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“I really want to go, Papa. The snow is gone and there’s fresh spring grass in the park. Mrs. Cooper taught me about some herbs and plants that isn’t there in the garden and I wish to go and see them in St. James.”
“Slow down,” Arthur said barely able to keep up with her barrage of her words. “What did we say about that?”
“I must speak more but with lesser words,” Nora said, parroting what he had taught her.
“Very good.” Arthur nodded. It was difficult to train Nora in societal etiquettes when her mother wasn’t there to guide him. He had tried to explain this to Mrs. Cooper, but even she wasn’t much help here either. The only time when Nora wasn’t a bundle of excitement was when she was at the piano practicing with Carmen.
“So, can we go?” she asked, batting her eyes at him. Arthur knew he could never refuse her, not when she looked like that. He supposed he could make an exception for one day. He could always ignore Miss Black starting tomorrow.
“Fine,” he said reluctantly. “We can go.” Nora jumped down from her seat at the dining table and gave him a great big kiss on his cheek.
“I love you Papa,” she declared and with that she raced out of the room. Arthur shook his head as he watched his daughter disappear.
He summoned Ramon to him. “Pack a basket and blankets for us. We’re going down to the park for a picnic.”
* * *
At the same time, a man stepped down from the hack that had bought him to London. The long journey had taken over two days. His back protested as he stretched himself, taking in the looming city in front of him. It was completely different from the rolling plains and sleepy village of Ireland where he had grown up. Men didn’t sing on streets nor did they herd their sheep out to meadows. Jaxon could practically smell the death and decay in the air.
Once upon a time when he was a young boy, he had desperately wished to come to the city and make a name for himself as an organist or composer. But his mother had other plans for him. And he was nothing if not an obedient son.
The carriage driver looked expectantly at Jaxon, waiting for his coins. Jaxon reached into his pocket and took out a few which he tossed to the driver.
“These are ten less than you offered,” the carriage driver cried out.
“Take it or leave it,” Jaxon said. He swung a rucksack over his shoulder and started walking down the narrow, mud-filled street. His bad leg throbbed as he walked. He needed a hot coal compress, or he would go insane with the pain.
“You there,” the carriage driver called out from behind. “You’re not going anywhere you lame thief.”
Jaxon’s jaw twitched as he turned around the face the driver. “What did you call me?”
The carriage driver seemed to understand that he had hit a nerve. He smirked at him. “Lame,” he said again gesturing to his bad leg. “Or are you impotent too?”
Jaxon moved fast and in an instant, he was in front of the man. He punched him square on his face, sending him flying against his own carriage. His hat fell off his head. Before the man could recover, he kept raining punches upon punches on him. He wiped his bloodied knuckles on his jacket and spit at the driver who now lay motionless on the floor. “My hands are just as good as my feet,” he said.
As he began to walk away from the unconscious drier, a stray piece of paper got stuck under the sole of his shoes. As he attempted to remove it, he realized it was some sort of a flyer for advertisement. He picked it up, scanning the contents of the page curiously.
“A music hall performed by all women?” he muttered under his breath and then sneered, crumpling the paper in his hand. “I’m here and I’m coming for you Carmen,” he vowed.
