MM03-Another Park, Another Town

Author's Note:
This story was previously published as part of the 4-part L01 The Many Lives Of Monica MacDonald novel. I am going to publish parts 3 and 4 as standalone short stories to make them more accessible.

When Monica opened her eyes and discovered that she had been sleeping outside under a hedge of Yew, she uttered an expletive that had never crossed her lips before. Now she knew what had driven her father to favor the word.

This was not the first time that she had awakened outside. She knew in her heart that the circumstances would be similar to the last time it had happened. That first time, she had been alone, in her nightdress, which had somehow become torn, in The King’s Park in Edinburgh. She looked down and was not surprised to find that, yes, she was in a nightdress again.

She was a little relieved when she realized that at least this time she could remember her name. When she had awoken in Edinburgh, she had remembered nothing of her past, not even her name.

“My name is Monica,” she said out loud but quietly, more to convince herself that things were different than for any other reason. As she continued to consider being in such a similar situation again, this minor reassurance was followed by another louder stream of words that she was not accustomed to speaking, issued in an even more inventive combination and sequence than any she had heard from her father. They did seem to fit the situation nicely though, she thought with a grim smile.

To her consternation, however, that forceful explosion of emotion was apparently heard by someone else!

"Hold on a minute there, young lad," a voice called from the other side of the hedge. The speaker seemed to be coming around the bushes as he spoke.

A young man came into view rounding the Yew striding purposefully, but stopped short when he saw Monica. The man was probably in his early twenties, tall and lanky, with brown hair sticking out in all sorts of directions from beneath a well tattered hat of some indeterminate brownish, greenish, grayish color. He was wearing the well-worn clothing of someone who lives hand to mouth. His eyes were his most striking feature, being a piercing blue, and were easy to make out as they widened when his gaze fixed on the immodestly dressed girl whose uncontrolled auburn hair was blowing freely about her like a halo of reddish, brown gold in the slight breeze.

"I mean young lass," he said, somewhat embarrassedly, his right hand flying to his cap to doff it as he bent forward slightly in an awkward bob of a bow.

"Henry Avery, at your service," he said awkwardly, pronouncing his name without the initial H.

"I don't know what sort of trouble you be in," he continued, "But you cannot be sashaying about the park undressed and shouting such words for all young and old to hear!"

Monica blinked in surprise at this comment. The man was easy to look at in a rough sort of way but he seemed much more assured of his authority than his clothes would suggest.

She stood up to her full height, and looked somewhat haughtily at the intruder.

“You will not tell me what I can or cannot do, young man,” she said in her most formal tone, and then continued, “I am not having a particularly wonderful day, and I would appreciate some respect!”

“Respect is a good choice of words,” the young man shot back immediately. “I usually expect and receive much more than you are providing.”

“YOU!” Monica said. “You barge into my miserable day without leave and then have the gall to demand respect from ME?”

“That is exactly correct,” Henry said in response. Pointing at the badge which Monica had not before noticed on his lapel, he continued, “Most people speak much more respectfully to a Runner, especially those not properly dressed to be visiting our public park!”

“A runner?” Monica asked, somewhat less assuredly. “What would that be?”

The young man laughed out loud.

“Everyone knows what a Runner is,” he finally managed to say.

“Everyone except me,” Monica said quite defeatedly now. “Not only do I not know what is so special about you running, but I have no idea of what park this might be!” her voice rising a bit at the end.

“It’s not that I am running,” Henry said patiently and then added in a self-important tone, “I am a Bow Street Runner. I work for The Beak! I mean Magistrate John Fielding.”

The remainder of Monica’s statement sunk in and he continued, “Why don’t you know where you are?”

“I don’t know that either,” Monica wailed as tears started cascading down her cheeks, and she slowly settled down to her knees.

Henry was out of his element when confronted with an attractive, crying young lady. He knelt beside her and tried to comfort her by saying, “Come on now, it can’t be as bad as all that.”

He wanted to do more, but could not hold her or put his arm around her, given her current state of undress.

