Judge Edward Stewart sat at the head of the long, heavily laden dining table, his thick lips pursed with impatience as he waited for his family to finish their dessert. The dinner had been an unusually long one. It had started with game soup, followed by turbot, then a fricassee of chicken and a large side of beef accompanied by an enormous plate of roast potatoes and vegetables. The penultimate course of gooseberry fool and thick cream lay untouched in front of him. The sound of silver cutlery being replaced against glass brought a smile of satisfaction to his lips. There only remained the cheese and biscuit board to be placed on the table, and then he would be free to indulge in a glass of port along with a Havana cigar. While he waited for the servants to clear the dessert dishes, he thought of the reason for the sumptuous meal he had just partaken of and felt a rush of pride sweep over him. It wasn’t every day a man’s son qualified as a doctor, no indeed it wasn’t; and a youngest son at that. Leaning slightly back in his chair he placed his broad hands over an even broader stomach and smiled benevolently.
Edward Stewart was a stout man of medium height in his late 50s. The grey streaked hair seemed to match perfectly the heavy features of his face, a face that was both feared and respected by the people he came into contact with. Respected by his friends and family, he was feared by the never-ending stream of criminals who were brought daily before him. Many a miserable wretch had taken one look into those deep, black commanding eyes and declared himself guilty of all charges, thus saving precious time in the overcrowded, hard-pressed courtroom. Yet for all his sternness, he was considered to be a fair man, willing to hear out any man or woman he thought to be innocent.
Happily married for over 30 years and the father of three children, he considered himself a fortunate man, and a wealthy one. When his father, a prosperous landowner, had died some ten years ago, he had left his vast estate to be equally divided between his only son and his two grandsons; of his granddaughter there had been no mention. The generous legacy had enabled Edward to move his family to the imposing four-storey house in Hackney where they now resided, and had also removed the necessity to work for a living. This option he had scornfully rejected, however. He enjoyed his work, and knew himself to be good at the profession he had chosen. Always an active man, he could never have been happy living the life of the idle rich, and he was proud that his youngest son had taken after him in this respect. Lifting his head he let his eyes settle on the two young men seated at the left-hand side of the table and shook his head indulgently.
Nobody seeing the two men together would have taken them for brothers. Hugh Stewart, newly-appointed doctor of medicine, was a quiet, almost painfully shy man who had the unfortunate habit of blushing and stammering on any occasion where he felt out of his depth. Not so his elder brother Harry, who always seemed to be at ease with himself regardless of circumstance. People meeting him for the first time were instantly won over by his friendly, outgoing personality, and he could always be relied on to smooth out any awkward situations wherever they might arise. Unlike his brother, Harry had so far shown no inclination to pursue a career, and at the age of 25, a year older than Hugh, it seemed unlikely he would change at this stage in his life.
Edward let his eyes linger on his eldest son. He felt it impossible to believe that a man of Harry’s depth could waste his life away in trivial pursuits. His irregular lifestyle had caused Edward some concern over the years. At one point he had even imagined Harry to be involved in shady activities, such was his reluctance to talk about his interests and friends. This notion had been firmly rejected by his wife who had scolded him for his lack of trust in his son. She had gone on to say that Harry would find his own purpose in life in good time. Her words had hung heavily on his anxious mind. He loved both of his sons, but he had to admit that Harry had always been his favourite. Maybe Beatrice was right, but the latter years had found Edward’s pride in his eldest son being tempered with impatience at Harry’s nonchalant attitude to life.
Not only were the two brothers totally different in character, they also bore no resemblance to each other. Harry was tall and slim with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. With features too rugged to be termed handsome, his attractiveness came from a forceful personality and casual charm that drew women to his side with no effort on his part. Men too were eager for his company, but his male counterparts saw past the engaging smile and casual manner to the firm jaw and eyes that could turn cold if their owner thought himself slighted. Men didn’t take liberties with Harry Stewart any more than they would have done with his father.
