Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631) (34 page)

Within Seconds, before I had any Chance to begin a Fight-back, I had been dragged to my Feet. My Wrists smarted from the sudden Clap of cold Iron. An harsh Voice, which seemed to me as if it might have one Time been familiar, shouted at the Mobb that it must “Clear the Way, Sirs – back about your Business!” and before I had even regained my Vision I found My Self being forcibly marched thro’ the tavern Door.

The Instant the cold Aire hit my Lungs I was quite awake, and I began violently to resist, screaming to anyone who might hear me to run for the Constable. My Kidnapper cursed as I dealt him a sharp Kick upon the Shin, and his Grip upon me weakened slightly. Quickly slamming back mine Head into his Nose I flung My Self forward to escape him; but he was too strong, and he knew better than I how to fight. We fell hard into the Gutter, he on top.

I would have opened my Mouth to scream again, but for the Foulness that surrounded it. I held my Breath and struggled with all my Might against the cruel Weight that presst down upon my Spine and Shoulders.

“Jesus Christ, he’s as strong as the Devil,” panted mine Attacker. I felt a split Second’s Satisfaction at the Thought that he was having quite as hard a Time of it as I; but the Thought passed faster than a Breath. And I could not breathe.

The Strength of Terrour empowered me. I had no Intention to suffocate in Shit. Despite that mine Hands were shackled behind me, I thrust my Face up out of the Mire and with a great Heave threw the Monster from my Back.

I scrambled to my Feet. It was clear to me now what this was, this Attack; it was the Murder that I feared to have happened to Nathaniel. The Gypsies loved him; they would forgive him anything, anything; but not me; no, not me. Viviane was not thro’ with me yet.

Mine Instinct was to run; yet it was plain to me that the Brute would pursue me if I did. I had only one Choice. Mine Hands are chained, I thought, but I still have my Teeth. I will rip out its Throat.

Somewhere deep within my Skull, the Drums had started.

Baring my Teeth, I whirled about, and sprang.

The Brute was bloody-Faced, and huge, and it was ready. An heavy, hefty Blow straightway slammed the left Side of my Jaw, so hard it sent me spinning sideways into the stone Wall of the Shakespeare. My Mouth filled up with Blood.

“Right, Mr Hart,” came a Voice, and it sounded, for a Moment, half like to that of Saunders Welch. “You’re coming with me. Mr Fielding and Dr Oliver are very desirous of speaking with you.” The Voice was faint; as if it echoed from a thousand Miles away. I
felt something hard and unexpected upon my Tongue, a minute Pebble tumbling in a bloody Sea.

I spat the Object out upon my Knee, where it lay, small and incongruously white against the befouled Cloth. It was mine eye-Tooth. As I stared at it, it seemed to wink.

The Drumming became louder. It thumped within my Body, a steady, incessant Throb, deafening mine Ears to every single Sound that was not it. My Liver and mine Heart began to quake. I tried to stand, but my Senses were still reeling. I could not control my Limbs.

Panick consumed me. Not Panick of the Kind that could have given my Legs the Force to leap or my Mouth to scream, but a low, despairing Agony that wrappt mine Arms about my Waist and rocked me slowly back and forth, and back and forth, while the Monster that had stolen the Speech and Appearance of Saunders Welch steppt forward to execute its killing Blow.

“God help me,” I cried. “God protect us! My Brat and Bat; separated by an R. Thou shalt not kill me, Raw Head. I will not die.”

I felt My Self being once more roughly seized, and forced to walk; but tho’ I would have resisted, I had not the Strength. All my Fight had deserted me. Mine only Hope lay with the Almighty, if He had not turned His Back upon me in Disgust.

After some while I realised, to my great Surprize, that I had been brought to Bow Street, and that I was sitting, shackled Hand and Foot, upon the heavy wooden Armchair in the below Stairs Room that both Messrs. Fielding used for hearing Cases.

Gradually, I became aware of the Babble, around me, of many different Voices.

“No!” said Erasmus’
Voice—at least, I thought it was Erasmus’ Voice, tho’ it seemed cracked and brittle. “I demand that Mr Welch be made to leave. He hath treated Mr Hart extreamly ill, and I shall not suffer him to receive any more of the same. Mr Hart is no Criminal, but a Gentleman, and a Genius.”

“A Gentleman and a Genius, Mr Glass,” came the angry Reply, “who was presently about to take your Head off!”

“Mr Glass,” came Mr Henry Fielding’s Voice. “I shall reprimand Mr Welch. It will, however, be easier for Dr Oliver to attend to Mr Hart if he is not in mortal Fear whilst so doing.”

“With Respect, Sir,” replied Erasmus. “I do not perceive that Mr Hart is now like to pose the least Threat to anybody. He is barely conscious.”