“Let’s get you to the Magistrate. He’ll know what to do,” he added.

Removing his coat and draping it over her shoulders, he took the girl’s hand and started leading her away.

* * *

When John Fielding assumed the Magistrate’s role in place of his famous brother, Henry, he knew that there would be many varied and sometimes unusual cases to rule on. One matter before his court this morning fit both descriptions.

Henry Avery, his best Runner, had arrived just before the court convened with a half-dressed young girl in tow, asking to speak with the Magistrate. There being no time before the formal proceedings were to commence, the pair were directed to the rear of the courtroom.

A gaunt man dressed all in black stood up to the right of the Magistrate and addressed the room in general, “The Bow Street Magistrate’s Court is convened this 2nd day of June in this Year of our Lord 1750, and is now in session!”

Monica gasped, her right hand flying to cover her open mouth. Beside her, Henry shushed her quietly.

“Persons with matters to be placed before the court may approach and be heard,” the stern-faced man continued, glancing pointedly at the commotion from the back of the courtroom.

Looking about the room confusedly, Monica made no further sounds, but was certain that the whirling inside her head could almost be heard. 1750! How could that be?! Before awakening in the park, she had fallen asleep in her own bed in Edinburgh in 1809! Her mind told her that moving to a different year almost sixty years before was impossible, but then another part chimed in with so was falling asleep in her bed and awakening in a park in another city!

A motley group of disparate individuals arose and shuffled forward to form a short queue before the bench on which sat another stern person, also clad in a black cloak and hat, a white ruffled shirt peaking from sleeves and neck.

The most remarkable aspect of this man, who Monica assumed must be the Magistrate, was the folded band of black cloth tied about his head obscuring his eyes completely. Monica just managed to stifle a giggle as a disrespectful thought about blind justice leapt into her mind.

For the next several hours, the people in the queue stepped forward and presented their cases. It seemed to Monica that each was given fair and sometimes even compassionate treatment.

When the queue was depleted, Monica assumed that it would be her turn to face the Magistrate, but to her surprise the bailiff rose and declared the proceedings ended.

The Magistrate and bailiff exited through a door behind the Magistrate’s desk. Everyone else departed via the main entrance leaving Henry and Monica alone.

Monica looked a question at Henry and he answered by taking her hand once more, then stood up and pulled her with him towards the back if the courtroom. He led her through the same doorway that the Magistrate had used earlier.

They went only a short distance down the dim hallway before stopping at a closed door. Henry knocked lightly and waited. Monica said not a word as he seemed to know what he was about.

“Enter,” came the command from the other side of the door. The voice was firm but the single word was not harsh. Monica recognized the voice of the Magistrate.

Henry complied and opened the door, stepping back and gesturing Monica to precede him into the room, which she did.

Looking around she discerned that the room was some kind of office. There was an old heavy oak desk behind which sat the blindfolded Magistrate that she had seen earlier along with several empty simple wooden spoke chairs. Other than those items the room was bare.

Standing and facing the desk was the bailiff who had apparently just finished talking to the Magistrate. He turned and departed through the open door closing it behind him as he left.

A few moments of silence ensued as Henry stopped before the desk saying nothing and Monica followed his lead. The Magistrate sat perfectly still, his covered eyes straight ahead either sleeping or thinking, Monica knew not which it might be.

Finally, the Magistrate broke the silence, “Do you often tour Hyde Park in such a state of undress?” It would seem that someone had already briefed him on who would be coming into the office and why.

Since this question was clearly directed at her instead of Henry, Monica answered, “Not at all, your honor.”

“No need for formality in the office,” the Magistrate said then continued, “so why did you choose to do so today?”

Monica paused for a moment before answering, considering how much she should confide. She had experience with the reaction to her story and now it would be magnified by the information regarding the date anomaly.

“I did not choose to do so today, or any day for that matter,“ she finally replied.

“Your dissimulation intrigues me,” the Magistrate said, a smile playing on his lips.

