Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631) (23 page)

I picked up my candle Stub, which was more than half burned down, and my Drink, and seated My Self in an uncomfortable low Armchair facing Mr Fielding’s. I had not thought the Night particularly cold; but now that he had drawn mine Attention to it, I noticed that a low Draught was gusting sporadically from the Hearth, whose Fire had long since died. I wrappt my night-Gown tightly about my Legs, and hoped that a rogue Breeze would not find its Way underneath the Hem.

I did not speak of Annie. “Corruption,” I said. “In the fairest of Breasts.”

“Explain your Meaning, and I may share your Sympathies.”

“’Twas something Mr John once remarked,” I said. “‘Corruption may lurk within the Fairest of Breasts.’ Todaye, I watched Dr Hunter do Battle with it; but I fear he may have left the Field too soon. I fear the Lady may be riddled with the Disease, and will die; and tho’ I can do naught at all, I cannot sleep for Dread of it.”

Mr Fielding regarded me with his piercing Stare for several Seconds. Then he cleared his Throat. “That,” he said, “is no Surprize, surely?”

“Wherefore?” I asked him. “I have assisted in other Procedures without their occasioning me any Difficulty in sleeping.”

“But Tristan,” Mr Fielding said, quietly, “none of those Procedures was the one that could have saved your Mother.”

Too astounded to respond, I stared at Mr Fielding.

“I have always believed,” he went on, “that your Desire to study Medicine, and Surgery especially, hath its Roots in your Mother’s Refusal to undergo it. A Boy with your Perspicacity, even at five,
must have understood much of what was happening, even tho’ his Father tried his best to shield him from it.”

“I have no Memory,” I stammered. “I recall my Mother, but nothing of her Death. One Daye I remember her being alive, the next, dead one whole Yeare. ’Tis usual, is it not, for small Children to remember little of their Lives before a certain Age?”

“It is.” Mr Fielding was looking at me queerly. He took a Sip of his Brandy and I followed suit. The bitter-sweet Spirit burned my Throat. Tears came into mine Eyes; I coughed.

“My Father never speaks of her,” I said.

“So I understand.”

“He is not a bad Man,” I said, tho’ why I felt My Self suddenly compelled to defend my Father I had no Idea. “He hath tried to do his best by me, and by my Sister. But…” I struggled to find the correct Words. “But he hath so little Sensibility of our Feelings, one might sometimes imagine him to be intentionally cruel.”

“Sometimes,” said Mr Fielding, “that is how Grief works.”

I did not learn whether Lady B.’s Cancer was, ultimately, cured or not. Certainly, it did not to my Knowledge recur during the Time I was to remain in London. But the whole Experience had rattled and disturbed me to an Extent greater than I was prepared to admit. Mr Fielding’s Analysis of my Motives intrigued and frightened me in equal Measure. For the Remainder of April and the next Fortnight I could think of little else. Mine Instinct was to repudiate the Notion, even to ridicule it; but like—so I feared—the Cancer, I could not excise it. I buried My Self deep within my Work, but no matter how involved Mine Hands, how exhausted my Body, my Mind’s relentless questioning would not abate.

I could perceive, altho’ I did not want to, that if Mr Fielding were correct, his Argument would entail at least two bloody Threads of logical Extension and philosophic Inquiry, each of which led to a Conclusion as fearfull as it was remarkable.

If mine own Mother had died of the Disease, then my near Panick at the Notion of Lady B.——’s probable Death seemed almost comprehensible; excepting for the Fact that I had not known, and did not remember, anything of the Circumstances of my Mother’s Death. If Mr Fielding’s Analysis was right, then my whole Motive to become any sort of Doctor had its Origin in that infant Loss; but that was to suppose that I remembered an Event that I did not remember; that I was both ignorant and yet had full Cognition of at the same Time. How, I wondered, could such a Paradox possibly be true? ’Tis utterly impossible, I thought, that I could be unaware of an Awareness.

Yet the Conceit troubled me still. I knew from Experience that my Senses were not always to be trusted. Could the same thing be true of my Memory? I could not know. If I knew, I should be remembering what I did not, and the whole Wheel would spin again. What I did know, knew for certain, was that I had wanted to cause Pain to Lady B.——. I had desired to heal her, too; but I had wanted to hear her Scream, none the less. I had not known then—unless I had—that my Mother had died of the very Disease that I was trying to save the Lady from. But suppose, suppose some hidden Power in mine Imagination had transformed her, without even mine Awareness, into a Simulacrum of my Mother? The Implication then was that I wanted, or would have wanted, to hear—or to have heard—my Mother screaming also. That Thought, the Thought of her in Pain, terrified me to the Core. That Idea decanted a Chymistry of Horrour, innate and immediate; Fear and
Panick and Love and Anger mixt without Aire in a Crucible Flask, swirling and combining, never catching Fire.

