Alchemy

by Maureen Duffy

  Perhaps I should warn Helen that he was increasingly disaffected, suspecting that he was the wrong colour, had studied at the wrong place, was there only as window dressing to give the firm a liberal face. I was a bit of the decoration too, not Oxbridge but Sussex. Probably the Chalmerses joked about us both over the breakfast table if not in bed. It was a bad moment. I was back at my desk. Drew had gone to Bread, Love and Dreams to queue for sandwiches for us both. Surely she wouldn’t betray me, join in some jokey conspiracy of what I’d said or we’d done. Suddenly I was glad I’d never admitted I was in so deep, had never mentioned love.

  Some moments you never forget, like sitting for an exam, waiting for a result and opening the envelope, passing the driving test, your first taste of death. If anyone asks me what I was doing when such and such an earth-shaking event took place, the assassination of a world leader, the outbreak of a war, an earthquake, a terror attack, like most people I can’t remember and I always suspect that those who seem to are inventing to get their moment of limelight, in front of the microphone or camera. The remembered moments are those of personal expectation or fear when the adrenaline flooded through you. So I can recall perfectly the feel of the wooden desktop under my hands, how a spotlight bounced back off the computer screen so that when I wanted to use it I would have to adjust its position to cut out the highlight. It was a moment of black doubt. I should have turned back then, got out from under. But it was already too late. I had fallen in love with the boss-lady. The rose in my hand was for her and its thorn was already causing my blood to flow.

  And then the phone rang. ‘Hallo. How are you?’

  ‘Fine.’ But already at the sound of her voice my heart seemed to be truly in my mouth, a live thing that had leapt up in my throat and cut off the oxygen supply, making my ears buzz as if I was strung on a stretched humming wire.

  ‘Jim says you’ve earned a day off and could take me out somewhere.’

  ‘Where would you like to go?’

  ‘Somewhere quiet. How far could we get? To the sea?’

  ‘Your wheels or mine?’

  ‘I think it’s time I gave yours a try.’

  ‘We could probably get down to Brighton in a couple of hours.’

  ‘Too populated. The Downs. A village with a pub for lunch.’

  ‘You’ll have to wear something warm. I’ll lend you some weatherproof or rather windproof gear to go over the top and a helmet. You’re sure you’re on for this? It isn’t very comfortable.’

  ‘You only live once as the man said. But don’t go too fast.’

  ‘Would I take risks with you? When would you like to go?’

  ‘Tomorrow? If it’s fine.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I’ll come round to your flat about ten o’clock and leave my car. It’s handy that we live in the same borough and my parking permit will cover it.’

  I can’t remember eating the sandwiches Drew brought back: tuna and salad for him, egg mayonnaise for me, tasting of sick, or how I managed to work or got home. I washed my hair: I must have cleaned the bike, checked out some gear for Helen and, too edgy to stay home, went out to the Trebovir, with its mix of boozy eccentrics, a jazz pianist who sometimes had a gig at Ronnie Scott’s, a retired airline pilot who’d been in bombers in the last war and still sounded and looked the part in cravat and moustache, a home help who’d danced in a chorus line-up, and the usual bag of petty crims, fences, conmen who set up their business in their office local. No one questioned me or knew what I did. ‘Ask no questions be told no lies,’ was the basis of the pub etiquette, and if anyone broke the unwritten rules I simply said I worked in an office which was true enough.

  In the morning Helen kept me waiting but only enough to put an edge on the expedition, to make it more desirable because anticipated in the fear that she might have changed her mind or suddenly not feel up for it or Jim could have gone off the whole idea. I tried not to think of what she might be doing when she was away from me. Shakespeare gave his usual ambiguous comfort:

  Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you might be or your affairs suppose, But like a sad slave stay and think of nought Save where you are, how happy you make those…

  Then the entry phone buzzed and she was coming through the hallway on a cloud of scent I didn’t recognise, presenting her cheek for a peck.

