more protective. It was a vicious cycle. The tension between the three of us was exhausting. That, and studying and the doubled caution ate away my days and I had no time at all to spend with my friends. I missed Terry most of all.

One day I found Larry lurking outside my room. Upon enquiry he said that he had come to apologise. He was a very tall boy of almost two metres, but he looked at me with sad, tearful eyes like a small child. His back was bent, his hands and feet fidgety as though he was about to be led to the gallows and was making his final appeal. When he finally apologised I promised that I held no grudge and also said that it was not I whom he needed to apologise to. Larry knew that, but he lacked the courage to face Terry alone, and wanted me to accompany him. I was glad to neglect my studies for a good cause.

Larry came prepared. He had brought with him to school a huge trunk – bigger even than the one Miss Durdle had given me – filled to the rim with sweets. It was so big and so heavy that we had to carry it together.

Terry opened the door to his room and shut it in Larry's face immediately. Despite Larry's plea he refused to open it. It took my voice to convince him to at least listen to what Larry had to say. Grudgingly, Terry came out into the hallway. The two boys who could not be more different in appearance wore very similar expressions. They stood opposite each other staring at their feet with knitted brows, puffed cheeks, and pouted mouths. Though I was keen to watch this exchange my excitement wore off after ten minutes of solemn silence. A silence that was worse than the one in the third year's classroom. Five more minutes passed and I grew impatient as I remembered the pile of books which awaited my reading.

'Terry,' I said, 'Larry came here to say how very, very sorry he is, and look he brought you a whole trunk full of sweets.'

Terry shrugged and his cheeks inflated some more.

'Larry,' I said, 'Terry does not know if he can really trust you, because you did hurt him by leaving him when he needed you most.'

Larry mumbled one or two undistinguishable vowels.

'Terry,' I continued, 'Larry will never ever do that again. He will run naked through a girl's school and have a painter make a drawing of it and send it to his father rather than abandon you ever again.'

Larry nodded and Terry's cheeks deflated a little. It was progress.

'Furthermore', I was beginning to enjoy my role and felt my creativity thrive, 'you are his best friend and have been since the two of you were drooling and wetting yourselves, and you must remain best friends until you start drooling and wetting yourselves all over again,' into my left hand I took Larry's hand, and into my right I took Terry's.

'Larry do you promise to stay true to your word, for better for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?'

Larry nodded timidly.

'Terry, do you take Larry to be your friend, to stop stealing his food and forgive him?'

Terry glanced at the the big trunk full of sweets that stood between them, and nodded.

'You may kiss the bride,' I concluded.

Both boys withdrew their hands and looked at each other in disgust and we all burst out laughing.

The little time I had with my them, I enjoyed thoroughly. When we ate lunch together or accidentally met in the hallways I forgot my worries for a moment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 25

 

BLOOD AND BLUFF

 

'Jo,' Hanson said one evening in a serious yet feeling voice. I knew what he was going to say.

'Please do not turn me out the door,' I retorted pathetically.

He chuckled: 'I am not turning you out the door, but you have to admit that my office has slowly but surely become yours,' he motioned towards the desk, and sofa, and floor, all of which were covered in my study materials. You could not even tell the pattern on the carpet any more or guess the colour of the cushions.

'I fail to see what you mean,' I said cheekily.

Hanson smiled at me but gave me a look that made it clear he would not be quite so tolerant any more.

I lay the letter aside which I had attempted to write to my sisters – it seemed to become increasingly difficult to find the right words to say, or even to choose a topic to write about. We were family and I loved them but we had drifted much too far apart.

'Sorry,' my voice was a little more heartbroken than I intended.

'I understand that you do not feel comfortable in your room but it does seem strange that you are never there. It will raise suspicion... it might already have.'

What he said was not unreasonable but I really liked being in his office because he was there or at least next-door, but, of course, I did not want to be a burden.

'Perhaps there is something I can do about the situation in my room that keeps me from staying there.'

'Please do.'

 

'Good evening,' I said formally. The door behind me closed noiselessly.

'Is it?' Richard Redford returned.

Having gotten to know him a little better during the past weeks I was able to tell that this reply – the fact that he replied, at all – was his way to show he was in the best humour his body allowed without the addition of morphine, opium, or laudanum.

Greenfield was not there. He avoided our room for the same reason I did.

'There is something I would like to discuss,' I said shifting from one foot to the other.

'What do you want?' he sat up fully alert.

