Marian rose from the bed. Her shivering body chilled more by the tears which streamed slowly down her face. The walls around her were the colors of misery; all of the windows were broken and the woodwork sad and dismal compared to the bright, glowing décor of Limmeridge; her home. Walter sat on the bed. His face was lowered and his eyes were fixed in a gaze of sorrow at the floor. Marian let a gentle cry leave her throat as she slowly walked towards the door. As Marian approached the door, a brief but chilling breeze brushed her face. The breeze, though soft and gentle, felt like blades against her neck. Gasping from the sudden chill, she placed her hands upon the collar of her gown and held it close to her. Holding back her tears and hesitating to take the last step, she searched for the buttons to close her dress. Only then did she realize they were gone. The front of her corset was the only thing separating her pale skin from the harsh winter air. Marian watched as her breath formed clouds in the doorway. Walter heard the floor creak from beneath his feet. That silence, the blade which had hacked and torn all the hope which Marian had left in her heart, had pained her more than any feeling she had felt before. Her heart felt empty, thinking herself an utter failure since she could not acquire the trust of the man who loved her sister more than anyone she had known, save herself. She felt as if she would never breathe again. For Laura…she whispered into the air, I will right this wrong. She thought.
The next step. The last step before leaving Walter's room. The step seemed like miles. A sensation of loneliness robbed her face of its color as she rested her foot on the floor. The floor creaked. But it was not her footstep. Walter had risen from the bed. With a speed quicker than any movements Marian had made in her life she turned to him.
"If we find Anne Catherick," He said softly "If we know her secret…we can stop Sir Percival Glyde." Walter said standing. Marian stood in the door; a breath of hope rushed back into her body and broke the ice which had frozen her heart. The sensation left her breathless. Her face brightened. The fire of her heart was lit. Marian, overwhelmed with a joy which set her steady feet trembling, kneeled within the doorway. Walter kept his silent gaze upon her as he walked to the door. Marian buried her face within the folds of her gown and felt the tears soak her tattered dress as she clutched it in her hands. Her momentary sadness ceased as Walter offered his hand. Marian looked up at him, tears still glistening in her eyes.
"Are you really going to help me?" She uttered softly "They must not get away." Marian took his hand firmly and slowly rose to her feet. Strands of her hair fell in front of her face. A feeling of shame came over her as she looked at herself. Her dress was torn, the velvet having lost its smoothness days before. The dress seemed to consist of nothing but bare threads. The first four pearl buttons of the bodice were lying out in a dark alley somewhere. Her hands blotted with scabs and scratches, as if an artist had dribbled paint in her palms. Walter held her hands within his. Moving them closer to his lips Marian saw his eyes notice the scabs on her hands, the white corset peeking out from beneath her dress; and with a certain hesitation, the skin of her breasts. Marian put her hands to her dress, hiding her pale skin as the clearest sign of her ill health.
"My God…what has happened to you Marian?" Walter said softly. He dropped her hands and left them at her side as he went to close the door. She saw him look warily through the hallway before closing the door and turning the key in the lock. Marian's heart rushed in spite of itself. The moment passed by quickly, but the sound of the lock clicking rung in her mind. Marian could not let her face become flushed. Walter came back to her side and held her around her waist. "Tell me everything that has happened?" He said, walking her to his bed. "Pray tell me no one has harmed you."
"I had some trouble," She said softly, placing her hand upon the bed before sitting down. Marian placed her hand over her torn dress and looked up into Walter's eyes, all of the sudden feeling conscious of her body. "I suppose I trusted people too easily."
"How so?" Walter said, sitting down beside Marian. Marian's eyes lowered. An expression came upon her face which spoke to him; words of defeat. She closed her eyes, denying her own memories and trying to stop herself from weeping. The overwhelming humiliation came back to her and gave color to her face; within an instant she became flushed. Without speaking Marian clutched the collar of her dress closed and shook her head. Walter rested his hand on her shoulder. She looked away from Walter and kept her eyes lowered. "Then you needn't speak. Whatever happened to you we'll keep in the past. Just please don't tell me that this, whatever wrongs came upon you, was because of me." He said, pausing as her eyes glanced up at his. "Tell me your search for me did not bring about this despair?"
"I'm sorry Walter." She whispered hastily. "I know not a soul in London. I asked anyone who would listen if they knew where I could find you. I found someone but he-" Marian paused. Sobs began to stutter her speech. "I have nothing left. Had you not pawned your portrait of Laura I would never have found you." She whispered. Marian's hands moved again to her broken dress and the tears started down her face. "Laura's locket…he took it." She cried.
