Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631) (12 page)

“I do. There is not a Daye that I do not think of Charlotte. But it doth no Man good to dwell upon that which he hath lost. She is in Heaven; I pray we shall meet again hereafter.”

“I have not that Consolation,” my Father said.

“I do declare,” said Mr Fielding, “that for all your stubborn Adherence to it, Free-Thinking hath caused more Misery to you than all the Doctrine you could shake a Stick at.”

“A Man cannot be preached into Belief, for all the Comfort Belief may give him,” my Father said.

I was astonished. My Father, a Free-thinker?

My Father, the beloved—at least, according to Mrs H.—country Squire, who for all his Eccentricities seemed no rarer than Mud, a Follower of Toland and Woolston?

Egad, I thought in Admiration. ’Tis small Wonder, then, if I am mad, sprung thus all unknowing from a Free-thinker and a—but I could not let My Self think the Word “Jewess”, and so I pulled my Thought to an abrupt Surcease.

I did not know what I was now to do. If I was to knock, their marvellous Conversation must end; worse, they might suspect that I had heard it; but I knew that I could not continue with mine Ear against the Door for very much longer. My Request, I decided, would have to wait. I straightened my Spine and on tiptoes I crept silently away to mine own Study, to digest in Privacy the strange Meal of which I had just partaken. I had an uneasy feeling in the Pit of my Stomach.

My Father, a Free-thinker. A Deist, or an Atheist; and it pained me suddenly that I did not fully comprehend the Difference between the two. I had never read any of the Free-thinkers’ Works.

I made my Way to a low Sopha I had positioned in front of my Fireplace, and sate down upon it.

“I have not that Consolation,” my Father had said, and he had been talking about my Mother. He had loved her, then. Another Surprize.

Yet, truly, I thought, it ought not have been. Why else the Depth of his Mourning, that seemed ceaseless? My Father had loved my Mother, and when she had died he had lost her so utterly that a Part of himself had died also. What had I thought? That his Refusal to wear any Colour, or to take a second Wife, was mere Stubbornness? No, if he was indeed a Free-thinker, believing in no God, no Forgiveness, no Resurrection, he could have no Consolation, for he could not expect her in Heaven, nor awaiting the last Trump on Judgement Daye. His World was one of black Despair and everlasting Grief.

An horrible Thought came to me: How can a Man who hath no Faith be truly good? I held my left Hand up before mine Eyes, and struggled to bestill the Trembling that had come upon it, but I might as well have tried to calm the shivering Grass.

On the Morrow, the fifteenth Daye of July, I left Shirelands in Company with Mr Fielding, and we travelled post-haste across Country to London, arriving at his Bow Street House a mere thirty-six Houres after our Departure.

We crosst a Landscape Sunneshine-bright with Wheat, and verily pleasing to the Eye, with Villages and Cottages spread out upon it as decorative Shapes upon a Pie-crust. Here and there on our first Daye of Travel we would pass an Hostelry, its Sign hanging above its Door and chearful Parson outside smoaking on his Pipe; but we did not stop until very late, at a small roadside Inn whose Landlord I do not remember, for I fell straight into my borrowed Bed and
slept solid for five Houres, after which Time Mr Fielding roused me, and we resumed our Journey.

I was most curious about Mr Fielding, whom I had now discovered to be none other than the celebrated—or rather, notorious—Author of
Tom Jones, A Foundling
. I found it astonishing that such a Personage should be known to my Father, and even more so that he should have known my Mother; but I was too shy to ask him about these Matters. Instead, I concentrated my Questioning upon Mr Fielding himself, and wherefore he had made the seeming odd Change of Profession from Novellist to Westminster Magistrate.

“When I wrote my Literary Works,” Mr Fielding replied, “I wrote of things as they appear, not as they might be if we lived in a perfect World; I hoped perhaps to stir some Modicum of Human Compassion in my Readers’ Breasts for those less fortunate, and possibly less virtuous, than themselves; but all my Achievement has been to make a convincing Fiction out of mine Impressions. My Tales have no Substance beyond their Pages. I have realised that ’tis far better to attempt to make a Difference beyond my Quill. So, Sir, I have downed it for the nonce—as far as Novels are concerned, at least.

