Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631)

by Wolf, Jack

  I was determined to find Margaret, so in the Hope that she was already risen, I headed to the back Door where I had waited only the previous Evening with Nathaniel. The Yard was alive with Activity, but there was no Sign of her. The Bull’s only Manservant, a swarthy Bully who went by the Appellation of Joseph Cox, was carrying two Buckets of Swill to the Swine, accompanied by the young Wench from last Night, who looked set to raid the hen Houses. A second Daughter was sweeping the Flags. Perhaps Margaret was yet abed.

  I steppt into the Doorway and tried the Latch. It was not locked; the Door swung inwards with an uneasy Creak. I crosst the Threshold and looked about me. To my left was the Door leading to the Tavern; to my right, its Twin, which gave way into the Kitchen; ahead of me, the steep Staircase. I hastily, silently too, I hoped, mounted the Stairs.

  I felt My Self to be in a better State since mine Arrival at the Bull. The Sunnelight had cheared me, and the Exertion of the Run had caused mine own Heart to outpace the thundering of Viviane’s within mine Head; I allowed My Self to think that I could intirely silence it—if only I could be with Margaret.

  At the Summit of the Stairs I was confronted by a great many Doors. I opened the Nearest. It was the Doorway to the upper Room. Instantly all the Sounds and Scents of the Evening before burst in upon me. The Singing of the Gypsy Girl; Nathaniel’s Playing; May-Eve Revellers fucking. I lost my Balance, thrust out an Arm to steady My Self against the Wall. Dizziness overwhelmed me; the vertiginous Sickness of a Man upon the Edge of a Precipice.

  Where was Margaret? I had no Idea. I had never visited her Bedchamber, never even thought about where she might sleep.

  I was grippt by a Panick. I remembered the White Owl flying above the Valley of the Horse.

  “Margaret!” I cried.

  Then it appeared to me that she must be still within the Room that we had used for our nocturnal Activities. I strode to the Door and attempted to open it. The Room was locked. I beat upon the heavy Wood with my Fist. “Margaret!” I shouted again. I could not understand her Refusal to let me in. I could not shield My Self from the conceit that perhaps I had hurt her as I had hurt Viviane.

  The Drumming of my Fist merged with the Drumming in mine Ears until it was beyond my Power to tell the one from the other. I thought that I had left Margaret unharmed; but my Senses were in such Disarray I could not be certain. The fact of my Recollection was no Proof of the Event’s Veracity. I was certain of nothing except that she must be within that Room.

  Mine Agitation increasing with every Second in which I received no Reply, I ceased hammering upon the Door, steppt back and kicked it. The dark Oak shuddered, but did not give Way. I re-gathered mine Energies, and attacked it again, this Time with my full Force. There came the Sound of splintering Wood as the Latch within tore from its Fixings, and the Door fell open. I leapt into the Chamber.

  “Margaret!”

  The Room was dim, lit by one Candle burning by the Bed, the Shutters not yet opened. Upon the Bed a female Form cowered against the Pillows in an Attitude of Terrour, Blankets and Counterpane pulled tight up to her Chin, her Mouth a silent O.

  I attempted to come to a stop, but mine own Momentum carried me onwards and I crashed into the Post at the foot of the Bed. I lost my Balance and snatched at the bed Curtain to steady My Self, but slippt over, landing on mine Arse and bringing the Curtain down on top of me. Disentangling My Self, I scrambled to my Feet. The Woman in the Bed had overcome her first Shock. She was sitting upright and as I turned to face her she screamed at the top of her Voice.

  I perceived at once that she was not Margaret. I had not the faintest Notion who she was. I could see that she was of middling Age, somewhat fat, and wearing atop her Head a night-Cap of rose Linen. “Shut up!” I told her. “I want Margaret, not you. Where is she?”

  Right then I became dimly aware of the Shouting of many Voices somewhere to my Rear, and heavy Footsteps pounding up the Stairs. An half-Second later, a rough Hand caught violent hold of my Shoulder and swung me hard about. I almost lost my Footing for the second Time, but regained my Balance and looked upon the Face of mine Assailant.

  It was Joseph Cox; inn Servant, pig-Man. He was come at a Run straight from the Stye, and the sour Stench of Pig rose from him in a vicious Cloud. I steppt backwards, away from him, with an involuntary Shudder. It was not merely the Smell. As I looked upon the Visage of Joseph Cox, I felt mine Entrails twist, as if it were that I looked upon the Face of Evil.

