Black Body

by H C Turk

  I was included in the cast of socialites coming together to form an opera. Amanda played the Rathel, ever controlled, ever controlling. And though Mrs. Denton’s smile was attached as though a misaligned patch on her cheek, Andrew remained convincingly pleasant as he warmly greeted his son, the missus, and Eric.

  The latter was least certain how to respond, looking to me, then his father, no one else. Eric’s parents glared at me with a heat behind their eyes I could feel, but Hanna also projected a grief that even a partially comprehending witch could understand. Rathel received the worst view, but Lord Andrew was given disappointment. Then the Rathel party was told of Eric’s unfortunate illness, though he seemed the epitome of youthful health, the boy needing to return home without further pause. Eric did not argue as he looked to me, then his father, then to me. His father.

  The Dentons made their exit from Rathel’s stage with a final scene. As the two groups parted, Eric and I turned to look at each other, blank stares of understanding between two players whose further story would be told.

  Chapter 11

  Operatic Architect

  “And I’m thinking that protection from the weathers would be costing more, not less. I’m thinking that the one with no roof is less costly to build, and so the poor paying passengers should be charged fewer pence for their journeying.”

  Elsie was volubly comparing the tolls for open carriage versus enclosed coach. Studying the ways of conveyance, I listened carefully, for my chosen future would see me traveling again, traveling alone. I therefore heeded all aspects of our journey. Through the front gate we stepped with our market baskets, Elsie grandly raising her arm and calling for a carriage to approach us. I then learned that Lady Amanda had such a consistent need of transport that the drivers of a certain company kept a tab for the mistress to be paid at month’s end. Elsie and I thus applied no hard funds toward the coachman, who recognized the servant and accepted our passage with a tip of his hat and a smile toward me perhaps exactly as lewd as I believed. And to market we went.

  “So I’m telling you, lass, I’m not complaining of the cost, since usually I’m going behind me feet. And with the mistress telling how she would have us travel in her own manner, I’m only saying Jesus bless our journey and thank the lady.”

  Such a strange freedom I felt from being moved beneath the sky with no Rathel nearby that I had difficulty applying my attention toward my task of comprehending London transportation. The horses were not too terribly punished, were they? They did not mention the metal in their mouths, so why should I?

  “And I’m taking you to no common market, lass, but one that’s selling Continental goods. There we’re surely finding wonders to be pleasing a person with such strange tastes as yourself.”

  The first wonder I found was that the male vendors were not dangerous, if only because they were separated from me by odorous displays. The customers were almost exclusively women, commoners seeking expensive purchases for their lordly employers. Within the greater London of dangerous smells, this Continental market was intriguing with its exciting foodstuffs, most unrecognizable. Kumquats were my first thrill, litchis an equally divine discovery. The mango’s stringy texture was pleasurable enough to have me cackle, though only once, since Elsie received such apprehension from the sound that surely she recalled the River Thames and my failure to swim there, my success at being a witch. Then came the most red and expansive onions, which so cleansed my breathing passages with the first bite that Elsie walked several paces removed from me, the sinner.

  We purchased spices that seemed not sinning embellishments, but simply ground foodstuffs, despite their tin containers, which at least were decorated with flower portraits, not Satan’s visage. I saw jars of pickled plants unpronounceable by British folk, and varieties of tea never smelled by the witch sold in paper wrappings bought by dear Elsie for her companion. But all our sampling and selecting to fill our baskets was not the best part of the journey, for our journey would continue.

  “Aye, and I’m allowed by our mistress to be spending time as though pence thrown at a beggar, if only you retain your vow of not running off toward some foreign jungle you believe a few streets removed.”

  “I pledge not to flee for the wilds without you, miss,” I professed.

  “And thank you, lass, but I’ll be remaining in this city as great as any in the world rather than nest with crawlies upon the dirt. What I’m saying, then, is that our chore of marketing need not be our only activity. I’m thinking you might care to stop at the Feltson Street park for a bit of walking.”