Last year, I could not have imagined claiming Redford's attention without provoking anger and annoyance. It was a privilege I did not want to loose, therefore I had to measure my next words very carefully.

'Richard, I am aware how highly you must think of me, after I have saved your life without regard for my own health and safety,' I was about to get a little carried away in terms of drama but noticed and swiftly changed path, 'I am sure you would have done the same for me, therefore let us assume we are even and be friends from now on. All other obligations resolved.'

'Saved my life?' he repeated after a pause. Then he shook his head as though he was slowly taking in the information: 'Obligations?'

He took it the wrong way. I had feared he might and therefore avoided speaking to him. There was no going back now. I had to do all I could to reduce damage now.

Richard threw his legs over the edge of his bed which was decidedly too small for him.

'When have you saved my life and how does it bind me in obligation to you?'

My old fear of the big and broad, bearded man who did not fit in with the image one might have of a schoolboy, rose to the surface, while Richard rose to his full height. The red evening sun shone on his back through the big window highlighting his dark silhouette with a warning glow.

'I thought you were behaving the way you did because you were grateful for the night in which I have brought you to Hanson. You had almost bled to death.'

Roaring laughter that sounded like the growl of a lion filled the room. I made a step back.

'Bled to death?' his body heaved with laughter, 'from a small cut?'

There were tears on his eyes while my body progressively heated.

'But why then?' I asked in a small voice.

'Why what?'

'Why have you been so... protective and watchful all the while?'

There he stopped laughing and his face became an impenetrable mask.

'You mean to ask why I made sure the third years did not beat you up?'

'Beat me?' I almost laughed myself now.

'Yes, beat you due to the same reason due to which I made sure they did not,' he sighed and there was a remote trace of human emotion somewhere. 'Because you are Hanson's lover.'

His words were like two hands that wrung me like a wet cloth. He knew. He knew I was a girl and from the sound of it, not only did he know, but everyone else did, too. And they were going to kill me for it. A little carelessness. A little reckless behaviour. I was such a stupid, stupid fool. Dear Elizabeth, dear Eleanor, please forgive me. I ruined us all like I was destined to. How could I have ever taken such a risk? But maybe I could still deny it? If I never came home? If I admitted to another name? Yes, I would have to lie for their sake and go on to live somewhere far away. Maybe I could find work and live my life to repent for my idiocy without causing harm to my loved ones. All these thoughts and many more entered my mind at once.

'But why would you take my side?' I asked.

'I do not care about you. It is Dr Hanson I owe a great deal to. He lent me those two hundred fifty quid I owed Shivvy's boss – surely, you remember him,  pleasant fellow with a broken bottle? And it was not the first time Dr Hanson offered help in a difficult situation. Of course, I have always paid him back and I will this time. Nevertheless, it means that if he asks a favour of me,  it is a matter of honour to do my best to oblige.'

'He asked you to look after me?'

'Indeed he did. Although I do not share his sentiments or even understand his preferences I have to do what he asks of me. I have to admit however, that I am surprised he picked you when he quite firmly refused Greenfield.'

Now my thoughts went truly wild.

'Refused Greenfield? In what way?'

'At first, I did not understand the lengths Greenfield went to to be rid of you. He is a man of high standards. It was strange to watch him resort to such petty means just to make you suffer. Jealousy explains a great deal, of course. He knew from the start you were a rival. I don't know how. He must have felt a like-mindedness.'

The mental exertion and futile attempt to grasp what Richard was saying almost pressed the tears from my eyes.

'What do you mean?'

'Do not pretend like you don't know!' he sighed and spelled it out for me: 'Rajesh Greenfield prefers to lie with men rather than women – and so do you.'

'I-I-'

'Oh, don't act all surprised and innocent! It is who should be surprised that Dr Hanson is that way – I always thought him to be quite taken with Abigail. Although, one does not stand in the way of the other I suppose.'

I remembered how nice and friendly Greenfield had been to me when everyone else either made fun of me or ignored me. Greenfield had introduced me to Larry and Terry. He had been patient with me during fencing. He had helped me out a great many times. Maybe that like-mindedness was what made him do it. Perhaps he knew I loved Hanson because he did too? And though he hated me for it, he also understood better than anyone else – the difficulty, the impossibility of it. It was my turn now to understand him. He felt towards me the way I felt towards Abigail. Poor Rajesh. He could not be more wrong in his assumptions. I was not Hanson's lover. To establish this was my first and foremost concern. Whatever follies Greenfield and I had created in our minds – they could not stain Hanson's reputation. He was not a man to entertain scandal and affairs with anyone.

