Henry & Sarah

Chapter 5 – London



You are losing yourself in illusions, Henry thought for the umpteenth time, wondering if a little peck on the cheek and an occasional blush was enough to believe that Sarah was somehow attracted to him. And what about Oscarʼs assumption that she might fancy him just because she allegedly had a certain look in her eyes whenever his name was mentioned?

“Tell me your opinion, Henry,” Oscar said. “Shall I put on the bow tie? Or do you think that this might make me appear a little bit overdressed tonight?”

You are losing yourself in illusions, Henry thought yet again upon recalling that Lord Partridge had treated Damian Cox just like a relative and had let this arrogant man call him by his first name—something that not even his own sons were allowed to do. Who was he, Henry, to believe that someone like himself, a teacher with a working class background and only a few pennies in his pockets, could outdo Damian who had all the means to impress the Partridges in terms of money and influence?

“Henry! Will you stop brooding for a minute and help me get dressed? I am so terribly lousy at making decisions...”

Startled, Henry looked up.

“Oscar, I am sorry...” he stammered confusedly and got up from his chair next to the window where he had spent the past hour leaning at the window frame, blankly staring out onto the nightly street.

Oscar laughed and shook his head in disbelief.

“Donʼt be sorry, dear friend, but somehow I really wished I had not let you in on our inscrutable family history. It seems to me that my words have terribly unsettled you.”

Oscar was standing in front of the mirror, carefully checking his looks. The whole room was filled with the tangy odor of his aftershave lotion. Henry came to the conclusion that Oscar was a little bit too concerned about his appearance. But as the doctor was a really handsome man, he could afford it to be a little vain.

After their arrival in London, they had taken lodgings in a guesthouse. The owner was an old lady called Mrs. Potter, who immediately made a major effort to look after their every need in terms of food, drinks, fresh towels and carafes of water so that the two travellers could refresh themselves after the journey. The rooms were not first class; definitely not appropriate for a man of Oscarʼs standing, as Henry found. But Oscar had been determined to stay in a guesthouse close to the city center where the amusements were.

Mrs. Potter was only able to offer them one room with a double bed, but Oscar didnʼt mind. And neither did Henry; after all, he used to share a bedroom with his parents, his brother, and a dog during his childhood—which had been quite a challenge because his family back then had not really cared about cleanliness and nice smells as much as Oscar. Yes, Henry really welcomed the fact to have Oscar and his good-humored, optimistic spirit around all the time, as he found that it gave him the much needed distraction. After all, Henry could hardly endure the fact that Sarah currently was so far away from him. It tortured him not to know what was happening to her right now, just as it tortured him to be unable to interfere with any uncomfortable situation that she might find herself in. He wanted to ease her pain, wanted to give her assurance that everything was going to be alright, although he was not certain at all if everything was really going to be alright.

Mrs. Potter had prepared some sandwiches for them, but as these had a slightly stale aspect and smelt as if the good woman had made them already a week ago, Oscar and Henry had politely declined and instead had gone to a restaurant for lunch. Then Oscar had mercilessly pulled through his carefully worked out holiday program for the weekend, starting with a visit to the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square, followed by yet another visit to a Colonial and Indian Exhibition in South Kensington with Oscar being particularly interested in the portraits of natives and temples. Then they had strolled along the River Thames to the Docks in order to get a glimpse of the site where recently construction work had begun for a new bridge across the river; the ʻTower Bridgeʼ as it would be called. But there had not been much to see apart from two pillars which had been lowered down into the riverbed.

Then they had gone to Covent Garden where they had listened to some street musicians for a while. Ultimately, they had headed for Regent Street where they had got lost for hours amidst the crowds of street vendors, who were selling fresh fish, fruit, vegetables, flowers, cheese, beer, candles, ice-cream, shawls, and ribbons. Henry had his shoes polished by a shoeshine boy, and Oscar had bought a pair of new gloves at a tailorʼs shop where he had also ordered a new suit, which he intended to pick up the next day and which would cost a ridiculous sum three times higher than the salary that Henry got from Lord Partridge for a weekʼs work. Henry had bought a newspaper, while Oscar had his hair trimmed at a barberʼs shop. Then Oscar had gone to a tobacconist, stocking up his supply of exquisite cigars and buying some for Lord Partridge on the way.

Having spent only a couple of days in the solitude of the countryside, Henry had found himself suddenly overwhelmed with the noises of the city. What a contrast it was, the chatter of the people on the streets mingling with the vendorsʼ cries as they were offering their goods; mingling with the music of buskers, playing a merry tune; mingling with the laughter of children chasing each other. And all of this accompanied by the constant thudding of hooves as innumerable horse-drawn coaches and oxcarts were passing by.

Towards the evening hours, Henry had begun to feel terribly exhausted. But having been distracted from his brooding for a couple of hours, his mind seemed to have become a little clearer. Seeing London again and feeling its vibrating energy had opened his eyes towards the fact that there was still another life out there which revolved around completely different things than Sarah and the Partridges. He even somehow managed to drown out the memory of her kiss and her scent. He knew now that he had been completely out of his mind to believe that he could change anything about Sarahʼs fate. He knew that he needed to let go of the ridiculous belief that he would be able to somehow break the Partridgesʼ rigid family patterns.

Yes, he had finally come back to his senses and had realized that there simply was no future for himself and Sarah.

