Harry: Chapter Eleven

Bewilderment

by Liederlady

Notes

After the stranger left I began drying off then sat cross-legged on the blanket. For a time, I simply watched Sherlock sleep.

I thought about everything that had happened during the day—Sherlock showing up at Netley to spirit me here, our brief swim in the ocean. I found myself unable to stop thinking about what the man in black had said and the possessive manner with which he had gazed at Sherlock.

I have always possessed a bull pup of a temper that had embroiled me in altercations far more often than I cared to recall. The stranger’s words—and that look—had stirred my ire. My fingers were so tightly curled into fists that my nails broke the skin of one palm.

I glanced over at the slumbering young man again, realizing that I had still not reconciled my feelings for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 22, 1878

Doctor Brett had done much to try and smooth over my nervousness after our altercation involving Harry. I had apologized for my outburst, but he had waved it away.

“All in the past, John,” he had said.

As my departure date drew closer, Brett took to inviting me to his home for dinner. When Harry failed to return, and my mood grew even darker, I finally admitted my troubling reactions to the young man’s unusual overtures one evening over drinks.

Doctor Brett, with his years of clinical and simple life experience, offered his observations.

“Such victims can exhibit promiscuous behaviour, particularly if their abuse has been chronic. They seem to display a sense of obligation toward anyone who shows an interest in them. Perhaps this young man was responding to your generosity of spirit the only way he knew.”

I shook my head. “I can understand gratitude, even his … advances. What I cannot understand is … me … my reactions. I-- I have never-- ” I threw up my hands, not even capable of articulating what I felt.

Brett heaved a sigh … not one of impatience, but understanding.

“John, I have no desire to further upset you. Neither do I want to repeat my inadvertent though obvious blunder when I first asked you about … well, about what you felt for your patient.”

Despite his gentle tone, the words he spoke prompted an angry bristle which raised the hairs on my neck. When I glanced up at him, his vivid green eyes were calm, concerned and supportive. Nowhere within their depths was there a hint of reproach.

I was bearing quite enough of that emotion on my own.

“I wanted to … to be his friend,” I said. If the words and the emotion which prompted them were so innocent, I could not understand why my voice was unsteady.

“Of course you did. And I’m confident the young man needed and desired your friendship. The swiftness of his recovery—physical as well as emotional—was exceptional considering the harm he suffered,” Brett said.

I quickly downed a substantial draft of the whiskey Brett had poured me, thankful I had opted for that instead of the brandy. The sharp sting of the stronger spirit was needed to quell the tightness in my throat.

“I had little to do with that,” I mumbled.

“Modesty is a fine trait, but honesty is a finer one. You need to stop this tendency to downplay your abilities, doctor,” he chided.

I gulped more whiskey and gasped a bit at it. Brett was still favouring me with an assessing but friendly gaze.

“John, I take it you have never experienced…you are unaccustomed to feeling physical attraction for another man,” he said.

I stood so abruptly, I nearly upended my chair.

“For heaven’s sake, John, do not be so upset,” Brett said gently, rising to grasp my arm and guide me to again take my seat.

“I-- do not believe that you-- I--,”

“You’re sputtering and that’s not an unexpected reaction from a man as young as you,” Brett said with a bit of a smirk.

“Meaning?” I said, rather more brusquely than I intended.

“Meaning that our society and our courts have condemned such feelings as perverse and deviant and that you appear to share such a perspective,” he said, staring me in the eye as he stood next to my chair.

“It is perverse. Look at what happened to Harry because of such deviance,” I said, my voice still unsteady.

“What happened to that young man had nothing to do with either physical attraction or sexual desire. He was brutalized by men so far removed from civilization that they equate desire with the urge to exert brute power over another being. It is the same with men who force a woman. Rape is not sex,” Brett countered.

I was startled by the harsh change in his tone, his demeanor and the impropriety of his language; such words are simply not spoken.

“But, men with men, it--  ”

“Would you bleed a patient, John?”

“What?”

“Would you bleed a patient, say to treat a fever or a stomach complaint?” Brett elaborated, his voice tight.

“Of course not,” I replied.

“Why not?”

“Because it would only harm the patient.”

“How do you know that?” he pressed.

“Because our studies have proven-- ” But Brett interrupted me.

“Would you stone someone for being a witch?”

