The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25 dot com

Prompt: 08. Disheveled

Main Character: Edward

Rating: T

Word Count: 4150

A/N: being the last prompt, this turned into a bit of a late one (and the longest yet). It's unbetaed, so I hope it reads OK.

A big thank you to my little team for most of the prompts, Bigblueboat and TiramiSue84, to the TT25 organisers for running this year's challenge, and most of all, to you for reading! :) Enjoy.

London, England, 1840

I am meeting some important business associates next week, so I have made plans to ensure I am dressed in the latest attire. Appearance is just as important as what one has to say in these fashionable times. Some of the pieces must be made to measure, so I have set aside the morning for these rather tiresome errands.

My tailor, Dobkins, is measuring me up for a waistcoat and trousers in the latest style. I'm relieved when he's all finished; it feels like it has been hours. I make arrangements to return for a fitting of the finished garment in a few days' time, and go towards the door to pick my coat off the coat-stand. I put it on and am about to open the shop door, when the tailor tuts loudly enough that I can hear it, clearing his throat for good measure. I turn around to see what the matter is.

"Forgive me Sir, but may I make one final suggestion?" He looks unsure.

"Go ahead, man," I say.

He bustles over to me, his grey whiskers twitching as he huffs and puffs.

"It seems to me that it may be advisable to allow for a new morning coat in addition. This season's lapels are pointed, rather than stepped," he says, handling the offending lapels on my current garment. "Wearing this over a new suit would detract from your investment, and would not give the proper formality to your appearance."

I consider asking if he could alter my current one, but I would rather not leave it behind in this brisk weather, and money is not so very tight.

"Fine. But can you measure for the morning coat on Wednesday?" I've spent quite enough time here already today.

"Yes, of course, Sir, of course." He's bowing in deference.

"Very good. Thank you Dobkins."

I leave the shop, and decide to go to the milliner's next. I always find visits there quite pleasant, for some reason.

It's not far to walk, and I still have my rather last-season coat on, so I decide there is no need to take a Hansom cab. Though it is cold, it isn't raining. I walk quickly down the cobble-stoned streets, holding my head high so as not to catch the eye of any beggars or miscreants. It is a fairly respectable area, but few streets are completely free of them. On some days, a thick industrial fog descends on London, and it is easier for pickpockets and the like to travel unseen. Those are the days I am glad of the cabs.

I recognise the familiar white Charles Swan & Co. sign above the milliner's shop, and push open the door. Unusually, Mr. Swan's daughter is behind the counter instead of her father. I've seen the girl before, but she normally only comes onto the shop floor to fetch materials or take orders from her father before disappearing into the back room again. There doesn't seem to be any male chaperone with her. It's also odd that I'm the only customer.

I attempt to conceal my surprise, and take off my hat ceremoniously, while considering what to say. It seems more courteous to get straight to business. I do not know the family well enough to ask about her father's absence, although I'm curious.

"Good day, Miss Swan, I believe?"

"That's correct. Good day, Mr. Cullen. How can I help you?"

She remembers my name! I'm sure it's been at least two months since I was last here, and I'm not even sure I saw her that day.

"Yes, I er …" I clear my throat, momentarily at a loss for words. I remember what I needed. "I need a new top hat. An elegant one, top of the range."

"Of course, Sir!" She looks pleased. "What were you thinking of? I'm afraid we have a slightly reduced stock at the moment, but I have some examples here in the window, and there are certain models in the catalogue that I … we would be able to make for you with a slight delay. We've got some problems with suppliers."

I've never heard her say so many words at a time. She is softly spoken, but sounds quite well-educated, considering her class. I've never really thought about it before, but I suppose the Swans are not even middle-class. Though working in a skilled trade, they are perhaps better-off than many others nominally of the same working-class station.

I allow her to guide me to the hats in the window, but I catch myself studying her more closely than the merchandise. I hadn't noticed until I was standing this close to her, but it seems to me that Miss Swan has changed since I last saw her. Her brown hair, usually worn in neat ringlets, and tied on each side, is dishevelled, as if she has slept in it for a few nights without freshly styling it. Wild strands escape the ringlets. Her dress looks ever so slightly dirty, and I see a rip in her puffed sleeve. Their circumstances never allowed for the Swans to be finely dressed, but this lack of attention to detail strikes me as out of character.

I take my eyes off the young woman, chiding myself for my impropriety in letting my gaze linger on her.

I quickly pick a hat, so that it appears that I have been considering my options. "How about this one? I do require something very current, though, and I'm sure you have a better idea than I what would fit the bill."

"In that case, perhaps the taller one would suit." She picks one up from its stand and hands it to me for inspection. "It's still finished in the smart beaver fur felt, and hand-sewn, of course. I'd recommend it in black, like this one."