“This Country,” he continued, over the Rumble of the Carriage, “is presently undergoing a Period of great Consequence to its History, tho’ most People know’t not and could not care less if they did. The Whole of Europe is being tried and tested; worn out Philosophies, and the legal Edifices that sit upon them, are crumbling; the Discoveries and Decisions we make now will determine whether in two Centuries our Descendants are living under Civilisation or Barbarism. The Nation which we now create will form the Backbone of that future one—and I would ensure it—and to this End you may be sure that I use all my Influence—that they should habit in a World
that is governed by fair and coherent Laws, in which Rich and Poor alike have no Fear to walk the Highways lest they be attacked in broad Dayelight. Indeed, that is a World I should fain live in My Self! I do my very best to ensure not only that our Laws are respected and upheld, but that they are just; for unjust Laws lend Legitimacy to future Tyrannies. As Magistrate, Tristan, I do not merely convict, I judge; and ’tis to be hoped I do so fairly.”

I thought Mr Fielding’s Ambition exceeding grand, as for the Life of me I could not apprehend how the Law, which by my Reckoning was more Fetter than Leash, could lead a culpable Nation out of Darkness and Ignorance, when Centuries of Religion had not managed it. Science, I thought, was far better suited to that Task, and had a stronger Chance of Success. But I kept my Peace.

Several Houres later, tired out and hungry after the Travel, I sate beside the Window in Mr Fielding’s drawing Room, and listened to the City’s Noises. Dogges barked, Children wailed, Wives argued, Horses neighed, Carts rumbled, Bells rang. I wondered for a Moment how I should stand to be immersed in all this Din and Filth, but before I could begin to be alarmed I heard Footsteps and a rattling Sound behind me. I turned to see the Lady of the House, to whom I had been but briefly introduced, entering the Room with a tea Tray in her Hands. Mrs Fielding smiled, put the Tray down upon a small Table, and began to stir the Tea with a long-handled silver Spoon. “Good Evening to you, Mr ’Art,” she said, dropping her H upon the Floor and trampling on it. “’Ow do you like your Tea?”

Somewhat taken aback, but compleatly fascinated, I left the Window and took up a Seat opposite Mrs Fielding. I was aware that I was staring and I tried to recollect my Manners, but when she let the Spoon fall with a Clatter on the Tray and began to pour out the Tea, I could not help My Self.

Mrs Fielding did not seem to mind; unabashed, she presst into mine Hands a hot steaming Cup of sweet Tea, almost white with Milk. “There you go, Sir,” she said. “Get that down you and you’ll soon feel right as Rain.” She smiled. She had a round, warm, pleasant Face that reminded me a little of Margaret. I thought she must be young; eight-and-twenty, perhaps. I smiled in return and took a tentative Sip from my Cup. The Tea tasted of Milk and Sugar and very little else.

“I’m sorry if ’tis weak,” Mrs Fielding said. “But they are old Leaves. I would see about acquiring some Fresh, but we are practising Economy.”

“Aha,” I said.

Presumably in the Interest of Economy, Mrs Fielding did not take Tea herself, but instead sate with me whilst I drank, making light Conversation out of the Contents of the Pantry and the Price of Starch. When I had finished, she got to her Feet and had just lifted the Tray to take it back to the Kitchen when Mr Fielding appeared in the Doorway.

“Mary!” he cried, his Tone that of the most intense Anguish. “Put it down, Woman, for God’s Sake!”

Mrs Fielding quickly replaced the tea Tray on the Tabletop, and rang the Bell for the parlour Maid. Then, she looked to be at something of a Loss, and after making a quick half-Curtsey to me, she left the Room.

Mr Fielding sighed, and came across to the Table, where he peered down at the tea things with an Expression not unlike that with which a convicted Man may look upon the Noose. “I must apologise for my Wife,” he said. “She forgets her Place sometimes.”

“I like her immensely,” I said.

Mr Fielding looked at me somewhat strangely. “Do you?” he said.
“Well, so did I—so do I. She is a good Woman, despite…” his Voice trailed off. Then he cleared his Throat. “’Tis no Secret,” he said, “but you may not know it: Mary is my second Wife; she was my first Wife’s Maid.”

“I see.” I said, slowly.

“Do you, indeed? Do not you presume to smile at me, young Man. I am not proud of my Actions, but I did what my Conscience—and Justice—required of me.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

“Don’t you ‘Yes Sir, No Sir’ at me, either, Tristan Hart. If you have something to say, then you must say it.”

Brought thus unexpectedly to Scratch, I struggled to find the right Words with which to answer him. “I think, Sir,” I said, carefully, “that Mrs Fielding is not a Wife of whom you need feel ashamed. Altho’ I was somewhat startled by her Manner at first, she seems goodhearted, and kind.”

