Charles Augustus Fenton - Alana Whiting

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called for me much sooner. But, not to bother – that’s in the past. Let’s look at the here and now and fix your little son.’

      She drew close to my bed and gazed at me. I stared back, equally curious. She closed her eyes and began to chant softly under her breath. Her hands moved up and down just above my weakened body, gesturing and flicking away periodically. She rubbed them together and placed them firmly onto my swollen abdomen and I could feel a rising heat radiating from her as she muttered away. There was no pain, just warmth and a feeling of lightness going through my body. I relaxed immediately, cooing and smiling at her as she concentrated on her spell. Her shoulders hunched and lifted as she cupped her hands and drew them away from my stomach, flicking them towards her shoes and stamping down seven times with each foot. She did this several times and with each cupping I could feel my stomach easing and growing softer. She touched my forehead with her left thumb and drew a circle from the top of my face to the bottom going anti-clockwise. She then pressed my cheeks with her forefingers and flicked away towards my earlobes, hissing as she flicked. My mother watched her with love in her eyes as she touched my face and body, murmuring and whispering to herself. She finished with an incantation spoken so softly only the wind could have picked it up. She closed her eyes and placed her right hand on her heart and her left hand on my brow whilst repeating what she said. When she stopped the silence was thick in the air and no one moved for some time.

      Unexpectedly, she opened her eyes and the mood vanished. She smiled at me and then at Elizabeth and turned to fossick in her bag, removing a small leather pouch and tucking it into my pillowcase.

      ‘This is a little collection of herbs that will help ease your son’s restless nights. From now on you will notice an improvement or my name is not Magda Williams.’ She smiled and kissed Elizabeth on the lips. ‘Make sure to keep it there for one week and he will be back to his happy self in no time. I promise you.’

      As she spoke I drifted into the arms of Morpheus, not noticing the women in each other’s arms.

      ‘Oh Magda, how can I ever thank you? You are my saviour yet again.’ Elizabeth placed her hands on Magda’s cheeks and kissed her back.

      ‘You have already repaid many times over, Lizzie. It is I that is in your debt,’ Magda huskily responded, parting her lips to kiss her deeper. ‘I look forward to seeing you again.’

      ‘And you shall, my love. Charles has agreed to me seeing you. But for now, we must say good-night.’ And with that, they regretfully parted, going arm in arm to the front door of the house, where Magda disappeared into the night.

      

      From there, my recovery was remarkable. If Meg noticed the pouch hidden in my bedding, she chose wisely not to bring it up with the mistress. Those things were best left alone she thought to herself. But she was relieved when on the seventh day her mistress came and removed the mysterious purse. It felt as if she could breathe again and she no longer dreaded coming to pick me up out of the cot.

      My appetite returned with gusto. My chest cleared and the hacking cough disappeared. My stomach now filled with stew and dumplings, apple cobbler and egg custard, all of which stayed in my body and gave me renewed strength. Before long the bones became padded with flesh and my eyes sparkled. The joy it brought my parents was immeasurable as they fussed and cooed over me every day. Though Charles would never admit it publicly he realised that this miracle was partly due to Elizabeth’s friend Magda and he reluctantly allowed Elizabeth to visit her weekly as she had before.

      As my health improved my father was once again called to Parliament to be part of the select committee investigating the financial viability of the Chartist Co-operative Land Company. The Chartists, and in particular, Feargus O’Connor, still held a vision of workers buying into shares of the company and purchasing estates. As ridiculous as it seemed to my father, the movement was gathering momentum and there were concerns being raised by major land owners about this new development threatening their livelihood. It was up to the committee to unofficially shut it down whilst openly appearing to be neutral. This was a delicate operation and they had to move cautiously, thus keeping my father away for long periods of time. This aggravated my mother and filled her with rancour towards those infernal working classes with their high ideas. Her only pleasures were the frequent visits to her friend Magda and playing marbles with me.

      I, on the other hand, looked forward to my father’s journeys. Not because of his absence, but because of the wondrous stories he returned with to fill my ravenous mind. As I recovered my strength, he would regale me with stories of mystical people he had met. Whilst ensconced with the Chartist Co-operative, he was able to have some light relief with a short visit from the diminutive dwarf called Tom Thumb. He was fourteen years old and only twenty-five inches high. He was introduced to society by none other than the famous Phineas T Barnum and made a substantial income by purely making an appearance. My father showed me where the little man stood compared to the length of his leg and I would have given my entire marble collection just to have seen him in the flesh. My dreams were filled with little people and barking Irish battling with the dreaded goblins underground.

      My world seemed so dreary and protected to me compared to the bountiful discoveries to be made out there. And so the seasons passed and I impatiently became of an age to be ready for school.

      

      Our cook was one of the finest in town, and I had grown to be a strapping young lad of six years. Spending time with Jack in the stables and Mr Walton out on the fields had turned my skin a rich walnut brown. My mother recoiled at every new scratch and scrape I came strutting home with, complete with yet another hole in my breeches for Meg to mend. My father would chuckle thinking of the time when he was a lad hunting down the frogs and scaling up trees. It was a carefree and happy childhood and the excitement I showed at making new friends in the village school gladdened them both. I refused to be kept at home with Meg the nanny and leaned on them until they saw my point of view.

      I adamantly banned my mother from taking me there. Jack walked with me on the first day and then I declined his company also. I took to the books with avid ferocity, learning to read and write at a speed that bemused and surprised my teacher. I loved new words, sounding them out on my tongue like an exotic candy and then attempting to place them in a sentence that had no relationship with that word. I didn’t care. If the word was delicious then I felt it deserved a chance to be written in my school book and I was quite affronted when my teacher would scratch it out and provide a more suitable alternative.

      My class was made even more delightful with the added inclusion of Lily. She sat three rows in front of me with her twin sister Carla. Her silky long blonde hair seemed to sparkle in the sunlight streaming through the school window and my eye was caught lingering on her more often than not. If I stared long enough I was certain that she even glowed a fuzzy halo that shimmered when she moved. Though I had never been in close proximity I was convinced she would smell like ginger biscuits and lemonade. I adored her. Her unfortunate sister was destined to remain in her shadow and be invisible to me. There could be only one true Lily. Lily of the valley. Lily of the meadow. Glittery tinkly fairy Lily. Dancing and skipping, holding my hand and beaming. And she had absolutely no idea I existed.

      Coming from a home that worshipped the ground I stepped on meant that I was perplexed at her indifference. It bewildered me that she didn’t come rushing towards me whenever I entered the classroom. So I determined to make her my friend and show her how wonderful I was.

      One Wednesday morning at midday break I summoned the courage to go and say hello. She was alone, her sister having engaged herself in a game of hopscotch. She was holding a little box in her hands and chuckling to herself. I neared her, smiling and tentative, sitting

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