I made my voice as deep and as angry as it would go and tried to make Redford understand that he had made a mistake.

Redford scoffed at my denial and started listing the facts which he thought proved his point: 'you regularly remain in his chambers, you even spend the night there, he rushes to your aid whenever the chance arises, and most interestingly you have spent Christmas with him. Have I forgotten anything?'

I wanted to punch Redford and cry at the same time. It was not on account of my virtue that I felt this overwhelming urge but on account of Hanson's. He was such a good man and for anyone to discredit him through gossip was wrong. Suddenly, I remembered how Mr Hanson Senior had said I would cause a scandal and involve the Hanson family name in it. I felt awful.

'Do not worry, Ryde. The other boys do not have a very clear understanding of what is going on between the two of you. I doubt their imagination goes quite as far. The only reason I know, is because Greenfield was not careful enough in hiding his intentions from me. Just like you I was anxious not to have a scandal form around Dr Hanson. I punched that half-breed in the face hoping to discourage him thus, but it merely gave him a reason to turn to Dr Hanson.'

When Redford paused I gulped hoping he would not punch me now for he sure looked like he was considering it.

'As I had expected,' continued Redford looking more angry, 'Dr Hanson had no regard for Greenfield and his funny ideas. But then you came and he seemed to have changed his mind. I find it hard to accept, I have to admit, but my respect for Dr Hanson runs deep, therefore I have no other choice.'

'There is nothing between us,' I cried ferociously.

Redford startled with the severity of my claim.

Suddenly I realised how to prove to him that I was both a man and not Hanson's lover. There was but one language he spoke and understood.

'It is you who is in love with Hanson and now you try to accuse everyone else you can think of.'

'What?' he was about to make a step back but changed his mind and came closer instead. He repeated his question but this time he shouted it in my face and grabbed me by the collar.

He was not the only one who was angry. I was so angry, in fact, that there was steam coming from my nose. I grabbed his collar until his throat reddened.

'You heard what I said!' I yelled at him and tried to kick him but he pushed me against the wall.

'You disgusting little gnome. You are completely twisted,' he thundered and pushed me up the wall so my feet were two inches off the floor.

This time I kicked him in the stomach and he whined and threw me to the ground.

'You little...' he jumped on top of me and I watched him raise his fist to punch me.

Because he was so much bigger than me his fist had to travel a long way and I managed to dodge it by turning sideways like a shrimp. He slammed his fist with full force into the floorboards.

If I scored at least one punch that would leave a visible bruise no one else in the whole school would dare bother me. For no one would dare provoke the boy who punched Richard Redford and survived. All I had to do was survive.

He cried out from the pain and I exploited the moment and his proximity to shove my forehead against his nose. Blood spluttered from it instantly. He prepared his left fist for another punch and this time he did not miss. My ear rang from the impact I suffered to the right cheekbone. If I stayed pinned to the floor any longer there would be little left of me. I tried to scramble away from him using both my arms and legs, but he was quick to react and slammed his bleeding right fist into my ribcage. So much was his wish to hurt me that he did not mind suffering himself. I freed a knee and kicked his chin. It appeared I had the upper hand but not for long. Redford's long arm shot out from underneath and he shoved it in my stomach so that I rolled on the floor with pain. Now he could take his time standing up and I heard his feet step close to my face. I curled up as tightly as I could. This was it. Now I only hoped to loose conscience quickly and, if I was very lucky, then I might even wake up in a few days. Or if I died, then at least I did so trying to protect the honour of the man I loved. Just then I realised how much I did not want to die. I prayed for Hanson to come through the door and save me like he had done so many times.

Richard kicked me once, twice. Then he grabbed me and pulled me up towards him and through wet eyes I looked at his fist that would soon connect with my face. I was not quite as heroic as I had hoped I would be, and I was still conscious, and everything hurt, and I felt sorry for myself.

'What concern is it of yours whether or not Greenfield is in love with Hanson?' I began and the tears started rolling down my face. 'Love is a beautiful thing and should be cherished. Some love will never unfold and it is painful enough to know that. There is no need for people like you to judge me or Greenfield on top of the misery we already feel. You are right in the respect that I am in love with Hanson. I love him from the bottom of my heart, and because of that I wish him nothing but happiness. I know there is no way he and I can be together not because we are of the same sex, mind you, but because I am not good enough to be his bride. Redford, I will never marry. Because I am poor and a fraud. No decent man will want me so I shall live like a man myself to at least have control over my own life.'

