I could not move. Tears started building up in my eyes and I tried to wipe them away quickly. Hanson grabbed my hand. He observed it in the weak light of a dying candle. I tried to pull away but he would not let me. He looked me directly in the eye as if he tried to see through me, his frown deepened: 'Do you work in a workhouse?'
'No, sir,' I finally withdrew my hand, and hid both of them behind my back.
'If you tell me precisely what has happened I will listen.'
I did not want to tell him anything. I had worked so hard for him not to notice. However, if he told the headmaster this was my fault, no one would step up for me.
'They were like this when I found them,' I said hoarsely.
'That is no good. You have one last try,' he would not stop looking right in my eyes.
'It is true, sir. When I came back after lunch...'
'Go on.'
I told him what I had found and his eyes widened. While I described the chaos that had raged here, he did not interrupt, but I could see the flush of anger return to his face and the artery of his neck began pumping fast.
'Do you know who it was?'
'No, sir.'
'Do not lie to me,' he said in a low threatening voice that made me step away from him. He took notice of it and calmed a little. 'It is very noble of you not to tell on others, but this is not a matter, that you seem to be capable of dealing with, yourself, especially as this was not targeted at you alone.'
'Sir,' I said quietly, 'even if I had a suspicion you could not expect me to put the blame on someone based on a hunch.'
Hanson heard me out and squinted his eyes. He started pacing the room. By the window, he stopped and gazed into the distance. The first rays of moonlight took their time emerging from the depths of darkness and painted Hanson's face with a silver glow.
'Am I dismissed, sir?'
'No.'
The sun, gone behind the spiky roofs of London, had graciously sprinkled the black sky with stars.
'If you are devoted to medical studies why do you work as a school teacher? Why do you not work as a doctor? Set up a clinic?' I asked, with the impatience stirring within me.
He did not answer.
'You see, sir, it is not easy to confide in a stranger, yet, it is what you expect of me.'
'You are a clever one, Ryde,' said he, as if it was something to be ashamed of. 'To become a doctor I studied very hard, even far beyond the expectations of my masters at university, but it has never been enough. There is one person I endeavour to help, yet there seems to be nothing I can do for her. How can I gain the trust of many and claim that I am a good doctor when I can't even help only one person?'
My heart cringed and I suddenly felt my opinion of him change a bit. He and I might not be so different, after all. My feelings resonated to his words. I could not help but think of my sisters. I had not even written to them yet because I was afraid to disappoint them, to cause them to worry. No letter from home had reached me, either. If I could not even make my own family believe in me then how could I convince anyone else of my character and skills? Hanson was afraid to dedicate his life to a cause that might ruin him, and so did I. The only exception was that I did it anyway.
'I am sure you will do what you must, Sir, because one day you will be left with no choice.'
'I can hardly believe you are merely a child, when you speak like an adult', he smiled at the moon. Reluctantly, he tore himself away from the window. 'Come with me,' he commanded, ' I think I might be able to help at least you tonight.'
I followed him with my head lost in thoughts, wondering about that special person of Hanson's. Who was she?
We went up the stairs to the third floor of the Academic Building. The staircase was dark and neither of us had a candle for the one from the classroom had melted away. I felt my way up the thick balustrade pursuing Hanson's quick step. At the door to his office he searched the key in his pocket noiselessly, and opened the lock. Once again, I marvelled at the vast collection of books.
Hanson lit a lamp and placed the ink stained books on his huge desk. From a cupboard he retrieved a box and asked me to sit on the green sofa next to the door. Placing the box between us, he sat down, as well. From within the box he took a bottle and a cotton wool ball. He placed the cotton wool on top of the bottle's neck and turned it upside down. Then, he asked me to give him my hand. Mesmerised, by the strangeness of his actions, I obliged him, half-expecting the cotton wool to turn into gold or some other magical curiosity to occur. Though not through magic, I was indeed surprised by the powers of the cotton wool. When it touched my hand it went up in flames. I yelped from the unexpectedness of the sharp pain and jumped to my feet. Hanson chuckled.
