Henry & Sarah

by Kadrak, Suzanne

  Henry comradely patted Oscarʼs shoulder.

  “I donʼt,” he answered. “In fact, you two were quite right with your assumption that I would only have made things worse… So, forget about it, my friend, and rather tell me why you know so much about steamships.”

  “Well,” Oscar began, “not all people who want to immigrate to America are allowed to enter the state when they arrive. Many do not fulfill certain criteria; they might suffer from diseases for instance, or they might be blind, or crippled, or penniless. Then the officials are worried that these people could become a financial burden to the state, and so they are sent back to where they come from straight away. The reason I know all of this is that I saw many of those who returned to England when I still worked as a practitioner in London. They told me their stories while I was trying to patch them up again. Trust me, Henry, I have heard enough gruesome things to write a book about it. And these people had not even travelled on run-down cutters but on the big vessels, the modern steam-driven ones. But the situation is the same on all ships although the conditions have improved, of course, compared to the times when steamers didnʼt exist.”

  Uncomfortable silence filled the little room.

  “So I donʼt even have a ticket at hand right now because mine is practically useless,” Henry concluded with a sigh of resignation.

  “I will help you,” Oscar said softly. “I actually think I should be able to get tickets for you and for Sarah, so that you both will have a proper cabin and will not be separated. If you make Sarah stay in these compartments at the bottom of the ship, you will not even be able to come near her. And she will need you, Henry. Do not leave her alone. She will surely be terribly scared! After all, a trip like this is not a Sunday cruise on the Thames.”

  “But Oscar, I donʼt have any money left to buy another ticket, let alone two!”

  “Do not worry about it. I will pay for them.”

  “It doesnʼt feel right, you paying for it all, I mean,” Henry mumbled, bashfully.

  “Donʼt be foolish, Henry,” Oscar said. “We are all part of a very rigid class system which consists of people who are either very rich, somewhat well off, or very poor. It is nothing but an unfortunate circumstance that you are not able to count yourself to the first group which means that you might not have the same opportunities as everybody else—although you have already proven that you are more than capable of working your way up. But it is quite fortunate indeed that you happen to have a well-off and influential friend; namely me. And if you are clever you, will make use of this advantage and take my offer.”

  Oscar grinned at Henry.

  Henry threw his hands in the air in a gesture of resignation.

  “Alright, I will accept your offer—under the condition that you allow me to pay you the money back one day.”

  “Well, if you are so desperate to give it back to me, I will not hinder you. But I do not expect you to give it back. After all, donʼt forget that by saving Sarah you are doing me a favor, too.”

  “Thank you, Oscar, you are a real friend. But we must rush. The ticket office will surely be overcrowded again. Maybe the office isnʼt even open today!” Henry said, becoming rather nervous again.

  “Henry, please, calm down. I will not go to the ticket office at all.”

  Henry cast Oscar a puzzled look.

  “You wonʼt? But how...?”

  “Let this be my problem,” Oscar said, smiling secretively. “I will go right now, and in the meantime you better pack your bags and get ready for tonight. And stop worrying so much, alright?”

  “I will try...” Henry mumbled in a daze, gradually feeling overwhelmed by the excitement, the surprises, and all the things he didnʼt understand.

  Oscar winked at Henry encouragingly. Then he put on his coat, took his hat, and left.

  * * *

  Oscar quickly marched through the streets, a light drizzle raining down on him.

  Despite his nervousness and despite his inner doubt that Henry and Sarahʼs plan would work out, he knew that he needed to pull himself together and fully concentrate on his task to get the tickets if he wanted to effectively contribute to all of this. Just like Henry, he needed to keep his calm, or else they would miserably fail.

  And they couldnʼt afford that. Oscar was well aware that this was their very last opportunity to save Sarah. He knew that if his sister Priscilla or Damian found out about the plotting, there would be no chance that he or Henry would ever see Sarah again.

  Oscar turned into a wide street, lined by a long row of magnificent, grand houses. The area where he encountered himself in was way off the city center and way off all the places where the impoverished people lived. Here there wasnʼt any litter in the street, there were no beggars sitting on the ground, and no street vendor was trying to fleece passers-by of their money.

  The only thing which reigned here was grandeur. Here lived the wealthy—not just the rich, but the tremendously rich; those who had made a fortune by gradually and steadily working their way up to the top; but also those who had simply been lucky enough to have been born into a well-off family. Many of these people were barons, lords and earls, but also famous entrepreneurs, such as Sir Merryweather, founder and co-owner of the Merryweather & Montgomery Marine Steamship Line who had only recently been knighted ʼSirʼ by her Majesty the Queen for his merit in the shipping industry.

  Oscar took a little address book out of his coat pocket and quickly flicked through the pages until he found an entry which he had made more than fifteen years ago. It read, ʻMerryweather, 21 Gainsborough Road.ʼ

  He compared the number in the book with that of the building which he was now standing right in front of—the most precious house of all, a four-story 17th century villa with several oriels, elaborate stucco work on the façade, and a gilded door knocker in the form of a lionhead.

