The Girl who was a Gentleman

by Anna Jane Greenville

  'Uncertainty puts me in a state of anxiety. I do not know what to do once school is over,' I paused thinking what else there was. I had had so much on my mind this morning, but with Hanson near me, it all seemed suddenly far away. He gave me comfort just by leaning with his elbow against the mantle piece, and looking at me with clear green eyes, that blazed with the glow of the fire.

  'I know what a girl of your position and age should do,' he said in an effort to revive my readiness to speak. It had the reverse effect, for he was the last person on earth whom I wanted to suggest I should marry. Emboldened by the radiating heat that allowed me to feel the tips of my toes again I said provocatively: 'become a pirate?'

  He laughed as I had hoped he would. But the tension did not lift unfortunately. I felt him expect a commitment from me that I was not willing to make.

  'I was thinking of something less likely to put your neck into a noose.'

  'A skilled pirate?'

  'Do you think it would fulfil you to be a pirate?'

  'It certainly sounds more tempting than marriage,' I said firmly. Perhaps too firmly considering the lightness with which he was making his innocent remarks. An innocence by which I could not help but feel interrogated, backed into a corner, by the man who wanted me to admit what I could not admit to him.

  'Why are you objecting to it so devotedly?' again there was an innocence along with a genuine interest in his voice. 'Have you never thought of yourself as a wife, or mother even? Is loneliness so much more favourable than the family life? Imagine it. A warm house filled with voices of loved ones. A husband to whom you mean the world and children whose adoring eyes fill your heart with joy and pride. Would that not be agreeable to you?'

  Evil, heartless, wretched man. He did not content himself with merely stabbing my heart, he made sure to cut it into small pieces until there was nothing left of it. It took all my willpower to contain my temper. He had a way of saying things – and saying them in such a way – that tore down the guarding fortress I had built around my feelings and extract from me every emotion that I was capable of experiencing.

  'Jo,' he breathed and reached out his hand towards me. He called me 'Jo'. At least in that I found solace. 'Have I upset you?'

  'Yes, you fool,' to attack him was the only way left to defend myself. He drew away, surprised at my outburst to words he had said in kindness. I wanted to hurt him like he hurt me, but then I did not want to hurt him, at all. I wanted him to be happy. Why could he and I not be happy together?

  'It is no longer my choice not to marry. Who could possibly want me?' I cried with a passion that would not allow me to ever look into his eyes without being ashamed of myself. 'There is no man who will want me the way I am. I want to be a lawyer, or an engineer, or a doctor, like you. Just like you. I want to do extraordinary things and be admired for my work. Why do I have to choose between being me and being somebody's wife?'

  He pressed my face to his chest which muffled all of the other nonsense I was saying. It was scandalously indecent to be alone with a man in his office, and to be held by him, and to hold him in return.

  'How can an intelligent young woman be so silly?' he said gently caressing my wet and muddy hair. 'Yet, who am I to say this, when I am just as lost as you are,' he sighed. 'Oh, Jo. I, too, am afraid of what summer may bring. My career at Kenwood ends along with yours for then my debt to my father will be cleared – after five agonising years. It has always been my ambition to open a hospital for women and children. After finishing my education at Oxford I trained for a year at St Thomas's Hospital but I was making more and more debts that my father was expecting me to pay back. I quit my training and worked shortly as an assistant surgeon in a work house for a small income. Those few months in the work house were the worst of my entire life. I have never seen so much misery that I could do nothing against. The prospect of having to work there for two decades – for that was the time it would take to pay back my debt – was of a very depressing sort. I was afraid that by the end of it there would be nothing left of me,' he paused shortly and shuddered. 'Using my father's connections I found this teaching position. Here I earn almost five times as much. Apart from that I make house visits on the weekends to the rich and the poor alike. I overcharge the rich of course, so I can treat the poor for free. While my medical training is not of a traditional kind, I have gained substantial experience and a great many patients' trust. I desperately hope it will be enough to run a hospital. For that is my ultimate ambition. It would be devastating to run into bankruptcy within the first year. The first year is always the hardest. I will need funds. Some of them, I know where to get, others, I hope, an opportunity will arise as I go on,' he became lost in thought, then caught himself dreaming and hastily continued, 'sorry, I am boring you with detail. But, what I meant to ask you, you see, it was not marriage I was eluding to when I said I knew what would suit a young woman of your position. If it is at all agreeable to you, and I know it might not be, pray have no fear to reject...'

