The Baker's Tale

by Thomas Hauser

  Shortly after Edwin attended the opera, he sent a brief note of thanks to Isabella. It seemed the proper thing to do:

  Dear Miss Murd,

  Thank you for the pleasure of your company this past Saturday evening. You have brought the most beautiful music into my life.

  Then, with a sincerity matching her own, he added:

  I envision a future with laughing children learning to read and write.

  Very truly yours,

  Edwin

  He did not realize at the time the extent of her delusions.

  Several days later, Murd called Edwin into his private office.

  “My daughter tells me that she fancies you, and that your attentions toward her are serious. I approve.”

  In that moment, Edwin made a vow to himself. He would never again accept a social engagement with Isabella. Not even if the price to be paid was the loss of his employment.

  Meanwhile, Edwin’s visits to the learning center continued. Every Saturday, Ruby was there when he arrived. “You know, do you not,” another of the instructors told her, “that he comes here to see you. It is clear on his face. The moment he enters, his eyes seek you out.”

  She hoped that was true. Time glided swiftly and cheerfully when she was with Edwin. Hours seemed like minutes in his presence. And he was as devoted to teaching as she was.

  “To be illiterate and see other people read and write when you cannot,” Edwin told her one day; “to see the postmen deliver letters and to be blind to all that is in them; to walk through the streets in utter darkness as to the meaning of those mysterious symbols over shops, on shop doors, and in windows. That is the curse of illiteracy.”

  No moment in the learning center moved Edwin more than the sight one afternoon of a man poring hard over a tattered newspaper. One year earlier, Edwin knew, the man’s wife had come to the learning center and spoken with Ruby.

  “My husband does not know that I am here,” she had said. “He is a good man. I would not shame him for the world. But he cannot read or write, and I wish that he were able to.”

  “He should come here,” Ruby told her. “And you should come too.”

  Now a tear coursed down the man’s cheek as he completed reading an article from the newspaper aloud for the class.

  “I can read,” he said. “The world opens up before me.”

  Then came a day in May. At the close of instruction, Edwin lingered after the students and other instructors had left the learning center.

  “I have a gift for you,” he told Ruby.

  And he handed her a book.

  Ruby stared at the cover. Blue decorated with a gilt wreath and words in gold: The Adventures of Oliver Twist.

  “It is one of my favorites,” Edwin said. “I have inscribed it for you.”

  She turned to the title page:

  For Miss Ruby Spriggs,

  Children who cannot read are like gardens without sunlight.

  We can all do good if we try.

  Fondly,

  Edwin Chatfield

  Had the gift been diamonds, it would not have meant as much to her. Ruby had never been so happy in her entire life. Edwin looked more handsome to her than ever before. Their faces were very close to one another.

  You may kiss me if you like, Ruby thought.

  “Dickens is meant to be read aloud,” Edwin said. “Perhaps we could meet again tomorrow.”

  “I would like that very much, Mr. Chatfield.”

  “I would prefer it if you call me Edwin.”

  “I would be happy to if you will call me Ruby.”

  The following morning, Ruby rose with the sun. A sun that brought the hope and freshness of a new day. It burst with equal ray through the stained glass windows in lofty cathedrals and paper-mended windows in crumbling hovels.

  In Marie’s bakery, the sun seemed particularly bright. Ruby had suggested that Edwin meet her there at the start of their day together. I was present with Marie. By Ruby’s invitation, of course.

  Ruby was dressed in the prettiest colours that she could muster. Edwin arrived at the invited hour of ten o’clock. It pleased me to see them side by side. There was a kindred spirit between them.

  Edwin had an honest face, which to me is the best kind of good looks. His joy in being with Ruby was clear, as was hers to be with him. Her eyes had never glowed more brightly. Never had there been such a beautiful colour in her cheeks. She gazed at Edwin with the eagerness of a young woman in love for the first time.

  Marie served coffee, pastries, muffins, butter, and strawberry jam. Afterward, Ruby and Edwin left the bakery together and walked out onto the street. He was speaking with his head turned toward her. She was looking at his face and saw nothing else.

  They were, Marie and I agreed, extremely fond of one another. I believe that Ruby would have committed herself to mastering geometry at that moment if she had thought it would please Edwin.

  After they left the bakery, Ruby and Edwin went to the park and read aloud the beginning of Oliver Twist.

  “There are fifty-two more chapters,” Ruby said when the first chapter was done.

  “Then I hope we will spend the next fifty-two Sundays together.”

  The sky was beautiful. There was a soft stirring wind. They strolled through Covent Garden market, smelling the fruits and flowers, looking at pineapples and melons, catching glimpses down side avenues of old women seated on inverted baskets, shelling peas. Ducks and fowls with long necks lay stretched out in pairs, ready for cooking. There were silvery fish stalls with a moonlight look about their stock except for the ruddy lobsters.

  Edwin drew Ruby’s arm through his. The touch of his arm was like no other she had known. She would never forget the rapid beating of her heart in that moment.

  It is remarkable how much two young people in love will find to talk about. Their conversation flowed easily.