“Henry, what do you make of this matter?” The man continued, changing the recipient of his inquiry.

“It is most strange Mr. Fielding, Sir,” Henry replied doffing his cap.

“I’ve told you before that it is not necessary to remove your head covering in my presence,” the Magistrate said.

“I know, Sir. But it’s a good habit,” Henry said.

“True enough. What else do you have to report about our young lady here? I have not yet heard her name mentioned.”

“She says that her name is Monica, no surname given and says that she does not know how she came to be in Hyde Park.”

“And you, Miss Monica, can you add anything?”

“Surely you cannot believe that I would choose to appear in public in such a state of attire, or more accurately a lack thereof. Not only do I find it necessary to beg the courts indulgence in this matter, but would also request some assistance in finding a lodging until my memory returns,” Monica said.

“I need for you to explain,” the Magistrate commanded.

Monica took a deep breath and launched into her tale. She explained that she had no idea what had occurred between the time that she fell asleep in her own bed, and did not elaborate on where that furniture might be, and awakening in the park. She said that she had almost no memory of her past and could not remember where she lived or even her last name. She had no idea how she had gotten to the park.

When she finished her testimony, she waited as John Fielding, Magistrate of Essex County Court considered her situation. This he did silently for a full five minutes before continuing, “I cannot help feeling that you are withholding some information, but that is your right. As for what we are to do with you, I believe that we can excuse your public indecency. Since it seems that you have no place to go nor anyone to assist you, I am remanding you to the Foundling Hospital. You are clearly too old to become a ward there, but my friend Thomas Coram, will provide you shelter and sustenance while you will earn your keep by volunteering to assist them with their good work caring for infants until more can be learned regarding your past.”

The Magistrate directed Henry to escort Monica to the orphanage and then signaled that the interview was concluded.

* * *

Thomas Coram was showing the toll of his eighty-plus years. His portly body was stooped over and he moved slowly with the aid of a cane. The one bright thing about his advanced years, he thought ironically, was that his unruly naturally gray hair did not need to be covered with a powdered wig.

He had spent his recent years in badgering anyone who would listen into helping him open the Foundling Hospital to save the many young infants left to die about the city by parents who could not take care of them. Here he was now, showing this girl, who John Fielding had sent over around his pride and joy. He smiled inwardly as he considered that it was unlikely that she would be the one he sought to carry on his legacy but one never knew.

“John tells me that you are experiencing some memory issues,” he said.

“Unfortunately true,” Monica responded. “I can remember almost nothing of my past, but I am sure that I will be able to help out somehow, even if that is only with menial tasks.”

Thomas considered this response as he opened the door to an infant ward. He showed Monica what services the hospital was providing and explained their basic goals. Monica assured him that she could be of use to him.

“I think that you should get along just fine with us,” Thomas said. He pointed to an elderly lady tending the infants and continued, “Mrs. Bankston will show you where you will be staying while you are here and provide you with a uniform.”

He then left Monica in the care of the matron and departed. Mrs. Bankston was very happy to see Monica. She explained that the hospital was chronically understaffed as she led her into the bowels of the building, eventually stopping at a closed door in a dimly lit back hallway.

“This will be your quarters while you are here, dear,” she explained as she opened the door revealing a small sparsely furnished space. “You will find uniforms of various sizes in the cabinet. Come back to the ward when you are dressed. Do you think that you will be able to find your way?”

Monica assured her that she could and when Mrs. Bankston left, Monica dug through the stored uniforms discovering a suitable size. Then she wound her way back through the maze of hallways to the infant ward where she toiled the remainder of the day administering to the children’s needs.

* * *

As her first, long day at the Foundling Hospital was approaching its end just before 7:00 pm, Monica received word that someone was waiting in the visitor room off the foyer to speak with her. As she made her way there, wiping her hands on her apron, she thought to herself that the visitor must be from the Magistrate’s office. No one else even knew that she was here.

She was mildly surprised but pleased to see Henry waiting for her. She had expected a clerk or some other low-level assistant.