  He was babbling but I understood. I understood perfectly.

  'Yes,' I said eagerly, 'the answer is yes, yes, and yes.'

  He was still holding me and I him. My hands balled into fists with which I was practically tearing his shirt off his chest. It was not me doing it, it was the excitement. He had to make a step back, so strongly was I pushing him.

  'Do you know what I mean to ask?' he looked at me with surprise and a guarded smile.

  'You need an assistant, no? I will be most happy to take the position. No, not only happy but honoured and... and everything else that I need to be.'

  I could hardly believe, he had effortlessly given the answer to all of my problems, and dissolved the burden on my heart with only a few words.

  The guarded expression on his face made way for heartfelt relief, then joy.

  'Are you certain?' he grabbed me by the shoulders with the same excitement which I had betrayed only a moment ago. 'There will hardly be an income to be had, but of course it shall increase as the hospital becomes more established, although it all might go wrong, and then...'

  'Say no more. I agree to all the terms. It will be successful, maybe not from the start but it will be eventually and I want to be there, no, I want to offer all of my support in achieving it.'

  'Oh, Jo! Thank you.'

  He lifted me up in his embrace. I could not help the tears any more, but they had changed to happy tears. In my heart was a bonfire and I could, oddly, smell it too. Something smelt burnt. A shriek escaped me when I realised what it was that had caught fire. Overwhelmed by emotions, I had pushed Hanson too close to the flame. His jacket was scorching. I tore free from his grip, and grabbed a newspaper that was conveniently lying on the mantle piece. With it, I hit the burnt spot until his backside stopped smoking. Hanson looked at my wild behaviour with a mixture of fear and astonishment. It took a while until he realised what had happened.

  'You saved my life, Jo,' he said taking off his jacket to inspect the damage, and added with a laugh: 'and nearly killed me in the process. If nothing else, this certainly qualifies you as the perfect assistant.'

  My heart swelled with pride, and I raised the newspaper in salute. A name printed on the back of it caught my attention. I unfolded the paper to find a photograph of a man and a woman, both handsomely extravagant. She was seated in a white chair while he stood beside her dressed in a uniform of Her Majesty's Royal Navy. I paid no mind to the image. It was the caption that startled me.

  'Admiral Humphrey Lowell and Miss Elizabeth Emilia Ryde are happy to announce their engagement.'

  I read this line again and again but it made no sense. My eyes wandered back to the picture. Only then, beneath the tremendous dress, that devoured the tiny white chair, the long feathers in a hat that looked like a layered cake, and at least a pound of powder, I recognised my sister next to an unfamiliar middle-aged man. I looked at the date, it had been printed shortly after Christmas.

  Comprehension made me inhale sharply and
throw the paper to the ground, as though I might contract a disease from touching it. Indeed, some sort of disease had befallen me. My legs weakened under the weight of my body. I could not breath. I tugged at my collar, and tried to open a button, but my hand did not do as I told it to.

  Without knowing what had ailed me, Hanson offered his arm for support which I grabbed and clung to. His other arm reached for the newspaper. He looked at it. Clearly, he did not know what to look for. What horrible news might be found on the announcement page?

  'My sister. Why has no one told me? How could she be in London without visiting me?' I stuttered in-between breaths.

  Hanson looked at the newspaper one more time and discovered the wretched line. The newspaper sailed to the floor as he put his other arm about me.

  'Why?' I repeated in the same moment as I remembered the letter in my pocket. Without another second's hesitation I tore open the mud soiled seal.