  I would care for this, yes, as noted by my pleas to Elsie as I bounded on the seat so that the coachman turned to find the source of violence, seeing only exuberant youth; and, please, God, not smelling the sex witch.

  During our passage from the market to Feltson Street, the typical morning fog was dissipated by a rare wind that brought not clear air but smoke. A piece of this city not far removed had severely burned, though not recently. Expert Elsie I asked of this smell.

  “Aye, girl, and it’s Penstone Place you’re smelling now. Years ago, a huge part of the city was horribly burned in the Great Fire. Not even London had the funds for rebuilding all the damage, and with your remarkable nose you’re smelling an area left as the devil’s fire rendered it.”

  “Never have I sensed so severe a fire, Elsie, and would be intrigued to observe the locale.”

  “Ah, lass, but it’s only criminals you’ll be finding, for so disheveled is the area that decent people aren’t living there.”

  “I have no fear of illegal folk, miss, in that Lady Amanda would make me a murderess.”

  “Of course, lass, and she’s bringing you terrible girls in by the score to be slaughtering her enemies. But more important about this Penstone is that the menfolk there have a special fondness for young belles of the wilderness. So they’re treating them well by roasting whole cattle on their burning buildings in the way of dining.”

  “And thank you, miss, for your tremendous humor. So it’s off to the park, then, unless you have more comic opera to purvey,” I declared, and certainly Elsie’s following laugh was a cackle.

  • • •

  “Oh, and look away, child, there’s a tart.”

  “That is a foodstuff, miss?”

  “That is a woman who goes about prostituting her person, and a fine lass should not be seeing.”

  “The woman there with the great periwig and patch on her cheek?”

  “Of course not, and what are you saying, girl? That’s a lady with most fashionable attire. The tart I’m seeing over there, with all the rouge upon her face and upper bosom which she’s showing to the wind, and what with her hips all stuffed outwards and hair so loose.”

  “But, Elsie, she dresses as you would have me, does she not?”

  Turning toward me to stare with a scarcely contained snarl, the servant severely replied.

  “Ah, girl, it’s a terrible time you’re having in London if you’re thinking that’s a good appearance for a lass. And pain me it does, likely from your seeking it, that you think I’m not dressing you in a modest and proper manner. When am I revealing your chest and flinging your hair in the air and making your fine skin all reddish?”

  “Never, miss, but you do have a wont toward attaching bright metal pieces to me, which seems a gaudier fashion tactic than the color red. And does this prostituting deal with Protestants?”

  After turning from me to snarl and moan freely, Elsie replied.

  “I’d be watching me talk of religions, girl, if I were a youth with a future. Here we’re finding people most sensitive, they are. One mention of Lutherans and it’s back in the Thames with you.”

  “Lutherans, then, are those musicians who play the lute?”

  “Ah, and perhaps there is something to your being the witch,” Elsie groaned, rubbing anew her apparel with every free finger.

  “Too late it is for compliments, miss, considering your rude replies to my simp
le innocence.”

  The servant became so stern that I received no humorous response upon imitating the speaking of French persons we passed. Worse was her reaction to my seeking explanation of observed drunkards and gypsies, especially when mentioning that Elsie somewhat resembled the latter, and had not the mistress in her past been one of the former? What a fine compliment thereafter I received from Elsie as to my family heritage.

  • • •

  After a fine ride of silence, Elsie had the coachman halt at the very park I had seen from Rathel’s rooftop. The driver was instructed to guard our purchases as we strolled. Elsie and I walked randomly, though the younger miss perhaps scampered about too physically for a supposed lady. And, yes, here were trees and wild plants in a pleasantly large space. We viewed hide-moths, smelled tansy and henbane, enjoying the natural world as we chatted. But soon I found that we were not alone, for the park was populated by sinners and their children, small creatures with loud, meaningless voices who chased each other to no rational end. Upon complaining to Miss Elsie, I was told that they were “playing games,” that the demonic lines they had drawn in the dirt denoted a “contest.” Knew I nothing of youthful carousing? Elsie then described the nature of games: choosing sides to promote an arbitrary goal with artificial rules. The same as warfare and opera, I remarked, and Elsie punished me horribly with silence.