I nod. "Very well, one of those, please. I need it before next Tuesday. Will that be possible?"

"Yes, of course." She walks back to the counter and gets out a bound accounts book from a shelf behind it. She flips through a few pages until she reaches the right one.

"I have your measurements here, Sir. I can have the hat ready for you on Monday, if that is convenient?"

"That would be ideal."

"Very well." She writes down details of my order carefully in the book. I'm impressed that her father has taught her how to read and write.

When I return to pick up the hat, Miss Swan appears to have the same dress on as on my last visit. I know for sure when I spot the rip on the sleeve. Her face looks increasingly gaunt.

Perhaps it is improper, but I have to say something. "Forgive me Miss Swan, please do not hesitate to tell me if I am intruding. But is your father well? I can't help but notice he is not here, and that he was not here on my last visit. And to be frank, you do not look well."

Miss Swan looks shocked, and I immediately feel dreadful for the invasion. I put my hand on my breast and bow my head slightly. "I apologise. I meant no disrespect. I —"

"No, it's — it's all right," she says, her voice shaking a little. "Papa … my papa's in some trouble at the moment, and I have to mind the shop while he is gone."

"Oh. I am very sorry to hear that." I wish I could ask what sort of trouble, but I feel I've already pried enough. However, I do ask, "You don't have any other family to help you? It's just you?"

"Yes, just me," she says sadly.

"It must be difficult on your own. Please don't hesitate to let me know if there is anything I can do." I can't help but make the offer, although I'm not sure how I could assist her.

She looks surprised and it takes her a few moments to respond. "Thank you, Mr. Cullen. That's most kind of you. Please give me a moment. Your top hat is ready — I'll just fetch it for you."

She disappears from behind the counter into the back room, perhaps needing an excuse to settle her nerves.

I try to remind myself not to pry further into her business, but I can't fight the concern I feel.

She returns with the hat, coming around the counter and showing me to a full-length mirror for me to try it on. It fits perfectly, and complements my new morning coat, which I have put on for the occasion. The suit is back at home. I turn to admire myself from different angles, and then take off the hat as is polite indoors.

I turn back to her, noticing she has been watching me.

"I'm very pleased with the hat — thank you! You have done a fine job making it. I'm sure people will be asking where I got it, and I won't hesitate in recommending your business to them."

She smiles weakly, and I feel glad that perhaps this is something I can do: send some trade her way. She seems to need it. The shop has been quiet again today, with just one lady and gentleman browsing the goods, and they left earlier on, empty-handed.

"If you feel satisfied enough to do so, it would certainly be appreciated." She hesitates, perhaps deciding whether to tell me more, and then adds, "Although I fear we may not be open much longer."

"What? Why?" I know I sound abrupt, but I'm concerned to hear this.

"My father's creditors will send the bailiffs … he is in debt, you see. If I don't start making some regular money soon, we'll have to give up the lease to pay his … I'm sorry, Sir, I've already said too much. I shouldn't be unburdening myself on you like this — it's not your concern."

"No! Miss Swan. You can tell me. In fact, I insist you tell me." I know I am probably being too forceful with a young woman of — what, perhaps only eighteen years old? But there seems not to be anyone else that she can turn to, and I feel it is my duty at least to find out what the situation is.

"He's been put in Marshalsea."

The name rings a bell. I think for a minute and remember that I have read about the place in the newspaper. I speak gently, knowing the delicacy of the matter. "The debtors' prison?"

She nods, looking down, ashamed. "He can't pay the weekly fees, so he isn't allowed to leave and work here during the day like some of the others can. I visit when I can. Actually, I might have to move into the prison too, if we can't afford to keep paying the rent on our room above the shop."

"You'd live in the prison?" I ask, slightly shocked. I'd read about the terrible conditions in some of these places. I don't follow politics in any great detail, but I understand there has been some debate recently about what purpose they serve in discouraging debt, if any. People are locked up in order to stop them from escaping their creditors, but are often unable to ever fully repay their dues, and sink further and further into debt.

"My only other choice will be out on the streets," she says, bluntly.

It is bad enough for her father, but she is much too young to be worrying about business and money. Those things are not natural for a woman. And to think of her living in a dirty, corrupt prison!

"There must be something that can be done. I could write to some of your father's creditors. Assure them that I will cover his debts …"

"No!" Miss Swan looks aghast. "My father has too much pride to take any charity, much less from one of his loyal clients. I'm sure of it."

"I apologise once again. I didn't mean to offend you. Well then … perhaps I could help procure a lawyer, or write a character reference to the prison authorities." I feel desperate to help somehow.