  Chapter 27

  LOVE AND LIES

  The letter was written in the same sloppy hand as the address on the envelope. Too excited was my heart to let my brain derive a coherent meaning of consequently written words. I did not read the sentences, but merely searched for the name 'Elizabeth'. There was only one page – though normally Eleanor wrote no less than four and in a much smaller, neater hand. My pupils jumped back and forth between the letters with nauseating speed. Not a single syllable resembled the name I was looking for. Yet, I refused to loose heart. I looked again. This time my prey was the name 'Lowell'. Then 'Admiral'. 'Engagement'. 'Marriage'. 'Courting'. 'Happy news'. 'Visit'. 'London'. The last word I searched for was 'Love'. My head was in a whirl from the speed at which my eyes had moved. I took a deep breath. And began at the beginning.

  Dearest Jo,

  We are all very well. Very well, indeed. The weather has become milder, though you know how the sea wind tends to keep its harshness even after winter's end. Nevertheless, we are all very happy about the coming of spring. I hope you feel it as keenly. Does one's mood not rise when one wakes to the happy chirping of birds?

  I hope you are well, too, for we are very well. I hope you eat well. We do, indeed, eat very well, indeed.

  I hope you are well and well fed.

  Love

  Eleanor

  P.S. We are all very well.

  Never before had I been wished well with such persistence or informed of someone else's well-being with such emphasis. She could only be lying. She was the worst liar. It was impossible for her to do even on paper. It showed in every inch of the two pages I was holding. If she had information to withhold why would she bother writing, at all? And why was it Eleanor that wrote, not, as usual, Elizabeth?

  I felt abandoned and deceived. The irony twisted my stomach for it was I, who had left them, and I, who was far from honest. But I was doing it for them as well as for me and had good reasons. It would have killed them to learn that I was sharing a room with boys, or that I had used my fists in an argument, or that I was harbouring improper feelings for one of the teachers. Elizabeth's situation was a very different one. I refused to share my hardships – she refused to share her happiness. That made me feel very much alone.

  As I lowered the letter, there was Hanson looking at me. His expression a mixture of expectation and anxiety. No, I was not entirely alone. There was a man who worried on my behalf and would help me if he could, for it was his nature to help others.

  I wondered if it was fair to depend on him when he had enough to trouble him, but I could not hold back the waterfall of words that flowed from my lips as I explained everything to him. He listened patiently with a frown of heartfelt concern.

  'Are you sure you want to find her?' he asked when my rave ended.

  'Why, of course, I-' I stopped. What if this Admiral refused to marry her if he learned of her relation to me? What if she had not told him about me or me about him for precisely this reason? A new wave of anxiety washed over me.

  'What should I do?'

  Hanson shook his head. For once, he had no answer.

  The newspaper – crumbled from the rough way in which I had treated it – lay before the fire place. I sat down next to it, and looked at the picture of Elizabeth and her future husband. I could not bring myself to touch the paper. I could only look at it from afar.

  Elizabeth was surrounded by all the nice things she had always wanted. The dress looked more expensive than our house. It was white with black ribbons going in stripes around her skirts. She held a large fan made of feathers with a hand, that wore a ruffled glove of the finest silk. Her black lips were pouting in that elegant manner which was so natural to her. The black eyes pierced me like they always did, even though they were hardly more than tiny dots of ink. And then there was the Admiral. He wore a uniform with all sorts of medals and decorations befitting his position. His hand rested on a wildly adorned sword that shone even in black and white. His mouth was almost completely hidden by a neatly trimmed beard and whiskers. The brows rested on eyes that I found impossible to read. I could not tell if he was angry, or at ease. Did he love my sister? He must be twenty years older than her, at least. Did she love him? I looked for an answer in the photograph but there was none to be found. I could not tell their thoughts. Both faces were masks of socially accepted pretence.

  Hanson sat down beside me. In his face there was plenty to read. Concern, affection, the wish to be of service. I looked back at my sister's face. Nothing. The Admiral. Nothing.

  'Enough of that,' said Hanson angrily and threw the newspaper into the fire.

  It blackened and vanished.

