The World Duology (World Odyssey / Fiji: A Novel) (3 page)

2

Kensington, England, 1838

S
usannah Drake sat alone with her thoughts on the lawn behind her father’s rectory in Kensington. Lost in her own world for the moment, the pretty twelve-year-old was aware of the drama that was unfolding inside the family home even if she didn’t fully comprehend it.

Around the other side of the house, a procession of grim adults filed in and out of the front door. They were vis
iting Susannah’s mother, Jeanette, who was dying of an illness the local doctors had been unable to identify.

Susannah’s father, Reverend Brian Drake, had done his best to shield his daughter from the severity of his dear wife’s illness, but despite this, Susannah was aware something wasn’t ri
ght. The deterioration in Jeanette’s condition in recent weeks had been alarming and that was something that couldn’t be hidden from Susannah. However, it wasn’t in Susannah’s nature to expect the worst, so she was hopeful whatever it was that had reduced her mother to a virtual skeleton would soon pass.

A red-eyed Drake Senior suddenly appeared at the back door. “Susannah!” he called.

Susannah dropped the doll she was holding onto the grass and ran to her father. Drake Senior looked at her sadly. Looking down into her bright, hazel eyes, he reached out affectionately and stroked her red hair.

“What is it, papa?” Susannah asked innocently.

Unable to answer her, Drake Senior took Susannah by the hand and led her up the stairs.

The sound of women crying alerted Susannah that something terrible had happened. It was coming from her parents’ bedroom on the first landing. She held tight to her father’s han
d as he led her into the room. There, she found her grandparents and other relatives crowded around her parents’ large double bed. The adults immediately made room for Drake Senior and his daughter.

Susannah stepped forward, wide-eyed, and looked at her mother who seemed to be sleeping. “Mother,” she whispered.

Grandma Pegden, Susannah’s sweet-natured, maternal grandmother, pulled Susannah to her and held her to her bosom. Crying, she murmured, “Mummy has gone to be with the angels, sweetheart.”

Susannah felt numb. She tried to make sense of her grandmother’s words.
Mummy can’t be with the angels
, she told herself.
She’s only sleeping
. Susannah studied her mother’s lifeless, skeletal features. Slowly, it dawned on her, her mother really was dead. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Intervening, Susannah’s stern, paternal grandmother, Grandma Drake, took Susannah firmly by the hand and led her toward the door. “It’s
not good for her to see Jeanette like this,” she announced in a tone that told everyone present she would brook no argument.

Susannah dutifully allowed her least favorite grandmother to lead her back downstairs to the privacy of a small chapel in the rec
tory at the rear of the house. There, they sat down on a pew, facing each other.

Teary-eyed Susannah tried her best not to cry. She knew Grandma Drake disapproved of children who cried.
Their way of seeking attention
, she always said.

Susannah noticed her grand
mother seemed to be studying her critically. The youngster braced herself. She recalled numerous hellfire and brimstone-style lectures she’d received from Grandma Drake, including a lengthy one only the day before. Phrases like
Growing up to be a God-fearing woman
and
Treading a righteous path
as well as
The world being full of sin and evil
always slid off the zealous old woman’s tongue with effortless ease. Expecting yet another sermon, Susannah hesitantly turned to face her grandmother.

For once Grandma Drake
seemed lost for words. Her glasses kept misting up, prompting her to remove them and polish their lenses with a handkerchief every few minutes. Finally, she said, “Have faith in the knowledge that your mother was a God-fearing woman, my child. Know in your heart that your beautiful mother will be in heaven now with our Heavenly Father and the angels.”

Surprised,
Susannah looked at her grandmother as if seeing her for the first time. For once, Grandma Drake seemed human. Gone was the rigid woman of the Church she’d come to know. Susannah even noticed tears forming in the old woman’s eyes.

“It i
s impossible to say why God chooses to take some souls from their loved ones,” Grandma Drake continued. “This world is often one of pain and misery, and the various forms of suffering we all endure scar us forever.”

Susannah
’s surprise grew as her grandmother kissed her forehead then embraced her warmly.

“Your mother’s pass
ing will also scar you, my dear,” Grandma Drake said, “but you must have faith in the Lord’s grand design of life, death and the afterlife. He
always
has a purpose. Even if we mortals are unable to see the wisdom of His ways.”

