Faces of the Wind

Chapter 30

"I believe there has been an agreement between you and Mr. Jefferson, my agent," Edgar Medley said in his nerve-draining, cold voice, studying Adrian with a pair of shallow bead eyes that rested behind a thick mass of heavy, droopy lids. His lips barely moved as he spoke and one would not expect this frail and somewhat squeaky voice to come out from such a small opening in this obese man's head.

Adrian, seated opposite to Edgar, opened his mouth to speak but Edgar silenced him with a hand gesture. There was an air about him that gave one the jitters.

"Mr. Jefferson has engaged you to paint a few murals and oils on canvas," his voice was loud at first as if to talk over Adrian had he decided to speak, "and work must commence tomorrow morning."

Adrian bit his upper lip and bobbed his head, intrigued and eager to discover where his rash actions have led him.

"You will receive a weekly wage of six shillings," Edgar said in a callous tone.

Adrian's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Six what?" He exclaimed, his expression morphing into a grimace of indignation, "That's a starvation wage!"

Edgar did not blink and his cold stare remained unchanged, but his lips tightened. Slowly, he rose from his massive chair, walked round the desk and sat on the couch opposite to Adrian. Adrian could swear this was the roundest man he'd ever seen—even rounder that his uncle Charles—and now that his face was closer, he found no trace of shaved facial hair; his face was as shiny and soft as a baby's, but not as innocent nor as loveable. He reminded him of slugs. A massive slug he was.

"Caleb Jefferson has been disinherited for his brashness, his mother was an illiterate scullery maid and he could not handle any duties," Edgar said, his icy stare and composed tone rendering Adrian silent. He also could not understand why this man was disparaging his trusted agent.

"But I saw a spark in his eyes," he continued, "and so I employed him, and with proper training—combined of course with his humours and dedication—I raised him up and now, look at him, he is my right hand and I cannot do without him." He paused, his stare penetrating Adrian's, then added, "I see that same spark in your eyes, but you sure need guidance and a sense of direction."

Adrian snorted with laughter. "Should I be flattered?" He continued to giggle, but Edgar's unnerving blank expression killed the giggle and forced Adrian to break eye contact and clear his throat as he rubbed his neck.

"Six shillings is more than enough at this stage—there are families living on twelve or less," Edgar said, discounting Adrian's demeanor. "We have rented a small lodging for you in Bethnal Green and the rent shall be deducted from this week's wage. I have heard, of course, that you lost your money while you were intoxicated, so you will be provided with a small stipend to fix the house a little. This won't be deducted from your wages. Think of it as a gift for joining us."

Adrian lifted an eyebrow. "How did you know?" He asked, "About my money – I mean."

"I know your every move." Edgar turned to look at the three men standing nearby. "Show him to his lodging," he instructed.

By that, the quartet was dismissed, and Adrian was not given the slightest chance to speak or ask any questions.

***

Hands on hips, Adrian stood studying his new dwelling. It was a cheerless room with dark wood flooring, scratched greyish walls and a stinking box-like area that was supposed to serve as a water room. A well-positioned huge window framed by dusty curtains kept the place well-lit, and a single bed made of metal and a mattress occupied the center. A dead oil stove stood in one corner and a small wooden table with two chairs in another. Two metal candleholders were left on the floor with no candles in either.