Man Most Worthy

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  “I met a woman—Macey Endicott—who was very involved with the housing question. She is a remarkable woman. I hope you will meet her. She is on the Society’s board of trustees. It was she who encouraged me to use my influence in society—” she gave a disbelieving laugh “—whatever little influence I had left, to help raise awareness of the situation.”

  He raised an eyebrow as if in surprise. “Little influence? What I saw the night of the gala showed me a lady of great influence.”

  She shook her head. “Four years ago, I would say I had very little. I had been away from London society for many years.”

  His eyes remained on her. “But you seem to have overcome that drawback.”

  “Perhaps. If so, it was due in great part to Miss Endicott. She is quite a champion of women and their rights.” She shook her head with a smile. “She is quite respected, being wealthy in her own right, and by virtue of her many publications on such subjects as the reform of women’s education and women’s suffrage.”

  Alice watched him as he listened carefully, asking questions from time to time. She showed him the rest of their small quarters. He appeared interested in every detail.

  When they stood outside on the curb, he hailed a hansom for them. “I notice there were only women in your office. Is that deliberate?”

  She nodded, surprised that he’d noticed. “In a sense. You see, there are very few options for a woman who finds herself either widowed or single with no means of her own. A woman depends wholly on her parents or on a husband to support her, but you’d be surprised at the number of women who have neither alternative.

  “I wanted to be able to offer some type of employment for women in this situation. Some of these women have children and it becomes even more challenging for them to find decent care for them. That is why you’ll frequently find a child or two playing quietly by his mother’s desk.”

  “My mother would have benefited from women such as you.”

  A hansom pulled up at Mr. Tennent’s summons.

  He handed her up into the cab and then came up to sit beside her. There was little room on the seat and her skirt brushed against his trouser legs. She made a show of adjusting her gown in the small space, suddenly conscious of his nearness, and attempted to continue her discourse. “One of my dreams is to offer a facility here under our roof as a nursery. Perhaps rent the floor above us for such a venture.” She turned and slid open the hatch in the back and gave the driver instructions.

  Mr. Tennent raised an eyebrow. “Shoreditch?”

  When she turned from the hatch, she found his face very close to hers. She moved back a fraction then chided herself for her sensitivity. “I wanted to show you some of the housing that has been built over the years for the working classes and compare it with what we’ve done. The area around Spitalfields and Shoreditch has grown enormously and there is a terrible lack of adequate housing. It’s also a railroad terminus which results in very mixed neighborhoods from lower middle class to very lower class.”

  The cab turned sharply at a corner and she was thrown against Mr. Tennent. Before she could right herself, he reached up a hand to steady her. “Tha—thank you.” She adjusted her hat to conceal her confusion. What was wrong with her?

  “It’s quite all right.” She could feel his glance on her but his words revealed nothing out of the ordinary. “Would it cost so much?”

  She’d lost the thread of their conversation. “To what?”

  “To fix up a room for your female employees’ children.”

  “Oh. Yes, it would. That would mean fewer funds available for our building projects. Presently, almost all donations we receive are used to help people with their housing. That need is most pressing of all.” She shifted into her corner seat in preparation for another turn. “Tell me how it is in America. Are there such frightful conditions among the working classes?”

  He described the cities he had seen. She listened, studying his three-quarter profile, finding herself remembering how drawn she’d been to him so many years ago. The strong lines had matured into the face of a very striking gentleman. His jaw was cleanly shaven. He hadn’t really changed much over the years, but there was a cragginess to the lean contours of his face. The slight diffidence she remembered was gone but in its place was a subtle irony. It reminded her of her father, and she recoiled from the thought.

  “Overcrowding exists in many workmen’s neighborhoods but there is much industry and mobility.” He glanced beyond her at the passing streets. “London has certainly grown since I was last here. Not that it wasn’t a busy place then.”

  “Yes, it has seen unprecedented growth. No other city comes close, even your New York City.”