Sadly, Hugh had inherited none of his father’s strength. He had, however, inherited his mother’s delicate features and his late grandfather’s pale auburn hair, attributes that would have been better served upon a woman. With this thought in mind, Edward Stewart turned his attention to his right and looked at his daughter, his eyes clouding over with pity at the sight of the round, painfully plain face, her heavy mannish features framed by a mass of black hair parted in the middle and falling in two bunches of thick ringlets on either side of her ears. On a younger woman the style would have been complimentary, but on Bella it merely served to make her resemble an ageing spaniel. Even the expensive white evening dress cut low across her shoulders and the sparkling emerald necklace she wore did nothing to alleviate the plainness of her face. As if aware of his scrutiny, Bella Stewart raised her head and Edward found himself staring into a pair of small, black eyes. Almost imperceptibly he shuddered: God she was ugly. The moment the thought flashed across his mind he felt ashamed, but feeling guilty didn’t alter the facts. Not only was his daughter ugly, she was also sly and often unpleasant. She had never forgiven her grandfather for leaving her out of his will. Strangely enough, however, she had never shown any rancour towards her brothers, preferring instead to take her anger and bitterness out on her long-suffering parents – parents who had long since given up hope of ridding themselves of their disagreeable daughter through marriage; at the age of 30, Bella was long past the marrying stage. Five years ago, Edward had put aside a large proportion of his wealth for a dowry, but even this tempting enticement hadn’t been enough to lure a prospective suitor to their door. The black eyes continued to stare at him, causing him to drop his gaze. Poor Bella. He could understand her bitterness towards him, for it was his features he had passed on to her, features that on a man like himself portrayed character, had doomed her to a life of spinsterhood.
A gentle hand rested on his, and pulling himself from his reverie he looked at his wife and smiled tenderly.
‘Would you like to say a few words, dear?’ Beatrice Stewart asked, her soft blue eyes shining with pride, the pale pink dress she wore bringing out the colour in her heart-shaped face.
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Clearing his throat, he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.
Picking up a crystal glass filled with sherry he held it aloft for a moment, then pointing it towards his son said, ‘To Hugh, newly appointed doctor of medicine. Congratulations, we are all very proud of you.’
‘To Hugh,’ Harry echoed, standing alongside his father, his glass held high above his brother’s flushed face.
‘Thank you, Father, Harry,’ Hugh replied awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by the attention he was receiving. The toast delivered, the men sat down.
While the servants cleared away the last remnants of the meal, Harry leaned back in his chair and asked. ‘What are you planning to do to celebrate, Hugh? I suppose you’ll be going out with your friends from the hospital this evening to let off some steam after all those years of studying. Lord knows how you stuck it out for so long. I couldn’t have done it, but then I don’t possess your dedication. It must be a wonderful feeling to have a purpose in life – I’m still searching for mine.’
Hugh looked up sharply, his eyes searching his brother’s face for signs of ridicule, but found only an open, frank look of admiration. He felt his already red cheeks burning hotly and stammered, ‘It was no hardship for me, Harry. I… I’ve always wanted to be a… a doctor, ever since I was a young boy and we both had the measles. Do you remember, Harry?’ His voice was eager now as he recalled his childhood dream.
‘We were both lying in bed thinking we were going to die and scratching ourselves to pieces. We couldn’t even see each other because mother had closed the curtains and turned off all the lights so that the room would remain in total darkness. And then the doctor came, dressed in his morning suit and high silk hat, carrying a shiny black bag, and after a thorough examination declared that we would be up and running about the house in a week’s time. He sounded so confident, so utterly sure of himself, that I began to feel better straight away. It was then I decided what I wanted to do with my life. Don’t you remember, Harry? I told you as soon as he’d gone.’
‘Can’t say as I do, old chap,’ Harry replied, smiling. ‘I was much too busy feeling sorry for myself to take in any earth shattering revelations about your future role in life.’
Again Hugh looked for some sign that he was being made fun of but could find none.
‘Well now, if we have finished in here, Bella and I will take our leave and let you men enjoy your port. Come, Bella.’
Beatrice was already walking towards the dining room door, and after a moment’s hesitation Bella slowly followed her mother, her displeasure at having to leave the room highly evident. The room to themselves, the men lounged back casually in their chairs and waited for their glasses to be filled from the port decanter.
‘Thank you, Burrows, that will be all,’ Judge Stewart said to the elderly butler hovering by his side.
