by Wolf, Jack
So Bloody Bones puts his Spurs into his Horse’s sides, and he gallops all the Way over the Moor towards where he hath heard his Leonora’s Voice. But his Way was blocked by an Hundred Goblins with sharp Teeth who wanted to Capture him too and drink up all his Bloode.
Bloody Bones draws his Pistols and Shoots two full Score of them Dead as they come, and their Bodies lay vile and Stinking upon the Moor, rotting away till there was no more Sign of them. But many More attackt him and they pulled him Down from his Horse, which they slew most Horribly. So Bloody Bones draws his Sword and fights on right Manfully, Cleaving the Sculls of many Goblins from their Shoulders, and splitting still more Compleatly down the Middle, like Logs for the Fire. The Goblin Bloode was Terrible for it scorched Bloody Bones like ice-water, and his Fine Cloathes began for to Smoake. And still he cryes: O, Leonora, my Love, feare not, for I come, I come!
He fought so Long and so Furiously that the Goblin Hoarde fell apart, and ran Screaming for their Lives all across the Moor, scattering like Ashes blown before a Mighty Gale.
Then Bloody Bones strode up to the Cave where the Goblin Knight kept his dear Leonora Prisoner. And he is gonne in and Lo, before him is Raw Head himself, who hath become the High Prince over all Goblins. And Raw Head he hath bound Leonora to a Chair, and he is supping her Bloode from a White Baysin. But Bloody Bones hath such a Fearsome Phrenzy on him that he easily defeats this most Wicked of all Foes, and he stabs him thro’ the Chest to cut out his Heart, but the Goblin hath not one. So Bloody Bones pulled off his Head with his bare Hands so that the redd Bloode spouted from his Necke. Then Leonora throws herself into the Arms of her Deare Husband, and they Kissed and Embrac’d each other, never to be Parted ever again.
Then the bold Sunne began to Sett, and Bloody Bones was transfixt by Mortall Feare that she would love him not. But Leonora had learned long ago to See beyond meere Appearances, and she knew him for her Husband whom she Adored right well, and she Promises to do Anything he Wishes. So they returned Home across the Moor to his Estate, and Never were they parted ever Again.
As soon as I had finished the Tale, I took it up again and read it thro’ from the Beginning to the End. I traced the Shapes made by Katherine’s Quill with my Fingers; here, and here, and here, she had lifted her Goose feathered Pen from the Paper and dippt it in her Ink, for these Stroakes immediately after were thick, and very black. Here, the Ink had drippt, and she had blown upon the Page to blot it. I held the Paper to my Lips to taste the Fragrance of her Breath. When I closed mine Eyes, it seemed as if her cool, soft Lips presst light against mine own.
I murmured her Name, again, again: Katherine.
Dear God, if she were but here with me, now, lying beside me on this Bed! Mine Hands ached for the Touch of her, the delicate Skin—as I imagined—of her inner Thigh—the blonde Curls—for they must be blonde—of her Mons Pubis—the warm Wetness between her opening Legs.
My God, I thought, if she were here—if she—
Once I had regained my Composure, I took up my Quill and settled My Self at mine Escritoire to pen a Reply. It was short, curt enough to deceive any of the Ravenscrofts who might lay Hands upon it, and in its old fashioned secret Italics, I hoped intirely to my Point:
Dear Miss Montague,
I am happy to learn that Mrs Ravenscroft is satisfied by your improved Behaviour, and I trust that you will keep to your Word in this Matter as in all others. I greatly enjoyed your little Phantasy of the unforgettable Leonora, who hath overcome the terrifying Raw Head with the help of her loving Bloody Bones. However, there is still an occasional solecistic Rusticity in your Grammar and Phraseology which you must strive to overcome, and your Handwriting is childish and inelegant. One Houre’s careful Practice every Daye, until your Fingers ache, should remedy this latter Deficiency.
I am greatly concerned at your Suggestion that you will be travelling Post. I trust that your Uncle will make sure to send a Servant with you. If he doth not intend to do this, remark upon it to Mrs Barnaby, and she will have one of the Hall Servants accompany you.
Yours, etc,
Tristan Hart.
I sealed the Letter, and addressing it to Miss Montague, at the Rectory, Collerton, Berkshire, I unlocked my Door and called for Liza to send it by the Return of Post.
