Where Love Shines (27 page)

“On the contrary, apparently you didn’t make a mess at all. I’m sure Livvy and Arthur are very happy. Thinking she had a rival for Arthur’s affections must have been just the thing to convince Livvy to elope.” She paused to think. “Yes. They should do very well together. His seriousness and her lightness should be just the right balance.” Then she giggled. “Have they gone to inspect a factory on their honeymoon?”

Dick, however, did not share her levity. “But, Jenny, your feelings…”

“My feelings are engaged elsewhere, sir.” She held her breath for a full ten beats.

Richard sat down again as if his knees would no longer hold him upright and took her hands. “Jenny, do you mean… May I hope? You saved my life twice, you know, once at Scutari and again when you burst into my existence in London. But now—”

He dropped her hands and stood abruptly. “Jenny, I have no right to ask this—bumbling and scarred as I am. I have no assurance my sight will ever be anywhere near normal. I may spend the rest of my life stumbling around and hiding behind these odious dark glasses. It’s no life I should ask you to share. But, Jenny, the truth of the matter is, I can’t help myself. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life groping in the dark without you.” He sat beside her once again.

“We all see indistinctly in so many ways—and you have been so much clearer-sighted than I about so many things.” Jenny reached up and took his glasses off. She ran her fingers gently over his scarred forehead and around his eyes. “The future is a clouded mirror for everyone. But anything with you would be far better than living in the complete darkness of a world without you, Richard Greyston.”

Richard took her hand in his and kissed her fingertips. Then he found his way to her lips.

That was the moment Aunt Lavinia chose to push open the double doors of the library. She stood regarding them, tapping her walking stick impatiently as they pulled apart slowly and smiled at her. She gave a satisfied nod. “About time too, I must say. I have never known you to be so slow before, Richard.” She started to go, then stopped. “I thought you would like to know that I have engaged the services of a new bootboy.”

“What about Cory?” Dick asked.

“It was past time he be moved up to footman. Besides, Josh puts a much better shine on my shoes than Cory ever did.” She closed the door behind her.

But with the reminder of Josh and the world from which he had come, Jenny’s bubble of euphoria burst. She sighed and leaned back on the sofa.

“Jenny, what is it? If you want more time to think—”

“No!” She sat upright and grabbed Richard’s arm as if clutching a lifeline. “Oh, Dick, it’s the dark I spoke of earlier. I’ve wanted to talk to you about it ever since that night at the concert, but there was never the right opportunity. And now, when I should be so happy, when everything should seem so perfect—”

“Can you explain?”

Jenny took a deep breath and ordered her thoughts. “We have had such a victory, Richard. We put one criminal out of business; we paved the way to close a few brothels and reestablish a ragged school and mission; we—you—did the groundwork to reform one pottery and build model housing for forty-some workers and maybe twice that many children.… But I’ve never felt more discouraged. Such victories show me the futility of our efforts. It was all we could do—far more than we could hope to accomplish, and yet it is so little. The dirt, the vice, the evil is so overwhelming.”

“But, Jenny, if everyone—”

“Oh, I know, that’s what people always say—if everyone did their part—but, Richard, that’s not the answer. We can never work hard enough.”

Richard nodded. “You’re right; we can’t overcome evil with hard work. Love, joy, and peace are our only weapons against evil. But the results of evil—the dirt, the disease, the poverty—we can fight with food baskets, model housing, and parliamentary commissioning.”

Jenny gave a weak little half smile. “It’s just like all our scrubbing floors in Scutari—when the real problem was the rotting sewers under the floors. No scrub brushes in the world can rout out the heart of darkness—only the light of goodness can do that. I understand—but that’s what’s so discouraging. The Earl of Shaftesbury told me that night at the
Elijah
that we must wait for God to send the torchbearers. But waiting is so much harder work than scrubbing.”

Dick, who knew something about waiting, had no answer for that, so he just held her in his arms.

J
ennifer and Richard had been back in London for more than two months. The glow of their successful adventures had lingered awhile in the city’s gray fog, but the happy conclusion she expected to their mutual declaration of love had not developed. At times Jenny could recreate in her mind the closeness, the delight, the triumph of that night—and the joy of their talk the following morning. But then the glowing memory would fade to be replaced by a grey present.