'Phenol is a highly effective method to treat wounds,' he announced proudly and grabbed my other hand determinedly.
'By burning the skin from the patient's bone?' I winced as the acidic cotton touched my other palm. He observed my hand with so much curiosity, that it felt more like an experiment than actual treatment.
'Be a man, Ryde. Do not want you to catch any infections, do we?'
'Because the headmaster would hold you accountable, sir, and that would be a nuisance,' I quoted.
'Precisely,' he smiled, making me feel silly.
Back in my room, I observed my hand in the flickering light of the candle Hanson had lent me. It did look like the hand of a worker with small cuts and blisters all over it. How could it not after I had pushed around furniture and cleaned the whole day? And since I was not the most skilled with a needle, either, there were small punctures from my book repairing efforts, too. With hands like that, Elizabeth would not have let me out of the house. 'What would people think of you?' she would have preached. What did Hanson think of me? Shortly before he had walked me to my door, he had complimented what tremendous work I had done. It was strange to be praised by him, when he seemed mostly displeased with me.
Chapter 9
MATES AND MONSTERS
The third bed in the shared room was no longer unoccupied, as a big boy lay in it, and his body, extending beyond the wooden frame, formed the blanket to a snow top mountain for he appeared to be as big as one.
Upon my return, he was asleep snoring like a hibernating bear, and Rajesh Greenfield advised me not to wake him if I had any regard for my life. I could hardly imagine that this new boy would be any worse than the ones I had already met. William Chester and his mates were making my life quite miserable – just like they had promised. Who were his accomplices? They were definitely neither Larry nor Terry, for those two had such recognisable figures that not even a hundred fencing masks could keep me from identifying them. It could not be Greenfield, could it? I looked over to him, my room mate was reading a book in the light of his candle, and looked back at me with an open, friendly face.
'Did you manage to read all the books?' whispered Greenfield.
'No, I did not read quite as much as I hoped I would. The cleaning took longer than I thought.'
He nodded. His face betrayed nothing. If indeed he was part of Chester's gang he hid it well.
'To be honest,' I began, deciding to tell him. If he was my friend, he would look out for me; if he was Chester's friend he already knew and it would show on his face, “it took longer because someone had caused havoc in the classroom – nearly destroyed it, in fact. Chairs, desks, books, shelves – all had been scattered across the room.'
Greenfield's mouth opened and his eyes widened.
'Good Gracious,' uttered he. 'Are you alright?'
'I am now.'
He rose from his bed and came to sit on mine, next to me.
'Jo, you are very calm, what if Dr Hanson thinks it was you? I could arrange for some of the other boys to come, and we could finish cleaning up by morning!” he was genuinely nervous and worried on my behalf, he even stuttered a little, hence I could no longer doubt his friendship, for no one could feign being quite so shocked. In addition, he offered to help and risk being caught, if I could
not trust him then I probably could not trust anyone.
'Thank you, my friend,' I said contentedly, 'I have taken care of it and Hanson knows.'
'Oh,' he retorted. There was a twinge of disappointment in his voice and I was about to change my mind about him again, but he added just in time: 'You really should have asked for help, Jo, we are friends and I hate to watch you being bullied. You are not alone, you know.'
When the big boy moaned into his pillow, Rajesh Greenfield blew the candle out and told me to get to sleep quickly and quietly.
The newcomer proved to be a fellow of scarce words. Hardly anyone talked to him, and he never began a conversation on his own initiative. He seemed older than the other boys, with a gloomy seriousness about his features. His reddish golden hair had gone without a haircut much too long, and he did not seem to shave more than once a week, despite his distinctive beard growth.