* * *
The Months after my brief Sojourn in Berkshire pulsed by in a steady Rhythm. The Hospitals kept me busy; every Morn I rose at six and hurried from Bow Street to Southwark or Smithfield, as I would work alternate Dayes at each Establishment. I assisted upon the Wards from seven until nine; then after a short Breakfast I would operate, after a minor Fashion, until eleven, when Dr Hunter would arrive and I would watch him operate, and fetch and carry for him until one or two. During the Afternoons, if I was lucky, I was able to quit the Hospital and follow Dr Hunter into his private Practice until five, after which I would return to check up on the Progress of mine own Patients. I dealt with Innkeepers, Merchants, Footmen, and Shoemakers’ Wives, Beggars and Vagrants; clean Cases, dirty Cases—those suffering from any of the venereal Diseases, who were kept apart in their own Wards—Injuries, and sometimes, Incurables; altho’ the Governors of both Hospitals refused to allow these to remain after three Months, and the City, in the Event of their being treated on its Purse, refused to pay. I became a confident Dresser of Wounds, Lancer of Boils, Manager of Whitlows and Resetter of Dislocations. I watched—and I envied—the Removal of Tumours, the Closing of Fistulae, the Amputation of Limbs above the Joint and below it. I did not usually return to Mr Fielding’s House before nine.
Naturally, my Visits to Mrs Haywood’s Establishment were no longer as numerous as they had been; most Weeks I was too busy to pay Polly more than a quarter-Houre’s Call; but my reduced Interest was neither intirely due to Lack of Time nor to the Fact that I now had real Subjects for mine Investigation. The Truth was that in every Scream, in every Cry, I heard the tormenting Echo of that One which I had not: my Darling’s own.
“Tell mee what I must do,” she had written; and so tell her I did; weekly, twice weekly, at length daily, even tho’ I had warned her not to expect many Letters. I wrote to her demanding petty and trivial Improvements to her Behaviour, to her Grammar, her Manner of Walking, and her Mode of Dress—which Improvements, once achieved, I invariably decried. She wrote to me every Morning when she arose to reassure me of her determined Efforts to succeed and her continuing Progress—and also, sometimes, to seek mine Approbation of some devious Means she had herself devised for her own Punishment, if, and when, she should have failed to please.
I was falling in Love; and thro’out all my Limbs and Organs Joy flowed immeasurable. I did not know whether any of the Fielding Family had guessed wherefore. That I did not tell them was not due to any Fear that they might despise my Choice; for as mine Aunt had remarked, Henry Fielding, at least, could have nothing to say upon that Point. I feared rather that they might, in their collective Pleasure at my potentially altered State, let the Story slip to my Father, by whom it must certainly come to my Aunt; and she would be sure to interfere against me.
To Mr Glass, however, whose Christian Name, I soon learned, was Erasmus, I discovered My Self to be an open Book. Perhaps half-open, for altho’ Erasmus’ Wits were sharp and his Insight penetrating, he had led an innocent Life in Comparison with mine own, and if he knew of the theoretical Existence of my particular Vice, he did not think to connect its Praxis in any Way with me. He guessed quickly, however, at the Existence of someone dear to mine Heart, and challenged me upon it.
We had passed the Afternoon together in the Hospital, witnessing the Excoriation of three facial Tumours and an high Lithotomy performed at nigh Cheseldenian Speed. These had awarded a pleasing Distraction to mine Eyes, tho’ the Lithotomy had left Erasmus rather pale; thro’out the long, slow Morning I had spent tedious Houres about the lancing of Abscesses, the Reparation of Ruptures, and the cleaning of Ulcers. At about half-past seven o’ the Clock, we were both of us just upon the point
of leaving to go home when Dr Hunter arrived unexpectedly, and called us to assist him in an emergency Resetting of a fractured lower Mandible. The Patient, who was a wealthy city Merchant, had had the Misfortune to have been kicked in the Face, according to his Wife, by his own Horse. This Custom was all to the Good for Dr Hunter, who was to be heartily recompensed for the Inconvenience; but I had been busy about the Hospital since Dawn, and I was tired and irritable.
The Injury, which had occurred within the Houre, was not threatening to Life, altho’ the ragged Break was in a difficult and delicate Position on the lower Maxilla hard by the Trigeminal Nerve. Erasmus made certain that the night-time Theatre was exceptionally well lit, whilst I ensured Provision of Lint and Curette. Dr Hunter inspected the Area closely and then carefully removed a Quantity of bony Fragments from the torn Muscle, before turning the afflicted Area over to Erasmus and My Self that we should set, bathe, and close the Wound. By now it was nearing nine, and Dr Hunter, assessing our Progress to have been sound, left to seek his Dinner.