Mr Fielding looked at me with the same penetrating Gaze he had turned upon my Father. “That,” he told me, “was well said, and honestly, too, by your Countenance. There are many Men who would not—who could not—have answered thus. You will meet with some of them.”

I realised by this that Mr Fielding’s Marriage was considered by polite Society to be a great Scandal. Yet, to me, the Idea, tho’ startling, did not seem improper, but rather the Opposite. It was surely intirely right that a Man should marry the Woman he had otherwise ruined; what Difference that she was of lower Station? Then I thought how unlike it had been that I should ever have married Margaret, especially if I had got her with Child. Should I have ruined her? I had never given it any Thought. Moreover, I realised that it was past Chance that I should have agreed with Mr
Fielding’s Action toward Mary if I had not met and liked her before I had known it. I should have thought her naught but a conniving Whore, and him an old Fool.

The Houre being late, I shortly afterwards retired to Bed, and gave the Question no more Thought. It became apparent, though, in the Dayes that followed, that the Issue was a live one; scarce twenty-four Houres could be suffered to pass without the Sound of Mr Fielding’s Voice groaning: “Mary, no!” at some small Lapse of Propriety upon her Part. Mary bore it well; she was indeed a goodhearted Woman and retained a surprizing Affection for her Husband despite his prickly Temper and evident Embarrassment. She was quite sensible of how her Station had been altered by her Marriage, but she was a practical Soule who disliked waiting for someone else to perform any Task she could compleat herself. Her Husband, for all his Disapproval, took full Advantage of this. Mr Fielding suffered greatly with the Gout, and altho’ his Wits were as sharp as ever, the Pain made him absent minded. This Forgetfulness, combined with a Degree of Impetuosity that had not been curbed by Experience, led to many of his Affairs becoming shrouded in a Web of Confusion, which his Wife did her best to disentangle. In short, altho’ he did not know it, he was as dependent upon Mary as my Father was upon Mrs H., and had she begun to act the Lady, he would have been utterly confounded.

The Habit, I must admit, was contagious; and deplorable as it is to offer to treat the Lady of the House as if she were its Maid, within seven Dayes I found My Self about it. It was simply easier to call on Mary Fielding’s Help in practical Matters than to summon any of the household Servants. Nevertheless, I felt more than a little uncomfortable; and altho’ Mary did not object, I sought to put a Check on my Demands and do as well as possible for My Self. The
Results of this Experiment were not encouraging; after mine Attempt to light the dining room Fire led Mrs Fielding to inquire loudly whether all Gentlemen were born Incompetents, I gave it up, and allowed things to continue as they were.

I had barely become accustomed to the Routine of the House, and it to me, when it was disrupted again, by the Advent of Mr Fielding’s Brother.

Mr John Fielding had begun his Career in the Navy, and so could not be accused of congenital practical Incompetence. He was, however, compleatly blind, and commonly wore upon his Brow a black Ribband to signify his Condition to others. He was Resident in the Strand, where he was Proprietor of the Universal Register Office. However, he was commonly to be found in Bow Street, purportedly to assist his Brother in the carrying out of his Duties as Westminister Magistrate. This seemed strange to me. “How,” I asked Mary, “can a blind Man tell whether the Accused hath a look of Guilt about him, or of Innocence?” Mary looked upon me pityingly, and continued polishing her Spoons.

Mr John Fielding, she explained, was blessed not only with an Intellect that was in every way the Equal of his Brother’s, but also with a Power of Memory that Mary had never seen bettered. In addition to this, his Senses of Hearing, Touch, and Smell were so brilliantly acute that he was more aware of his Surroundings than many who retained their Sight. He was not easily fooled, and he did not suffer Fools gladly. In the Street, she said, he strode forth as if he expected all others to fall out of his Path, and to her ceaseless Amazement, they did.

My first Meeting with John Fielding took place upon the Afternoon of the first Daye of August, mere Houres after his own Arrival in Bow Street. Like his Brother, he had asked to meet me;
unlike him, he had the Advantage of being preceded by his Reputation. I answered his Summons with Alacrity.

Mr Fielding was waiting for me in the dining Room. He was a tall Man, quite young, but heavy of Build and deliberate in his Movements. He was seated at the Table, which as usual was bestrewn with his Brother’s literary and legal Papers, with a wine Glass in his right Hand, and a pair of Mr Dolland’s Spectacles, which he had just removed from his Nose, in his left. He did not look up, but gestured with his Spectacles towards a Chair upon the other Side of the Table and said: “Sit down, Sir.”