by Bonnie Leon
Wearing a smirk, Henry cocked his hat backward, then moved his thumb down the brim and thumbed his nose at Langdon. “That’s what I think of you,” he said just loud enough for John to hear.
His eyes lit with anger and a penetrating gaze glued to Henry, Langdon stood and strode toward him.
I don’t need trouble. John downed the last of his ale. “Time we returned to work.”
“I’m not done with my drink yet,” Henry said, keeping his eyes on the young man charging toward him.
Langdon stopped about two feet from John and Henry’s table. “So, you think I will let such insolence pass?”
Henry pushed to his feet. “If you’re looking for a fight, I’ll give you one.”
Langdon’s smile broadened. “I’ll be glad to comply.”
Henry moved toward the man.
“There’s no reason for a fight,” John said. “We were just about to leave.”
The two men squared off, ignoring John’s appeal. They circled one another. Langdon moved in, swinging at Henry with his right hand. Henry blocked the blow and managed to land one of his own. Langdon’s head snapped back, but he acted as if he’d not been hit and came back at Henry with ferocity.
Langdon stood a good four inches taller than Henry and outweighed him by a substantial amount, but the reckless young man charged him anyway.
John jumped into the melee and tried to pry Langdon off of his cousin. “Enough. Enough of this,” he said, doing his best to protect Henry and still break up the fight.
In the end, Henry landed on the floor. He was barely conscious, and blood spilled from gashes on his face and mouth.
“All right, that’s enough. You’ve beat him.” John stepped between the two men and reached for Henry. “Let’s go then, lad.”
“Leave him be,” Langdon snarled.
John turned and faced him. “You’re done,” he said with authority. “You’ve beaten him.” He turned back to his cousin. “We’ll be on our way.”
“You want to finish his fight?”
John didn’t respond, but instead helped Henry to his feet.
“I said, leave him,” Langdon bellowed.
Looking dazed, Henry leaned heavily on John. Langdon grabbed for him.
John stepped out of his way, dragging Henry with him. “Back away, I say.”
Langdon lunged at John. He grabbed Henry and shoved him aside, then threw his closed fist at John’s face. John ducked and the blow missed. Looking crazed, Langdon came at him again. This time he struck him across the side of the skull.
Pain and bright lights erupted in John’s head. The room whirled. He fought to keep his feet under him. Before he could focus, Langdon threw himself against the unwilling participant and shoved him to the floor. John landed on his back, hitting so hard the air rushed from his lungs.
Struggling for breath, John looked to Henry for assistance, but he leaned against a wall looking stupefied. He’s of no help. John pushed to his feet.
Langdon pulled a knife out of a sheath hanging from his belt. Holding it high, he moved toward John.
“That’s enough!” yelled Abbey. “No weapons!” She moved toward the men as if she might try to put an end to the fight, but she stopped short. There was nothing that could be done if none of the men in the pub were inclined to step in.
Langdon lunged toward John, who barely managed to move out of the blade’s reach. Again the man slashed at him, this time slicing through John’s shirtsleeve and into his upper arm.
Feeling the sting of the blade, John glanced at the wound. Blood stained the fabric of his shirt. He moved toward Langdon, knowing this fight was for his life. With everything he had, John struck the younger man hard across the chin, and then followed with another punch the thug managed to avoid.
Langdon came back at him, driving the knife toward John’s throat. Grabbing the enraged man’s arm, John fought to push him back. The sharp edge of the blade felt cold against his skin. And then sensing a weakening in his adversary, he took the advantage, thrusting the man’s arm back and down.
All John could think about was keeping the blade away from himself. He forced it toward Langdon, and then with all the energy he could summon, he plunged the knife at his attacker and drove the blade into the man’s abdomen.
Langdon let out a howl. Clasping his stomach, he dropped to the floor and lay groaning. Blood soaked through his shirt and spilled onto the wooden planking. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets. He glared at John and, in panting breaths, said, “You’ve killed me.”
“It was you who forced the fight.” John looked about. “Is there a surgeon here?”
No one answered.