Susannah
hugged her grandmother tightly. As she did, she looked up at a statue of Christ’s crucifixion that rested on a shelf on the rectory’s near wall. Studying the anguished expression on Christ’s face, she began to cry on her grandmother’s shoulder. Nothing, it seemed, could stem the flow of tears. To Susannah, who still studied the statue, it felt as though her tears flowed like a river of Christ’s blood.

“Let it all out, my child,” Grandma Drake whispered as she held her granddaughter as tight as she could without hurting her.

When Susannah’s sobbing finally subsided, Grandma Drake grabbed her grand-daughter’s hand and squeezed it firmly. “You must to be strong now Susannah, for your father’s sake. And for yours. After all, you only have each other now.”

#

As that awful day drew to a close, Susannah had no tears left. She’d cried an ocean of tears and now just felt empty. The youngster suddenly wanted to be alone. She also felt she needed to be close to nature. Exactly why, she wasn’t sure.

Quietly s
lipping out the back door of the family home, Susannah headed for the lily pond in the yard behind her father’s rectory. Fittingly, it was a gloomy day outside as well as inside. Susannah reached out with both hands and touched the leaves and branches of the mature oak and elm trees as she followed the familiar narrow, leafy path to the pond. Their touch was comforting to her.

On reaching the pond, Susannah sat down
on a wooden deckchair near the pond’s edge and stared at the reflections in the water. The white swans for whom the pond was home paddled over to her, hoping she’d feed them the breadcrumbs she usually brought with her, but on this occasion they were out of luck. They paddled off.

Susannah hadn’t even consciously noticed the swans. She was thinking about her mother, or her mother’s soul, and hoping to receive a sign. B
ut nothing materialized.

For
the first time in her life, Susannah questioned her own faith.
Is there really a God or an afterlife?
She hoped the answer would somehow miraculously come to her. None did. Again she felt a terrible void inside.

A
squawking bird flying overhead distracted her. Susannah looked up, but couldn’t see the bird, only fluffy white clouds. They covered Kensington like a dome of cotton wool. As the youngster studied them, the tears she thought she’d finished shedding began to flow once more. They stopped almost as soon as they’d started when the late afternoon sun pierced a tiny gap in the clouds. The sun’s brilliant rays bathed Susannah and the nearby pond in light. Their effect was mesmerizing.

In
that moment, Susannah sensed her mother’s presence. It was strong and undeniable; it was as though Susannah was an infant again; it felt like her mother was holding her – and she could feel her unconditional love.
Mother, you really are in heaven now with our Father and the angels!
A calmness descended on her as her faith in God was instantly restored.

Susannah thought she heard her father calling from the house, but she couldn’t be sure. She
continued looking skyward as the last of the sun’s rays disappeared and dusk descended.

Some time later – she hadn’t a clue how long for she’d lost track of time – D
rake Senior appeared beside her, his hand outstretched. “Dinner is about to be served, my child,” he said. “Will you come and join us?”

“Yes, Papa,” Susan
nah nodded. As she stood and put her hand in his, she noticed the grief etched on his face. She’d lost her mother, but he’d lost his wife and one true love, and was obviously a broken man.

Hand in hand, father and daughter walked slowly back to the house.
They walked in silence. The clergyman went to say something, but changed his mind.

Susannah looked skyw
ard again. The clouds had all but disappeared and in the darkening sky, the faint twinkle of stars could now be seen. The youngster took this as a further sign her mother was communicating with her. She stopped walking and tugged on her father’s hand. “Papa,” she whispered.

“
Yes my dear?”

Susannah
looked up at her father. “I felt mother’s presence just now.” She hesitated as she pondered how to best describe what she’d experienced. “It was like mother, or God, or maybe both, communicated with me through nature.”

Drake Senior stroked his daughter’s cheek tenderly. He smiled, but Susannah sensed he didn’t draw the same comfort from her experience as she did.
They resumed walking.

3

Southeast London, England, 1837

W
hile London may have been the center of the civilized world, for twenty-one-year old Jack Halliday and untold thousands of other working class citizens, it was a place of never-ending hardship and poverty. Not even the approaching coronation of Queen Victoria was enough to lift the black mood that prevailed over the vast majority of the populace.

Of course, poverty was relative. At least Jack had a job. The young Cockney eked out a living as a blacksmith in Sullivan’s Foundry down in the dockyards by the
Thames. Although he worked six days a week, the wage he made barely enabled him to survive even though he’d served his apprenticeship and was a qualified smithy.