Smiling warmly at the handsome Runner, she said, “Mr. Avery. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

“Magistrate Fielding asked me to look in on you on my way home to ensure that you were getting along well.”

“The work is constant but the little darlings are just so cute, one does not notice the hours flying by.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I will pass it on to the Magistrate in the morning.”

The two just stood smiling at each other for a few moments, apparently neither having more to add to the conversation.

“Well, I should be off then and let you get about your duties,” Henry finally said.

“Thanks for dropping by,” Monica said. “Will you be coming again soon? I do not know another soul.”

Henry touched the edge of his woolen cap in a salute as he nodded slightly and replied, “I’m sure the Magistrate will want me to keep tabs on you.”

Henry did not notice the pained expression that flitted across Monica’s face for a moment to be replaced quickly by her customary smile. She had hoped that he might want to see her, not merely that he was performing a duty.

When he walked out, she turned towards her room. Her first day had left her drained and she just wanted to go back to her room and think. She could not even consider a meal.

When she closed the door to her chamber, she leaned against it, her forehead pressed against the wood, eyes closed, just trying to gain some equilibrium or understanding. Her calm, confident demeanor with which she had performed her tasks was not on display now. She was a confused country lass of only nineteen years and the events of the past months were overwhelming.

She had no explanation for why this was happening to her. Her friends in Edinburgh had come up with nothing. Now not only was she in London suddenly but it was years in the past! Was she merely dreaming? It did not seem so, but how could this keep happening to her.

She clasped the amulet hanging from her neck inside her uniform tightly. It was her only source of solace. It seemed so warm and reassuring.

She eventually readied for bed and fell asleep with tears sliding down her cheeks.

* * *

The next several days passed in an unremarkable stream of awakening, eating breakfast with the small staff, attending to the infants, eating dinner and sleeping. This morning was different. She found herself being escorted to the office of Magistrate Fielding by his Runner Henry Avery.

As they were ferried by a hackney through the winding streets, Monica mulled things over. The normalcy of the routine at the hospital conflicted wildly with the utter strangeness of her situation. In her mind, she knew that she must have been living some kind of life, the details of which she could not remember, then she had been in Edinburgh for a week, long enough to start becoming interested in a young man, and now here she was in London a few scant days later, but many years earlier. It all had her head spinning!

She found Henry Avery very easy to look at and pleasing to talk to , and sometimes it seemed that he might be interested in her, but what of her friend Daniel McDermitt in Edinburgh. She had been beginning to have real feelings for him and she felt that it was not right that here she was starting to think more about another after only a few days. It did not lessen her guilt to realize that she would likely never be able to get back to him. It came as a shock to realize that it was not only the distance between the two cites, but as of today, Daniel had not yet been born!

Her musings were interrupted when Henry escorted her into the Magistrate’s office. John Fielding sat behind his oaken desk as ramrod straight as he had the last time she saw him. He was dressed much the same in black with a folded black cloth tied around his head, covering his eyes.

After Monica and Henry sat down, he asked, “Has the Foundling Hospital treated you well?”

“To be certain, Your Honor,” Monica began.

“John,” the Magistrate interjected. “Just John will do.”

“John,” she continued. “Yes, Thomas Coram and Mrs. Bankston have been very kind. I find the work very fulfilling helping with the babies.”

“That is for the best. I fear that we have made no progress in discovering any additional information in your case. It is as if you appeared in London from thin air.”

Monica still had not admitted to her recent, for her, past experiences in Edinburgh for fear that the date discrepancy would come out. She decided that it was still not the right time for all to be made known.

“I do feel perfectly well, but have no memory of where I grew up nor how I got in that park,” she said.

“If you are happy there, Thomas has told me that you are welcome to remain as long as you like,” the Magistrate informed her. “Unless your memory improves or you choose to add any additional facts for us to pursue, I do not expect any additional progress towards returning you to those that must be wondering where you have gone.”

Monica knew that he knew that she was holding something back.

“I really appreciate the kindness that everyone has shown and the efforts that you have put forth in my behalf,” Monica replied.

