Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631) (49 page)

There was a long Pause. We walked along the Passage together, he in the Direction of the Library, I, my Study; at the Door to which Erasmus stoppt, and turned to me. “Perhaps,” he said, “as you are set upon returning to London, I shall do the same, and see whether the Offer Dr Oliver made that I should join him in St Luke’s is still open. I cannot continue to live idly upon your Hospitality.”

“Egad,” I said. “I would prefer that you should stay! Wilt not take full Charge of my Father, as you were supposed to do?”

“Tristan,” Erasmus said gently, “I must work, my Friend. I have no country Estate.”

I remembered then, as I had never done before, that Erasmus had taken on my Care, which I had then imagined my Father’s, owing to his Affection for me, and his fervently expresst Desire to keep me out of St Luke’s; and that he had never properly been paid for his Services, owing to Barnaby’s Affection for his Purse.

“Erasmus,” I said, “if you will stay as my Family’s Physician, I shall offer you whatever Pay you deem appropriate; and no one shall object if you practise among our Neighbours also. Our local Physician is no Man of Science, and his Treatments, I am certain, kill as many as they cure. Why, my Sister—”

“Stop there,” Erasmus said. “Mrs Barnaby dislikes me.”

“Indeed, she doth not!” I exclaimed. “She hath an high Regard for you and hath often expresst it.”

“Not before me,” Erasmus said. “She hath contrived only to demonstrate a singular Distaste for me in my Society.”

“Her Husband, I grant you, is an hypocritical Coxcomb,” I said. “But my Sister is the sweetest tempered Woman anywhere, and if she hath been unkind it must be because she is striving to conceal the Extent of her Affection.”

Erasmus looked at me in plain Astonishment. “What dost mean, Tristan?”

“Egad,” I said, shrugging my Shoulder. “Mine Offer is before you, Erasmus. Do what you will. We should all be happier an you stayed.”

“Well, Tristan,” Erasmus said, looking at me very queerly. “I shall consider your Advice. But I wish you would consider mine, your Father’s, and that of your Wife.”

*   *   *

Shortly before the Daye I was due to leave, about the Week the Hawthorns began, that dampe Spring, to bloom, I told my Sister about Katherine’s Pregnancy. Mine Announcement had an unexpected Consequence: Mr Barnaby, no Doubt at the Promptings of strict Propriety rather than those of his Wife, who was now so many Nights at Shirelands it was hard to see when she might have found an appropriate Moment to prompt, issued a grudging Invitation to Katherine and My Self to visit at Withy Grange upon the following Saturdaye. I did not expect this Visitation to be a chearful one, but out of Curiosity and a mean Desire to see Barnaby squirm, I scrawled a curt Acceptance upon the Back of his own
Missive and sent it back forthwith by the same liveried Hand that had delivered it.

Upon making this Decision, however, I discovered an unexpected Difficulty. It had not occurred to me, when I had elected to return to London, that to do so I must leave mine Estate and cross enemy Territory; for tho’ I knew that I had banished Raw Head’s Goblins from Shirelands, Viviane ruled in the Valley, and I felt certain that her Hatred for me must be as strong as ever. Even this short Journey to Withy Grange, I thought, must present Opportunity for her to strike. I considered writing to Barnaby and withdrawing mine Acceptance of his Invitation; but then it appeared to me that doing so might convey to my Family some false Impression of Insanity, if my Reason should be guessed at, which would cause Confusion sufficient to threaten mine whole Project. I dismisst the Notion.

Instead, upon the Morning of the Visit, I dresst up My Self and Katherine in sad coloured Cloth, that our true Selves be thereby disguised, and instructed my Father’s Coachman, who wore no Livery, to tell no one of his intended Journey, or what Passengers he carried. He was forbidden to stop, even in the Event of Robbery. I had suggested to Erasmus that he accompany us on this Visit, but somewhat to my Disappointment, my Suggestion met with so flat a Refusal that I could have played Bowls on it. We travelled with the Blinds down, and I refused to heed Katherine’s Protestations that she wanted Light and Aire. We were as two Grouse, in matching Plumage. Our Cage, out of Necessity, remained covered.

We reached Withy Grange after an Houre or so, and on hearing the Carriage-wheels slowly crunching to an Halt upon Barnaby’s Gravel, I was upon my Feet and opening the Door. The crimson Interior of the Coach immediately quickened with an agile Light, and the stuffy Aire itself seemed to draw Breath.

“Thanks be to God!” cried Katherine, at once.

