- Mo-om! Can we go play?

- Georgey! – Effie glanced to her son, raising her eyebrows rather pleadingly. – Be polite, please, sunny, the breakfast's not over!

- Let them go, - John smiled at her. – They're just children. Let them call Ellie and go to play.

Effie glanced to her three children, sitting at the table evidently bored. Especially bored was little Effie, she was only four and loved running around not less than the boys. She was picking the last leftover piece from her plate and dropping it back again and again. Five-year-old George, whom she was talking to, was watching his parents in hope. And Everett, the oldest – he was soon to turn six – adopted a stately pose, feeling his responsibility, but he was glancing to George with curiosity and anticipation: after all, he was just a little boy.

- Well… let it be, - Effie finally gave up. – Everett, ring Ellie. Oh my, Alice woke up again!

The last statement was the answer to the child crying. Newborn Alice Millais was the sixth, and the youngest, of Millais children. She and two-year-old Mary were supervised by Effie herself, as far as she could manage – and that she could not very much. In most cases Ellie helped – she was the family's nurse and governess, and, of course, a faithful friend, as John and Effie both claimed wholeheartedly.

Effie jumped to her feet and hurried to the room where Mary and Alice were with Ellie at that moment. She would probably stay with Alice now, letting the nurse go with the other five.


The morning was bright, the sun was flowing into the windows as they were all at breakfast at one table. They were actually finishing their meal when Effie had to run away so suddenly, it passed in quiet talks on mundane matters and passing this and that from time to time. The many Millais children ran out of the table with cheerful cries, Everett as the oldest called for Ellie and the poor plump lady, oh-ing and ah-ing around, gathered them beside her, like a mother bird, and led them out, constantly quietly shushing, leaving the adults in this warm company. But the warm company had each one their own plans and circumstances, and they all wouldn't stay at the table for long.

Rossetti rose, examining obviously hung-over Hunt with a morose face.

- I shall now go and mourn, - he announced, leaving the table and heading out to the living room, where he had left his easel the previous day.

- He's in a quite melancholic mood today, - Fred hemmed. – This hasn't happened in a while.

- And Maniac is feeling bad almost every day lately, - Johnny mumbled, concerned. – Maniac, if you need help, I…

- I don't need help, - Hunt replied in a dying voice. – I will go to sleep now. I can't work with this headache. I'll be back when I feel better.

- Are you sure you'll ever feel better visiting Gardens so often? – Fred asked with doubt.

Hunt gave him such a heavy look Fred decided he had better not be born.

- Keep your mouth shut, Walters, - William dropped, before walking heavily out of the dining room.

Fred and John watched him go, then exchanged glances. Fred immediately lost all the appetite. He moved his plate with the leftovers away and straightened, moving his shoulders uneasily. Johnny put his hand on Fred's back softly. Fred glanced at him.

- It's all right, - John smiled. – He'll now sleep it off and be kind.

Fred looked down.

- Here's hope.

Johnny examined his face with a little smile.

- Fred…

- I'm concerned, - Fred said thoughtfully. – You know, they always go to the Gardens together with Gabriel. First of all, it's too often. But then… have you seen Gabriel?

- Yes, - Johnny looked away, narrowing his eyes, - he's mourning today…

- I'm not talking about today, - Fred said quietly. – Today he's in a bad mood, but, after all, have you noticed? Maniac always feels terrible the morning after – when did he work for the last time?!

John shrugged.

- I don't remember…

- That's it! – Fred looked up at him. – Because he doesn't work any more. And Gabriel always feels normal in the morning. Doesn't it seem… strange?

Johnny shrugged.

- Maybe…

- After all, Hunt was always successful in fighting his passions, - Fred remarked, standing up and beginning to pace up and down the room. – Remember?

- Before he met Annie Miller, - John reminded, not drawing his eyes from Fred and licking his lips.

- This is another kind of passion! – Fred scoffed. – Johnny, I'm worried for Hunt.

- Maybe you should just talk to him then? – John asked simply. – Catch a moment when he's kind… when he feels better… and then.

Fred stopped, leaning onto the back of the chair, and nodded thoughtfully.

- Yes, probably. I will try.

The silence fell. Johnny politely waited a minute before humbly rising and looking at Fred with a suggestive smile.

- Fred?

- What?

- You know, I've been thinking a lot… about how you said you didn't feel comfortable being supported by me. While for me, I can assure you, it's not a bother, I wanted to make it more comfortable for you. And, you know, I have come up with a possible solution.

His smile was little and his tone polite, but his eyes were shining. Fred tilted his head.

- Oh yes? And… what did you invent?

John left the table – finally, - locked his fingers in front of his chest – for reassurance – and looked up.

- So, you know that, unlike poor Maniac, I still work. And I'm constantly looking for fresh ideas and inspiration. So, I was watching you… during our walks, and just every day… and I was studying some… books, you know… and got the inspiration for a work. It will be a big painting, I have a few sketches and I'm overall satisfied. But I need a model. A male model for the knight errant.

Fred's eyebrows slowly arched upwards. But Johnny kept looking away, he didn't notice it. He went on, passion slowly getting over the hesitation:

- And I thought that, as any one needs to make his living, and I'm willing to support you and help you, as my dear friend, I decided… - he finally dared to look at Fred's face before finishing, suddenly humbly: - to suggest that you model for me.

Fred opened his mouth – and closed it again, his eyes wide, an unbelieving smile on his face.

- I… Johnny, no! – he exclaimed. – No and no!

- But why?! – John raised his eyebrows pleadingly.

- Well, because, Johnny! Do you even understand what you're suggesting?!

Fred was backing off. Johnny stepped after him, his eyes already sparkling. In his mind it was such a wonderful idea – and now Fred was so openly against it. It made him confused and miserable to the point, and he tried to defend himself:

- Of course I understand!

- No you don't! – Fred pointed his finger at Johnny. – As you said to Gabriel: what do you suggest – I prostitute myself?

- Fred! – tears sparkled in Johnny's eyes at such a misunderstanding. – Freddy, what are you saying?! I'm not suggesting anything of that, of course! I won't even make you pose nude, God, my aim was to make it as comfortable for you as possible, not embarrass and shame you! And I'm not going to shout about this on every corner – and even if somebody knows, you're a man, thankfully nobody has heard of a fallen man! I was just trying to make it official: work for me – just for me, for your friend – as a model!