She knew Richard was busy arranging legal affairs and with Kirkham’s aid, poring over yet more parliamentary reports preparatory to taking over the reform of Greyston Pottery, but still she had expected him to renew talk of their future together.

And now matters had gone on so long that a certain awkwardness had set in. She could not initiate discussion of marriage plans without seeming unmaidenly, and she worried that Richard might be having second thoughts about his proposal when his eyesight was still precarious. It even seemed of late that he had been avoiding her.

If there was no talk of marriage plans, however, plenty of other discussion surrounded Jennifer. All England was abuzz with the revelations made almost daily in
The Times
and various broadsheets of the affairs of Dr. William Pannier. It seemed that in spite of all his financial shenanigans, he was deeply in debt. He had bet on many losing horses; his stable was mortgaged; he had borrowed more than £12,000 from moneylenders, who were pressing him for payment; he had even forged his mother’s signature on certain papers designed to placate his creditors. And apparently he had purchased brothels with profit from graft he had committed in the Crimea.

The subjects of feeding and clothing the poor took second place even at Lady Eccleson’s committee meeting as the latest revelations were analyzed over teacups. Jenny, however, shifted on her velvet chair. At last she and Richard were to go out today. The mission was to be rededicated. And she and Richard would attend. Alone. Perhaps today he would bring up the topic she so longed to discuss.

She took a sip from her gold-edged China teacup and looked at the door for at least the tenth time in as many minutes. Where was Richard? He had been very specific. He had an early afternoon appointment but should be back shortly after the committee meeting convened. It had seemed a good idea to meet at Lady Eccleson’s, but now Jenny fretted. Had her hopes for the day been only wishful thinking? Or perhaps she had been right in supposing Richard planned for them to have an important discussion but now had changed his mind. Where could he be?

“Blink again.”

But Dick did not need to be told to blink. As Dr. Halston turned up the gas lamp, Dick’s eyes flicked shut.

“Yes, the affection is still attended with photophobic pain about the orbit and sclerotic injection.”

Dick made an impatient sound. Couldn’t the man speak English? If one couldn’t see, one could at least hope to hear something sensible.

Halston cleared his throat. “That is, light-induced pain in the sclerotic membrane, which is the hard outer case of the globe, and the sclerotic tunic—which you would call the white of the eye—causes the lids to close spasmodically. Perhaps we should give it a little longer. After this period of time, however, I had hoped—”

“Yes, Doctor, I had hoped as well.”

“There is always a possibility of spontaneous—” Doctor Halston began, but Richard cut him off by thrusting on his thick bottle-bottom glasses and tall black hat with equal impatience and striding from the room. He didn’t even pause when his hasty exit sent a small table crashing. He had no desire to hear whatever milksop comfort Halston might offer.

A number of cabs stood at the covered stand at the corner of Harley Street and Marylebone Road, but Richard was too agitated to ride. He must think. He hesitated. He should turn toward Portland Place where Jennifer was waiting for him at Aunt Charlotte’s. But that was only a few streets away. He needed more time.

He had been so determined. He knew the procedure well enough. Halston had done it many times in the past eighteen months. Dick had made up his mind. He would
not
cry out when the light flared up before his eyes. He
would
hold his eyes open against the glowing mantle of the lamp. Well, he had made no sound. One could control that. But the reflex of his eyelids was beyond his mastery.

Richard turned his back on Portland Place. Regent’s Park. One might wander there for hours on its broad walks and circles. He had sensed Jennifer’s impatience when he did not again take up the matter of their marriage. He should have spoken weeks ago, at least to warn her that all might not be the fairy tale ending they both desired. He should have told her of his fears. But it was easier to remain silent and hope.

Hope and plan for this day—the day when Halston would proclaim miraculous progress, when he and Jenny would rejoice together in the reopening of the mission. The day when—A hoop rolled by a small boy careened in front of him. He tangled in it and all but fell.

“What’s the matter, Guv’nor? You blind?”

Jennifer shook her head at Branman’s offer to refill her teacup. Richard would come soon. Surely.

Colonel Biggar harumphed and twitched his curling moustache. “
The Times
said this morning they’ve granted that Pannier fellow a change of venue—whatever that is. Newfangled nonsense. Seems feeling in Staffordshire is running so high against the scoundrel he can’t get a fair trial there. Moving it to the Old Bailey.”