Still, this realization devastated him, and he longed for nothing else but a few hours to himself and an early night. He wanted to be alone, wanted some time to work out what exactly he would say to Lord Partridge the next day in order to explain why he suddenly intended to quit his position. He wouldnʼt tell the lord the truth, of course; he wouldnʼt reveal that he couldnʼt bear being with Sarah day by day if he was permanently confronted with his amorous feelings for her. But he had to come up with something. As for now, he didnʼt have the faintest idea what to say. He found that it would be highly unfair towards Sarah if he—just like all his predecessors—claimed that it was because he was unable to deal with her; that it was because she was evil. After all, she had not really been evil to him. He wanted to find another reason which had nothing to do with Sarah, even if this sounded implausible to the Partridgesʼ ears.

Henry hoped that once having solved this problem and having left Oxford behind, he would lead a normal life again. He also hoped that he would be able to find himself another beautiful girl who wasn't controlled by an army of callous imperialists who used her as a mere means of trading.

Daughter for marriage in exchange for stupid plough deals... he thought sadly.

Thinking about this, Henry could sense that he was on the brink of becoming slightly inconsistent again, but he forced himself to remain strong. He would not let the memory of Sarahʼs sad eyes upon leaving by coach make him change his mind again. He would put an end to it all before it was too late and before he entirely succumbed to her. He would leave the house of the Partridges and would file all of this as a less positive experience in his life. And that would be it.

And as for now, he only longed for his bed.

But Oscar didnʼt accept Henryʼs pledge to spend the evening alone in the shabby room of the guesthouse while he himself would mingle with the nightlife.

“There is no point in sitting around, feeling depressed,” he said, gently squeezing Henryʼs shoulder. “Tonight you must join me. There are so many chances out there, Henry. Letʼs go and take them.”

Oscar winked at Henry mischievously. He didnʼt allow any objections and ignored Henryʼs explanation that he was afraid he would spoil everything with his bad humor. And so Henry let out a sigh, opened his suitcase, and went in search of something decent to wear.

* * *

Despite the fact that it had begun to rain, Oscar was in a chirpy mood when they left the guesthouse. He had ultimately decided on wearing the bow tie and a white suit and had even stuck a little flower in the buttonhole of his jacket.

“Are we going to the opera?” Henry asked puzzled. Considering Oscarʼs enormous effort to appear smart that night, he wondered what kind of entertainment the doctor had in store for him.

“No, my dear friend, we are going to the theatre,” Oscar replied. “No stay in London for me without treating myself to a little bit of culture.”

Darkness had already set in and the misty streets were dimly lit by gaslights when the two men strolled through the city towards Piccadilly Circus. The owners of the shops were busy closing the shutters of their stores. Scotland Yard policemen on duty kept a watchful eye on the drunks, who were staggering in and out of overcrowded, stifling taverns. Beggars, pickpockets, and neglected, filthy street children were mingling with posh ladies and elegant gentlemen, the latter on their way to fine restaurants, while the former were heading for their places to sleep; under the bridges next to the smelly river, or right in the gutters.

Road sweepers were in the process of cleaning the streets from the horse manure of the cityʼs innumerable hackney carriages. They scattered straw on the ground which soaked up the muddy mixture of excrements and wetness of the rain. The air was filled with the pungent smell of coal smoke, which was emitted by the many factory chimney pots and which covered walls and roofs of the houses with black soot. Henry guessed that all of this was the price a nation had to pay for claiming to be the largest industrialized city in Europe.

When they reached the theatre in the West End—a majestic white Italian-style building with a grand staircase and a row of doric pillars lining the front—Henry noticed that he didnʼt have the amount of money that a ticket for ʻMyriads,ʼ the play they were about to see, cost. He didnʼt want to admit this to Oscar, however, because he felt ashamed. On the other side he asked himself if Oscar could not have guessed that he, coming from working class, would not be rich enough to mingle with the upper class on a Saturday night.

Nervously, Henry rummaged through the pockets of his jacket and trousers, hoping that he would miraculously come across another leftover tenner or at least a fiver, when Oscar suddenly stopped him.

“We do not have to pay, Henry,” he said.

“We donʼt?” Henry cast Oscar a puzzled look.

“Connections,” Oscar replied with a mischievous wink. “Life can be so easy if you know the right people.”

“I suppose so,” Henry mumbled and saw himself overcome with a little bit of envy.

He had never been to such a glamorous venue and felt terribly out of place. Still, he quickly tried to adapt to Oscarʼs worldly-wise mannerism and his fashion to never settle for second best. If one bought a suit, one opted for the finest fabric, and if one decided to go the theatre, one went to the most exclusive and popular one.

The only time Henry recalled having been to a theatrical performance was when he had been a child and when his friends had prepared a little makeshift play in someoneʼs backyard shed. They had all sat on straw bales and old empty barrels and had watched Simon Bromley and Michael Shanagan, the blacksmithʼs sons, in their attempt to stun their little audience with a rather lousy performance of some strange story they had come up with themselves. Henry had to admit that the overall effort which they had put into it had been admirable as the two little boys had taken over all the parts of the ten different characters involved—although this had led to a lot of confusion in the end because after a little while they couldnʼt remember anymore what they had agreed on in terms of who would play which character.

Now that he was in one of Londonʼs most popular theatres in the West End, Henry didnʼt sit on straw bales but on a chair with a purple velvet covering. And the performers were not two ten-year-old amateurs from the working class district, but highly talented and reputed actors.

“Do you know what the play is about?” Henry asked Oscar.

“To be honest, I do not have the faintest idea,” the doctor replied. “But from what I was told, it is something about kings, war, and deceit and all of that...”

Oscar made a dismissive gesture with his hand and then let his eyes wander over to a lovely young lady, who he had caught sight of earlier on in the foyer. She had been throwing him flirtatious glances ever since they had set eyes on each other. A big smile crept on Oscarʼs face when he saw her, and that smile grew bigger and bigger when the woman coyly winked at him. But the two were interrupted as suddenly the lights were dimmed and the curtains drawn because the play was about to begin.