“Come on. Let’s go.” Henry staggered toward John. He grabbed John’s hat and pushed it down on his head. Snatching up his own, he dragged his cousin toward the door.
“We can’t just leave him.” John pulled away and took a step toward Langdon.
Henry fastened a hand on John’s arm. “He’ll be all right.”
“We must do something.”
“Nothing can be done now.”
Henry hauled John out the door and shoved him into the street.
“Stop worrying,” Henry said. “That fellow will likely be back tomorrow downing his grog. You’d do better to think about yourself.” He patted John on the back. “You did a fine job.”
“Yeah, and a lot of help you were.”
“He caught me off guard is all. I’ll thrash him next time.”
“There’ll be no next time. This is your fault.”
“He deserved it.”
Trying to release tension, John lifted his shoulders and then dropped them again. Searing pain from his wound shot through his arm, causing him to wince.
“You better see to that,” Henry said, nodding at the bloody stain on John’s coat sleeve.
“It’s nothing.”
Henry glanced down the street. “Time I got home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Taking quick, short steps, Henry walked away.
John glanced down at his bloodied clothes. How had something as simple as having a drink turned into such misfortune? He headed toward home.
After cleaning and bandaging his arm, John had barely sat down to his dinner when a knock sounded at the door.
“Now, who can that be?” Margaret asked, dabbing at her mouth with a linen napkin.
The housemaid bustled toward the front of the house. The sound of voices came from the vestibule, but John couldn’t make out what was being said. A few moments later, the maid returned, eyes wide. “There’re two constables ’ere t’ see ye, sir. I put them in the study.”
Alarm pulsed through John. He looked at Margaret. Her brown eyes were wide with uncertainty, but he didn’t give her a chance to ask what the trouble could be. “It’ll be all right,” he said, pushing away from the table. Keeping his shoulders back and trying to remain calm, he walked to the study and opened the door.
3
The bell hanging from the door of Hannah’s shop chimed. Father, let it be a customer, she prayed. Business had continued to be poor.
“One moment please,” she called from the back room and then pushed a bolt of cloth onto a top shelf. After smoothing her skirt and tidying her hair, she hastened to the front of the cottage. “Good mor—” she started, but the words died. Cecilia Smith, the householder, stood just inside the door. Hannah’s stomach turned. Cecilia was certainly here to turn her out.
Managing a smile, she said cheerily, “Good morning. It’s a fine day for February, wouldn’t you say?”
Cecilia shifted her infant son from her right hip to the left. “Yes. Fine indeed.” Her expression was somber. “Ye know why I’ve come. I need the rent. I can’t wait longer.”
“Yes.” Hannah searched her mind for inspiration; there must be something that would rescue her from the streets. She moved to the kitchen and retrieved a crockery bowl from a shelf. Scooping out a handful of coins, she said, “I have some of it.” She moved toward
Cecelia. “As I explained, since my mother’s passing I’ve had a temporary decline in business. I’m sure things will improve.” She pressed the money into the householder’s hand. “I assure you I’ll pay the rest before the month is out.”
Cecilia looked down at the money in her hand and then let out a slow breath. “Ye know I can’t wait. Mr. Whitson wants the entire payment. If I come to him with this, I’ll be out on me ear.” She turned regretful eyes on Hannah. “I got me kids to think of.” Her eyes fell to the floor. “There are tenants that want to move in. And they have the money.”
Hannah fought down rising panic. “Perhaps Mr. Whitson’s wife needs a fitting. I can take care of that for her. And right away too.”
“Mr. Whitson’s a widower.”
“Does he have a sister, then?”
Cecilia simply stared at her.
Hannah’s mind frantically searched for an idea—something. Nothing came. “Can’t you ask him to wait just a few more days? I’m sure I can manage by then.” Hannah knew she was simply putting off the inevitable. For without some sort of miracle she’d be just as destitute in a week or two weeks as she was at this moment.
Cecilia set her jaw and shook her head. “Can’t do it. I already give ye more time than I ought. I can’t wait another day.” She looked down at her little boy and smoothed his hair, then turned her gaze back to Hannah. “I hate t’ do this, but I got no choice.”