"No lawyer. We can't afford that. But the letter, perhaps … I suppose it couldn't hurt. If you are really willing to do that for us?"

My curiosity gets the better of me. "Miss Swan … do you mind if I call you by your name? What is your name?"

"Isabella ... Bella." She colours pink. Very pretty.

"And you must call me Edward. Bella, of course I'll write this letter for your father. I don't want to see you join him in this prison, stuck in horrible conditions and struggling to get by."

"I don't know how I can thank you. But truly, thank you for your kindness, Sir —" she makes shy eye contact with me, her brown eyelashes fluttering gently — "I mean Edward."

I like the sound of my name on her lips so much. I chide myself for thinking like this. I want to help her out of respect for her father and because she is young and vulnerable and should not be left to fend for herself in this difficult situation.

"I promise you I'll do what I can," I say, resolving to think of something more I can do.

"Thank you." So much is conveyed in those two small words.

I insist on settling the bill immediately by cash, even though she assures me a cheque would do. It is the least I can do.

She stands with her hands neatly clasped in front of her dress, watching me leave the shop.

My business meeting the next day goes smoothly, though I feel rather distracted. I'm pleased to find out that one of my associates has a link with someone in the legal profession, and I decide to risk asking if he will put me in touch with his connection.

The man, Jenks, is just as slippery as I had expected of his profession. It proves no easy task to pin him down for a meeting, but after a few days of enquiring daily at his offices, I manage to do so.

I arrange to meet him in a smoking bar instead of his office.

"Let me get this clear. You do not wish to engage me for my services, Mr. Cullen?" Jenks asks, tapping his pipe. "Why should I waste any further time speaking to you?"

"I do not intend to currently, although it may prove necessary in the future. Naturally, I will pay for your time at the usual rates. I need your expertise in something."

Jenks is in less of a hurry after my mention of money. I explain the Swans' predicament. He is able to answer most of my questions about the prison and the legalities of debt.

"So you think this fourteen day rule is Mr. Swan's best chance of freedom?" I ask.

"Indeed. As I have told you, if he can swear that his debts do not amount to more than £20*, then after fourteen days, he has the right to request release, under the Insolvency Act. His debtor may either come to some arrangement over his dues, or he can refuse Mr. Swan's release. I would advise you that this procedure is preferable and less complex than trying to prove bankruptcy."

"Thank you, Mr. Jenks. It sounds like I need to visit Mr. Swan at Marshalsea and find out how much money he actually owes, and to whom."

"Exactly."

I pay for a Hansom cab back to take us back to Jenks' office and pay a deposit to start an account with him; I'm not sure at this stage whether I might indeed need him to represent Mr. Swan.

The next day, I contact the prison to arrange a visit. I'm surprised at how easy it is to do.

I had prepared myself for unpleasant conditions, but I'm still shocked by the stink and the dirty, cramped living conditions inside Marshalsea. After only a few minutes, I see a rat scuttling down the corridor. The cells are small, mostly holding one or two occupants — I learn that those with money can pay 'chummage', a weekly fee to their assigned cellmate, to dispense of them and obtain a cell to themselves. But in some cases living quarters are more crowded; it shocks me to see women and children living in amongst the prisoners. Some men have moved in their whole families, crowding them into a space intended for three men at most. Family members can come and go, but the warden tells me that in many cases this is so that they can work outside the prison to earn the fees they're required to pay for their lodging here.

A woman comes out of one cell. She's adjusting her dress. Her hair's long and loose down her back. From her appearance, my first thought is that she's a gypsy or a fortune teller, and then I realise that she is more than likely in the world's oldest profession. A lady of the night, right here in the daytime. I cast my eyes down to the floor, trying not to let anyone see them lingering on her. I believe I've seen such women in the streets, but it shocks me more to see one casually leaving a prison cell.

We turn a corner. The warden shows me to Mr. Swan's unlocked cell and leaves me there.

The object of my visit recognises me instantly. He is, as must be expected, shocked to see me, but I suppose he is in no position to refuse an offer of help.

He quickly stands. "Mr. Cullen!"

"Mr. Swan. Are you well?" I fear he is not; his face is noticeably thinner than the last time I saw him.

"I … how did you find out I was here?" He seems embarrassed. I think I can detect a slight blush colouring the skin above his thick moustache. Maybe he's where Bella gets her blushing from. His voice is gruff. "I'm fine, I suppose. As far as I can be in a place like this."

"I heard word about you from a business associate." It doesn't sound convincing, but I don't want to bring Bella into it.

"Oh," he says, surprised. "So word has got out, then." He sits down on his bed, forgetting civility, and puts his head in his hands.

I give him a moment.