  Oscar walked up the stairs which lead up to the entrance door and knocked.

  After a while, which seemed to him like an eternity, the door opened an inch and a very ancient man, the butler, peered out to him, shooting Oscar a questioning look.

  “Good afternoon,” Oscar said politely, “I am awfully sorry to disturb you, but I would like to inquire if I could possibly speak to Sir Merryweather.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” the butler asked with a piping voice.

  “I am afraid, I donʼt.”

  “Well, it is quite inconvenient at the moment, actually, and Sir Merryweather does not normally receive anybody without an appointment.”

  “I am well aware of that and terribly sorry about it, but it is quite urgent,” Oscar pressed, trying not to let his impatience show too much.

  “Everybodyʼs request is urgent these days...”

  “Sir, please, could you at least tell him that Dr. Oscar Scott is here. He might remember me and make an exception.”

  The old butler eyed Oscar up and down, not bothering to conceal his suspicion. Then, after some careful thinking, he slowly opened the door and let Oscar inside.

  “Please wait here. I will go and inform Sir Merryweather,” the old butler said. Then he laboriously clambered up the stairs to the next floor. When he had finally arrived there, he disappeared in one of the corridors.

  Somewhat lost, Oscar lingered in the middle of the entrance hall. He had been invited to Baron Copperwoodʼs mansion and to the mansion of Damianʼs father, but Sir Merryweatherʼs house exceeded all he had ever seen in terms of wealth and abundance. This place was full with gilded statues, decorative paintings, and exquisitely woven carpets which looked as if they had been taken straight from Ali Babaʼs treasure cave.

  But right now, Oscar didnʼt have any interest in all the abundance. Instead, he caught himself permanently looking at his watch which clearly showed him that time was running through his hands.

  After a while that seemed like an eternity to him, he was saw the old fossil in form of the butler slowly stagger back down the stairs.

  “Sir Merryweather is exp
ecting you. Would you follow me, please,” the butler said, suddenly not appearing as unwilling and brusque as before. Then he made an effort to climb upstairs again, but Oscar stopped him.

  “No, please, Sir, it is fine, I am sure I will find the way myself...” he said politely and hastened past the butler, who appeared slightly puzzled but also relieved that he was spared having to walk all the way up to the first floor again.

  The door to Sir Merryweatherʼs study was standing wide open. Oscar could hear voices, and when he approached the room, he saw two men sitting on comfortable leather chairs, chatting animatedly with each other.

  One of the men was Sir Merryweather. Oscar recognized him immediately, that friendly, good-humored giant with the long beard and the boisterous laugh, although Oscar noticed that the entrepreneur had gained a considerable amount of weight since the last time they had met. Still, it was unmistakably him.

  Hesitantly, Oscar knocked and waited respectfully until the two men took notice of him.

  “Dr. Scott!” Sir Merryweather called out when he saw the doctor and got up from his chair. “What a surprise and what a tremendous pleasure to see you again! Good Lord, you have not changed a bit!”

  Oscar bowed slightly.

  “Thank you, Sir. Thanks for receiving me at such short notice.”

  “Not at all, Doctor, not at all!”

  Sir Merryweather turned to the other man whom he had been talking to just before Oscar had arrived, and who was just about to get up and leave.

  “We will talk tomorrow, Hendrick. Until then, tell Lord Catterfield that I will contribute to that fundraising thing he has in mind.”

  The man nodded and quietly disappeared out of the room, whereas Sir Merryweather led the doctor inside, his massive paw comradely resting on Oscarʼs shoulders.

  “Dr. Scott, my dear, we have not seen each other for ages! Please, do take a seat,” Sir Merryweather said. He let himself fall down on his huge leather chair again and opened a little box with cigars which stood on his huge oakwood desk.

  “May I offer you one?” he asked, his paw shoving the box across the desk and over to Oscar.

  “Why not, yes, thank you very much,” Oscar answered, not averse to some nicotine in order to calm his nerves. He took a cigar out of the box and let Sir Merryweather light it. Soon, little curls of smoke began to fill the air.

  Oscar let his eyes wander about the room. Wherever he looked, he could see models and pictures of sailing ships and steamboats as well as numerous decorative shipping utensils such as an old antiquated anchor and a massive gilded figurehead which stood in the corner and obviously served as a coat stand.

  “Look, what I have got today, isnʼt it gorgeous?!”

  Sir Merryweather reached down next to him and lifted up a huge oil painting which had leaned at the wall. It showed a huge steamer with two funnels, sailing at full speed, braving the elements.

  “A marvelous piece of work indeed,” Oscar commented, taking a puff at his cigar.

  “That is the SS Thalassa, my biggest pride...” Sir Merryweather said, an awestricken expression on his face. “Almost eight thousand gross tons and more than five hundred feet long. What do you reckon, would that not look nice over there above the fireplace next to the stuffed sawfish?”

