Over the Edge: Pomp and Poverty, #2

Over the Edge

Pomp and Poverty Book 2

Copyright © 2016 James Farner

CONTENTS

Gertrude Ebonson 1853

Edward Urwin 1853

Theodore Norlong 1853

Gertrude Ebonson 1854-1857

Edward Urwin 1853-1859

Theodore Norlong 1859

Edward Urwin 1861

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Gertrude Ebonson

1853

1

London at night was a dangerous place for a woman alone. Gertrude Ebonson didn’t care. She pulled her bonnet tight to hide her face as best she could. Her friend Sarah Kennard had said in the smog that hung towards the ground, her dress gave her an impressive bulk. A drunkard might mistake her for a large man from a distance.

Gertrude didn’t know if that was true or a way to get her to come out tonight. But it didn’t matter. She’d put this off long enough. Now she had no choice but to keep moving. If only her father, Sir Leopold Ebonson, could see her now. This time she hoped he wasn’t looking over her from heaven.

Gertrude paused outside a pair of thick, barred gates. A thin drizzle began to fall. She tilted her head and let the moisture refresh her. Echoes of a shout from beyond cut off her brief reprieve.

The building ahead, recently rebuilt on St. George’s Fields in Southwark, haunted her. Bethlehem Royal Hospital. The place where insanity condemned a man to life imprisonment. Sarah always said that most of them got sent there by jilted relatives and political enemies. These days Gertrude didn’t have time to contemplate such conspiracy theories.

Miss, are you alright, miss?

A long, lanky officer in the black uniform and silver buttons of the Metropolitan Police blocked her path. Dangerous place to be loitering around at this hour.

Gertrude squinted in the light of his whale oil lantern. No problem, sir. I was on my way home.

The officer pursed his lips. Is there something you want to tell me, miss? You don’t sound as if you’re from these parts.

She shook her head. The traces of an upper class accent always gave her away. It was rare to hear of anyone like her without the safety of a male chaperone. The look on his face said all she needed to know. Lone women in London at night were nearly always prostitutes and thieves, if anyone believed the papers.

Would you like me to escort you home?

No, said Gertrude. Not at all, thank you. I have to meet an acquaintance.

The officer held up his lantern.

She withdrew her face as the orange glow of the burning oil momentarily blinded her.

His final nod sent her on her way. She walked quickly but not too quickly. Sarah had warned her that well-meaning police officers would stop her in her tracks. Thankfully, the Earl of Aberdeen, George Hamilton, was much too busy using his Prime Ministerial reign to consider war with Russia, whilst supporting the hated Muslims of the fading Ottoman Empire. Fewer police officers meant fewer people sticking their noses in her business.

She put the glimpse of the columned façade of the asylum out of her mind and kept moving. The River Thames lay beyond the next street, if she was correct.

Last street from the Thames, near a house in the latter stages of collapse, she thought.

Peering through a narrow alley, she saw the familiar bank of the stinking river. This was the right place. Drunkards and women in dire straits held starving children in their arms. Young vagrants drank from half-full bottles of homemade gin. They would all be dead in a couple of years. The alcohol in these parts was lethal.

A little way ahead, beyond the moaning of an old man with a flap of cloth where his left leg should be, was a pile of wood. Half of it stood rotting, whilst the rest splintered like the remains of a ship entering Dublin Bay.

She ignored the scraggly old man begging for change and sank her arms into the folds of her cape. The thin fabric barely kept out a light breeze let alone a winter chill in February. Gertrude didn’t know how so many people made it through the winter. She hoped she would soon find out.

Gerty, is that you there? Sarah Kennedy emerged from the mists.

Gertrude nodded.

By heck, look at you. That nose of yours has gone bright red.

Gertrude coughed so hard it forced her neck to swing forward like a knife had cut her spinal cord. Cold. The cough came last week and I have been unable to get rid of it.

Told you to get a fire going.

I need to eat, said Gertrude, a tad too loudly. I can’t afford firewood or coal, too. Sorry.

Sarah’s freckled face shot her a disapproving look. We’ll talk about that later. And get rid of the way you talk. Can’t be having that voice round here or they’ll think you’re a right toff.

How can I help what I am?

Gertrude wanted to cry every time she heard her new voice emanate from the depths of her throat. Once, her voice was crisp, clean, and her father once said she sounded like an angel. Now she had to be content with the rough, common tones of the lower classes. She tried her best to find a balance, but sooner or later her survival would depend on throwing her former life aside.

You will soon enough. Come on. Sarah beckoned to her. Got to get to work. I’ve got a lovely bloke for me tonight. He’s got a friend as well. Someone who’s not into treating women the wrong way, or so his mate says. I tried my best for you this time Gerty, my old mate.

