Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [86]
“Well, it’s the same with John, only he’s a bit limited about the ‘props’ he can use. A real dandy would wear a top hat and a dress suit, but he couldn’t get into them. You couldn’t put a proper shirt on him, or squeeze his feet into patent leather shoes. It’s true he’s got the silver-topped walking cane, and the ring Lady Waddington gave him, but they’re not enough.
“When he has this case it’ll complete the character. He can sit in that room and feel himself to be a dashing young spark. He can’t use the silver-backed brushes and the comb because he’s got very little hair to brush. The razors will be useless to him because he can’t shave. An ordinary toothbrush is no good to him, and neither is a cigar case. But he’ll have them—and he’ll believe it, don’t you see?”
“Yes, I begin to,” she said in a sad voice. “Leave it to me, Freddie.”
The Committee meeting neared with the slow, massive unstoppability of a juggernaut. Those who feared it watched its approach with a mounting sense of horror, but the one man who had the most cause to fear being crushed beneath its wheels remained oblivious. Treves, Carr-Gomm, and Mothershead were united in keeping him in happy ignorance till the last possible moment.
The Chairman, encountering Broadneck in the corridor one morning, seized his chance to do a little subtle manipulating.
“Ah Broadneck, you’ll no doubt be pleased to know that we’ve received a smashing response to my letter.” It was a lie, but in the circumstances Carr-Gomm’s soul wasn’t troubled. “It’s all very heart-warming, though several letters do mention how beastly it would be to part the poor fellow from Mr. Treves and the staff, but since the Committee insists …”
“Good day, Carr-Gomm.” Broadneck scowled and passed on down the corridor, leaving the Chairman to reflect on the uselessness of applying subtlety in opposition to brute force.
On the day of the meeting Mrs. Mothershead went early to Carr-Gomm’s office. She did this every day now, immediately after the post’s arrival, and together they looked through the disappointing mail. It never took long.
“A few small cheques,” Carr-Gomm sighed. “But no offer of a home. Nobody wants him.”
“But what’ll happen to him after today, sir?” Mothershead demanded. “If the Committee refuse to let us keep him—”
“I’m afraid they will. There’s not the slightest doubt of that.”
“Then where is he to go?”
Carr-Gomm’s only answer was a sigh and a long look at his hands. Neither of them spoke, but the word “workhouse” hung between them. Both had heard the story of Merrick’s life only at secondhand, but somehow his horror of the workhouse had communicated itself to them so that now it was almost a tangible thing.
There was a knock on the door and Nettleton entered, stiff with importance. Without a word he handed the Chairman something he bore in his hand, the mere touching of which seemed to inspire him with awe. He positively crept out of the room.
A glance at the object Nettleton had handed over explained his behavior. It was a letter, but not such a letter as Mothershead had ever seen before. The paper was thick like parchment, and heavily embossed in a shape that she might almost have mistaken for a royal coat of arms—if she hadn’t known it to be impossible.
The envelope crackled noisily as Carr-Gomm opened it and drew out the sheet of paper within. This too was embossed, and bore only a few short lines, but those lines cleared the worry from Carr-Gomm’s face, and replaced it with a look of disbelieving delight.
“What is it?” said Mothershead urgently. “What is it?”
Without a word he handed it to her and stood watching as her face assumed the same look as his own. When she looked up their eyes met, but for a moment neither