Will Thomas - Some Danger Involved

"The first inkling that I was a little different from my family and friends occurred in my fifth year of schooling, when I began to set some of my grandfather's tales down in class for my teacher. Mr. Wynn was something of a hedge bard himself, and he was impressed more by my memory than my syntax. He pushed me to learn English as well as Welsh and drilled me in all the rules of grammar and punctuation. He also undertook to teach me elocution, an hour after school twice a week. In lieu of any payment, I furnished an introduction to my grandfather, and the two gentlemen who were my mentors became fast friends. Mr. Wynn himself set down all my grandfather's tales verbatim, and they were published in Cardiff shortly before Granddad passed away that year. By that time, everyone was convinced that my grandfather's 'gift' had been passed down to me.

"Under my tutor's encouragement, I entered a countywide eisteddfod when I was but twelve. I didn't win, of course, for who would have presented an award to little Number Six, the collier's boy? However, my tale did come to the attention of Lord Glendenning, who was most impressed to have a savant in his district. With Mr. Wynn's encouragement, His Lordship agreed to sponsor my education at a public school in Cardiff. I'll never forget the day I was seen off at our little station by my parents, in the best clothes cobbled together from the family's wardrobe." I paused for a moment. "Could I have a bit of that cheese, there?"

Barker cut a thick slice of Stilton for me and put it on a plate, along with some Huntly biscuits. I poured another glass from the cask. Storytelling is thirsty work.

"In my new school, I kept to myself as much as possible and strove to excel at my schoolwork. I had few friends, for I was a poor lad among all those rich merchants' sons. I did make one friend, though, an English lad named Bryan Pill. It was Pill who introduced me to English literature, which is to say, the modern literary journals: Blackwood's, Cassall's, Pearson's, and others. I became as much addicted to them as he. In my naivety, I began to send them odd pieces of prose, poetry, reviews, and the like. In their complete ignorance of the fact that I was but a youth, they accepted one or two.

"I was called into the headmaster's office one morning, during my final year at school, to find myself in the presence of Lord Glendenning himself. He had been watching my progress, his 'investment,' and had even gotten wind of my work in the periodicals, from Mr. Wynn, no doubt. The headmaster was able to offer encouraging words on my academic standing, and the outcome was that His Lordship wished me to sit for the examinations to enter Oxford. If I passed with high marks, he would see fit to finance a frugal year's tuition at Magdalen College. I passed with very high marks indeed."

"Good, lad."

"Thank you, sir, but nothing had prepared me for the enormity that is Oxford. When I was not reading Classics or attending tutorials, I worked at various odd jobs, as well as serving as a batman for an upperclassman, cleaning his rooms and waiting on him, which is a requirement during the first year. The upperclassman, the Honorable Palmister Clay, was a sleek and odious fellow, a peer's son who spent his money on fine clothes and all the rigors of dissipated living. He found occasion to criticize my dress, my speech, my manners, and everything else about me.

"Up to that time, I had lived a Spartan life and, of course, a celibate one. The only females I had known were my own sisters and classmates, and I had been cloistered among boys since I had begun attending public school. Love was something I read in the story cycles of King Arthur and the fairy tales of Hans Christian Andersen. So I was utterly unprepared when Cupid's arrow finally pointed my way.

"I was on my way to one of my numerous jobs one evening, having come from a bit of tutoring I was doing for a student without much brain but with a wealthy father. I was walking along Holywell Street when I noticed a shape on the ground ahead of me. It was early evening, but it being late October, the day had already grown dark. The gaslights glowed in the midautumn fog, and by their light I saw the shape ahead of me move. I slowed down, realizing the bundle of cloth was human. Even Oxford streets could be dangerous at night. Then my ears detected the sound of abject weeping. Some poor wretch was sobbing piteously, a beggar's child or an old crone decrying her fate. The sound of my shoes on the paving stones must have alerted her, for her face suddenly appeared from under her shawl. I thought then and there that it was the most beautiful face I'd ever seen. Her hairЧ"

"Spare me the romantic descriptions, lad," Barker interjected. "We'll accept she was pretty. Get on with it."

"Yes, sir. Her eyes were red from crying. She gasped when she saw me.

"†'Don't be afraid,' I told her. 'Have you been hurt?'

"†'No, sir. I've lost sixpence," she sobbed. She'd been working several hours, taking care of some children for a woman who worked in a factory. She'd been paid sixpence and had accidentally dropped it in the street. She was afraid to go home without it.

"†'I shall help you look,' I answered, bending down and beginning to search about. I thought it possible, even more than likely, that she had not dropped any money at all. It is a dodge I have seen done before. But she seemed honest enough and determined to find the coin. Cautiously, I examined every inch of light about us, but the desire to please her was just too great. I palmed sixpence and pretended to find it just outside of the circle of light. I needed the coin myself, but the smile she gave me more than paid for the loss.

"I offered to walk her home, and she settled her hand on my arm as lightly as a dove. Her name was Jenny Ashby. She asked me if I was a student at university, and that was it. We were off on a long conversation, as we walked along Holywell together. Whatever I possessed, and would ever possess, I was willing to throw at her feet by the end of that walk.

"Had I been given the training I have now, sir, I might have noticed her clothing more, but then I'd grown up in cast-off clothing, myself. The building to which she led me was one of the worst tenements in Oxford. I'd grown up in poverty but never in squalor. I could tell she was embarrassed by her surroundings. With a murmured 'good night,' she flew into the doorless opening. I went back to my rooms with my heart and mind in a tumult.

"I took to passing by the old building several times each day, trying to screw up my courage enough to walk into that gaping hole and track her down. Jenny told me she lived with her mother and seven siblings. Her father had taken to drink and run away, but Mrs. Ashby called herself a widow. They made their meager living making paper flowers. Jenny was the eldest. She was sixteen.

"Finally, by the third day, I'd scraped together enough courage to go in. It was even worse than I expected. The halls smelt of decay and unwashed humanity. The fellow whom I asked about the Ashbys was reluctant to tell me, thinking me a creditor. At last, I found her door and knocked. Jenny opened it, and her hands flew to her face at her being discovered there by me. Before we spoke a word, she was elbowed aside by a wan-looking woman whose resemblance to her was coarsened by the ravages of alcohol. It was her mother. She latched onto my arm and drew me into the room. The place was worse than a sty. A broken table was covered with crepe paper, wire, and other detritus of the paper flower trade. Odiferous clothing stood in piles, but whether it was other people's washing or their own, I did not know. Seven half-starved, half-naked children ran about the room or mewled in broken drawers. I asked Mrs. Ashby if I might take her eldest daughter out for a cup of tea and a bun. She seemed ready to protest, but then a cunning look came over her face and she agreed. Looking back on it now, I think she smelled money. Meager as my finances were, they outstripped their own."