  “New York is a remarkable city.”

  “I should like to see it some day.”

  His dark eyes turned to her. “Perhaps you will.”

  Why did she feel there was more to his words than his light tone implied? She shook aside her fanciful notion. “I doubt it…at least not any time in the near future.”

  “You sound so very certain.”

  She folded her gloved hands on her lap. “I have my work here. And Austen is young still.”

  “When you were a girl, you struck me as someone who would seek the kind of adventure found in travel.”

  Her smile was bittersweet. “Yes, I was full of dreams.”

  “Haven’t any of them been fulfilled?”

  Was it whimsy or gravity she read in his tone—or irony? “Not in the way I had foreseen,” she answered carefully.

  “What had you foreseen?”

  How could she answer that? That she’d foreseen a future with him? “A place to belong,” she finally said, looking past him. So many years of yearning for what she’d never found in her home.

  When he said nothing, she risked a glance at him. A furrow had formed between his brows. “Didn’t you find that?”

  “Oh, yes. But not where I had imagined.” She took a deep breath. “It took a very humble, patient man to show me that it was only to be found in the Lord, that He loved me no matter how unlovable I might consider myself.”

  Before she could discover if he had understood what she meant, they arrived at their destination. Mr. Tennent descended the cab and turned to give her his hand. She stepped onto the broken pavement, still feeling the firmness of his hand after he’d let go and turned to the driver.

  He paid the man and instructed him to wait for them then turned to survey the neighborhood. In the distance they could hear the rumble of trains.

  They walked along a street lined with small shops. “We’re not far from the Great Eastern Goods Station.”

  “This area looks fairly prosperous.” He sniffed the air, which had a yeasty smell to it.

  “There’s a large brewery a few blocks to the east of us.” She led him down Commercial Street. “There are quite some shops and warehouses along here due to the railroad station.” As they continued farther, the storefronts and buildings became more varied. “You’ll see how things begin to deteriorate the more distant from the station.”

  She turned down a narrow side street. Here, the buildings were clearly more dingy, many in a state of disrepair. Children of all ages ran and played in the streets, despite the traffic of wagons and drays. The scent of brewer’s yeast grew stronger.

  She indicated a row of two-story brick buildings. “The London Building Society put up this row of dwellings, but already the tenants have complained of countless problems. Partitions separating the individual dwellings are less than a full brick length, which leads to noise traveling through, not to mention the more serious problem of water leakage. Shoddy bricks are used, hollow ones which are cheaper, of course, but also ones that crumble easily over time.”

  She stopped in front of one dwelling, where rubbish was piled in the front. “No foundation has been laid, or worse, the existing gravel is hauled away and sold, and rubbish is used to fill the holes. You can imagine what happens over time.”


  “The building begins to sink.”

  “Yes. Many of these buildings were put up ten or twenty years ago when there was such a clamor for housing, and speculators bought up the land and quickly put up dwellings. It’s only now that the problems are manifesting.” She pointed to a roofline. “See how it sags? Too few scantlings in the rafters.”

  He smiled. “You seem as knowledgeable as a builder.”

  “I’ve learned over time. Our Society has put up some buildings in the last few years, and I wanted to be sure they would be sturdy and well-ventilated. We’ll go there next, so you can compare the difference.”

  They turned a corner and the area became grimmer. Here, the houses were much older, their brick exteriors dilapidated. Several idlers lounged on the broken front stoops. Windows were boarded up. Piles of refuse filled the narrow, muddy street. Mr. Tennent stopped at the sight of a group of dirty-faced men standing nearby. “Perhaps we should turn back.”

  She hesitated. “Yes, I just wanted to show you how quickly the neighborhoods degenerate. Here, you see men who are habitually unemployed. The only activity is drinking.” As she took a step back, she noticed one of the men eyeing her.

