Chapter Thirty-Four – He's Not To Blame
That morning at Bethnal Green couldn't have been more different from the one previous. Bill lay asleep even as the clock struck eleven; after his tirade he had promptly staggered away to sleep it off. Nancy had made breakfast and eaten her share; now she sat at the table simply staring into space, lost in thought.
Her cheek still stung from the blow Bill had dealt her, it was sore to the touch. She guessed, even without a mirror present, that it was still inflamed. And yet, even though it hurt, even though Bill had hit her…she couldn't blame him.
She just couldn't.
He'd been drinking, that was the only reason he'd done it; he was delirious, out of his head! And maybe it wasn't just the drink…surely he must have found out something about Ezra…what had happened to the young man to make Bill react so?
But even though Nancy made her excuses; Bill wouldn't have done it deliberately, he couldn't, he loved her…despite it all, those last three words, spat in her face with such contempt and fury…they were hard to ignore, hard to forget.
I'll kill ya.
"Nance?" Bill groaned, all his previous fury seemingly gone as he turned over in bed to face her, blearily blinking himself awake.
Nancy smiled, genuinely happy that Bill was awake (not to mention the fact that he didn't look mad enough to kill).
"'Ow are ya this mornin' Bill?" she asked gently, moving to kneel beside the bed.
Bill shook his head despondently. "I've been better…'ow much did I bleedin' drink?"
Nancy shrugged, recalling all too well the number of gin bottles she'd removed from the table earlier that morning.
"A lot," was her honest reply.
Bill sighed deeply and heaved himself into a sitting position, running a hand across his face to try and clear the sleep from it, Nancy watching him anxiously all the while.
It was only then that Bill noticed the red mark on her cheek; his expression quickly changing from fatigued to furious.
"Nance…wot 'appened, who did tha' to yer? If it wos one of those bleedin' drunkards down at the Cripples, I swear I'll-"
He stopped as he saw Nancy's eyes brimming with tears. Pounding headache forgotten, Bill got out of bed and knelt down at Nancy's level, as he had done all those years ago, and engulfed her in an embrace.
"Nance," he said, his voice softer, gentle, even. "Wot 'appened?"
Nancy couldn't tell him, she just couldn't…it didn't really hurt, it hadn't then, it hadn't now…she must have dreamt the whole thing…Bill didn't remember it…Bill would never do such a thing, he would never hit her, he loved her…
She sobbed harder, burying her face in his shirt. Bill was alarmed at this display of emotion, he wanted to know what had happened, but he simply continued to hold Nancy tightly as she cried, stroking her hair gently and trying to comfort her. Only when she'd wiped her eyes and regained a slight semblance of calm did he ask again.
"I'm sorry Nance but I 'ave to know wot 'appened….tell me who did this."
Nancy didn't want to tell him; why should she? But she couldn't lie to him, she just couldn't…
From the way she looked up at him, her eyes full of guilt, Bill realized exactly who was to blame…the thought made him feel like breaking down in tears himself, and he never cried.
"I…I did…" Bill gestured, horror struck, to the bright red mark, unable to do more. "But…I would never…what reason could I possibly 'ave 'ad to…"
Nancy shook her head; she couldn't possibly relay all those things he'd yelled at her…he'd been drunk, he'd had no idea what he was saying or what he'd done…he'd lost control….she only hoped it wouldn't happen again.
"Gawd Nance…" Bill moaned, eyes downcast, not daring to raise them, to see the horrid mark that he had dealt her by his own, brutal hand. "I'm so so sorry…I swear, this'll never happen again, I swear."
These words were said with the same ferocity of spirit as those early…he swore he would kill her, yet at the same time he swore beatings like that would never happen again. Nancy earnestly believed the latter; why should she believe what he'd yelled in a drunken rage?
Little did she know this decision would come back to haunt her.
--
It seemed, for all outward appearances, that Bill had completely forgotten all that he'd said and done since his return to Bethnal Green, as if it had all been completely wiped from his memory. But, the truth was, he hadn't forgotten. He was trying to, however, trying to forget what she'd said, the blow he'd struck, denying it for all he was worth…he wasn't like that when he was around Nancy, he was a different man…how could he have done that, how could he have hit her? He loved her, didn't he?