  “What have you done with Margaret?” I demanded.

  The Occupant of the Bedchamber screamed again, this Time more in Rage, I thought, than in genuine Fear. She got up, and from her Perch amid the Pillows began to hurl the Contents of her Bedside in my Direction. She was a poor Shot; more of these Missiles hit her supposed Rescuer than me, altho’ she did succeed in clipping mine Ear with an Hairbrush.

  “What’s Margaret to you?” Cox said, his Lip curling. “Get out of the Lady’s Room, now, Sir, before there’s any Unpleasantness.”

  There was much in the Manner of his saying “Sir” that I did not like.

  “Insolent Brute,” I said.

  “Call me what ‘ee likes,” he said. “I do know what you are.”

  My Stomach clenched in Horrour. I advanced swiftly upon Joe Cox, raising my Fist. “And what is that?”

  But as I strode forward to strike, a second Person steppt out from behind Cox and raised towards my Face the trumpet Muzzle of an antient Blunderbuss. “Now, Master Hart, Sir, you’d best calm down. We ent wantin’ no Trouble, any of us, are we?”

  Looking beyond the Muzzle of the Gunne, I recognised the florid Figure of Haynes the Landlord, clad in a red damask night-Gown and Turban, his Feet slip-shod, his hands quivering upon the Butt of his Weapon. He looked afraid; his Eyes upon the point of leaping from his Head. This perplext me; I was surely more frightened than he, and he was, after all, the one holding the Blunderbuss.

  “I am only come,” I cried, “to learn how it goeth with Margaret and whether she is well.”

  “He keeps a-raving,” exclaimed the Occupant of the Room. “About a Margaret, and I don’t know any Margaret. ’Tis a mad Man he is, escaped from the Bedlam.”

  “Did I not tell you to shut up?” I shouted.

  “Master Hart,” came a Woman’s Voice from the Stairs. “Master Hart, I’m here, and I don’t know what the Row is about.”

  “Margaret!” I cried, starting forwards—only to be prevented by the Landlord Haynes thrusting his thunder Gunne once more at my Person. “Margaret, are you well?”

  “I am well, Master Hart.” A short Pause. Then: “How are you?”

  “Ill,” I said. “Very ill.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Margaret Haynes. “I am sorry to hear that, Sir.”

  “’Tis these damnable Drums,” I told her. “They will not stop. And they cause me to think terrible things. Am I evil, Margaret Haynes?”

  “No, Sir. I doubt you is any worser’n any other Sinner.”

  The Landlord manoeuvred himself and his Blunderbuss to stand behind me, and the Doggesbody Cox behind him, so that the Way was cleared for me to depart from the Room. This I did peaceably enough, now that I was assured of Margaret’s safety. Haynes at once dispatched Joe Cox to alert mine Household as to my Whereabouts. I permitted him to steer me down the Stairs and into the Tavern, where he presst me to understand that we were to sit quiet together to await the pig-Man’s Return.

  From outside in the Yard, the Sound of Voices seeped thro’ the small Window.

  “How daft dost think I am, Joe Cox, to ha’ bin goin’ with a Gentleman? You thinks I wants to end up motherin’ a Bastard like Rebecca Clifton? I ent bin with no Gentlemen an I’ll thank you to take your ugly Nose out of where it’ve got no Right to be.”

  “Idn’ un being a Gentleman that do vex I,” growled the other. “’Tis him bein’ a dirty half-bred Jew. Do it go all the Way down, the Stain o’ Tawny?”

  “Go to Hell.”

  “You do want a
proper Englishman,” said Joseph Cox. “The Likes of I.”

  “Fuck off,” said Margaret Haynes. She returned within, slamming the yard Door after her.

  Joe Cox, in the Yard, began to whistle. I thought: There goeth a Man this World would be better without.

  I leapt to my Feet, thinking that I must find Cox and deal with him. I did not want the Villain anywhere in the Vicinity of my Home. I had a terrible Conviction that he would bring Harm to my Family—perhaps to Jane. But I was too slow; by the Time I had reached the yard Door and pulled it open, the Landlord Haynes had caught mine Arm to bring me back, and the pig-Man had departed. I had not Power to chase him. Horrified Despair overwhelmed me, and I collapsed upon my Knees. I could not get up again, and knelt, Heart pounding, Legs all a-tremble, whilst the Drums rolled on and on.

