Chapter 1

A Chapter by AuthorPath

In the early days of July, 1858, a youthful gentleman departed from his suffocating abode in the west side of Borough High Street on an oppressively hot evening. His steps were hesitant as he made his way, moving with sluggishness, as if wrestling with inner uncertainty.

Within his apartment, he felt confined, akin to a stifled cupboard rather than a true living quarter. Skillfully, he avoided any encounters with the tenement manager on the narrow stairs. The tenement manager also resided on the floor below, leaving his kitchen door perennially ajar, thus compelling the furtive tenant to pass by it each time he ventured outside.

The young man experienced discomfort and nervousness after every such encounter, causing him to grimace and feel humiliated. This unease was exacerbated by his hopeless indebtedness to the landlord, and he dreaded any accidental rendezvous with the tenement manager who acted as enforcer of the landlord’s will and whim.

It was not a matter of cowardice or disgrace, quite the opposite. The young man had been plagued by a state of overwrought irritability and hovered on the brink of a hypochondriacal condition for some time.

His self-introspection and self-absorption had led him into a state of profound social isolation, making him dread any encounters with others, not solely his landlord. The concerns that had once troubled him appeared to have faded amid his crushing poverty. Many practical matters lost their grip on him, and he ceased to care about them sincerely. The landlord's actions and threats no longer sincerely terrified him.

However, the mere thought of being intercepted on the stairs, subjected to offensive demands for money and endless complaints, sent shivers down his spine.

The weight of crafting excuses, hesitating, and resorting to lies felt insurmountable. Instead, he preferred to move like a stealthy cat, tiptoeing down the stairs, and slipping away quietly to evade such tormenting ordeals.

As the night descended upon him and he stepped out onto the street, his worries clung to him like vengeful specters. A peculiar smile graced his lips as he thought, "I yearn to attempt something daring, but these petty anxieties ensnare me in their grasp." He pondered what men feared most, contemplating how individuals allowed opportunities to slip through their fingers due to cowardice. He chastised himself for speaking too much, realizing he had indulged in idle daydreaming within the confines of his den. He questioned his capacity to choose a different path, dismissing it as mere imagination or a plaything of the mind.

Surrounded by stifling heat, the bustling streets, and the perpetual stench of London at that time which aggravated his already frayed nerves, he suffered. The nauseating odors from the river Thames and the presence of intoxicated men laboring further intensified his distress. Despite his clean appearance, his clothing was shabby, though such attire was not uncommon in that part of town. It troubled him, particularly when he unexpectedly encountered friends or former classmates, an encounter he loathed. In response to the insults hurled at him by a drunken man passing by in a wagon, he clutched his worn-out hat, a memento from a friend.

He wandered aimlessly through the labyrinth of streets, lost in contemplation, barely registering his surroundings, weakened by two days of hunger. The state of his tattered clothes on the street mattered little to him at this point, for bitterness and disdain resided in his heart. Being among the sheer number of people and onslaught of crowd driven noises stirred within him a strange and even terrifying emotion.

Some moments later in a state of astonishment, he suddenly mumbled, “Of course," realizing that his carefully crafted plan had faltered. His mind was plagued by worries over the absurdity of his poor clothing, deeming it too conspicuous to walk into a more upper class establishment. His attire would draw attention. He hated the thought of undue attention. He understood that these nuances held the power to unravel everything, yet despite his lingering self-doubt, he resolved to press forward.

He directed his steps toward a colossal apartment block, teeming with individuals engrossed in their daily routines. Climbing the dim and obscure rear staircase, he contemplated how much greater his terror might become should he actually carry out his plan. Reaching the eighth floor, he noticed workmen removing furniture and personal affects from an apartment, rendering the floor largely vacant, except for the one he had come to visit. A wave of anxiety washed over him as he rang the elderly woman's tinny bell. Slowly and cautiously, she cracked open the door, eyeing him with suspicion. The description of her weathered and angular features painted a vivid picture of her appearance. Despite the sweltering heat, she wore a worn-out fur coat, adding to her fragile demeanor. His countenance seemed to deepen her distrust, leaving him scrutinized under her wary gaze.

Summoning her courage, she opened the door wide, glancing at the people walking up the hallway in a conversation about some inaudible topic. She ushered him in the apartment. Following her, the young man proceeded toward the dark entrance of the small kitchen. There, he paused before the old woman of seventy years, her features withered and her eyes sharp and malevolent. Her pointed nose seemed to emphasize the aura of suspicion surrounding her.