‘Very good, sir.’ The man bowed stiffly, then leaving the decanter within easy reach of his master, he left the room.
‘So, where are you going this evening, Hugh, or is it a dark secret?’ Harry laughed good-naturedly, his long legs clad in tight beige trousers sprawled under the table. Hugh jumped nervously, spilling some of the dark red wine onto the white tablecloth.
‘Of course it isn’t,’ he answered sharply. ‘I’m going to meet a few friends in a club in Piccadilly, nothing exciting I can assure you.’
‘Steady on, old chap,’ Harry exclaimed in surprise, ‘I was merely expressing an interest. I had thought you might care to accompany me to my club, but seeing as you’ve already made plans…’ He shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention to the glass of port in his hand.
‘Sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to speak so sharply,’ Hugh mumbled apologetically, ‘nerves, I expect. I still can’t get used to the fact that I’m now a fully qualified doctor. It’ll take some time for the realisation to sink in.’
Harry stared at his brother, his keen eyes taking in the nervous trembling of the long, elegant fingers beating out a steady tattoo on the table, wondering at the real reason behind his brother’s agitation. Still, if Hugh did have something on his mind he would tell him in his own good time. Lifting his glass to his lips Harry downed his drink and stood up. ‘Well, if you’ll both excuse me I’ll be off to my club; and once again, Hugh, my deepest congratulations, you put me to shame.’
Hugh smiled weakly. He couldn’t imagine anyone or anything putting his elder brother to shame. Not like himself. God, if Harry or his father knew of his real plans for tonight… he gave an involuntary shudder. He waited a few more minutes after Harry had left the room before taking his own leave.
Alone at last Edward Stewart poured himself another liberal helping of port and lit a cigar, then settled himself more comfortably in his chair, happy to enjoy the luxury of a few more minutes’ solitude before joining his wife and daughter in the parlour.
Harry had just finished buttoning a clean shirt when his bedroom door burst open and Bella entered the room. Whirling round quickly he snatched up his brown coat from the back of a chair and shouted angrily, ‘Damn it, Bella, how many times have I asked you to knock before coming into my room.’
Taking no notice of his anger Bella sidled past him and sat down on the double bed. Then, as if she had all the time in the world, she smoothed and arranged the voluminous skirt of the white dress evenly over the bed. Fighting down his irritation at her presence, Harry pulled on his coat and snatched his black high hat from the dresser.
‘Well?’ he snapped impatiently. ‘If you’ve something you want to talk to me about, you’d better make it quick. I’m on my way out.’
Still unmoved by Harry’s open hostility, Bella beat her closed fan against the folds of her skirt. Then, her voice petulant, she answered, ‘Oh, you’re always on your way out; what about me? I never get to go anywhere except to church fetes and visiting Mother’s tiresome friends. I’m so bored. Harry, you’ve no idea what it’s like being a girl, we never have any fun.’
Harry shook his head despairingly. It was true he had no idea what it was like to be a girl, but by the same token, it had been many a long year since Bella could lay claim to that knowledge.
‘Can’t I come with you, Harry? Just this once, I promise not to be a bother.’ She was leaning forward, her hands clasped as if in prayer, the black eyes silently begging him to say yes. Harry looked hard into the plain face and turned away before she saw the distaste in his eyes. She wasn’t natural. She was his own sister, and up until a few years ago he had had a certain fondness for her, but now he had to admit she wasn’t normal. What sort of woman was she to burst into her brother’s room unannounced, and not just tonight, but many times. On one such occasion she had found him dressed only in his underclothes, a few minutes earlier and he would have been standing naked. Yet even then she had shown no embarrassment and would have entered the room if he hadn’t bundled her unceremoniously out of the door. And this business of wanting to accompany him on his evening jaunts was getting to be a habit. This was the fifth time this month she had made the same plea. He felt sorry for her, of course; it must be hell to be a woman and look like she did. But it wasn’t only her looks that had prevented her from marrying. Many an ugly woman had managed to find a husband, but their looks had been compensated for by pleasant personalities and kind natures; his sister possessed none of these attributes. Sighing heavily he turned to face her.
