‘No. Nor my sanction to commit me to the cost of it.’ He chuckled. ‘It is as well Annie has waited this long to marry. I have needed the years since you left us to put aside sufficient capital to fund the venture.’
‘I believe Mr Drew is a good man,’ I said, aware of the hint of contrast with my own choice of husband. ‘You will not regret the expenditure, Papa.’
‘Let us sincerely hope not. At least it has had the happy consequence of luring you from your seclusion in Dorset.’
‘I required no luring,’ I objected with a smile.
‘And yet it is a rarity, is it not?’ He rose, ambled across to me and softly pinched my cheek. ‘Why do we see so little of you?’
‘The journey is a troublesome one. And Jos can seldom spare the carriage. So, since he will not hear of me travelling by public coach—’
‘He could bring you himself, my dear.’ Father’s grin faded. ‘He was invited.’
‘Alas, business required him to be in London.’
‘Business? Does it really need to be so very brisk for a man of his means?’
‘So he tells me, Papa.’
‘And you remain a loyal wife. Yes, Yes.’ He nodded solemnly and took a half turn towards the window. ‘It does you credit, of course.’
‘There is nothing for you to be concerned about.’
‘I wish I could believe that. When I think of you, as I do more often than you can know, immured at Gaunt’s Chase at the whim and mercy of a man who, from all I hear—’ He broke off and sighed. ‘You have always been the strongest of my children, Marian. I cannot but reproach myself with the thought that you have needed to be.’
‘You need not reproach yourself, Papa. I thrive, as you see. My diet comprises something more than adversity. Of that you may be sure.’ As I spoke the words, guilt stabbed at me, keenly and confoundingly. I was sparing Papa. But it seemed I was also sparing myself. ‘There is, of course, a matter about which I would value your opinion. And I do not refer to my husband’s character.’
‘Perhaps that is as well.’ Papa moved back to the escritoire, slid open a drawer and pulled out a dog-eared journal I recognized as a recent issue of Ackermann’s Repository of Arts. ‘I observe that Mr Ackermann supplies his readers with rather more than the latest fashion in bonnet trimmings these days.’
‘He always has, Papa.’
‘Well, well. Maybe so. At all events, I read the article you drew to my attention.’ He opened the journal at a marked page. ‘“A Singular Method of Copying Pictures and Other Objects, by the Chemical Action of Light.” Most diverting.’
‘And illuminating?’
He laughed. ‘That, too. It certainly appears that the late Mr Wedgwood was a chemist of some originality. It is sad he did not live longer. Then we might have something more than Mr Ackermann’s parlour games by which to remember him.’
‘Parlour games? Can it be, Papa, that the true potential of Mr Wedgwood’s discovery has escaped you?’
‘I hope not. A pretty shadow-picture of a leaf or an insect’s wing can be created by the action of light on a surface wetted with nitrate of silver, only to be erased by the further action of light, thus aptly reflecting the transience of every scene that passes before our gaze. What potential do you detect in this, Marian, that has eluded a scientist as eminent as Sir Humphry Davy for the better part of twenty years?’
‘The camera obscura, Papa. That casts a picture, does it not, a picture that is something more than a shadow? Could not the image of that picture be preserved on a sheet of paper by the application of Mr Wedgwood’s method?’
‘I presume it might be possible to create such an image.’ He frowned. ‘But to speak of preservation is fallacious, my dear. See, we have Sir Humphry’s word for it that all his late friend’s ingenuity could not arrest the steady erasure of the image upon—’
‘Hyposulphite of ammonia.’
He looked round at me intently. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Hyposulphites hold the key,’ I continued excitedly. ‘Their differential action on pure silver and silver salts should render the image permanent by washing away the remaining muriate of silver without affecting the metallic deposit. My experiments point unmistakably to that conclusion. And what holds true for Mr Wedgwood’s shadow-pictures—’
‘Could equally well be applied within a camera obscura.’ Papa fairly gaped at me. ‘Experiments, child? What have you been engaged upon?’
