Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631) (8 page)

“The only Way out is to smash the Clock,” I said.

“I know it,” said Nathaniel.

Then there was Noise again; loud Carousing, and drunken Spirits from within the Tavern, the Fluting of an Owl from somewhere on the Road.

Nathaniel opened the heavy oaken Door, and the Moment drowned in a Surge of tallow-Light and Smoake and Racket. He turned and grinned at me, himself again, his Eyes afire with mocking Laughter.

“Come, Tristan,” he said. “Let us make such an Entrance that these rustick Curs will never forget it, should they live an hundred Yeares.”

Nathaniel steppt forwards over the door Sill into the Inn. I followed, bowing my Head low as I passt underneath the mediaeval Lintel. The Room within reeked of old Sweat, Dogges, dark Ale, and burning Coal. Pipe Smoake coarsened the Aire into a brown Funk that spiralled slowly towards the low Ceiling and clung there like Treacle. I coughed, and tried, hopelessly, to wave the Fog away from my Nostrils.

“Friends, Yokels, Countrymen,” Nathaniel began, sweeping portentously into the Centre of the Room like James Quin, full of Gravity and Bombast. He stood still, poised expectantly for Silence between the Inglenook and the Bar.

To mine Amazement, he was given it. Every Face in the Tavern turned towards him, every Voice immediately hushed.

“I stand before you this Night,” Nathaniel said, “not as a Gentleman, but as a Man, mortal and perpetual as ye. This Night, in the Eyes of God and Devil and Faerie Queen, we are all equal in Aspect and in Truth. This Night, the Veil thins, and Men and Spirits walk the Earth in Parity. Who shall dare to sunder that which is one? Who shall draw the Line betwixt the Angel and the Beast?”

Not a Soule moved. The intire lower Floor of the Bull Inn was staring at Nathaniel in Astonishment, Mouths dropping open. I struggled to maintain my Countenance.

“If none shall speak,” Nathaniel said, “let there be Joy unto this House! Mr Haynes! A Tankard of his Choice for every Fellow here!”

The Locals understood that. “Egad, Nat,” I said, suddenly alarmed.

Nathaniel put his Hand into his waistcoat Pocket and withdrew a small silken Purse tied with a golden Thread. He threw it casually to the serving Wench—who was not Margaret—whose Surprize was such that she fumbled the Catch and almost droppt it.

“Drink and be merry!” Nathaniel cried. “Tomorrow we may all be dead. And all I shall ask in Return is that if someone should ask: ‘What of Nathaniel Ravenscroft?’ you will speak well of me.”

The young Betty stared at the silk Purse within her Hand, and with clumsy Fingers began to pick apart the golden Knot. I watched her Expression, as Greed succeeded unto Amazement. She looked up at Nathaniel, smiling, like a Kitten got among the Cream, and a low Chear rumbled round the Tavern.

I steppt up beside Nathaniel and looked at him in Disbelief. “What in Hell’s Name are you doing, Nat?”

“Settling my Debts. Now there is none to whom I owe a thing.”

The Hubbub had started up again, as with much Jollity, the Wench had fetched her small brown Jug, and was busily refilling the Tankards of all who asked her. Nathaniel took my Elbow again, and we presst thro’ the friendly Mob towards the Door that led to the Kitchen, and the Stairs. “That Tosspot, over there,” Nathaniel said, opening the Door, “believes that I impregnated his Daughter, whom I have never met. I know not who got the Wench with Pup but ’twas not me. Ha! There’s an Irony! This Bully, hard by the Pillar, holds me responsible for the Deaths of several of his finest Cattle. That other Pissmaker with him insists that I can summon Thunderstorms.”

“You jest,” I said.

“I do not, Tris. The Mind of the English Peasant is a curious Thing.”

“They are happy enough to quaff the Ale you buy them.”

“As I said, curious. And not always very clever.”

“What do they say about me?” I asked him.

We mounted the Stairs.

*   *   *

The upper Chamber at the Bull was not often used for anything but the Sessions of the local Assize Court. The Inn was too distant from our local Towns to host publick Assemblys, and the Stile of the Room was almost as rustick as the lower. The Walls were white with lime Plaster, but that was the only substantial Difference. When Nathaniel opened this final Door, however, I was at once bathed, not in tallow-Light, but in the clean Brilliance of many waxen Tapers. The Scents of Hyacinthus and Daffodil melded with the sweet Perfume of apple Smoake and some other, sharper Fragrance I could not recognise. The narrow cup Boards along
three Sides of the low Room had come alive with Flowers. Crimson Tulips, yellow Daffodills and golden Irises billowed from blue porcelain Planters, which sate at each End of an intertwining Banner of Blackthorn, Apple, and budding May that arched over the Table, where rested the Punchbowl and the Glasses. There were more Petals, too, blooming about the Chimney-piece and the Hearth, where a large apple Log was blazing. Above the whole carried the clear Voice of a Girl, her Singing pure and wistful as a mistle Thrush.