Erasmus and My Self being as ravenous as he, it did not take long for us to finish with the Merchant, who left the Hospital in Company with his Wife and Son and his Jaw bound up so tightly in a linen Turban that he could not speak. I warned his Family that it was unlike that he would be able to converse freely, or to consume anything more substantial than Soup, for a considerable while. To my Surprize, they seemed absurdly happy about this, as if his Silence had been an added Beneficence on my Part; but verily I could not have cared less whether I had bandaged Cicero, or Mr Punch.
The November Aire was foggy, a thick smoaky Dampe spreading all across the low lying City in a foul Cloud that all Daye had not lifted. It seemed to me to have been of that Species of Strength-sapping Cold which, tho’ not freezing in itself, penetrates inward to chill the Lungs, and to congeal the Spirits. If Descartes had been right, and mine Heart’s Function had been that of a Crucible, it should have had a Promethean Task in front of it.
The Atmosphere within the George Inn, tho’, to which Erasmus and My Self retired, was warm and friendly, the Aire suffused by a wispy Haze of tallow-Light and the red Echo of the slowly burning Coals. The Place was busy; whilst Erasmus sought the Attention of the Landlord, I elbowed a Path thro’ to a Table beside the Fire, and with a Nod and a few subtile Intimations, secured Possession of it. As we dried ourselves out over a brisk Dinner and a shared Jug of warmed dark Ale, Erasmus told me of his Fancy to take up a Position as a Ship’s Surgeon bound for Kingstown, where he meant to set himself up as Physician to the Planters.
“Wherefore should you wish to do that?” I asked, sitting upright in my Surprize. “I have heard that the Climate is unforgiving, and the People not at all friendly. You would do better, Erasmus, were you to enter Business here as a man Midwife. You have a most confiding Manner, and the Ladies are soothed by you.”
“Oh,” said Erasmus. “But then I should be forced to compete with the good Doctor and his Ilk, who put me to Shame. I should have to practise outside of London to have any Trade at all; and I had leifer not be a country Surgeon, setting gentlemanly Splints all my Life. Dr Oliver hath intimated that he could mayhap find me a Position in St Luke’s, but I have little fancy for that. I shall hie me to the Plantations, and at least see something of the World.”
“Yet,” I persisted, “’twill be a Wrench to leave behind your native Soil.”
“A small Wrench,” confesst Erasmus. “Truly, Tristan, I have little Reason to remain. I have always known that I would have to make mine own Way in the World. My Father told me when I was six that he should leave his Business to mine older Brother, and naught for me. I am glad. I should have made a poor Apothecary.” Erasmus took a long Swig of his Ale, and then, finding that he had emptied his Tankard, lifted the brown Jug and refilled it, foaming, to the Brim.
“You have poured that too quick,” I said.
Erasmus smiled, and put his Mugg gently down to rest upon the Tabletop until the Storm within it should abate. “You, I think,” said he, “have more Reason to stay than your Expectations.”
“How so?”
“There is a Woman, is there not?”
I stared at him. “Egad. How did you know?”
“Your Features, Sir, are most expressive. Oft-times have I watched them soften and your Gaze become quite distant from the thing in front of you. Yours is the Countenance of a Man in Love, I’ll wager.”
My first Reaction to Erasmus’ Words was to resolve better to control my Physiognomy in the Future. But as I opened my Mouth to speak, the Tavern’s cellar-Man, his Expression as meek as his Action was disruptive, made impossible mine immediate Denial by the sudden rattling Discharge of half a Scuttle’s worth of Coals into the Fire. The red Gleam vanished, and an heavy Bloom of Smoake billowed outwards from the Grate. I coughed violently, and in no uncertain Terms berated him for his idiot Clumsiness.
Then, in the Moment’s Grace provided by this Irruption, I realised that altho’ I had spoken to no living Soule about mine Understanding with Katherine, that as far as I had Power over the Secret, it was compleat, I longed to speak of her to anyone who might listen. Erasmus Glass, I then perceived, was so wholly separate from the Affair that telling him would risk nothing. Moreover, he was naturally reserved, and ill disposed to Gossip even when the Case affected his own Interest. He was, in fact, the perfect Confidant; had I created him to the Purpose he could not have been better.
