Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631) (19 page)

After several Minutes during which I sate thus, painfully transfixt upon my Terrour, I heard the hall Clock chiming the quarter Houre, and realising that I had but a short while to attire and get me to Bedford’s, I forced My Self to my Feet, and dresst carefully in blue brocaide Frock and Waistcoat, with buff Breeches.

Bedford’s Coffee House was a favourite Haunt of the City’s Men of Countenance and Wit. It was popular with both Brothers Fielding, who came hither to spend many Houres in lively Conversation and Debate. Henry Fielding had still many Friends in literary Circles, and he often made Complaint of their pressing him to return to his Fictions. I was not acquainted with Bedford’s, partly because I had no Wish to pass my free Moments under the Eye of either Fielding, but also because I had not Time, in amongst all mine other Activities, to sit drinking Coffee and arguing Philosophy. Bedford’s was no great Distance from Bow Street, but I was grateful to Mr Fielding when I found that he had sent for a Chairman; I had no Wish to arrive at so important an Interview with my white Stockings bespattered with city Mud.

The Clamour of the London Streets was muffled, as was usual during the cold Season, under a thick Cloud of greyish-yellow Fog, and so pushing open the coffee house Door, I was surprized by a
Wave of Noise that almost knocked me from my Feet. The crowded Place rang with Talk, Footsteps, and the loud Screeches of Chairs upon dirty Boards. The warm Aire had a Smell of coarse tobacco Smoake, mixt, naturally, with that stimulating Beverage the Patrons came to sample, which hung a-brewing over the low Fire in an huge coffee-Pot. A shabby book Shelf over the Mantel held Bottles, Cups, earthenware Pitchers, and long clay Pipes, and opposite it dangled a Parliamentary Ordinance against the Use of bad Language.

I held open the Door for Henry Fielding, and then followed him within. He appeared to know where he was going, so I trailed meekly in his Wake, avoiding as best I could the jostling Elbows and clumsy Feet of Strangers. We eventually arrived at a Niche in the farthest Corner of the Room and there sate down to wait for Dr Hunter.

“So, Tristan,” said Mr Fielding, settling himself into an heavy carver Chair, his Back against the Wall. “Dr Hunter appears to be of Mind that you have taken to Anatomy like a Duck to Water. You have seized the Opportunity provided by your Talent and made the most of it.”

I flushed hot at this Praise, and found mine Eyes drawn toward the Floor. “Indeed, Mr Fielding,” I said, “I am under no Illusion as to who hath provided the Opportunity. ’Tis all due to you, yourself, that I have been able to study under Dr Hunter; had you not insisted upon my visiting in London, I should still have been vivisecting Squirrels in mine own Chambers with neither Tuition nor Assistance from anyone; and I sincerely doubt that I should ever have come near the Practice of real Physick. I owe you a great Deal, Sir.”

“Thank you,” Mr Fielding said. “But I must profess mine own Doubt as to whether you would not at some Stage have slippt your
Father’s Net and made your own Way hither. Ah,” he went on, seeing my startled Expression, “I do not speak ill of your Father, Tristan; he is a fine Man; but since your Mother died he has made himself a very Hermit, and he seems to think the same ought to be your Lot in Life.” He sighed. “The World doth not cease for our Sorrows, tho’ they seem enough to stop’t.”

I looked carefully into Mr Fielding’s shaddowed Face wondering that he had made such unexpected Reference to my Father, and more importantly, my Mother. I remembered the Conversation we had held upon our Journey, and it struck me that mayhap Mr Fielding had sensed my Reluctance upon that Occasion to have questioned him about those Matters most delicately concerning My Self, and was now opening the Subject in case I should wish to pursue it.

A Free-thinker, and a Jewess? A Mystery, if not a very Wonder.

“Mr Fielding,” I said, tentatively, for the Thought also occurred to me that I might be mistaken, and about to mire my Foot where Angels fear to tread. “Am I right in mine Impression that you knew my Father as a young Man, when he was first married to my Mother?”

Mr Fielding reached in his Greatcoat for his Pipe, withdrew it and tapped the Bowl in an explorative Manner. “I knew Mr Hart,” he said, “before he was married to your Mother. And I knew your Mother too, after her first Husband died. I may have been responsible for your Parents’ Introduction. I am not sure.”

“My Mother was a Widdowe?” I exclaimed.

“She was, Sir. A young, a wealthy, and might I say, an handsome one. She was also, as you know, a Jewess, Spanish bred, Hollander born. Her first Husband was a Merchant, and a Scholar—until he was banished from his Synagogue and his Community.”