His whole demeanour was that of many wild animals combined. During meal times, he hovered over his plate like a starving dog, and tore whatever meat apart as if he had the sharp teeth of a shark, and watched his surroundings with the attentive eyes of a hawk. Even though, I felt his loneliness keenly, I did not approach him. By accident, I had brushed his shoulder once, during fencing, and earned a blood freezing glare from a pair of ice-blue eyes. Such was the appearance of Richard Redford.
The only one oblivious to Richard Redford's intimidating presence was Hanson. He always greeted the boy with a genuine smile and the brute answered with an acknowledging nod. Their mutual affection went so far, that, a few weeks after his arrival, he joined the early morning training, which until then, I had thought to be reserved for me exclusively. He was not even a beginner such as myself, but an exceptional swordsman, better than anyone else in class. It was not exactly my understanding of motivation to practice my poor skill set while being exposed to direct comparison to him. It did not help, that Hanon's attention was drawn like a moth to the flame-haired boy.
Even though I had no particular regard for fencing or Hanson, I found myself sulking. However, I did find myself capable of even lesser conduct. Before I could stop my own loose mouth, the words had already pronounced themselves. It was beyond me whatever had possessed me to make the request to fence someone who was so ridiculously mean and far more than thrice my size.
Richard Redford did not take me seriously at all, and turned away laughing. Hanson, however, insisted it was a good idea. No doubt, he hoped for me to get injured to perform his medical experiments on me. Richard Redford only agreed under the condition, that Hanson would in turn fence with him.
It seemed that our instructor was not keen on fencing with students, himself, and I had never seen him do so.
He nodded and his lips twitched up into a crooked smile: 'If you defeat Ryde, without him landing a single hit out of ten, then yes. But, go easy on him.'
He sure put a lot of faith in me.
A bark resembling a laugh broke from the brute's throat and he pulled the fencing mask over his head. I gulped. My pulse began pumping fast. I put on my mask as well. The excitement I felt scared me.
Hanson advised me to focus on defence and wait for Redford to make a mistake, which he was prone to do due to his over-confidence. The way Redford bounced up and down, as if neither he nor his weapon weighed a thing, made me doubt whether he was acquainted with the concept of mistake-making.
We took our en-garde positions and Hanson signalled for us to begin. With unscrupulous speed the boy moved towards me, and made a first attempt to lunge. I jumped back and threw my weapon against his, he disengaged instantly. The foil in his hand did not remain still for a second. He lowered it, raised it, directed it at me, lunged, stepped back, stepped forth – all the time closing in on me. I could only retreat. Even if there had been no wall behind me, that my back would be soon pressed against, it did not look like Richard Redford would get tired within the next ten years. I changed the position of my foil from four to six, because parry was all I could do.
'When you see an opening, Ryde, lunge! Do not let him intimidate you, move quickly,' Hanson directed from beside us, while following our every step, and refereeing the match.
It was decidedly easier said than done. As if the command had been meant for him, Redford jumped forward and stabbed me merely inches underneath the collar bone. I stumbled backwards from the impact and felt the pain a moment later. We went back to the starting position. Hanson shouted 'Fence!' and immediately after Redford's blade hit the same spot for the second time, and after that a third time. Despite the numerous layers of clothes, the pain turned into throbbing agony. Maybe it was the reluctance to be hit again, but for some strange reason I managed to perform a lunge that barely brushed Richard Redford's chest. It was enough for Hanson to call it a point and I cheered like a little child.
Redford's body became rigid. There was no more bouncing or quick stepping. I had rid him off his opportunity to fence with Hanson, and now he was angry. The fleeting feeling of victory left such a sweet taste, that I yearned for more.
We started off in the en-garde positions, and this time it was me approaching. Redford did not move. That I was capable of disheartening him like that, added to my confidence. Hanson said something, yet, I could not hear it over the blood rush in my ears. While I planned on my next attack on Richard Redford, and joyfully exchanged every two steps forth with one step back, he stretched out his sword arm and remained still like a statue. I was close enough to try a lunge, when suddenly, he jumped up in the air and flew at me. The tip of his blade connected with the lower part of my mask, and pushed it onto my throat under the full weight of his body. My feet made two staggering steps back, and then the tears shot into my eyes. I threw the mask from my head and tore open the buttons around my neck. I gasped, and gagged, and gasped. I sunk to my knees, desperately clutching my throat, that would not allow enough air into my body. The sharp pain seemed to resonate with my every cell. Hanson knelt down beside me in a matter of seconds. But there was nothing he could do to stop the seizure.