Henry Sullivan, the foundry’s hard, mean-spirited proprietor, had a reputation for paying low wages. That he retained his hardworking staff was a reflection of the scarcity of jobs in
London. Unemployment was at an all-time high; anyone lucky enough to have a job, did what they had to, to keep it. This opened them up to abuse from unscrupulous employers like Sullivan.

Thankfully, this particular working day was nearly over. For Jack and the others, the day had gone like any other day at Sullivan’s. The work was hard, monotonous and sometimes dangerous; the fou
ndry was noisy, smelly and always busy. From dawn to dusk, the workshop reverberated to the sounds of loud hammering and the clang of steel against steel. As they toiled, the smithies were constantly aware of the hulking figure of Sullivan who, it seemed, was always looking over their shoulders, critically eyeing their work and productivity.

The proprietor stopped to inspect Jack's handiwork as the young smithy skil
lfully shaped a molten horse-shoe with a hammer. Sullivan asked, “Will Mister Featherstone's order be ready by tonight, Halliday?”

Jack pointed behind his employer to a pile of railings stacked against the wall. “Already done,” he said. He continued hammering while Sullivan inspected the railings.

The proprietor seemed impressed. He nodded with satisfaction before walking off.

Jack ceased hammering for a moment to fasten his perceptive green eyes on Sullivan's retreating back.
If me work’s that good, how about a raise, or a pat on the back at least?
Anyone observing Jack would have seen the contempt he felt for Sullivan written all over his face.

When the foundry siren sounded, heralding the end of the working day, Jack and the other smithies downed tools. Before leaving, Jack approached the proprietor. He asked, “Mis
ter Sullivan, how about paying me the overtime I'm owed?”

“I thought I told you, I'd pay you when I could?” Sullivan snarled.

“That was two months ago, sir.”

Sullivan became belligerent. He leaned forward so his brutish, granite-hewn face was close to Jack's. “Look Halliday, if you don't like it here there's plenty more men who'd like your job.”

Jack's right hand closed to form a fist. He was tempted to punch Sullivan then thought better of it.
Not now Jack. Get the old git’s quid first
. The young smithy turned on his heel and strode out of the foundry. Although his cheeky face didn’t show it, he was inwardly fuming.

Outside, it was already dark as
Jack joined a steady stream of workers and others – most of whom were making their way home. The streets were teeming with people. A mixed bunch, they included merchants, laborers, stonemasons, professional men, beggars, pickpockets and drunks.

Jack decided against going straight
home. Instead, he lingered outside a working men’s bar directly opposite the foundry. Unsure exactly what he was planning to do, he waited.

#

A short time later, Jack pulled back out of view when the foundry lights went out and Sullivan emerged from the front door. The proprietor locked the door and walked off into the night.

Jack hurried
across the street and ran to the rear of the vacated foundry. He’d had time to think and now had a definite plan.
If Sullivan ain’t gonna pay me, I’ll help me self
.  Checking no-one was around, he expertly picked the back door’s lock, opened the door and disappeared inside.

A short distance away
, Sullivan suddenly stopped walking and checked his coat pockets. “Damn!” he cursed. Realizing he’d left his favorite pipe behind, he turned and strode back toward the foundry.

By now Jack had entered
the foundry’s front office and was rifling through desk drawers looking for valuables. In his haste, he knocked over a heavy bookend. It landed on the wooden floor with a loud thud. He wasn’t to know that his employer was just outside the foundry’s front door at that very moment.

Jack’s search proved unsuccessful. He was about to leave when, at the bottom of a cupboard, a large quantity of hemp caught his eye. He grabbed the precious commodity, stuffed it in his pockets and retraced his steps to the back door. As he opened the door, he was shocked to see Sullivan waiting for him, pistol in hand.

“Well, well, what have we here?” Sullivan asked. “Doing some overtime, are we?” He waved his pistol threateningly under Jack's nose.

The young smithy slammed the door in his employer's face, locked
it from the inside then ran through the foundry.
There goes me raise!
Behind him, he could hear Sullivan shouting. Jack flung open a front window, scrambled through the narrow opening and landed heavily on the cobbled street outside.

Sullivan's shouting
had attracted the attention of patrons in the bar opposite. They were filing out onto the footpath to investigate, and were greeted by the sight of Sullivan aiming his pistol at Jack who was sprinting down the street as if his life depended on it, which it did. The big man fired a hurried shot that missed its target.