“As there is no God,” I precipitantly responded, “you must rather return Thanks to me, it being My Self that hath unclosed the Door.”

“In that Case,” replied Katherine, acidly, “thanks be unto thee, great Tristan, whose mercifull Kindness knoweth no Bounds, and falleth as freely upon us as the winter Rains.” She bared her Teeth at me; it was not, by any Measure, a friendly Look.

“Too much,” I said, stepping down onto the Driveway. “Shut up thy Mouth; that is a Smile so sweet the whole Wealth of the Africk could not buy’t; and I am but one Man, who hath not yet come into Possession of his Fortune. Take mine Hand; I will assist you from your Seat.”

“So ought you, Bloody Bones; you put me into it,” Katherine answered, her Voice a low Growl.

She placed her Palm upon mine own, and descended carefully the three Steps that divided us. For a Moment, as she stood there before me, her Eyes fixt upon mine, it was as if the Distance betwixt us had never intervened. All we had, verily all we were, was contained in the Space between her Body and mine own: Katherine and I; My Self and Katherine. Then I put mine Hands about her Waist, and startled at its increased Thickness.

“Come,” I said, lifting my Fingers from her as if from a burning Brand, and swivelling on mine Heel toward the magnificently roofed House, whose bright painted front Door, compleat with ready Footmen, stood open in seeming Welcome. “We must not linger here, for all it seems fair. Let us disclose what Mr Barnaby hath to say for himself.”

“Oh,” said Katherine. “Indeed, Tristan. Let us at once within.” Instead of waiting for mine Arm, she lifted her Skirts above her
Ankles and propelled herself forward at almost a Run, treading hard upon my right Foot. I called her back, in some Alarm, but she ignored me, and vanished, like Eurydice, within the grey Vault of the Portico.

Barnaby received us most politely, with Jane at his Side, in the long drawing Room of Withy Grange that shared with my Sister’s sitting Room a View over the Valley toward the River. The Room was splendid and well lit, but not lively; the crimson Curtains, the Chippendale Sophas, the Chairs against the Walls, the central Italian Rugg and paired Grecian Vases that stood beside the white veined Marble of the Chimney-piece had all to mine Eyes the Appearance of having recently worn Sheets, and the cool Aire reeked of Emptiness.

Barnaby could not have been in any Doubt as to my Familiarity with the Condition of his Marriage. However, he had evidently ordered Jane to co-operate in some Pretense of conjugal Unity, for both were stood up together, and steppt forward in a Welcome which was meant, with equal Sincerity, by neither. Jane was got up in a flea-coloured satin Sacque and white Stomacher of expensive Flemish Lace, and with her Physiognomy disguised under a thick Layer of Whitelead, and her Wigg piled high atop her Head, she appeared so greatly altered from herself that, had I met her in the Street, I might never have known her for my Sister.

Barnaby, for his Part, was dresst as sober as a Parson. His tight woollen frock Coat was dark blue, and buttoned high beneath his vulturine Chin, which appeared ill nourished, despite his great Wealth. He looked me over with Disdain, and ill-concealed Apprehension, as a lesser Lordling might an Hero of the boxing Ring. I remembered, with a nettling Sting, how it had been by his Consent that I had been brought home instead of being confined in St Luke’s. I misliked full sore the Idea that Barnaby had been
Witness to me in my nervous Mania, and if such thing had been possible, the Notion would have induced me to love him even less than I presently did. Perhaps it was a good thing, therefore, that my Contempt of him was already so damning that it would have taken a Miracle for him to sink lower in mine Estimation.

We sate and played at Cards, until Katherine and I had thoroughly routed the Barnabys, and my Patience with the tedious Pantomime had utterly run out. Before Jane could suggest another Hand, I turned the Subject of our Conversation toward Barnaby’s willow Wood, and the Sentiment I shared with Jane upon its intended Removal.

“That Wood,” I said, “is like to have stood for many hundred Yeares, and if it is left unmolested, it may stand hundreds more. Moreover, it is beautifull, and Jane is fond of it. Will not you, Mr Barnaby, alter your Intention in respect of your Wife’s Affection?”

“La, Tristan, I care not!” put in Jane at once, before her Husband could draw Breath. “It is the Fashion! Mr Barnaby may make whatever Improvements he pleases.”

This Response was so unexpected, so compleatly different from the sorry Complaint Jane had made, privately, to me, that I was briefly stunned. “Sister,” I stammered, when I had recaptured my Wits. “Did we not agree that the Destruction of the Willows would be dangerous, as it may result in the River’s overspilling its Banks?”