'What got into you,' he yelled at Redford.
'Don't make a fuss, 'tis the name of the game,' the boy protested half-heartedly.
Hanson was so furious that his cheeks turned scarlet.
'Sir!' I breathed hoarsely. The gasps almost ceased but my throat, inside and outside, was on fire. 'It is the first time someone took me serious in fencing, and for this I thank you, Richard Redford,' the speech ended with a painful cough.
'Do not flatter, yourself. If I had been serious-'
'That is enough, Redford,' interrupted Hanson in an authoritative teacher-voice, 'you are dismissed from fencing for the rest of the week.'
Richard Redford gritted his teeth and stomped off. We watched him throw the sword to the floor while swearing. Hanson sighed and turned back to me. He asked me to bend my head back and inspected my throat. With his finger he traced the hurting spot, and informed me, that I had nothing to fear but an ugly bruise.
Suddenly, he stopped and froze for a moment. The expression in his face changed. Without a warning he pressed his finger down and I winced.
“Do I have but a few days to live, after all?” I attempted to joke which made me cough more.
“Only if that cough turns you inside out,” he said with humour but the green eyes remained resolute and serious, “do not worry though. It only happens very rarely.”
It did worry me because he looked at me differently from before. There was a reserve in his features, all of a sudden – a suspiciousness which had not been there a moment ago. I knew not what to make of it.
My friends had as little compassion for me as ever, when they saw Hanson's bandage around my neck. Such a marvellous opportunity for mockery could not be left to go by.
'About time your voice broke,' laughed the freakishly tall Lawrence W. Larrington.
'Mamma must be proud,' added the chubbily round Terence Barclay. It was ironic, that such a comment should come from him. The two of them found it hil
arious making fun of my lack of male development. Once started, they were not likely to stop.
'Is that one beard hair, I see?' continued Larry.
'No that is baby fur,' cried Terry.
Speaking required great efforts so I did not answer. Instead, I shot them a look, that said it all.
Rajesh Greenfield remained strangely quiet. Upon enquiry, he explained, that Richard Redford had greatly changed. Before his sudden absence at the beginning of the term, he had been a respectable student with great promise, and an even greater sense of justice despite his action being rather rigorous at times. Having been somewhat of a role model for the younger boys, he kept them in line, and prevented harassments, particularly from William Chester. I found it hard to believe. Richard Redford sat at the opposite table, chewing his porridge, as though he was devouring an enemy. His elbows rested on the table, and his head hung so deep, that his shoulder blades were visible above it. Even though, the dining hall was always busy, no one sat next to him. No one wanted to be in his company. I remembered my first day of school, and felt pity for him. The boys, however, did not allow me to dwell on my memory for long.
'Speak to us again in that low, manly voice of yours,' coquetted Larry.
'You will break many a lady's heart with it,' said Terry trying to imitate a girl's pitch.
'What do you know about ladies, Terry?' I raised my eye brow at him and suppressed a cough. Larry broke out in laughter, while Terry blushed, resembling a big, chubby tomato.
Chapter 10
PLOTS AND PROMISES
Hanson was pacing the classroom in a steady stride while simultaneously explaining the membranes of cells. The pace at which he spoke made it particularly easy to take notes. He was not fast enough to force my handwriting to become undecipherable jottings nor was he slow, which would have allowed my mind to wander. His voice was pleasant, too. It was neither monotonous nor ecstatic. He put emphasis on words that required it, paused after complicated phrases, and generally retained a timbre that was easy on the ears.
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