In Memories We Fear (17 page)

He almost couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Opal Radisson had given herself to him.

On Brandon’s bed.

“Maxim,” she whispered, “we must be married soon.”

He raised his head, looking down at her anxious face, knowing she needed to hear the correct thing. “Yes,” he said.

What was the procedure?

“Should I speak to your father?” he asked, the thought filling him with dread. Mr. Radisson might be wealthy, but he had the look and manner of any man who worked near the docks. Maxim couldn’t help his fear of such men. They were a foreign species.

“No, let me,” she whispered. “He listens to me.”

While Maxim believed this to be somewhat unorthodox, he had no experience in such matters, and her response filled him with relief.

He gazed at the pale skin of her throat, and then leaned closer to kiss her again.

 

The next day, he finished his tutoring session with Opal’s younger brother, and he headed through the house toward the front door, wondering if he’d have a chance to see her for a few moments. His whole body still tingled from their afternoon together the day before.

However, she was not waiting for him in the parlor.

Instead, Mr. Radisson stood in the foyer, his muscular arms crossed. Though he was well dressed, his face bore several white scars, and he wore his hair cropped short like a fisherman.

“Mr. Carey,” he said, “would you come into my study?”

Fear flooded Maxim’s stomach, but he kept his face still. The study was decorated sparsely, with a large desk, a braided rug, and several paintings of ships. Mr. Radisson closed the door.

“I’ve met Vicar Brandon at the coffeehouse a few times,” he said, “and he seems a good sort to me. Educated, but not lookin’ down his nose at honest workingmen. That’s why I hired you. I want my son educated but not overly proud.”

Maxim had not expected this topic.

“Yes, sir,” he responded.

“So Brandon’s shoring you up to take your exams for the church? To be a clergyman like him? Then you’ll find yourself a parish?”

These questions threw Maxim, as he and Brandon had never discussed any such thing, but then he realized that Opal must have already spoken to her father. Mr. Radisson was simply asking what profession he was choosing and how he planned to support Opal. Maxim had no desire to become a clergyman, but he had to say something. He certainly couldn’t afford his own household on his tutoring salary.

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Radisson nodded. “That’s not what I’d hoped for my Opal, but she’s a few years older than you, and it’s past time she married.”

Was she older? He’d just turned twenty, and he’d never asked her age.

“Seems she’s got her heart set on you,” Mr. Radisson went on, “and I’d almost despaired of her accepting anyone. Once you’ve been ordained and found yourself a parish, I’ll give my permission.”

Maxim took a step back. What Mr. Radisson was suggesting could take years, and he did not think Opal had any intention of waiting that long, not after what had happened yesterday.... But more important, Maxim had given no thought to becoming a clergyman. He wasn’t even sure what he did want—except to learn more and read more.

“We’ll need to meet your family,” Mr. Radisson said, “and speak of these things together. I’m assuming your father has no objections to your going into the church, and he’ll pay all the costs for your ordination?”

“I . . . no, he has no objections.”

“Good. My wife tells me your father owns fishing vessels, but that your mother’s not been well? Try to bring ’em round next Friday evening for supper, and we’ll talk more then.” He held out his hand, shaking his head slightly as he looked at Maxim’s face. “Not at all what I had in mind for my Opal, but she’s always had her own way of doing things.”

Maxim forced himself to keep steady, and he shook Mr. Radisson’s hand. Then he fled the house.

 

By the time he reached the rectory, his fear had blossomed into full-blown panic. What had he done to himself?

He was trapped.

The Radissons could never be allowed to meet his family. Whatever would they think? Oh God, what would Opal think? His lie about Papa’s business hadn’t seemed so dangerous when he’d told it, but now . . .

And becoming an ordained clergyman was costly. He didn’t know how costly, but he was well aware that most vicars like Brandon were second or third sons from “the better” families.

He ran through the door of the rectory’s kitchen and stood against the wall, panting. Once word of his deception got out, no one would ever hire him as a tutor.

Squeezing his hands into fists, he could think of no way out.

