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A virtuous and well govern’d youth
(Romeo and Juliet I.v.68)
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BY THE TIME EDWARD entered his rooms, the proprietor of the inn had, true to his word, set up a blazing fire and the stable boys had established the shivering youth in front of it. There he sat in a large chair and wrapped up in a cloud of blankets, with his injured foot resting on a small stool. The boy was still shaking, but the severity of the tremors seemed to have abated somewhat. “Tea,” Edward ordered, and the innkeeper immediately swept from the rooms to procure a warm beverage and some sustenance.
Edward approached the boy, careful once more not to alarm him, and knelt before the raised foot. “First, we need to remove your wet clothing. We must get you dry, or you will take ill.”
Once more, the boy’s eyes shot open in a look of alarm. “No!” he exclaimed. “I canna!”
“Lad, you must. Do not be modest with me. I mean you no harm.” Still the boy stared and refused to move. “Alright, Lad, I understand your need to privacy. I will turn my back and ensure the door remains closed until you are in dry clothing. Here is an extra shirt of mine, and here is a blanket to warm yourself once you have exchanged wet clothing for dry.”
The boy still said nothing, but tentatively reached for the dry clothing and the blanket. Edward turned away and walked towards the door, pulling it fast behind him. “Call me once you are changed,” he ordered through the closed door, and was soon rewarded with a meek summons from the room. The boy now sat swaddled in the warm blanket, with the sleeves from the over-large shirt just peeking from where his hands gripped the heavy wool.
“Your trousers are still wet, I see, but we cannot remove them until this boot is off. I’m going to remove it now to take a look at your ankle.” He moved his hands towards the boot laces, and the boy yanked his foot back, that same haunted look in his eyes.
“No!”
“Now lad,” Edward began, “I need to take a look to assess the extent of your injury. Or would you prefer me to call in a doctor?”
At this suggestion, the boy seemed even more alarmed. “No, no’ a doctor!”
“Then you must let me look,” Edward demanded, and the boy grudgingly acquiesced. Edward unlaced the boot and tried to prise it off the injured foot. The boy gasped, this time in pain. Edward reached his hand in to the open flap of the boot to gently probe at the ankle therein. It was swollen and very tender. “When did this happen?” he asked quietly.
“Just after dawn,” the boy whispered back through chattering teeth. “I slipped on the stones in the stream whilst getting meself a drink.”
“It is now nigh on ten o’clock, so that is four hours past. I am not surprised you are frozen.” He probed some more and watched the boy wince. “The lacing on the boot helped to keep the swelling down, but now we need to get this boot off.” He tried once more to gently remove it, but the boy cried out in pain.
“I will need to cut it off,” he sighed.
“No! Them’s the only boots I got!” The boy seemed more terrified at losing his boot than at having injured his ankle.
“We will work something out,” Edward assured him as he set to work with his knife on the thin leather of the footgear. Before long, the remains of the boot were peeled away, revealing a small foot in threadbare stockings, and a very large, swollen ankle. Once again Edward gingerly prodded at the injured appendage. The boy winced, but refrained from crying out. “I do not feel any broken bones,” Edward said at last, “but I cannot be certain with all the swelling. Let me summon a doctor to tend to you. I will pay him, so don’t you worry about that,” suspecting cost to be the reason behind the boy’s previous worries.
“We also need to get you out of those wet trousers. And I, too, must change. I am not so frozen as yourself, but I long for dry clothing. Here, I have a pair of trousers that will keep you covered. Do you need assistance? No? I will not look, I promise, but do change quickly.” Once more, Edward retreated from the chamber and waited for the shuffling noises to cease and for the lad to summon him back once returned to decency.
“Now, if you will excuse me, it is my turn. I have no such modesty as yours, and shan’t ask you to leave the room whilst I change my clothing.” The boy stared as Edward peeled off his wet coat and began unbuttoning his waistcoat before turning away in alarm. “Relax, boy. There is nothing here you have not seen before, I warrant. But never mind, I have a new shirt on now. Give me a moment to replace my own trousers, and we may be at ease again. There! I am not at my most elegant, but I am fit for company.”
