"What draws people to be friends is that they see the same truth. They share it." ~ C.S. Lewis

Chapter 26.

Of Slums and Servants.

Beatrice had to admit she'd never enjoyed herself more. Her days were filled with simplicity and freedom that she had always wanted. In the mornings she would go out to sketch and paint, then she would ride to Captain Fleets and read with him, and in the evening she would play the piano and go for walks with her dear Argos.

"Why can't it always be like this?" She sighed to her monster of a dog as she rode with him to the castle. "I'll get used to it and then Mamma will be sure to write and send for me and I'll have to go back to London and everything will get ruined."

Climbing up the stairs, she found the door to the room was open and peeked inside. The captain was sitting in his chair, pouring over some kind of papers. He hadn't noticed her and this gave Beatrice a moment to study him. She swore there was something different about him, and not the fact that he kept the window open at all times, Beatrice had grown accomstomed to that. It seemed there was, well, dare she say life to him. As though he was doing more than just sitting in a chair all day. Only what could he be doing?

Shrugging her shoulders, Beatrice knocked on the door and heard him call the all to familiar,

"Enter."

He looked up when she came in a smiled. Beatrice liked his smile. Even the white mask that covered half his face couldn't ruin that smile. They had grown rather accostamed to each other during the nearly four weeks she had spent coming to his room day in and day out without fail. The Odyssey had long been finished with Odyssius finally returning home and being reunited with his faithful wife, who waited for him all those years and never once let him down. Now they were busy making their way through Paradise Lost. It was a long, complicated poem, that was probably why Beatrice loved it so much.

"Miss Morton," Elwyn said to her once she was seated. "It would seem you are something of an artist. I was looking through the book you brought yesterday and surprised to find it filled with drawings."

"So that is what he had been studying," Beatrice realized. She glanced over and sure enough his hands were full of her pictures.

"I don't remember stashing them there," Beatrice confessed. "But I suppose you are right when you say I am something of an artist."

Elwyn caught how she had stressed the word 'something'. He raised his good eyebrow in curisoisty.

Beatrice let out a sigh. "I draw well enough to be called accomplished, but not good enough to be called a master. Indeed, I should be surprised if I were to ever find a woman master painter in all of London. When it comes to being an artist, if you want to take it up as a profession you must be a man...just like everything else in this world."

"You would take up art as a profosssion?"

Beatrice shrugged. "I don't know. I heard it doesn't pay very well. Being an artist is much like being a musician or a writer. You constantly create but more often than not don't get paid very much. I just think it quite unfair that a lady is not expected to take up a profession and it is even scandelous when she does. Have you ever seen a woman doctor or lawyer? The very idea makes people gasp and shake their heads."

"I have never thought about it," Elwyn confessed.

"I suppose not." Beatrice took some of the pictures from Elwyn's lap and leafed through them.

"There is something in the art though," Elwyn continued as he also turned his attention to the drawings. "You seem to be able to capture, I don't know how to say it, the life of people. All your drawings are that of people, and if I didn't know better I'd have thought you'd took insperation from the slums."

"I did," Beatrice flatly replied.

Elwyn lifted his gaze to stare at her in disbelief.

"This one, over here," Beatrice pulled out a picture where three miserable little girls all stood huddled together. "I saw it on the way to the poorhouse. The poor creatures were freezing and had no proper shawl or blanket to warm them. This three are from the poorhouse themselves. That is the large, grey building, this is the inside, and here are the children at work. I have several of the children. Of course these drawings were made at the poor house themselves. I made quick little sketches in my booklet and did these detailed ones at home. I added a bit to them, I suppose you could say these drawings are based on my impression of the poorhouse and the slums."

Elwyn had listened dumbfounded to Beatrice's tale. He eyed her as something from a different planet.

"Miss Morton," he sputtered. "You don't mean to tell me you actually...actually...actually went to that...that...place!"

Beatrice shrugged indifferently. "Mamma said I needed a maid. I have no idea why, I am not a lady, never have been, but she was insistent. At last I agreed but said it would be on my terms."

"This has nothing to do with you going to the poorhouse."

"Quite the contrary, Captain, it has everything with me going to the poorhouse. Where do you think I got my maid from? I had James, that is the butler in our London home, come with me and we went to the poorhouse where I found a little girl who could be my maid. Her name is Amy. Here, I even have a drawing of her. This is what she looked liked when I first met her, poor little soul."

Beatrice showed Elwyn a pencil drawing of a little, skinny, girl with hollow cheeks, dresed in poor clothing. But the worst thing about the drawing was how terribly realistic it looked. The little girl seemed almost alive, and her sad, empty eyes stared at him in hopelessness. It was impossible not to have all your heart strings struck at once from the drawing.

"But...but why?" Elwyn asked at last. "Why from the poorhouse?"