Henry was immediately submerged by the scenery and impressed by the charisma and professionalism of the protagonists who were playing a duke and a duchess during renaissance times who were occupied with their daily struggle against other dukes about supremacy in their dominion.

Henry was completely taken off guard, though, when suddenly a new character entered the scene in the form of a certain Lucinda, a young girl, with brown long curls and an angelʼs face. The moment he saw her, she instantly reminded him of Sarah. He found that there was a stunning resemblance between the two girls; at least as far as he was able to judge from his seat up on the balcony. He didnʼt rule it out that his mind was playing tricks on him in the course of possible withdrawal symptoms.

The girl played the duke and duchessʼ daughter, who was in love with a young man called Bunbury. A marriage between the two, however, was out of the question due to the unfortunate circumstance that the boy happened to be the son of a rivaling noble family. And what had originally been a story uniquely revolving around the question which family owns more land and more enjoys the kingʼs favor soon turned into a drama about unfulfilled love and the agony and despair that comes with it.

After about one and a half hours of watching Lucinda and Bunbury fight their emotions and boiling passion, Henry found it more and more unbearable to see them suffer so much because they didn't stand any chance at all of ever being united. He highly welcomed it when eventually the curtains were closed again and a man entered the stage, ringing a bell and announcing a short break.

As soon as they had got up from their seats, Oscar went in pursuit of the pretty woman whom he had had eye contact with.

“Oscar,” Henry quickly said and grabbed the doctor by the arm before the latter could disappear in the throng of people heading for the exits, “I think I will return to the guesthouse.”

Oscar looked at him puzzled.

“But the play is still going on for at least another two hours.”

Henry smiled apologetically as he cringed at the thought of having to spend just one more minute in the confinement of the theatre, noble and spectacular as it might have been. But he couldnʼt bear the sight anymore of the two actors who found themselves in such an unfortunate and despairing situation.

“I have got a terrible migraine,” he lied. “I guess, I just really need to be by myself for a little while.”

Oscar cast him an emphatic look.

“You already sound like my sister Priscilla… But alas, if you feel like leaving, I will not hold you back. I hope you do not mind me staying here and watching the play till the end.”

Oscar threw a secretive side glance over to the flirtatious woman who was leaning at the exit door, obviously waiting for him.

“Not at all,” Henry replied with a faint smile. “Do go and enjoy yourself.”

And with these words he left.

“You fool...” he muttered to himself when he arrived outside, still haunted by the tragic storyline which reminded him in so many ways about his own situation, still haunted by the beauty of Lucinda who had looked so much like Sarah.

He wasnʼt sad and bitter because he had let this chance of an evening in an expensive theatre pass by; no, he didnʼt care about this at all.

The reason that he called himself a fool was that he had truly believed he would ever be able to forget Sarah, which was the biggest lie he had ever told himself.

* * *

Dear Diary,

Night is gradually falling over Bournemouth. The air is getting cool and the wind makes the waves beat against the shore. The sound of the breakers are keeping me awake as I desperately try to find some sleep.

Our hotel is a big building similar in size to our mansion, but it is even more luxurious. The doorknobs are gilded. My bed is as big as if it was made for three people to sleep in it. The food is as delicious as if it was prepared for a king and queen. There are crystal chandeliers in every room, and the curtains are made of finest brocade.

Still, I would gladly relinquish this unnecessary abundance if I could trade it for nicer company.

Uncle Horatio and Damian went for a swim in the afternoon, with Roderick standing motionless on the beach like a statue, holding two towels and waiting for the men to come back out of the freezing water.

They are spending so much time with each other, my uncle and Damian... Every so often they put their heads together, chat and giggle like old friends from school, as if they were entirely on a common ground. It annoys me so much not to know what they are talking about as they never let me join their conversation. But then again it does not take much to guess that they are talking about me and my imminent marriage with Damian.

It seems to become more and more difficult to get used to the thought of being his wife. I first put it down to the fact that the marriage is obviously drawing closer. But then I realized that this is not the sole reason for the strange confusion that I suddenly find myself overcome with.

I know now that it has got something to do with Henry Abbott, my tutor.

I happened to meet him in the library last night. Well, I must correct myself as, in fact, this encounter can not be put down as purely accidental. If I am quite honest, I already guessed that it had to be him when I heard the music coming from downstairs, as nobody had ever really used the piano before he arrived a week ago. And I went down to meet him, because I felt the urge to do so—as if I was drawn by a strange magical force. I did not even care to dress properly; something which I feel highly ashamed of, now that I am looking back on it. But I was worried that if I took too long preparing for the encounter, he would stop in the meantime and go back to his room again.

He sat there, playing the piano, appearing entirely at ease and absorbed by the music. What a sight it was... I could have watched him for an eternity, just listening to this touching and unfamiliar tune he was playing. When he noticed me, I summoned all my courage to sit down next to him although I felt ridiculously nervous. Still, his presence made me feel warm and safe. My cheeks were glowing, and there was a tingly sensation on my skin and in my stomach, especially when he suddenly touched my hand.

There was this moment when none of us was speaking anymore. And God knows, I felt so uncomfortable then! Suddenly, I was afraid he would kiss me although I sensed a strong longing inside of me for him to do so. But I was truly worried that I would not be able to handle this situation! I was afraid I would do or say something silly which might make him laugh. But then, when he did not make any attempt to kiss me at all, I suddenly felt disappointed... Ultimately, I was glad when I had a reason to leave. It seemed to me that he was relieved as well.

