A Rose for Beauty

Chapter 19

Mr. Hawke ushered the pair of them inside without a word. Little had changed in the cluttered cottage – not even the stools had been moved, although they had accumulated a collection of clothes and papers which Mrs. Warren unceremoniously dumped onto a precarious pile of what appeared to be pillows. The three of them sat down, and Mr. Hawke regarded Lydia from under his bushy silver eyebrows for a long moment.

“Well, Miss Lydia,” he said at last, “is the pillow working well for you?”

“Somewhat,” Lydia said awkwardly. “Most things in the dream cannot touch me now...but he can.”

“Did he hurt you?” His fingers curled into gnarled fists atop the shabby upholstered arms of his chair, flexing as though they itched to take a swing at the man that would dare.

“Oh, no,” Lydia reassured him. “But he said – some disturbing things.”

“For instance?” Now it was Mr. Hawke's turn to look uneasy and he gripped the edge of the chair as if for stability.

“He told me to be cautious,” she said, “and not to believe everything that I am told. He also said - ” she paused a moment, cheeks hot, not quite willing to confront the old man who, as far as she knew, had only tried to help her. I have to know, she thought. “He also said that it was your fault that he is trapped.”

Mr Hawke swayed a bit, hunching over as though he had been punched in the stomach. He made no answer for a while, and when he did speak his voice was thin and strained, and he would not meet her gaze. “I cannot deny it,” he said. Lydia smothered a gasp and he looked at her, his eyes filled with pain. “If it were not for my misjudgment, my blindness, Julian would never have made the attempt. If we had been on better terms, perhaps I could have helped him - ” he broke off suddenly, unable to speak again until he composed himself.

Lydia sat frozen, completely mortified by the flood of emotion that her question had provoked. 

Eventually Mr. Hawke continued. “I shall begin at the beginning,” he said. “Perhaps it was foolish of me to think that you would not discover it; certainly Julian has little reason to hide it from you. You see,” he said, lifting a mug from the little table and cradling it with both of his hands, “Julian was my pupil. No, I shall not flatter myself again – he was my employer. He was a man of great wealth, good family, high prospects. . . he had everything he ever wanted almost before he thought to call for it. For all that, though, he was not content. He was always high-spirited, and he craved a challenge greater than any he had yet found. That was why he hired me, to teach him to use magic.”

Lydia nodded, waiting: that was little more than she had already guessed.

“You must understand,” he said, gesturing wildly with his mug until tea slopped over the rim, “Julian was a brilliant student. He mastered skills in months that had taken me years! I was so very proud of him, and I felt that his arrogance was only understandable for someone of his abilities. The problem was, he soon tired of me.” His lips narrowed and twisted at the bitter recollection. “Before two full years had passed he had mastered everything I could teach him, and I was of no further use to him.”

“And he sent you away,” Lydia murmured. She had seen Anna do the same to a dance instructor who had tutored them for years. The very day Clara and Lydia had mastered the last promenade to satisfaction, he had been dismissed, to try his luck finding a position in another household.

“Oh, no,” Mr. Hawke contended. “Do not think so ill of him. He provided fine quarters for me, and a generous pension. I wanted for nothing. It is only that once he had learned all that I had to teach, I ceased to interest him. He simply – turned away, and he never bothered to speak to me again. . . as though I had ceased to exist.” He shook his head, mingled hurt and confusion on his face as he sorted through the memories. “Julian has a gift,” he said slowly, “for making one feel. . . connected. For those years that I taught him, he was the most important person in my life. He was my student, he was my friend, I would almost have said he was a son to me. But once he has finished with you, then you see the truth.” His voice lowered, filling with barely controlled emotion. “Then you see, you were nothing but a tool to him.”