Belle Moral: A Natural History (8 page)

D
R
R
EID.
Certainly not. I ask only that you delay the reading long enough for the course of Victor’s illness to become apparent. If his sanity does deteriorate, he can be delivered calmly into care before ever tasting the bitter fruit of inheritance. Your father would do no less, were he here.

A
BBOTT
. I am not my father, Doctor.

D
R
R
EID.
Son, this family has suffered enough. Commit one humane sin of ommission and spare the lad a world of pain: misplace the will for a few weeks.

A
BBOTT
. What you suggest is not merely impossible, it’s implausible; no one for a moment would believe me capable of misplacing anything.

D
R
R
EID
. Certain … chattels await the heir to Belle Moral that might prove too much for the lad.

A
BBOTT
. What “chattels”?

D
R
R
EID
.
[silent]
.

A
BBOTT
. One hears things.

D
R
R
EID.
What things?

A
BBOTT
. Rumours. To do with the late Mrs MacIsaac. They do not bear repeating.

D
R
R
EID
. Then a gentleman need not so much as allude to them, sir.

A
BBOTT
. A gentleman would not have me compromise my professional integrity, sir.

D
R
R
EID
. I am a doctor. I too have integrity to uphold, indeed an oath: “First, do no harm.” I beg of you, heed it.

P
EARL
. Mr Abbott, good morning to you, sir.

A
BBOTT
[bowing]. Miss MacIsaac. [and
to
F
LORA]
Miss MacIsaac.

F
LORA
. Will you take a drop of coffee, Mr Abbott?
[Yanking the cord, hollering.]
Young Farleigh! Refreshments in the drawing room!

A
BBOTT
[to P
EARL]
. Miss MacIsaac, may I venture to express how immensely diverting I found to be your lecture on “Cambrian Invertebrates: A Comparative Anatomy of Stomachs and Guts”.

P
EARL
. Why thank you, Mr Abbott.

A
BBOTT
. Incidentally, have you read Mr Edgar Allen Poe’s, “The Conchologist’s First Book: –”?

P
EARL
. “A System of Testaceous Malacology”, I couldn’t put it down.

A
BBOTT
. Nor could I.

P
EARL
. Mr Abbott, I had no idea you were a fossil enthusiast.

A
BBOTT
[blushing]
. Indeed, I’ve conceived a passion for … paleontology.

D
R
R
EID.
Where’s Victor?

F
LORA
. I let him sleep late. The laddie’s still on the delicate side.

V
ICTOR
[singing lustily from off]
. “Oh you tak the high road and I’ll tak the low road and I’ll be in Hades afore ye!”

P
EARL
. Victor, you’re drunk.

V
ICTOR
. Oddly, no. I am about to become the Sultan of Belle Moral. Today I inherit Daddy’s noble pile, so let a thousand and one Scottish nights begin. Every true Scot knows the bagpipes originated in Arabia.

F
LORA
. They never did.

V
ICTOR
. Abbott,
[clapping his hands twice]
on with the show. Reveal the will of our father.

A
BBOTT
. “Whereas I, Ramsay MacIsaac –”

V
ICTOR
. Don’t worry, Pearl, I’ll no turn you oot o’ hoos and haim.

A
BBOTT
. “– being of sound mind –”

V
ICTOR
. I intend to throw wide the doors and let the twentieth century blow hard through the halls.

P
EARL
. Hush, Victor.

A
BBOTT
. “– do hereby designate the disposal of my worldly goods –”

V
ICTOR
. I shall put an ad in The Times: “All Welcome”.

A
BBOTT
. “– my will to be executed by Mr Edward Abbott, senior solicitor of Abbott, Abbott, Brodie and Bloom, except that, in the event that he predecease me, my will to be executed by his son, Mr Lorenzo Abbott.”

V
ICTOR
. God bless wayward desire!

A
BBOTT
. “– but that atonement must extend beyond the grave. My one break with holy tradition can be set right by one more such break: to this end do I disinherit my son, Victor MacIsaac. Upon my daughter Pearl whose parts recommend her as a true MacIsaac, do I bestow Belle Moral and all its goods and chattels. With one condition: that the sins of the mother not be visited upon the daughter, it is my will that she remain childless. In the event that she bear progeny, my estate to revert to the Presbyterian Kirk.”

A
BBOTT
exits
.

D
R
R
EID.
Pearl –

P
EARL
[crisp, as though nothing had happened]
. Doctor Reid, I’ve had an insight into the ear–

D
R
R
EID
. It’s a tragedy you’ll never be a mother. ’Tis every woman’s dearest wish –

P
EARL
. It has never been mine. You insist the ear is a mere curiosity, but –

D
R
R
EID
. Pearl –

P
EARL
[acid]
. Well what would you have me do, Doctor? Weep and moan ‘cause I’ll never be saddled with a welter of brats mewling for “Mummy”? I only wish Father, in his munificence, hadn’t entirely disinherited Victor; it’ll feed the boy’s romantic martyrdom and give him an excuse to drink himself to death at my expense. I suppose that’s why Father cut me off at the ovaries: to prevent me spawning a breed of hysterical little boys.
[suddenly struck]
Doctor …

D
R
R
EID
. What is it?