I opened up mine Eyes a little. In the flickering Candlelight I could make out, quite clear, the little Figure of Erasmus Glass, standing bullishly between My Self and the immense Bulk of the High Constable for Holborn. Behind Mr Welch, against the black Doorway, stood Mr Henry Fielding, with Dr Oliver.

“Erasmus,” I said. My Voice was a Spillikin of itself.

Erasmus turned, and his Face was filled with such a Mix of Sentiments: Fury, and Hope, and Fear, that I could scarce bear to look upon it. “Don’t let them take me,” I said.

“Indeed, they shall not,” Erasmus said.

“Tristan,” said Mr Fielding, in a Tone that seemed to shake the very Timbers of the House. “No one shall take you anywhere without your express Consent. You have my Word on that, as Magistrate, with Dr Oliver and Mr Glass as Witnesses. You are overwrought, Sir, and you have become unwell, and you will either permit Dr Oliver to administer his Treatment or you will be forced.”

“I am not mad!” I bellowed, beginning to thrash against my Restraints, despite the Pain this caused me.

“Hush, Tristan,” Erasmus said, dropping before me on one Knee, like a Courtier. “Indeed, and truly, you are not; your Nerves, merely, have become overstrained. You have been studying much too hard. Dr Oliver desires only that you take a soothing Draught, and then retire to your Bed.”

“Why didst thou betray me, Judas?” I said.

“I did not,” Erasmus said, and to mine Astonishment I saw plain Tears shining in the dark Wells of his Eyes. “I did not know that Mr Welch would become involved.”

“You listened to Dr Oliver,” I said.

“I did, ’tis true; he told me of his Worries regarding your Health. I share them, Tristan. But neither I, nor he, nor Mr Fielding thinks that you are mad.”

I examined Erasmus’ Expression. He was telling the Truth, I discerned, in so far as he could know it; which was to say that he gave Credence to mine Affirmation of my Sanity and he believed that the others did too. Whether he was right or wrong in this Belief, I could not verily tell, altho’ I doubted much that he was right. Dr Oliver would not have used him as Bait if he had thought that I was amenable to rational Argument.

“There you are deceived,” I said. “For the Doctor would have me locked up; I know not why; perchance it hath to do with the Lady B.——. But before God I meant her no Insult. I struggled against the Passion but it would not go away; it doth not; the Evil is always there, always. I could not contain it. I tried.”

“Mr Glass,” came Dr Oliver’s Voice. “It doth Mr Hart little Good for you to befuddle the Facts. I do believe that you should be better if you were to be in St Luke’s, Sir, for there I should be on hand to deal with your Case. As to whether you are incurably mad, that I do not know. I pray that you are not, for as your Friend says you
are a brilliant young Man, and ’twould be a tragic Loss to our Profession as much as to your Family.”

“I will not go,” I said.

“You cannot remain here, Sir, in your present Condition,” said Dr Oliver. “Mrs Fielding cannot be expected to care for another Invalid—begging your Pardon, Henry. And I do not see how the Barnabys can take care of you, given their current Circumstances.”

“I am no Invalid!” I said. “I need no one to take care of me! I will not go. By God, you must not try to take me.”

Dr Oliver shook his Head.

I turned, desperate, to Erasmus. “Help me,” I said.

“I shall,” Erasmus answered. “I shall not leave you, Sir; I shall stay for as long as you shall need me.”

To be fair to Dr Oliver, I must admit that St Luke’s was not an Institution in any Way akin to the hideous Bethlem. The Ethos of the Place, with which I had fully concurred when I was sane My Self, was that Madness was as curable a Disease as any other; and its Practices were intirely designed to further the Restoration of Reason to a Mind temporarily bereft. But that Night, sorely bruised as I was from my Fight with Saunders Welch, and trappt in a Nightmare of mine own Making, I could not comprehend this.

Erasmus finally having perswaded me to take the Doctor’s Prescription, I was unshackled from the Chair, and taken with more Gentleness than had been heretofore accorded me into the drawing Room, where waited James Barnaby.

At mine Entry, Barnaby leapt from the Seat upon which he had been sitting and placed himself square behind the Sopha on the far Side of the Room. I had no Power to pursue him, even had I wanted to, yet despite my somewhat pathetic State his evident
Terrour amused me. Aye, I thought, you have Reason, Hypocrite; but I said nothing. Erasmus assisted me to sit in an Armchair, and then turned to confront him.

“Mr Barnaby,” he said, “it hath been suggested that your Brother-in-law must be confined in an Hospital for the Duration of his Illness. I have argued, and will continue to argue against this Course of Action as I do not doubt that it will make Mr Hart’s Condition much the worse. However, the Decision is yours; owing to his Father’s Incapacity you are his Next of Kin. What will you do?”

“Lud,” said Barnaby at once, with a slight Squeak in his Voice. “If Mr Hart may be taken to an Hospital, then for God’s Sake he must be therein committed.”

“But consider,” Erasmus retorted swift as Lightning, “the Shame of that.”