At this moment, the innkeeper returned with tea and some food, and Edward sent him out again in search of a doctor to examine the boy’s ankle. The boy was still quivering and his face was pale beneath the layers of grime, and Edward quickly poured him a cup of tea, which he set on a table at the lad’s elbow, and gestured for him to drink the hot brew. The youngster picked up the porcelain cup but did not drink yet, rather holding it in his cupped hands to absorb the warmth.
“Whilst we wait,” Edward returned to his young companion, “let us at least know each other’s names. Mine is Gardiner, Edward Gardiner, of London, presently on my way to Liverpool by way of Manchester.” He looked inquiringly at the lad, who returned his gaze with his wide, scared eyes.
“Come now, boy. You must have a name. I can’t keep referring to you as Lad or Boy.”
“I do have a name, Sir. Mr. Gardiner, sir.” He paused for a very long time. Has he forgotten his own name? Edward amused himself with the thought whilst he waited. Surely he knows what he is called, but he does not wish me to know who he is! At last the boy spoke. “My name... is Matthew,” he shivered again. “But I’m called Matt. Thank ye for the tea, Mr. Gardiner, sir.” He brought the cup of hot liquid to his lips and sipped gratefully, trying not to clatter his teeth against the china cup.
“Matt, is it? A pleasure to meet you, Matt. And where do you come from?”
Again, the eyes that looked back at Edward were large and alarmed. “You’d rather not say, eh, Matt? Very well. I will tell myself that you are escaping a cruel master and wish to remain hidden from his notice.” Edward smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, lad, I shan’t tell. I know nobody in these parts, anyway. But where will you go once I leave on my business?”
“I... I dunno, sir. I am just grateful for this hot tea right now,” whereupon Matt made himself busy with the steaming liquid.
Seeing that the lad was disinclined to talk further, Edward left him reclined in the chair by the fire with the tea and bread at his elbow. Biding his time until the doctor arrived to look at Matt’s ankle, Edward sat at his desk to review some documents involved in his business transactions. He could not keep his eyes from his guest, however. Something disturbed him about the slight figure sitting by the fire; something seemed wrong, somehow. But tired and cold himself, Edward brushed away these thoughts. It’s only natural to feel uneasy. How often does one rescue a boy from the wilds of Derbyshire and have him sitting in one’s own clothing, in one’s own room in an inn, drinking one’s own tea? The boy will be gone soon enough. To work, now man, and pay attention to the details on these documents!
He was catching up on some less-important correspondence when a knock at the door indicated the doctor’s arrival. Matt looked extremely ill at ease in the doctor’s presence. He huddled even further under the heavy woollen blanket, trying to bury himself in its depths, and allowed the doctor access to the swollen ankle with the greatest reluctance. The doctor narrowed his eyes as he gazed intently at the boy, who in turn glared back as if issuing a dare. The doctor shrugged, and set about examining Matt’s damaged ankle, paying little attention to the muddy person attached to it. After a few moments of prodding, he pronounced the injury to be more serious than Edward had supposed. “‘Tis broken, that ankle. You won’t be walking on that for some weeks now, boy.” He then cast his eyes up once again at the filthy creature and narrowed them once more, as if uncertain of something. He shook his head and held the back of his hand to the boy’s forehead, after which he took the pulse.
“Won’t let me check yer chest, boy? I need to listen to your lungs, feel for broken ribs. No?”
Matt shook his head. “No!”
To Edward, the doctor asked, “Has he complained of other aches, or been coughing?”
“No, not that I have seen.”