P
EARL
. Was there –? There was madness in Mother’s family, wasn’t there?

D
R
R
EID
. Your mother was a beautiful woman.

P
EARL
. Ay, beautiful and mad. Victor is the picture of Mother; you think he’s mad.

D
R
R
EID
. Unstable, perhaps.

P
EARL
. Doctor.
[apprehensive]
Will I go mad?

D
R
R
EID
. No, no, my dear, you’re the picture of Ramsay.

P
EARL
. How did she die?

D
R
R
EID
. You know quite well, she –

P
EARL
. She contracted child-bed fever when Victor was born.

D
R
R
EID
. Ay, that’s what carried her off.

P
EARL
. You needn’t euphemize on my account, Doctor. How soon after onset does death normally occur?

D
R
R
EID
. A matter of hours, Pearl, she didn’t suffer long.

P
EARL
. Yet I’m to believe Mother had time and strength to paint Victor into the family portrait before being “carried off”? I’ll warrant she was carried off, the question is “to where?” The Royal Edinburgh Asylum. Tell me, Doctor. Is she alive? And put away?

D
R
R
EID
. No she is not, you have my word. As to the portrait; Régine painted the infant into it before she gave birth. After all, she knew she was with child.

P
EARL
. If not mad then what was she? Immoral?

D
R
R
EID
. No –

P
EARL
. “The sins of the Mother”, she had to’ve been either fallen or mad, which was it?

D
R
R
EID
. Neither.

P
EARL
[angry]. Then what did Father mean?!

D
R
R
EID
. He merely wished to protect you.

P
EARL
. From what?!

D
R
R
EID
. The laws of heredity are such that … a flaw may lurk undetected for generations.

P
EARL
. You mean I could breed a crop of lunatics.

D
R
R
EID
. You said yourself you’d no desire for bairns.

P
EARL
[mounting fear]
. It’s in me too, isn’t it?

D
R
R
EID
. Pearl –

P
EARL
. The flaw.

D
R
R
EID
. Hush –

P
EARL
. “Lurking.”

D
R
R
EID
. Pearl. You know I’ve been fond of you since you were a girl. I was your father’s dearest friend; I know he’d give his blessing.

P
EARL
. To what?

D
R
R
EID
. I want to marry you, Pearl.

P
EARL
[nonplussed] … Why?

D
R
R
EID.
Oh Pearl, there’s so much to live for, so much of beauty and wonder. I want to share it with you.

P
EARL
. What have we to share?

D
R
R
EID.
Our work.
[passionate]
You were right. I have been hiding. My dearest girl, I hope you may never have cause to learn how the sweetness can drain from the cup of life so gradually as to go unnoticed. Until one day that cup is empty. But now … Oh my dear, a great journey awaits us.

P
EARL
. To … the Caucasus?

D
R
R
EID
. The journey between one cell and another can far outdistance that between the poles of the earth. Pearl, I shall lay my entire laboratory at your feet. I’ll instruct you in the art of dissection. We’ll establish our own institute of scientific inquiry, here at Belle Moral; bypass the graybeards in London who are too antiquated in their views to recognize that, in matters of intellect, woman is the equal of man. We’ll toil side by side and I will cherish you as the alchemist of old cherished his
soror mystica
, my mystical sister. My equal.

P
EARL
. But Doctor –

D
R
R
EID
. Seamus.

P
EARL
. We can do all of that without benefit of clergy, without … 
[an awkward beat]

D
R
R
EID
. I would not touch a hair of your head, my dear. My passion is not of the flesh, but the mind.

Y
OUNG
M
AN
[solemn]. Refreshments.

P
EARL
. Who the devil are you?

Y
OUNG
M
AN
. Young Farleigh’s grandson, Miss. Wee Farleigh.

That night. Moonlight. The door swings open. A
F
IGURE
enters, crouched, a worn tartan shawl draped about its head and shoulders. Audible breathing – almost a panting – as though an effort were being made to control fear and maintain silence. Sniff-sniff. Silence. The
F
IGURE
explores the room, dropping to crawl on all fours, pausing here and there. It arrives at
P
EARL’S
desk and is stopped by the sight of the jar. Reaches for it. Fumbles with it
. F
LORA
appears in the doorway with an oil lamp. The
F
IGURE
looks up and drops the jar
.

F
LORA
. There you are. Thank God.
[Firm but gentle.]
Come, now. Come.

Here now. Give them to me.

Next morning
. P
EARL
enters and spots something on the floor. She takes tweezers from her desk, bends and carefully picks up the ear
.