I steppt forwards in Wonderment, looking around the Room.

“Don’t ask,” Nathaniel said.

The Room’s Benches were already crowded with Nathaniel’s Friends. Many of these were utter Strangers to me – Nathaniel had as many Acquaintances as there were Coneys on the Downs. I noticed, without Surprize, that not one Person here seemed to be above the Age of five-and-twenty. Nat’s Admirers, I thought. Every young Man of our Station wanted to be Nathaniel Ravenscroft. When he changed the Colour of his Coat, so did the Neighbourhood. The Women, or at least the ones I recognised, were the young Wives and Sisters of these Wags; some of them unmarried, and some out, I was sure, without Permission or an appropriate Chaperone. I could never have commanded such a Crowd.

Next to the Fireplace stood a small Group of Musicians, and I quickly realised that the Girl whose Singing I could hear was the Foremost of these. They were not Locals, nor were they from Faringdon or anywhere I would have known. They were Gypsies.

“This is too much—where did you find them?” I said.

“On the Ridge Way.”

“And they have agreed to play for you?—Oh, but you have traded something for their Services, have not you? Not the Pony?”

Nathaniel laughed. “These good Folk are here of nothing but the Love they bear to me. I have claimed Kinship with them these three Yeares, and more.”

“But by Hell, Nat,” I said. “They will never do something for nothing.”

“Kinship, Tris.”

“You are Kin more to me than to any bloody Gypsy.” I was suddenly angry, but unable to understand wherefore.

“You are more my Brother than my Brother,” Nathaniel said, looking straight into mine Eyes. “But you cannot play the Fiddle or the Flute. Put your Anxieties to Bed, Tristan; no Harm will come to either of us here. Look, there is your Margaret, dresst as pretty as you please and glancing over in our Direction. She adores you; ’tis a Fact.”

“She trifles with me, merely.”

“Then she does only as you do. ’Tis May Eve, Tris; go to.”

Nathaniel was not to be resisted, so I did, despite my Misgivings, go to. Nathaniel joined marvellous Play with the Musicians upon his Drum and their Strings, although when he was not so engaged he found the Time to enchant every one of his Guests with his rare Manners and exceptional good Looks. I reached into my sociable Etui and extracted Charm. I was polite, witty, amusing. I drank more than my fair Share of Punch and made meaningless Conversation with Nathaniel’s Hangers-on. I danced
Greenwood
and
Chirping of the Lark
with several of the Wives and Sisters, including those who had not been invited to stand up with anybody else. Margaret dragged me off to a vacant Chamber at about half-past Midnight and did her best to wear me out before kicking me back to the Assembly at a quarter to two.

I was shamefacedly aware of the Figure I must cut—my Shirt
disturbed, my Breeches unlaced—but to my Shock I quickly understood that I was not the only Gentleman in the upper Room in such a State. The Gypsy Musicians had ceased their Playing. The wax Candles, having been allowed, in the Absence of Margaret, to burn down, had grown dim; and in some Corners of the Room, Darkness prevailed intirely. Within its Penumbrae, I could discern vague Human Shapes, writhing about upon one another like Serpents.

I had never visited a Bagnio, but the Scene before me was such as to put me compleatly in Mind of one.

“’Tis a Debauch,” I said aloud, in Wonderment and exquisite Horrour. Then I thought: Where is Nathaniel?—and before I could stop My Self, for I knew that Nathaniel would certainly be busy in the darkest Corner with the prettiest Girl—I shouted: “Nat!”

Several Seconds later—it may have been a full half Minute—Nathaniel materialised out of nothing at my Side.

“What Devilry is this, Nat?” I demanded. “’Tis an Orgy.”

“Indeed, ’tis not,” Nathaniel said.

“Should I disbelieve the Evidence of mine own Eyes?”

“Look around you once again.”

I did so; and as my Vision became accustomed to the warm Dimness I began to perceive more properly those Figures that had seemed twisted and uncertain. One Couple, whose lower Limbs I had seemed to see entwined in strenuous Congress up against the farthest Wall, stood innocently together in plain Conversation. A second, who had appeared to be likewise engaged upon one of the low Benches beside the Table, sat now quietly listening to the Opinions of a third, whose Presence I had not noticed at all.

