Tainted Grace

It was in late September on a rather dreary afternoon, the sky typically sunless in a somewhat pallid watery grey. There was a chill in the air due to the change in season and the onset of winter, with the papery trees rapidly turning vermillion and russet and littering the small town of Caterham Valley, which lay south east of England much like crumpled paper bags laying upon the earth rather like a pallet of autumnal colours; whilst the breaths of the season swept through the trees leaving crimson confetti in the autumn wind. The bleakness of the scene outside mirrored young Yvette’s countenance, as she stared out of the windowpane waiting for the officials dressed in formal attire; the pallid face of an elderly lady was raised feebly from the pillow and a weak and faint voice mumbled the words “Let me see you Yvette.” Within that moment Yvette moved from the

windowpane and kneeled down beside her grandmother’s bed, tentatively taking her frail hand in hers and looked lovingly into her grandmother’s eyes; such a youth, those wide eyes which should have portrayed hope instead had shown only sorrow. This porcelain doll wore an altogether different expression, ill befitting such a fair face. Yvette’s grandmother explained that two officials from the charity organisation society would be visiting them today to explain everything in more detail.

“Bless your dear heart, you poor child.” She said at length, “When you have lived as long as I, you learn to cope with such loss” she paused momentarily to catch her breath and steady her nerves as her hands were trembling in their usual custom, before continuing on. “Your mother was the eldest of five

of my children, all of them are now dead except for two”; upon that note there was a touch of sentiment as she found a sense of solace in Yvette’s eyes, “she was a great woman your mother, never forget that...Yvette” she paused momentarily as if in anticipation that her time was limited… “You know I am within the winter of my life Yvette, always remember your parents and I loved you dearly and I need you to be strong for me… for your parents and for yourself. Oh think what it is to be a mother, there’s a lass do” She then took the small pendant which was around her neck and put in on Yvette fastening the clasp, it held a small sepia photograph of her mother when she was with child. Her voice was faint and groggy with emotion. Tentatively she kissed young Yvette’s forehead lovingly; passed her frail hands across Yvette’s soft cheeks languorously; allowed her focus to leave her and with one last inhalation; fell back onto her pillow and gently slipped from this world into the next. There was an almost strange beauty in sentiment to behold as Yvette sat lovingly teary eyed at her grandmother’s bed side; the old frame and aged face seemed somehow changed, like the pains and sorrows of a life well lived relinquished their hold and as such, she grew peaceful rather like that of a sleeping child.

Yvette Watson was born into a family of relatively humble beginnings, however they were comparatively contented and comfortable, being only a small family with no close relations many of

their immediate family has passed on early in infancy brought on by a weakened consistency. Yvette’s father John Watson merited an honourable reputation within Caterham Valley by all who knew

him. His integrity and meek manner were impossible not to like. In his youth Yvette’s father had artistic

ambition as a travelling painter and as such longed to expand his horizons from the provincial Caterham Valley, to acquire a reputation within his chosen profession, liaise with the right sorts of like-minded individuals; and so with the rise of Bohemianism throughout Europe within the mid nineteenth century, which instilled within his consciousness a most imperious desire to travel abroad and immerse himself wholly and completely within the bohemian movement, with such a doting fondness of the age; possessing a keen eye for composition and a natural expressive finesse with colour. He travelled across Europe considerably for much of his youth painting in Paris and Venice, landscapes mostly for tourists

and also the odd commission for a portrait. He studied the greats looking at the works of Vermeer, Turner and Rembrandt in their portrait works to expand his own knowledge whilst looking towards artists like Titian and El Greco to study their use of complimentary colour and effects of light. By degrees he became affiliated with an artist’s guild and as such studied not only the practical application of art but the intellectual, which was centred around philosophy, history and a focus upon the anatomy; often using plaster casts of idealised classical sculptures based upon the works of Michelangelo and Leonardo; his landscapes often had a focus upon architectural depth and perspective. Naturally like most artists keen on acquiring a reputation; the bohemian lifestyle provided a variety of circumstances, which perpetually as one might imagine, throughout his life prevented him from marrying early; which would usually have been the custom. It wouldn’t be until much later on in life that he would become a husband and a father. Eventually marrying Yvette’s mother May upon his return to his native town of Caterham Valley.

There was quite a considerable difference in the age

of Yvette’s parents, however this seemed not to hinder but enhance their love for one another, as the circumstances seemed to unite them closer in their bonds of love.