  ‘Can’t I kiss you properly?’

  ‘Too early in the morning and I’d have to redo my face. Besides if we started on that we might never get to our expedition. Where are these clothes you promised me?’

  She was in designer jeans and top that made me long to put out a hand to the smooth mounds of her breasts, below the green silk scarf at her throat. I’d never seen her out of skirt and high heels before but the effect was the same. Powerful, sexy in a mature way, hypnotic. I showed her the biker kit lying over the back of a chair.

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Maybe we should get going. I’d like a pee before I climb into that gear. It looks as if it might be hard to get out again.’ The intimacy of her remark with its bluntness surprised me. It wasn’t Gateshead or even Acton. It smacked of boarding school and all girls together.

  ‘I feel like a deep-sea diver.’ She pulled on the gloves and we went out into the road where the Crusader was chained up.

  ‘Just a couple of things before we go. You have to hold on to me rather tight, both arms round, and try to lean as I do, especially when I’m cornering.’ We put our helmets on. I undid the security chain and got astride. I felt her climbing on behind me as I held the bike steady, then her arms go round my waist. I kicked off.

  I’d never had the knightly fantasy before, Lancelot with Guinevere up front or back, held in his arms or clinging on, galloping off into the night, abduction or rescue. But I did now although instead of over the hills and far away it was into the traffic miasma of south London, past the turning for the Gaos though I didn’t know that then, and down to the sea like Tom in The Water Babies with my own mermaid for company, weaving between the white sharks of unmarked vans, through shoals of silvery cars and grey tanker whales. Soon we were past Norbury and heading for the redbrick suburbs of Reigate on to the Brighton Road where the traffic was lighter, the two currents flowing up and down the double motorway canal.

  After nearly an hour on the road it was time to check on Helen. I could feel her arms around me so I knew she was still there but how was she surviving? I signalled a left turn and pulled gently into a roadhouse car park, brought the bike to a standstill, put my foot down, kicked the stand into place and took off my helmet.

  ‘How are you doing?’

  She took hers off too and shook her dark hair loose. ‘Wow!’

  ‘What about a stop for coffee now?’

  ‘That sounds great.’

  ‘Do you find it very uncomfortable? I’ve never ridden in back myself.’ We were sitting in a repro bow window with our cups of coffee that tasted as if it had been stewing in a glass jug ever since the bar had opened. I half expected her to have something tart to say about it. I was pretty sure she wasn’t used to road-house or service station fare.

  ‘It’s too exciting. I keep expecting either to fall off or be crushed to death. You get the full experience of speed that you don’t get shut in a car. I feel as if I’m living dangerously, as if I’m more in touch, more alive. I can see why you like it, love it maybe?’

  No I don’t love it, I wanted to say. It’s part of me and I don’t love myself. I love you. I can’t love myself because I’m my own subject. OK you need a bit of self-love to get up every morning but you need an object for love, like Pygmalion making himself a living, breathing statue or Cliff’s walking, talking living doll.

  ‘Where does this road go to?’

  ‘Brighton. But you said you wanted something less touristy so we’ll turn off at the A272 and go east towards Bateman’s and then south towards Herstmonceux. They’re quieter lanes and little villages round there. Of course it won’t be as exciting as bom
bing down the motorway. I looked up some places to eat in the Good Pub Guide.’

  Then we were riding away again through Hayward’s Heath and Maresfield, built-up lengths of suburbia snipped off south London and stitched over the fields and downs of Sussex. We left the main roads behind at Broad Oak and took to forested lanes. By the time I pulled up beside my chosen pub we were in another world, a secret green place that couldn’t have been guessed at from the sprawl of boxy houses we had left behind.

  ‘Let’s have lunch and walk up that hill,’ Helen said, pointing towards a green mound behind the Blacksmith’s Hammer. ‘Can we get out of the Superman outfits for a bit?’

  ‘You can. I can lock yours in the pannier.’