“Mr Barnaby,” said Jane pacifically, “tells me that Argument is peevish Fiddle-faddle, and that neither our Lawns nor the local Farms are in any Danger of Submersion.”

“The only Fiddle-faddle,” I answered, “is in your saying so, when—” I broke off. Katherine had kicked me, very hard, upon my shin Bone. Barnaby’s Nostrils flared.

“Mr Barnaby’s hired Men,” Jane said, “have already begun about
the Works. They are very efficient. Mr Barnaby is very pleased with the Repair they made to the Wall in the old Orchard.”

Doth he beat her? I thought, suddenly.

I presst the Knuckles of my right Fist into my Palm until they cracked. The Sounds rang out surprizing loud in the still Room, a Battery of small Shots.

It was with both a leaping and a sorry Heart that I quit Shirelands at the End of that Week, in, once again, a plain Carriage, with its Blinds drawn fast against all spying Eyes and its Horses swift. My Sorrow, and more than a little Guilt besides, was all at the Thought that I was leaving Katherine, and should not, if all went well in the City, see her again for several Months; but mine Ambition, and the great scientific Advancements that this, our second Separation, might make possible, made me to put all such Regrets aside. I told My Self, as I had repeatedly told Katherine, that as long as we continued to write, as we had done during my previous Travail in London, we would be happy
enough. It had, after all, been only when Katherine had failed to answer the Letter presenting my Proposal, that the Scheme had gone awry; and I knew that, this Time, there would be no meddling Mama or misguided Erasmus to effect any similar Catastrophe.

I still had heard naught from Dr Hunter, but my Fear that he might have no farther Interest in my Career, or in mine Hypothesis, had been greatly allayed by my Receipt of another Letter from Mr Henry Fielding himself, in which—it being tacitly understood that I would not, this Time, be lodging at Bow Street—he first extended an open Invitation to visit, and second, acquainted me with the Fact that Dr Hunter had but recently inquired after mine Health and my present Circumstances. The Implication of this Inquiry seemed to me quite clear. Dr Hunter was querying the Likelihood of my being able to compleat my Work without his Support, which must mean that he was seriously considering extending it. Mine Heart leapt, therefore, with Hope; and as the closed Carriage rumbled thro’ the dampe Morning, taking me away from Katherine, from my Father, from Erasmus, my Sickness, and the Memory of Raw Head, I recited in mine Head the Words with which I intended to perswade him.

I arrived in London early upon the following Afternoon, and having established My Self in the musty little Room known as the Hound, in the Red Lion on St John’s Street—which Inn had been suggested to me by Captain Simmins, as nearest to his own Lodging—I sent Word to Bow Street of mine Arrival. Mr Fielding replied at once with, as I had intended and hoped, an immediate Invitation to Dinner.

Acutely conscious of the unhappy Condition in which the Fielding Family had last beheld me, I dresst carefully for the Occasion, in my
grey silk Frock with Brocaide Embroidery, Waistcoat and Breeches of matching Stile, white Stockings and buckled Shoes, Hat, and silver handled ebon Cane. Thus attired, I examined my Reflection in the Mirrour.

At once, I startled. It had been so long a Time since I had paid more than the slightest Attention to mine Appearance that I had not properly become aware of how significantly I was altered from the callow young Man who had argued the Case for Fashion against Mr John Fielding. But my Frock, tho’ it had been extream smart when I had had it from my Tailor, was now new in neither Cloth nor Cut; my buckled Shoes were Pinchbeck; and whereas I had been used always to have worn a stilish Wigg, mine Hair now was mine own, black as Coal and reaching to my Collar in an heavy Curtain, before which the Bones of my Cheeks, and mine hooked Nose, stood out in stark Relief. I look a Freak! I thought. My Stomach twisted with a shocking Fear; and for the first Time in mine whole Life I was grateful for my dark Skin, for had I been fair I should verily have looked an Apparition of approaching Death.

But before this Panick had the Chance to set its Course into my Bowels, it suddenly occurred to me that there was a very good Excuse for mine appearing as I did. I was now a Man of Science, not Fashion. Mine Ideas were my Cloathing; they, not my Dress, would be the Measure of my Standing and my Reputation; and thro’ them, and only them, should I garner Respect. The Cut of my Frock, the Absence of my Wigg, were not things that ought to matter to me one Moment longer. I had steered my Feet on to an higher Path; truly, I was to become a Man of no mundane, superstitious Sort, but one of Reason.