Unkempt and untamed, her greased, colorless, and grey hair was exposed without a kerchief. A flannel rag, tied in a knot, adorned her long, slender neck. The elderly woman emitted regular groans and coughs, all the while observing the young man with suspicion, catching glimpses of his peculiar appearance.

In the dimly-lit chamber, Roderick, uttered in a hurried murmur, "I came here a month ago," inclining his head slightly.

The elderly woman, with her eyes full of curiosity, responded in a clear voice, her gaze fixed upon his countenance, "I remember, my good sir, I remember your previous visit quite well."

His heart heavy with apprehension Roderick added, "And here... I am again on the same errand," dismayed by the old woman's suspicion. Unsettled, he sought solace in reasoning, "Perhaps she's always like that, but I didn't notice it the other time.”

As the evening light filtered through the room, illuminating the yellow wallpaper, geraniums, and muslin curtains, the young man stepped forward with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, unsure of what awaited him in this peculiar setting.

Roderick's eyes darted rapidly around the room, his mind determined to imprint every detail, muttering to himself, "So the sun will shine like this then too!" Yet, the space failed to evoke any striking impressions. It housed mere essentials �" a sofa adorned with a substantial, curved wooden back, an long table standing before it, a dressing table flanked by windows, chairs lining the walls, and a couple of cheap prints displaying maidens cradling birds in brown frames. Throughout the chamber, an immaculate cleanliness prevailed, with furniture and floor alike gleaming radiantly under the light.

Upon taking in the spotless state of the apartment, the young man deduced that it must be the work of her maid Amelia, an observation that swirled within his ruminations. His gaze strayed, drawn to the cotton curtain veiling the door that led to another, unexplored little room, wherein the old woman's bed and chest of drawers resided. "It's in the houses of spiteful old widows that one finds such cleanliness," he contemplated, his thoughts delving deeper into the enigma of this orderly abode. The entirety of the dwelling was composed of merely these two interconnected rooms, each concealing its secrets and tales yet untold.

Roderick stepped into the living area while the old woman took a whistling kettle off the stove.

After a momentary silence, the elderly woman entered the room with a vexed air, demanding, "What do you want?" Her eyes bore into him, much like they had on a prior occasion.

He took a vintage flat silver pocket watch, its steel chain glinting, adorned with a delicate globe engraving on the back, from his pocket and responded, "I've brought something to barter. I’m not able to pay this last month’s rents.” He nearly shuddered as he made the declaration. He had already negotiated paying rents monthly instead of weekly just two months before.

Her voice cold and unyielding, she retorted, "But your monthly contract has run out of time. It ended two days ago!”

"Give me a moment, and I'll bring you the funds for another month," he pleaded, his hope not yet relinquished.

"But that is for me to decide, my esteemed sir, whether to wait or to promptly liquidate your contract," said the old woman, trying to sound assertive.

"How much will you offer for the watch Mrs. Smith" he inquired.

"You bring me such insignificant trinkets, they are hardly worth anything. One time, you tried to pass me a broach for £5, whereas one could purchase a similar one brand new from a jeweler for a mere pound and a half."

"Please allow this to cover the next months rents, I beg of you. It belonged to my late father. I anticipate getting cash from his estate soon.”

"Four pounds, and interest in advance, if you so desire!" retorted the old woman.

"Four pounds!" exclaimed the young man in frustration.

"Suit yourself," the old woman replied nonchalantly, returning the watch to him. The young man took it, feeling an urge to storm away, but he restrained himself, realizing there was no other place for him to go, and he had another purpose in coming here.

"Take it!" he demanded, adopting a rough tone.

She stared long and hard into his face.

In the dim room, the young man, with a look of resigned desperation, started to speak to the old woman, but she interrupted him. "Sir," she began, "as we agreed before, six pounds each month, so now with the interest that’s ten pounds.” She paused. “No, make it eleven pounds.”

"What!” he exclaimed in disbelief.

"Yes, that is correct," she replied matter-of-factly. “Keep your watch. I do not want it.”

She was being dishonest with him. He knew elsewhere in the city it was common for a renter to pay £50 a year for better lodging than he had. Yet, the old woman was making him pay £11 for one month!
Roderick was filled with rage but said nothing.

The old woman rummaged through her pocket to find her keys and vanished behind the curtain into the adjoining room. Left alone in the center of the room, the young man listened attentively, his mind brimming with curiosity. He heard the sound of a metal door being unlocked.

