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Alexander’s quill scratched through the silent house; a lonely, feverish scribble, barely pausing in it’s haste to keep up with the spinning mind of it’s master. Dark circles haunted Alexander’s eyes, his gaunt, pallid face shadowed with stubble from a week without shaving. He muttered as he wrote. Teetering stacks of paper crowded his desk, pages and pages covered in dense, elegant script. He squeezed in the last few lines of writing at the bottom of his page, tossing it aside without a second glance and reaching for a fresh sheet.
Knock knock.
His hand wavered, fingers brushing the paper, his brain ticking slowly, weighing up if it would be worth his while to answer.
Knock knock.
With a heavy sigh, he pushed back his chair and staggered to his feet, straightening his clothes as he headed for the front door. He rested his head against the cold wood for a second, collecting his scattered thoughts. Deep breath. He unlatched the door.
“Hello,” he said heavily, then, upon seeing who his visitor was, he straightened up in surprised. “Hello?”
A young woman stood shivering on the doorstep, glancing nervously over her shoulder. She started when Alexander spoke, a frightened squeak escaping her ruby lips.
“Oh! Sir, I-I know you’re a m-man of honour and I’m s-sorry to bother you at home b-but—” she spoke rapidly in a thick, choked voice, the words tripping over themselves in her haste. “I d-don’t know where to go a-and, I c-came here all alone—”
Her chest shook with a ragged breath; she was crying. Tears streaked her pale cheeks, a damp handkerchief twisting between her thin fingers. Alexander’s heart contracted painfully in his chest.
“Come in, Miss, come in,” he said, alarm and concern clear in his tone, opening the door wider and motioning her down the hall.
She ducked her head meekly as she passed him, dark locks of hair briefly hiding her face. Pity surged in Alexander, mingling with a stronger emotion his frazzled brain could not identify. He shook himself, pushing past her and leading into the lounge room. Moving aside a stack of paper, he sank onto the armchair and waved a lazy hand at the couch.
“Sit.”
It was an invitation, not a command. The woman perched on the cushions, shoulders rigid and legs neatly crossed beneath her red skirt. Alexander rang for tea.
“So tell me, Miss, what troubles you? Why do you cry?”
She bit her lip, her liquid eyes fixed on a patch of embodied carpet.
“My husband’s doing me wrong, sir, ” she said at last, her fingers resuming their absent handkerchief twisting. “Beatin’ me, cheatin’ me, mistreatin’ me. Suddenly he’s up and gone… I-I don’t have the means to go on.”
A servant quietly entered, setting a tea tray on the sideboard and pouring two steaming cups.
“Ah, thank you,” Alexander murmured, taking a long draught of the hot liquid. The tea settled his spinning mind. He regarded the woman with a curious stare. He was drawn to her, as if his pity had solidified into a tangible thread between them. “I don’t believe I caught your name, Miss.”
The woman flushed, setting her barely sipped tea on a side table and hunching her shoulders slightly, seeming to curl in on herself, “I’m s-sorry, sir, you must think me so rude. Maria Reynolds, at you service, sir.” She bowed her head, pulling at her skirts in a half-curtsey.
“Not too worry, Miss Maria, not to worry, I did not mean to sound unkind,” he said with a sigh, brushing her apology aside with one ink-smudged hand.
It hurt him to see such a beautiful woman reduced to tears by the cruelty of a man. The way she cowered and curtseyed and withdrew into her porcelain shell; it was not right. He an honourable man, yes, he would prove to Miss Maria that not all men were cruel beasts.
“I would be more than happy to loan you some money,” Alexander said, rising to his feet and crossing to a dresser in the corner of the room. He pulled a box from the depths of a draw, unlocked it, and fishing out a handful of coins and notes.
“Thirty dollars,” he said, returning the box to its hiding spot.
Maria followed him with wide eyes as he drew towards her. She flinched as he reached for her, but he merely took her hand and pressed the money into her palm, closing her fingers around it and patting them gently.
“You can pay me back if you so wish, but do not stress if you cannot find the money. I give it to you as a gift of goodwill.”
“T-thank you, sir,” she stammered, unfurling her fingers and staring in wonder at his gift.
“Would it please you for me to walk you home?” He asked, offering her his arm.
“You’re too kind sir,” Maria smiled for the first time, slipping her arm through his and pulling herself upright.
Alexander cupped her face in his palm, wiping the tears from beneath her eyes. A warm glow filled him; it felt so good to see her smile, to know that he’d made her happy.
“Whereabouts do you live?” He asked, leading her out onto the cobbled road.
“Nearby, just along here,” Maria said, her voice stronger, more confident.