  Before she could take another step back, he sauntered over to her. “Wot are the toff doin’ in our neighborhood, I’d like to know?” He spat, just missing their feet by inches. His grimy shirt was pulled half out of his trousers and his vest was missing buttons. He carried a half-empty gin bottle in one hand.

  Mr. Tennent took her lightly by the elbow and began to back away.

  The man was quicker than he looked. He circled around them. “My, aren’t we the fancies.”

  In a few seconds they found themselves surrounded by a group of ill-featured men. The acrid smell of sweat mingled with the pasty smell of yeast.

  Mr. Tennent stopped and eyed them. “We didn’t mean to intrude on your private turf, gentlemen,” he said politely.

  The man snapped his suspenders back and guffawed. “Our turf.” He turned to the others. “How d’ye like that, eh? Our turf? That’s wot hit is, awright.” He swaggered up and took hold of one of Mr. Tennent’s lapels. “I like the feel o’ this coat. Feels pretty foine to me, hit does.”

  Alice began to pray silently. She eyed the rest of the men nervously.

  Before she could decide what to do, the man flipped out a knife from his belt. Alice jerked back.

  He brandished the knife before Mr. Tennent’s face. “I think I’ll have this coat.” He brought the knife up to his jawline.

  A soft cry escaped her lips. The sound distracted the man and he turned to her. “Foine lady we ’ave ’ere.”

  She shrank back and experienced an instant’s reassurance as Mr. Tennent’s hold on her arm tightened. Her fear returned as she realized how impossibly outnumbered he was.

  The man’s unshaven jaw came to within inches of hers, his foul breath fanning across her face.

  She prayed even more.

  Nick judged the distance between himself, the knife, and the malodorous fellow threatening Mrs. Lennox.

  He pressed her elbow an instant to reassure her then moved a step. “Leave the lady alone, or aren’t you man enough to face me?” he said, infusing his look and tone with scorn.

  The man’s attention swung immediately back to him, his stubbly cheeks deepening in color and his broken-toothed leer fading. “Why you—” The knife swung out, but Nick was ready for him. In a deft movement, he grabbed the man’s bony wrist.

  As he’d calculated, his hold wasn’t as firm as it had appeared, the alcohol probably giving the man more confidence than warranted. Nick easily pulled his arm up and over, spinning him around and bending him double. The knife and bottle fell to the muddy ground. “Pick up the knife, Alice.” Keeping his tone quiet but commanding, he held the man’s arm up at a painful angle. Half-starved wretch. Nick had met many like him in his early days on the road.

  With a push strong enough to put him out of commission until they left the area but not enough to seriously hurt him, Nick shoved him to the ground and kept a foot between his shoulder blades. He turned to Alice, relieved to find she had done as he’d asked. She held the knife as if it were a snake. He took it from her by the blade then brandished it slowly to the ring of men. “Anyone else care to have a go?”

  They all backed away from him a few steps.

  “We meant no disrespect entering your neighborhood. This lady runs a charity to build decent housing for men like you and their families.”

  The men began mumbling denials that they’d meant no harm and bowed to Mrs. Lennox.

  One of the men shuffled his feet, not quite meeting Nick’s eyes. “Charlie there was just sportin’ wif you.”

  “Well, we’ll call it even then.” With his free hand, Nick dug into his pocket and fished out some coins, all the while keeping the knife pointed up. “Here, if anyone is in need of a hot meal.” Was it a hopeless wish that they wouldn’t spend it at the nearest tavern? But he couldn’t leave them with nothing. He knew what it was like to be hungry.

  They grouped around him eagerly and he made sure that each one got something. With a hand to the brim of his hat, he finally backed away from them, taking Mrs. Lennox firmly by the elbow.

  When they arrived on Commercial Street with its busy traffic, he stopped and turned to her, only now allowing the tension to drain from him. “Are you all right?”

  She brought a shaky hand to her cheek and gave a jerky laugh. “The question is, are you?”