Turning to the bar
patrons, Sullivan shouted, “Two shillings to the man who catches that thieving bastard!”

Among the patrons, two burly men immediately joined Sullivan and chased after Jack who by now had disappeared down a dark, side-alley that led to a residential section of the dockside suburb.

Half-way down the alley, Jack hid in a doorway of someone’s home to take stock of his situation. Peeping around the corner of the doorway, he tensed when he saw one of the burly bar patrons enter the alley. The young Cockney held his breath as the shadowy figure ran toward him. When the man reached his hiding place, Jack stuck out his foot and tripped him, sending him sprawling. The Cockney was onto him in a flash, knocking him out cold with one punch. Like most smithies, he could usually end a fight with one punch if it landed flush as this one had. He looked behind him just as the other bar patron entered the alley.

Jack ran off, but pulled up when Sullivan appeared at the far end of the
same alley. Sullivan raised his pistol toward him. Trapped, Jack looked around desperately. With no time to think, he barged through the front door of the nearest house and found himself in a modest dining room where members of a typical working class family had just sat down for their evening meal.

The
young couple and their four children looked astonished as Jack strode through the room. Jack touched his curly forelock and smiled disarmingly. “Sorry to trouble you.”

The man of the house started to get to his feet
. A steelworker who looked as hard as nails, he prepared to defend his family. “What in God’s name do you think you…”

Jack motioned to him to remain seated and hurried toward the rear of the house.

“Hey!” the man of the house shouted after him.

Jack opened a door, hoping it would lead outside. He
discovered it was a bedroom, and it was currently occupied by lodgers – a middle-aged couple – who were making love on a single bed. The woman was naked except for a pair of dress shoes which, at that moment, were pointing toward the ceiling; her portly male lover’s fleshy buttocks were pumping away like pistons and the woman was whimpering like a distressed seal.

Jack couldn’t believe his eyes
.
Holy mackerel!
He momentarily forgot about the danger he was in. So engrossed were the pair that neither noticed Jack until he was half-way out the near window. A second later, he was gone.

The couple looked at each other and wondered if they’d imagined that a stranger had just passed through.

“Who was that?” the woman asked breathlessly. Her partner shrugged and they resumed their lovemaking.

Back in the dining room, before the family members had recovered from their surprise at Jack’s sudden intrusion, Sullivan and h
is burly companion burst in. At the sight of the pistol in Sullivan’s hand, the lady of the house screamed.

“Be quiet, madam!” Sullivan snapped. Addressing the man of the house, he asked, “Which way did he go?”

Dumbfounded, the man pointed toward the rear of the house. The uninvited pair hurried after Jack, leaving the startled family members looking at each other in disbelief.

Gr
umbling to himself, the man of the house complained, “This place is getting like a circus!” He then consoled his wife and children who by now were all crying.

The two intruders entered the same room Jack had passed through moments earlier. They arrived just as the portly, middle-aged man was climaxing. The man had the presence of mind to point toward the open window before finishing his business and collapsing into a sweaty
heap beside his equally sweaty lover.

Sullivan exited the bedroom to find a rear door while his burly companion climbed out the open window.

“And who in Christ’s name were they?” the woman asked her partner as soon as the latest intruders had left. Again, her lover just shrugged. He was spent and beyond caring.

Outside, Jack was sprinting down a lane leading away from the house. As he rounded the corner of a neighboring house, he pulled up when he found he was confronte
d by a high wall. It was a dead-end. Cursing, he turned back just as Sullivan and the burly man appeared.

Finding they had Jack trapped, Sullivan smiled sadistically. He turned to his burly companion. “I think you should teach Master Halliday the error of his ways.”

The burly man, who looked older but no less intimidating than the patron Jack had knocked out earlier, cracked his knuckles expectantly.

Sulliv
an added, “There’s an extra two shillings in it for you.”

With that, the man advanced on Jack, keen to earn the extra cash. Jack raised his fists and went forward to meet him. The two went toe to toe. Jack copped a couple of blows to the face and was forced to back-peddle. Another blow to the side of his head dropped him to his knees.
Okay Jack. Time to get serious
. As the man shaped up to kick him, Jack suddenly exploded. He brought his fist up hard into the burly man’s testicles. Gasping in pain, the man fell to the ground.

Remembering Sullivan
, Jack turned around too late to avoid a swinging blow. The steel butt of his employer’s pistol caught him above the eye, knocking him senseless.