“There you are,” Brandon said, coming through the door. He looked so pale and serious that Maxim almost forgot about himself for a moment—almost.

“What’s wrong?” Maxim asked.

“Come and sit down,” Brandon answered, motioning to a kitchen bench. “We need to talk.”

Maxim longed to pour out his whole story, but of course he couldn’t. Even Brandon wouldn’t understand
this
. So he sat, waiting to hear what his mentor had to say.

“Maxim, if you could, would you wish to attend a university?”

This was a day of shocking questions. Really, it was cruel of Brandon. They both knew such a thing was not possible.

“Why would you ask me that?” he almost spat.

“Because Adalrik has offered to make you his protégé, to prepare you for oral entrance exams, assist with your admission, and pay all your costs.”

Maxim’s mouth fell open, and Brandon raised one hand. “I know it sounds eccentric, but he’s done it before . . . for me and others. He’s rich and alone, and this is the only thing that gives him pleasure.”

Speech was still beyond Maxim, but he tried to close his mouth.

“You’re a long way from being ready for a place like Oxford. Preparation will take years, and you’ll need to live with Adalrik up near Shrewsbury while you study.”

“Doesn’t he live in Germany?” Maxim finally found his voice.

“Yes, his home is in Hamburg, but he sometimes lives in England, and right now there are some issues going on inside his . . . family, which make him prefer to be here.” Brandon’s eyes grew sad again. “Losing you will feel like a hole inside of me, but you could go so far, Maxim. Shall I tell him yes or no?”

“When would I leave?”

“Right away. He’s arranged a hired carriage for tonight. I know that doesn’t give you much time to bid your family good-bye, but he’s anxious to head back north.”

The escape hatch loomed before Maxim.

“Tell him yes,” he whispered.

 

Maxim did not go home to tell his family good-bye. He had a little money saved, which he kept at the rectory, so he went to a shop and purchased a traveling bag and a few personal items such as a comb, razor, and spare pair of stockings. Then he went back to wait with Brandon.

He was already wearing his only suit.

An hour past sunset, Adalrik arrived at the rectory in a covered carriage drawn by two matching horses, and Maxim said good-bye to Brandon. The moment was awkward, as Maxim had never told anyone good-bye.

“I’ll write,” he said weakly.

“Go on,” Brandon answered, his voice hoarse.

There were many things to say, and neither was capable of speaking the words.

Inside the carriage, Maxim pushed all thoughts of Opal away as he sat down across from Adalrik.

“Move along,” Adalrik called up to the driver, knocking one hand lightly against the ceiling.

Tonight, his long hair hung loose over a black cloak, and his eyes were bright in the darkness as he studied Maxim. “Brandon has told me all your strengths and faults,” he said. “That you remember everything you read, and you analyze subtext better than anyone he’s ever known.”

Maxim warmed under this praise.

“He also tells me you are cold by nature,” Adalrik went on, “and that you have almost no understanding of true human relationships, only those in literature. He says you fear most men, but you’ve learned to hide it well, and that you’ll say anything necessary to get through a moment in which you feel threatened, then worry about the consequences later.”

Maxim sat straight, stung. Brandon had said those things? About him?

Adalrik looked out the window. “Do not concern yourself. I take no exception to any of those qualities. You and I will suit each other well.”

 

Over the course of the following year, Maxim entered an alien world for which Brandon could never have prepared him—although at times, Maxim wished he’d at least tried. Brandon had called Adalrik “eccentric,” but this description did not begin to cover the reality.

At the end of the long journey from Hastings, Maxim found himself living in a three-hundred-year-old, isolated stone house more than an hour from the nearest village.

Adalrik did not employ any live-in servants. He engaged a charwoman to come clean twice a week, but he never saw her himself because he slept all day behind a heavy locked door, and he forbade Maxim to ever try to enter that room during daylight hours.

He also insisted that Maxim sleep during the day and live by night.