I finally put into words the pain that had been haunting me for weeks. It was much worse than the physical pain I felt. I gave way to it and somehow I felt better even if it was just for a moment because I had done something horrible. I had made Richard Redford understand who I was.

He looked me over and tried to look through me. The raised fist began shaking.

'What are you suggesting?' his eyes grew in horror.

I did not quite manage to arrive at a reason for it. But then my mind began to wander. I was no longer thinking clearly for everything was becoming foggy. I was finally loosing conscience. Why had it not happened just a moment sooner then I would not have had to betray my secret to this horrible, horrible person whom I had helped when he was hurt and who now hurt me just because he thought I had not the right to love a man who could rightfully be loved by everyone. Hanson never judged anyone and he always felt other people's pain as keenly as he felt his own. He was always ready to help with whatever means he had. How could one not love him and strive to be like him? My last thought revolved around the regret that it was Redford's arms I had to sink into.

Blackness.

 

I woke to a very strong, very bad stench. When I opened my eyes there was a small bottle of smelling salts in front of me, and Hanson's concerned face, and another face that left an impression which was even worse than that of the smelling salts.

Hanson gave a little sigh of relief when I shifted to a sitting position on the green sofa in his study. My cheekbone, my ribs, my shin, and my shoulder ached. My throat felt sore and my knees weak. Hanson handed a cup of tea to me and squeezed my hand as he placed it into mine. Then he turned his attention to Redford who was sitting desolately in a chair in the other corner of the room – as far away from me as possible.

The sky was still red from the setting sun and the sun was still visible above the roof tops although it was reduced to a glowing strip. It meant I could not have been unconscious for long. Five, maybe ten minutes, I estimated. Redford had not had time to explain anything to Hanson, and I was glad of it, for I could tell my side of the story to unprejudiced ears.

'I congratulate you, Richard,' said Hanson, 'you have finally managed to make me want to call you out to a fencing duel.'

In the squint of his eyes glistered so much anger that I thought perhaps I had better not say anything for the time being.

'I did not know,' said Redford pathetically.

'You did not know that beating someone who is a lot smaller and weaker than you is wrong?' asked Hanson. The tremor in his voice made me sink deeper into the cushions.

'He... she provoked me. If I had known Ryde was a woman, I would have never...' Redford's voice trembled. It almost sounded like he might start crying.

Curious to see his face, I craned my neck a little and indeed his expression was full of sorrow and regret. How strange that he would make such a difference between man and woman. I had not thought that being a girl might actually be in my favour.

'I asked you to keep an eye on her,' Hanson said through gritted teeth. He turned to me. He looked as though he blamed himself for it. I wanted to object but Redford's voice cut through the silence and drowned the first syllable I uttered.

'Please, do not tell anyone,' he implored us. 'If my creditors hear I beat a woman they will withdraw their investments and-'

'Is that your only concern? Is money and reputation all that matters to you?' Hanson's fists clenched and unclenched, and clenched again. If it had not been against his nature he would have beaten Redford's rotten values out of him. But Hanson was a doctor through and through. He could not do harm to another person.

'Money and reputation are not what they are defined as in the encyclopedia,' Redford motioned around the room at Hanson's many books, 'they bring with them the definition of who has food on their table and who does not. You are acquainted with my sister and my mother, doctor. They expect me to provide a certain living standard. If you tell anyone about what happened they will end up on the street and starve to death.'

'There are many people living on the streets,' I heard myself say, 'what makes you better than them?'

'The fact that I run a business that provides many more of such people with a wage and a roof over their heads. If I go bankrupt so will many others. I do not expect a woman to understand that, though,' Redford became very passionate in his speech.

I looked to Hanson to find if it was true. He gave me a short nod and immediately contradicted Redford's condescending manner towards me: 'Miss Ryde understands a great deal more than you think, Richard. Perhaps if you did not think yourself to be quite so privileged and entitled you might find a more stable way to run your brewery like your father did before you, instead of speculating at high risk.'

'Do not speak of my father, Hanson,' Redford rose from his chair, 'he passed away suddenly and I had no time to grief for I drowned in business that I had not the slightest notion how to handle. Yet, I had to convince the creditors that the business was stable and that I could run it. You helped me a great deal through that time and I will always remember it but do not assume for a moment that it gives you the right to speak of my father.'