So, as the Flames began to overpower and then to consume their fresh Fuel, I began the Tale; and over the Passage of the next two Houres I revealed the intire Story—leaving out only some few vicious Details involving Blood and Pain that I knew would be jarring to Erasmus’ Sensibilities. I told him of Katherine’s young Age, and her Relationship to the Rector, and the potent Attraction that had sprung up, so unexpectedly, between us. The Inn was all but empty by the Time I had reached mine End, and the Fire had burned again quite low. Erasmus was somewhat shocked by my Revelation that I must keep the Truth from my Father.
“Do you fear that he will cut you off?” he asked. In the paltry Candlelight, his grey Eyes seemed darkened Wells, and his Voice was serious.
“I am unsure,” I told him. “I think not, but I dare not attempt it for another Reason. There is no Engagement yet in Place and it would be the easiest thing for my Family to have Katherine hidden where I cannot find her. She is almost friendless; her Mother seems to have little Appreciation of her Value, and I have no Knowledge at all of her other Uncle. Certainly, the Ravenscrofts would sooner cast her off than lose my Father’s Approbation.”
“’Tis difficult,” Erasmus said, with a Grimace. “You have my Sympathies, Tristan.”
I thanked him honestly for that; then, since it was nearly eleven, and we were both expected back at Bart’s in the Morning, we departed from the George, and headed thro’ the dismal Streets to our individual Lodgings as rapidly as we could.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Six Dayes after Christmas-tide, it being the Opinion of the Government that it could alter Time by legal Decree, the Yeare of our Lord seventeen fifty-one ended, to the great Confusion of the Uneducated; it was barely two hundred and eighty-one Dayes old, and ought not to have died so soon. The only immediate Consequence to me was that, as I had been born in late January, I had now seemingly to have gained an extra Yeare, and should by the reckoning of the calendar have turned two-and-twenty instead of one. Altho’ I knew for certain that this clerkish Dislocation of Time by Human Agency could have no Effect upon Reality, I felt strangely uncomfortable, for it seemed to me as if my coming of Age had taken place in a Time that was, in some peculiar Manner, outside of itself—and so I perceived that I had in some bizarre Sense simultaneously attained, exceeded, and failed to attain my Majority.
Because I had not, despite my Sister’s Exhortations, returned to Berkshire for Christmas, I had not seen my Father or any Members of my Family since the previous June. Upon my Birthdaye I received, in addition to a very lengthy Epist
le from Jane, a cursory Missive from my Father explaining his Intention to settle upon me an Allowance of four hundred Pounds a Yeare for as long as I should choose to remain in London, unmarried, and without the Necessity for any greater Sum. I was staggered by this, and a Kernel of Shame began to germinate within me as I considered mine Inability to face my Father. I regretted the cowardly Spirit that had prevented me from so doing, for it broke clear upon me now that my Father, despite his apparent Reluctance to have aught to do with me, was neither Villain nor Ogre. I remembered his muttered Words concerning me to mine Aunt in the Carriage, and I began to question whether, in Truth, we were not more alike than I had realised.
My Work about the Hospitals grew ever more exacting, and mine Houres ever longer. I did not consider My Self overworked, for the simple Fact that I was about the Practice of Medicine thrilled me beyond any Thought of Tiredness. But I had noticed that I could no longer recognise, with any Clarity, the Faces of my Patients. I told no one this.
I was engaged, very late one Afternoon, about resetting the dislocated Wrist of an Apprentice who had fallen from a Scaffold, when Erasmus came to find me. I had been, as usual, about the Hospitals since the early Morning, and mine Eyes and Head were devilish sore, but I greeted him as affectionately as I could, and asked what was the Matter.
“Dr Oliver,” he said, “is this Evening to perform a Trepanation upon a Melancholic who hath intirely lost his Reason, and he sent me to inquire whether you might wish to witness the Operation.”
“Why,” I exclaimed. “I should be astonished if Melancholy, which is surely a Disorder of the Mind, will be cured by an Operation.”
“Your general Instinct is sound,” Erasmus answered. “But Dr Oliver believes that this Man’s Condition hath its Onset in an heavy Blow to the Head he sustained some Yeares since, which hath resulted in the Presence of mortified Tissue beneath the Cranium, that he hopes Trepanation shall remove.”