Gertrude squeaked out of fear.

I’ve got a bottle of gin in it for you after. It gets easier the first few times you do it. Trust me.

She hoped it would. Everything from her family name to her conscience told her to find another way. This would make her the lowest of the low. She loved Sarah so much, but there was no masking the black mark against her name. Never would she escape her poverty, or find a husband and have children. Would that be her fate?

The walk took them further away from the Thames. The houses seemed to decay with every step. The holes in the road got deeper and the dirt piled higher. Gertrude trod on a piece of what she thought was rotting fruit. She jumped when the fruit skittered away into the darkness. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to keep going.

Sarah paused at a non-descript house and knocked on the door once. The door opened a chink, displaying a bar of fading light. She whispered something and pushed through the gap.

Gertrude wasn’t sure whether to follow until Sarah stuck her head back through the door and growled at her to come in. She had no choice. She needed this.

The room they entered was nothing more than floorboards and black mould running from wall to wall and ceiling to floor. Gertrude tried to deduce what had lived under the muck when a hand fell upon a shoulder.

So this is the new one, said a toothless woman who smelled of gin. A central parting down her grey hair displayed the thinning foliage on her papery skin. You ready, girl?

Don’t upset the poor lass. This is the first time, said Sarah.

The woman tossed her head and picked up a candle, using it to light another. The new flame did little to make Gertrude feel at home. Long shadows danced across the room.

I am no longer sure about this, said Gertrude.

Posh tart, is she? The woman wrenched down her hood. Where you from, girl?

I’m Gertrude and I’m from the county of the West Midlands.

That’s alright, said the woman. But nobody here could care less.

Gertrude had become used to rough talk and orders. It had shocked her once, but within weeks she was giving as good as she got. The glare of the woman’s dead eyes stifled any retort she could muster this time.

This is Agnes, said Sarah. You’ll be seeing her often if you want to get through the rest of the winter. God knows how we’ve kept you going so long.

How long have you been down in London? said Agnes.

Since last November. Thought it was the place to be.

Agnes nodded and disappeared behind one of the three pieces of frayed fabric hanging from various parts of the room.

Thank the heavens she didn’t ask the real reason I came to London, thought Gertrude.

Sarah sat on a spindly wooden chair and began to sip at a bottle of gin. Gertrude envied Sarah. Moments away from one of the worst experiences that could happen to a woman and she relaxed like she loved dining with the devil. Feelings of regret already clouded her mind.

A knock made her jump.

Should be ready, said Sarah. Agnes.

Agnes moved away through the curtain and wrenched open the door. She quickly stepped aside and two men entered the room. Gertrude could barely stop herself from screaming. Two giants as black as a coal mine entered the room. They both had marks on their faces and scars on their hands.

Britain had freed its slaves in 1833. Since then, they had struggled to integrate beyond the peasant classes. Gertrude could count on one hand how many times she had come this close to them. Part of her felt like this was their revenge. The Ebonson Family had made a fortune off the backs of slaves.

I’ll have the dark-haired one. She looks like she needs a bit of black meat. The bigger of the two jabbed a finger at her. His eyes bulged as he said it.

Gertrude ducked behind Sarah.

Please go away.

You can have whichever one you want, love, said Agnes.

Sarah ignored her and took the other man gently by the hand. Slowly he headed for the room behind the curtain. With her protection gone, Gertrude froze. What would the man do? Could he tell that she didn’t really want to do this?

Come on, lass. Eh, how much am I paying for this one, Agnes?

Same as you do every time you come round here. Do what you want with her. Agnes shrugged and took up the gin Sarah drank from.

The man seized Gertrude by the wrist and she screamed. Yet for all her screaming she still moved towards the unoccupied room. She knew this was what she had to do. This was about survival. Grunts and moans of pleasure came from the other room. Sarah was a professional. She had to be too.

She brushed past the curtain and found herself in a room with nothing but a hard bed with no covers.

What’s your name, love?

Gertrude shuddered as he spoke.

Gertrude.

Gertrude. Sounds like a toff name. I remember what your lot did to my parents. Treated them like animals. I’m going to love treating you like one. Swore I’d get the likes of you back one day.

Inside her head Gertrude screamed. It was true that many of the freed slaves still felt bitter, but their harsh treatment was nothing to do with her. She regretted her upbringing more than ever. Why couldn’t she have been born poor instead?

A pair of thick black sailor’s hands gripped the shoulders of her dress and the sound of cheap fabric tearing away put pay to her racing thoughts.