'Very well. If I have no right to point out a very obvious mistake to you then please do not ask me for help any more,' Hanson said trying to sound indifferent but I knew this was hard on him. He was not a man who could easily abandon a friend and he only did it to show the young boy with the great responsibility how much was at stake and how easily people could turn away from him. I had no doubt that if Redford should need help the very next day Hanson would be the first one to offer it.

No wonder Redford looked so much older than the other students, no wonder he missed school so often, no wonder he was always on the verge of madness. It did not justify his behaviour yet it, at least, explained it.

'I shall not come to school any more. The only reason I did was because you advised me to, doctor, and it was precious time which I should have spent at the brewery. I won't betray your secret if you keep mine. If you please excuse me, I have urgent matters to attend to. I doubt we will meet again soon,' said Redford formally. His face lost all emotion and the ice-blue eyes turned grey.

He crossed the room and paused at the door. Before he pushed the handle, he added: 'Miss Ryde, I hope you can find it within you to forgive me. I shall try to compensate you for it but I can't promise you anything immediate.'

'I do not need compensation,' I said. The best compensation was never having to see him again. It was cruel to think so but I could not be as forgiving as Hanson. He had hurt me, he had hurt Hanson, and he had said bad things about people I was fond of. Under the given circumstances I had a right to be cross with him for as long as I found appropriate which might be forever.

'Very well,' he pushed the door open and stepped into the hall. His foot steps echoed loudly through the thick walls. With them becoming fainter in the distance, came a sense of relief. He was not going to tell on me. I was still safe – though bruised and badly beaten, both literally and metaphorically. No one at Kenwood but Hanson knew that I was a girl. The fact that I had almost ruined everything – destroyed what little prospects I had – weighted heavy on my heart. My conduct had been as bad as ever, I needed to act in a smarter way if I wanted to survive in this male-dominant world. Why was it so hard to keep the upper hand? Why could I not make people respect me like Hanson did? I did not want to fight or argue any more – I wanted to be able to avert battles, just like Hanson had said, but how was I supposed to manage that when nearly everyone's first instinct was to either ignore or hate me? No. That was not true. Hanson did not hate me. Sofia never hated me and Larry and Terry have been my friends from the very beginning. Who cared what Redford thought? Who cared what any of the third years thought? When the most important people in my life returned my sentiments.

Hanson sat down next to me. He looked like he needed consolation more than I did.

'Foolish girl, what were you thinking?' he touched my hurting cheek gently.

Could I really tell him? Was I allowed to bring up the subject concerning Greenfield? And how should I explain the connection between him and me? I could not tell Hanson that Redford had accused me of being in love with him because I would have to deny it, which was something I could never do credibly enough. But I had to ask about Greenfield because if Redford's tale was true, Greenfield and I needed to have a serious conversation. I became very nervous.

'Is it true that Greenfield... confessed to you?'

Hanson stiffened and remained silent long enough for an answer to become obsolete.

'Did Redford...?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Because...,' I had not come up with an answer although I knew he would ask and I knew he would be irritated. 'Because Redford is a bastard,' I finally mustered.

'Did he think that... you and I?' he did not even bat an eye posing that question.

My heart began hammering against my ribcage as if it wanted to jump out of my chest and chase after Redford to kill him. This time it was me who remained silent long enough for an answer not to be required any more.

'This was why I said you should not come here quite so often,' mumbled Hanson angrily.

'I am sorry... I did not want you to...'

'Me? Who cares about me? I am a man, Jo, no one will be too bothered that I spend time alone with a woman. It is the woman they will tear apart.'

'No one knows I am a woman... or, not that many people.'

'What if they find out? Haven't you considered that?'

'I have and if I am found out then, believe me, the time I have spent with you alone will be the least of my problems.'

'What will you do?'

'Emigrate to Australia.'

'This is no laughing matter.'

'Well, in that case, the answer is really quite simple, I won't let anyone find out. And, the fact that you say it as though you have no doubt that I will fail eventually shows, that you have no faith in me, which seems rather strange, considering how you constantly claim that I should put my faith in you,' although I sounded self-assured I wasn't at all. Maybe it was time, that I started having faith in myself. I had gone on long enough without being discovered (today excepted) and I would mange to remain undiscovered for the few months left. 'I am as worthy, as brave and as strong as any man and it is time that people acknowledge it. Not a single one of the other students would have challenged Redford like I did.'