“What am I to do? I haven’t any place to go.”
Cecilia looked at the coins in her hand, then held them out to Hannah. “He’ll not know if ye paid me or not. And ye’ll need somethin’ t’ tide ye over.” She pressed the money into Hannah’s hand. “It’s all I can do.”
Hannah didn’t want the money. It only meant that all hope of staying was gone. She stared at the coins, then reluctantly closed her fingers and pushed her fist into her apron pocket.
“Ye have to go. Today.”
“I’ll be out before noon,” Hannah said, barely able to breathe. “I’ve only a few things to pack. You can take the rest of what I have to cover my back rent.”
Looking nearly as devastated as Hannah felt, Cecilia moved to the door. “I’ll be back this afternoon,” she said and left.
Hannah dropped into a chair, and resting her elbows on her thighs, she covered her face with her hands. “Lord, what am I to do?” She freed her tears.
Hannah allowed herself only a short cry. She must be reasonable. Taking a long, shuddering breath, she wiped away the wetness and stared at the window. “Where shall I go? Where?”
Scanning the tiny house, she contemplated what she ought to take. There was little left that hadn’t already been sold or offered in place of rent. Her eyes fell on a satchel sitting near the door leading to the kitchen. All that would go with her must fit into that bag.
Hannah wrapped half a loaf of bread and the last of her cheese in a cloth and added them to the satchel, which was already overflowing with clothing, sewing supplies, and mementos. On the bureau by the bed, a gold chain with a cross rested in a stoneware bowl. It had belonged to her mother. Hannah lifted it, studying the delicate necklace. Heartache swelled within her as she draped it about her neck and secured the clasp. She rested her hand on the cross, pressing it against her skin. The coolness of the metal felt soothing and brought her the comfort of feeling closer to her mother, if even for just a moment.
Jasper mewed and rubbed against Hannah’s skirt. He always understood her moods. She picked him up and smoothed his fur. What was he to do now? She couldn’t take him with her. He’s a good mouser. Perhaps Ruby will want him.
Grief swept through Hannah, and she buried her face in Jasper’s thick fur. “Oh Mum, what am I to do?”
It was time to go. Hannah walked to the front door and stared at it, but she couldn’t make her hand reach for the knob. Instead she turned and looked at the room. This was the only home she’d ever known. It was small and plain, but it was safe. She could still feel her mother’s presence. Sometimes when it was quiet enough to hear the sweep of the clock’s pendulum, she’d remember the evenings and how her mother would rock and knit in her peaceful, quiet way. And on occasion she thought she could hear the soft click of the knitting needles.
Hannah closed her eyes and tried to capture some of what she’d known here. The memories were elusive, the stark truth keeping them from her.
Gathering her courage, Hannah said, “Those days are gone. And there’s nothing can be done about it.” She picked up Jasper and tucked him under one arm, then hefted her satchel and draped it over her shoulder. She opened the door and the bell jingled. Startled, she stared at it. She’d nearly forgotten to pack it. Retrieving the little bell, she dropped it into the satchel. With a heavy sigh, she stepped outside and closed the door.
She hugged Jasper. “It’s time to see what God has for us,” she said, trying to sound optimistic. Her throat tightened and fear reached for her. I must have faith, she told herself. Mum never wavered. Hannah could hear her mother’s wise words. How often had she said, “The Lord never forsakes his children, Hannah”? Her voice sounded like a song. She’d smile and add, “He’s with us always, forever watching over his beloved.”
Hannah forced herself to walk away. The warmer temperatures that had graced the morning turned chill. Huddling inside her cloak, she tried to walk with a determined stride as she headed for Ruby’s.
When Hannah was little, she’d spent many days at Ruby’s house. The kindly woman always seemed to be baking. Hannah’s favorite treat had been her special bread. In a rhythm, she’d roll the dough and press it down with the heel of her stout hands and then form it into perfectly shaped loaves. Hannah would wait while it rose and then was baked. She could still smell the sweetness of it as it came steaming out of the oven. Ruby would cut a piece for her to eat while the loaves cooled.