"Laura would not have cared about her necklace. She loved you much more." Walter said. Tears started at his face just by saying her name. Marian clung to his arm and let her tears fall upon his sleeve. But not wanting to drown in her grief, Marian gained her strength. She loosened her grip on his arm and stared into his face. His dark, guileless face though blackened by sorrow, still beautiful. Marian's heart stirred once again as she stared into his eyes. His face was unclean and poorly maintained, so different from the days at Limmeridge. Walter looked dark and besieged; his tortured face arousing all of the sympathies in Marian's nature. She tried to speak, but her cold lips tingled to kiss him. Absorbed by her own thoughts, she could only imagine her lips brushing his skin and his arms fastened around her. That was all she wanted, even just for a moment.
"You said they murdered her." Walter whispered, "Glyde and Fosco…you must tell me everything that happened after I left Limmeridge."
"So much, Walter. Only I do not know where to begin." She paused, resting her head on his shoulder. She could hear his breathing. "When I think back I doubt if what I saw was real. I have thought of nothing but finding you, looking at everyone's faces. My mind is hazy…I'm sorry."
"Rest now, Marian. Stay here, I will go across the street, I should have enough money to get us a decent meal for tonight." He paused, leaving her side and walking to a rickety bureau in the far corner of the room. The room creaked at every movement. Marian felt a sudden anxiety quicken within her as she noticed the other aspects of his room. The broken windows were covered by worn fabric which seemed as thin as lingering fog and which flowed in the wind gracefully. The ceiling leaked. The floorboards buckled under the weight at the smallest provocation. The crude gaps in the wood walls were filled with spider webs and dust. Marian looked at the floor next to her feet. There at the foot of Walter's bed were two bottles of liquor, one empty and broken, the other half empty, standing tall. Marian placed her hand around the body of the glass. She brought it to her. Marian watched the liquid dance within the glass. She placed the bottle beneath her nostrils and took a deep breath. Marian dropped the bottle and coughed, trying to get the strong scent of gin from her nostrils. The bottle hit the floor and the remaining gin poured out and spread upon the floor. Walter turned from the bureau, startled.
"Marian?" He said walking back from the bureau, now with a small coin bag in his hand. Marian covered her mouth with the backs of her fingers. They looked at the empty bottle. "Never mind about that." Walter said, lifting the bottle and walking to his window. Marian watched as he set the empty bottle down at the ledge. A reflected image graced the glass. The small bottle caught the light of the moon and took the image to itself. The glass now held a small, distorted oval shape of white imitating the shape of the moon from his window. The small phenomenon made Marian's face lose some of its sorrow; the wonder formed a smile on her face.
"Hartright!"
A woman's sharp voice called. Marian turned to the door. Walter walked from the other side of the room. The door rattled beneath the woman's hand. "Hartright!" She shouted.
Marian's eyes followed Walter. He opened the door. The woman passed Walter violently and entered the room. She stood with firmness and her tight corset pushed up her breasts and displayed them out from her green velvet dress. The dress was ostentatiously trimmed; glittering with gaudy gold tassels and fringe. Her hair was piled atop her head and flowing down her shoulders, shining gold and falling over her round breasts. Make up masked her face. Her bare arms pale but with marks of violence; small bruises. The skirt of her dress was gathered up from beneath her underclothes and one leg was exposed. Her black lace garter and tights frayed and her hose broken with large holes and runs across her thighs. The woman was a prostitute. Marian's face turned flushed and words dropped from her lips as she stared at the woman. Desperately she wished the woman would leave.
"What do you want here?" Walter said firmly. The prostitute put her hands on her hips and shuffled side to side.
"I heard from Bella that she saw a woman go up to your room, and that later you locked your door!" She said in a haughty tone. She fixed her tainted eyes on Marian. "I told you not to take any competition with my girls, you live here, and you stay with my girls!"
Marian rose from the bed so quickly she was sure the weight of the floor would break from beneath her. She turned around, her face red with rage and her hands clenched in fists. "How dare you!" Marian screamed with all her fury. Walter was startled. He turned to Marian and held her back from flying at the woman. "How dare you insult me?" She cried passionately. Walter's face went pale.
"Get out of my house!" The prostitute screamed.