“Had he become a Christian?” I asked.

“Not at all. He was a follower of Spinoza. He had become a Free-thinker or, as they insist on stiling themselves, a Deist—ah, I perceive you have heard of them—and he had foolishly asserted that there was no transcendent God. Your Mother, sharing his heretical Belief, was excommunicated with him, which was very hard on her, for she lost all her People. They immigrated to London from Amsterdam, and began their Lives anew in Spitalfield, I believe. A Yeare later he died, and left her compleatly alone; tho’ I must say, if ever Woman were up to the Task of surviving in utter Exile, and honourably, it was she. She had a love of Literature, and she gave me great Encouragement whilst I was scribbling the first of my Plays.” Mr Fielding smiled, and proceeded to fill his tobacco-Pipe, before continuing. “She would have been thoroughly disgusted by my magisterial Endeavour. She had little Patience with Laws, had Mrs Eugenia Hart.”

I blinked. “So my Mother—” I stammered. “Was no Jewess at all?”

“Ah,” Mr Fielding answered, “’tis not as simple as that, Tristan. She never to my Knowledge became a Christian, so under the Law of England she remained an Alien to her Death. As to that of Israel, I am not certain. But you and Miss Hart, I believe, have had the good Fortune to have been christened, and brought up in the English Church.”

I stared, open mouthed, at Mr Fielding.

“As for your Father,” Mr Fielding continued, “I knew him when he was your Age, fresh come into his Estate after your Grandfather had died, and green as Grass. I think he would have run thro’ half his Fortune in the first six Months if’t had not been that by then he had met your Mother, and she had, I suppose, a settling Effect;
tho’ she did convert him to her unorthodox Way of Thinking about Religion. She was ten Yeares older than he, you understand, and she usually displayed uncommon good Sense.”

I did not know what Remark I ought to make in Response to these Intelligences; the whole Notion was in my Mind so extraordinary that I should not have believed one Word had it not spilled from the Tongue of Henry Fielding, whose Gospel I trusted, upon some Matters, more confidently than that of Luke or John. I shut up my Mouth, and swallowed.

“Your Father, had he not lost his Fire when he lost your Mother, would have gone into Politicks,” Mr Fielding said. “I believe he is still active, in a small Way, about several Causes dear to his Breast.” Some Movement in the Crowd beyond mine Head catching his Eye, Mr Fielding looked up, and pausing in his Speech, held up his Hand in a welcoming Gesture. “I must desist now from my waffling,” he said. “For here is Dr Hunter.”

I turned sharply where I sate. All mine Apprehensions and Hopes, which mine Astonishment at Mr Fielding’s Tale had temporarily obscured from View, rushed to oppress me again as I saw the slender russet and grey clad Figure of the Doctor some few Feet to my right, pausing momentarily to greet an Acquaintance, and then continuing in my Direction, beating a Path thro’ the inattentive Crowd. He had a business-like Look. I felt certain he was come straight from a Patient.

“Sir,” I said, as he drew close, and I attempted to rise; but Dr Hunter placed his Hand upon my Shoulder and applied thereon a gentle Pressure, thus forcing me to maintain my Seat.

“Mr Fielding,” Dr Hunter said, removing his Hat and tucking it beneath his Elbow before executing a short Bow. “I had expected to be dealing with your Brother. A Pleasure, Sir.”

“All mine, Dr Hunter, all mine,” Mr Fielding replied, waving away the Preliminaries with good-humoured Impatience. “John is in Session at the Moment, and as he is bound by his Nature to deal with the Implementation of the Law with the detailed Attention that you yourself bestow upon the Sick, I believe he shall be there till supper-Time. I trust that you are well, Sir?”

“Very well, Mr Fielding.” Dr Hunter pulled forward an high backed Chair and settled himself upon it, like a Robin perching upon a Twig. “How doth your Foot?”

“Poorly,” Mr Fielding replied. “But ’tis of no Consequence. My Mission to bring forth a better World continues apace. How fares your coin Collection?”

“Indeed,” Dr Hunter said, very quietly, ignoring Mr Fielding’s Reference to his hobby-Horse, “your Mission, as you call’t, is Stuff and Nonsense, as I said to you only the other Night. Do what you will, Henry, your pet Police Force will not cure the lingering Malaise that afflicts our Civilisation; neither will my School of Anatomy. In seven Generations the Poor will still be with us, as will the Sick, and they will wear similar Faces. They will still commit Crime, and abuse their Wives, and drown their Miseries in Gin—or whatever shall be their Poison of Choice. I have more Concern for your Health than for theirs. Please, Henry, rest.”