Ruby’s home had always seemed close, but today the distance felt like a journey. As she neared the house, Hannah slowed her steps. What would she say? She’d kept many of her troubles to herself, not wanting to worry her friend. Now she wished she could retreat from what she would see in Ruby’s eyes when she told her what had happened. She didn’t want her pity nor the guilt her friend would feel at her inability to help.
There simply was no room at Ruby’s. Her cottage was smaller than Hannah’s, and her daughter and grandchildren lived with her. They were already squeezed tight. And Percy, Ruby’s husband, was an unfriendly type. Having a houseguest would not sit well with him. If Ruby defied her husband, she’d bear the brunt of his displeasure. Hannah needed to help her friend understand that she could care for herself. She only hoped that Percy would allow Jasper to stay.
When she reached Ruby’s, she didn’t knock right away. Instead, she stood on the stoop and tried to work out what she ought to say. An acceptable explanation eluded her. Summoning courage, she raised her hand.
Just then she heard tapping at the window and looked up to see Ruby’s friendly face gazing out. She waved her in, but before Hannah could grab the knob, it turned and the door swung open.
“What ye doing here standing out in the cold? Come in. Come in.” Ruby opened the door wider.
Hannah stepped inside. “Good day to you.”
“Afternoon.” Ruby eyed Jasper and the satchel hanging from Hannah’s shoulder.
Hannah still couldn’t think of anything to say.
“So, they kicked ye out, eh?”
“Yes. I had to come and say good-bye. I’m not sure where I’ll be just yet. I considered the Bakers, but they have six children, and the widow Barnett is on the verge of being evicted herself.” Hannah gazed at the floor, mortified.
Ruby’s brow knit, but she managed to smile. “Well, could ye do with a bit of tea? Got some just this mornin’. ” She placed an arm around Hannah and ushered her to a chair. “Ye sit and I’ll make it.” She moved toward her kitchen and then glanced back at the cat. “Ye can put him down too. He’ll be fine.” She got cups from a cupboard. “Goo
d thing my daughter took the children with her this mornin’. Give us some time to ourselves.”
Giving Jasper a pat, Hannah set him on the floor. “I was wondering if I might leave Jasper here with you. He’s a good mouser so he won’t need much in the way of food.” Hannah sat on the settee.
“He’ll be fine for now.” While Ruby poured the tea, she hummed a folksy tune. “Glad I had some brewing,” she said, handing Hannah a cup. She sat in a straight-backed chair. For a few moments, the two women sipped their tea in silence.
“So, do ye have a plan?” Ruby finally asked.
Feeling miserable, Hannah looked at her friend. “I haven’t a notion. I’ve been praying and praying, but nothing seems clear to me. What do you think I ought to do?”
Ruby thought a moment. “I’d be more than happy to let ye stay ’ere, but ye know how Percy is. He’d never stand for it. He’d make us all miserable.”
“I don’t expect you to take me in. That’s not why I came.” Hannah set her cup on the table. “I need a place for Jasper, and I couldn’t go without saying good-bye.”
The two women’s eyes met, and silence settled between them once more.
Ruby interrupted the quiet. “What about the . . . no. That won’t work. The Johnsons just moved in. That means there are four families in one tiny house. I’m sure they won’t allow anyone else.” Ruby sipped her tea, making a slurping sound. “What about that Mr. Walker, the magistrate? Perhaps he still needs help.”
“Do you think he might?” Hannah felt hope stir.
“Maybe. All ye need do is ask.” She grinned. “Oh, that would be lovely. I hear he has a grand house. And there are children. Wouldn’t that be nice, to live with a family?”
Inside Hannah quaked at the idea of working for someone as prominent as a magistrate, but she said, “That would be excellent.”
Ruby smiled. “That’s it, luv. Ye’ll go and see them tomorrow. It’s a bit late today. I have a friend, Lucille. Her daughter works for his neighbor. I’ll find out if they’re still needing a maid.”