The kiss on the cheek had not been planned. All I had intended was to show Mr. Abbott my gratitude for what he had done for me, for saving me, for lying for me—and I must admit, I also wanted to find out how it feels to kiss him. But now I fear that I have gone too far. I should have risked a second glance at him when I ran out of the room, just to check on his reaction. But as I didnʼt look back, I now have no idea if Mr. Abbott liked my approach, or if he was repelled by it. Damianʼs terribly early arrival this morning left no chance to figure out what my teacher thinks of me now. Oh God, I feel so miserable!

Dear diary, I strongly believe that I am falling in love with him; or at least, I think that it is love that I feel for him, as I have never felt this way for someone before.

I am wondering what Mr. Abbott is doing right now, if he misses me somehow, if he remembers my kiss at all—after all, he was a little drunk last night. Being with Oscar, he is surely too busy to think about me...

But then again, deep in my heart, I suppose it would be much better if he did not remember and if he forgot about me entirely. What am I thinking to lose myself in daydreams about him...? Even if he loved me, our future would be doomed, with Damian already having become such an important part of the family.

I suppose I have to come to terms with the harsh reality that life is not something that can be filled with silly dreams. My dearest mother already proved this. Despite her marriage, she too was in love with another man. And she never dared to follow her dream.

So why should I?

* * *

The next morning Henry woke with the exact headache which he had faked the previous night. He felt tired, worn-out and depressed.

After he had left the theatre, he had spent the time wandering aimlessly through the nightly streets of London, occasionally stopping at a tavern to have a pint. Every now and then, he had encountered a torch bearer, people who, for a penny or two, had taken over the task to guide passers-by through those parts of the city which the council had deemed not important enough to be equipped with gaslight lanterns. But as Henry had found these guides highly suspicious, sure that they would rob or even kill him if he enlisted their services, he had politely refused and then had quickly run for it. Having lived in London all his life, he knew the place by heart, even in the darkness. And so he had eventually ended up in front of Mrs. Potterʼs guesthouse again.

There he had fallen into bed, exhausted and slightly drunk. Still, his mind had never been clearer before.

He knew now that he truly loved Sarah. If there had been any doubts so far, there definitely was no doubt about it anymore. He had realized it the moment he had come out of the theatre, still under the influence of the performance of the Sarah look-a-like girl playing the dukeʼs desperate daughter, whose despair had almost broken his heart.

And the young man, that little blind and besotted fool, had reminded him of himself.

You are losing yourself in illusions…

Now, he finally allowed himself to admit his feelings. There was no way around it, as these feelings simply were too strong and forced their way up to the surface.

He knew that it had been more than foolish of him to believe he would be able to suppress his love for Sarah, to get her out of his head where she had been all along. Now he was even sure that she had already sneaked her way into his heart on the very first evening when they both had sat at the dinner table and had exchanged glances. Back then, however, he had been too influenced by the bad stories he had heard about her. Therefore he had not been able to notice how his affection for her was gradually growing; every day a little more.

Off all the women he had fancied before, there had not been a single one whom he could have imagined sharing his life with. He couldnʼt explain what it was with Sarah that had made him change his mind so completely that he could suddenly envisage being with her until the day he would die. Apart from her beauty, he guessed that it was because of all these different aspects of hers; because she was the shy, timid girl on the one hand, and the wild, independent woman on the other. What a fascinating mixture it was! When she was shy and timid, she made him feel like she needed him. He could be a real man in her presence then. When she was wild and independent, though, it was just as attractive, as it gave him the feeling that she would not entirely rely on him and that she could even represent a source of strength for him during times when he himself might feel weak and in need of comfort.

Or maybe she simply had intoxicated him with her vanilla scent. Whatever was to happen in his life, he knew that he would forever associate the smell of vanilla with Sarah.

Feeling slightly obsessed, he was lying in his bed in the guesthouse, blankly staring at the ceiling, lost in his daydreams about what it would be like when Sarah would finally be his, and when he would kiss her and caress her skin with his fingers and explore her bare body with his hands...

He was so absorbed by his fantasies that he completely forgot that—judging by the current situation—she actually wasnʼt meant to be his girl at all. And when this cruel reality hit him, it filled him with the excessive desire for action.

If she really liked him, as Oscar had suggested, if there was the faintest chance that she could envisage to be with him instead of Damian, then he would need to elaborate a plan to save her from her misery.

He would need a plan to make her his girl.

He would make her his girl.

* * *

At nine oʼclock, Henry went downstairs for breakfast. Mrs. Potter had prepared black pudding and beans. For reasons unknown to him, Henry praised the food even though he found that he had hardly eaten anything worse. He guessed that the reason why he didnʼt like it was that he had become far too spoiled by Thelmaʼs culinary art. Happy about his flattery, Mrs. Potter asked him if he wanted a second helping, which he politely declined.

Later, just as Henry was about to get up from the table and go upstairs to his room, the front door opened and a very pale and exhausted-looking Oscar tumbled in. He was in a terrible state, suffering from the worst hangover Henry had ever seen. Still, he seemed to be in a good mood.

He let himself fall down on a chair at Henryʼs table, rubbing his eyes.

“Good friend, would you be so kind as to tell me what time it is...?” he moaned.

“Past ten,” Henry answered with a glance at his pocket watch.

Mrs. Potter arrived with a little towel and started to pointedly clean the table.

“Donʼt expect me to serve you food now,” she grumbled angrily. It was obvious to Henry that she wasnʼt very fond of men who spent all night out in town doing God knows what.

“Ah, donʼt bother...” Oscar groaned. He didnʼt look as if he could do with a hearty breakfast; rather with an icepack or a cigar.

He slowly raised his head and looked at Henry, bleary-eyed.

“I did not know, my dear friend, I really didnʼt...” he said, a rueful expression on his face.