“There are no such things-- ”

“Would you drown a female newborn because you viewed it as inferior?”

I was stunned. I had rarely heard Doctor Brett raise his voice above normal speech, but now he was savagely shouting out these preposterous questions.

“Now see here…”

“Would you drown such a useless child?”

“No child is use-- ”

“Some cultures would disagree. And such practices were once considered quite reasonable,” he argued.

“We have progressed beyond such cruel and ignorant practices,” I countered.

“Progressed? Yet you would imprison a man for desiring another man. Or condemn a woman for loving another woman?”

“Such things are unnatural,” I said, scowling.

“As witchcraft was? And what of the belief that a male heir was the only offspring of value? Natural?”

I shook my head.

“You preferred whiskey tonight while I preferred brandy, Watson. Let us imagine Parliament and the Commons decreeing that your preference was illegal, perverse and throw you in gaol. What would that be?”

“My preferring whiskey puts nothing, no one, at risk.”

“But who someone chooses to love does put something at risk?”

“Society,” I replied adamantly.

“Society is at risk if I choose to love another man?”

I glanced up sharply at him. He simply folded his arms and awaited my answer.

“There is a natural order of things,” and even as the words left my throat, I was aware they sounded hollow.

“Natural order. Copernicus and Galileo were persecuted for attempting to explain the natural order, Watson,” Brett said. “Should we still believe the Earth is flat and the center of the universe? Or are you implying that the natural order decrees that the only reason for sexual relations is procreation and two men cannot procreate?” Brett fired back.

I shook my head.

“No,” I said in a low voice.

“That sounds like a dangerous response, Watson, one that could put society at risk. Perhaps we should pass a law against it?”

“Are you saying you love men?” I asked him. I felt afraid to look up at him and cursed myself for my cowardice. Brett was a man I had come to admire.

He was silent a moment.

“Admitting that would prove me deviant by society’s standards, as well as your own, I presume,” he said. “And what of your young friend? He is a deviant as well.”

“Harry is not-- ”

“You said he touched you inappropriately, said you thought he might kiss you,” Brett pressed.

“I could have been mistaken,” I said as I stood, my hands clenching.

“Then again, perhaps Edwards was correct. Perhaps your Harry was a rent boy and enjoyed what happened to him or simply needed the money. Perhaps he finds multiple sexual partners and animals excit-- ”

My fist shot upward, but Brett effectively blocked it then grasped my wrist and used the leverage of his superior height to twist my body around.

“Calm down, John, calm down,” Brett said gently at my back, controlling me until my rage subsided. When I nodded, he slowly released me.

I turned to face him, looking up into his eyes.

“Will you tell me?” I asked.

“Why?” Brett asked me, his green pools steady and open.

“Because I want to understand,” I said.

“For the boy?”

I sighed and nodded. “And myself,” I said.

Brett’s hand clasped my upper arm.

“This could take a while. Do you care for another whiskey? Or would that endanger society?” He grinned down at me.

I smiled back and shook my head.

“I think perhaps I should remain in possession of what few faculties are left to me this evening,” I sighed.

“Worried about my behavior, Watson?” Brett asked.

Sudden realization galvanized me; I slowly raised my eyes to meet his.

Doctor Brett’s hand still clutched my upper arm. It tightened before he slowly removed it, frowning as he drew it away.

“I have never pressed my attentions where they were not desired. I am not about to begin now, Doctor,” he said.

I could not help but stagger backward and slump into my chair. After a moment, a glass was thrust under my nose and the strong aroma of good whiskey roused me from wherever I had gone.

“Drink slowly,” Brett said. His voice sounded odd, deeper somehow … rough. I glanced up at him, surprised that his vivid green eyes had gone dark, nearly black. It was only then that the possible cause dawned on me.

“I-- please, I cannot return--” Suddenly, the room seemed to close in on the two of us.

“I understand that, Watson. Take a sip of your drink before you fall out of the chair,” he said gruffly.

I obeyed. When I lowered the glass, his hand lifted it again, urging me to take another draught.

When I felt more myself, I realized Doctor Brett was crouched next to my chair, gazing at me with a most disconcerted expression.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” I murmured, shaking my head.

Brett chuckled.

“I vote yes,” he said.

I looked over at him, surprised by his now-calm demeanor.