  My godly judgment was that the children’s greater contest was destroying the park. Certain of the youths seemed dedicated to digging, as though revealing dirt were justification for ruining the grass above. Girls chased butterflies only due to excess evil in their small, sinning bodies. Satanic boys attacked lizards with sticks and tossed rocks at birds. One captured moths only to squash them.

  This last was the ultimate debasement to offend me. The murderous boy consumed not the first slaughtered hide-moth, for his purpose was not survival, but a “contest.” Then I came aware that this boy was Eric Denton’s peer—and I was to allow such a demon near enough me to kill him with body parts unique to women? This was Rathel’s plan? But the mistress was correct, for such heinous entities should be destroyed. Therefore, I found a limb of my own, which I applied toward the boy as though practicing for Eric.

  I slapped the whippy stick toward his head, the boy throwing his arms upward for protection. As Elsie screeched and came running toward me, as the boy’s mother hollered loudly and flew to her offspring, I drew welts upon his exposed forearms corresponding to the disreputable rascal’s tears. Even when Elsie took the stick from me, I continued, applying snarling, distressed words in lesson.

  “I inform you, wretch, in your own language of combat, that Lord God did not make harmless creatures for stinking, cavorting fiends to destroy in order to promote their own evil. And I vow that if you intend to damage the natural world, it shall strike you in return in the form of pious humans such as myself revolted by demons who hate life.”

  Elsie was fully occupied pulling me away from the boy so that I could not attack him with my empty hands. Though on the ground and weeping, the child looked up to me with hatred. This expression I would as soon slap from his eyes, but Elsie held me away from the fiend, his mother all offended as she bent over her son and asked of his terrible deed.

  I achieved silence as Elsie pulled me toward the carriage. Upon determining that I had calmed enough not to be returning to the boy to rip away his life with my teeth, Miss Elsie released me.

  “Very well,” I spoke as my breath returned, examining my attire for mussing. “Shall we be on with our journey and away from this uncouth locale? After such an exerted worship service, I could use a bit of nourishment, perhaps a berry to nibble upon while we calmly ride.”

  “Perhaps a child’s heart to be eating while you breathe fire,” Elsie replied with an astonished smell. “God help me, lass, but I’m never knowing such a person as yourself.”

  “Thank you, Elsie, for the thoughtful compliment. Being a pious lover of God, you surely support those who will not, cannot, bear hateful, senseless death.”

  “And, yes, lass, of course, lass, and I’m agreeing with your every word afore you take to me with a timber. So we’re off to home, and enough of this journey for the day, lest you flee to the market to murder the vendors for having the cruelty to be picking their vegetables from vines.”

  “If you remain upset, miss, we could go swimming,” I replied.

  How easy it is to enter a carriage when a thoughtful friend pulls one upward with force enough to rip both arms away. And to home we shoppers hied with our purchases and our education, the carousing one of us content to have won a moral contest.

  • • •

  Certain that one of Rathel’s servants would be warily observing the rear door—where else would a combative witch escape?—the sinner within me decided to slip boldly through the front foyer. With deft clicks, I released the lockwork only recently learned. Then I stepped outside. With ease, I lifted the gate’s simple latch, though its feel was metallic. Of course, this was the feel of London.