- No, – Fred said, stopping on one place, the sarcastic smile leaving his face. – I won't take the money from you, Johnny. No way will you persuade me.

- But it will be official! – Johnny looked desperately into his face. – Fred, I employ you!

- That's it! – Fred pointed his finger at John. – That's it, Johnny. The employer and his man can't be friends. And we're friends, is that right? I'm afraid for our friendship; it's too dear to me…

Their gazes met for a moment – and Johnny's blue eyes stung Fred in the very heart. The poor little artist – and one wouldn't call that beady-eyed creature any different at that moment – stood there nothing but pleading, and Fred hesitated for a moment – before looking down. Everything not to see him. Fred had to stay faithful to himself.

- Besides… I can imagine Ruskin coming to see your work, - he confessed in a fallen voice, - and he might as well be unsatisfied with your choice. And he will tell you everything he thinks about my face and body and… whatnot… - he smirked bitterly. – I can almost see it already: he examines your painting and says: 'John, your knight's face is too journalistic. A man with such a soft weak chin and such scared eyes can't be a knight, John. Why does he remind me so of a stiff self-doubting journalist, tell me?' – Fred parodied Ruskin's manner quite well – Johnny hid his unbidden smile behind his hand. Fred glanced at him and changed the character: - And you say: 'Well, because I painted him off of a journalist…' And he just looks at me like this… and hems as if he's learned us and we bore him unimaginably… and tells you the work is shit.

- If this happens, - Johnny bit back his smile, - I can assure you, I will go even against Ruskin! This painting is a great idea and I'm determined to make it. And, for heaven's sake, don't abase yourself like this! You are a good man, and definitely a knight – and, believe the artist, I've seen a plenty of people.

Fred smiled and looked away.

- However much I love good flattery, the answer is still 'no', Johnny.

- Fred…

- But you heard me, - Fred repeated without pressure. – I will stick to my word.

Johnny gave a pained gasp.

- Fred, you don't understand what you're doing to me! If you don't model, I won't be able to paint at all!

He took both Fred's hands in his and looked into his eyes – and however ridiculous and Rossetti-like he sounded, his big blue eyes were sincere. Fred looked down and quickly freed his hands from his friend's.

- Johnny…

Johnny caught his hands again, and again as Fred freed them, until he was forced to look up and their eyes met.

- I'm begging you, - Johnny said quietly, and his eyes sparkled. – You are an artist as well, an artist of word, but you can understand how great my need is. Fred, don't be cruel. This idea is stuck in my head, I want to work so terribly!

Fred looked away, talking his hands back one more time. Johnny chose the surest – and the most painful – way of persuasion. The worst thing was his unimaginable honesty. In quiet despair, Fred understood that although he was now free from the dangerous, wicked and intricate charms of one man, he was absolutely helpless in front of the innocent eyes of another one. He glanced up. Johnny was watching him pleadingly. He decided the last way he knew:

- Well, let it be, Fred. I just wanted to be honest with you, but if you still don't want – I have another variant. You can consider this a repay of your debt – though I do not see one, but… but if you wish so, be it so. I support you – you model for me. At least leave me this variant, if you don't want anything else!

Fred glanced at him again – and looked back down. Johnny's eyes were sparkling, he looked like an orphaned child. Either Fred was going to stick to his 'no' and offend this little man to tears – or finally agree and admit his own helplessness…

- Well… - he finally dared to look at Johnny. – If only as a repay…

- I knew, I knew you'd have a heart! – and with this joyous exclaim Johnny threw himself on Fred's neck. – Fred, my dear friend, I knew you would understand me! I knew!

His tears had all magically dried, he clung to Fred with his entire body and whispered, squealed and mouthed his thanks – thousands. Then – again, all of a sudden – let go of him and exclaimed:

- I must show you the sketches! Come on, you must see it!

And he grabbed Fred's sleeve and dragged him after himself to the studio, already smiling in impatient excitement.


Fred hadn't been to Johnny's new studio yet. As soon as he was let go of and Johnny rushed to the table in search of the necessary sketches, he took a moment to look around.

Yes, being single and living in that apartment of his Johnny was contented with much less than what he had now. This studio was big and filled with light. Sketches, palettes and draperies were tossed all around in magnificent mess, a few unfinished paintings were standing here and there – some of them were obviously long abandoned, on one or two Johnny must have been working not so long ago. Fred went quietly towards the window, stepping carefully, not to break or stain anything on the floor. He stopped, leaning onto the window sill and pressed his forehead to the glass. Johnny was rustling with the paper, his heels were clicking from time to time, he was murmuring something – and from outside, from the street, the horses' hoofs were knocking on the paving stones, the muffled calls could be heard, and all this was flooded with light, with bright and warm sunlight, and Fred held his breath in quiet admiration…

- Here.

He turned, startled. Johnny smiled, handing him two or three pieces of paper. And, seeing Fred's confused gaze, explained:

- The sketches. For the Knight.

- Ah…

Fred took the sketches from John's hand and looked at the first. It took him a few moments to finally completely return from his paradise to the studio. John watched him, and the curiosity and excitement in his bright eyes were replaced with strange waiting tenderness.

Fred was examining the sketch. The knight's figure was stately in tension. The light, soft, roundish lines suggested the outline of the body of the female nude. As far as Fred could tell, she was tied to something, - a tree, - and the knight's sword was just about to cut the rope. Fred tilted his head slightly. The woman was turning to her saviour, staring right into his eyes, and the slight outline of the face suggested quite an intense expression…

- Oh Johnny… - Fred smiled involuntarily. – A fallen woman? Again? Shame on you, this theme is quite overused!

- What fallen woman? – Johnny knitted his light eyebrows.

- This one, - Fred's finger moved softly along the woman's shoulder and arm.

- But this is not a fallen woman, Fred, - John smiled at such a stupid thought. – Can't you see, she's just a woman whom the knight is about to free!

- Then why is she staring? – Fred glanced at Johnny. – Not that I mind, but there might be suggestions, you know…

John sniffed.

- And where should she look, being saved, waiting for it impatiently?!

Fred shrugged. Actually, John was right: where would a woman look, being saved? And, what's more, in the composition sketches Johnny didn't really bother with faces, so the expression could as well change in the process of work… he smiled.

- And so I am the knight.

Johnny's own smile shone.

- Yes.

- And who is she? The woman I am saving.

- My life you saved, agreeing to model for me.