“For a moment, you shot pale, but your normal and quite appealing complexion is rapidly returning,” he said. I winced at his modifiers.

“I had no idea,” I told him, then pondered how little I knew of anything.

“Of course you didn’t. Haven’t you ever concealed your true feelings for someone or at the very least, donned a mask of propriety?” he asked, his eyes still suffused with amusement.

I nodded weakly and took another sip of whiskey.

“Do you not think inverts might learn to conceal their emotions?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never known any,” I said, looking up at him as he rose to his full height.

“I would wager you have in the past and never knew it, Watson,” he said.

“You-- I would never have imagined you to-- ” I stuttered, then straightened and began acting like a man. “Doctor Brett, what would it be like for someone as young as Harry?”

Frankly, I had little clue as to how to broach such a subject. Brett looked down at me then walked over to his chair and sat.

“John, if you feel comfortable with it, call me Peter. And just what do you mean … what would sex be like?”

I winced at his frankness.

“That is what we’re discussing here, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Well, yes, I suppose. But he is so young. And what if … I don’t really believe this is the case, but what if he was forced into becoming a … rent boy?”

“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility. Impoverished boys fall victim to such a fate as often as impoverished girls.”

I thought about Harry’s quick intelligence and cultured vocabulary.

“Harry was not impoverished,” I said, shaking my head.

“Then again, he could have been guided to accept such a life by someone he trusted, a relative perhaps,” Brett said.

I started in my chair.

“Surely not,” I whispered.

“John, a boy as attractive and spirited as your friend would be highly prized by a predator,” Brett said.

“Predator? You do not think Harry was … is it possible for a boy to be under such a brute’s control for long periods?”

I was thinking aloud, recalling the scars I had noted on Harry’s breast and foreskin.

“Did he say something to that effect?” Brett asked.

I shook my head and reluctantly shared the observations I had made.

“I have seen evidence of such preferences before … predators consider it a possessive means of decorative display, an assertion of their dominance. Such men have been known to groom boys as catamites for years,” Brett said.

I ran a shaky hand over my forehead as I pondered the sort of life Harry may have been forced to live.

“John, what if Harry willingly participated in such acts,” and at this the man raised his hand to halt my angry reaction, “I do not mean the rape. It was clear from his struggling and the marks of force that the boy fought his assailants. But that does not mean he never willingly engaged in carnal relations with others, was perhaps trained to seduce his partners. How would you feel if you discovered that?”

“He is too young to be blamed. If he was misled, was improperly raised …”

“John, are you a virgin?” Brett interrupted.

My mouth dropped. Fortunately, I did not sputter.

“What sort of question is that?” I asked.

“A fair one considering your discomfort with the subject of sexuality,” Brett said in a perfectly reasonable tone.

“I am not uncomfortable, it is simply not something that is discussed,” I defended.

“Part of the problem, perhaps. You need not answer my question, but I will say this. If you do meet up with your young friend and he does possess more carnal experience than you, it could be extremely awkward. If you are attracted to him, inexperience could cause you to find yourself carried off by your passions. That could be dangerous for him.”

I listened to Doctor Brett’s comments with incredulity. Until he mentioned potential harm to Harry.

“Because …”

“Because he trusts you,” Brett finished for me.

I went silent and regarded the fire in the hearth.

“I would never do anything to harm him,” I said resolutely.

“I’m aware you would not wish to. The behavior you mentioned earlier … it sounded quite suggestive. If the boy were to …”

“I understand what you’re saying,” I said irritably. I found such conversation involving Harry to be extremely distressing.

“Do you? If you care for him, even if not sexually attracted, such feelings could easily turn to--”

I stood abruptly and slashed at the air with my hand to cut him off.

“Do you care for him?” Brett pressed.

“I’ve already said I wished to be his friend. I wish to know him,” I replied angrily.

“Yes, you have. But is that all? Have you truly examined not only your feelings but how you might react if he propositioned or seduced you?”

“KEEP YOUR FILTHY--” I shouted before I had to swallow the bile that came up with the words.

Brett’s eyes flinched a bit, but never left my face.

“John, I would normally never interfere in something so intensely private. But that young man was brutalized. If the two of you were to develop a … friendship, it is quite possible it would lead to something more. The boy’s emotions are fragile. Moving too fast too soon could shatter any trust he has placed in you. But outright rejection could be just as damaging. Do you understand that?”