  * * *

  I was unwell on this Occasion for four Weeks. Altho’ everyone insisted that the infernal Drums that tormented me beat compleatly within the Confines of mine own Head, this Conceit made the Din no easier to bear, and oft-times it drove me to Screaming. Finally, however, they faded as they had done before, and I was left with only their Memory.

  I did not see Margaret again; she went into Service in Oxford before I was able to apologise for the Confusion I had caused. I hoped that she had been able to convince her Father that there had been naught between us.

  At the same time that she told me of Margaret’s Departure, Mrs H. took Pains to acquaint me with the Extent of her Father’s Forbearance towards me, which I had not at the Time thought great. The Landlord Haynes had silenced the Lady whose Repose I had disrupted by waiving her Bill, and scotched any Desire she might have had to call the Constable by pointing out that my Father paid the Constable’s Wages. He believed that mine irrational Conduct had been the Result of strong Wine and youthful Spirits, and put a Stop upon the Mouths of those inclined to impute it to a more serious Cause. Only the broken Latch had he asked my Father to make good, by standing the Expense of its Repair; which was a fair Request, since he had lost full eighteen Pence already on the Lady.

  Mrs H. cautioned me that Haynes’ Restraint was wholly due to the Interest he maintained in being on friendly Terms with my Father. “Who is a good Squire, and not someone Mr Haynes’d want un-neighbourly. You are in your Father’s Debt, Master Tristan; if you had been anyone else, he would never have shewn such fellow Feeling. You are lucky to have been born to such Parentage.”

  Aye, I thought, and ’tis as like that Haynes has a Mind to his future Interest with me, when I shall be the Squire. But I said nothing.

  I received no Newes from Nathaniel, and when I demanded of Mrs H. and my Father why this should be so, received no intelligible Answer. I could not believe that Nat did not want to see me, tho’ secretly I feared it. Instead, I concluded that our Fathers had joined in a Conspiracy to keep us separate, and for this Injury I berated my Father at every Opportunity. He stayed silent.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The cold Spring matured into a warm and humid Summer. I had been obliged more than once to throw off my Frock and perform mine Experiments in my shirt Sleeves with the open Windows draped, rather than endure the harsh Sunne thro’ my study Window. I had stoppt this, however, after the Goose I was working upon escaped.

  Since May Daye I had scarcely left the Hall. I told no one why, for my Cause was not a rational one. Yet every Time I set one Foot without the Close, it seemed as if on every Branch and Blade of quivering Grass was scribed my Mittimus. Transgressor, bend thy Neck before the Axe. I had begun to fear the hunting Owl.

  I nevertheless wanted very much to go up and join Nathaniel who, I had concluded, must have gone already to University. It appeared to me that once I was beyond the Valley of the Horse I should be beyond the Reach of whatever Terrour it was that menaced me. But my Father remained adamant: I should not go; and nothing I could say would move him. I approached mine Aunt, but she was not my Friend in this as she had been in my previous Scheme, as she could see no Virtue in a Gentleman’s attending a University at all. I had, she said, no Need to enter the Church or the Law, and as such a college Education would be worthless. I should better spend mine Energy in improving my Shot.

  I sulked, I pleaded, I argued; my Father refused, he retreated, he gave up speaking to me altogether. By July, Relations between us had reached such a Nadir that neither of us would stand to be in Company with the other, and Jane was forced to sup alone in the dining Room whilst we took our separate Meals upon Trays at odd Houres of the Daye and Night. Jane wept, and wished that she was already married. I understood her Sentiment; Shirelands had become almost as much a Bridewell for her as it had for me.

  Left to My Self, I read, and I re-read, Descartes and Locke. And although it made me sick to do it, I repeated, over and again within mine Imagination, the Events of May Eve. Was it my Mind that was corrupted, or my Soule? I had ceased believing that the two were identical. If there could be discovered some Mechanism within the Brain that was responsible for the Creation of Images; if there could be another that translated Passion into Desire, then perhaps I was neither irrevocably evil nor insane. Like all bodily things, such Processes must be vulnerable to Injury and Disease. The Disorder could be overcome; it would be no more than a broken Wrist, or bloody Fluxes; or the inability to turn Left.

  I feared, without admitting it, the Possibility that I was intirely wrong.

  * * *

  My Father had not recognised my Existence for two Weeks, so it was with considerable Astonishment and no less Disgust that I received thro’ Mrs H. his Summons to attend him forthwith in his Library.