Fred glanced at Johnny, at his sly eyes and wrinkling nose, and they both laughed.

- So do you like it? – John peered into Fred's face in hope.

Fred looked at the sketch, then at Johnny, and responded with a wide smile.

- Y – You do?

- I am still not a knight.

Johnny rolled his eyes.

- But what, Johnny?! A knight should be a masculine, athletic man, strong enough to carry his armour on himself, and brave enough to spend all his life with no home, dedicating it to the others. Have you seen me?

- I have, indeed, - John replied busily, turning Fred's face to himself without much unnecessary restraint and examining it with the most serious and concerned expression. His little warm fingers slid under his chin, raising it a little, then adjusted the turning angle of his face, fingertips on Fred's cheekbones, ever so slightly. Fred inhaled, a little startled. Of course, Johnny was an artist, he could do whatever he wished, adjust his model however he would choose to, but this… Fred felt an excited tremble below his heart and lower, in his abdomen, then it suddenly curled tightly up and for barely a second all he could see was the fuzzy light, and the air gained a strange smell. He got scared, and backed off a little, freeing his face from Johnny's fingers.

- Johnny, ah – are you listening to me?

- I would like to find the facial expression now, - Johnny quickly adopted his professional tone of voice. – I'd like to start immediately.

- Johnny, listen… I don't even have the face of a knight!

- How do you think the men were knighted? – John looked into his eyes piercingly. – Do you think that if a brave young man had a soft charming smile, or a pale complexion, or freckles, or long lashes, they would disregard everything he had done? Do you think that they would see him and tell him: 'You're not masculine enough to be a knight'?

- I must be a descendant of a peaceful old watchmaker, - Fred smirked.

- What's so bad about old watchmakers?

He glanced up at Johnny.

- Even a son of a peaceful old watchmaker can be a fearless knight, - Johnny assured with a smile, leaving Fred's side to take the paper and the pencil. – You can stay like this, Fred. Just… imagine yourself in the painting. You have just defeated the three robbers and molesters; the blood hasn't yet dried on your sword. Be the knight errant, Fred. Right now.

Fred glanced at his own hands. Looked at his friend doubtfully. Johnny sat down, pencil in his hand, holding the board with the paper habitually.

- Imagine that, - he said. – There, behind that window you're standing by… no, right in front of you – there you have just seen the most brutal injustice, the most despicable harm – and you defeated it. I need this all in your face.

Fred focused on the shelf. Now he understood he had to be serious. He agreed and had to work. After all, that was about the only repay he could make Johnny. In a moment he envisioned the lady from the painting there – tied to a tree, with a pained expression on her face. He envisioned her three molesters glaring at him and frowned involuntarily.

John examined Fred's expression. His hair shone in the golden sunlight pouring all over his figure, the rise of his chin was so noble, his eyes had the most perfect indignation in them, and in this lighting they were so clear and deep… and the slightly upturning corners of his lips gave a sense of a little, almost indiscernible, victorious smile – after all, he was the victor! So many little details Johnny was observing for the very first time – and with the sense of Fred's skin still tingling on his fingertips he didn't know what to do with himself. He looked at the paper, still clean, then back at Fred, unmoving, in the aureole of golden sunlight – and, immediately forgetting all the knights, started drawing Fred as he was – in his old, but favourite, brown waistcoat and the white shirt, and those dark trousers he had on, with all the white and brown simplicity of his clothes – gorgeous.

Something he saw was spoiling the view. He glanced to Fred and pressed up his lips. After a second's hesitation he rose, came up to Fred and quickly, in one move, untied his tie and threw it away.

- Johnny!

- Keep imagining, - John snapped busily. – Be the knight, Fred. You can do it excellently.

Fred focused again, but as Johnny's fingers adjusted the collar of his shirt, he couldn't help but give a little broken gasp, which he quickly made into a sigh. He had to resist. Johnny was an artist, he could to whatever he wished to his model… and Fred didn't know what he was to do with himself anyway.

John smiled as he examined Fred.

- Throw out that tie, - he said softly. – You look wonderful without it.

Fred smiled, but quickly bit it back. Johnny's smile suddenly fell, as if he remembered something terrible, he bit his lower lip and hurried to take the paper and the pencil.

- Here. L – let's work, - he said a little hesitantly, and Fred glanced at him in concern at such a sudden change. But Johnny leaned over the sketch and hid away in his little world which existed only for Johnny the Artist when he worked. Nothing could bother him.

Fred concentrated on the shelf once again. He managed to stand unmoving for quite a while, but after all his concern overpowered the determination to at least be a good model and not disappoint Johnny. He looked down at the artist.

A little wavy strand of Johnny's light hair fell down onto his forehead, and another one, and then some more, but Johnny didn't pay attention. He licked and bit and moved his lips as he drew, seemingly telling himself what to do, but indistinguishably; he was so focused, and his gaze as he looked at Fred was different. He narrowed his eyes a little, absorbing every single little detail, remembering every fold and wrinkle, capturing the very life. But his expression wasn't the one of the jeweller – concentrated on the precision. His face changed every single moment as he examined Fred, his lips moved, his bright blue eyes, a little absent, played with the most delicate shades of surprise, concern, happiness, sadness – and, Fred observed quite in surprise, admiration. He was not just living through the emotions of his character, he was admiring his model, and Fred caught himself wondering if this was the same with every model he had.

His little fingers, which always looked so soft – when did he even find the time to look so closely at Johnny's hands, Fred reproached himself, - his little hand suddenly became so strong holding a pencil, God knows why he grasped at it so tightly. Johnny was art incarnate, and however shameful were Fred's thoughts lately – he hated himself for looking at Johnny so much – he couldn't help but smile. A wonderful, beautiful young man sat in front of him, deep down in his favourite pursuit – and gorgeous. Fred watched Johnny's face and hands with that idiotic smile, slowly losing the vision of reality in front of his eyes. He remembered Regent's Park and his eyes and his smile – and, for some reason not even caring any more, enjoyed the memory.


At first Johnny didn't understand what was wrong. He just looked up at Fred and didn't see his knight any more – and neither the man who didn't know he was one. He looked up again, blinked a few times – and finally woke up to reality. The knight's expression was gone from Fred's face. But it changed, and Johnny didn't know what he liked better – the noble rise of the chin and Fred's favourite prophet-ish look in the eyes – or this absent smile as he was staring with unseeing eyes somewhere through his chest, giving out the real Fred. What was he thinking about?.. Trying not to move too sharply, Johnny put away his sketch – almost finished – and took another sheet of paper. He couldn't lose this smile, it was a rare gift.

