by Vanessa Tait
‘Try to copy Alexander’s hand. If that is what you need to have your plan come right. I have the weight behind me, at least.’
‘Oh! Yes – yes, you do have a stronger hand, you may do better. But Alexander’s hand is strange, I cannot get the loops, or the S or the B, or the C.’
Rebecca went to light another candle and Gabe took up the pen, squinting in the gloom. ‘He must run through a great many nibs.’
‘But your attempt is much better than mine already! Look there, that g looks quite alike.’
‘Let me try some more.’
An owl hooted, once, and then the sound was Gabe’s breathing and the nib scratching away at the scrap of paper. His tongue stuck a little way out of his mouth as he worked, and again, Rebecca’s heart twisted to see it – the diligent schoolboy!
After a bit he looked up at her and grinned. ‘It is not bad labour this. I am good at being someone else, look.’ He held the paper up for her to see.
‘Why, it is almost exactly alike, and so quick to do it!’
‘’Tis not bad, though I say it myself. Shall I do more?’
‘Yes, please – that G there is perhaps a little too rounded, and the odd way Alexander forms his Vs, that might be hardest of all. But then I think no one would know the difference!’
Gabe squinted down again. ‘There now – how about this?’
‘Just a little sharper – and the V – it does not join properly – there now – well done, Gabe – it is perfect! Oh, perhaps my plan has a chance after all! But it may take most of the night – are you tired?’
‘Not at all. This is easier labour by far than the tannery.’
‘Will you help me, then? For there is still so much to do.’
‘I should be glad to, gladder than anything,’ said Gabe, his cheeks flushed. ‘Even if it should take up the whole night.’
CHAPTER 29
It did not take all night, but they laboured long into it, working side by side. Rebecca dictated and Gabriel wrote, pausing only to flex his hand or throw more logs onto the fire, until at last Rebecca said that for all its imperfections the work was done.
She fell into bed then, and slept, but it seemed only moments later that the window rattled loud enough to make her sit straight up out of bed -– it was hailing – and she had overslept. Everything was ruined! She had no way of knowing the time in here. Rebecca threw off the covers and went to the window, rubbing her eyes, they had grit in them.
She looked up at the sky. The cloud was too thick to tell where the sun might be. It was low, anyway, at this time of year. But a whistle sounded out from beneath her – the boy, with a pea-shooter, waving his cap at her.
‘Thank you, yes, I am awake!’ She waved at him through the glass. And now she saw that there was a factory boy on his way to work, and a girl straightening her cap and going round the back of the next-door house, to start her day’s work.
She had an hour then, before Alexander would leave the house for the Society, even if he left early, as she knew he would. Rebecca went to the stove and made herself a little tea, and breathed into the steam. She picked up the cat and rubbed his whiskers. She thought about cooking an egg, but her heart was hammering too hard to eat.
Calm now, courage! She had put in motion half her plan. Now for the final part. She took off her nightgown and hurried to shrug on her chemise and her gown, shivering against the cold. She had washed her old dress herself, the one she had fled her house in, with soap meant for washing hands, and she had not lifted all the smell away from the bodice. Never mind, it was better than before, and a dress that was not quite clean would help her cause too.
Now where to put her papers? Oh, she had not thought of that! She had only the reticule, or the bag, both lent by Gabriel – too big or too small. Under her cloak – but they might be seen if she had to take it off. No, her bodice, that was the only place, wrapped around her ribcage – careful now to crush them! Smooth them down and now fumble with the hooks and now slowly, carefully, downstairs, all the time her heart banging like piano keys. ‘No, Kitty, you must not follow me. ’Tis not safe for cats.’ She pushed open the door and prodded the cat back inside.
She rang on the bell again and heard, behind the door, a shout: Alexander’s voice. And then the shuffling steps of Mrs Bunclarke, looking befuddled as she pulled open the door.
‘Who is it?’ called Alexander from the dining room.
‘Your wife, sir, come back home from her aunt’s.’