“I thought I saw them fucking,” I said.

Nathaniel stared at me.

“I think I had ought go home, Nat,” I said.

“Then I shall accompany you,” Nathaniel said. “And we shall take our Revells with us. The Party here is ending, anyway. I have given enough of My Self to these poor Ingrates for one Evening. We shall raid your Father’s wine Cellar and watch the Sunne rise from the Steps of Shirelands Hall.”

“Gladly,” I replied. “Where are your Gypsies? Are they gone ahead to wait upon the Road and rob us as we pass?”

“No, Tristan. You are too suspicious. The Brothers are gone to the Stables and the Sister is here. Do you not see her?”

Nathaniel indicated the Seat nearest to the dying Fire, and suddenly, almost it seemed because he had shewn me where to look, the Girl appeared.

I had not seen her clearly before. I had only heard her Song. Distracted by the general Excitement of the Assembly, I had taken a fleeting Impression of some Body small and dark, and not particularly handsome. Now that I had the Chance to examine her more closely, I could tell that she was, in Truth, very beautifull. Her Hair was in its every Strand as black as mine, but it shone in the coal Light like the Sky shortly after Dusk, reflecting Shades of deepest indigo. Upon her Ears, which were pointed, almost like a Cat’s, she wore seven golden Hoops, that clashed and glittered as she turned her slender Neck and looked upon me. Her Skin was as white as Indian Ivory. I caught a flash of blackthorn Eyes framed by long, heavy Lashes. For a Second she gazed right at me. Her Lips were Blood bright as they parted; I could see her Teeth, perfect white, sharp as Nathaniel’s.

About her Shoulders, she had pinned a black woollen Shawl fringed with scarlet and gold. Her Gown was the Colour of Chalk, and embroidered with an intricate Tracery of Leaves and Flowers.

“What is her Name, Nathaniel?” I asked.

“You must ask her yourself. I am not at Liberty to give it. I shall offer you a Word in Warning, tho’; do not give her yours.”

“As if I were in the Habit of telling my Name to Gypsy Sluts,” I said, although I could not in all Honesty guess what Nathaniel was trying to imply. “But she is uncommon handsome.”

“She would be happy to return to Shirelands with us.”

“Egad, yes,” I said instantly, without thinking. “Oh, but what of her Brothers, Nat? They will never permit it.”

“She is the Rule by which they abide. An she decide to do a Thing, they will never oppose it.”

The Gypsy turned her Face to me again. Surely, I thought, she is by far the prettiest Girl in the whole of Berkshire, let alone the Assembly. I wondered if Nathaniel had previously been sitting with her upon the fireside Seat. A small Spark of Envy flickered in my Bowels. I looked into her black Eyes and the Spark began to flame. I remembered the clear blue Arc of her Song, stretching sinuously over the mortal Gabble of the Crowd. One pure Note, viscerally thrilling, as painfull as it was beautifull.

“Yes, Nat,” I said. “We will take her home.”

Nathaniel had the pony-Chaise brought from the Yard, and while he drove the Gypsy sate upon my Lap. I understood now from the easy Familiarity of their Discourse that they were more than Kin. Indeed, I could not doubt but that the Gypsy Girl was Nathaniel’s Mistress, and that their Arrangement must be of considerable Duration and Standing. That they had been murmuring together in the Hadean Darkness of the upper Room was now more than Conjecture; I was certain of it. Every Expression upon the Countenance of one was reflected upon the other; every movement echoed. Yet if the Thing they shared was Love, it was Love of a
Species previously unknown to me, for the Gypsy made it clear by minute Gestures that the present Target of her Affections was not Nathaniel, but My Self; and Nathaniel shewed as plainly in his own Looks that he both knew and approved of her Design. He was neither jealous nor possessive, nor would he seek to curb her wild Behaviour, Mistress or Lover or Whore or whatever she was.

I placed my Hands upon her Ribcage to steady her as the Chaise lurched and jolted thro’ the darkling Night. For a Time I could detect no Heartbeat, then, finally, I thought I found it, the rhythmic Thud of vital Force. I closed mine Eyes and pictured the convulsing Organ beneath the sixth and seventh Ribs, drumming, drumming.

Nathaniel was not jealous, no; but I was.

I began to understand that I wanted to possess this untameable Thing; to control and subdue her, bend her fully to my Will, my Desire, my Rule. I felt the Palms of mine Hands begin to sweat.

The Thought came on me, unbidden: How would it feel to break her? To hurt her, to force her to cry out.

“Monstrous,” I said, aloud.