Beatrice gave a sigh as she gazed at the drawing. "I suppose I wanted to have something to show for my life. It has really been nothing but a total waste, but I didn't want to take that with me to the grave. I wanted to make a difference, and didn't know how else to do it."

"But what will it matter? There are hundreds of little girls in those poorhouses, rescuing one won't make a difference."

"It made a difference to Amy," Beatrice replied. "I can't help all the girls, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't help one. You know, if all the ladies in my social circles would just help one of those girls, it would make such a difference."

Elwyn's eyes filled with admiration. Who would have thought that Miss Morton hid such a kind, generous heart.

"Do you have any more drawings?" He asked, rather timidly at that.

"Of London slums?" Beatrice laughed. "Plenty! Whenever I am in London I enjoy sneaking off to sketch and draw the slums of our great capital. And yes, it is dangerous, but Amy and I enjoy the adventure."

"Don't you draw anything else?"

"I do, certainly, but the darker side of London has always been my passion. The grief and poverty of the people and the indifference of the rich. I suppose I felt that in capturing what truly goes on in the corners of the city. However, I can bring my lighter pictures of flowers and animals as well."

"You could bring it all, Miss Morton."

"Then I shall, Captain Fleets."

For a few seconds they simply smiled at each other, before Beatrice cleared her throat and picked up the book. She didn't open it however, rather she took a deep breath and focused her gaze back at Elwyn.

"Captain Fleets, Raj is from India...does that mean you served there?"

"You took such a deep breath, Miss Morton, where you afraid to ask me?"

Beatrice let out a nervous giggle. "I did not know if you like speaking about your past. Perhaps it makes you angry."

Elwyn smiled and chuckled to himself. "It does not make me angry. Yes, I served in India before I joined Wellington's campaign against Napoleon."

"How did Raj become your servant?"

Elwyn leaned back in his chair. "I met him in the streets, he was in a bit of trouble and I helped him get out of it. When I found out he needed a job I gave him one as my servant."

"The Sahib is far too modest," Raj's voice suddenly called out. Beatrice and Elwyn turned to see him standing in the doorway.

"My country, Miss Morton," Raj explained as he humbly walked into the room, "is made of the caste system. You are born into a caste and you will remain in that caste all your life, there is no getting out of it. I was the lowest of the low, an untouchable. I lived in the streets and had nothing, I stole and begged to survive. There was a fight in the streets and I was caught up in it. When the fight was put to an end, they have left me bleeding to death if the Sahib had not cared for me. He found me in the dust and took me to the army doctor who treated my wounds. When I awoke he was sitting beside me and asked me why I had been left to die. I said I was an untouchable and no one wanted to have anything to do with me. He asked me my name, I said I didn't have one. And so he gave me a name, the name Raj." The servant gazed at Beatrice with thankful, tender eyes. "I was a nobody, Miss Morton, and the Sahib called me a king, for a Raj is a king in my country. He gave me clothes, he taught me English, he showed me how to live properly and best of all he gave me a job as his servant. When he departed from my country I could not bear to be parted from him, so traveled with him. I have been with him in the fields of Flanders, Portugal and Spain. Everywhere he goes I follow and will remain his faithful servant until the day I die."

Elwyn cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Those details where highly unnecessary, Raj."

"Quite the contrary," Beatrice softly stated, her eyes glowing. "Captain Fleets, it seems you and I have a lot more in common than meets the eye." Still holding Elwyn's gaze, Beatrice leaned forward just a little. "Captain Fleets, will you teach me how to play chess?"

It hadn't been a request Elwyn had expected, but it filled his heart with a warm feeling, though he couldn't exactly give a reason as to why. The corners of his lips twitched upwards and he gave a slight nod.

"Miss Morton, it would be my pleasure," he replied.

***

Mrs. Fairfax had proposed Catrin a trip to the bookshop and Catrin had readily agreed. It was really a splendid visit to London, there were parties and balls but Mrs. Fairfax was careful to keep Catrin from getting worn out and though invitations always poured in, many of them were declined by the prudent godmother. Catrin wondered what Beatrice was up too. She had sent several letter but never got a reply.

"She is either really sick or really busy with something," Catrin concluded. "Will Mamma come with us to the bookshop?" Catrin asked Mrs. Fairfax. She had seen a good deal of her stepmother in London, Mrs. Llewelyn always attended the same balls and parties that Catrin did and kept a watchful eye on her stepdaughter. She continued to live with her brother-in-law's house, however.

"No, she will not," Mrs. Fairfax replied. "Her brother-in-law, the Earl of Worthington, has arrived in London today and she is greeting him. She did say that tomorrow she wants you to come to dinner so that you can meet your stepuncle."

"Oh dear," Catrin worried. "I wouldn't know how to behave in front of an Earl."

"But you are so wonderful with the Duke."