They had no cook, but within the first week, Maxim realized that Adalrik did not eat. Every Saturday morning, a man from Shrewsbury came to deliver food for Maxim: ham, cooked chickens, bread, fresh vegetables, preserved fruit, tea, and milk. By the following Friday, the bread was stale and the milk had turned—even though Maxim kept it outside—but he soon grew accustomed to the schedule, and he’d long been accustomed to laying out meals for himself.

Boxes of new clothes for Maxim sometimes arrived with the food delivery: fine suits, shirts, shoes, and even a black wool coat.

Although Maxim was well dressed now, he and Adalrik did not travel into Shrewsbury, although occasionally Adalrik would go out and vanish for hours. They did not entertain any company. They lived alone and apart from everything else.

At first, the bizarre state of affairs caused dark and anxious thoughts for Maxim. Why did Adalrik never eat? Why did he slip away before sunrise and emerge from his room only after sunset? In addition, Maxim could not remember much of his life before Brandon, and he found the absence of his mentor had created a painful hollow he could not fill. He had never
missed
anyone before and was not sure how to stop this unwanted feeling of loneliness.

But there were compensations, and slowly, over time, Maxim thought less and less on his previous existence, and after a while, he came to not even notice Adalrik’s strange behaviors. When one lives in close quarters with another for months on end, life begins to take on a reality of its own.

Maxim’s true education began.

They spent much of their time in the library. Adalrik’s collection of books was astonishing, and he bemoaned Maxim’s limited grasp of Latin. Apparently, Brandon had been quite lax in this essential subject.

Maxim studied Latin, Greek, and Italian. Adalrik was a superior teacher, and soon Maxim read these languages fluently. Together, they pored over the works of Augustine, Erasmus, and Thomas Cromwell. They read Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. They read Machiavelli.

Maxim’s favorite nights came later, when Adalrik would reward him with literature. They discussed Sophocles, Euripides, Chaucer, Molière, Voltaire, and Milton.

Although he never pinpointed when it actually happened, Maxim’s attachment and gratitude to Brandon gave way to something deeper in what he felt for Adalrik. Brandon had made him feel loved. Adalrik made him feel . . . valued.

It was better to be valued than to be loved.

Adalrik also made him feel safe.

They lived in their own private hideaway with no one but each other and their books. The squalid home of Maxim’s youth, along with Opal Radisson and her parents, became nothing but vague memories.

Adalrik kept two horses in the stable, which he tended himself, and he also taught Maxim to ride. This had been frightening at first, but Adalrik said, “A gentleman must know how to ride.”

So Maxim learned.

After a while, Adalrik began to tell him about Germany and France and Italy. Maxim had never traveled, and the idea had always seemed daunting, but he would be safe with Adalrik. The prospect now appealed to him.

“Will we see such places?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

Only one event could spoil their evenings: the arrival of a letter on Saturdays.

Every Saturday night, Adalrik would check to see if any letters had arrived along with the food delivery. Sometimes, he would read them and either put them away or begin writing a response. But sometimes, after he had read a letter, his face would take on a stricken expression, and he would fall into a depressed state—with no interest in discussing Milton.

“What is it?” Maxim would ask.

“There is trouble among my . . . family.”

But this was the most he would say.

One Saturday night, just after the New Year of 1826, a letter arrived that caused Adalrik to cry out in anguish and sink into a chair.

“What’s wrong?” Maxim begged. “Tell me.”

“A death. A death in my family.”

When Adalrik looked up from the white page of paper, his eyes shifted back and forth as if he were trying to make a decision. He stood and picked up a fat candle. “Come with me.”

They walked out into what had once been a dining hall, to stand before a large mirror hanging on the wall.

“Look,” Adalrik said, holding up the candle. Maxim gazed into the mirror at his twenty-one-year-old face and blue-black hair.

“I have known many would-be scholars over the years,” Adalrik said softly. “Some were beautiful and some were brilliant. But I have never known both qualities to be so completely joined in a person until you.” He put his free hand to his face with a sad smile. “I was beautiful once, too. It was a different kind of beauty from yours, but I was beautiful nonetheless, and I was offered a gift too late in my life.”