The sound of a chair being pushed back. ‘Rebecca, you say?’
Rebecca stood up on her toes, took a breath, and ran towards his voice, meaning to launch herself at him. Alexander, too, had got up to see her, so she met him sooner than she thought, in the doorway, awkwardly, where she fell onto his chest, keeping the side with the papers away from him.
He staggered back, in horror or surprise.
‘Oh husband, forgive me! I have been a fool. You were right, in everything you said. It was only my own stupidity, which prevented me from seeing it. I am a woman, after all! But now I have had time to reflect, and I have come to see that you are right.’
‘What’s all this?’
She was glad to see his face was not furious but bewildered. His eyes were red-rimmed, as if he had not slept either. He had shaved his face bare again but behind it he was thinner, his cheeks more sallow.
‘I have come to see that you are right about all of it,’ she said again, reaching out her hand and touching his neck. He flinched. ‘I am grateful, I know you hold only my best interests at heart! I …’ She let her voice falter. ‘I … can hardly believe that I could have done such a thing to you. Are you recovered? I see that you are. And to think that I hurt you! Husband, I am sorry. Only … I was afraid. But I see now that anything you had in store for me would be right.’ Pray God he did not bring out another syringe and try it again, straight away.
But now Rebecca saw the use in being married to a husband so dogged.
‘I knew you would see the truth of it. I am only surprised that you did not see it at once. If anything the wound you gave me convinces me further that I am on the right path.’
Rebecca nodded, keeping her eyes on the knot in the floorboard.
‘I know where you have been. And who you have been with.’ He spoke very reasonably, but a pulse jumped in his temple.
‘Oh husband, I can explain, ’tis only—’
‘You have been with your aunt, the cook told me. But why you had to leave in that manner—’
‘I needed to think things over!’ Her heart jumped with relief. ‘And I see the error in my part of it, as I said, and I am determined to be a good wife.’
Alexander passed a hand over his eyes. ‘I am glad to hear you say it at last. But I am afraid I cannot concern myself with you today. I must prepare myself.’
‘Why, what happens today, husband?’
‘It is a great day for me – for Mr Badcock and me. It is our lecture at the Royal Society, and I must get ready for it.’
Rebecca watched his face. But there was nothing in it to suggest that he had missed his papers the night before. She let out a little breath. ‘Ah yes, I forgot. What is it that you are talking about?’
P’raps she had gone too far, for he looked at her sharply. But seeing nothing in her face he said, for he could not help himself: ‘Mr Badcock and I are giving a talk about nothing short of human happiness, or rather, female happiness! Men’s happiness lies in other directions.’
‘Well!’ Would clasping her hands together give the right wifely vision? It would, she saw it in his smile, though, she was also glad to see, there was something strained around the corner of his lips. And even though his face was bare again, he had missed patches of hair here and there, and had cut himself on the cheek.
She let the tremor come into her voice. ‘I need my medicine, though, before you go.’
‘Yes yes,’ he said. ‘You may have to wait until this evening. I don’t know if I have the syri
nge here.’
‘But p’raps, husband dear,’ she cut in quickly, ‘as I do tremble so at the injection, could I revert to my draught? At least, till you have managed to get another syringe?’
‘Your salts, you mean?’ He let out a sigh. ‘If you like. You will have to find them for yourself.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘I am following the time very closely, and I must meet Mr Badcock at the Society in less than an hour.’
‘But, are they here? For I fear I will sicken, and then …’ Tears came easily to her eyes. If he did not tell her where they were, all would be lost.
‘What have you been taking, at your aunt’s? Laudanum, I suppose. Take some more of that, for today.’
‘But – the laudanum is as nothing compared to your medicine, your salts. I can run to the pharmacy and return. Do you not need it for your lecture?’
He looked at her now, surprised. ‘I do have a bottle here, for that purpose, yes. How did you know?’
Rebecca put her hand to her neck and pulled at her collar. ‘I thought as much,’ she said quickly, ‘when you told me the subject of your talk. Your invention is the best thing of the age, is it not?’