  At one point, they talked of family.

  “My ancestry is very common,” Ruby acknowledged.

  “That is true of all men and women, including the Queen, if one goes back far enough in time.”

  “Have you a memory of your mother?”

  Edwin shook his head.

  “Her eyes closed upon the light of the world when mine opened to it. There was a drawing of her on the wall in our home. Beyond that, I know her only by her grave.”

  “My mother was a beautiful woman,” Ruby offered. “My uncle told me that it was so. But there is no likeness of her. I believe that I have a memory of her singing to me when I was very young. But I am not sure.”

  “It must have been difficult to grow up without mother or father.”

  “There was never a better father to a child that my uncle Christopher was to me. Marie has given me more love than many a mother gives to her children. And Antonio is a very good uncle.”

  Two young people with magic in the air. The butterflies fluttered more gaily than Ruby or Edwin had seen them before. The birds sang more beautifully than they had ever heard them sing. A gentle breeze rustled about as if saying, “How are you, my dears? I have come all this way to salute you.”

  After a stop for cheese and bread, they walked on. They passed a chemist’s shop with glowing bottles of different shapes and sizes in the window. They stood outside a tailor shop, commenting upon how the waistcoat patterns always appeared impeccably stylish when on a mannequin, yet never looked quite the same when worn by the purchaser.

  Then a monstrous dark cloud appeared.

  Isabella Murd stood before them on the street, unmoved by the bright sunny spirit of the day except insofar as it had spared her the trouble of carrying an umbrella.

  If Ruby lived to be one hundred years old, she would never forget the look on Isabella’s face. A rabid wolf would have been more enticing. Look at this young lady on Edwin’s arm, the look said. I hate her.

  Edwin, after a moment’s pause, introduced them.

  “This is Isabella Murd, the daughter of my employer. And this is my friend
, Ruby Spriggs.”

  Isabella stared at Ruby with scornful jealous eyes.

  “Ruby is such an interesting name,” she said contemptuously.

  “Thank you, ma’am. Isabella is a beautiful name, too.”

  There was little further conversation.

  “She does not like me,” Ruby told Edwin after they and Isabella had parted. “Not at all.”

  “Let her fly away in a high wind on a broomstick,” Edwin responded.

  Ruby laughed. She and Edwin walked on.

  The glory of the departing sun set the broad sky on fire. The light of day faded. The sombre hues of evening closed upon them. There was a lamplighter and two lengthening lines of fire that stretched parallel down the street until blending together in the distance. The sweet scent of honeysuckle floated through the air. Never had the moon risen with a more wondrous radiance over London than it did that night.

  At the close of their day together, Edwin walked Ruby home and kissed her hand at the door. She was certain that she would never be kissed so magnificently ever again unless, perhaps, it was another time by Edwin. She prayed that she would always love her life as much as she did now. Before sleeping, she sat on her bed, held the book that Edwin had given to her, and stared at the inscription that flowed from his hand.

  It had been the happiest day of her life. Happy walk, happy parting, happy dreams.

  Outside Ruby’s window, the twilight deepened into night. Edwin walked home along streets that were bright in the silvery light of the moon. Stars twinkled. He knew the names that science had given the constellations, but they had deeper meaning to him now.

  “There is a spell upon me,” Edwin thought. “This is what it is like to be in love.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Ruby went to sleep with Edwin’s kiss light on her hand.

  For the rest of her life, she would think of love’s awakening in association with that day. The world had seemed as though it were made fresh and new just for her and Edwin that morning. For hours on end, it had been hard to know whether she was awake or in a dream.

  She would always remember the moment when Edwin bade her goodnight at the bakery door. When they had parted, there was such a beautiful expression in his eyes. He was in her prayers and in her sleep that night. London itself was different now from what she had known before.

  Ruby went to the learning center as usual on Monday. Marie invited me for dinner that evening. Ruby met me at the bakery door.

  “I have a great secret to tell you,” she said.

  “Shall I try to guess?”

  She blushed.

  “I wonder who it can be about,” said I.

  “It is about . . .” Ruby said in a whisper . . . “It is about Edwin.”

  “And what about Edwin?”

  “Of course, I admire him very much.”

  “And?”

  “And I am rather fond of him.”

  “You are extremely fond of him.”

  She blushed some more.

  “I never told you that.”

  “You do not tell me when you cut your hair either. But I have the intelligence to perceive it.”

  Her beautiful young face was growing redder by the moment. I laughed, and she embraced me.

  “And I believe that I am in love with Edwin. Do you think he likes me?”

  “He more than likes you. It is as clearly written on his face as it is on yours. The only difference is that he blushes less.”

  I was right, of course.

  Edwin had never known the worth of his heart before. Walking to the office on Monday morning, he found himself reading signs above shop doors without remembering what they said and staring into windows at things he did not see. Saturday next, when he and Ruby would be together at the learning center, could not come soon enough. And then they would have another Sunday together.

  “I have never seen a smile such as hers,” Edwin told himself. “Nor eyes that sparkled so, or a waist that so enticed a man to clasp the air involuntarily when thinking of twining his arm round it.”

