by H C Turk
“Of course, a lass so beauteous and intelligent as my Alba is the center of men’s desire,” Rathel answered. “But a man’s ungodly passion makes her a victim, not an instigator. The evil here is all in Gosdale and his lust, not my daughter and her innocence.”
“Being a normal man, I well appreciate beauteous femininity,” Naylor conveyed as he turned to me and bowed his head. “Certainly, the lovely Alba can inspire esteem in men with no intent on her part. Nonetheless, I am not here uniquely on this topic. I recall a certain architect with allegations similar to Gosdale’s, therein regarding his son.”
“Allegations proven meaningless in accord with my past explications of the boy’s being too young,” Rathel declared. “Proven they are by the fact that Eric Denton and my Alba are now friends, having shared tutoring; yet the boy has caused no further difficulties since growing into a young man and acquiring gentlemanship.”
“I ask specifically of this latest passion,” Naylor continued, “I ask the girl whether on any occasion—perhaps when the mother was not present—she behaved in a manner that allowed Mr. Gosdale to believe that one day he might gain her hand.”
This ultimate constable remained directed in his attention toward me after his bow, following that question. No subtle deception did the witch require in her reply.
“The notion, sir, that I would encourage such a sinner to procure intimate contact with me is so revolting an idea as to have me ill.”
What a normal man he was to be so confused and inspired by the term “sinner” as to provide me with sermon.
“In that the Bible tells us that we all fail to achieve God’s perfection, you as well—though an excellent youth—are not free of sin, and therefore in base imperfection might not be distinguished from Mr. Gosdale.”
“Sir Jacob, I suggest that Mr. Gosdale and I are distinguishable not by our separate sinning, but by our relative morality. So well do I glory in God’s perfection that I am never inspired toward assault. No man nor child have I molested. And never would I allow a male person to believe that he receives from me potential marital regard.”
The magistrate then viewed me completely, staring briefly with static eyes that seemed to perceive every nuance of my life; and I was frightened by his depth, even as he found truth in mine. Then he quickly rose with a firmness that told of no pleasure, though as well I sensed no anger from him.
“The difficulty is hereby determined,” he announced as though revealing an official, ad-lib document, looking down to the seated Rathel. “King William’s bureau having jurisdiction here might correctly be ecclesiastical, not criminal, in that I judge Gosdale to have been taken for a limited time and degree by Satan, who delivered him with a lust far beyond decent appreciation for one nubile, lust manifested in the man’s seeking betrothal where no potential existed. Therewith, this bother concludes.”
After businesslike salutations amongst us three, Naylor departed. Perhaps the man was not pleased, but as an official he was adequately satisfied. His position as a sinner remained unknown to me.
• • •
“So I’m telling you, lass, that this is a city with people, and most of them talking more than me. The tale of Mr. Gosdale and his lancing is being heard throughout London in this very moment. And though your young visitor will be hearing further of what he personally saw, I’m wagering he’ll not be telling his own story. And being no foolish person, he’ll not soon be coming around so that the city will see him here and think him like Mr. Gosdale.”
Experienced Elsie was proven correct in her estimation, for the Denton boy was not seen in days. Then the subject of his presence was broached again, though by Elsie, not me; for was not my young man to be missed?
“I should long for this sinner because he is more bland than his elder peers?” I retorted. “Lust is the cause for his presence here, a motive no different from Gosdale’s. The difference is that the younger man lacks the initiative to insist upon his goals.”
“But I’m seeing on me own, girl, that you take no offense in his company.”
“Neither do I take great pleasure, but his presence makes the mandated tutoring pass more readily. Eric is a distraction because I gain no vast satisfaction from the other activities offered me.”
“Aye, it’s true, lass, except for sweeping and peeling onions. But who’s to be curing you, girl, of having more interest in a servant’s tasks than those of a lady? Your mother has—”
“Elsie, if ever again you refer to your employer as my mother, not once thereafter in your entire remaining life shall I provide you with a word or look or notice of existence,” I growled to the unmitigated sinner.
“Oh, and everso, lass, with your extreme sensitivity, I am apologizing. But what I’m saying now is that I’ve no idea how to interest you in things of a lady. My employer—who is not your mother, not at all—is offering you a most wondrous harpsichord, which you rejected, and I’d be showing you work with the needle, but you refused, and you’ve no interest in fashion and are saying you’ve none in marriage, so what kind of lady will you ever be?”
“Fie to you, commoner,” I huffed. “I remain awaiting the day when you wed a rich architect and I become your servant.”
“Fine and good, lass, for this is a better idea than your old one of quitting London to live in ditches like some animal.”