"No, wait. Stop this!" Walter cried, holding Marian's shoulders and standing between the two women. "Marian! Stop!" He held her tighter as she begun to take control of her temper. Marian had never felt such a rage boil in her blood. If she could, she would have laid the prostitute on the ground at her feet and struck out all the fury and humiliation she had felt. How dare her. How vile an insult it was to even be considered a whore among the people she's been associated with. The shame which follows the very word itself made the sweat of rage fall from her brow. Walter whispered to Marian as she caught her breath.
"I'm sorry, Lucy." He addressed the prostitute. "I'm sorry, my sister is not herself. We've had some upsetting news in the family and she has come to stay with me." Walter paused, holding Marian; who stood in the center of the room as a controlled box of unexpressed rage. Her deep breaths seemed to echo in the small room. Lucy kept her eyes on Marian's face. Walter released Marian's arm and turned her around to let her catch some air in the window. "I don't believe you made any laws about family lodging with me for a few weeks." Walter said, looking at Lucy with a familiar smile.
Lucy stayed silent. She too appeared to suppress what anger she had left by catching her breath and clenching the folds of her dress in her fists. "Very well…" She said icily. "But she best not get in any rows with my girls. She had best know her place unless she wants to go out to the streets." Lucy said coldly. Without another word, and with a swish of her skirts, Lucy stepped outside Walter's room and turned away. Her footsteps dimming yet growing louder as her steps were heard going down the stairs. Marian stayed near the ledge of the window. She fell to her knees. She took the moonlit bottle in her grasp. With tears of rage flowing from her eyes she smashed the bottle to the ground. The broken pieces of glass spread through the room like miserable showers of rain. She rested her head upon the ledge. Marian closed her eyes.
Walter approached her slowly. She had stopped crying. He went to his knees and placed his hand on her shoulder, expecting her to look back. Slowly and gently Walter placed his hands on her shoulders, her body shivering beneath his palms. He moved her as slowly as he could from her spot on the ledge. Even with his slow movement, Marian dropped from her place at the ledge and fell into Walter's arms. Her face fell inches from Walter's face. He held her in his arms and looked at her. Marian no longer cared to appear strong, and her expression showed an intense exhaustion. Walter put his hand on her face and held her close to his breast as she calmed by her breath. Her hair slowly fell out from the snood which had held it neatly above her neck.
He closed his eyes and clung to Marian, as if holding her would release his sorrow. When Marian opened her eyes, she noticed tears pouring from his eyes. He loosened his grip. Walter looked on the floor. A thin layer of broken glass glittered across the floor. Too tired to move herself, Marian kept still as Walter reached for his wood bed, the sheet hanging off the edge just within his reach. He grasped the blanket and pulled it towards him; holding Marian with one arm. Her neck stretched back letting her eyes focus on the ceiling above her, and her hands fell to her side. With his other arm, Walter covered Marian with the blanket and moved to lift her from the floor. As a sigh escape her lips, Marian's weight shifted as Walter held her and slowly crossed to let her rest on the bed. The softness of her dress caressed his fingers as the weight of her body fell upon his hand. He withdrew his hand, letting the board and thin down mattress harness her weight.
The sunlight spread into the room, inching slowly through the window and gliding across the broken floor. Light reflected on the particles of scattered glass. The sun coated the beads and made them release their shimmering light. The curtains swayed in the wind. The sunlight fell upon Marian; the blackness of the room growing brighter. She lay on her back, the morning sun creeping upon her face. The warmth of the rays felt comforting as if the arms of Mother Nature embraced her as she stirred. Marian woke. She felt her cramped legs ache and her calm heart quicken as she opened her eyes. Dust blew into the light from upon the window ledge. Her body trembled; the back of her neck chilled by the cold air. With her eyes closed and feeling her joints become stiff, she brought herself up. Marian heaved a long sigh as she rested her head in her hand. Her head felt giddy. Marian kept her eyes closed. Her hand reached to the back of her neck as she tilted her head back to stretch; her weary face bathed in the sunlight. She approached the lighted window, the floor waking with her as she walked. More aware than when she rose, the sense of isolation sent a rush of energy to her, making her eyes alert and her breath rush as she turned to look around the room. He was gone. Marian looked at the door and saw it was left open, a small gap left to keep air flowing through. She closed her eyes, trying not to worry about Walter. After all, he had been alone before she found him; he must have had his own troubles and worked his way through. Marian continued to the window, still lightheaded and drowsy. The crinkle of the broken glass beneath her feet whispered in her ears. Her dress warmed in the light, the thinning velvet fibers reaching for the last rays of sun it could hold before it frayed and let the wind through. Marian's corset felt wet, as if a patch of ice held her in place instead of the stiff muslin. The thin sleeves hung at her gathered wrists and swayed as she placed her hand on the ledge. Keeping her face in the brisk morning sun, she leaned on the fixture and took deep breaths, hoping to clear her blurred mind.