This Bolt hit direct upon Barnaby’s weak Spot; he could not abide the Thought of publick Ridicule, and the Spectre of the Neighbours discovering that Jane, who was with Child, had a mad Brother, threw him into quite a Funk. Insanity, they say, runneth in Families. “I’facks!” he cried. “Let him then remain where he is!”

Mr Henry Fielding, who had walked into the Room at my Rear, then pointed out in a most cutting Tone that if I was not to be committed, I must instead return to Shirelands forthwith. Barnaby turned very white at this Proposal, and cried out that he could not possibly allow it; I would most likely murder him upon the Road, and could there not be found some other Solution?

“Indeed, Mr Barnaby,” exclaimed Mr Fielding sharply. “Do you know nothing of your familial Duty? He is your Brother, Sir!”

“As I have given Tristan my Vow that I will not abandon him,” Erasmus interrupted, “then I propose that I shall accompany him
to Shirelands Hall My Self, and take charge of his Care until he be well again.”

“And who, Mr Glass, shall pay your Bill?” Barnaby cried out, in a frantick Tone.

“Good God!” exclaimed Mr Fielding again. “You shock me, Sir!”

“I would do’t for nothing but my Board and Lodging,” Erasmus snapped. “Mr Hart is a good Man; and he is my Friend.”

This Offer seemed to mollify Mr Barnaby, and he began to talk tentatively of my Return to Shirelands under Erasmus’ Supervision. As he still expresst some Reservation as to the Expense, it was eventually suggested that Erasmus’ Keep was to be paid out of my Father’s Purse; unless of course my Father died, when it should fall upon me. To this final Proposal, Barnaby, happily, agreed.

Shortly after this I fell asleep, and I do not know what occurred after; but in the Morning Erasmus made me to understand that we were straightway to leave for Berkshire, and that we should not be very soon returning.

“Your Father hath endured a Stroake,” he said. “He hath been left unable to speak, and hath lost all Sensation upon the right Side of his Body. Your Family needs you, Tristan. It hath been arranged that I shall accompany you, to give whatever Assistance I can in the Matter, for it is quite beyond the poor Skill of the local Physician.”

I had been greatly soothed by my laudanum-induced Sleep, and even more so by the subsequent Draught which Erasmus had presst upon me before Breakfast, so despite my Knowledge of the previous Night’s Conversation with Barnaby, I did not query why Erasmus was to attend upon my Father. It seemed peculiarly appropriate that he should. I suggested to him that we confer closely together on the Case.

“So shall we,” Erasmus said. “But you must remember that you go home, in the first Instance, to rest.” He encouraged me to drink a further Draught, to ease my strained Nerves, and then, before I had properly to register what was afoot, we had said our Goodbyes to Mary and the Brothers Fielding, and departed together in Mr Fielding’s Coach.

I recall little of what happened on the Journey. Some Miles, I suppose, outside of London, I remember realising that Erasmus had taken off the Shackles that had bound my Wrists and Ankles, and that we had stoppt for a short Meal at a roadside Inn. I noticed nothing of the Meal, or of the Place.

*   *   *

I saw my Father once upon mine Arrival at the Hall. He lay helpless in the semi-Darkness of his Chamber, a Room into which I had not penetrated since mine own Infancy, attended by Mrs H., who was spoon-feeding him some Soup from a porcelain Bowl. The Strangeness of the Sight reminded me of Mary with my Bat, and made my Bowels churn. I did not go near him after. I kept Bat’s Sketch safe in my Waistcoat, by mine Heart, and only changed its Position when I changed my Cloathes. No one saw it.

I consider it Memory’s greatest Strangeness, with what Ease a Man—even a sane Man—may forget for Yeares a small thing heard, or seen, which later, upon appropriate Stimulus, presseth so intently upon his Awareness that it seem almost more real than that present Moment which hath so recalled it. For almost five Yeares I had utterly forgot that Ballad of the Goblin Knight Nathaniel had sung to me beneath the August Sunne. Now, that Memory was revived; at first so softly that I had not noticed, then gradually with greater and greater Force, till now, upon my first Evening back beneath the Roof of mine ancestral Home, it rang in mine Head more loudly than any Hunting-horn. And as it rang I realised, with a
great and sudden Clarity, that this Goblin Knight intended great Evil to mine intire Family. I saw truly that he was Raw Head, and the would-be Ravisher of the Woman I loved; and with his Goblin Army he prowled nightly thro’ the Gardens, watching for his Chance. I had the Suspicion he should be identified with some unknown Individual who had yet neither Name nor Countenance; but tho’ my Mind strove to make the Connexion, and provide him with both, it could not. Raw Head, Raw Head, in the Dark. Whether he had aught to do with Viviane or not, I was unsure; but what, I thought, would be more like than that a gypsy Witch should consort with an evil Fay? Why should not she, having baulked at her Revenge herself, discharge that Task upon him?