He put the quick shadows here and there – just a sketch. And then he looked up at Fred again. And, unable to help his smile, he envisioned Fred a knight errant in shining armour. No, not yet – he was just about to be knighted, and he hesitated. And he himself, Johnny, the artist, was watching him and silently praying for him. Because Johnny knew that Fred deserved the knighthood. He knew he would be brave enough. He knew this young man was worth it.


'If I only knew then how really prophetical that painting would turn out to me, were I only a little bit more superstitious – I would never ever model for that work. Johnny finished it later, much later – and at that time, eight years later, we both knew the real meaning of that woman. Yes, she indeed was his life, but then, after eight years, we most wanted to forget the meaning which that painting turned out to have for us. Later on he cut out the woman's face and turned her away, in the sign of his own will to forget. The critics thought it was because of their negative reviews, their suggestions about a 'fallen woman' – as foolish as mine had been. Thank goodness they thought so.

Things were to come. Were I more prudent and careful, I wouldn't be there, at Johnny's studio. I would change my mind at only hearing of his words about 'his life', if I knew what I know now. I would offend him – but I know he would forgive me, find another model and be fine. Everything would turn out much better if only I were more superstitious then, or more scared, or just more confident. I weren't. I didn't know. I was standing there, smiling like a fool, admiring my own memories of Johnny.

I think I actually somewhat created Johnny for myself at that moment. I saw him in brighter colours than there were – maybe. But everything seemed so simple at that moment – so wonderfully simple. Just me, smiling like an idiot at the window, sunlight flooding all over the room – and Johnny, looking back at me – through me – and smiling like an even bigger fool.


Rossetti dashed into the studio without even knocking. He stomped a few steps inside and even took a breath, ready to say something – and stopped at the vision. His eyebrows slowly arched upward, and his lips slowly formed for a 'u' sound and he gave a surprised whistle. Fred was standing at the window and Johnny was sitting on his chair with the board and paper – but neither of them was working. They were staring at each other with the most foolish and happy smiles, though were obviously too deep in thought to see one another.

- Am… I'll come later, - Gabriel said quite loudly, taking a step back. Johnny turned his head to him slowly, for a second demonstrating all the blissful idiocy of his expression – and then suddenly the consciousness returned to him, he gasped, started, jumped to his feet.

- Ah… oh… Gabriel!

Rossetti tilted his head a little, catching Fred's second's fear as he drew his head in his shoulders, trying to hide away.

- I see you were doing some enjoying yourselves, you doves? – Gabriel remarked with a smirk.

- I – oh, we were working, - Johnny hurried, - I was just making a study of Fred's head for my future painting… - he handed Gabriel the sketches, as if they were the evidence he didn't commit a crime.

Rossetti took the sketches and examined them, slowly walking round Johnny. The artist, quickly coming to himself, cast an indignant and surprised glance to Fred behind his back: 'Why were you staring at me?!' Fred's face got such a scared expression that Johnny's look changed from angry to concerned, with not less surprise.

Gabriel handed the sketches back to Johnny, giving him an imperceptive understanding look and smirking slyly.

- What's the work?

- That one with the knight I showed you the sketches for.

Rossetti frowned.

- Wait, the Knight Errant? And who's Fred there?

- A knight, obviously, - Johnny shrugged simply. Gabriel raised his eyebrows.

- A knight? Him?

He cast a glance at Fred, still standing at the window, but already habitually stooped a little, giving that look of a beaten dog from under his soft eyebrows. Rossetti pulled a face, not even bothering hiding it from Fred.

- No offense, Fred, but, Johnny, - are you sure?

- None taken, - Fred dropped wearily and wandered away, to the farther corner of the studio. He could see where the conversation was going. Johnny followed him with his stare, then looked back to Gabriel, raised his chin and compressed his lips a little.

- I am sure of my choice, Gabriel, - he said confidently. – Look at the sketches again, if you doubt. I consider Fred the best model.

- Just because he lives by your means? – Gabriel scoffed. Johnny knitted his fair eyebrows.

- Gabriel! I would ask you not to say such things. Especially while Fred is here to hear you.

Rossetti shrugged.

- Do you know why he looks so scared again? – Johnny asked in a low, indignant voice. – It's just because he is too shy to model and you rushed into my studio so unexpectedly and saw him! He doesn't think much of himself without you, I don't want you to humiliate him even more! I employed him, if you want to know, and he doesn't live by my means, he's earning his living!

Gabriel smirked.

- Thank goodness nobody has heard of a fallen man…

He took the sketches again and examined both. He couldn't but admit that Fred's face looked good for a knight there.

- After all, I'm here for a reason, - he looked up at Johnny. – Effie called you. She needs help with the littlest girls.

Johnny raised his eyebrows.

- Oh sure! – he turned to Fred, quickly came up to him and announced seriously: - Fred, we shall continue a little later. Thank you very much, you are a wonderful model indeed, and I would like to make a few more sketches for future reference.

Fred shrugged and looked away with a little smile.

- Thank you, Johnny.

Johnny nodded, marking his job done, and hurried to the door. Gabriel followed him with his stare, a grin not leaving his face.

- Did you notice how he looks at you? – he glanced to Fred.

Fred frowned, coming up to Gabriel.

- How?

- With the precise eye of an artist, - Gabriel smirked, looking away. – Seriously, you had to see yourselves!

- I must have got distracted a little, - Fred said, straightening.

- Must have… Fred, do you really think staring at young men like this is polite?

Fred started fidgeting with his fingers nervously, pressing up his lips. He was clearly holding something back. Gabriel examined him head to toe.

- Oh-ho, so it is that bad! Come, come, prophet! – he tapped his back. – I know you're not this righteous after all!

Fred jerked his shoulder.

- Leave me alone, Gabriel.

- Quiet, Fred. I just could be of some help with Johnny!

Fred turned sharply to Rossetti.

- I said: leave. Me. Alone! – he said furiously, but his voice trembled. He dashed out of the studio and slammed the door behind his back. Gabriel watched him and smirked. Oh, he knew what was wrong. He knew perfectly well.

- Well, little buggers, - he said, examining the sketches he was still holding once again, - let's see what we can do.