May Watson, Yvette’s mother was also native born to the provincial town of Caterham Valley and married quite early on in life. Initially there were some reservations regarding May’s engagement to John, mostly due to the considerable difference in age between them; therefore the engagement was a rather long one before the subject of marriage was encroached. May’s mother Margaret had hoped to see her daughter married off well to a gentleman with an altogether more financially stable future. Before the arrival of John there was a young gentleman local to that area, much closer in age to May and was an accounting clerk employed by an independent legal advice service entitled Hamilton & Co. He went by the name Louis Mason and on the whole he was a rather pretty gentleman with delicate features, with a proud bearing but really rather serious and old headed despite his young years but on the whole meant well. The two had courted for a time before the arrival of John Watson and for a while it was simply deemed that the likelihood of marriage was a prospect already upon the table. However this was all to change upon the arrival of John, being a bohemian and a man of artistic temperament there was a certain indiscernible spark between the two of them, which was evident to those within their company. With May being an accomplished pianist who played for the local parish and John a passionate painter who had travelled across Europe they seemed to fit together much like a hand to a glove. So that was how it came to pass,

the engagement with the young bookkeeper was broken off leaving a broken heart and a wounded pride; and the new chapter of May’s life commenced. There was a sense of moral duty in his consciousness which rendered his love passionately to protect and comfort her. When May was found to be with child not long after her marriage to John the news was considered a blessing, however the joy was short lived as the child was still born, leaving May devastated; it would be some time before they would try again as May desperately longed to fill the void in her life, of her child being taken before its time. However when the tragedy happened a second time the pain was too much to bear and May’s demeanour darkened and she retreated inwardly longing to be fulfilled. The two tragedies had taken a toll both physically and emotionally so much so her physician had advised her it would be unwise to try again as her constitution wasn’t strong enough to bear full term. However despite reason May found herself with child once more and the pregnancy became a sort of solace, she needed most earnestly to heal the wounds and shake this heavy despair. In a most earnest manner John strove to shelter her from every hardship as May’s health was in the balance as her constitution had grown quite frail upon birthing two still born the years previous before the arrival of Yvette. The harsh climate of the English winter months had not aided in her recovery and a severe chill had taken its hold.

Yvette being their only child was native born to the small town of Caterham Valley. For the most part it was a happy childhood, she was doted on by her parents and their love was bestowed upon Yvette; for several years Yvette enjoyed the privilege of a happy quite ordinary domestic life, her mother’s tender caresses and her father’s loving smiles; however it

was tainted with a dark cloud, as Yvette watched her mother growing steadily weaker over the years. May’s ailing health required better medical attention as well as a more forgiving climate. However this required a sum of money quite beyond their means. Nevertheless despite John’s financial difficulties, he recollected an old friend whom he had acquired during his time spent in Paris; he had lived in a kind of commune roughly about ten miles from the capital, many members of the public found it to be a most mysterious and intriguing place and therefore willingly descended into its ranks, mostly comprising of writers, poets and artists; as the condition of his marriage drew him to contact one of his most intimate friends; in the hope that through his credit his wife may be spared. His friend went by the name Henri Leprince-Ringuet and was a fellow of unwavering disposition and firm resolution; it was these traits which had driven him to much success within his profession, having moderate success with a series of books regarding the topic of French poetry, and a novel which was still yet to be published. However despite this he had begun to acquire something of a reputation within those circles amongst the French public.

Upon the following day John Watson accompanied by his daughter Yvette set passage for Paris, to greet his dear friend Henri. The trip to Paris in Yvette’s eyes was quite a myriad of conflicting emotion, as despite the intrigue and wonderment at the beauty of such a splendid city of magnitude, with respectable thoroughfares with names in the Parisian tongue, which were quite foreign to herself; such as ‘Les Trois Quartiers’, ‘Lafayette’ and ‘Le Printemps’ all selling quite ornate and ostentatious trinkets all very appealing to a young ladies tastes. However all the while there was a sinking feeling of shame as these

trivial distractions from her mother’s illness filled her with a hollow sadness. It wasn’t long before they