Feeling that I had intruded upon an Exchange not meant for mine Ears, I looked uncomfortably away.

“Alas,” said Mr Fielding amiably. “We must continue to disagree upon that Point, Dr Hunter. Now, I believe you have a Suggestion to make concerning our young Mr Hart. Pray, spit it out.”

Dr Hunter, who by his Nature placed almost as much Importance upon sustaining the Niceties of polite Intercourse with his Fellows as John Fielding did upon the righteous Application of the Law,
seemed somewhat taken aback by Henry Fielding’s sudden Directness, and the Vulgarity of his Term, and for an half-Second I watched his Features contort, as if he was undergoing an internal Struggle. My Stomach lurched. Mr Fielding’s Lips twitched.

“Very well,” answered Dr Hunter at last. “Mr Fielding, over the eight Weeks I have spent in Company with Tristan Hart, I have come to the Opinion that, despite his Youth, he is an exceptionally talented and diligent Student, whose natural Gifts must not be permitted to wither on the Vine. At the Conclusion of my current lecture Course I would like, therefore, to take him on as one of my Apprentices, to ensure that he is thoroughly schooled in the modern Science of Medicine. The young Man is aware of mine Interest in him, and he appears enthusiastic. If you and John, as his Guardians, have no Objection to my Proposal, then all that remains is to obtain Permission from Squire Hart.”

Mine Heart, at these blessed Words, skippt a Beat. A bright Fountain of Relief and Excitement surged up my Spine, setting my Limbs a-tremble.

Dr Hunter had not guessed at mine Apprehension that he might reject me; he spoke as if the Matter was already all but concluded in my Favour, as if all that was left was to formalise our Connexion. Indeed, I realised suddenly, how could he, wherefore should he have guessed it? He had made it clear that I was one of his finest Students, and he would not have expected that I should have doubted him; why then, in Dr Hunter’s Estimation, ought I ever to have feared that he would pass me over?

“So,” said Mr Fielding. I turned mine Head. He smiled at me, as honestly and as openly delighted of Countenance as if he were one of the Country’s simplest Men, instead of one of its most erudite, and said: “Good Tidings, indeed, by Jove. We must
straightway write your Father, Tristan. He will be very proud of you, my young Friend; as, indeed, are we all.”

Suddenly, I perceived, without Question, that Mr Fielding had told Dr Hunter nothing of mine Illness. A deep, unmixt Gratitude bloomed within my Breast, swelling and opening to the Sunnelight of this new Beginning like the largest and most sweet scented of Roses.

I looked from Mr Fielding to Dr Hunter, and back again. Their twinned Shaddowes danced upon the coffee house Wall in the flickering Candlelight, reminding me of Plato. Egad! I am lucky to have such Friends, I thought. I have the Interest of two of England’s most remarkable Men, who tho’ they might disagree upon Points of Argument, are not verily as unlike in their Purposes as they appear, even to each other. Both desire to comprehend the World as it is, rather than how Superstition and Ignorance might falsely perceive it; and both believe that in true Understanding lieth the Ability to rectify Corruption in the Bodies both of Man and State. And, I realised, with a Twinge of Shame, both are right. ’Tis not Science alone that may solve the great Questions of our Time; Law hath its Place, and Religion also. That Notion brought me up short, for I remembered all on a sudden my Father’s Free-thinking, and my Mother’s Heterodoxy; and how I knowing naught of either, had once pledged my Soule unto a rational God.

Our Business thus concluded, Mr Fielding and I departed the Bedford soon afterwards, to the evident Displeasure of the Proprietor, from whom we had had nothing except Room and Aire, returning by Chair to Bow Street. I had no Faith in mine own Ability to convince my Father of anything, so later that Afternoon Mr Fielding wrote explaining the Nature and potential Outcome of the Offer Dr Hunter had made, and strongly suggesting that I
should be allowed to accept it. It was Mr Fielding’s firmly expresst Belief that this Epistle would meet with a reasonable and favourable Response, so I put aside my Misgivings and made My Self to consider only the very positive Turn my Life had taken.

In this happy Frame of Mind I decided to write to Nathaniel, tho’ I had no Idea whether or not I ought to expect a Reply; what Nat was doing, even whether he was still in Collerton or at Oxford, was now as deep a Mystery as the Eleusinian Rites.