Entering the living room, Fred had already slowed down his pace. Gabriel certainly didn't have plans to return here, and Beata Beatrix wasn't paying any attention to Fred, deep in her own world. He sat down in an armchair and tried to collect his thoughts. Yes, that distraction was inexcusable. He let himself loose, in such a delicate situation it was inappropriate and even dangerous… Fred pressed up his lips. He was ready to curse himself with the most terrible words imaginable, he wanted to run away and hide so nobody would ever find him…

And Gabriel… Gabriel bothered Fred to the point. Everything would probably be all right, if only Gabriel hadn't spoiled everything. He kept on spoiling Fred's life, maybe it was a revenge – or a curse… Fred ran his fingers through his hair. That little innocent warmth he had for Johnny – he wouldn't concentrate on it all that much, he wasn't even so afraid of it before, but now he was, he was terrified of it – all because of Gabriel. Accepting his help? Fred would rather burn himself alive.

- Fred?

Fred raised his head sharply. Maniac went heavily past him and dropped onto the sofa.

- Are you feeling good?

- Yes… - Fred looked down, quickly tidying his hair and straightening before glancing at Hunt and smiling a little. – Yes. I'm all right.

- As you wish, - Hunt yawned, stretching himself.

Fred examined his large frame and nodded to himself. He was really concerned about William, after all. However much he was afraid of him.

- And you – are you all right?

Hunt gave him a long look.

- Yes, - he decided finally. – Now I am. I had a wonderful sleep, if you want to know.

- Maniac, I… - Fred started – and didn't finish. He took a deep breath and tried again: - William. I'm concerned about you.

Hunt knitted his eyebrows.

- How so? – he asked, raising his chin a little and looking down at Fred.

- How often do you visit Gardens now?

Hunt took a deep breath.

- Fred, - he said preventively. – Don't start this conversation. I know I've been doing a lot of things I can be judged for lately, but it's definitely not your concern to judge me. Judge not that ye be not judged, if you know. I'm aware of my passions, but I'm only human and sometimes they defeat me. And sometimes I defeat them. Who are you, after all, for me to make excuses to you? Why should I make excuses to any one, you tell me?

Fred raised his hand.

- William, please wait a minute. Listen. I am not judging you. I told you, I'm asking this just out of concern. You are aware that so much alcohol as I can tell you take is awful for your health, aren't you?

Hunt pulled a face, but leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and putting his chin on his two fists.

- Fred, what are you leading this to? You're not a doctor, you don't need facts. If you want to warn – warn. Do you think I don't warn myself – a million times every day?

Fred leaned forward himself and looked at Hunt in worry.

- You have to do something about this, Maniac. I cannot even begin to imagine where this can lead you. You're a successful artist, but lately you're drunk every evening! Just think what can happen to you if you don't cease following Rossetti to the Gardens every night! He's lived enough by my means, I don't want you to follow my path!

- Ah, so this is what you wanted to say, - Maniac raised his eyebrows, straightening, and his voice sounded menacingly. – You wanted to say that Rossetti's the root of all evil and I'm weaker than you so I can not resist. Fred, do you comprehend what you yourself are saying?

- No, it's not, I… - Fred hurried, for that was a dangerous misunderstanding – or not mis-, because that thought had indeed crossed his mind, - but Maniac already rose at his full height in front of Fred and looked down at him.

- Listen, Walters, - he said quite calmly. He knew his strength and Fred's weakness better than anyone. Fred pressed into the armchair involuntarily. – I am not such a guided kind of a person as you might think, - Hunt said, slowly leaning down. – And what kind of a friend you are if you think that evil can be simply inserted into me. Evil lives in me, Fred, and my everyday task is to defeat it. But sometimes I fail. And it's not my friends' fault, it's my own.

- Maniac, I want to explain, - Fred tried, in a desperate attempt to sound calm. – I wasn't judging you in any way, and I don't position you as a guided kind of a person. I just know Gabriel well enough, I…

- I started this brotherhood with Rossetti when no one of us even knew who Fred Walters is, - Hunt said, looking straight into Fred's eyes. – And you say you know him better than me?

- Maybe, - Fred dared, unexpectedly even for himself. – Maybe it's the reason, William. You are his good friend and you might be preconceived about him. Rossetti is a perverted man, and I'm here to warn you about him.

- What kind of a rotten fried are you then, if you are trying to sow discord between the brothers? - Hunt narrowed his eyes. – You are a rat, Walters. I always saw you were just a rat. Look at yourself – you're scared. You live in fear. You're trying to hide away – but you won't. You're a failure rat. If there is any one living in this house you can warn me about, it's yourself.

Fred swallowed, but collected himself. He rose slowly, until he was facing Hunt – he had to look a little up at him, this man was huge.

- I will leave it for you to judge, - he said quietly, - but look at yourself. Look what you are turning yourself into. You were a Maniac – and the magnificent maniac, the artist, the pugilist, the man who could fight his own passions and triumph over them! And what are you now? – his voice grew as he understood how right he was, when he read it in his eyes. – You don't even work any more, you forgot that you are the artist – you're not a maniac, you are the Narcomaniac now! Your addiction won't do you any good, William, come to your senses before it's too late.

- Who are you to tell me who I am?!

Maniac grabbed Fred's collar and almost lifted him off the ground. Fury was burning in his eyes.

- Who are you to tell me what I'm becoming, Walters? – he almost whispered into his face, sputtering with rage. – Who are you, I'm asking you? You miserable being, despicable being, you dare say this all to me! You dare try and breed strife between me and my friends! You, who is afraid of me!

- Am not afraid of you, - Fred said with sudden quiet passion. – I'm afraid for you – and not only you, Maniac. If nobody else, I fear for Johnny.

- Leave Johnny and his poor soul to his real friends, - Hunt said quietly. His fury seemed to have calmed down a little at the sound of John's name. – This child will forever stay innocent as he is.

- But are you certain that you, his real friend, will be able to protect him and his poor soul, should the need for it arise? – Fred looked into his eyes. – Are you sure that you will not be blind drunk somewhere far away?

This Hunt could not bear. He raised his hand and hit Fred – in his nose again. Fred's head dangled to the side, but he found the strength to look back up at Maniac and, licking his lips, covered with blood, ask again hoarsely:

- Are you certain?

And another hit – it got right on Fred's cheekbone. Then Maniac lifted him off the ground – just to throw him back down again. Fred collapsed, holding his nose, and didn't look up.