He scratched at his cheek. ‘Yes, yes it is.’ He blinked. ‘I suppose there would be no harm in you taking a little, though you will have to measure it yourself. You have seen me do it often enough. It is in the parlour, on the mantel.’
Rebecca went to the sideboard and took up a glass. She filled it with a little water and went to the next room, to the parlour. There it was, just the sight of the blue bottle made saliva run into her throat again, as if she might be sick.
Come now, calm! She took up the bottle with a trembling hand, uncorked it, and tipped out the crystals into the glass. Had she put too much? She squinted into the depths of the bottle. More than she had been used to taking. Oh, it would have to do, she could not pinch it all up and put it back!
Now, swirl the water about, and about, until it is dissolved. ‘Thank you,’ she called. ‘I have it here. I will bring it through.’
She came into the dining room again with the glass, her fingers covering the bottom of it in case all the salts had not dissolved, and put the bottle near his plate, forcing her breath to come evenly. ‘Here is the rest of it, husband, for your lecture. Would you like some more coffee?’
‘Coffee, no. I must go up.’
‘But husband, you cannot go out to speak without coffee! You need it to stimulate the brain.’
‘Do not fuss,’ he said. But he had a little piece of kipper still on his plate and he turned to that and put it on his fork. ‘Let me fetch you some,’ she said in a trembling voice. She took the coffee pot to the sideboard and stood with her back to him, barely breathing, wondering if Alexander’s eyes were fixed on her.
If they were, he was still eating, she heard the scrape of his knife and fork across the plate.
She opened the lid of the pot pretending to look inside. ‘Oh, I am being foolish! I think your day at the Society is affecting me too! There is quite enough coffee in here.’ Enough dregs too, to disguise the taste of the draught. She dare not look back, not now. Keeping her elbows close in to her side, and almost fainting with fear, she swirled the salts about the glass and quickly tipped it into the coffee pot.
When she turned around again Alexander was looking down at the newspaper, but ineffectually, turning page after page. She picked up the pot, her hand quivering so hard that the top of the coffee pot rattled in its groove, and brought it to him.
‘Here it is, husband,’ she said, as bright as she could, pouring him as much liquid as could fit into the cup. ‘It may be a little cold, and I’m not sure that Mrs Bunclarke made it rather strong today, it tasted a little bitter.’
Alexander closed up the paper and pushed it away. And then – thank God for his nerves! – without looking at it, he picked up his coffee and flung it down his throat.
He grimaced. ‘You are right. It is bitter. You’d best speak to Mrs Bunclarke about ordering different beans.’
Rebecca waited until he had gone upstairs, and then, quickly now, she crept across the hall, holding her breath at the creak of a board – what if Alexander were to come downstairs and see her outside the door of the study? She turned the handle, holding tight onto the knob as if she could force it to go quietly, her hand slipping on the brass. Now she must unfasten her bodice, but her fingers were trembling too hard to do it!
She stopped her breath. Forced her hands still. First one hook, and then the other. Now she had enough space to pull up the papers out of her bodice, still warm, and put them back on his desk. Gabe’s hand was good – it looked very like. But the papers curled a little from where they had bent around her body. She could do nothing about it. Alexander would return downstairs at any moment.
Rebecca ran back to the parlour and sat on the sofa, all her attention pointed towards the stairs. Soon enough she heard Alexander come down and go to the study. He was in there an age, more than an age!
But here he was now, in the hall, putting on his coat, the papers in that bag there.
Rebecca leapt up. ‘Are you leaving? But will you let me accompany you, as far as the Mound? For I would so like to stay with you. It is my duty, I think, to provide succour, is it not?’
‘Accompany you?’ He was buttoning up his coat.
‘Accompany you as far as the Mound. Look, you have done this button up wrong.’ Rebecca re-did his button and stepped back to reach for her cloak. She did not have to go with him now, but she could not bear to stay at home without knowing if it had all gone off as she had planned.
But Alexander said: ‘You stay at home. The Royal Society is no place for you.’