'Are you suggesting that you can only be worthy of whatever ideal you are referring to by waving your fists in the air?'

'It is what the other boys do and it is what they are respected for. It is what you teach in fencing.'

'Well, then I really must say, I am utterly unworthy and I most certainly do not teach that in fencing.'

'But you are respected.'

'Yes, but not for fighting. Have you even ever seen me fence? Jo, I am the world's worst fencer. I know the techniques well enough to fool people into believing I am a prime swordsman, but I really am not. Why do you think I never fenced with Redford? He would destroy me and then he would have no one to look up to. As it is, he thinks he needs to improve to be able to stand up to me, it is why he has long surpassed me. Back when I was a schoolboy, I was the biggest coward of all. My father sent me to school when I was four – he could not wait to be rid of me. It was at a school much worse than Kenwood. We had revolutions every other week. The boys set fires to the buildings, there were massive street fights – not one on one – but ten against twenty. Do you think I would be standing in front of you now if I had been on the front line? Never. I generally attempted to maintain a low profile so no one noticed that I hid or ran away. And while all the other boys had had their bones broken, I came out unscathed. It is something I am very proud of because I used my health and brain to study. The fact that I am an expert in certain fields is what makes people respect me today, and it is also what makes me respect myself – the latter being much more important. It is also what I teach in fencing. Authority arises from your own confidence in your skills.'

It was a shocking revelation, because it was devastatingly true. I had assumed that Hanson was excellent in every respect but the truth of it was that he skilfully emphasised his strengths and understated his weaknesses. This was the answer I had been craving. This was what I had to do. My constant efforts to prove that I was a man was the exact thing that raised doubt. When Chester claimed that I was a girl I should not have tried to punch him but rather shrugged it off – then he would have been the fool.

'I am stupid,' I mumbled absent-mindedly.

'Yes you are, I have been trying to tell you all along, but you never listen.'

I looked up at Hanson with my bruised cheek and hurt pride. He was confident, and wise, and there was something in his countenance that made you want to be on his good side – not in a threatening way but in a warm one. I wanted to be like him but to achieve that I had to learn to be content with being myself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 26

 

AMBITION AND ANXIETY

 

With Redford staying true to his word and leaving Kenwood for good, spring finally came after a long and harsh winter. The first flowers of the year broke through the crusted soil, and soon the whole school was surrounded by purple, white, and yellow crocuses, the caretaker was more often outside now, tending to the flowers, rather than prying on the students. The mornings were made merrier by the chirping of bird, the days became longer, the sun climbed higher with every new noon, the air became sweeter.

My fellow class mates were hardly affected by nature's preparations for the warm months. Everyone, including me, was focused on what was lying ahead. Our schooldays were coming to an end.

The class was divided into two groups. There were the lucky ones who would go to university. They still had three to five years of ease ahead of them. The rest were looking at an abrupt change. Childhood would soon be replaced by responsibilities. All the things we thought mattered would cease to occupy our minds, for much greater worries were approaching. Worries which I, for one, vehemently tried to push away, yet failed. I had hoped they would solve themselves while I read my books and wrote my papers. But no such thing was the case. No miracles had happened at Oliver Kenwood. Yes, I had gotten an education which forged me into a more sophisticated and knowledgable person. But all that knowledge did not help me in finding a path that would lead me away from the troubles of life.

Even the sunniest day could be spoilt by clouds. During Mr Ferring's French period I watched the rain hit like impatient fingers against the glass window. I could not see the church's clock tower through the high density of drops. Although I was usually an intent listener, today, Mr Ferring's voice was as monotonous as the weather.

I was not the only one preoccupied by thoughts unrelated to French lessons. Two boys in the back rows were spitting little snippets of paper at each other and muffling their laughs with their fists. Most boys stared absent-mindedly at the scribblings on the black board. My neighbour carved something into his desk with a sharp stick. When he caught me looking, he nodded, and I nodded back. I had followed Hanson's advice, and stopped to constantly try and prove myself. Though it had not resulted in any notable friendships, I had become a part of the cohort.

Even if he noticed that no one was listening, Mr Ferring said nothing. The melancholy of his students affected him. For teachers it must be strange too. Letting the boys they had gotten used to go, only to watch a new group arrive. When French period ended, he gave us an exceptionally long reading assignment – a silent protest, I presumed.