  ‘I’ll tidy myself up in the loo.’

  I waited for her to bring back her discarded gear. I would have to carry my helmet. There wasn’t room for two in the carrier.

  ‘You made a good choice, Jay.’ We had eaten smooth green watercress soup with an ice floe of cream in the middle, followed by a lemon sole for Helen and aubergine au gratin for me, with a glass of wine each.

  ‘Do we want a bottle?’ she’d asked, ‘or would that make you a danger to ride behind?’

  ‘Better not if you want to be sure of getting back safely.’ For a moment I saw us buried together tangled up in the bike and I didn’t seem to be afraid of that dying.

  I clipped my helmet to my belt and we set off up the little hill that could have been a burial mound itself. From the top we could look down into a wooded valley with a handsome house in the distance. We sank down in the lee of the mound out of sight of the pub. I took off my jacket and spread it under Helen.

  ‘Thank God it isn’t raining. It’s so rare to be able to do this in England.’ She lay back closing her eyes. I picked a long grass stem with a feathery brush at its tip and gently moved it across her throat. After a few tickling passes she opened her eyes.

  ‘Isn’t that a bit naff?’

  ‘Only if you don’t see the symbolism.’

  She reached up and took my hand guiding it to undo the fastening and then the zip on her jeans.

  ‘Make love to me.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Why not.’ It wasn’t a question but a command and I didn’t need to be told twice.

  We slept a little and then woke to wander down into the wooded valley so moist underfoot that when we made love again it was against the smooth bark of a beech. The world had fallen away as if we had strayed into another Blakean dimension of innocence and pleasure outside time.

  After that we made love whenever and wherever we could. I drowned in her, was saturated with her but never sated.

  Now the great house was made ready for the visit of their majesties, they being retired first to Purford because of the great pestilence which approaching nearer from the city forced them to flee further into the more healthful air of the country. At first they had purposed to hold their court at Oxford but hearing that the colleges were all closed up on account of the sickness the king took ship for the Isle of Wight. Yet because this might seem a going into exile and abandonment of the kingdom in its time of need, and provoke panic among the people, his majesty returned and at the entreaty of the young earl and Sir Philip who were foremost among the new knights and favoured greatly by his majesty, he had determined to retire further from the pestilence to Wilton. Then first came my lady’s sons to prepare the way and they being still unmarried the countess must play the hostess for the young earl which was no stranger to her for she had entertained her late majesty Queen Elizabeth at both the great house and Ramsbury. There would come also my lady’s brother, now Lord Sidney of Penshurst, and the Lady Anne her daughter in the train of Queen Anne. Indeed so many with their servants that the duenna and I were instructed to return to Ramsbury the day before the arrival of their majesties as the month of August was ending, the summer giving greater and greater encouragement to the spread of the plague.

  Word came to us at Ramsbury that their majesties had not rested long at Wilton but had divided again, the queen going to the palace at Greenwich taking my lady, Lord Sidney and the Lady Anne, with her. Yet they could not stay long so close to the city, and in danger of the sickness being carried down river towards them so that at the beginning of October my lady sent word that I was to join her at Wilton where the whole court was returned, for the great number of people and the winter coming on brought a need for as many physicians to attend as might be had, even though their majesties had their own skilled doctors with them. So I set out again for the great house which was now become a town in itself and all the surrounding inns and cottages, every barn and shed, were filled to overflowing with a great multitude of every kind of servant, grooms, clerks, stewards, maids and men of all degrees. My lady’s own servants were forced to scour the countryside to feed both men and beasts for there were also horses enough to carry an army.

  The duenna had been jealous of my summons to Wilton.

  ‘There are some say it is an ill omen that this sickness has come to us at the beginning of a new reign, that the dog star causes it to rain down upon us because King James has forsaken his mother’s old religion for which she was martyred.’

  ‘The infection is the work of nature and man. It leaps from one to the other by contagion and not by descent from the stars.’