“If you will escort Miss Monica back to the Hospital, then, Henry. I must be off to another meeting.” So saying, John Fielding rose and indicated the door to his office with his right hand.

Henry took Monica’s hand and led her from the office. The Foundling Hospital was only a few miles away and the London weather unseasonably agreeable so the two decided to walk rather than taking a hackney.

Henry led Monica through a maze of streets and avenues, some cramped and some spacious. She remarked on his ability to find his way in such a labyrinth, but he made light of it. He had wandered these streets for so many years that they were like old friends.

Finally, back at the Hospital in the foyer, he lightly kissed the knuckles of her hand and told her that he would look in on her in a few days. The gentlemanly gesture once again sent a tingling sensation up her back and after he had departed, she raised the hand to her lips and covered his kiss with one of hers.


* * *

Monica was consumed by the routine of infant care for the next several days. Two more foundlings had arrived to add to the staff’s load.

It was when she was bending over the newly arrived Samantha that the child reached up and grasped her amulet which had fallen out oh her blouse and was dangling between them. Monica was not too concerned at first, but she could not easily dislodge the grip that the baby had on the necklace. She was afraid that the chain might part.

A feeling of anxiousness began to overcome her as the baby pulled on the amulet and cooed in a bubbly toothless grin. She tried to keep her voice light as she spoke quietly and pried at the little fingers. She was afraid that the child might suffer if she pried too forcefully but it would not let go.

Finally, inspiration stepped in and she took the bottle of milk and rubbed it on the child’s lips. Instantly the amulet ceased to be of interest as the baby grabbed at the bottle and suckled boisterously.

Monica said a small prayer of thanks and slid the amulet back inside the collar of her blouse.

When she had a brief break in her duties, she slipped back to her room and removed the precious amulet and placed it under her mattress for safekeeping.

The remainder of the day was uneventful but for the near constant flashes of concern Monica felt for the amulet. Was it safe? Would it still be under her mattress when she returned to her room? It occurred to her that she was constantly plagued with such thoughts when she was away from the thing.

It was a huge relief when she reached under the mattress later and pulled it out. She immediately clasped it around her neck and calm descended over her like a blanket.

* * *

On her free day, Monica was walking slowly past the street vendors which were around the corner from the Founding Hospital, casually looking over their wares, more to see what was considered salable in London than from any interest in the items. As she stood before a lady offering crocheted doilies, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Out enjoying the weather, I see,” Henry Avery said. “Surely you are not considering one of those rags?”

Noticing the scowl with which the vendor responded to this question, Monica turned with a smile to greet her friend.

“You think so little of their quality?” she responded.

“It’s not that. Merely that what little allure they might possess is diminished by the superior beauty before them.”

This compliment, accompanied by the infectious grin on Henry’s lips was enough to make Monica blush as she considered how it would feel to have those very lips pressed to hers. She did not even care if they were on her own lips or possibly sampling the tender place behind her ear, or whatever.

The snort from the vendor proved that she was not impressed by Henry’s gallantry. The old lady followed this succinct statement up with, “Be gone ye worthless scamp!”

Taking her comments as an order, Henry turned and extended his elbow to Monica. She gently slid her hand into its crook and allowed herself to be led away. The attention of the handsome young man was making her thoughts disjointed.

“I hope that your shopping has worked up an appetite for you,” Henry said. “There is something that I have been wanting to show you a few blocks away that I know you will enjoy.”

Monica said nothing as she mulled over this cryptic statement.

It did not take the pair long to traverse the few blocks to Henry’s surprise, and surprise it was. The sight that came into view as they came around the last corner literally took Monica’s breath away.

It was not the café tables set behind the short iron fence, nor the huge willow tree which drooped its branches amongst them, nor even the myriads of small mirrors, bits of colored glass, ribbons and small framed pictures adorning the tree, the walls and even the fence that made such an impression. It was the magical blending of their combined effects that transported the scene to a realm where fairies might dwell.