  “It surely would,” Oscar said. Not wanting to ruin Sir Merryweatherʼs enthusiasm, he refrained from mentioning that hanging the picture there would cause the impression that the teeth of the fishʼs massive sawlike snout was about to rip the canvas to shreds.

  “Is it not amazing how ships are getting more and more elaborate these days?” Sir Merryweather put the picture back down on the ground. “Steel is on the rise and beginning to replace most of the ironwork. And as for speed, just think about it: It takes steamers only about ten days to cross the Atlantic compared to sailing ships which needed almost two months. And so many improvements have been made in terms of safety. I presume that one day human kind will build a ship which is simply unsinkable!”

  Oscar smiled at Sir Merryweather politely.

  “It is amazing, alright,” Oscar remarked, before he went on to ask, “How is your son?”

  Sir Merryweather beamed happily at him.

  “Our little John has never been better, Dr. Scott,” he answered, a sentimental tone to his voice. Then he began to laugh. “Hah, little John... what am I talking about? Little John is in fact twenty years old now and an adult. But children always stay children in their parentsʼ eyes, even if they are grown-ups, donʼt they?”

  “I am very glad to hear that your son enjoys good health,” Oscar replied.

  Sir Merryweather leaned forward and stared at Oscar intently. Oscar noticed that Sir Merryweatherʼs eyes got a little moist.

  “I must say, Dr. Scott, what you did to us back then can not be bought for all the money in the world...”

  “He was in a very poor state indeed,” Oscar added pensively.

  “Poor state is not an adequate term to use. He was in fact about to die. I do not know how you did it, but you saved this young boyʼs life,” Sir Merryweather said.

  Oscarʼs mind wandered back to the time when he had still been a practitioner in London. He had not been a doctor for a very long time and had already seen himself confronted with one of the worst cases of lung disease he should ever encounter in his career. He remembered the day when he had been visited by a courier who had urged him to do a home visit for someone whose name he wouldnʼt say. Oscar remembered having been quite suspicious, but he still had followed the courier who had led him to this huge splendid house in Gainsborough Road and had made him wait in the exact study where he was sitting now, smoking a cigar. Only then had he noticed that his new client was indeed Lord Merryweather, the Merryweather, owner of one of the most flourishing shipping corporations in England and, although not yet a ʻSirʼ back then, already a multiple millionaire.

  But all of Merryweatherʼs wealth had not been of any use to him when his dear son John had fallen ill with pneumonia. Oscarʼs first impression had been that the five-year-old boy would not make it through the night, but he had so desperately wanted to help that tiny, weak creature that was stirring feverishly in his bed. And so he had tried everything to save him and had stuffed all that he could find in his medicine cabinets into the poor boyʼs stomach, hoping that something would help although deep inside he was certain that it was too late. He had also come to see the boy every day, checking upon him and encouraging him and his family to hold on and not to give up. He had even prayed for him although he had not considered himself as a truly pious man.

  Oscar never found any explanation for the fact that the boyʼs health had improved so suddenly within the nights which were to follow. But after a week of treatment, little John had stopped coughing blood and had begun to eat and laugh again.

  “You know, it was not only your work as a doctor,” Sir Merryweather said. “It was the way you dealt with the situation in general and with our despair. You comforted my wife, me, and the young boy. You gave him back his will to live with your unbeatable wit and optimism—and your belief. You should have become a priest, you know!”

  Oscar laughed at Sir Merryweatherʼs remark.

  “I honestly do not think that I would make a good man of God...” he said, blushing.

  “Do not hide your light under a bushel, Dr. Scott. You are the hell of a good man!” Sir Merryweather said. “And now tell me, what can I do for you?”

  Oscar moved anxiously on his chair. He was not sure if his request would be too blunt, but he knew he needed to try and ask Sir Merryweather for help, even if he risked coming across as a little rude and demanding.

  “Sir Merryweather,” he began hesitantly, “as we are talking about your son... Do you remember back then when you told me that you felt you owed me a favor because of saving Johnʼs life, and that you would help me if I ever was in need?”

  “I do indeed. I am a man of honor, and I keep my word,” Sir Merryweather answered firmly.

&nbs
p; “Well, I have hoped that I would never encounter myself in a situation which would require pestering you with my requests as it was my pleasure to help you back then and I did not do it in order to get something for it in return.”

  “Good Lord, Dr. Scott, what are you talking about?” Sir Merryweather said gravely. “I am more than aware that you are a noble and humble man.”

  “Well, thanks for your kind words, Sir Merryweather, because I am in fact in need of your help now, I am afraid. And you are the only one who can help me.”

  Sir Merryweather frowned, a worried expression on his face.

  “Dr. Scott, you sound as if you were in a terrible turmoil.”

  “I am, actually. God knows, I am…” Oscar answered.

  “Tell me, what I can do for you and I promise I will do my best.”