And what on Earth had made him drink so much in the first place? What had driven him to such an extreme? He must have drank five full bottles, at least; enough to floor some of the Cripples' usual customers…
He certainly hadn't forgotten, or tried to forget, all he'd seen and heard at the police station.
At the time he'd contained his fury and his fear; Ezra wouldn't have jumped, what would have made him do such a thing? He must have fallen…or been pushed… Only when he'd returned home and been able to raid the gin cupboard did he let his emotions run rampant.
He'd felt sick, he'd felt scared out of his wits, he'd felt furious, as if he would explode with the anger that consumed him…what reason did Ezra; kind-hearted, loving Ezra, have to die? Although Bill hadn't known him well, as to his knowledge he'd never done a thing wrong in his life! He didn't deserve the fate he'd been dealt…and yet Bill had taken out his fury at the situation on Nancy?
Nancy, who was so like poor Ezra with her kindness and charm…what had possessed him to take out his anger on her?
He'd apologized profusely, over and over again, but Nancy hadn't seemed too upset…he saw through her façade however…she didn't want to hurt him further by showing how she truly felt. Bill hated that she was hiding her true feelings; he deserved to be punished for what he'd done, and at the same time, he was glad of it.
They should both try and forget it and go about things as normal.
They loved each other, and this was their life.
Simple.
--
Of course, Bill told Nancy what he'd discovered, and the pair of them went to tell Fagin. How could they not; it was what Bill had been paid for. He still had the pound coin in his waistcoat pocket; he intended to spend it all on something for Nancy as soon as he possibly could…he knew from experience that money didn't buy happiness, look at all those toffs in the houses he stole from, but he had to make it up to her somehow…
"Plummy an' slam!"
The door was opened as usual by the Artful Dodger; as he spotted Nancy he blushed a terrific shade of red and scurried away. After all that had happened earlier that morning, not to mention the amount of gin she'd drunk last night, Nancy couldn't remember the peck on the cheek she'd given the boy, and looked as confused as Bill did.
"Good to see you, my dears!" Fagin called, emerging from the kitchen alcove with a slice of toast in one hand, his hair more of a mess than usual as if he'd ran his fingers through it several hundred times.
"Why ain't this lot out of the job?" Bill asked, blunt as ever, indicating the boys who were all eyeing Fagin's toast with hungry looks.
Fagin shook his head, as if to indicate he didn't want to talk about it just then, before hurriedly procuring a tray of sandwiches from the alcove and setting it on the table for the boys. As his young wards fell upon the food, Fagin approached Bill and Nancy, a newspaper tucked under one arm.
"You don't need to say a word, my dear," Fagin said, seeing Bill's confused expression. "It's all here in the paper…I haven't told the lads yet…I don't know how they'd take it…"
The three of them glanced over at the boys, joking away and chatting together happily over their meal. It was almost unthinkable that their happiness should be intruded upon with the grisly news.
"I'm so sorry…" Nancy said gently, biting back tears once again as she looked at Fagin; he looked so scared, so unsure…there was only Bill left of his original gang, and he no longer resided at the den. Jeremy, Morris, Norman, Frankie, Ezra…they were all gone, gone for good.
"I'm fine, my dear, really I am…" Fagin replied, taking a solemn bite of his toast, for lack of anything else to do. "It's Archie I'm worried about, poor dear…he hasn't been the same since Ezra ran off…I can't help thinking he knows something about why this happened…"
Just as Fagin said, Archie seemed very detached from the rest of the group, eating his luncheon without the same vigour and enthusiasm, his eyes downcast.
"'Ave you tried talkin' to 'im?" asked Nancy, looking worriedly back at Fagin.
The old man shook his head. "I would've done, but…I don't want to make him feel any worse than he already does…I think he blames himself for Ezra's running off…"
"Why should 'e?" said Bill suddenly. He knew how Archie must feel; he'd felt the same way when Jeremy got shot. But Archie didn't know Ezra was dead…did he?
--
A/N: This is probably my last chapter before I head off to Scotland. I may get another one up today but it's a slim chance. I'm probably not allowed to take my laptop with me but we'll see. XD –plots-
Until we meet again, all the best, dear readers and reviewers!
R&R!