  ‘You should have more care of religion Master Boston. Those who mock or set themselves above it will be struck down by . God’s hand in their pride when they least expect it.’

  ‘I do not mock God or religion, only the cheats of the astrologers who pretend to a knowledge of what is in the stars and of their influence on all things.’

  ‘Fate and the stars may show God’s hand too, for all your learning.’

  Two days after I had reached Wilton the wagons of the players rumbled up and pitched outside the wall. His majesty, tiring of the country sports, had summoned his own troupe of the king’s men from Mortlake where they were quartered away from the sickness, to divert him with a play. Now the house was indeed filled to overflowing and there came carpenters to set up a stage in the hall. The noise of their hammers and saws was added to the din of so many people.

  The players themselves were quartered in the biggest of the barns, those already lying there being forced to find a corner elsewhere or lie under the stars. On the second day after their coming I was sent for to dress a wound to the head one of them had sustained in a fight. I filled a little bag with tincture of arnica to cleanse the wound, soft cloth, bandages and healing unguents and went out to the barn. I pushed open the door and it was as if I entered another world where men went about their business unmindful of any sphere beyond them.

  Some sat and played at cards, others lay on their straw pallets smoking so that the air was sweet with the smell of tobacco, while others tried over their words together. Two were painting shields as for a joust. Another was casting up accounts in a ledger. Two women sat sewing in a corner with a pot of ale between them. I could not see where the wounded man might be. I stood in the doorway and peered about.

  At length one of the players noticed me and approached. ‘Who have we here?’

  ‘Where is he with the wounded head?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  I decided to exercise my patience. This boy was, I thought, about my own age or younger but with a pretty face and a bold look that dared challenge anyone. ‘I have been sent to tend the wounded man.’

  ‘Hollo Nick, they have sent a child to physick you.’

  One who had been lying still under a cloak unnoticed by me now sat up with a groan, revealing a sword cut to his head that instead of going in deep and clean had gashed his scalp, leaving a bloody mash. ‘What kind of physician are you boy? What college taught you your skill, if you indeed have any?’

  ‘I am physician to the Countess of Pembroke.’

  ‘Does she trust to the wisdom of a child?’

  ‘My lady employs several doctors of physick.’

 
And where did you learn your healing arts?’

  ‘In my father’s house where he practised for many years with, many said, uncommon efficacy.’

  Some others among the players now took an interest in our discourse. ‘Shall I let the child treat me?’ the wounded one asked them.

  Now the boy who had first spoken to me took a hand again. ‘He is no physician. His skin is soft as a girl’s. This is some ruse to be admitted sharer in our company.’

  Another took my wrist as if he would feel my pulse. ‘Tell the truth now. Are you seeking employment among us as some lovely boy in Diana’s shape? We have enough mincing maids already, and to spare.’

  ‘I look for no such sir. Indeed I have no skill in those ways. My little skill is in making of medicines and their use.’ And here I opened my bag and showed my wares. ‘These are all the tools of my trade. And if the gentleman will not let me tend him he must go untreated for there is none other, all being occupied with other sick persons among so many. But if his wound is not cleansed and anointed daily it will fester and grow rank and may endanger his very life.’

  ‘Come Nick,’ another joined in, ‘he says you will die if he does not treat you. Is it not worth the try?’

  ‘Already sir,’ I said taking the wounded man by his wrist, ‘your pulse is quick and shallow. The wound has brought on a fever. Your head throbs and you cannot sleep.’

  He groaned a little and leant back against the saddle that was serving him as a pillow. ‘How did you know? Are you a necromancer as well?’

  ‘It is my occupation to know sir. I need no magic to divine the symptoms of your case. Inflammation attends such a wound. The body is weakened. Poison is engendered by the wound and flows through the veins.’

  ‘Should I be let blood then?’

  ‘My father believed in the quick letting of blood only if other means could not prevail. I follow his example.’