‘Now look, Bella, we’ve been over this before,’ he said tiredly. ‘The places I visit don’t allow women in, and even if they did I wouldn’t take you. Now please, go back downstairs and leave me in peace.’
Harry watched her lips tighten into a thin line and braced himself for an outburst, but she continued to stare at him until with an exasperated sigh he nearly threw himself around and made for the door.
‘I wonder what Father would say if he knew how you spent your days.’ The soft words hit him in the back and he felt himself stiffen in surprise. ‘That stopped you, didn’t it?’ Her voice still soft, she rose from the bed, her skirts crackling as she walked towards him. Placing her back against the door she faced him, all signs of pleading gone. In their place was a face contorted with pain and malice.
‘I followed you one day. I was curious to know where you disappeared to every day, so I waited until you’d left the house and then I followed you in a cab.’ Her eyes were pinned to his, and when she saw his startled look she experienced a feeling of excitement.
Unable to keep the gloating tone from her voice she continued, ‘I don’t think much of the company you keep, brother dear. Why, even the cab driver was reluctant to enter the street you were obviously so familiar with. I must admit I was expecting some rendezvous with either a married woman or one of ill repute – that is the correct term isn’t it? Well, never mind, it isn’t important now.’ She waved her hand airily in his face. ‘But you see, Harry, you’ve placed me in an awkward position. I mean, do I tell Mother and Father that their son is on intimate terms with thieves, murderers and prostitutes? I haven’t left anyone out, have I? No? Very well then, let’s lump them all together and give them the collective term of degenerates; that just about sums up the description of your companions, doesn’t it?’
Harry stared down into the upturned face, his stomach churning at the undisguised malevolence in the glittering black eyes.
Then very deliberately and without a trace of anger he said calmly, ‘You’re not normal, Bella. I came to that conclusion quite some time ago when you first started to come into my room at all odd hours hoping to catch me in a state of undress. And it’s not just me, is it? You’ve been trying the same tricks with Hugh, haven’t you?’ The colour flooded her pasty skin, but he felt not the slightest trace of pity for her. She had gone too far this time. Taking hold of her arm he pulled her away from the door roughly, the action causing her to stumble on the hem of her dress. Before she could recover her balance, she found herself sprawled lengthwise on the thick-carpeted floor.
Ignoring her plight Harry opened the door. ‘If you feel it your duty to acquaint Mother and Father of my nefarious ways then do so by all means. I wouldn’t want your conscience to be troubled on my account. But before you go running with your tales, you’d best have a good story ready to explain how you came by the knowledge. And now my dear sister, I’ll bid you a good night, although I doubt very much if you will ever experience such an event.’ Doffing his hat to her he strode from the room. When she heard his carefree whistling as he ran lightly down the stairway she gritted her teeth in frustration. It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t fair. Both her brothers and parents enjoyed an active social life, even the servants had somewhere to go or someone to visit on their days off; what did she herself have? Nothing, absolutely nothing. She had no friends, no outside interests, no life at all beyond the four walls of the house. It had always been that way, even as a child, yet she hadn’t realised she was different until Harry had been born. Her mind ran back down the years.
Bella had been so excited when her baby brother had been placed in her small, awkward arms, her parents hovering on either side of her. As she had gazed down at the tiny, puckered face, she had seen his arrival as an end to her loneliness. Instead the presence of the infant had brought home to her for the first time her own inadequacies. Even at such a young age she had known she wasn’t pretty and had felt an affinity to the ugly baby in her arms. She had watched him take his first, faltering steps, his small, pudgy hands angrily waving away any offer of help. It was about that time she had begun to notice how visitors to the house always found an excuse to pick him up and make a fuss of him, while she was patted absently on the head, much as one would treat a pet dog, and then ignored. Even her parents had seemed unable to keep their hands off him. She could remember her father coming home and her waiting to greet him, only to receive a perfunctory hug before he hurried to the nursery to play with his son.
When Hugh had arrived the following year she found herself being pushed even further into the background, leaving her hurt and bewildered. Her mother had always included her daughter in the family pastimes, careful not to let the little girl be overshadowed by her baby siblings. Then one summer afternoon she had overheard a conversation in the drawing room. Two of her mother’s friends had come to visit, and as usual Harry and Hugh were the centre of attention. Bella had left the room to fetch some toys; on her return she had heard her name mentioned and stood outside the door waiting to hear what was being said.