- I am certain that if you only raise this topic once again, Fred Walters, nobody will recognize your body, - Hunt hissed from somewhere over his head. And his heavy steps faded somewhere – thank goodness he didn't give Fred a goodbye kick…

Fred swallowed hard – and felt the taste of blood in his mouth.

- Damn, - he hissed.

Justice was justice, and concern was concern, but he was bleeding on the nose once again, and for some reason he felt dizzy – maybe it was because of such profuse bleeding, or maybe it was the amount of courage he had put in that conversation. He didn't know. His both hands were covered in blood and he couldn't even lean on anything for support. He hissed quietly and tried to get up. Blood was dropping down from his hands – onto his trousers, onto the floor… Fred cursed under his breath. Everything was blood, everything…

He heard the light steps. They stopped, then suddenly started again, quicker.

- Fred!

This was Effie. She grasped Fred's shoulders and peered into his face.

- Oh my, you're bleeding! What happened, Fred?!

- Nothing, - Fred managed, throwing his head back. – It's… nothing…

- God…

Effie tried to help Fred rise, but that was of no use. She reached for her clean white handkerchief and, quickly pushing Fred's hands off, covered his nose and mouth with it. In a moment it changed from white to bright red. Effie jumped to her feet, brushing her dress against the blood-stained floor.

- John!

Fred raised his head to stop her, but he could already hear the sound of the door opening and familiar clicking of the heels on the floor. Everyone's walking sounded differently; he already learned to recognize people. This time it was Johnny. He paced out of the children's room in no hurry:

- Effie? What's the matter, darling? – and then suddenly gasped: - Fred! – and rushed to them. In a second he was kneeling beside Fred, grasping at his shoulders desperately: - Fred! Lord, what happened? My, it must have been Maniac, was it him? God, it was, I know it was! Effie! – he turned sharply to his wife. – Effie, darling, please, quickly, get a wet handkerchief!

Effie hurried towards the bathroom, while Johnny quickly put Fred's arm around himself and helped him rise. Fred was slightly weak in the knees, but he smiled a little at Johnny from behind his hand.

- Come on, sit down, - Johnny puffed busily as he almost carried Fred to the sofa.

- I'll stain it…

- Do you think I care the littlest bit? – Johnny sniffed indignantly, glancing at Fred. – You're talking such nonsense! Come on, sit down. Here…

He sat down himself, seating Fred carefully and examining his face in the most genuine concern. Then he quickly pulled out his own handkerchief and brought it up to Fred's face.

- Come, take mine. Give this to me, it's soaked already.

Fred glanced at him gratefully and wiped his nose with Effie's handkerchief before taking Johnny's. The bleeding was not that intense already, but it kept. Johnny sighed and took Fred's fist squeezing the blood-soaked piece of fabric in his both hands.

- Come, come, give it to me, - he said soothingly. – I'll bring you something right now and take this away. Hm?

He peered into his face. Fred quickly released the handkerchief and took his hand away. Johnny stood up, took him by the shoulders and leaned him back in the sofa.

- Like this, - he said softly. – I'll be back.

He ran lightly and quickly away – Fred heard his steps fade up the stairs. In not more than a minute, though, he was running back down, rushed into the living room and, coming up to Fred, pressed something cold to the bridge of his nose. Fred took the thing from his hand and tried to focus on it. He distinguished the roundish outline.

- What is this? – he frowned.

- A curtain rod head, - Johnny smiled brightly, settling on the sofa beside Fred. – Cold, isn't it? Hold it there, it must help. I knew when I kept it I would need it for something!

Fred smiled, closing his eyes for a second. A concerned expression returned to John's face.

- Fred, what happened? – he asked, searching to look into Fred's face again.

Fred sighed.

- Don't worry, Johnny…

- I can't. I can't just forget that you're sitting in front of me with your nose broken, and that Maniac has just flown right past me, in rage I haven't seen him in for a while… is there anything wrong between you two, Fred? Tell me!

- There's nothing wrong between us, - Fred forced himself to smile. – Just… you know William's character. He's so quick-tempered… it's really not worth your attention at all, and you shouldn't worry. To God, it happened by an unfortunate misunderstanding. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable…

Effie hurried into the room and in a moment she was wiping the blood off Fred's hands and face, then she covered his nose with that wet cloth and sat down by the other side of him.

- I sent Ellie for the doctor, - she informed. – I figured that if the bleeding is so intense, the nose could be broken. Fred, how are you?

- Better, - Fred assured her. The bleeding was decreasing and he felt almost completely well.

- Maybe I should talk to Maniac? – John put his hand around Fred's shoulders. – I think I have to ask him about this.

- Please don't, - Fred hurried. For some reason he didn't want the conversation to be known to any one, and he didn't know how much he could rely on enraged Maniac. – Please. I can assure you, it happened merely by a misunderstanding between us. Maniac has his sobriquet for a reason, after all!

He tried to smile, wiping his nose – the bleeding had almost stopped. Effie smiled back at him.

- I can believe that, - she said. – As far as I know William, he quite justifies the name 'Maniac'. Maybe there's no reason to worry about it.

John patted Fred's back softly. Fred tensed. The strange excitement was knocking at his heart and – strangely – throat and stomach – way too frequently lately.

- I think I am feeling rather good now, - he said, moving his shoulders uneasily. - So we…

The heavy uneven steps sounded and Ellie went into the room, panting.

- Mrs Millais! The doctor! – she announced.

- Ah, sure! – Effie stood up to her feet quickly. – Doctor Setter!

Ellie stepped away, giving way to a quite short, thin and a little stooped man with a bag in his hand.

- Good afternoon, - he greeted.


The nose turned out to indeed be broken. Doctor Setter didn't make any unnecessary comments on that fact. He just took Fred's nose with his both hands and in one sharp move fixed it back on its place. Fred gave a pained gasp – it was quite unexpected, after all. The doctor, however, was quite grave. He examined Fred's poor nose, cleaned and covered the wound on his cheekbone and declared:

- As a doctor I can say: Mr Walters is quite all right now and doesn't need any further special medical supervision.

With these words he said all the necessary goodbyes and politely took his leave.

John was looking at Fred with the most sympathetic expression, he seemed to feel all Fred's pain. When he gasped as Doctor Setter put his nose on its place, John flinched and covered his mouth with his hand. As soon as the doctor went out of the room, John cast a glance at Fred – his eyes were full of tears – came up to him and pressed him to his chest.

