Everlast

CHAPTER SIX

"Do you know you share your name with a poet?"

John's eyes shifted around the elegant café and at the people who sneakily whispered and pointed at him. He desperately wanted to leave, not wanting to be their source of gossip but Monica made sure they would have something to eat before heading back to the estate.

"He's one of my favourite poets. I also like Williams Wordsworth."

"Ah! Who doesn't like a bit of Wordsworth?" she stated, ignoring the oncoming glances. "His last name has it all, although I have much preferred Clare's work." "She moved closer to him. "What's your favourite poem?"

John gulped, remembering Vanessa and their time shared talking underground. He spoke softly, his eyes escaping to the window, remembering. "I am —yet what I am none cares or knows. My friends forsake me like a memory lost: I am the self-consumer of my woes—"

"They rise and vanish in oblivious host," she continued, "Like shadows in love's frenzied stifled throes. And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed." She forced a smile, flattening the napkin on her lap.

He smiled his blackened lips to the side, momentarily forgetting the world. "You recite beautifully Miss Everlast."

"Hardly beautiful. It was the first poem I learnt from my uncle. It holds truth but such sadness. Makes you think how someone can be left alone like that." She searched his eyes, which mirrored her words.

"A friend of mine, Miss Ives, once told me happy people love songs and sad people love poetry."

"I have to agree with your friend," Monica said. "Come now; let us celebrate on Obsidian's success. Without your encouragement I would never had ventured this far into the business."

He bit the inner part of his lip as more eyes fell on him. He shifted in his seat and moved his hands to cover his face.

"The only way to conquer fear is to face it. Look it dead in the eyes." Monica uttered, not turning to look at the spectators. "We do not choose how we are born in this world Mr Clare or have control on our natural features. But you have a choice on how to live your life. You can cower away and work till your hands turn to bones or you can sit back and enjoy life."

"Society will never accept me. Accept this," he motioned to his face.

"We can't please everyone. That is what I have experienced in this life. You do something good for one person and the other party will hate you for it." She forked the carrot cake into her mouth and closed her eyes in pleasure. "Now this is good."

John peered down at his plate until he saw a pair of black shiny shoes right near their table. Glancing up he was a tall handsome man with ginger hair and moustache. He coughed.

"Mr Isles," Monica addressed straitening her back, placing the fork on the table. "When did you return from Italy?"

"Ah," he began, "Venice was splendid but I fear I have tasted all of the good food, I'll never get that new found joy back." He kissed her hand before taking a seat at the table. "And who is this?"

John fiddled with his hands, hiding them under the table.

"This is John Clare," Monica introduced. "He's my employee at Obsidian Estates and Farming. And this is Michael Isles, an old family friend. He owns the Isles Pharmaceuticals in Kensington." Brief nods of acknowledgment were exchanged. "What brings you here?"

"You remember my cousin Constance? She's to have a ball for her eighteenth birthday in a week so I've come up. And I'm personally inviting you to accompany me."

Her eyes brightened for a moment, but then her face mirrored John's. "I cannot go," she expressed, folding the napkin. "I was never the kind to parade and dance at balls. I'm afraid that I may disappoint you."

"What nonsense Miss Everlast. An exotic beauty like you can never be a disappointment." He glanced at John from the corner of his eyes. "I can't imagine you to enjoy yourself as this kind of social event."

John dug his nails around the table corner.

"Mr Clare is an ardent dancer, although it is not suited for your kind of social event," she laughed awkwardly. "Mr. Clare and I are rather busy with the accounts and up keeping of the estate."

"Monica," Mr Isles said her first name, catching her off guard. "I think for once you can spare one evening for me."

"I should head back Miss Everlast," John mumbled, his black lips tightened so hard, it appeared like a fine line marked on greyish paper.

Monica's eyes moved between the gentleman as she stood. "Mr Isles, it was nice meeting after many months but you should know me by now." She touched his shoulder. "I don't have time for parties and such alike. Send my love to Constance."

"Why didn't you want to go Miss Everlast?"

The view outside blurred the evergreen trees and the late afternoon light illuminated the carriage as it rocked over some bumpy hillsides. Monica removed her gloves and adjusted the collars of her dress. John stared at her.

She stared outside, although his yellow eyes continued looking at her forlorn face. "I never met my father. He – was a Spanish pirate and my mother, who was unhappily married, fell in love with him. She's my Uncle Lionel's cousin." She sighed, glancing down at her exposed hands. "How I came into this world caused quite a scandal." Turning her body forward, her back slumped. "They tried to run away, but my father was executed and my mother pushed me into a world full of hatred. No one had met me and yet everyone hated me. As soon as I was born, my mother's husband sent me to an orphanage. It was the cruellest part of my childhood." She smudged a tear from her left eye. "I was known as the love child, but so where many others where I spent the first ten years of my life." Realising she had said to much to her worker, she shook her head. "What I'm unsuccessfully trying to say is, there's this dark mark on me and no matter how I better myself, speak well, I can never mingle into a society where I am judged so harshly by the colour of my skin and the Spanish blood that flows through me. I'm an outcast."

John made a bold move; he sat right beside her, taking her pristine hands into his clammy ugly hands.

"You told me we can't choose how we come into this world. I was abandoned and I spent years resenting my father and sort revenge. It brought me nothing but pain." He tenderly wiped the other tear away. "You are the most brave, strong minded young lady who has shown me nothing but kindness. I know one thing for certain; humans are very quick to judge one another. Do not take upon your heart, for these matters of judgement are trivial."

"I guess you and I are outcasts," she whispered, holding his heavy hand beside her face. She leaned against his thick chest. "I've never told anyone about my past. I don't have friends I can rely on."

He placed his arm lightly around her petite frame. "Everyone needs a friend Miss Everlast. You have me."

The moonlight glowed like a candle in the night sky as the clouds took centre stage, hanging lower and with it came a cold chill, gently blowing the white net curtains.

Monica rubbed her hands together and glanced down; remembering how John's freezing hands felt against her cheeks. Dressed in her night gown she wandered towards the window, admiring the beauty of the pale full moon. Her eyes lowered, her shoulder rested against the side window.

I was abandoned by my father, she recalled John's words, filled with anguish she could only understand. She folded her arms across her bosoms, biting the side of her lip. From her window she noticed tiny candles burning by the many small cottage windows her workers occupied. She felt her cheeks ignite as her eyes fell on John, who was reading a book by candle light. From afar his greyish skin mimicked the ruins of a Greek statue, but his unnatural yellow eyes bounced with every page he turned.

One by one the candle lights extinguished, welcoming the solitude of night. Only one remained, shining like a lonely beacon. John shut the book, and as he glanced at the night sky his eyes surveyed Obsidian Estate. He observed Monica, her black nightgown revealing her bare arms as they shut the window. He stared until the light vanished from her room and so he welcomed the night.