An overpowering sensation came over Marian's body, the cold parching her skin. Her mouth turned dry, the cold air searing her throat. She longed for the sun to warm her, to pour down her body as warm tea from a cup. Marian held the front of her broken dress closed as the wind passed. She felt more alert, awake to the smallest provocation. But another pain robbed her mind of clarity and her body of strength. Marian could not remember the last time she had satisfied her hunger. She felt pangs in her stomach. Her mind wandered. The wind carried the scent of fish up from the pub across the street. Marian gazed out the window as if to smother her lungs in the scent. Her eyes gazed longing from the window.
Below the window was a small alley. Dew still glazed the lamp posts. The alley led into the busy street. The sidewalks were lined with people. Ragged women stood outside the pub windows and held their shawls across their breasts. Rustic letters bearing the title of the pub were carved into the wood above the windows. The faded gold paint within the depth of the letters faintly shimmered; blocked by small deposits of dust and moss which lay at the bottoms of each letter. The sound of carriage whistles sang. Prostitutes gathered around a fire, at the other side of the door entering the pub; the smoke from the barrel curling up into the air and fading away. A bartender came out, his crumpled white apron stained with whiskey. He thrust a drunk, ragged man into the street. The whores laughed and snickered. Following the bartender, another man, sober and with a quiet face left the pub. For a moment she thought it was Walter. Another dizzy spell blurred her vision, her stomach twisting with vigor. Without being completely aware she reached out and gripped the knob of the window. She struggled to keep her balance. Marian turned away from the street and looked down, staring at the shattered glass fragments which glittered like sugar.
The door creaked. Marian glanced at the door. The scent of worn leather filled the air as Walter closed the door; the movements of his body graceful and strong. Despite her weakness, a smile formed on Marian's face. Walter faced her, his face looking cleaner and less pained in the sunlight. He held a small wicker basket covered by a plaid cloth. Marian felt as if he hadn't noticed her. His silence was mildly uncomforting. With worry she glanced at him from across the room, placing her hand attractively upon her waist.
"I hope you slept well." Walter said softly. Marian stood still, sure that the sound of his voice had brightened the room and made the creaks in the floor cease to hear his voice. "I hope I haven't worried you. I went across to the Four Corners…What is it Marian?" He paused. Marian stayed silent; her eyes lowered and seemed to wander around her feet. Her grip loosened from the window. "Marian?" Walter said louder. Within the next moment, Marian lost all of her strength and collapsed beneath the ledge.
"Marian!" Walter cried, dropping the wicker basket from his hand and rushing to the other side of the room. He called her again. Walter fell to his knees and lifted Marian off the broken glass, pieces dropping from her dress as he brought her to her feet. She began to whisper. Walter held her arm over his shoulders and brought her to his bed. With a slow and easy movement he set her down on the bed and held her up as she fell over into his arms.
"Marian…Marian!" He called, beginning to shake her.
Wake up and help me!
Marian's eyes shot open. The voice shook her mind and made her blood rush with an unutterable awe. It was not Walter's voice. Her quick breathing stretched her corset as she fell onto Walter's shoulder. Her other hand found his face before resting on his shoulder.
"Marian what is it? Speak to me. Marian!" Walter cried. She did not look up at him. The voice echoed in her head, bellowing like church bells, growing loud and dying away. She fought to speak. Words dropped from her lips. Walter left her side. He reached into the basket he had left on the bureau and pulled another cloth from it. There was a flask hidden beneath it.
"Drink this. It's just water. Please Marian…" Walter said, twisting off the cover. He held Marian's chin and placed the flask at her lips. She began coughing, shaking her head violently. Walter fought to keep the flask at her lips.
Count Fosco sat beside her, handing her his flask. Drink this, it will help you sleep.
