Page 2 of Scars of a Passionate Revenge
They emerged into the street and Benedict breathed deeply. The crisp evening air was mingled with the smells of the city, some less savory than others. But he loved the sense of anticipation in the air, even late in the evening. London was a city of such potential, such adventure. He had loved his time travelling overseas, but London would always be home, and he was glad to be home again.
The two friends walked through the streets of St. James in silence; theirs was the kind of comfortable, established friendship that did not need constant chatter. Their lodgings in town were not far apart, and they would be able to make most of the journey home together.
Benedict’s eye was drawn to a movement in a gloomy alleyway just off the main street. Even in this rather prestigious part of London, there were dark corners where piles of rubbish festered among the animal muck and debris of the streets, and it was next to such a pile of trash that he saw the movement again.
He stopped in his tracks and held up a hand to Cecil. “Wait, I think I can see a child amongst all that rubbish.”
Cecil let out a sigh. “You cannot save them all, you know,” he said in a low voice, following Benedict’s gaze. “It is tragic indeed, but there are such sights to be seen on every corner in London. You will get used to them once you have been home for a while.”
Benedict ignored him and turned off the main street into the alleyway. “Is there someone there?”
A shape emerged from the darkness, a small shape that moved slowly into the dim light from the gas lamp on the street.
Benedict let out a gasp. It was a child, and a ragged one at that. He was nothing but skin and bones, and his tiny frame was barely covered by the torn and filthy clothing that he wore.
“Are you alone, my boy?” he said gently, stepping closer to the child.
The child flinched and Benedict realized in a horrible moment that he might be afraid of being abducted, or worse, by a strange gentleman approaching him in the darkness.
“I promise I won’t hurt you,” he said, in as reassuring a tone as he could muster. “I want to help. Now, are you alone, or do you have an adult with you?”
The boy tilted his head slightly to one side, and Benedict looked in the direction he was indicating towards. A man stepped forward, looking almost as pathetic as the child in his attire. He had a terrible pallor to his skin, and dark circles under his eyes.
Benedict pushed down a surge of anger at the predicament these people had found themselves in. How could society be so cruel, to allow some to feast and flourish, and force others to look through piles of rubbish to try and find something to fill their empty stomachs?
He reached into his pocket, ignoring the sighs emanating from Cecil, who was standing behind him.
“You are hungry?” he asked the man.
The man nodded. “We have not eaten now for several days, Sir.” His voice was weak, and Benedict thought that the man looked as if he was not far from death.
Benedict took a bundle of bills from his pocket and handed them to the man. “Be sure to feed the child first,” he said. “I am trusting you to make good use of this money. Find shelter, and then find work.”
The man’s face lit up when he realized the value of what he had been given. “Sir, I cannot tell you what this means. I promise I will put it to good use.”
Benedict nodded curtly, then turned to the boy. “And you, young man. What will you be when you grow up?”
The boy hesitated for a moment, looking up at him shyly before responding. “I will never be as smart as you, Sir,” he said quietly, eyeing Benedict’s fine clothes.
“Well, if you have a little luck, and you work hard, then perhaps one day you will be.” Benedict took off the cap that was settled on his own head and dropped it onto the boy’s head, watching as his face lit up with glee. “Now, you shall wear that cap when you go and ask for work, and remember me. How does that sound?”
The boy nodded. “Thank you, Sir. I will do you proud, I promise.”
“Well then,” Benedict said. “I wish you both luck. We must be on our way.”
The man and the child repeated their thanks, as Benedict and Cecil took their leave and resumed their walk home.
Cecil let out a low chuckle as they continued past an ale house; shouts were emanating from inside, where there was clearly a brawl going on.
“What do you find so amusing, my friend?” Benedict asked.
“Well, how do you know that will not go and spend all your money on ale as soon as you have walked away from them, or put it all on a horse?”
Benedict shrugged. “I don’t know that,” he replied. “But I prefer to believe the best of people. I think he will feed his child, and hopefully find shelter for them both, then in the morning, go and look for work when he has had a chance to wash and acquire some decent clothes.”
Cecil nodded. “It is admirable, how you see the best in people. I wish I were the same.”
“It is a matter of choice,” Benedict said. “But there are people who I know are not good, people who have done terrible things. And those people do not deserve my kindness. Be under no illusions, Cecil. I am no bleeding heart.”