  Isabella came to the office on Monday afternoon, as Edwin had feared she might.

  “And who was that young lady I saw you with on the street?”

  “Her name, as I told you when we met, is Ruby Spriggs.”

  “Where do you know her from?”

  “She is a teacher at the learning center, where I give my time on Saturdays.”

  “Marriage and motherhood are the only satisfactory roles for women. That is, of course, for women of a decent class.”

  “Miss Spriggs’s class is the same as mine. We are both citizens of England.”

  Isabella clasped her hands together with as much dignity as she could muster.

  “I suppose that, for those who like plainness, she has a certain allure.”

  It was Edwin’s hope that the conversation, as unpleasant as it was, would have the happy consequence of putting an end to Isabella’s delusions with regard to his feelings toward her.

  “Miss Spriggs is a young lady for whom I have great attachment and regard.”

  “I am sure. But consider how much more agreeable I can render your situation if I am your friend, and how much more disagreeable if I am your enemy.”

  No one knows until the time comes what depths are in others as to their capacity to do evil. There was an unspeakable jealousy in Isabella’s breast. She hated Ruby with a vengeance and venality worthy of a member of the house of Murd.

  As for her father . . .

  One reason that men such as Alexander Murd do what they do is the thrill of playing the game. It is oxygen to them. Whether at a card table playing whist, in business dealings, or brutally intruding upon other people’s lives, it is all the same to them. They are relentless and ruthless in pursuit of the win.

  Murd was largely removed emotionally from his daughter’s life. His relationships with his employees were strictly business in nature. He had no understanding of how delusional Isabella was, and truly believed that she and Edwin might someday marry. Also, making the assumption that he loved his daughter, he loved himself a great deal more.

  A cold hard anger coursed through Murd’s veins when Isabella came to him and recounted what she knew of Edwin and Ruby. Edwin was a valuable company asset. Murd did not want to lose his services over a lovers’ quarrel. And because Murd was without a son, Edwin, as a possible son-in-law, might oversee the business someday.

  Murd viewed the thought of Edwin and Ruby being together as an attack upon his family and himself. He resolved to bring all of his power to bear to crush whatever situation existed between them.

  “Ruby Spriggs. That is the name I want to know about,” Murd told his solicitor.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Everything that can be learned from investigation. Her lineage. Whether there have been police matters concerning her or her family. Spare no expense. And I want this quickly done.”

  Four days later, at nine o’clock in the morning on Friday, Murd called Edwin into his private office and handed him an envelope.

  “It is time to broaden your experience,” Murd said. “This is a letter of introduction to Julian White, who is the head of our operations in Lancashire. It contains instructions regarding what he is to show and explain to you.”

  “Am I to be moved to Lancashire?”

  Murd smiled benignly.

  “Your home is in London. You are valued here. All that is intended is to broaden your understanding of the business.”

  “When would I go?”

  “In two hours, by train from Euston Railway Station. Mr. Abbott has arranged for you to have fresh clothes and articles of personal grooming. They are waiting for you on his desk.”

  “How long would I be gone, sir?”

  “One week at the most.”

  “I am afraid, sir, that it would be difficult for me to go.”

  Murd’s face took on a questioning look.

  “Why is that?”

&nbs
p; “I have an engagement, sir. On Saturday and also on Sunday. Two hours is insufficient time for me to tell the other party of this change in plans.”

  “An easy matter to resolve. My coachman will deliver any message you wish.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I am not sure that your coachman can adequately express my feelings.”

  “Then put them in writing.”

  Murd handed Edwin a piece of stationery and an envelope.

  “I have no desire to pry into personal matters. Write your message in private and seal it.”

  Pen in hand, Edwin began to write:

  My Dearest Ruby,

  Please forgive my absence. To my great dismay, I have been called away on business. I very much look forward to seeing you in one week’s time and to the resumption of our reading Dickens. Until then, I will think only of you.

  My fondest thoughts,

  Edwin

  Edwin addressed the envelope with Ruby’s name and the location of the learning center and sealed the letter inside.

  “My coachman will deliver it personally to Miss Spriggs tomorrow morning,” Murd promised.

  Ruby knew that Saturday would come, but it was longer in coming than she wished. The week contained the usual number of days with the usual number of hours. If only time might pass more quickly until she was with Edwin, at which time it would please her if time were suspended.

  Edwin was not at the learning center when Ruby arrived on Saturday morning.

  There was a problem that took her mind off of him for a bit. A large man with a thick dark beard barged in with his wife in tow. Ruby had seen the woman before with her sons at the learning center.

  “We have never been readers in our family,” the man raged. “It is idleness. It is folly.”

  “Pay him no heed,” his wife said. “He does not mean what he says.”

  Before the dialogue could unfold further, another man approached.

  “Miss Spriggs?”

  “Yes?”

  “I have a letter for you.”

  Ruby took the envelope and opened it:

  Dear Miss Spriggs,

  I am Edwin Chatfield’s employer. I wish to speak with you about a matter of supervening importance. My coachman will escort you to my home.