  'If you want to learn more about this man I know someone who might be able to help,' he announced determinedly. 'Mrs Banks' two older daughters work as maids in a hotel near Covent Garden. They know everything about everyone. Shall we visit them in the morning?'

  'Thank you.'

  'Cheer up, now. Will ya,' the harshness with which he said it startled me, but it woke me from the daze I was in. He was right. I had to cheer up.

  'There are but a few months left until the final examination. If you fail it, I won't have you as an assistant.'

  'Yes, sir!'

  The vitality returned to me. How did he know when to be strict and when to be soft? How could he so easily motivate me regardless of what bothered me? If only I could be as much a comfort to him as he was to me. Maybe I was, though. He appeared to be livelier than when we had met in the hallway. Then again, it was probably no more than wishful thinking on my part.

  'You must not let it distress you,' he said with the tiniest of pouts about his lips, 'who is to give me comfort if you are upset?'

  For a moment I wondered if I was dreaming. When I convinced myself that it was not the case, I tried hard to suppress the silly grin that was fighting its way to my face. How happy it made me to know I was of use to him. How dangerous those feelings were. Not only did I fancy myself in love with him – however difficult it might be to admit – but I had opened up to him completely. I trusted him with every drop of my blood. Worse than that, I felt a dependency that weighted as heavy as a prison chain.

  Much too soon the sun began rising. I had not even noticed it setting, or the rain stopping. The chirping of birds announced a new morning, as did the lightening of the sky.

  I could hardly believe we had spent all night talking.

  'I should go,' I said bluntly and was about to stand up but he lay a heavy hand on my shoulder.

  'Stay,' he said looking straight in my eyes.

  I did not know where to look. I certainly was not allowing my heart to react to his words. My heart was misunderstanding the situation, clearly. What Hanson really meant was that I would probably run into the caretaker if I left now.

  'Joanna, please stay, if only for another hour. I do not want to be alone with myself just now,' he said.

  His face was like that of a child. Lost and indigent. I could not win a battle against my own heart.

  'Forgive me my selfishness.'
/>   Yes, he was selfish. He was toying with my feelings and I had no means to protect myself against the damage I was taking.

  'In an hour I shall call for a cab which will take us to Southwark.'

  'No,' I said, 'let us walk.'

  It was a beautiful Sunday morning. The air was fresh due to yesterday's heavy rain, which had pinned the dust to the ground. The cobble stones beneath my feet shimmered like jewellery under a thin layer of water. The pools along the side walk reflected trees that gradually turned greener the higher the sun climbed.

  I wore a marvellous suit. It was elegantly black and as shiny as the wet roofs of London. I had turned the rims of the trousers and jacket sleeves up inside to hide their length, hence the suit almost looked as though it could be truly mine. Of course, it was Hanson's. He, himself, was wearing dark blue trousers and a beige jacket. We were on our way to Mrs Banks.

  There was no one on the streets but us, which was not surprising as it had only just gone five. Hanson said Mrs Banks was early to rise, and I hoped he was right for otherwise the two of us would appear very rude.

  My cheeriness was of an extreme level, as lack of sleep made me jittery and excited. Combined with the strong effect of the coffee that Hanson had made me drink, I could probably sprint from one end of the city to the other twice without even ever pausing. I was excited to see Mrs Banks. I was excited to be walking down the streets of London. I was excited to be excited. Hanson was the opposite of me – quiet and thoughtful. Or maybe just tired.

  The district of Southwark did not appear quite as bleak as it had during my last visit. The smell was not as bad as I remembered and the alleys not quite as dark. One of the windows we passed even had pretty flowers on the sill.

  There were things, however, which mood – regardless of how jolly it was – could not change for the better. People slept on the streets. Rats crossed our path fearlessly. Poverty was displayed vividly in every brick and rotting wood beam that held the houses upright. Upright was a very optimistic way of putting it. Some walls leaned so far to one side that if there was room to pass between two buildings you could be sure to look up and see their roofs touch. Observing my surroundings curiously I did not notice that we had already arrived at our destination.