I felt myself blush slightly. ‘Scientific research, Papa. The purest intellectual endeavour of mankind, as I recall you described it. Solitude and serenity of mind, taken together with an opportunity to convert an unwanted storeroom at Gaunt’s Chase into a form of laboratory, have led me by trial and error to the conviction that I may stand close to a discovery of inestimable significance.’
‘Hence the stains upon your hands about which your mother has complained.’
I shrugged. ‘I have paid them no heed.’
‘Has your husband?’
‘He has seldom been in a position or condition to notice such trifles of late,’ I replied with a straight face. ‘Yet I must own he is bound to become aware of my researches eventually. I doubt he will think them fitting activities for a gentleman’s wife.’
‘I doubt that, too, Marian.’
‘So I must make as much progress as I can before his objections intrude upon my work. Will you assist me, Papa?’
‘How can I assist you when you are so far away?’
‘By ordering these items for your pharmacopoeia.’ I took a slip of paper from within the sleeve of my dress and handed it to him. ‘And securing their delivery in time for me to take them back with me to Gaunt’s Chase.’
Father put on his spectacles and perused the list. ‘I thought your interest in chemistry ended when you entered upon womanhood, Marian.’
‘It merely slept awhile.’
‘And has clearly woken, refreshed and redoubled.’
‘I must become proficient at handling the materials as well as the apparatus before the spring. Only then, when the supply of sunlight becomes abundant, can I hope to achieve any practical results. I have set Eames, our carpenter, to work on constructing a portable camera obscura suited to my purpose. He is a reticent and reliable man. I have also reserved a ream of the stationer’s smoothest writing paper for my use. Thus I only now require—’
‘A tame physician to help you smuggle this’ – he flapped the list at me – ‘this … alchemist’s hoard … into your husband’s house.’
‘I am no alchemist, Papa.’
‘No. But only because silver is not a base metal. What you propose to turn it into may prove more precious than gold.’
‘And more elusive. I may not succeed.’
‘I console myself with that thought, Marian. Your husband would not thank me for encouraging you in such an enterprise. In that sense, it would be best if it came to nothing. Perhaps, indeed, I should do what I can to ensure that it goes no further than it already has. On the other hand …’ He tucked the list into his waistcoat pocket and smiled at me. ‘Who am I to obstruct the purest intellectual endeavour of mankind? Or even womankind?’
‘Dear Papa. I knew I could—’
‘Can I help you?’ A voice, sharp and insistent, sounded in my ear. And at its sound the study shuddered around me, vibrating and distorting in my sight and in my mind. My father was no longer there. I was no longer there. In its place, a brighter, emptier, starker room enveloped me. And the voice repeated, ‘Can I help you?’
I turned and looked at a middle-aged woman in an office suit. She was standing close to me, peering into my face with a mixture of anxiety and irritation. I tried to speak, but couldn’t find the words.
‘Do you have an appointment with Mr Palmer?’
‘I … I’m sorry?’
‘This is Mr Palmer’s office.’ I glanced round. Clearly, it was exactly that, a 1990s solicitor’s office, not an 1810s physician’s study. ‘Do you have some bus
iness with him?’
‘No. I don’t believe I do.’
‘Then what is it you want?’
‘Nothing. I’m sorry. Excuse me.’ I brushed past her and made for the door.
A moment later I was in the street, walking fast and breathlessly back the way I’d come. My heart was racing, my thoughts whirling. It had lasted longer this time and been more intense, somehow more real even than before. Half of me yearned to go back to my father’s house in my father’s day and never return. The other half recoiled from the notion. He wasn’t my father. I wasn’t Marian Esguard. And yet I knew them both so well. I could learn nothing about Marian. I could only remember, could only rediscover what I’d already lived through with her – as her.
I went into the cathedral and sat in a pew for an hour or so, trying to confront the meaning of what was happening to me. I’d go back to London, of course, and maintain the pretence of normality for a few weeks. But then I’d give in again. Next time I’d go to Gaunt’s Chase. I knew exactly where it was, even though Milo hadn’t been more specific than ‘somewhere in Dorset’. I knew and I couldn’t forget. I’d go there and Marian would be waiting, with the life she’d led, for me to lead all over again. I’d go, and how long it would last this time, or how deeply it would draw me in, I had no way of telling.