  “I shall not,” I told her. I was studying Locke’s Essay and I had no desire to break off. “I have much Reading to do. There is, by the by, a great Amount of Dust upon this Skeleton Case; you must have stern Words with Martha about it.”

  “Master Tristan, the Squire says there is to be no shall-nots. He says there is a Gentleman he’d like for you to meet and who is pressing keen to be introduced to you.”

  “He said so? Egad, ’tis rare for a talking Ass to use so many Words. Tell my Father that if the Gentleman wish to see me he must attend me in my Study, as I have no Desire to intrude into his.”

  “Master Tristan, please.”

  “No,” I said. I altered my Voice, pitching it in scornful Imitation of my Father’s toneless Mutter. “’Tis my final Word. I am adamant. Importune me no longer.”

  “’Tis your filial Duty, Sir,” said Mrs H.

  “It could have been,” I answered her, “if he had ever fulfilled the paternal Part towards me. In Truth, I know not whose Son I am, for he hath never given me much Cause to believe that I am his.”

  “Young Sir,” retorted Mrs H. severely, “you go too far. Your Father is a good Man.”

  “Oh, I know how you doat on him.”

  “Sir!”

  “Look at me!” I shouted, standing up, and slamming down the Book. “Am I a Child, to be summoned and chastised? Tell my Father to hang himself!”

  This Ejaculation on my Part was met by a sharp Intake of Breath from Mrs H. “I shall tell him,” she said, “that he is the unfortuate Sire to the most unworthy Son, who will not come down even when it would be to his Benefit, who sulks and complains and cries the most terrible things against a Father who hath never done aught by him but Good. I shall tell him—”

  I realised then that I had, for once, gone too far; with Mrs H. at least. I could not risk damaging mine Interest with her. I did not doubt that if we were to fall out, I should require her Assistance with something immediately after, and regret the Altercation. Damn, I thought. This means that I shall have to see my Father.

  “Oh, I am sorry!” I cried, vaulting over the Back of my Sopha and putting both Arms about her scrawny Shoulders. “I am truly the most ungrateful Wretch, and I should not have spoken so. You know the Cause of it, his cruel Intractability, Mrs H.”

  Mrs H., who had started violently when I had leapt across the Sopha, slowly relaxed a
nd with an heavy Sigh patted me upon the Back, as if I had been an Infant. “Come now, Master Tristan,” she said. “That’s enow. Your Father is awaiting.”

  I argued no longer, altho’ I had no greater a Desire to see my Father now than I had before, and permitted Mrs H. to accompany me down-Stairs to his Door.

  In four Yeares, I had visited within my Father’s Library only once, which had been upon the Occasion of his telling me that Jane was betrothed to James Barnaby. I repeat that he was telling me; for this must have been the Case despite the Fact that three Quarters of his Remarks were addresst to a Space several Inches above my left Ear, and the Remainder to the window Sill. Once he had done, he had immediately returned to his Papers as if I was no longer present, and I had stood for some Minutes in a bewildered Silence before Mrs H. had led me out again. I feared the Prospect of a similar Interview todaye.

  I need not have worried; when Mrs H. opened the library Door the Scene that met mine Eyes was, by my Father’s Standards, a chearful one. My Father, clad yet in his customary Black, which all mine Aunt’s Encouragements had failed to get him to give up, sate in an Armchair before the empty Grate smoaking pipe Tobacco. The Windows were open, the dark Curtains pulled back, and in the strong Sunnelight a hundred thousand dust Motes seemed as if to dance upon the swift Notes of a Wren, cascading from the ivied Wall outside. Beside the Window stood a well-built Man of perhaps my Father’s Age, clad in a plain grey Waistcoat and Breeches, and leaning his considerable Weight upon a sturdy walking Stick that could easily have doubled as a small Cudgel. He was not unpleasant of Countenance, despite his having an uncommonly long Nose with a severe Bend in it. Mine Eyes opened wide as I apprehended his Height, which was within an Inch or so of mine own.

  “Mr Fielding,” said my Father, waving his Pipe in my general Direction. “My Son.”

  “Well, now,” said Mr Fielding, turning to me and beckoning me forwards. “Step into the Light, Boy, and let me take a good Look at you. Egad, Sir; he is the Picture of his Mother. And like her in other Ways, I understand?” This Last addresst to me; but as I had not the faintest Idea what he was talking about, I frowned, and shrugged one Shoulder.