Hanson was less benevolent. He send five students out of the room criticising their lack of participation. I did not pay any more attention to him than I did to Mr Ferring, but I did sit straighter in my chair. And when he called me to answer a question, I hastily looked at the black board, and tried to think of something that might be relevant to the information I found there.

'The blood type 0 can be a donor to all the other blood types but can only receive from a blood type 0 donor, itself,' I said self-assuredly and with a straight face.

'That is correct,' he noted, 'but I asked why you were still here.'

I looked behind me and found the room empty. A blush warmed my cheeks and I collected my ink and paper as fast as humanly possible and hastened outside. Hanson tried to shake his head disapprovingly, but he was too amused to frown.

I ran across the green and through the pouring rain. The mud squished under my soles and splashed onto the blue trousers. The entrance to the halls of residence was covered in dirty foot prints. The short run had left me entirely wet and cold. A strong draft came from the main door. Hardly any light entered through the tall windows for the sky was dark. The hallway was made even darker by the heavy water which ran down the glass, and made the outside world a mass of muted colours and undistinguishable shapes. My hot breath left perspiration on the window, and I became aware of how close I had come to it. The scarce oil lamps in the hall provided enough light for my reflection to become visible in the murky glass. I had not looked closely at myself in a long time. Whenever there was a mirror within my reach I had either no time to waste, or there were other boys around. Turning from side to side to inspect myself from every angle would have been a very feminine thing to do. I avoided it, even though the urge to do so was strong. If only to make sure I did not look too feminine.

My hair had grown long. A lose, wet strand pointed in my face and nearly reached my chin. I had to cut it, but somehow I did not want to. I wondered what Hanson thought of my hair. Did he think it would look better if it were long? Would he like it braided or curled? No, he did not think of it at all. Why would he? What a silly thing to consider. The more I pushed such silly thoughts away the more they haunted me. Worst of all, I caught myself enjoying them just as much as I hated them.

It was a dangerous game that burned a great deal of strength from my bones. My face was so much thinner than when I had lived with my sisters. The uniform lay even looser on my shoulders than on the day of my arrival. Was this the life I had hoped for when I had come to London? So far everything had been much more difficult. My days alternated between worries and problems. Moreover, I could see no silver lining. And yet, I would not want to go back to my former life. Ever since I had dressed as a man, every single one of my actions began carrying more weight and meaning. There was much more at stake, but also much more to gain. As a man, I felt, I the right to rise above the girl I was born as.

Next to my face in the reflection suddenly appeared a real man's face. I whirled around. Hanson was as surprised by my reaction as I was to see him in the halls of residence.

'Sorry,' I hastened to say so he would not feel unwelcome.

He gave me a warm smile and I could not help but return it. It was as though the lamps became brighter, and the hallway seemed less cold. I had to stop myself before I looked like a love-struck fool, but somehow I did not know how.

Hanson handed me a thin envelope which I took gladly and inspected enthusiastically, if only to validate a reason to look away from his green eyes.

'It came yesterday evening, but I forgot to pass it on to you,' he said apologetically, 'I hope it is nothing very urgent.'

'Is anything troubling you?' I could not help looking up from the envelope and observing the tension, that occupied his features despite the effort he made to look agreeable and at ease. Hanson was not a negligent person. If he became forgetful it could only mean he was overwhelmed by dwellings.

He laughed and admitted that nothing ever escaped me.

'You look like you might have one or two worries of your own,' he sighed. 'Would you be willing to share yours, if I shared mine?'

'I would like that very much.'

The prospect filled my heart with joy, in fact.

'Let us have tea at my office, then. The weather hardly permits to do any serious work, anyway, with the rain hammering so annoyingly against the windows. One feels inclined to have a headache from it.'

Across the green, which had turned to a perfect lake of mud, we ran back to the Academic Building. It occurred to me that if Hanson had given me the letter after his lesson, both of us could have remained dry. Our efforts to reach the other building quickly were of little use, as the rain – I would not have thought it possible – intensified, hence we were soaked to the bone as soon as we stepped out of the halls. The large umbrella Hanson carried was torn to shreds by the winds almost immediately. Of course, the adventure would not have been complete if I had not slipped and fallen to the ground only to swallow some mud in the process. Surely, Hanson would have helped me up gallantly if he had not had been too busy bending over from laughter. So strong was his amusement that I simply must throw some mud at him, and while I aimed at his body, it was the the wind that lifted the brown mass up to hit him square across the face. The bewilderment in his expression was hilarious. He shouted something, which the weather literally drowned, that must have been a declaration of war, as brown balls of soaked soil started flying at my head. I was not going to surrender easily, and dug my hands into the ground and shovelled it at Hanson.