Her ordeal had begun.

Edward Urwin

1853

2

The fly stepped along the rim of the glass. It seemed uninterested in anything else going on around it. Edward Urwin raised his hand multiple times to bat it away. He knew he had work to complete by the end of the day, but he didn’t care. Nothing would drive him on. All he could do was watch the fly.

A minute later the fly finally buzzed away to go about its business elsewhere. Edward lifted his head off the desk scattered with a range of books bound in black leather. Figures, figures, and more figures occupied different boxes and different lines on yellowed backgrounds. Half the time Edward wasn’t sure if he truly understood what the Kennelworth Trading Company did. All Victor Kennelworth, his boss, spoke about was the expansion into the railway industry and the coming age of steam.

Mr. Urwin. Could you help me with these figures? I fail to see how they make any sense at all, said Douglas Croft.

Edward finally lifted his head. If you are referring to the problem I helped you with earlier, I will be quite annoyed. I’m tired of telling you things that you never remember.

Not this time, Mr. Urwin. Round-faced Douglas shook his head. I mean it. These things keep coming up.

Then stop making them come up. You do realise that you don’t need to understand every aspect of your job. We do the job and someone above us corrects it. How do you think I complete my work so quickly?

Edward noted the hypocrisy of his own uncompleted work splayed in front of him like a stray hurricane had waltzed through a library. Usually, in any case.

Yes, I understand. I think I can finish everything else without any problems. Forgive me.

Edward nodded and slumped back in his chair. Gripped in his fist was a tired old note he’d never allowed to leave his person. When he was sure Douglas had returned to his work, he dared to unfold it corner by corner. The ink was as black as night. The words still resonated. He read the note from Theodore Norlong again, the one he’d given him at the headquarters of the now defunct Ebonson Carrying Company three years ago.

Dear Edward,

Forgive the lack of communication. Father has had me watched over day and night. I finally found a chance to write to you. This commotion allowed me to slip away when none of you were looking. I wrote as soon as I could, so please accept my apologies for the illegible handwriting.

You saved me, Edward. My father will have no interest in the Ebonson Family. He is sending me to Oxford, and I have agreed to go. It will be just like how it was supposed to be, only without you. Sooner or later my father will allow me to live the life I want. Just remember that I have not forgotten about you, or Gertrude. We will be together one day.

Thank you for doing what you did. I am glad to have a friend like you.

Theo

He wanted nothing more than to see his old friend again. It was impossible. Lord Norlong kept his son under his thumb, to break his spirit as revenge for marrying Gertrude Ebonson against his wishes. Edward had tried on occasion to contact him, but his letters went without reply. He sensed Lord Norlong read his son’s mail.

Edward sighed and heaved himself into a proper sitting position again. He had to get this work done soon enough or Victor was going to give him the sack. There was no way he could keep hiding his missed deadlines.

He clucked his tongue and looked up at Douglas. Not a word from him. Not even a look.

Edward thought about what he needed to do and then promptly opened the square of writing paper again.

Dear Edward,

Forgive the lack of communication. Father has had me watched over day and night. I finally found a chance to write to you. This commotion allowed me to slip away when none of you were looking. I wrote as fast as I could, so please accept my apologies for the illegible handwriting.

You saved me, Edward. My father will have no interest in the Ebonson Family. He is sending me to Oxford, and I have agreed to go. It will be just like how it was supposed to be, only without you. Sooner or later my father will allow me to live the life I want. Just remember that I have not forgotten about you, or Gertrude. We will be together one day.

Thank you for doing what you did. I am glad to have a friend like you.

Theo

Damn it all to hell, Edward thought.

It was becoming an obsession. He couldn’t do anything other than read that note over and over. Yet each time he read it and thought he had the nerve to do something about it, he never did. Every time he would return to his miserable existence.

Edward.

He almost jumped out of his chair.

Excuse me, Mr. Urwin.

Edward glared at Douglas. He hated people calling him by his first name. It reminded him of what he had been before he’d started a career. Everyone at work referred to him as ‘Mr. Urwin’, and he no longer had any friends to call him by his first name.

Why can’t I get it out of my mind? Hugo, my devil of a father.

He placed his head in his hands. This wasn’t happening to him. He was coming back into his head again.

Mr. Urwin?

What? Edward snapped. Why must you keep bothering me?

Douglas gulped and his Adam’s apple danced up and down. I think I’ve solved the problem. I was calculating the final figures incorrectly.

Edward turned away in disgust and began to mutter to himself. His father was tormenting him again. Through an intervention from his friends Mrs. Forsyth and the now deceased Henry Beechworth, he’d discovered Hugo Ebonson had had an affair with his mother. That villain was his father all along. How could it be true?