I suppose that’s when I decided to come to you. I’m either insane or … what would you call it? … possessed? I want you to stop me wanting this not to stop. I want you to tell me it’s all very simple and you can make it go away. To be honest, I don’t think you can. I don’t think anyone can. But I’m told you’re one of the best, so here’s your chance to prove it. I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll try anything.
I certainly hope you can help me. Because, if not, I don’t know what I’ll do. After you, there’s nowhere else to go. Except back to Marian.
FIVE
DAPHNE HAD AGREED to meet me in Regent’s Park during her lunch break the following day. We sat on a bench by the boating lake, a stiff March wind combing the bare trees around us. I handed her the tape and watched her slip it into her bag, then said, tiring suddenly of the thought of pussyfooting my way to the same point, ‘You think she’s mad, don’t you?’
‘She’s ill and in need of my help, Ian. That’s the only definition I’m interested in.’
‘What about possession? Does your definition stretch to that?’
‘No. Nor reincarnation. Nor calling up the dead. Nor corpse-candles and crithomancy. The human mind itself is quite complicated enough to account for Eris’s fugues.’
‘Fugues?’
‘Episodes of altered consciousness, during which a person may become confused about his or her identity, often complicated by amnesia.’
‘But not in Eris’s case.’
‘Strictly speaking, yes. Remember her description of the fugues. Each one involved some memory loss, ranging from momentary in Bath to several minutes at least in Chichester. They would be classic dissociations but for the fixation on a specific alternative identity. A fixation I was unable to rid her of, despite lengthy remissions.’
‘Are you saying she went on reverting to Marian?’
‘There were two further fugues she reported to me, yes.’
‘Did she record those experiences?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I think I ought to hear those tapes, too.’
Daphne shook her head. ‘There’d be no point. I wanted you to understand just how ill she is. Now you do. Dwelling on the symptoms can serve no purpose.’
‘They’re rather more than symptoms, though, aren’t they? Niall Esguard’s real enough. So was his uncle Milo. And his several-times-great-aunt Marian.’
‘As far as I know.’
‘Come on, Daphne. You went to Tollard Rising. You checked the facts. Marian existed.’
‘Of course. But not your Marian. Or Eris’s. She’s a projection, a refuge, if you like, from a present-day reality Eris can’t come to terms with.’
‘That was your diagnosis?’
‘Once I’d referred her to a neurologist and excluded physical causes, such as temporal lobe epilepsy, a psychological explanation was inescapable. Now perhaps you can see why hypnotic regression would have been so dangerous. I’ve no doubt we could have communicated with the Marian persona by that route, but in Eris’s own mind that would have served to validate her delusions. My priority had to be the prevention of a degeneration into full-blown schizophrenia. In fact, such degeneration had probably already taken place, hence the false name and address. But I didn’t realize that until it was too late.’
‘Until she disappeared, you mean.’
‘Yes. I misjudged the situation. Believe me, I’ve reproached myself for that since. Many times. I thought the problem was under control, but it wasn’t. Not nearly.’
‘Who are you saying I met in Vienna? Eris – or Eris-as-Marian?’
‘I’m saying you met Eris in a fugue state. The likeliest explanation for her disappearance is profound amnesia consequent on that episode.’
‘You mean she doesn’t remember me?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘My God, I never thought …’
‘I can’t be sure,’ said Daphne, suddenly anxious, it seemed, to reassure me. ‘She’s probably very confused as well as very sick. That’s why it’s imperative we find her. And that’s the reason I’ve breached confidentiality to the extent I have. I need your help, Ian. So does Eris. The woman you knew in Vienna – where do you think she might have gone?’
‘I don’t know,’ I snapped, my voice rising. ‘If I did, I’d have tracked her down by now, wouldn’t I?’ I felt Daphne’s unruffled gaze rest on me. No doubt she was used to this kind of thing.