And yet, and yet—if I had heard that Scream, my Mother might have lived.

The Idea that I might remember, and yet not remember, my Mother’s Death; that I might desire to hurt her and yet recoil from the very Thought, was almost too horrible to contemplate. When I had witnessed Viviane’s Transformation from Woman into Owl, I had blamed my physical Senses; when I had feared that I had ravished her, I had been able to blame them still, for I remembered only what my disordered Senses had shewn me. But this was of another Order of Madness. If my Memory, and mine Imagination, were as confused as this would seem to make them, then mine apparent Sanity was as illusory as the Shaddowes on the Wall in Bedford’s Coffee-house.

And yet again—and here the second bloody Thread—I could not disswade My Self from pondering what it might mean if Mr Fielding were correct, and my Memory both was and was not; and I was not mad. Could it possibly be that all Men’s Minds functioned thus? A Muddle of paradoxical Contradictions and seeming Impossibilities that somehow, almost magically, were true? Perhaps, I thought, there are Darknesses in the Mind where the Eye of Consciousness doth not penetrate. Where doth any ordinary Memory exist when it is not in Process of Recollection? It hath not ceased to be. Yet it is neither in Man’s Awareness, nor is he aware of its Lack.

I could not foresee quite where this line of Questioning was like to lead me, nor did it even begin to address the Conundrum of how I, My Self, could possibly remember something I did not. But I could not abandon it. Mine Ideas spiralled like the darkening Sea. I felt sick and dizzy from the continued Motion.

At the End of the first Week of June, I returned home for my Sister’s Nuptials. I was displeased, as this meant that I should have to take some Dayes off from the Hospital; but the Valley of the Horse was beautifull; its Woods in vibrant Leaf, chirring with the million Trills of Finches; its Fields sparkling with Butterflies. I had not feasted mine Eyes upon such a Glut of Greenery for so long, I soon felt My Self engorged beyond Satiety, and drew down the carriage Blinds.

Altho’ I had left Shirelands in deep Dread of the Valley, which my Bones insisted had taken violent against me when I had accosted Viviane, returning home I experienced an odd Sensation of Reprieve, as if my Presence had not been noticed at all. Pondering this, it occurred to me that perhaps the
genius loci
must take time to recognise me, and I felt safe, if only for the nonce; for it did not occur to me once to presume my Mittimus exhausted.

The Carriage pulled up at the front Door of Shirelands Hall shortly before Noon on the second Daye of travelling. Jane must have been awaiting me, for no sooner had the Movement stoppt than I heard a quick feminine Tread upon the Gravel and her affectionate Voice impatiently calling my Name. The coach Door being opened by the Postillion, and the Step put down, I rapidly descended, grateful to stretch my constricted Limbs and Spine. My Shoes had scarcely touched the Ground when my Sister flung herself upon me.

“Dear Tristan!” she said. “It is so good to have you home!” She steered me straight into the House, chattering like a Yellowhammer. We took Tea within the turquoise Cool of the front drawing Room, the Shades half drawn. The Tea tasted like Tea.

Very little had changed at Shirelands Hall whilst I had been absent from it. My Father remained the same unapproachable
Recluse, altho’ he had consented, after many harsh Scoldings from mine Aunt Barnaby, to exchange his Black for Grey upon the Daye of Jane’s Wedding. Jane viewed this small Concession as a great Triumph, as she believed that once he had taken off his Mourning, he would not rush to put it on again. I thought that was unlikely, but I did not say so.

Apart from this, Jane’s Nuptials, and Removal to Withy Grange, took up the whole of her Attention. I quietly perceived that she was much more delighted at the Prospect of becoming Mistress in her own House than she appeared to be at that of marrying Barnaby. I was not unamused by this.

“Over Christmas,” she said, “I shall aim to entertain as much as possible. We shall hold a Ball on Boxing Daye, and all our Friends shall stay until February, if they will.”

“Ah! You will hold Court.”

Jane tilted up her Nose in Disgust at my poor Sarcasm. “I have had enough,” she said, “of silent Meals.”

“Of course you have,” I said, regretting my Jibe. “I trust you shall have many Hundreds of happier ones.”