The woman holding Hugh had announced loudly, ‘He’s gorgeous, Beatrice, simply gorgeous, I can hardly bring myself to hand him back to you. He’s going to break a few hearts when he gets older, and Harry too I’ve no doubt.’
Beatrice had laughed gaily. ‘Oh, come now, Anne, I’ve no illusions about Harry. Even my mother’s biased eyes can see Harry is no beauty.’
‘No, I’ll agree he isn’t handsome in the conventional sense,’ the woman had replied, ‘but he has charm and an engaging personality even at his tender years. Besides, it doesn’t seem to matter so much if a man is ugly as long as he has charm, not like Bella, poor soul.’
The casual words had pierced Bella’s heart like a knife. Even her mother’s heated words in her defence hadn’t helped to ease the pain. She had returned to her room, her small body trembling with hurt and confusion, wondering why she was different from her brothers.
As she had grown older she had renewed her efforts to be liked, but without success. The two boys had very early forged a bond, and although they tolerated her presence, it was painfully clear they didn’t want her to join in their games. Made to feel like an interloper, she had resorted to bullying and telling tales in a desperate attempt to gain attention, her reward being several hard smacks to her bottom administered by her father while her mother turned away, her hands covering her eyes, unable to witness it.
To be fair to her parents, they had tried their best to make her feel loved and a part of the family, but her childish resentment had prevented her from accepting their affection. After a while, her father had given up trying to placate her surly moods and left her to her own devices. If it hadn’t been for her mother, who refused to give up on her only daughter, Bella’s childhood would have been unbearable.
She had kept her spirits high, thinking that once she reached womanhood her life would change, but here too she was cruelly disappointed. When Bella turned 18 her mother had entered into a whirl of social engagements hoping to find a husband for her only daughter. At first Bella had been excited, delighting in the new clothes and jewellery that filled her wardrobe and trinket box. Then the inward humiliation had begun all over again.
At first she had been hopeful, even gay, at the prospect of meeting someone with whom she could spend the rest of her life with. Her nights were filled with images of walking down a church aisle, dressed in a flowing white gown, a faceless man by her side – but the faceless man never materialised. Over the years she watched women of her own age being swept around a dance floor, while she sat on the side, her mother always close by. Each time she scanned the wedding announcements in The Times and saw yet another acquaintance’s name printed, she felt the bitterness grow. When her 25th birthday came around she announced that she would no longer be attending any balls or parties, proclaiming herself weary of such events. But when, three months later, her father had settled a substantial dowry upon her, Bella had been furious, seeing such an action as the final humiliation; she had done nothing to stop the news being spread, though telling herself that a bought husband was better than no husband at all. The ultimate humiliation, however, was the absence of any man willing to accept the bribe, for bribe was what it amounted to.
In a last, frantic effort to make a life for herself she had begun to try and inveigle herself into her brothers’ lives, hoping to find a prospective groom among their many friends, but here too her hopes had been dashed. Hugh was malleable enough, being too weak-willed to protest at her intrusions into his life, but Harry had steadfastly refused to pander to her wishes. Still she had persevered, driven by a desperate need to be included in their lives. The young medical students that had visited Hugh had shown clearly their lack of interest in the ageing woman who hovered round them trying to join in their conversations, until Hugh, deeply embarrassed by his sister’s constant presence, had stopped inviting his friends home. She had then switched her attentions back to Harry, prepared to swallow what little pride she had left in order to penetrate his circle of friends. Now she would try no more. Her brother’s sneering words and obvious dislike of her had left her with no more illusions. Lying on the floor, her head resting against the four-poster bed, she felt the bitterness and resentment flood over her. Why had she been born like this? Why hadn’t God bestowed upon her a sunny nature, a natural wit or a vibrant personality to compensate her for her ugliness? Again her mind screamed, that it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t bloody fair.