“Did not know what?”

“The stage play. I did not know that its plot would be so terribly melodramatic. To be honest, I didnʼt like it. Even the costumes were bad.”

Henry tried to appear unperturbed.

“Did you manage to talk to that lady?” he asked unemotionally.

Oscar blushed a little.

“I did indeed. She was accompanied by some female friends. They were all quite nice. You should have been there.”

“I must say, I wasnʼt aware that you are so… adventurous,” Henry added with a smirk.

Oscar let out a sigh and ruffled his hair.

“Well, donʼt we all have a skeleton in the closet…”

The two men laughed.

“Shall I tell you how the play ended?” Oscar asked.

Henry quickly shook his head.

“Another time, Iʼve got some errands to make,” he said and got up. By no means did he want to hear about the ending as he could already guess that it wasnʼt a good one.

Oscar leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms in front of his chest and pensively looked at Henry.

“You really are all over her, right?”

Henry was staring sadly at some coffee stains and crumbs which Mrs. Potter had overlooked when she had sloppily wiped the table.

“You will see her tonight when she returns from Bournemouth, my dear friend,” Oscar said softly, a knowing smile on his lips. “There is nothing you can do right now anyway, is there?”

Henry nodded with resignation.

Oscar made an effort to get up and then tumbled towards the staircase leading up to their room. Henry guessed that Oscar wouldnʼt even undress and would probably just drop on his bed with his clothes on and fall asleep.

Of course, Oscar was right. Henry wanted to be back in Oxford the very moment the Partridges and Damian returned. Seeing them all would give him the feeling of being in control although he didnʼt have any real control.

But it helped a little.

* * *

While Oscar was peacefully snoring in bed, Henry spent the day strolling through Hyde Park, picking up Oscarʼs suit from the tailor and visiting his mother. The latter was highly surprised and delighted by his unexpected appearance.

Arriving at his motherʼs humble little flat in Spitalfields in Londonʼs East End where he had spent his childhood was like a culture shock for him after having spent a week in the mansion of the Partridges. The two rooms of the flat which she occupied were incredibly small and made him feel confined. The ceiling appeared much too low; he almost hit his head. The curtains and walls were stained by the soot of gaslight, and when Henry looked out of the window, the smog emerging from the chimney pots of the nearby textile factories hung in the air like a never drifting thundercloud. It was the reason for the little apartment to be permanently shrouded in darkness. Henryʼs mother could not afford festive lighting of at least ten gaslights in one room just like the Partridges. In the little chamber where they were sitting now and which served as a kitchen and living room at the same time, the only means of lighting which illuminated the place was an oil lamp.

Describing to his mother the wealth that he had seen was similar as to explaining it to the blind. She had never been eager to get rich. In fact, she had always been a humble person, without ever moaning. She had always been content with whatever life was offering her, even if it was only a little. She listened politely and attentively when Henry told her about Lady Partridgeʼs extensive jewelry and china collection, but didnʼt seem to be really interested in it. She was far too busy making him feel comfortable and at home. She set up some water on the stove for two cups of coffee, and laboriously rummaged in her chest of drawers in search of some old biscuits. Eventually she found them. They were buried underneath her knitting stuff, a little casket of buttons which she had collected, and a brooch that Henryʼs father had once given her for her fortieth birthday. It had not been a particularly expensive kind of jewelry, but she had still cherished it as if it was worth more than the crown jewels.

She shuffled over to where Henry was sitting, her frayed dress, which she had already mended a dozen times, dragging over the cold stone floor. There was a terrible draught coming from the window, as it was broken. Henryʼs mother told him that someone had thrown a brick stone through it, and the landlord did not care about it. As she couldnʼt afford to buy a new window herself, she had not found any alternative than stuffing old rags into the hole in the glass pane. Henry promised her that as soon as he would receive his second weekʼs salary, he would buy her a new window. She lovingly caressed his cheek, a painful expression on her face. Henry knew that she bemoaned the fact that he spent all his hard-earned money on her, just like his brother, who kept sending her payments all the way from America.

“Are you in love?” she suddenly wanted to know.

“What makes you believe so?” Henry asked, surprised yet again at the fact that he was obviously so easy to see through.

His mother just gave him a warm smile.

“My dear boy,” she said, “I have never seen your eyes sparkle like this before. Donʼt tell me it is because you are so fascinated by Lady Porridgeʼs crockery collection...”

She had never had a good memory for names.

“It is not, of course...”

Henry felt his face getting slightly hot.

“Is she beautiful?” his mother asked, a knowing smile playing over her lips.

Henry looked at his mother for a moment, lost in thoughts.

“She is all Iʼve ever wanted...” he whispered.

“You are lucky, my son. Something like true love hardly ever happens to people. Some never find it. Go and make her yours if she loves you, too.”

If she loves you, too…

These words were echoing in Henryʼs head for the rest of the day. It was the most important part which needed to be clarified if he wanted to continue his mission to save Sarah.

* * *

At about two oʼclock Oscar was—against Henryʼs boldest hopes—back to a state that one could call presentable. He had shaved, washed his hair, and thrown himself into his new suit. Nothing about him left any clue whatsoever about his second nature as a little dandy and a ladiesʼ man. After having let his hair down for a couple of hours, he seemed to be ready for heading back to his normal life as a decent and honorable physician in Oxford.

The train ride from London to Oxford seemed to take forever; much longer than the journey from Oxford to London the day before. Henry put it down to his eager anticipation to get back. In his restlessness, he had even begun to bite his fingernails. In the meantime, Oscar was happily dozing and smoking cigars alternately. There were still some slight shadows under his eyes, but Henry guessed that by the time they arrived in Oxford, he would have got enough sleep to look his best the moment they would step out of the train.