Hugo had slipped away when Henry entered the throes of a heart attack. Nobody had heard anything from him since. Sometimes Edward wondered why he’d stepped in front of Arthur Kaylock’s pistol and saved the man’s life.

Mr. Urwin, I see you are hard at work, once again.

Edward didn’t mistake that for his father, although it would have been easier. He straightened up in front of his superior, Mr. Mathers. Checking his pocket watch as if it were a nervous habit, he shook his head from side to side.

Well, it looks like another deadline has passed and you missed it. I suppose you forgot all about those reports that were required of you?

The expression of triumph on Mr. Mathers’s face crushed him. He didn’t really care about the reports, but letting Mr. Mathers know he’d won a victory in the endless game of office politics hurt him more than losing a limb.

Oh, and before you decide to bore me and young Mr. Croft here with your horrific excuses, I must inform you that in the next five minutes you have a meeting scheduled with Mr. Kennelworth. I advise you not to be late, Mr. Urwin. I am sure you are on extremely thin ice now. Do not take too long.

Edward’s eyebrows knitted together and he mouthed a curse to himself. When he looked up, the door had already slammed behind Mr. Mathers. As Edward left the room for the meeting, he couldn’t look Douglas in the eye.

Whilst he climbed the steps to Victor’s office, he remembered the excitement of coming to work here at the East India Docks once. The sound of work and good, strong men bringing in loads of goods from all over the British Empire had thrilled him. To be a part of the greatest trading network in the world. To make something of himself. Now he was little more than a member of the army of clerks inhabiting most of London.

He knocked on the door and allowed himself inside. Victor was already standing by the fireplace with a poker in hand. He pushed around some of the coals in the fire and didn’t acknowledge him. It only made the ticking of the French sienna marble clock on the mantle more damning. This was trouble.

Mr. Urwin, I am concerned about your output, said Victor.

Let me explain –

Do not interrupt me. I am aware that you have fallen behind. I understand that three years ago you received some rather unpleasant news. I accepted that this would impact your work, but time has passed and you have shown minimal progress.

If you’ll give me –

Be silent. Victor dropped the poker into its holder with a clang. It is clear to me that you require a different form of treatment. That is why I am sending you away for a time.

Edward could only look at the ground. It was inevitable. He’d contemplated leaving for months. Part of him wondered whether he wanted another job like this. But he couldn’t work anywhere else. Nobody would take an unqualified man like him. His training was in nothing but managing ledgers and writing reports.

Will you provide me with a good reference for my next employer?

Should you decide to choose another employer then I will do so. But in the meantime I feel it is best for you to follow my advice. You are showing signs of discontent. I think it is about time you find a wife and create a family, said Victor.

Edward stuffed a retort down his throat. He didn’t want anything to do with marriage. The courting process interested him about as much as starting a career in bare knuckle boxing.

You will go to my cottage in Brighton and there you will attend a number of balls suitable for young bachelors such as yourself. You will admire a range of young ladies and then nature shall take its course. When I recall you from Brighton, I expect to see a marked improvement in your character.

Yes, Mr. Kennelworth, said Edward.

And please call me Victor. We are still friends. His tone softened. I am doing this for your own good. You need help, my boy. I have always said you had potential and I am determined to bring it out of you.

Edward left the office in a mixture of befuddlement and annoyance. The last thing he needed was to disrupt his life with courting. Unlike members of the aristocracy, he’d never spent any time learning how to attract and speak to women. Gertrude was the closest he’d come to a woman his own age, and she was technically his aunt.

Packing away his things, he said goodbye to Douglas and left for London Bridge Station in Southwark. Either way, Brighton couldn’t possibly make his life any worse.

––––––––

If Edward’s eyes could bulge out of his skull, they would. Victor’s cottage was anything but a cottage. It had three bedrooms and an outdoor seating area that looked over the cliffs and onto the rocky beach area below. Brighton’s beaches were nothing more than rocks. Carpets of grass drenched by drizzle stretched out before him, whilst the salty sea air buffeted him.

The countryside was like another country entirely. There was so much empty space. The rolling forest green hills could have come from a Renaissance landscape. Edward could hardly believe it was real.

The footmen that lived at the cottage unloaded his few pieces of luggage whilst he stared at the thick blue band on the horizon. He couldn’t quite believe it had taken him until he was twenty-three to see the sea.

A servant tapped him gently on the elbow. Please, step this way.

Edward gazed longingly at the sea one last time before turning away. The newspapers touted the health benefits of the sea. The moment he could break free of these