"Yes, I suppose," Catrin stammered. "But that is different. The Duke of Denster is quite friendly, from all Beatrice has told me of her uncle I am rather terrified to meet him."

They had come to the bookstore but upon opening the door, Catrin shrunk back.

"Catrin, dear, what is the matter?" Mrs. Fairax's face clouded with concern.

"Oh, nothing really, only that his Lordship is there."

It was true, Lord Woodworth was in the store. He seemed occupied in reading the titles of the books in the foreign section.

Mrs. Fairfax said nothing else, but her eyes filled with understanding. She gently guided young Catrin into the shop.

"Why don't we see what the poets have to offer us?"

Catrin nodded but kept casting sideglances at Charles. What strange fate that she should meet up with him all the time. It seemed he was always attending the same parties and balls as she.

Suddenly he glanced up and caught her looking at him. Oh that dreadful blush! Why dd it always rise to her face when those blue eyes met hers?

Shutting the book he held in his hands, Charles came up to where Catrin stood.

"Miss Llewelyn," he said in his pleasant voice. "This is a nice surprise."

Catrin smiled as she gave a little bow of greeting. "Was his lordship searching for a particular book?" She stammered out. Oh why couldn't she talk properly when around him?

He smiled, a smile that seemed to make Catrin rather weak in the knees. If only he would stop looking at her like that.

"It is the Brothers Grimm collection of Fairy Tales," he explained.

"Oh?"

Here Charles let out a little laugh. "I wanted to see for myself if they really are as magical as a young lady keeps claiming they are. I speak and read in German fluently and I had Mr. Hogan have the book sent over from Germany. He is an old aquaintance of mine. I have a habit of looking into his bookshop when I am in London."

"I never thought a Lord would bother going into a bookshop in the city," Catrin confessed.

His smile turned a little mischevious. "Every lord is both lord and man. My life is dull enough as it is, I might as well get out from time to time to see something this world has to offer."

"Have you ever been to the slums, your Lordship?"

Charles coughed at the strange question. "The slums? Of course not! What a notion."

Catrin could feel herself coloring up again. "I didn't mean to be silly, I only thought that perhaps since you wanted to see what this world had to offer, you meant not only the parts that are beautiful, but the parts that are ugly as well."

Now he let out a nervous chuckle. "Miss Llewelyn, who would ever want to see parts of the world that are ugly?"

Catrin's smile became soft. "Mrs. Fairfax," she turned to her chaperon. "May we go to St. Pauls Cathedral, there is something I wish to show his lordship."

"If Lord Woodworth has nothing against it," Mrs. Fairfax replied.

Charles had nothing against it and together they rode in his carriage to the great cathedral of St. Paul.

Getting out, Catrin led Charles round the back.

"Overe there," she softly said.

Charles gazed carefully and at last caught sight of two children sitting with hands outstretched. Dressed in ragged, dirty clothing, with dirt smeared over their faces, they created a pathetic sight.

"Often the constables send them away," Catrin told him in a soft voice. "I have made a habit of coming here every day and see that no matter how many times they are driven off, they come back. Do you know why they are sent away, Lord Woodworth? Because they spoil the view. They make the great majestic building look so ugly. Yet, they come back, because they know they have a right to be here, because they hope that in the shade of the cross, people will have some pity upon their wretchedness. You asked me why someone would ever want to go to a place in the world that is ugly, well, you go there to see how you can make it beautiful. Just like these children, they do not ruin the great scene of St. Paul, they remind us why it was built."

Charles let out another nervous cough. "Miss Llewelyn, you do not mean to tell me you have been to the slums?"

"No, but my stepsister, Beatrice, has. And when she comes to London I hope she will take me."

"Miss Llewelyn! The slums are no place for the likes of you!"

Catrin laughed at the shock in his words. "I think you shall have to let me decide that. I may be naive, but I do know that the world isn't all gardens and palaces. And how am I to be educated if I limit myself to only that which is pleasant for the eyes. London is more than a great party, more than a never ending ball. I have seen the good side, and when Beatrice arrives, I will ask her to show me the bad side. That is the only way to have a proper judgement of the city."

Mrs. Fairfax, who had been standing to the side, came closer and Catrin motioned that htey must not discuss the subject anymore. They stayed at the Cathedral only long enough for Catrin to slip some coins into the begging hands, after which Charles offered to take the ladies back home and they accepted.

He had seen a new side of Miss Llewelyn. She had always seemed to be the innocent sort of creature who never cared for anything but books and beautiful gardens. And now she wanted to go to the slums? What is more, Miss Morton went to the slums? Did she go on her own? Didn't she know how dangerous it was? She could get robbed...or worse!

Half of him wanted to convince her not to go, the other was admiring her for the words she had said, for the conviction she held. Go to an ugly place to see how you could make it beautiful.

"I must ask her," he concluded at last. "Just how she thinks she could make it beautiful?"