It was half past five in the afternoon when the train came to a halt at Oxford Station. Angus was already waiting for them.

“Do you know when the others will be back?” Oscar asked him, referring to the Partridges.

“They are already back. Arrived at two oʼclock,” the coach driver grumbled.

“Two oʼclock? Thatʼs quite early. Why is that?” Henry asked in wonder.

“Sent me a telegram.” Angus opened the door of the coach and let them get inside. “Wanted me to pick them up earlier. Had the hell of a holiday with the young Miss ruining it all for them... From what I heard, she had one fit after the other and decided not to leave her bed anymore. There was no point in staying any longer.”

“Oh, what a shame...!” Henry tried his best to sound truly concerned and upset by the fact that the Partridges had their holidays spoiled. Deep inside, though, the news filled him with malicious joy—and his heart was on the verge of bursting with excitement because of seeing Sarah soon. At the same time, he was filled with worry about what state she might be in.

When they finally arrived at the mansion, Henry jumped out of the coach and already wanted to head for the entrance door, but Oscar stopped him.

“Henry, my friend, let me have a quick word with you before we go inside,” the doctor said to him in a muted voice and quickly pulled him out of the coach driverʼs earshot.

“You know that I have told you more on this trip than I should have,” he mumbled.

“And you know more about my feelings for Sarah than anyone else in there,” Henry answered, nodding his head towards the mansion.

“Well, you can trust on my discretion,” Oscar said and added with a frown, “Can I trust on yours?”

“Of course,” Henry answered firmly.

A sly smile on his lips, Oscar gave Henry a hug, patting his shoulder like a friend he had known for ages. However, when he let go of Henry, his face quickly became serious again.

“Henry, you know by now that I only want the best for Sarah,” he whispered so quietly that even Henry could hardly understand him. “I will not speak it out loud what my true opinion about this planned marriage with Damian is, as I suppose that you already know whom I would rather see to be Sarahʼs husband: Someone who really loves and cherishes her and who worries about her. I can clearly see that you fulfill all these criteria.”

Oscar momentarily turned his head towards the mansion to check if really nobody could hear him as he was speaking.

“Sarah is like a daughter to me,” he went on, “and more than anyone else I care for her well-being. Therefore, I urge you to get her out of this damn house and save her from her fate.”

Henry, who had been silent witness to Oscarʼs rather frank talking, cast his friend a wondrous glance.

“I donʼt even know if she wants me,” he said.

“I am sure she does.”

Henry sighed, wondering how Oscar could be so sure when he himself wasnʼt sure at all. He guessed that all of Oscarʼs certainty was merely wishful thinking.

Becoming aware of Henryʼs emotional turmoil, Oscar put his hands on Henryʼs shoulders and squeezed them reassuringly.

“Henry, I am looking after my niece whenever I can in order to protect her from even more misery than she is already in. I do not want her to end up suffering like her mother. Checking up on Priscillaʼs headaches is always a good occasion to see if they are treating Sarah right, and God knows I have tried my best to intervene when things got out of hand and tried to throw in a good word for the girl. But I can not be around all the time, Henry. And once she is married to this fool, no one she cherishes will be around her anymore. And that marriage will undoubtedly break her. What should I possibly do? Abduct her? And if so, where should I bring her? My problem is that Priscilla is still my sister, despite her strange attitudes. She needs me, too. I have fallen between two stools. But as you have no bond to our family, you are, unlike me, in an excellent position right now to look after Sarah and save her. I am so glad that there is finally someone decent whom she likes and who likes her. This is a match made in heaven! And if you are truly serious about it, I will do everything to help you.”

“How should I be able to save her, Oscar? What means could I possibly have? Compared to Damian with his utter ego and wealth, my chances are zero,” Henry muttered.

“Life is not always just about ego and wealth, Henry. You have more to offer than you might think. I can see that you are passionate, determined, and sincere. I suppose that is all it takes.”

“But I have no plan at all...”

“I am sure you will have one soon.”

“Having a plan does not mean that I can pull it through.” Henry furrowed his brow. He found that this conversation was taking highly unexpected turns and that Oscarʼs hopes were a little high. After all, Henry had spent the past two days desperately finding a way to conquer Sarah, and now Oscar came and put even more pressure on him by wanting the same and by even somehow expecting it of him.

“Once you have a plan, Henry, I will be there,” Oscar said, an encouraging tone to his voice. “Trust me. You can count on me whenever you need me.”

Henry cast Oscar a doubtful look. Then he followed his friend up the stairs towards the entrance door and went inside.

* * *

Judging by the foul mood prevailing in the house, Henry guessed that the Partridgesʼ nerves were rather strained. Their trip to Bournemouth had obviously been no delight for all parties involved. Even Lord Partridge openly showed his annoyance by pulling an extremely grumpy face instead of pretending to be in control of everything, as it was his usual manner. As for Lady Partridge, she lay on the sofa in the library, an ice pack on her forehead and a small tube of pills on the table next to her. And Damian Cox had gone for a walk, in an attempt to vent some of his anger, as Henry assumed.

Sarah, however, was nowhere to be seen, and Henry wondered if she was alright.

After having rested for an hour and after having refreshed and changed clothes, Henry went downstairs to the dining room and sat down at the table. To his relief, Oscar was still there to join the Partridges for dinner. To his disappointment, however, Damian was still there as well. Henry had hoped that he would have departed by now. But as he could hear from the general talking, Damian would leave no sooner than in the early morning hours of the following day.