"No!" She uttered before striking the flask from Walter's hands. Walter was startled. He dropped Marian from his arms and let her fall onto the bed. Walter was disturbed at the sight of Marian trembling, from something so heavy on her thoughts she could barely articulate them. She buried her head into his pillow and lay still. Her heavy breaths were smothered. Walter stood over the bed, looking down at the ill creature. Marian started to move again. She placed her hands on the bed and slowly rose herself up. "Walter," She whispered, her voice frail and weak, holding back sobs. "Walter."
"Marian. I'm here, what is it?" He said, going to his knees and placing his hand on her back.
"I'm sorry…it's just I…" She paused. "I can barely think I haven't eaten."
"Don't say anymore now, rest. I've brought some bread from the Four Corners across the street. Lucy helps in the kitchen and I convinced her to give me something extra for you." Walter said. Marian sighed with an overpowering relief and placed her hands on Walter's arms. "When was the last time you ate something?"
"I can't remember…" She said softly, her head becoming heavy again. "Something came over me…I didn't mean to startle you."
"Consider it forgotten, if you choose not to tell me, I respect your wishes. Besides, I wouldn't want you to lose your strength, when you are well enough you must tell me everything that happened after I left Limmeridge."
With a start, Marian stood from the bed. She pushed Walter away and walked back toward the window. The sudden adrenaline made her heart jump and set her feet in motion. Her head became clear. She placed her hands on her head and leaned her sorrow into her hands.
"First thing I must tell you. You must know this…Sir Percival Glyde did not love my sister. Everything you saw in the parlor that night, every word he uttered was a lie. He beat her, Walter!" She cried, her fiery temper fueling her body. Walter looked on in horror.
"She showed me the bruises on her arms…his debts were the only thing he cared for. I have no doubt he murdered her." Marian cried, glancing behind her. She rested her black eyes on Walter's face. Her fists were clenched and her jaw quivering with rage. "And I heard them…every word in the library, though the thunder roared I heard enough to suspect they plotted her death." She paused. "Glyde and Fosco." Her voice sank with a rage so strong her clench on the folds of her dress cracked her fingers. Marian's tears dried from her eyes, as if they steamed off her warm cheek, flushed with anger. She raised her head and stared across the room, gathering her remaining strength.
"I had a terrible dream the night she died…I was sure I heard her screaming for me. I still hear her voice in my head. And I could not help her!" She cried. Marian fell to her knees, her head beginning to spin the room around her. She felt the glass prickle her legs when she fell.
Walter rose slowly from the bed, still pale and staring. He closed his eyes. But when his eyes opened, after collecting his thoughts, Marian lay stretched across the floor. When she looked up, she saw that Walter had placed the watercolor portrait he had done of Laura on the easel near the door. Marian looked at the glass on the floor, no longer seeing them as a broken object of beauty, but as pieces that could be mended. As Walter stood close to his bed, a faint sound came to his ears. She looked down again, at herself, and tried with every breath to be strong. Marian's voice called him.
"Walter…." She whispered. "…Walter help me…" Marian said louder, her arms fastened around her waist, the hunger tearing her apart from the inside. She couldn't keep her strength. For days she managed to contain it in the fuel of her anticipation. The words she had released broke every chain which held her strength at her side. Her eyes longed to close and sleep. She stared up at the ceiling. The floor creaked, signaling movement. Walter's steps softly tapping the back of her head with the vibrations. Walter looked down upon Marian as he slowly crouched down to her side. Placing the basket on the floor, he held out the basket to Marian. Marian reached for it, wildly searching through the basket with her hand. She pushed aside the silverware and her fingers groped for the first piece of bread she could find. Walter held her arm as he placed his arm around her back and lifted her onto his knees. Crumbs scattered around his shoulders as she brought the bread into her sight. The crust was stale with age, but the core of the bread was still soft. Without waiting another moment, Marian's quick fingers broke the crust apart and she placed the slice between her lips. Her jaw felt stiff. The bread, though flavorless and dry, moistened in her mouth and satisfied her every craving. She rested her weight on Walter's arm and held the bread with one hand, the other on the ground to keep her sitting straight. Walter smiled. With his other arm he reached for the jam.
On the hour later, Walter went to his knees and placed his hand onto Marian's arm. He whispered her name to wake her. Marian. He said softer. Walter slowly tapped her cheek. Marian, wake up. Marian sighed softly as she opened her eyes. Her arms rose and fell. A smile came to her face. She felt her face gain life through her smile. There was strength back in her limbs. Marian sighed happily; the hunger ceased and the rest left her relaxed and calm. Walter smiled, leaving his arms back at his side.