By the time we reached Hanson's office we were two frightening creatures from a gory tale. The mud ran down the ends of our arms and legs like lava from an erupting volcano. Collectively, we left a dirt trail that would make the caretaker cry tears of despair when he discovered it.

While Hanson tried to remove the key from his pocket to open the door to his office – a task not easily accomplished with the key slipping from his hands – I became self-conscious. There were two formless clods that had once been my shoes, a thick layer of mud was on my face and running down my neck. I glanced at Hanson. His face was completely greenish brown except for the circles he had cleaned around his eyes and mouth. There was a leaf sticking out from behind his ear. If he looked this bad, then I could only guess at the extent of horror which awaited me in the mirror. Because Hanson's arms were longer and stronger he had thrown twice as much dirt at me than I at him. Regrettably.

As a matter of reflex, I felt my hair, and found not only a leaf, but a whole branch. Quickly, I removed it, although it hardly improved my countenance.

'You look marvellous, Miss Ryde,' he commented cheekily, 'If only there was another one of Miss Abigail's famous balls tonight.'

'We positively must call on her to make arrangements,' I proposed, and almost wished we would do it. This very instant we were a perfect couple, and suddenly I was proud to be dirty. 'All eyes shall be on us my fair Dr Hanson.'

'Indeed, they shall, my dear, indeed they shall.'

With a turn of the reluctant key in the lock, the door swung open. Hanson straightened his posture and offered his arm to me, as though it was not his office we were about to enter, but the splendid halls of Versailles. I could feel the stir about me, the envious eyes, and the music. My fingers slid around the soft fabric of his soaking wet coat. They did not rest there long for Hanson took my hand into his and led the way through the crowds into an open space. He lifted my arms and we began dancing a Waltz to the music of the most formidable orchestra.

This was the moment to gaze longingly into his eyes, instead however, I stumbled over his foot and bumped my knee into his. A Waltz was not the most complicated of dances, and I knew all the steps. The male steps. Growing up with two sisters on a small island there were not many suitable men they could employ to exercise their ball room obsessions on. They had to make do with what was at hand. Hence I could not remember how to be led rather than lead. Hanson made no attempt to hide his mocking grin.

'Sisters,' I said as a way of apology.

'Ah, yes, they ruin a decent person's life, do they not? Though, I am sure you are not the only one to have suffered such a fate!'

'Indeed, they do,' returned I a little too passionately. This could have been a wonderfully romantic moment and I made Elizabeth and Eleanor personally responsible for ruining it.

'There is little one can do, I suppose,” he said, but he did not stop trying. We left dirty and badly coordinated foot prints all over the floor. If it were up to me I would have let go of his hand because this whole affair was mutually embarrassing, but Hanson held on firmly. And suddenly, he changed his pace, and we were dancing gracefully about the beautifully decorated ball room to the exquisite music of an orchestra that only just now grew in splendour. I looked at him with surprise. It took a moment before I realised that Hanson had stopped leading and was now following my lead.

'Better?'

I blushed in reply.

The question had been voiced with humour, yet I failed to answer with a pleasant laugh or at least a timid smile. It was when I enjoyed myself the most that being with him was the hardest. Perhaps the glumness of my thoughts showed on my face, or perhaps it was something else that unsettled him but the result was the same. We slowed. We stopped.

'Your hands are cold, I had better light a fire,' he said with an urgency as though the decrease of temperature in my hands could lead to sudden death. When he let go to tend to the fire, all the other couples in the room stared disapprovingly. Not for long, though, they soon disappeared, along with the orchestra, the music, and the splendid ball room decorations, until we were surrounded by the familiar book shelves, desk, and sofa.

The room was dark and chilly. I was indeed freezing through the wet school uniform. But my hands were warm where Hanson had touched them. So how did he know I was cold everywhere else?

A discomforting silence settled as he poked the old ashes in the fire place while a new flame began to grow slowly.

'We have a deal, Miss Ryde.'

Why did he suddenly call me 'Miss Ryde'? I thought, I was 'Jo' to him when we were alone.

 'Your worries for mine.'

The orange glow guided the warmth towards my cheeks. The flames ate up the wood, and slowly turned it white. The crackling had a soothing effect. My worries were not as clear as they had been this morning.

'Could you not start?' I asked. 'I am afraid I might not make sense at the moment.'