A thick, wet wind beat against the pane of the front window of The Crown & Scepter, its fury matching the scowl on the face of the tavern’s only other patron. Mr. Nathaniel Haywood sat at the table in the window brooding over his mug of cocoa. He said nothing to me as I entered; he did not appear to notice me at all. 

“Never had a gentleman ask for a cup of chocolate before.” The red-haired waitress lingering near Haywood’s table gestured to the mug before him. She laughed a little self-consciously, resting an empty tray against one hip and a slim hand on the other. “Not that that means much! I’ve just started this job three days ago. I didn’t know we had cocoa. ‘Twas Mr. Crown, the proprietor, who took it as an impertinence regarding the establishment’s cellars. I knew no better.” 

“A man ought to keep a clear mind.” Nathaniel held fast to his terseness, obviously hoping the lady would take a hint.   

“If by that you mean you ought to do so, why come to an establishment that serves alcohol in the first place?” she persisted. “Anyway, you don’t look respectable enough to worry about a few drinks.” 

“Don’t I?” queried Nathaniel. “No, don’t apologize. I understand. I suppose I do look like a scoundrel. Believe me when I tell you, a year ago today, you would not have found me thus. I don’t wonder you find me quite the ruffian, seeing that I lack the indispensable mark of every respectable gentleman.” 

She cast a doubtful eye over the dilapidated state of his coat and trousers and frowned. “That indispensable mark being…?” 

“How can you ask such a question?” The man stared incredulously. “My head, woman! I lack a hat! Do not say you did not notice my hatless state! So!” He gestured from his empty head to the bare hat-peg beside the door behind him. “Why have I no hat?” 

The girl laughed and threw up her hands good-naturedly. “I don’t know! Why have you no hat?” 

“Stolen!” thundered Nathaniel, and the sky outside echoed with a resounding peal. He seized his mug and swallowed half its contents in apparent fury. The heat of it took him by surprise, and he choked desperately for several minutes. The lack of oxygen had its quieting effect on him, and, when he could breathe again, he continued more calmly. “Yes, someone stole my hat, in this very room. Truly, it made a beautiful hat; you could hardly not know it if you saw it. The body of it consisted of a green felt, softened by years of my silly habit of playing with it. It had a brown band with gold-brown feathers tucked in on one side. The brim gave just the right amount of shade, without falling too far over my eyes. And – the color suited me, or so some said.” 

Here his voice faded wistfully into silence, and he stared out the window. Though he kept his back to me, I fancied I saw the bittersweet fondness in his eyes, reflected in the rain-soaked pane. Then he seemed to collect himself, cleared his throat gruffly, and finished. “In short, it seemed to me perfection embodied in a hat. It made me feel quite the gentleman. To even consider replacing it feels like betrayal.” 

“Who stole it?” 

“Some ill-favored idiot who frequented here at least once,” growled Nathaniel, suddenly glaring at his apron-wearing companion as if she had perpetrated the crime. “Once was enough. I know not who; I drank overmuch, and it happened as I slept in my chair. Your Mr. Crown said he did not know who had taken it. Some day, I tell myself, the thief will think I have forgotten and wear it. But I do not forget, and I watch and wait. I come every Tuesday, as I cannot come every night; ‘twas taken on a Tuesday, and so I have kept watch here the last fifty-two Tuesdays together.” 

The barmaid thumped the table with her tray and snorted. “Fifty-two? Do you mean to tell me that you have spent a year waiting for a hat?”  She winked at me sharply, and I felt myself ignorant of some enormous joke, as if I had put on my suspenders backwards and forgotten to laugh about it.

“I do not mean anything; I tell you plainly. A crazy idea, I suppose—fitting for a crazy man, as you must think me.” As the man spoke, I remembered the wet coat on my back and turned to remove and place it on the stand, but I kept stealing a glance or two at the pair, for they had taken my interest.    

“Aye, I think you a crazy man,” laughed she, “but not for the hat. I will tell you why I think you mad. Here you sit, having waited for a year and perhaps preparing to wait another five for a hat to walk in here on the head of some bloke. Who knows? It might come tonight, and you would prepare for such a meeting tonight by filling your belly with cocoa!” The waitress tossed her head, and I wondered if the man had yet noticed how her red hair fell past her shoulders and her eyes held sparks of amber. “I would say that no drink on earth could muddy your mind any more than you have already muddied it. Stop your sulking, and have you a drink.” She seized her tray and spun back around toward the kitchen. “The house will afford you the first; after that, I cannot promise.” 

Nathaniel sat a moment in silence. “Maybe she speaks rightly,” he said aloud to himself at last. “Better a little bravado than a dull mind; mine will not clear, anyway.” Then, as if with sudden resolution, he seized his mug and rose, tossing its contents over his back toward the open doorway—that is, towards me. Before I had time to recover, the tepid liquid hit the threshold floor at my feet, splashing cocoa all over my shoes and trousers. My hat, newly removed from my head, flew from my startled fingers and fell at the feet of the pretty red-haired barmaid, where it lay in a heap of worn green felt and golden-brown feathers.

An apology dead on his lips, Nathaniel Haywood replaced the cocoa mug on the table with a gentle click and turned from the doorway and the girl to the storm-filled window. A strange look of satisfaction came over his face. Only the eyes in his reflection remained bright with the great clarity of irony. 

“Aha,” I heard him say. 

Then he turned again to face me. 

Post a Comment