Miss Joye Bales nodded her blonde curls. “Yes, Papa read out the account to us this morning. It does seem strange though that none of the experts can decide what that poor Mr. Coke died of. Self-generating tetanus does sound like such an odd notion, don’t you think?”

Her sister Grace stirred another spoonful of sugar into her cup. “What do you think, Miss Neville? You’ve had medical experience. Some have suggested epilepsy or angina pectoris. Does the matter sound like one of those to you? Surely it wasn’t strychnia poisoning. Oh, do say.”

“What?” Jenny started at hearing her name. “Poison? Oh—”

“No, no. Arachnitis—inflammation of the spinal membrane, the
Times
said,” Colonel Biggar interrupted. “One can always rely on
The Times
.”

“Well, it’s certainly a scandal, whatever the cause. Public Health official profiting off slum property. Not at all the thing.” Lord Selbourne spoke from the other side of the room. “And the brouhaha over the evidence—unthinkable that such things could happen in England.”

“I suppose they just meant to be considerate to the fellow—professional courtesy, innocent until proven guilty and all that.” The colonel paused to clear his throat. “But allowing the accused to participate in the autopsy does seem to be going beyond the bounds of fair play.”

“Someone certainly went beyond fair play,” Mrs. Biggar murmured from her corner.

“Quite right, quite right, my dear. Tampering with the evidence—not at all the done thing.” The Colonel picked up his wife’s thought and ran with it. “Jostling the doctors who were extracting organs, breaking the seals on the specimen bottles, bribing the post boy to upset the fly carrying the evidence to the London train—not at all what one expects of British justice. We would have never borne with it when I was out in India. Did I tell ever you about the Ghurka uprising in ’32?”

“Yes, dear, I believe you did.” But Mrs. Biggar was drowned out by Lady Eccleson calling the meeting to order. Jennifer was glad for an end to the discussion of Dr. Pannier. She could not think of him without recalling the suffering this one man had caused.

If one person totally sold out to evil could do so much harm, surely one sold out to truth and justice could accomplish even greater good. She thought of the earl—certainly an example of the good one man could accomplish. One must hold to that thought. Once again she glanced toward the door. They would miss the earl’s speech if Richard didn’t come soon.

Around her flowed a lively debate as to whether to open a home for fallen women in the Limehouse district or to promote the work of the existing Society to Return Girls to Their Homes in the Country. But Jennifer did not follow it closely. Such good works were desperately needed, but what about the wider, more desperate need for all society to be renewed?

She recalled the Scripture Charles Spurgeon had quoted—the promise that had given her so much hope. Like Jennifer, the prophet had cried out, “How long, O Lord, how long?” And the answer had come: “The vision is yet for an appointed time… though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come; it will not tarry.”

Jennifer set her teacup aside with a clatter. She would not tarry either. If Richard Greyston did not appear to escort her, she would go alone.

“Please secure me a cab, Branman.”

She was descending the stairs when a tall, lanky figure with military bearing rounded the corner. She opened her mouth to upbraid him for his tardiness but stopped when she saw the tight set of his mouth. She had not known Richard to hold onto that much tension and pain since Scutari.

She ran forward and grabbed his hand. “Come. I have a cab. We’ll be late.”

Richard started to resist. He had been certain he had delayed sufficiently long. He was confident Jennifer would be gone by now. This ceremony was so important to her, and she hated being late. Why was she still here? He tried to withdraw his hand but felt himself being propelled forward. And even as he contended against the feeling, he was glad she was here. Glad to be in the cab with Jennifer.

The vehicle lurched and swayed as Jenny urged the cabby to hurry. The rattle and clatter of London’s traffic and the calls of street vendors made conversation difficult. Richard was thankful, for he did not want to speak yet. He must tell Jennifer the decision he had reached. But not yet. He would not spoil the occasion for her. She was an amazing woman. She had not uttered one word of reproach for his lateness. Had demanded no explanation. But he could take advantage of her good nature no longer. He would speak this evening. He must. Explain all his hopes and their extinguishing. Then he would make a clean break and return to Newcastle for good after the meeting.