As usual, Sarah took her liberty of coming too late. Then, when she finally entered the dining room, Henry immediately knew why he had been so fidgety and anxious to see her for the past two days. He found that she looked astoundingly beautiful, and there was something which she radiated, something spectacular of which he didnʼt know if it was only him noticing it, or if it was something that could be perceived by the others, too.

Right now, however, nobody except for himself seemed to be really receptive of her impressive appearance. He guessed that everyone still stood under the influence of the weekend which had not turned out the way they all had hoped. Even Damian still seemed consternated but decided not to let it show. During dinner, he and Lord Partridge were animatedly discussing political issues or chatted about the small military unit which Damian was already supervising at his young age.

“Sarah, you are only sitting here at this table because Damian is our guest. Under different circumstances, you would be sent to your room. I hope you are aware of this,” Lord Partridge remarked frostily.

From Sarahʼs looks, Henry could gather that she would not have minded at all to be in her room instead of sitting next to Damian. She did, however, not add to the general ill humor by doing anything which would have attracted negative attention. She looked far too exhausted to riot. Henry once tried to smile at her, but she quickly turned her face away. He realized that, of course, it had been foolish of him to believe that she would dare to return his glances, here at this table, surrounded by so many observant eyes. So he carefully avoided any further eye contact and tried to content himself with the fact that at least she was back and that he was breathing the same air as she was. What also comforted him was that he would be with her again on the next day for lessons. He felt his heart beginning to beat excitedly at the thought of it.

Later after dinner, Henry saw Oscar walking up to Sarahʼs room. The girl had left before the dessert had been served, claiming she was feeling sick. Henry assumed that Oscar wanted to say goodbye to her, as he would soon be heading back to his place in Oxford town.

When Roderick and Emily began to remove the dishes from the table, Henry took his glass of wine and, with a little sigh, strolled into the library. He felt in need of a moment to himself.

Looking out of the window, he spotted the coach which was waiting for Oscar. He regretted to see his friend leaving. Henry knew that without him as an ally of some sorts, the general downbeat mood within the house would soon be taking hold of him.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him as someone entered the room. Thinking that it was Oscar who had come to say goodbye to him too, Henry quickly whirled around and saw to his horror that it was not Oscar at all. It was Damian, and he didnʼt look amused.

Good Lord, thatʼs just what I need… Henry thought glumly.

“Oh, you are here,” Damian exclaimed, appearing surprised at Henryʼs sight, but Henry couldnʼt get rid of the notion that Damian only pretended to be surprised and that in reality he had followed Henry secretly to the library with the purpose of meeting him there. Apart from that, it annoyed Henry how Damian had stressed the word ʻyou.ʼ There had been something disparaging about it.

“Yes, Damian, it is me,” Henry replied casually. He failed in his attempt to sound jovial. “If you wish to have a quiet moment in here in order to read something, please do not mind me. I was about to leave anyway. It was a long day...”

Henry quickly headed towards the door, eager to get out of the room where the atmosphere had suddenly become quite tense. To his surprise, though, Damian entirely ignored his remark, closed the door by giving it a hard push and, by doing so, blocked Henryʼs way. Feeling slightly uneasy, Henry just stood motionless, expectant of what would happen next.

Damian strolled over to the shelves, throwing fleeting glances at the numerous books they held. He took out one of the books and flicked through the pages without actually looking at their content.

“I hear you are getting along well with Sarah,” he said, a wary tone to his voice.

“Well, I am afraid I have to if I am supposed to teach her something,” Henry answered. “Still, I am encountering certain difficulties, of course.”

“Of course, of course...” Damian mumbled. He tilted his head as he was checking out the titles of the other books.

“Do you like her?” he asked.

A shrill warning voice in Henryʼs head told him to choose his words carefully.

“I suppose if I hated her, I would be unable to spend so many hours with her stuck in a tiny room. And she can in fact be very pleasant to deal with,” Henry answered diplomatically.

Suddenly, Damian Cox turned around and glared at Henry, and in his eyes Henry could see all the animosity that Damian felt for him.

“Oh yes, I recall you saying that she never really gets a chance to show how nice she is,” Damian said, sounding slightly sarcastic. “I must say, however, I do not quite understand this theory. I mean, for the past two days the whole family gave Sarah an awful lot of chances to show her alleged ʻnicety,ʼ but all she did was being strangely absent-minded and exceptionally cold towards us and especially me. And all the while I was wondering why that is…”

Damian smirked at Henry, obviously pretending not to be too affected by it all, as if Sarah was just a pubescent girl not to be taken too seriously. But his clenched jaw made it clear to Henry that he was actually very much affected by it and that he was in fact beyond himself with rage.

Damian strode over to Henry, who had taken up a somewhat safe position next to the fireplace, ready to grab one of the fire irons and use them against Damian, just in case things got out of hand. Damian appeared bad-tempered enough to start up a little fight. And as he didnʼt seem to be just angry in general but angry about Henry in particular, the latter wondered if Sarah really had feelings for him after all. Had that been the reason for her absent-mindedness? Had she even mentioned Henryʼs name in Damianʼs presence? With that certain twinkle in her eyes that Oscar had talked about?

“Maybe the reason for her being so complicated at times is that she is too young for a marriage,” Henry explained calmly. “You see, she is only eighteen and—”

Damian cut him off.

“She is almost nineteen—and in full transition of becoming a grown-up woman.”

“Well, she is without a doubt physically mature, but she is obviously entirely immature in every other respect.” Henry hoped that his words, which did not reflect his own opinion at all, would soothe Damian, or would even have the effect of making him lose interest in Sarah although Henry found that the latter was quite unlikely.

Damian was now standing right in front of Henry, barely leaving any safety distance between them. Even the fire irons would not have been of much use to Henry anymore, as Damian simply kicked them aside with his foot. Fireplace poker, slice bar, rake, and shovel fell onto the ground with a loud clank. Damian didnʼt care about it.