“Very well then. I can’t examine a patient that don’t want to be examined. Feistiness is a good sign. But I don’t think there’s any infection to worry about, no matter how he’s shivering. Once he warms, he’ll be well. Stay here by the fire and get some good food into yourself,” the doctor commanded. “I’ll wrap that ankle for you, but you’ll want to find yourself a crutch or something similar. No weight for several weeks.” Then, to Edward again, “He’ll need to see a doctor in four weeks, or someone who knows bones, to check his progress. You’ll make certain of that.” It was a command, not a request. Edward suddenly felt a weight of obligation settle uncomfortably on his shoulders as he nodded silently and observed the scene before him.
Within a few minutes the doctor had removed two splints from his bag and bound them around the injured ankle with some lengths of cloth. He collected his pay and departed, leaving Edward and Matt staring at each other in the heat of the blazing fire. Matt’s eyes were full of tears. Edward blinked, then handed the boy a plate with more bread and a hunk of cheese. “Eat up, at least, till you are stronger. Sleep if you can. We’ll talk later. I’ll ask about getting you a crutch so you can move around, at least.” The boy nodded silently and returned his gaze to the fire. He looked tiny and terrified in that large chair, and Edward’s heart went out to the youngster. Before he said anything that he might regret, he swept out of the room in search of the innkeeper once again.
When Edward returned a half hour later, Matt was asleep in the chair by the fire, the plate of food empty and the teapot drained. If he did run away from someone, he probably hasn’t had a good rest in a long while, Edward mused to himself. Nor a bath! He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. He debated moving the boy to the bed to rest more comfortably, but decided to leave him be where he was, reclined in the large chair with his injured foot resting on pillows on the foot stool. Jostling him would only wake the lad, and he clearly needed sleep.
He stared at the boy for a long time, wondering where he was from, and what would become of him. For all that he was cold and sick and frightened, he seemed like a well-reared child. He had said very little, but through all the pain and fear he clearly felt, the boy had been unfailingly polite and well mannered. I wonder who he really is, Edward wondered again, and what will he do now? I can’t leave him alone, with that broken foot, but surely he has family looking for him. I must help him find his people.
But, as Edward thought further, if the boy was indeed running away, finding his family might be the worst thing he could do. If they were cruel, or somehow abusive, would returning the injured lad to an unkind family just be sending him to his doom? Or, was the boy running to shirk his responsibilities to family and lord? If so, sending him home would be for the best. There was no way to resolve this dilemma without inquiring further of the lad, and besides, the boy was old enough to be on his own. Thirteen or fourteen was young to be independent of family, but not unreasonably so, and scarcely unheard of. He would talk further, and decide later how to proceed.
As the boy slept, Edward went to the public rooms of the inn to nurse a tankard of ale over his own bread and cheese, and to ask questions of the innkeeper, a stout and garrulous man by the common name of Smith. Mr. Smith, it came out through conversation, lived in rooms behind the inn with his wife and three sons. They had lived in Derby all their lives and Smith’s family had run the inn for generations. They knew the area well, and most of the people living in the city and surrounding villages. “Many a man pops in for a pint now ‘n then,” he replied to Edward’s inquiries. I don’ know ‘em all by names, but I seen many faces, and I remembers them mostly. My regulars, of course, I know their names well! But this lad, nah. He looks a might familiar, I believe, but I can tell you I have not seen the boy before. Perhaps he favours a father or brother who comes in here from time to time, but I cannot tell you who he is, or who his people be.”
“So he is not from the area?” Edward asked to confirm.
“I cannot attest to that, sir, but I can tell you I’ve not seen the lad before today, no matter that his face rings faint bells in my head. He’s not one I’ve seen here with father for a drink or meal. Sorry I cannot help ye further.”
Other inquiries, made to the stable hands who had helped Matt from the wagon to the room, or to other patrons of the inn who might have seen him yielded similar results: No one knew the injured boy, nor could give any indication as to his home or family. The weight of obligation that had earlier settled on Edward’s shoulders grew heavier as he slowly came to terms with what he, as a good man and a Christian, must do. Eventually, the ale and platter of food having been consumed, Edward regained the steps to his room, to stare once more upon the package that the gods had given him that wet morning.