Dear Future Husband

4. Can I Help You, Sir?

24 December 1888

Chills shuddered down his spine as Maximilian used his numb, reddened fingertips to hold the edges of his frayed jacket more tightly together, half of its buttons missing. The sounds of horses' hooves against cobblestones alarmed him; he jolted upright in the dark alley, which was quickly brightening from the rising sun. He examined his surroundings: a pile of refuse from a nearby shop, a puddle from a chamber pot that had very nearly missed him, and... still no boots. He breathed in and tasted soot, ash, and... fresh-baked bread in the air. Was there a bakery nearby?

A second whiff confirmed his suspicions, and, dusting off his raggedy clothes as well as he could, he set his calloused feet on the cold, hard ground. At least it had not snowed yet, as the weather was unseasonably warm for late December. That was one blessing. Though he was not sure he believed in blessings, as his bare feet showed. Every man had to make his own luck.

Noticing two wealthy-looking men who walked by the alley, Maximilian trailed behind him closely. Steam rose from his breath and clouded his vision momentarily before he realized that the steam was from the bakery. This was his chance! Quickly darting by one of the men, he pretended to be on his way to the bakery as they passed through a crowd and reached into the man's coat pocket for his wallet. He tried to find it, but he only found a watch chain and fob, and a...

"I would recommend not doing such a thing, lad," the man sneered, looking down at him. "Or you'll end up with your hand cut off. Give back what you stole and perhaps I'll have mercy."

He retracted his hand and tried to run, but the man seized his wrist and twisted it painfully. "Ouch!"

"Edgar," the other man said, stopping in the middle of the street. He had a kind face, with red hair and green eyes that looked like spring grass. "Stop hurting this poor child."

"Look at what he has done to my coat," Edgar griped, pointing at the dark fingerprints smeared onto the dove grey wool. He had hair a shade darker than Gideon's, with brown eyes instead of green, but they might have been brothers. "Do not act as if he is so innocent, either! This boy tried to steal from me."

"Pray tell, boy, what is your name?" The other man, Edgar's friend or brother, crouched down to meet Maximilian's eyes. He looked kindlier than his companion, his eyes creased with laugh lines. When Max did not answer, he prodded. "I shan't hurt you, not shall I report you to the authorities for theft."

You can trust him, some small voice inside him spoke. Tired and starving as he was, he gave in.

"Oh... my name is Maximilian Walker, sir. I'm sorry about your friend's watch. It's only that... I was so hungry, and I really wanted to get some bread to eat, and..." He looked down at his dirty feet, feeling ashamed.

Under the brim of his bowler hat, Edgar scowled. "Hungry? Then find work. Where are your parents?"

Shaking his head, Maximilian kept his eyes on the hard stones beneath his soles. "They are dead, sir."

"It isn't Maximilian's fault that he's an orphan, Edgar." The man with brighter hair sounded tired, but sympathetic, as if this was the sort of thing Edgar said all the time.

"Really, while that may be true, you cannot take in every stray on the street, Gideon." Edgar harrumphed.

"Can I help you, sir?" Maximilian said, wanting to prove himself to Gideon, who seemed nice. "I could be of use! I'll... I'll clean chimneys, if you need it. Or I shall, I'll curry horses, or muck out your stables. Please, sir. I should hate to take charity."

"The cleaning of chimneys by children has been outlawed since 1832," Gideon told him with a friendly laugh. "And I have many stable boys already, not that I've much use for them in Town. But I could make do with an apprentice."

"A... an apprentice, sir?" He was confused, not understanding what he meant.

Gideon nodded. "I could use someone to help out in my business, you see."

"What do you sell?" Maximilian asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Erm, well... I do sell physical wares, but there is more to my business than that, you see. It is difficult for me to explain. You look quite famished. Why not enter my townhouse so that I might allow my wife to prepare a meal for you?" Gideon scratched the back of his neck. "It's Christmas Eve, after all. You ought to spend it in a warm home."

Maximilian rocked back on his heels, pursing his lips as he tried to figure out what he had on him that could be used as a weapon. He'd lost his footwear, but perhaps one of the buttons on his ragged coat? It was rather sharp... "Very well, Mr...?"

"Wakefield." Still in a crouching position, Gideon stuck out his hand. "Gideon Wakefield, at your service."

Maximilian took his hands out of his pockets and shook it.

Mr. Gideon Wakefield's home was in the very fashionable neighbourhood of Queen Anne Street, overlooking St. James Park. Maximilian's eyes went big at the sight of the house, with its bronze, lion-shaped doorknocker standing out against the red-painted door. The sash windows had lace curtains behind them, while the bricks of the house were slightly obscured by English ivy and roses. Shivering, he rubbed his hands over his arms but refused to admit that he was cold even as Gideon and Edgar stood on the doorstep casting concerned and wary looks at him. Gideon rapped on the door and they waited a moment until the door was opened by a tall man in a black and white suit with white gloves.

"Good morning, Mr. Wakefield!" The butler's voice sounded startled, taking a step back. "You are home early."

"Good morning, Cooper. My presence is not an unwelcome surprise, I should hope." Gideon smiled. "And I have brought a guest with me. This is Maximilian Walker. You will, of course, alert my wife so that she may make the appropriate preparations."

Cooper's bushy white eyebrows rose. "Oh, but surely the housekeeper can-"

"As competent as Mrs. Jenkins is, Cooper, I would prefer that my wife take care of this matter personally. I am sure you would not question me?" Gideon's tone was polite, yet firm. Maximilian felt guilty for making him go to so much trouble. "And find him some shoes, please."

"Yes, Mr. Wakefield, sir. Right away, sir." With that, he sped off, his silver tray still in hand.

The three of them stepped into the house, and Maximilian gazed in awe at the wide staircase, the crystals dripping from the chandelier with soft gaslight, and the black and white marble tiles cool beneath his feet. He had never seen such grandeur.

Edgar huffed. "Really, brother, why are you going to such lengths for a little street urchin?"

"When I find out, brother, I shall let you know," Gideon said quietly. "For now... God has plans for him, as He has plans for us all."

Before Maximilian could even attempt to understand what was being said, the same woman who had stumbled across him nearly a month ago appeared in the hall, with the same warm brown eyes looking at him. She put her hands on her hips. "So, you decided to accept my offer after all."

"Well, I, Erm..." He put his hands in his pockets, staring down at the raggedy hems of his pants.

She gave a hearty chuckle. "You may address me as Aunt Caro. Come on in."

That night, Maximilian wore real clothes for the first time, not the raggedy hand-me-downs he had been given at the orphanage, and he ate heartily at Gideon Wakefield and Aunt Caro's table. Gideon extended no such invitation to call him Uncle, but he did smile warmly and offer small acts of kindness to Maximilian, which he appreciated more than he might have any sweet words. There was a Christmas Eve feast heaped bountifully onto the cloth-draped table: a roast goose with glistening, brown skin, cranberry sauce the colour of the deep red jewel that Aunt Caro wore at her throat, crispy slices of bread with soft insides slathered with butter. He felt almost sick when he had finished, though Gideon from time to time called for a glass of cider and warned him not to eat too quickly.

"Time for bed," Aunt Caro declared, then casting a nonjudgmental look at his tattered clothes, added, "But maybe a bath first."