arrived at a smart respectable looking town house,

situated in the centre in an idyllic location offering views of the Parisian cityscape. Her father eagerly knocked upon the door which was painted cobalt blue; using the great brass knocker which was fashioned into the shape of a fleur de lis. Upon this knocking a pretty maid greeted them upon their arrival with the well known salutation of Bonjour with such a welcoming embrace. Yvette’s father then proceeded to request to speak to a gentleman named Henri Leprince-Ringuet in the French tongue and that it was a matter of urgency. However upon this greeting John Watson was informed that the gentleman was no longer domiciled at this address and the lady believed that he had paid his final rent and any outstanding debts that he held and had moved on from this address; as one might imagine the initial news brought a level of surprise and also a fear as his ailing wife who urgently required the aid of his friend. It later came to pass, thanks to some contacts from his former youth spent with his bohemian friends, that Henri Leprince-Ringuet one of his most intimate friends fell through mischances, into poverty this gentleman who’s proud and unyielding disposition simply could not bear to suffer such an indignity, as to live in the same region where he was once recognised and respected as a man who was distinguished and for his reputation and literary achievements. Having paid off his lingering debts and eventually paying his final rent, which was almost a month overdue, he retreated to the Banlieue of Clichy-sous-Bois which is a commune in the Eastern suburbs of Paris and is known to be one of the most isolated regions of the inner suburbs with its dense woodland.

For all that, Yvette and her now resolute Father looked singularly despondent at one another with shared anxiousness, however despite such misfortune, in true British spirits they kept a stiff

upper lip and pressed on in their endeavour. For the two of them by and by with equal measure, put great store by this excursion. It chanced on his diversion that after paying a road toll and traveling in a hired pack horse from a Parisian coachman they travelled in an easterly direction with the wind and rain against them. The road which lay ahead leading them

in the direction of the Banlieue was sodden wet, as muddy puddles were scattered in the hollows, whilst the rain continued to fall quite sluggishly. The gradient and the infirmness of the sludge beneath the horse’s hooves as it steadfastly mashed its way through and had come to a stop several times, only to be reared back into action, albeit rather reluctantly by the coachman’s reins and whip. The coach journey to the Banlieue of Clichy-sous-Bois took duration of two hours; impeded no doubt by the unfavourable weather which seemed determined to be against them all the way. The region in which they were now presided was incredibly isolated from the capital, with quite rugged terrain consisting mostly of woodland and the province was not serviced with a main road into the capital, or even a railway station. As the packhorse trudged on and turned sharply upon a sudden turn in the road; both Yvette and John witnessed the scene which befell them; just at that point, a most menacing row of buildings came within their view. A building which had fallen into disrepute, quite dilapidated, and as much as the other miserable looking buildings which were adjoining it. Many of the windows were sealed in with wooden

beams and the entire scene had an air of defeat. The building was two stories and the façade seemed

discoloured and bore in every feature the evidence of prolonged neglect. The main entrance to this rather gloomy looking building was distained and blistered where the old paint had begun to come away and was in desperate need of a fresh coat. The

locals who were gathered around in various groups loitered upon their door steps by varying degrees seemingly rather curious to the arrival of this coach.

In a rather apprehensive manner John Watson and his daughter Yvette approached the house which was situated in the centre of the mean street. As they entered not surprisingly they were greeted with gloom and desolation, as a rather defeated looking character of sombre expression greeted them upon their arrival.

“Bonjour, Henri” came the uneasy greeting from John Watson. For the figure before him was quite changed, “cava?” he replied rather curiously.

“Bienvenue Mon ami” came the reply of Henri, as he embraced his dear friend with sadness within his eyes, such a curious sentiment a mixture of sadness and also joy upon the arrival of his dear friend. Upon their greeting Henri invited them into a little parlour when he put on a pot of black coffee upon the stove, before turning his attentions to Yvette “croissant mademoiselle” and offered a buttered croissant to Yvette, “non?” as she declined the funny looking bread,

“What happened Henri?” came the concerned reply of John and so at length Henri and John sat down over coffee and buttered croissants. There was such a feeling of defeat and also a level of anger within Henri as he duly recanted the event, it came to be

that Henri had suffered such a terrible burglary at a time almost encroaching upon six months ago prior

to John’s visit. Conjecture had spurned a rumour that news of Henri’s moderate success as a writer had

earned him a considerable sum of money, which in turn was evident from his sudden standing in society; however this had not gone unnoticed and with such rumours flying around, Henri found himself the victim of a most terrible burglary involving three

armed men, whom had disguised their identities with

blackened neckties concealing their faces. The burglary took place in the early hours of the morning, with the assailant gaining access to the property, with the aid of a small crowbar braking the shutter which was attached to a little latticed window, which in turn swung the hinges open, allowing the three men to climb through the window and into the scullery, which was adjacent to the kitchen leading into the hall. It wouldn’t be until some thorough searching of the property that Henri would hear the muffled sounds of the three assailants rousing him from his sleep; and as such as Henri mounted the stairs in order to confront these assailants, he was confronted with three veiled men armed with pistols and a crowbar,