  Amazed that she could think of him, he glanced at the knife he still held upside down by the haft. “Remember, I’m armed now.” He looked around him but seeing nowhere to dispose of the knife, he stuck it in his belt, under his coat. “I’ll get rid of this when we’re far from here.”

  “Yes, please do.” Her voice sounded shaky.

  He tipped her chin up with a fingertip, permitting himself to study her face more closely. “Let me take you somewhere for a cup of tea.”

  Her eyes met his. “No…I’m quite…all right. Let me recover a moment.” She took a step back and he let her go immediately, wondering if he had overstepped his bounds. “Do you think the hansom is still waiting for us?”

  “Yes, I’m sure of it. Come, if you’re up to walking a block further. We should get away from here, at any rate.”

  “Oh, yes.” She immediately began to move. He hurried to catch up with her and put his hand on her elbow once again. She felt fragile beneath his light grip. He thanked God that they’d escaped the ugly situation. If anything had happened to her—

  It was only then he recollected he’d called her Alice. Would she remember? Would she be offended?

  She turned to him with a rueful smile. “I do apologize for bringing you here. It was not my intention to put your life in danger. You must think us far more uncivilized than Americans if as soon as you arrive you are threatened by a bunch of drunk idlers.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” He frowned at her. “I’m more concerned that you should ever come to parts like this on your own.”

  “We usually come in groups. And I don’t make it a habit of going into the worst neighborhoods, but as you can see, sometimes it’s only a matter of turning down one street corner.”

  His brow knit, thinking of her exposed to such dangers in the course of her work.

  “I’m still marveling at how quickly you disabled that man.”

  He was more amazed at how quickly she’d discounted the risk to herself. “It wasn’t so difficult. He was drunk, as well as emaciated by hunger. His grip was actually feeble. Any able man could have disarmed him.”

  “Still, he had the knife, and he was surrounded by so many.”

  “I’ve met more than my share of poor unfortunates consumed by drink and hopelessness. I’ve learned it’s often the ringleader one must disable and the rest prove harmless.”

  She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Have you been in many such situations before?”

  “Some. But the same tactics
often hold true in business.”

  They arrived at the hansom and he helped her up. As they rode away from the area, she turned to him. “You called me Alice back there.”

  She had noted it. He tried to read her expression. “I’m sorry. I suppose I wasn’t thinking clearly at that moment.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for.” She looked down at her lap. “In a way it seems we’ve known each other for a very long time, although in truth, we’ve barely had a chance to become acquainted.”

  He felt a spurt of hope. “Perhaps we shall have an opportunity now.”

  She smiled, the sweet, angelic, beautiful smile he remembered. “I feel we could be friends again,” she said slowly.

  She had said “friend.” Did that mean there was hope of nothing more? He cleared his throat, hesitating. “Would you mind very much if I called you Alice…and you called me Nicholas—or Nick?” He waited, hardly realizing he held his breath.

  “No.” Her voice was whispery soft. “I’d like that.”

  “Very well…Alice.”

  The shy look in her eyes made her look seventeen again. “Pleased to renew the friendship, Nicholas.”

  He liked the sound of his name on her lips, even as he yearned for their friendship to deepen into something more. Had he waited too long? He found it a miracle—a godsend—that she was free after so many years. He didn’t even care at the moment that her heart had been given to an idealistic young curate, if only there was the possibility of a future with her.

  She was a woman like no other, and he was determined in that moment to make her his own.

  “If you still have time, I’d like to show you some of the terrace houses we’ve built.”

  He blinked, disconcerted that her train of thought had taken a completely different turn. “I thought after our run-in, we could go someplace for a cup of tea.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, I’m quite recovered now, thank you. Do you have time for one more visit, this time as far as Bethnal Green?”

  She sounded so hopeful he didn’t have the heart to turn her down. In truth, he had many pressing things to do at his office that morning, but at the moment, all he wanted was to prolong his time at this woman’s side.