“So what you are implying is—and please do correct me if I am wrong—that you know Sarah better than I do after having spent only—how long was it again—four days with her?”

Henry got aware of the tension growing between them.

“I did not intend to imply anything,” Henry answered politely, trying not to let Damian provoke him. “I am only observing and conjecturing.”

Damian placed his right hand on the mantelpiece, blocking Henryʼs way altogether. Being face to face with Damian now, Henry could almost smell his breath.

“If you honestly do not have any intentions, Mr. Abbott,” Damian hissed, overstressing Henryʼs name, “then would you please be so kind as to keep your assumptions to yourself and stop making eyes at Sarah? Because if you keep doing so, I will either break your neck or shoot you in the head. And I am kind enough to leave the choice entirely up to you regarding which way you rather want to die.”

A malicious smile slowly spread across Damianʼs face, leaving no doubt that he was dead serious about his threat.

Henryʼs blood was pulsating in his veins. He wanted to hurl an insult at Damian, wanted to equally threaten him, or even hit him in the face. But instead, he tried to cool his temper. The less he showed that he was affected by Damianʼs words, the less Damian would suggest that his assumptions about Henry being in any way interested in Sarah were correct.

“Donʼt you have anything to say?” Damian asked. The smile had disappeared from his face and had given way to a menacing stare.

“No, because I honestly donʼt know what you are talking about,” Henry replied calmly, bravely holding Damianʼs gaze.

Damian smirked. He let his hand slip off the mantelpiece and placed it on Henryʼs shoulder, squeezing it as if they were best of friends, but then Henry could feel Damianʼs firm grip becoming stronger until it hurt, and he could sense all the rage that was boiling inside the military man.

“I am watching you, Abbott,” Damian hissed. Then he abruptly let go of Henry, turned around and strode out of the room, his boot heels angrily thudding against the floor.

* * *

Oscar didnʼt like the thought of leaving Henry behind at the table in the company of Priscilla, Horatio, and Damian, as he knew that Henry felt uncomfortable amongst them. Still, he couldnʼt afford to stay as he would soon head back home. And apart from that, he desperately wanted to have a final word with Sarah.

He rushed up to her room and gently knocked at her door.

“Sarah, it is me, your uncle.”

When she opened to let him in, he noticed that she looked rather exhausted because of the involuntary trip which lay behind her and all the emotional hassle which had accompanied it.

“How is my little birdy keeping?” Oscar whispered softly and took her in his arms.

“Fine,” Sarah answered flatly, freed herself out of his embrace and shuffled over to her bed where she lay down and absent-mindedly watched a fly which was crawling on the wall.

“Horatio told me everything,” Oscar said. “Honestly, did you really have to empty your plate of soup over Damianʼs lap back in Bournemouth? You know how fussy he is with his clothes. Apart from that, you could have seriously hurt him.”

Oscar cast Sarah a reproachful look. At the same time, however, he tried hard to suppress a grin, as he secretly found the mental image of Damian with wet pants highly amusing.

“I did not do it on purpose,” Sarah explained, her voice sounding indifferent and tired.

“Do you really expect me to believe that?”

Sarah didnʼt answer.

Oscar walked over to the bed and sat down next to her, folding his hands in his lap.

“Damianʼs approaches are getting more frequent and obtrusive,” she whispered.

“I know...” Oscar pulled a petulant face as if he himself was to marry Damian eventually.

“How was your weekend with Mr. Abbott?” Sarah suddenly asked, trying to change the subject which caused her so much discomfort to talk about.

Oscar laughed.

“It was awful.”

“Was he such lousy company?” Sarah asked in wonder.

“He was indeed.”

“Why?”

“Because there was so much sorrow on his mind.”

“What could have possibly caused him so much sorrow?”

Oscar smiled secretively at his niece.

“You,” he said.

Sarah frowned, an uncomprehending look on her face.

“Sarah, I need to tell you something,” Oscar went on, taking Sarahʼs hand in his. “I want you to know that this man is all over you. Believe me, there was nothing that could distract him from thinking about you and from worrying about your well-being. Apart from that, he was rather jealous because of Damian being at your side.”

Sarah suddenly got up, her hand slipping out of her uncleʼs grasp. She hurried over to the window and looked outside where night was gradually falling. Oscar noticed that she had begun to breathe excitedly.

“I know that you like him, too,” Oscar said.

Again Sarah didnʼt answer, but Oscar was certain that she simply did not want to admit her innermost feelings. He equally got up from the bed, walked over to her, and took her face in his hands to make her look at him again. He noticed that her eyes were moist.

“Sarah, we both know that life can be horribly cruel...” he said. “But sometimes life also offers us chances which are unique in their nature and will never return if we do not take them once they happen to be presented to us on a silver plate.”

“How do you know that I love him?” she asked.

Oscar grinned. He had only said that he knew that she liked him, not that he knew that she loved him. She had given herself away.

“Because there is a twinkle in your eyes which I have not seen for ages, Sarah. Actually, I am not sure if I have ever seen your eyes twinkle like that.”

He stroked her cheek with his fingers.

“Think about my words, Sarah...” he whispered.

“What is there to think about?!” Sarah scoffed. “I can barely run away with Mr. Abbott, can I?”

Oscar cast her a more than meaningful glance.

“I will come and see you again in a couple of days,” he said.

And with these words and a final kiss on her temple, Oscar let go of his niece and left the room.

Still standing at the window, Sarah pensively stared outside, her heart racing in her chest at the thought of Henry Abbott being in love with her and of having him all to herself again the next day.