‘Are women not allowed?’
‘I doubt it. And I don’t think you should listen to the lecture,’ he said, taking up his Gladstone bag. ‘Wish me luck!’ And he smirked at her.
The smirk, she knew, signified that he would be talking about her, and Evangeline. He thought it funny! Oh, she could not stay indoors, not now! She must know whether he was to be brought down, or whether he would come back triumphant, if he had learned his speech off by heart – pray God he had not! Or whether he would suspect her and come back this time to do her real harm. Rebecca reached for her bonnet and stuffed her hair up underneath without any pins, and drew on her gloves and her cloak.
Outside it was not raining, but it was damp enough, as if the air itself contained water. The sky leached the colour from the houses, from the pavement, even from Alexander, as he strode on round the corner, working his mouth and worrying his lip.
They passed along several streets, Rebecca keeping well behind, for she knew the way to the Mound. Now he turned to cross the street, only, without looking, he plunged straight into the road, into the path of a velocipede, a great wheeled thing, the young man up on top dressed in boots and breeches.
The young man swerved violently and shouted out a curse. The velocipede swung off to the right, into the path of a brougham, the horse reared up.
‘Hey, hey!’ shouted the driver.
Alexander was flung back to the kerb and sat on it in a daze, his hand pressed to his forehead.
‘Damn you!’ shouted the young man again, leaning forward over the handlebars and swerving off to the other direction.
Rebecca stopped, her hand before her mouth. Was he hurt? Would he still go on? A woman, a servant by the look of her, took Alexander’s arm. ‘Are you all right, sir?’
‘These damned velocipedes! They ought never to have been invented.’ Even from where Rebecca stood she could hear the thickness in his voice.
‘Should you like to get up?’
‘Yes, get up.’ He let the woman pull him to his feet. ‘Thank you. I am distracted this morning.’
‘Yes, you are distracted, nearly got yourself killed!’ She brushed off his trouser leg.
‘Oughtae look where he steps, the next time!’ said the driver, pulling himself back on top of the carriage with a grunt.
&n
bsp; ‘I don’t think I slept enough last night,’ he said, leaning on her quite heavily. ‘I feel slow, slower than usual. No doubt it will clear. Thank you, madam, much obliged.’
But it did not clear, of course. Alexander’s steps grew slower the nearer they drew to the Mound. Even Rebecca’s steps began to falter at the sight of the grandness of the building, its pillars ranked along the front portico as if they had been transported back to Ancient Greece. Mr Badcock was waiting for Alexander at the top of the many steps, chewing on his glove. ‘You are late! Let us go in,’ he said, putting his watch back into his pocket. But over Alexander’s shoulder his eyes met Rebecca’s.
‘What is she doing here?’ he hissed.
‘Rebecca?’ Alexander half-turned around.
‘Never mind, we are very near to being late, Alexander, hmm? Are you well? You look out of sorts.’
‘I think I have been afflicted by something,’ said Alexander.
Rebecca held her breath. Would he know the symptoms of his own medicine when he had asked so much about its effects of everyone else? Then he would turn on her, and would not go in, and everything would be lost.
‘A cold or influenza, something making my head slow. It is the time of year. Have I a fever?’
Rebecca smiled. Mr Badcock put his hand to Alexander’s forehead. ‘There is no heat, some moisture. Nerves, I should say, quite understandable, yes? But we ought to go in.’
Now she must wait for them both to go through the main doors and try to slip in herself. If she were turned back for being a woman, she would have to wait outside, but no, as soon as she went in she saw there was another woman in the audience. But she kept her bonnet on, which was plain and with a broad rim, to hide from the men underneath.
Most of the audience were already waiting, men drawn from the medical profession, the pharmacists in black jackets and waistcoats, black bowties and cravats. Several had notebooks and pencils hovering over them sharpened to a point. But there was one woman, with black feathers in her hat.
‘A proud day for you, is it, Mrs Palmer?’ said Mrs Shrivenham, turning in her seat.