“Who goes there?” came the cry from Henri as he advanced towards the men looming in the darkness. Alarmed by the sudden disturbance, terrified and half dressed the three assailants whom were within the parlour scattered themselves within the darkness, the pistol was fired, a crash followed, however he could not see and he staggered a little quite terrified; the largest figured man vanished momentarily; then seized him by the collar of his nightgown and pushed him hard up against the wall, with the pistol to his face in an almost playful cynicism.

There came the muffled grunts of men and laughter in the distance, with gunshots and the sounds being carried off into the distance in a rapid succession, then after a time it grew silent once more, the

realisation of what had happened to him dawned, and a deathlike hand griped Henri’s heart and he wept.

As a result of the burglary with these three assailants, it came to be that Henri Leprince-Ringuet, John’s dear friend had been reduced to living of the remains of the wreck of what remained of his fortune; merely enough to support himself with his

new tenancy for they had taken almost everything that he possessed. In the meantime he hoped to restore his reputation to its former dignity by acquiring respectable employment with a publication house, however his manuscript was still unfinished and his funds depleting. The realisation of his fall from grace, due to various mischances and a taste for extravagance, induced within his countenance a deep rankling grief, which at length took a hold upon his mind. He was still hoping to regain his position by means of starting over with his new novel, however it was far from complete, as a result he fell into such a depression, for he had lost everything; he took to drinking copious amounts of absinthe to lull his troubled mind and as a result had become dependent upon the distilled alcoholic beverage.

“I am so sorry” John replied to his dear friend Henri offering his sentiments; and in turn Henri was grievous upon hearing his friends news and knowing he was unable to help. “Do you have any idea who the men were?” John asked but Henri responded merely with a shaking of his head “Non mon ami... non”

So with the sudden realisation of his situation and of his friends fall from grace, with reluctance John’s final hope was extinguished much like a candle snuffed out. So with the final ray of hope diminished, his disposition darkened by degrees which was evident to Yvette. They booked passage to England

empty handed and despondent as their journey had been in vain;

Soon after their return Yvette’s mother passed away, the doctor claiming her weakened consistency gave way to consumption. The grief which followed was felt with such passion and took a terrible toll upon the family, Yvette’s father who was now approaching the winter of his own life was crestfallen and soon displayed symptoms of the disease himself; grief had stifled the fight that was left within him and Yvette’s father passed away merely days after her mother’s passing. It was later said that John Watson died of consumption but Yvette knew differently; he had died of a broken heart.

A neighbour, who had some liaison with the family, had contacted the authorities informing them of the situation and sought out Yvette’s next of kin, placing her under the protection of her relation.

Within moments the expectant knocking which now seemed a lifetime away came to the door, Yvette knew it was the two officials of whom her grandmother had spoken of; reluctantly Yvette opened the door to two officials dressed in smart attire the uniform from the charity organisation society; they appeared in the doorway requesting to speak to the head of the household. The gentleman seemed a fellow of stern resolution who seemed unlikely to be taken in by matters of sentiment, his face contained virtually no expression and he possessed an aristocratic nose which dominated his features. The lady next to him possessed a brow which suggested that she was in a state of tremendous mental perplexity as her eyes darted around suspiciously, she seemed the sort of person to question and to analyse every detail in regards to any of her reckonings. “Bless her heart” replied the

lady as she realised Yvette’s grandmother had just passed away.

“Ay bless her heart, pity there’s no next of kin” the gentleman replied.

Together they chafed her breast, wrists and neck but there was no pulse to be found, the heart had grown cold. They explained to Yvette that the local parish

authorities had enquired on her behalf to the workhouse authorities, as to whether there was anybody domiciled within the household to provide. As less than three months had gone by since the death of Yvette’s parents; these lodgings were temporary as the next of kin was deemed unsuitable due to being a frail and elderly woman approaching the winter of her life. In ‘layman’s terms’ Yvette was to be despatched into a branch-workhouse who were funded by the Catholic Church the following day by a lady named Miss Duval. They were to take the hansom from Caterham Valley and travel north into London’s Soho region to St Mary’s Workhouse.