- My poor, dear Fred! – he exclaimed.

Fred felt the warmth in his chest and throat. If he only could, he would throw his arms around Johnny and squeeze him even tighter. But he was facing Effie, and she was examining them with tenderness, which gave the situation even more awkwardness. Fred smiled confusedly and tapped John's back softly.

- It's all right, Johnny.

John leaned back, not releasing Fred.

- God, you're so pale! You lost so much blood, you need rest! Come, I'll make you chamomile tea! Effie, my dear, please, could you walk Fred upstairs, to his bedroom? I'm afraid he might collapse.

Effie smiled.

- Of course. Fred?

Fred tried to assure her he was all right, at least strong enough to reach his bedroom by himself, but Johnny wouldn't hear about it. Effie took Fred by the elbow and smiled at him.

- Well, at least spare Johnny this little pleasure, - she said. – He's so kind, he just wants to finally see you safe again – completely safe.

And Fred had no choice. They went out of the room under the caring eye of Johnny, and only as they started going up the staircase they heard his light steps heading towards the kitchen. He never let anyone make chamomile tea, but made it himself always.

As they were in the middle of a staircase, Effie glanced around quickly and examined Fred head to toe.

- I know what you were talking about, - she said in a half-whisper.

Fred looked at her in confusion.

- I know what you were talking about with Hunt, - she explained as quietly. – I overheard something – I'm sorry, I wasn't eavesdropping, but I heard… and I understand. Believe me, I understand.

Fred licked his lips nervously. Effie led him to his bedroom silently, letting him go in first. Fred went in and sat down onto his bed. She glanced over her shoulder again and followed him quickly, closing the door behind her back. With that she stopped, holding the doorknob.

- Fred, - she said quietly. – You said you feared for John. This has to do with Gabriel, doesn't it?

Fred glanced around uneasily. Effie locked her hands and stepped at him.

- Fred, please tell me. At least of me you can not be afraid, I can not beat you, I am not willing to hurt you in any way. I just want to know.

- Yes, - Fred decided after a moment's hesitation. – It has to do with Rossetti. And I understand, even if you were eavesdropping, I'm not angry at you, Effie. In fact, I don't know how much you overheard…

- I heard William saying you were sowing discord between brothers, - Effie said, rubbing her palms nervously. – Calling you… a rat. And from what I overheard further I could tell that you were saying something about Gabriel to William.

- That is true, - Fred said quietly, looking away.

- Do you know why I'm addressing you?

He looked up at her.

- I can not imagine.

- Because I know what you are talking about.

Fred examined Effie's face silently. She considered his silence encouraging, because she went on in nervous excitement:

- Fred, I know too well the story of Lizzie Siddal. Who can understand a woman better than another woman? And I see what's becoming of William himself.

- This I mentioned to him, - Fred dropped.

- I know why you started that conversation, Fred, - Effie took a step forward, at him. – I know. You started this because you know that this all is coming from Gabriel Rossetti. Because Gabriel is a dangerous man, and you are sensible enough to see it, Fred. I see your true intention. I know you are doing it not because of your fears or because you want to break the Brotherhood. You want to protect the others for you see where this is going. Fred, I can only encourage you!

He looked at her softly.

- I don't really think my methods quite work. Any way, Effie, you are saying this for a reason, aren't you?

She nodded.

- I am not going to hide my own intention, - she said quietly. – I'm saying this because I wanted to ask you for something.

Fred nodded:

- Do ask.

She rubbed her palm with her thumb, pressing up her lips, looking for words. Finally decided:

- I know that you and Johnny have got quite close. I know how good friends you are, I know you agreed to model for him, and this, I believe, was quite a difficult decision.

- But what exactly do you want?

She swallowed.

- I know you are a good man, and I know I can trust you. Your best friends even call you a prophet… I… wanted to ask you… if you could maybe look after my husband… - it was difficult for her to say. She bit her lower lip, then tried again: - Maybe you could just take care of him as his friend, you can affect him much easier than me, you are a man. I know all the failures and strong sides of John's character. I know he can be guided easily, should only someone approach him kindly enough, I know how trustful he is – it's all from the purity of his soul! I'm begging you, you, as the one who knows his poor heart as well as I do, and as well as Gabriel does – please, Fred, protect my husband from Dante Gabriel Rossetti!

She managed it quietly and passionately, then quickly backed off:

- I'm not telling you to be his conscience, of course… just… please, spend time with him so that Gabriel can not influence him as he does William.

Fred looked up at her – and remembered Johnny's face, his clear blue eyes, his smile – all the things he valued so much. He was asked to save them, to protect Johnny as he was – for Effie and for himself. This was actually his aim, but he wasn't sure he would be able to resist trying to replace Gabriel beside Johnny. He knew how strong the voice of his conscience was, and thus he was worried.

But now, he understood, this was a way out. Out of all his concerns. Effie shared his beliefs – this was one good point. She loved Johnny, just like he did, and wanted him to stay the same – here he could relate to her wholeheartedly. And now she asked him to do this all, what he wanted so to do and was afraid to do – to do it for her. And Fred understood how brilliantly it went as a solution to his problems.

Yes, he knew now. He would chain down that warmth that knocked from the depths of him – he would hold it back, turning it into pure loyalty and friendship. All because he would be keeping Johnny Johnny – but for Effie. It wasn't his first time being someone's guardian for someone else, he remembered with a little bitter smile. Fred Walters, the one who didn't represent 'any sexual threat what-so-ever'. He knew he couldn't get from Johnny what he had got from Annie Miller in that case – and however he secretly longed for something (though, God forbid, not what he had got), he could draw an easy breath. He looked up at Effie and smiled.

- Yes. Yes, of course. I promise.

She smiled warmly.

- I knew you would understand me, Fred…

He nodded.

- And, by the way, John showed me the sketches. You are a very good knight, indeed.

Fred smiled widely and looked down.

- Oh…

- I just thought you might like to know. John said you weren't sure you were good enough. You are.

Fred rubbed his nose with his hand – and jerked it away as his nose responded with pain. Effie took his hand carefully away.

- Don't touch, - she said softly. – It's freshly broken, you must remember how it hurts. Poor man!

- It's the second time it's broken, - Fred confessed, hiding his smile behind his hand.

- Oh!

At this moment the door opened and Johnny appeared, shining like a clean copper, with a large mug in his hand.