  The sinners seemed such benefactors. As I stood at the street’s edge, I came aware of the great difference between the two groups of sinning humans with whom I dealt. Those of Rathel’s household had proven themselves harmless, even beneficial in providing me with shelter and my chosen foodstuffs. But those people were behind; the nearest sinners were members of a segment having proven itself dangerous. As I stepped from Rathel’s frontage, I sensed London stretching endlessly beyond, and again was the child terrified of Jonsway. But Mother had accompanied me in Jonsway. Then I thought of Elsie, a friendly obstruction to sinners who might interact with me. Without Elsie, the nearby sinners seemed immediate: that woman with the veil and tiny nose so loomed in my senses as to be treading upon me, that man in a rush passed by, though I felt that his high hat and cane were weapons to be thrust against me. With no intervening Elsie, I felt the impossibility of avoiding these people who soon would fail to ignore me.

  The solitude I felt thereafter was so acute that I considered returning to be safe in Rathel’s house, not comfortable apart from my true home, but at least not exposed to society. Then I forced myself away from that reverie of apprehension, looking toward the street to accept my position of safety. No one had set upon me to burn the blatant witch. Having dressed properly for being out on a young lady’s errand, I drew no notice with my attire, and of course the sinners could not sense my physical difference with their smelling. And I prayed God to spare me that more personal danger, prayed that no male would notice not the witch but the sex witch, a special lust that men sensed with some hot and perhaps metallic portion of their bowels.

  Not being the Rathel with servants to send ahead, I would have to hail my own carriage. Not one of the lumbering open wagons loaded with products, but a closed coach wherein I might hide. Had I seen that harmless man who drove Elsie and me that day of marketing and worship, I would have selected his carriage, though I had no desire to be exposed in the air without opaque Elsie to shield me.

  Since I was becoming distraught from excess imagination, I quickly stepped forward to hail the nearest coach, in that instant suffering a new exaggerated concern. Was my motion haughty enough to attract a professional sinner? And what if Rathel had no credit with his organization? Since I had no coin, would I be arrested for attempting to steal the coachman’s services? Then I dropped my arm, deciding to retreat and rethink my foolishness. But too late, I had drawn the man instantly, and prayed God he had noticed me with his eyes, not his bowels.

  My only concern with this horse-drawn shed was that it came directly toward me. But the animal remained on the roadway, not leaping the curb to overrun my person, and I was not flattened by those fiendish wheels. As the driver safely stopped his coach, I looked up to the male and his superior position, seeing an unrecognized sinner who knew me.

  “Ah, and you’re the new Miss Rathel, out on her own this day, and a good one to you,” he said with a smile, tipping his cap. “Might the lady be awar
e that her lass is on the street with no benefit of chaperone?”

  This unexpected confrontation I survived mainly because the man had elicited speech from me, words my most ready weapon.

  “The extent to which Lady Amanda is aware of her household might well stun you, sir, in its thoroughness.”

  “Perhaps not, miss. I certainly know, however, that the lady is a fine customer. And since my employ is to be carrying folks about and not worry needlessly of their households, I’ll only open the door and ask your destination.”

  “In that I know you not, sir, I first ask you to pardon my ignorance, but I must ascertain whether the lady has credit with you that might be extended to her, uh, daughter.”

  “Yes to it all, Miss Rathel,” he replied, and reached from his seat to open the door; and praise God he did not leap down to give a hand, to take one of mine, take more.

  In a rush, I was grateful for not having to learn a new lock mechanism, grateful for not having feared this potential difficulty in advance. Then, in a weakness from relief, I lost my tutoring, clambering aboard in no ladylike manner to settle in the rocking box.

  “And where is it you would venture, miss?” the coachman asked.

  “Christ’s Cathedral,” I told him, for this seemed a fine beginning to my end.

  Behind the wooden panels, I felt protected, felt that the cab separated me from sinners and their contests of curiosity and danger. And I journeyed in the city, moving with every moment away from Rathel, though not for an instant did I seem to be approaching my true home.

  • • •

  Finding no removed vantage, the driver parked so near the ongoing construction that workers looked to us and wondered of our purpose, wondered of our proximity such that their missing teeth could be counted, their scars discerned. In my box, I remained obscured, peering along the curtain’s edge, hiding that sight of a lady who viewed the impious stress of sinners extending the worship of their race.