Bella’s thoughts turned again to Harry. He was so sure of himself, so confident. He would never know the misery of rejection or uncertainty for the future. Lifting her head she stared at the window. If she couldn’t find happiness then she would do all in her power to prevent Harry from finding any. A rush of pure hatred swept through her. ‘I’ll get even with you, you bastard,’ she whispered, her throat thick with tears. ‘You wait and see, you’ll be sorry you spoke to me like that.’ Anxious to share her misery she rose awkwardly to her feet and stumbled from the room in search of Hugh.
Hugh sat nervously on his bed listening to his sister’s soft entreaties to let her in, his eyes glued to the twisting door handle, praying that the chair he had placed beneath it would remain firm. When he heard the muffled footsteps walking away from the door he heaved a sigh of relief and rose unsteadily to his feet. Walking over to the full-length mirror he looked at his perspiring face and felt a deep sense of self-disgust at the way he had behaved. God! What a pitiful specimen of a man he was. He had heard the raised voices and could only guess at the reason behind the heated argument. When he had heard Harry leaving the house, followed quickly by the sound of Bella’s footsteps heading in his direction, he had barricaded himself in his room rather than face his sister’s fury. Waves of self-loathing swept over him, and with a muffled moan he sank back onto the bed.
Putting his head in his hands, he thought back to the conversation he’d had with Harry at dinner about his reasons for becoming a doctor, and laughed mirthlessly. Rubbing his hands over his face he dropped them into his lap and stared sightlessly at the far wall. He hadn’t worked and studied for over four years out of any noble calling; the reason was much simpler than that. From the time he was old enough to reason for himself, he had known that he would have to do something special with his life if he ever wanted to command respect and comradeship outside his immediate family.
Hugh was painfully aware of his lack of personality and character. He had decided at an early age to make something of himself, to be somebody, somebody that people would look up to and come to for advice – like they did with Harry. As the image of his brother came to mind Hugh shook his head sorrowfully. It wasn’t fair, Harry had never had to try to make people like him – in fact he could be downright rude at times. Yet in spite of his sometimes disinterested attitude, anyone who came into contact with him eagerly sought his company, whereas he himself didn’t have one single person, man or woman, that he could honestly call a friend. Colleagues yes, but friends, real friends that he could call upon at any time day or night, no. Shaking his head sadly he reflected on his life and the profession he had chosen. He had imagined that the status of a doctor would automatically bring forth respect; but he was honest enough to admit that a title alone wouldn’t bring about the recognition he craved so desperately, for the more he chased respect, the more it eluded him.
Getting heavily to his feet he reached for his pearl-grey jacket and slipped it on over the dark blue straight trousers, his reflection in the oval mirror giving him a much-needed boost of confidence. As he picked up his hat another fragment of conversation floated into his mind. He could see Harry clearly as he’d lounged casually in the chair and asked the question, ‘So where are you going tonight, Hugh, or is it a dark secret?’
How close to the truth Harry had come. And the truth was that Hugh Stewart, 24 years old and newly qualified doctor of medicine, was still a virgin. It seemed impossible that a man of his age had never known a woman, and yet, was it so unusual? How many men would admit to such a state? Certainly not himself. He had done his fair share of story telling among his fellow students, drawing on an active imagination to make his tales of conquests more plausible. Now he wondered how many of the hair-raising exploits he had listened to had been fact, and how many simply wishful thinking on the part of the story teller?
Drawing himself up to his full height he pulled his shoulders back and drew a deep breath. There was nothing he could do about his weak character or lack of personality, but there was a simple remedy to his virginal status. He knew where to find plenty of girls and women who would be only too happy to help rid him of this particular handicap, but until recently he had lacked the courage to seek them out.
Even now as he prepared to set out on his mission he wondered if he would back out at the last minute, but quickly put the thought from his mind. It was no longer something he had to do to make him feel more of a man; his body needed relief, and it was his natural urges, suppressed for so long, that had finally made up his mind. Checking his wallet to make sure he had enough money on him, he counted the four £5 notes and nodded. He had no idea of the going rate, but even in his ignorance he knew the money he had would be ample for his needs. Slipping the leather wallet inside his breast pocket, he carefully pulled the chair away from the door and peered out. The sight of the deserted corridor gave him the impetus he needed. Shutting the door softly behind him he made for the stairway and a new phase in his life.