Ruteledge and Ruteledge

~III~

Ruth Lovell awoke in her warm little house as the sun awoke beyond her calico curtains and wriggled its way into her small bedroom. She hugged her knees to her chest, waiting for a moment in her nightdress before swinging her legs over the side of the bed to brave the cold. It was odd to have a house all to herself; if only two small rooms She was so used to elbowing her way through classrooms and at dining tables and under bedsheets in a scramble for the best places. But she'd started all on her own now, with a letter of commendation from her headmistress, and yesterday she had gone to work at Mrs Beaumont's for the first time, and today she would go again.

When she had dressed, Ruth laid out her little bed nicely and turned into the kitchen to make some breakfast. She wondered if she would see that secretary again today. There was something odd about him, almost a nonchalance for life. He would likely be taking breakfast just now, as well, in some grand dining hall not quite as grad as the Beaumounts', with a maid handing him nice things on nice plates, with his wife or his sister sat across from him. Ruth laughed a little at the thought and sat to take her bread and cheese alone at her little table.

After she ate, Ruth tied her bonnet under her chin and threw her shawl about her shoulders. She took up her sewing basket and stepped out into the street, locking up after herself. it was as cold as an October morning in London was expected to be, and she shrank beneath her shawl as she gazed up at the passing buildings. Just as she approached a particularly shabby one labelled "BRAGG'S LODGINGS," a man nearly as bedraggled as the place itself came stumbling out of its door, straight into her.

"I beg your pardon," he said, before Ruth had the time to even react. She flickered a startled smile at him, and he paused, gazing at her curiously.

"I am sorry," she began, unsure of his silence. He shook his head at himself and smiled warmly. "No, no, the fault is mine, my dear." He tipped his worn hat with one last funny little smile at her and went on his way.

When Ruth arrived at the Beaumonts', Mr Ruteledge had just handed his hat and coat to the butler and was making to enter Mr Beaumont's study.

"Good morning, Miss Lovell," he said, and Ruth quickly said, "good morning," before he slipped away. Startled by this casual greeting, she started after him for a moment before turning to Laverty with her shawl. "Is that Mr Beaumont's secretary, I suppose?" she asked, a slight doubt having entered her mind upon the nature of his interaction with her.

"Yes, that would be Mr Ruteledge," the butler answered, taking her things. Ruth frowned and lowered her voice. "Why should he say hello to me? I've never met him."

Laverty chuckled. "Heaven knows Mr Ruteledge's reasoning for anything, Miss Lovell. He's a strange fellow, but a studious assistant, and that's all Beaumont minds. Go on then, don't keep the mistress waiting."

Ruth started at the reminder and scurried off to the drawing room, where Mrs Beaumont received her with a warm smile and a pat on the empty side of the sofa. Mrs Beaumont said, "How are you, child?" in precisely the same manner as she had the morning before, and the morning unfolded in the same way. Ruth found herself wondering about the strange secretary again, and whether he should come in again with another question for her mistress, but he never did.

As Ruth tied her bonnet under her chin in the foyer at the end of the day, Ruteledge took up his hat and coat from Laverty and followed her to the door, saying, "Good day, Miss Lovell."

Ruth looked at him queerly and he smiled, his hand hovering at her elbow to steady her as they stepped down from the house. "It is Miss Lovell, isn't it?"

"Ruth Lovell," came the perplexed reply.

The secretary proffered his hand. "George Ruteledge," he said, his face twisting for a moment with a flicker of distaste upon pronouncing this name. Ruth stared at his hand in surprise and he quickly withdrew it.

"I beg your pardon," he laughed, "I am so used to meeting only business clients of Beaumont's and gentlemen of that sort." He continued walking with her and after a moment she asked, almost accusingly, "do you live this way?"

"Yes," Mr Ruteledge replied, "off Skinners Lane."

Ruth said only, "oh," and then, after a moment of silence, "as do I."

Mr Ruteledge smiled and put out his hand again, this time towards her basket. "Do let me walk with you," he said, and Ruth, uncertain how to decline, committed her basket to his outstreched hands. He draped it over his left arm, then he offered her his right, which she took after a moment's hesitation.

"Laverty says you were brought up in a girls' school," Mr Ruteledge remarked. What an odd sort of gentleman he was! "Yes," Ruth said.

"You've no family, then?"

"No," Ruth said. Then, after a moment, "A servant brought me there, as a child, and after that only money arrived for me with no apparent source."

Mr Ruteledge frowned. "So you've really no idea if you have any family."

Ruth shook her head. "I've always assumed not."

Mr Ruteledge stopped as a child ran towards them and knelt to greet him. "Hello, Henry. How's your father?"

The boy straightened his torn, patched jacket and beamed up at Mr Ruteledge. "Pa's proper good, sir. Thank you, sir. Baby's wailing awful much, though, sir."

Ruteledge smiled and pressed a sixpence into the grimy hand. "You run along to the market and buy some bread for her, then."

Henry proudly pocketed the coin and saluted. "Thank you kindly, sir. Much obliged." He tipped his cap at Ruth, said, "G'day, Miss," and scurried off.

James stood and paused in front of the weary sign of

BRAGG'S 
LODGINGS

"Here's where I live," he said in an offhanded way. He glanced at Ruth to catch the expected expression of confusion and said, "You are surprised?"

Her fair cheeks grew warm for a moment and she said, "Yes. That is—I supposed you—"

"Supposed I was a gentleman?" Ruteledge finished for her. She opened her mouth but shut it again and blushed further. Mr Ruteledge laughed and looked the ragged inn up and down. "Miss Lovell," he began, "I am a gentleman in all regards but pecuniary, which, unfortunately, to society, is the mark of a true gentleman." He proffered his arm again and they began to walk. "My father was a gentleman in all regards, including pecuniary. He invested all his fortune in a family friend, and when I was nineteen, this man lost everything. He ruined himself, and my father with him. After that, my father was so distressed he fell ill and did not leave his bed for two years until I moved him from it to his coffin. He had fallen into immense debt, which I worked hard to pay off while he was ill and for the next few months afterwards. When that was settled, I took what sparse earnings had not been exhausted in this pursuit, and I came here," he extended his arms to embrace the city. "To London. I had vowed to my father to find an honest trade that would teach me to be wise with my money, and thus I took up work with Beaumont."

Ruth peered up at the man next to her, reconsidering him. What an odd sort of man! she found herself thinking once again. They had reached her house now, which despite being as sad and worn as all the others on the street, possessed a sort of charm to it that could only be interpreted as the touch of a woman. The windows had been scrubbed and flowers planted outside the cracked door such that it said not "go away, for I am in disrepair," but "come in, I am old and loved, and these wrinkles are from years of smiling."

"I suppose this is where I leave you," Mr Ruteledge said, and Ruth smiled shyly and took her basket from him. "Thank you, Mr Ruteledge."

He took his hat off and bowed deeply with a jest in his eye. "Good day, Miss Lovell. Until tomorrow."

She tried to hide a smile. "Until tomorrow." She watched as Mr Ruteledge receded down the street with a new sort of wonder. To think that yesterday she had thought him some grand man—and yet he lived in poorer circumstances than herself! She turned in to her house and shut the door.