Jane forgave me at once, it being beyond her Nature to hold any Grudge. She presst me to visit the Grange as soon as I was able, and to stay for at least a Month. I did not tell her how intolerable I should find such a Circumstance. To be an whole Month in Company with James Barnaby!

Eventually, when I could do so in a subtile Manner, I asked after the Ravenscrofts, meaning by this, Nathaniel.

“Oh,” my Sister said, rolling her Eyes. “They are all very well, especially now that they have lost all the Montagues, apart from Kate the Cursed.”

“Kate the What?”

“Oh, no! La! I did not mean to call her that! Kate the Cursed is Sophy’s Nickname for their Cousin, Katherine. It is not kind or charitable of Sophy, but the Girl is, by all Accounts, quite dreadful. She is only twelve and already the most shameless Flirt I have ever heard of. Not only that, she is given to violent Passions and Outbursts of Temper. Sophy said that she was hit by her upon the Ear, and it began to bleed.”

“What Cousin is this?” I asked. “I remember none having such a Temperament.”

“You would not. She used to be rather sweet. She is staying at the Rectory now because her Mother cannot control her any longer. Can you imagine? I do pray she will not be at my Wedding. She could ruin it.”

“No twelve yeare old Shrew will ruin your Wedding, Jane,” I said. “I shall take it upon My Self to lock her in a Closet, or throw her in the River, if she looks set to begin a Scene.”

I spoke in Jest, but for an Instant, Jane looked worried. “Tristan, please don’t,” she said.

*   *   *

The eighth Daye of June dawned the clear blue of a Sparrow’s Egg, flecked with tiny Clouds of white and grey. The Aire was still, and a slight Chill lingered in the blossoming Elder and long, flowering Grass.

I had little to do before leaving for Church, so shortly after eight I took My Self away into the Gardens, to compleat some Observations upon a Sett of anatomical Drawings I had procured from Dr Hunter. I had just finished mine Annotations upon the Ligaments of the Symphysis Pubis when Mrs H. came hurrying across the Lawn to tell me that the Coach had been ready for some
Time, and that if I did not come quickly my Sister would be made late for her wedding.

I supposed that Jane looked very fetching in her Garland and her wedding Dress, which was of blue Silk, and had been made especially for the Occasion. But I could not tear mine Eyes away from my Father, who appeared to them as somebody I scarcely recognised. I had never seen my Father out of Black. Yet there he stood, a striking handsome Figure in dove grey Frock and Breeches, clutching an ebon Cane, the immaculate white Ringlets of his Wigg reaching below his Shoulders. The Ravenscrofts are right, I thought. He is but eight-and-forty. He should marry again.

My Father assisted Jane into the Coach and I climbed after. Jane was exuberantly lively, at first, on the Way to Church, and confabulated endlessly about the Weather, the wedding Breakfast and the House at Withy Grange. Finally, I was forced to follow my Father’s Example and stare out of the Window in an Attempt to shut her up; but she merely continued to herself.

The Carriage was forced to slow as it entered the Village. I heard the excited Babble of country Voices in the Road, every one eager for a Sight of Jane in her wedding Gown and my Father out of his Mourning. Poor Jane, I thought. She would have done far better to have suffered him keep his Black.

St Peter’s Church stood in the Centre of the Village, atop a small grassy Knolle. It was a crumbling Edifice dating from sometime during the Hundred Yeares War; brimming aloft with Gargoyles and below with Tombs of mine Ancestors. I could never approach it without a peculiar queasy Sensation stirring in my Gut, as if I had been underneath the Eyes of the multifarious Dead. Todaye, tho’, the Church’s grey Walls glowed in the summer Light. The
Bells were sounding brightly and with great Chear, and even the Graveyard’s Rooks stalked with a sprightly Step.

The Coach stoppt at the church Gate. I dismounted smartly and hoppt out of the Way as first my Father and then Jane descended. The large Crowd of Locals who had gathered on the Spot parted before me like the Red Sea, and then stood at a respectful Distance to admire the wondrous Spectacle that was my Family.

A Flower had worked itself loose from Jane’s bridal Wreath during the Journey, and she was now near to an Hysteric on Account of it, despite the Fact that no Deficiency was apparent in the Garland. Having tried once to explain this, and been violently rebuffed, I decided that the safest thing to do was to depart at once into the Church and take my Place whilst Jane composed herself. I supposed, too, that my Father should have some private Words for her at this Moment, tho’ what Comfort he could give to her evaded me.