Covering her open mouth with her hand, she could only muster a breathy, “Oh my!” She glanced furtively at the spaces beneath the tables to see if she could spot any mystical creatures.

Obviously pleased with the effect that his secret had caused, Henry slipped his arm about Monica’s waist and guided her through the arched gate into the group of scattered tables. Adding to the unreal atmosphere of the place was the actual short cropped grass upon which the tables were placed. The only flagstones, which were normally used in this area of the town to cover the local sidewalks, created winding paths between them.

It was clear that Henry was known by the waiter, at least that is what Monica assumed the man dressed in an old-fashioned country outfit to be. He merely waved them on towards the thick foliage of the tree rather than attempting to seat them at one of the empty tables. Henry pulled aside the curtain of leaves and escorted Monica within.

She had thought that the tree was wonderful to behold from without, but the view from within the confines of its branches surpassed everything that had come before.

Not only did the multitude of drooping strands cascading from above completely block the view of the outside world, but the thickness of foliage also blocked out the sounds of the city without. Only the chirping of some birds somewhere up in the tree and their own hushed voices could be heard.

They were momentarily in their own little world comprised of a small table with two matching chairs, up against the massive trunk of the tree with a couple of small serving tables. Upon these tables rested a teapot, two cups, a sugar bowl, a creamer and a pair of saucers all in white with delicate blue designs, accompanied by a large tray of edibles.

Henry pulled out one of the chairs for Monica to be seated and after she did so, he took his place in the other.

The sense of guilt that Monica had been having about her growing feelings for Henry when it had not been so long since she left Daniel in Edinburgh flew out the window.

As they ate from the tray of little triangles of toast, jams, cheeses and grapes, and sipped the Earl Grey tea, they talked quietly. They both seemed to have the feeling that speaking too loudly would dispel some of the magic.

Henry admitted that he had seen Monica shopping at the street vendors and had stepped over here to get his friend the waiter to arrange the special table for the couple.

Nothing that they ate or drank was terribly extravagant, but Monica knew that the repast must have made a significant dent in the funds that he would have collected working for the Magistrate. The thought that he had gone to such lengths for her caused a sense of warmth to blossom in her chest, right where her amulet rested, and brought another blush to her cheeks.

The two continued to eat the treats and talk quietly enjoying each other's company for several hours. When Monica finally could not control a yawn, Henry took the hint and arranged for the empty dishes to be cleared.

In light of the lateness of the hour, Henry flagged a hackney to get them to the Foundling Hospital. He helped Monica up into the cab and sat beside her.

As the cab rocked gently over the uneven bricks, they both found their eyelids getting heavy. Monica gave in first and closed her eyes and rested her head on Henry’s shoulder. A feeling of drowsy warmth overtook her and she drifted off. It was not long before Henry leaned his head on Monica’s and dropped off to sleep also.

* * *

“She was in the carriage with you when you dosed off?” John Fielding asked. He was seated at his desk in Bow Street and Runner Henry Avery was standing before him.

“Yes, Sir,” Henry answered. “Just as I reported. We met a few blocks from the Founding Hospital as I was finishing my rounds. I showed her the Fairie Park and we grabbed a bite, then I hailed a hackney and we started back to the Hospital. I don’t know why but we both seemed very tired for some reason. I know that she dosed off and I must have too. “

“But when you awoke, she was gone,” Fielding continued. “And the cabbie swears that he never stopped and did not see her depart.”

“Aye, that be the whole of it.”

“And no Runner can find any trace of her?” Fielding asked.

“No, Sir. Nothing.”

“The girl was a mystery from inception to end,” the Magistrate declared. “I would be surprised if we hear aught of her again.”

“Let me know if you do,” the Magistrate said. “Back to your duties now. I have court in a few minutes.”

Henry rose, made a small salute, touching his fingers to his cap, and left the room.

The mysterious Monica was quickly forgotten by most, except Henry Avery, who never quit thinking of the auburn-haired Scottish lass who had stolen his heart and then left without a word.