He looks up again. "I apologise, Mr. Cullen. I'm not sure why you're here, but this is my problem, and only mine."

"I've heard about these places, and now I've seen it for myself, the last thing I want is for Be— your daughter to end up here with you. I know that's what ends up happening, especially if there is no other family to take her in. I admit … I've been into the shop and seen that she's there alone. She told me there is no one else. I couldn't live with myself if I saw her forced to come and live here."

Mr. Swan's face falls. "That's my very fear," he admits.

"Then I beg you, let me help you."

He reluctantly answers my questions. His story is promising: his main debt is to one supplier, and is less than the maximum sum in the legal ruling Jenks told me about. During his case at the local magistrates' court, he either wasn't told of this technicality, or he didn't understand its implications. Before he can get his hopes up too much, I caution him that his freedom is unfortunately entirely dependent upon his creditor's assent.

I promise him I'll return the next day, after finding out the best way to proceed. Mr. Swan agrees that I can do that, but says, like Bella had, that he cannot afford lawyers and would not hear of me paying one for him.

Jenks, however, strongly advises me to employ him as Swan's legal representative. According to him, a settlement agreement with the creditor for Swan's release will be much more fraught if the negotiations are not carried out in the most careful manner.

I agree to enlist his services, despite Mr. Swan's reservations. I brief him as far as I'm able.

Mr. Swan — Charles, as he tells me I may call him — is friendly when I return.

But when he learns that I've made legal arrangements on his behalf, contrary to his express wishes, his temper flares.

"I cannot get myself further into debt to you over these legal fees. Even before I was in trouble, I doubt I could have afforded them. You've put me in an impossible situation, Mr. Cullen. I'm an honest man. I want to pay my dues and not rely on charity. I appreciate that you're trying to help, but it is against all of my principles."

"I'm very sorry, Charles, that I've made you feel like that. But I feel myself in an equally impossible situation. I respect you as a fellow business owner, and I feel it would be wrong to let your circumstances, or those of your family, get any worse without at least trying to help."

He thinks for a while, clearly torn. "I would have to repay you. In time. I don't know how this insolvency thing will work … whether I'll have to work until I can repay the supplier or whether they'll reduce my debt. Either way, it'll be a long time before I can get back on my feet again and repay you. If this lawyer of yours gets me out, that is. Oh, I just don't know..."

"He says you've got a good chance. It has to be worth trying." It feels like emotional blackmail, but I'm desperate. "Think of your dear Bella."

It sways him. "Very well, but you must give me your word that you'll allow me to repay you in full, eventually. Either through money or through a percentage of my profits, perhaps, once my original debt is cleared."

"I can ask Jenks to draw up an agreement after your release, if it would make you feel better. Or …" I've just had an idea, and I decide to bring it up, though I'm unsure how wise that is. "There is one other possibility."

"What's that?" Charles raises his eyebrows in suspicion.

"I have been thinking a lot since I last spoke to your daughter. She's young, but she has a good head on her shoulders, and she is a very charming young woman."

Charles' frown dares me to continue.

I do, before I lose the nerve. "It occurred to me that if we were family … if I were to ask you for her hand, and she were to agree of course, our financial dealings might be somewhat different. Between family members, agreements need not be as strict … the time frame could be flexible, for instance. Or I might waive part of the debt as a goodwill gesture." I don't actually expect him to repay me at all, but I know I have to keep his pride in mind.

Charles expels air loudly and goes red-faced, but doesn't start shouting at me.

I'm emboldened enough to continue, needing to express my train of thought and explain myself. It had seemed so neat in my mind. "I do not wish to sound unromantic ... I would not suggest it if I wasn't genuinely fond of your daughter. I hold her in a very high regard, and it just seemed to me that this could solve each of our problems. Your daughter would be well provided for and cared for, and you would be able to concentrate on a single debt and on rebuilding your business."

"You genuinely care for my Bella?" I think his eyes have softened a little.

"I do, I give you my word."

"As you say, Bella would need to accept you herself. I would never force her to marry, especially in these circumstances. She's not a business deal to be made."

"No, of course not, Mr. Swan."

"And, there is the matter of the dowry. I can't pay you that right away as is normal."

"I understand that, of course. It's something we can discuss in future, but as things stand, I don't expect one. I just want to make your daughter happy, if she'll let me."

"In that case … I consent for you to ask for her hand."

I congratulate myself on the risk I took in asking this almost out of the blue. Bella is a beautiful young woman, and will surely make a kind and doting wife to someone one day. I pray that I am the lucky man.

* equivalent to about £900 or $1400 in today's money.

A/N: thanks to those who put me on alert or reviewed. It all helped encourage me to finish this year's challenge! I hope you enjoyed reading my attempts.