"How would you like to help me today?" He said quietly. "I've not visited my customers in many weeks; let us see what I can offer them. Who knows, perhaps we could treat ourselves to a good meal before the night is through." He continued, standing up from the bed and moving towards the basin in the corner. As she had slept, she surmised, he had brought himself warm water evident from the curls of steam rising up in front of the wall. Next to the basin she saw a razor with its end wrapped inside of a cloth. As her eyes closed momentarily to savor the yawn which overcame her she could hear the sound of the water sloshing in the basin and the first few strokes of the razor upon Walter's cheeks.
"I need nothing fancy, Walter. Don't doubt my strength. I was overcome this morning, I feel much better now." Marian said, turning towards him as he stood before the basin, his shirt opened at the neck and lines of frothy water coursing down his chin. Taking the last few strokes, with Marian's full attention, he set the razor down on the edge of the table and wiped his face.
"Much for the better, and a nice walk and fresh air will do you good." Walter replied, beginning to fasten the closure of his collar. "You needn't walk these streets in fear today, Walter Hartright lives to protect you." Walter smiled as he turned towards her, his now clean face freed it seemed from the darkness which his unkempt hair had reflected. For a brief moment, his eyes met hers, and again she fancied the same unaccountable girlish delight at matching his glare; a welcome moment of solace from the oppression she had hitherto borne.
Marian's face brightened as she rose from the bed. Walter helped her to stand up and tightened his grasp on her hand before he let it go. He walked to the corner of the room and took his coat that was laying carelessly on the floor and reassembled it onto the back of a chair. Marian looked around the room, her eyes more alert and fixing on subtle details. She had the desire to set things right. Though still a small, frigid room coated in dust, Marian began to place things in tidy, ordered sections. With her large hands she picked up the bottles off of the floor and placed them on the window ledge. The obscure shapes of the glasses, the comical proportions as they stood beside each other put a smile on Marian's face. Another jarring breeze came from the window. The window was closed but the glass in the lower quarter was broken, letting the breeze come through. It was this small, rigid hole that made the room shiver. Marian looked around the room from where she stood. The only free material she observed was the small rag Walter had used to dry his face. Walter looked at his refection in the cracked mirror. He looked back at Marian. The sound of her petticoat tearing filled the room. He looked back to get a better view. She had lifted the skirt of her dress and began to rip the ornamental bottom layer of her petticoat. She then noticed her torn stockings which fell to her knees and sank into torn leather boots. Buttons were missing, the shoes barely closed over her feet. She gathered the material in her hands and pressed it into the broken glass. Marian smiled and walked away from the window.
"It should be warmer in this room when we return." She smiled. Marian stopped her work and gathered her long hair into her hands and placed it into her snood, which was pressed into the pillow. She pushed the hair behind her ears and adjusted the pins which held the twists of hair away from her face. Walter reached under his bed and grabbed his sketchbook and portfolio. Marian lifted his coat from the chair and held it ready for him. Marian slid the jacket up his arms and placed it at his shoulders. Walter thanked her and with a quick move, lifted the brown blanket from his bed and wrapped it around Marian's shoulders. She grasped the blanket and held it tight around her arms, smiling as Walter rubbed her arms to warm her. He took her arm and led her out of the room into the hallway. He took a moment to close the door behind him and secure it.
They entered the hallway and Walter escorted her through the house. They had two flights of stairs to descend, all equally as poorly built as the last. The stairway landings buckled and screeched beneath their feet. The hallways had been dark when Marian first toured them, now she saw them clearly. Poorly and ill-mounted paintings of women lined the rotted walls of the floor below. When they reached the floor, Marian saw the blonde woman. Lucy sat on a chair in front of the door, her white underclothes barely covered by a burgundy gown even more provocative than the dress before. Her hands were covered in black lace and the silk of her gown rustled as she rose from her chair.
"We will return tonight." Walter said. "I shall pay your room and board when I have sold enough paintings."
"It's five shillings a week and don't you forget!" Lucy said smartly. "And I can't lend you any more bread from 'enry's kitchen got that?" She snickered.
"Very well. Good day." Walter said, still holding Marian's arm firmly. He pushed the door open and allowed room for Marian to exit before him.