- I brought… Fred! – he knitted his eyebrows. – What are you doing? Come, you should lie down! Effie, darling, hold this, please?

Effie hurried and took the cup from his hands. John came up to Fred's bed and quickly arranged the pillows so Fred could lean against them.

- Now lie down.

Fred took his shoes off and, smiling widely, lay on the bed. Johnny made sure he was comfortable, adjusting his pillows like a mother bird. Effie came to them and handed Fred his cup of tea, which he accepted with a grateful smile.

Johnny examined Fred proudly, as if he was entirely his creation, and looked to Effie.

- Dear, do you want me to go to Alice and Mary? I left them with Ellie…

- I think they shall be fine, - Effie smiled. – Maybe we would better leave Fred alone to rest now?

Johnny nodded with a wide smile back.

- Fred?

- I will be all right, - Fred assured. – I promise I won't get up from the bed and I will drink this entire cup. Don't worry, Johnny.

John chuckled, then examined Fred's face again, stopping a little more concerned look on a plaster under his eye, and went out of the room. Effie followed him, but at the door she turned and looked at Fred, making a second's eyes contact. 'Thank you', - she mouthed, then smiled and left, closing the door behind her back. Fred was left alone – and, strangely enough, he didn't feel much better, after all.


Something attracted John's attention as he was passing by the door of Hunt's studio.

The rooms in the house were planned exactly the way for no one to bother the others. They could be calm making love to their women, they could be calm working. Hunt torturing his bag in a fit of righteousness couldn't bother any one, either. But now as John was passing Hunt's studio, he heard the muffled sound of blows falling on the bag – blows harder than ever. He stopped for a moment by the door and frowned. Everything was quiet for a few seconds – and then a powerful strike fell on the door from the inside, accompanied with a muffled roar, making John back off. Johnny bit his lower lip. No, that couldn't be just Maniac's another fit…

He hesitated for a second, but finally recollected his courage. He raised his hand and knocked at the door.

- Get off! – he heard a furious voice from behind the door.

- Maniac? – he called. – It's me, John.

The fuss behind the door seemed to calm down a little. They were both silent for a little while, then the door creaked open and Hunt appeared in the doorway – hair dishevelled, shirtless, bathed in perspiration.

- Ah, Johnny…

He stepped away, giving way, and John went in with a little hesitation, glancing at Hunt.

- Maniac, - he said, stopping not far from the door, shifting his feet nervously. – William, are you feeling fine?

Hunt closed the door and sighed noisily, looking down.

- Not at all, Johnny… you look not quite well, yourself. How are you?

- I am fine, - John said, straightening. – But Fred, William, is not. I demand to know what happened between you down there in the living room.

Hunt smirked, taking his shirt from the chair.

- Ask Fred.

- He won't tell me. That's why I'm asking you, - Johnny said with a little pressure. – William, I know you don't like Fred very much, you have past offenses, I understand everything. But people don't just break each other's noses out of nowhere. What were you talking about?

Hunt sniffed, pulling his shirt on.

- Nothing that you really would want to know about, Johnny…

- William! – John knitted his fair eyebrows. – I'm a grown man, and you are my two friends. And I do want to know what is wrong in this house – my house in the beginning, mind you!

Hunt looked at John and smiled a little before looking away again. He went heavily towards the window and sighed.

- All right, if you really wish so. Fred was trying to open my eyes on what is becoming of me. After all, he wasn't so wrong…

- And that's why you broke his nose and hurt his face?

Hunt sniffed and made no answer.

- You just got so angry because he tried to help you? I had a better opinion on you, William…

Hunt was quiet for quite a while.

- He was trying to tell me it was all because of Gabriel, - he finally confessed. – That, on the first place, enraged me so.

John, who was already about to leave, turned back to Hunt, frowning.

- Gabriel?

- Yes, - Hunt sniffed. – He was trying to tell me if I spent less time with Gabriel I'd be all right. Can you imagine that?

- I can, - John said quietly. – I understand Fred, believe it or not, Maniac. After all, he has a reason not to like Gabriel. Do you remember how many times Fred was used by him? Do you quite remember how much we all owe Fred?

Hunt was listening quietly.

- After all, we all owe Fred, - John said. – At some point we all treated him as our footman, and he was just trying his best to be our friend. I think I was blind not to see it. Forgive him. I believe he has his own view, and if it's not in Gabriel's favour, it's, I suppose, Gabriel's own fault.

- You're defending him with such determination, - Hunt remarked, and a smile sounded in his voice.

- Somebody ought to do it…

- Be careful, Johnny, - Hunt turned to him and looked him in the eyes. – If Fred needs your defending – what good of a man is he?

- He's a wonderful man, - Johnny said quietly, a little smile touching his lips. – He doesn't know – he doesn't think he needs it. He doesn't even know how much he deserves. He's such a faithful friend… like a dog, forgive me for such a comparison – I just don't know a creature more loyal.

- A dog is loyal to the one who feeds it, - Hunt remarked with a smirk. – It's not love, Johnny.

- We're not talking about an animal, - John shook his head indignantly. – You're being unfair to Fred, however wrong his beliefs may seem. He does love us – us all.

- Are you sure we are not just his useful acquaintances? – Hunt looked deep into Johnny's eyes. – Are you sure of him? He's a journalist, after all. I never trusted journalists.

- How can you be so wrong about such good a man? – Johnny exclaimed in a lowered voice. – William, just watch him! Fred is an artist, just like us – it's only that he's an artist of words. And whatever occupation he may have or not have, he's a gentleman first of all, and a wonderful friend! How can you not see it?

- You are entitled to your own opinion, - Hunt said softly. – But, if you excuse me, Johnny, I want to remind you that I and Gabriel were your friends from the beginning, when you weren't grand…

- I wasn't 'grand' when Fred joined us, if you remember, - Johnny interrupted. – I'm really disappointed, William. Fred wouldn't try and set us at variance. Nobody is forcing you to listen to him, but at least hold your temper.

William sighed, his shoulders dropped. Johnny threw him the last indignant, disappointed glance and went out.

- I can not hold it any more, - Maniac said into the air of the empty room. – If you watched me, dear Johnny… what has become of me? What has become of me?! Lord help me!

And he threw himself onto that bag again, roaring, his eyes wet. He felt fallen, he felt forgotten – and, probably for the first time in his life, he felt truly, unexplainably weak.