“Oh, Elsie, and you sinners are so, so appreciative of your own ways, as though God made no other people, and the world is your marketplace. Yet a person such as yourself is like an animal in that you’re but a device to implement the Rathel’s whims—an upstairs packhorse. Does some subtle, social reason exist for your being less worthy of Rathel’s place than she?”
“But you’re thinking too much of social things, young Alba. God loves us simple folk as well as the wealthy, and has made us sensible enough to appreciate what He has given us. My life is not the finest as far as luxury, but it’s happy I am, and understanding I am of how much worse I could be. I had been worse afore coming to this household—and much worse I’d be in the woods living like an animal with no shelter or law. And because my place is not the best, I’m wishing my friends better than me. I’m always hoping the best for you, young Alba.”
“Your generosity and kindliness I cherish, Elsie, but you mistakenly believe that our types of satisfaction should be equal. I would allow you and Rathel your particular living, but you consider my desired life improper. I wish you all the best, Elsie, for you are not only friend but virtually family. Nonetheless, I understand that no forest life would please you. I allow Londoners the life you would have, why can you not accept my given nature?”
Not replying with her usual verbosity as to my deluded, wilderness thinking, Elsie responded instead with tears.
“You’ve never called me family before,” she blubbered with wet eyes, then shuffled away with her burden of sentiment as though an emotional packhorse.
Surely, my mouth fell open like a sinners’ mechanical trap for flies, and I could not reply until Elsie had left my hearing.
“Ah, you flipping sinners are a sensitive lot,” I muttered, and sought an onion to attack in catharsis.
• • •
Honest I had been with Elsie, for without Eric, the tutoring was drudgery. But this tedium did not last, for Eric’s cautious holiday from me soon ended. The only true joy from his return, however, was found in Rathel; for with her victim’s return, the mistress lost a sullen disposition corresponding to Eric’s absence. With the true suitor present, Rathel’s opportunity for future retribution proceeded. With the boy’s continued exposure to me, more likely was he to imitate Gosdale and insist upon marriage, then the fantastical wedding death Rathel so heartfully presumed. My position was also one of waiting, waiting to be on with quashing Rathel’s ignorance. And here was my failure, for I had abandoned my plan to exit London on my own initiative. No greater understanding of transport had I attempted to secure since Edward Denton at his cathedral, since the sinning boy in the par
k. Since becoming aware that London was a prison too fortified to permit the escape of a lone, unaided witch. My problem was complacency, Eric a type of insulation against London’s heat. And in a bizarre reversal, I was satisfied that the boy pleased Rathel; for though the lady would jeopardize us all for her own desires, I had not enough of the sinner within me to wish her torment beyond retribution from God. And I was neither God nor fit to make such decisions for Him. I was a solitary witch seeking only serenity, though no longer having the initiative to take it. Too settled was I to be outrageous. Too comfortable had I become to risk my easy life, and I was waiting for what? Would I require another strike like that of Gosdale’s visit to renew my exit of the sinners’ world? Or would I only need to murder once to find a life of peace?
• • •
“But, Miss Alba, your humor is extreme. What life could be better than that of a lady of stature in London? Would you be a commoner on a farm?”
As though disgusted with her treachery, I no longer concerned myself with Rathel’s ability to schedule time so that Eric and I were often alone, now on a day when Natwich was not due, the male and I walking in the garden without the burden or benefit of chaperone. How coincidental of this household that none of its members were out of doors but the lass and her visitor. The Rathel, however, was surely observant, peering through some glass wall to gauge her success. I had no intention of seeking her gaze, fearful of seeing bliss ooze from her pores like a hot sinner’s sweat, a failed suitor’s blood.
“Yes, and I say again, sir, that I do not care to be a lady in London. Instead, I would choose to be an average member of God’s humans in a wild land away from chamber pots and metal utensils for stabbing dead meat and mad gentlemen.”
We touched sycamore bark here, viewed a vining grey-bush there, stepped upon the path’s imprecise stones, one of us avoiding that tiny, nasty bridge. This late in the season, most of the trees’ leaves had fallen and been raked away by Theodosia and a certain witch. Though I smelled a late and mild winter coming, I made no mention of this perception, thereby avoiding a wild form of explication the sinning male would not readily accept.
My woolen dress with sleeves to the wrists was all I required for this weather. Eric, not to be climatically bested by a girl, had left his overcoat inside the house, though his skin had a bluish tinge. Such are the travails of the virile sinner.
“Indeed, Miss Alba, I can understand that being within wild land might be adventurous for a time, but for a life? Are not the advanced ways of our city superior to a coarse life without implements? Devices are made to better our lives, not burden them. Chairs and beds give us comfort where reclining upon stones cannot.”