Brett’s voice was gentle. Although what he was saying deeply disturbed me, his obvious concern for Harry’s welfare was reassuring.

I had never been so confused in my life.

And I said so.

Brett smiled.

“That sounds like quite a sane reaction, my friend,” he said. “Matters of desire and affection are rarely simple.”

I leaned back in my chair, heaving a troubled sigh.

“More whiskey John?”

“Yes, please,” I said closing my eyes, suddenly weary. After a moment, I felt a glass being pressed to my fingers.

I looked up to find Brett gazing down at me. There was undeniable tenderness in his vivid green eyes and it washed a wave of pity through me.

“Doctor Brett-- ”

“So, using my Christian name makes you uncomfortable?”

“No. Peter, I’m sorry I cannot return your feelings.”

He smiled gently and his hand moved toward my shoulder, but dropped away.

“So am I,” he said good-naturedly. Then he turned back to his chair.

“More important, though, can you return young Harry’s feelings if and when the time comes?”

I gazed down into the amber contents of my glass, uncertain of how to answer.

“Peter,” I said.

“Yes?”

“I am no virgin, but I have never … been with a man. Indeed, I never even considered the possibility.”

“Until now?”

I nodded, but it took supreme effort to move my head.

“You desire him then?” Brett said, again without remonstrance.

I winced and my shoulders felt as though they bore an immense weight. But when I thought about Harry, thought of his rare smile, his wariness, his habit of pursing those lips …

Thinking of Harry’s lips stirred my cock.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Are you ashamed of that desire?” Brett asked.

When my eyes jerked up to his face, I realized that I was … I was ashamed. I still believed that desire for another man was wrong. And desiring Harry was …

“Am I the same as Edwards?” I gasped.

Brett’s eyes widened. For the first time that evening, he looked shocked.

“For love of God, John, no!” he cried.

“But to want-- Lord, he’s just a boy,” I groaned and sank my head in my hands.

Brett was next to me in an instant, his hand clutching my shoulder.

“John, you are an honorable, caring man who would never press unwanted attentions on another. Edwards is a predator. I did not know for certain until you told me of his actions, but you must recognize the difference between his compulsion and your desire—as different as darkness is from glorious sunlight. I refuse to listen to any nonsense of comparisons between you and that brute,” Brett said.

I shook my head.

“Your young friend would agree with me. Surely he recognized what you refuse to acknowledge,” Brett said.

I looked up.

“Your innate goodness, your compassion, your honor,” the older man said.

“I frightened him once … staring too long … my voice--” I trailed off, remembering the darkness that had briefly shaded Harry’s eyes on that last morning.

“Had he been frightened, do you honestly believe he would have defended you against Edwards? Do you think Harry would find any similarities between the two of you?”

I looked over at Brett. And my hands twitched as I recalled the sensation of Harry’s thumbs rubbing my wrists.

“Perhaps he did. Perhaps when he had time away … to think about my behavior … that may be the reason he hasn’t returned,” I muttered.

“I doubt that. The boy seemed far too perceptive to make such a grievous error.”

“He’s young,” I replied. So very young … and vulnerable. Once again, my fingers curled into fists as I thought about his injuries and who may have hurt him.

“You say that as though you are not,” Brett said. Then he sighed.

I looked over at him, still unwilling to believe he felt …

“John, you’re only a few years older than Harry. There are many things you have yet to experience and understand. I will not be so presumptuous as to tell you what to feel or how to live, but I will tell you this. Desire is a powerful motivator, but it is not love. Love is stronger. Love can compel us to commit incredibly wonderful and incredibly stupid acts. It can heal the most wounded soul and destroy the strongest. It can be both selfless and selfish. Love is what every soul seeks, but few ever truly find. Those who do are blessed. I hope, one day, you find it. But remember, there are times when the most loving thing a person can do is allow the one they love to walk away.”

“Is that what happened to you?” I asked. Brett’s eyes glistened, focusing on sparks that flared then died within the hearth.

“No, he was taken from me. But I know something about releasing someone I care for and it is very painful. I think you understand that brand of pain. I think you felt it the day you helped Harry leave,” Brett said, his gaze then turned toward me.

I nodded. I waited for Doctor Brett to speak again, but realized there was nothing left for either of us to say.

Chapter Twelve: Troubling Doubts