The harsh winter air blew the remaining snow up from the street. The buildings went two floors up, each second level having rusted iron porches. The windows were broken and every building seemed tall, uncomfortable and pressed together. Broken layers of frosty puddles filled the gutters, blocking the water from the drains which flowed past the snow, dropping off garbage. The street reeked of it. Translucent papers lay floating in puddles. Bottles and fragments of broken glass lined the sidewalk outside the bar. In the alley were piles of broken wood, shoes, and garments. Walter followed Marian and put his arm around her waist. He held her close to his side to protect her. Men walked by her. Their lustful eyes scanning her face as they passed her. The smiling old men laughed within the taverns. Their uproarious laughter reached the streets.
Walter and Marian proceeded down the sidewalk. A man looked at Marian's face and smiled. His broken, yellow teeth made her face twitch with disgust. She held the blanket firmly and kept her eyes on the ground. The sound of their quick steps pressing down on the pavement was at once overpowered by the sounds of the city. Men went running by, chasing each other in violence. Walter kept a defensive eye, scanning his surroundings warily. He firmly held his portfolio and sketchbook in one while the other rested around Marian's waist; holding her protectively. His hand was resting on her corset and he could feel the tightness of it, the vertical strips of whale boning between the lining and the muslin. Their breath formed clouds and blew into their faces as they walked. They were reaching the end of the street. There were more houses in view, but there seemed to be less people; the pubs not as rowdy. Marian looked up and kept her eyes fixed on the corner. She held the front of her skirt as they passed over the puddles and mud. There was one more drinking den before they could turn the corner. The sun peaked out from beneath the overcast skies. Marian was warmed by it and smiled to Walter. They approached the door of a pub and continued. A man threw the door open and thrust a full glass of ale into the street. The heavy glass struck Walter's shoulder and ale poured over their shoulders and faces. Drops of ale splattered Marian's face as she raised her arms to block anything further. Walter groaned in anger. His hair was drenched on one side and the ale dripped over the leather portfolio and the binding of his sketchbook. Marian cried to Walter in distress. She took the art books from under his arm and dried his face with the sleeve of her right arm.
"We must get you inside and dry your face before we walk any further in this air. Come, we must go inside." Marian took his hand and walked through the doorway of the pub. Walter followed, still agitated and dripping. The ale's scent would not escape his nostrils; it would cling to his leather coat. Marian guided Walter through the smoke clouds of cigars and pushed her way past the bar. The sober men tipped their hats; Marian looking like the closest personification of decency and moral judgment in the community. She found an empty table against the wall and set the chair right before Walter sat down. She pulled the art books from under her arm and placed them on the table. Finding no cloths on her table, she moved to the table next to her and took a cloth from beneath a drunken man's unconscious head which lied on the table. Walter sat in a tense position, looking to find the man who caused it. Marian placed the cloth against Walter's cheek and began drying his face and hair.
"You don't have to do this-
"Oh hush, it's no trouble." Marian replied. Walter closed his eyes, suppressing his anger. Her other hand hovered over his ear as she pressed the cloth against his face. Marian brushed heavily over the shoulder of his coat before drying his neck. Her hands slipped away from the cloth as she pushed it beneath the collar of his shirt. Her small fingers had brushed against his chest. Hastily she put the cloth back in her hands, keeping her eyes from his face afraid he would notice the hint of color on her cheeks. Walter took the cloth from her, held it in his hand before thanking Marian for her efforts. She smiled. Walter opened his art books and began looking over his paintings. They were all free from damage.
In the corner of her eye, Marian noticed a cleanly dressed man standing at the bar. The watercolor's caught his eyes. He was, by appearance, a man of good breeding and intelligence. His hair was combed back and his figure short and stout. Marian turned to him as he downed a shot of brandy. His eyes looked at the painting again, before going to Walter. Walter took each sketch and painting out and laid them on the table. Marian looked back to Walter. The smoke of a cigar passed over her sight, blurring her view of the man at the bar. Eliminating her added suspicion, she spoke:
"Aren't you glad you have a woman at your side to keep you well?" Marian said brightly. "Even if it is just plain Marian Halcombe it is better than nobody!" She said, with a faint brightness of past days.
The man at the bar changed. He left his brandy glass on the bar with several pence and left the bar without looking back at them. He took his jacket and swung it over his arm, draping it over his shoulders. Marian, on seeing the man leave thought momentarily it reminded her of a man she had only seen once.
Marian helped Walter to get settled again and back to his feet. She wrapped the shawl around her head and let the rest fall on her shoulders as they made their way out of the pub.