The street lanterns had been lit to compensate for the growing darkness of the evening. The street was empty of people; most were inside their houses, eating their evening meal with their families. The cheerfully glowing windows cast squares of yellow light across the uneven cobbled road.
“This one’s mine, sir.”
She tugged his arm, steering him towards a narrow whitewashed house, the windows dark and the dying sun throwing patches of pale orange light and deep black across the brickworks. On opening the wooden door, Maria pulled Alexander inside the twilit house. All the curtains were closed. A slice of fading sunlight cut across the wooden floorboards, illuminating motes of dust floating lazily through the air. An upturned chair lay a little further down the hall. Maria’s arm slipped from his; she took a hesitant step into the house.
“I… should head back home,” Alexander said uncertainly, his tiredness catching up with him now that he had stopped moving. His mind had already resigned itself to continuing with his work. There was a fresh sheet of paper waiting for him, at a crowded desk in a cold, lonely house. He bowed, opened his mouth to say goodbye, then shut it again when a soft hand clasped his. Maria, a pink flush creeping across her cheeks, led him deeper into the house. He allowed himself to be taken along, too tired to protest. Outside a door, she stopped suddenly and spun around, her face inches from his.
“Stay?”
Her voice was soft plea, her wide eyes bright in the darkness. She stared at him, helpless. He could feel her breath on his neck, hear the wisp of air between her lips.
He had to say no. He should leave, push her away and storm from the house. He couldn’t. Her eyes, oh god, her helpless eyes. He lifted his hand to her face, brushing his fingers across her cheeks. Her breath caught.
No. Eliza. John… ahem… Angelica. He couldn’t do this.
Maria leaned in, closing the space between them to a millimetre gap. He closed the gap to nothing. In that moment, he no longer cared. He couldn’t say no to this. He didn’t think of Eliza, only how cold his bed had been without her. He didn’t think of the consequences, only how good he felt now. He thought only of Miss Maria; warm, beautiful Maria. He followed her into the bedroom.
——
A month had passed since that fateful night. Alexander had grown accustomed to quashing his guilt whenever it reared its ugly head. He had already betrayed Eliza by sleeping with Maria once. What would a few more nights matter?
He had thought that so often, the words had lost their meaning.
His life had entered a kind of dream state; writing all day, barely sleeping, spending his nights with Miss Maria. He was happy to continue walking zombie-like through this life.
Until he received a letter from a Mr. James Reynolds.
Seeing the letter next to his morning toast, he didn’t immediately recognise the name. A sinking feeling of dread settled in his stomach. Reynolds. He gingerly pushed away his toast, feeling slightly sick. With trembling hands, he slit open the envelope and began to read.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu…”
Each sentence seemed to add a lead weight to his conscious. No. This couldn't be happening. Panic clouding his mind, he stood up, his chair crashing to the floor, stumbling to the sideboard and stuffing the letter into the bottom of a drawer. He raced down the hall, almost tripping over the doorstep in his haste. The sun had not yet risen; grey streaks of pre-dawn light lit the pale sky. Alexander’s shoes thumped against the cobbles as he half walked, half run to Maria’s house. She answered on his second knock.
“How could you,” Alexander snarled, pushing her down the hall. “How could you!”
“No, sir!” Maria cried, stumbling backwards and falling to her knees. “Please don’t go sir! I - I don’t know… w-what, how, what h-happened?”
“Your…husband,” he spat, kicking the door shut behind him, “has sent me a letter demanding payment in return for not telling my wife about you. How did he find out about this, hey? So was your whole story a setup?”
He loomed over Maria, a his face contorted into a terrible scowl. All his guilt turned to rage, directed at the pitiful figure, cringing on the ground before him.
“I d-didn’t know about any letter,” she sobbed.
“Stop crying, goddamnit, get up!”
“I didn’t know any better!”
“I am ruined—”
“Please don’t leave me with him,” Maria wailed desperately.
“—How could I do this?” He growled, kneading his forehead with a clenched fist. He stormed past Maria, stamping his foot like a child in a tantrum.
“Just give him what he wants and you can have me,” Maria called, her helpless eyes pleading with him as much as her anguished voice.
“I don’t want you—”
“… whatever you want…”
“—I don’t want you, I don’t—”
“If you pay, you can stay,” she cried, rising to her feet, her hand reaching out to him imploringly.
Alexander drew in several ragged breaths, standing still while Maria edged towards him. Her hand hovered next to his cheek, and the terror on her face melted through his anger like a searing knife, leaving him burning with shame.
“I’m… sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. She was shaking, damp tears soaking his shirt. He stroked her hair.
“Hush now my love, It’s okay, I’ll pay him. Nobody needs to know.”