"I wonder where it is," he pondered. "She has the keys in a pocket on the left, all together on a small ring. All of the keys look the same. There might be a lock safe or stash. This is all so demeaning.”

Presently, the old woman returned with the next months rents contract.

The young man accepted the paper but lingered, seemingly undecided about his next move. Even if he refused to sign it would be pointless since it would just cause him to be made a homeless nomad. He could acquire more time by agreeing to the outlandish sum. After they both signed the agreement, his gaze rested upon the old woman, and he appeared reluctant to depart, as if he had something else to say or do but couldn't fathom it himself.

"I might bring you something else in a day or two, �"a valuable item�"silver�"a cigar-box, once I retrieve it from..." he trailed off, his embarrassment evident.

"I am not taking anything besides currency, sir. I’m not running a market,” she said.

"Goodbye. Are you always alone at home, or is your sister not here with you?" he asked casually as he headed towards the door.

"Why should that concern you?"

"Oh, it's of no consequence. I merely inquired. You're too quick to judge... Good day, Mrs. Smith." And with that, he departed, leaving behind an air of unresolved tension.

Roderick wandered out into the chaotic night, his mind a labyrinth of tumultuous thoughts. Each step down the stairs intensified the maelstrom within him, causing him to halt, seized by sudden notions. Once on the street, he could no longer bear the burden, and with an anguished cry, he uttered, "Oh, God, how repugnant it all is! Can I, can I possibly... Of course not, it's absurd, it's nonsensical!" he declared, steeling his resolve. "How could such a dreadful idea have ever taken root in my mind? What despicable inclinations my heart conceals! Yes, abhorrent above all else, vile, loathsome, loathsome! And for an entire month, I've been..." Yet, no words nor exclamations could adequately convey his agitation. The profound aversion that had began gnawing at his soul during his journey to the old woman now had reached a crescendo, assuming a distinct shape that left him helplessly grappling to escape the clutches of his misery.

As he strolled along the bustling pavement, his steps erratic and heedless of those around him, he bumped into passers-by, his senses only returning when he found himself on the adjacent street. Glancing around, he discovered his proximity to a tavern, its entrance reached by steps descending to the basement from the pavement. In that very moment, three intoxicated men emerged from the tavern's door, leaning on each other for support, exchanging words of abuse. Without hesitation, Roderick descended the steps, venturing into a tavern for the first time in his life. A dizzying sensation overcame him, and an insatiable thirst haunted him. He yearned for a draft of cold beer, attributing his sudden bout of frailty to hunger. Settling at a grimy booth in a dim and squalid corner, he called for beer and eagerly consumed the first glass. Almost instantly, a sense of relief washed over him, and his thoughts regained clarity.

"What stupidity," he uttered with a glimmer of hope, attempting to dispel the impending distress. "There's naught to fret about in it, merely a trifling bodily disturbance. A sip of beer, a morsel of food�"and in an instant, the mind strengthens, clarity dawns, and the will solidifies!

Yet, despite his contemptuous musings, a sense of liberation washed over him as though released from a burdensome yoke, and he regarded the others within the tavern with newfound warmth. Nevertheless, even amidst this transient elation, a vague presentiment haunted him, warning that this placid state of mind was perhaps far from ordinary. At that moment, the tavern housed but a sparse assembly of souls. Aside from the inebriated group he had earlier encountered on the threshold, a cluster of approximately seven men and three women clutching a concertina and other items had departed simultaneously, leaving the premises in a state of hushed desolation. Among those who lingered were a man, seemingly a laborer, intoxicated but not to the extreme, seated before a brimming pot of beer. His comrade, a gargantuan figure with a light red beard and draped in a short, full-skirted coat, displayed a profound drunkenness, having succumbed to slumber on the bench. At intervals, he stirred in his sleep, fingers cracking disjointedly, limbs splayed wide, and his torso swaying erratically, accompanied by a tuneless hum, as if attempting to recall verses that eluded him:

"In dreams unclear, my thoughts cascade,
A melody lost, within the shade."

In the midst of the tavern, he found himself stirred from slumber, as if life's somber symphony had brought him back to consciousness.

Another figure loomed in the dimly lit room, resembling a retired civil servant. Seated at a distance, he intermittently sipped from his cup, casting glances upon the gathering. Evidently, he too was caught in the whirlwind of unrest that pervaded the air.