‘I realize it’s difficult. I guess we’re both clutching at straws.’
‘Well, there is more to clutch at than that. What about Saffron House?’
‘I checked. Eris hasn’t been seen there since Milo Esguard’s death. She certainly didn’t imagine that, by the way. The Royal United Hospital, Bath, last April. Milo Coningsby Esguard, aged eighty-five, heart failure. His nephew Niall registered the death.’
‘I’ll start with him, then.’
Daphne looked at me in silent scrutiny, then said, ‘I can’t stop you, of course. I don’t want to prevent you doing anything that might shed some light on Eris’s whereabouts. But remember this. Marian Esguard certainly existed. But Eris’s depiction of her – her projection of her – is a fantasy. That’s why I haven’t spoken to Niall Esguard. He isn’t the man she describes, Ian. He’s just a figure in her dreamscape. He isn’t pursuing Eris. He’s never threatened her.’
‘Can you be sure of that?’
‘What I’m saying is don’t get caught up in her delusions. We’re looking for Eris Moberly, not Marian Esguard. There aren’t any pre-Fox Talbot negatives locked in a Piccadilly bank vault. There’s no conspiracy at work. The only danger she’s in stems from her own disturbed psyche.’
‘Didn’t you ever ask her to show you the negatives?’ I turned to look at Daphne as I spoke, letting her see I meant to weigh her answer carefully. She knew the insides of people’s heads better than I did, but Eris’s fugues hadn’t sounded like fantasies to me. They were too concrete, too specific in time and space, so much closer to memories than dreams. And the memory of the woman I’d fallen in love with was stronger than the scepticism I’d normally have brought to bear. Part of me was determined to believe every word she’d said – in Vienna and on the tape. ‘I mean, that would have nailed the delusion once and for all, wouldn’t it?’
‘If I’d asked, she’d have found some reason to refuse. She’d also have interpreted my curiosity on the point as proof that the negatives existed.’
‘Don’t you harbour even the smallest suspicion that they might?’
‘In my line of work I can’t afford to harbour such suspicions, however slight.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
‘Y
ou shouldn’t.’
‘Let me listen to the other tapes, Daphne.’
‘No.’
‘They might hold some vital clue.’
‘They don’t.’
‘Has it occurred to you that Niall Esguard might have something to do with her disappearance?’
‘Absolutely not. We’re dealing with an entirely self-generated psychosis. Eris visited Milo Esguard at Saffron House. And she probably met his nephew at the hospital. But what was said won’t have been anything like her account of the conversation.’
‘How can you be certain, since you haven’t spoken to Niall Esguard?’
‘The same way I can be certain you’ll say he’s lying if he doesn’t confirm Eris’s version of events.’ Daphne frowned at me. ‘Don’t go down this road, Ian. It doesn’t lead anywhere.’
‘I’ll believe that when I reach the end.’
‘I’m beginning to regret letting you listen to the tape.’
‘Don’t. I’ll only be doing what you, as a respectable professional psychotherapist, can’t afford to do.’
‘And what is that, exactly?’
‘Turning over as many stones as I have to. Until I find the truth. Don’t worry.’ I forced a grin. ‘I’ll keep your name out of it. And whatever I learn I’ll share with you. Doesn’t that sound like a good deal?’
‘All right.’ She stood up and gazed out across the wind-stippled water. ‘Since the need to find Eris by whatever means is something we have in common, I’m not even going to try to stand in your way.’
‘What about those other tapes?’
She looked down at me. ‘Prove you need to hear them. Then I’ll consider it.’ And with that she strode briskly away.
Two hours later, I was in Bath.
I knew the city reasonably well from an assignment for an architectural picture book a couple of years before. It’s freighted with its own past more heavily than most places, on account of the massed terraces and crescents of Georgian town housing fixed in the pale local stone that can look as mellow and golden in the sunshine as it can seem drab and grey in the rain. I’d been back more recently in search of Marian, but found nothing. That seemed reason enough in my mind to suspect Niall Esguard of being up to no good.
Caught In the Light Page 10