“Lizards recline on stones, sir. Humans in the wilds have sense enough to find soft segments of the world to provide them with adequate comfort. Excessive comfort is the slothful way of Londoners.”
“And sturdy homes to protect us from harsh weather, and carriages to provide us with transport.”
“And to carry all our needless implements about.”
“And Continental markets to supply the edible rarities that some of us crave.”
That rejoinder stopped me like a lance stab. Intensely I stared at Eric for some explanation of his commentary, as though he were the witch, not I. And I could smell a smirk in him, though he stared at the trees as though having some especial fascination with poison oak.
“How dare you, sir, insult me by developing a sense of humor akin to my own.”
“My, my, miss, have you noticed the fine crop of poison sumac growing this season? Surely, some person in our world exists who considers this plant a delicacy.”
“The Greeks have gods who curse young men of comical discourse beyond their station. I suggest you restrict your imagination to the construction of jails for boys away from home without their parents’ consent. My understanding is that these criminals abound in London, and must be quashed before they multiply like cockroaches in the basement.”
“I say, miss, that prisons are another of our useful implements. What life could we have if such wanton criminals as you mention were allowed to roam freely through every library and garden in their path?”
“I have done this to you, have I not?” I returned with unbelievable solemnity while staring at Eric, who continued to view limbs. “Prior to my wretched influence, you were an average, arrogant, slothful sinner. A few years in the wilds would improve your haughty disposition, sir.”
“Oh, and we are in the wilds again,” he remarked, glimpsing me peripherally, and we began walking anew.
“Yes, in the wilds, and there without the impediments of walls and fences, without broken glass at our feet and liquor in our bellies.”
Having been quietly contemplative, nodding in agreement, Eric turned acute as he quickly turned to me, his thoughts made utterly pellucid by his reply.
“I have been to the seashore.”
I understood. I understood that he had visited the seashore and been moved by the wild ocean, the natural smell, the overwhelming mass of God’s true world.
“What a tremendous force the sea is, Eric—would you agree? All the endless water of such a space as to render England meager. And the complexity! Beneath the ocean’s surface is a second geography populated by animals and plants both enormous and unique.”
“Yes, yes,” he whispered, and we halted to lean near as though sharing a secret and needing to retain the important truth. “No land creature is as great as a whale—not even English cathedrals. And what living thing could be more wondrous than a seahorse—have you seen one, miss?”
“Etchings, I have seen a lovely etching of a seahorse.”
“In actuality, I have examined one,” he asserted eagerly, so decent as to share this great event without vanity. “One in a jar, not alive but perfectly preserved, yet indescribable. Indescribable.”
“Coquinas,” I added, looking to Eric’s face to denote his interest as I matched his revelation and thereby increased our mutual wonder. “Occasionally upon the beach at Man’s Isle near Maughold Head I would find coquinas. Do you know of them?”
“I do not, but I would—please!”
“Tiny paired shells,” I described softly, importantly, holding my finger and thumb a nail’s width apart, “as though a miniature clam, containing a minuscule, unseen creature that propels the joined shells into the sand and away from the seeker, away from one’s digging feet.”
“Do they bite or snap at one?”
“Not at all! Harmless and therefore not to be harmed. But lovely to see and fascinating to seek and touch, then leave undamaged and alone.”
“Mountains,” Eric mentioned. “You are correct regarding the sea’s second geography. On the ocean’s floor, at the water’s greatest depth, are mountains taller than any of land.”
“This I have never seen, but readily believe considering all the other wonders of God’s oceans. And though the great mountains mentioned would be an extraordinary sight, I am partial to those wet and wonderful animals.”
“I have noticed in your speaking, miss, that you’ve a special fondness for animals wet or dry.”
“I do, Eric, because my people have always believed that humans are a type of animal, in that the mutual aspects of body are similar.”
“The reference to ‘your people’ is not new, Miss Alba, and I wonder of your meaning. Are you of some different nationality? This is not readily accepted considering your excellent speaking, though you do have a bit of the unusual accent.”
“Yes, ’tis true that I’m a foreigner in coming from Man’s Isle, a land so alien as to be seen from greater England’s shore on a clear day. As for my people, I refer to my mother and our friends who lived a simple life within a forest, not a city. Some folk would consider us animals ourselves in that we chose to live without a raft of utensils and forged implements.”
“But as the Bible tells us, miss, the great difference between person and animal is that the latter lacks the immortal sou
l that only humans possess.”
“Apart from the Bible’s lessons, I have always lived according to those laws of God as presented by His Earth, not His scholars; in that within the wilds, one finds immortal laws and God their Maker everywhere, always. Being therefore subject to God’s glories and His rules simultaneously, I live my life as taught by my betters with the view that animals are special in their simple honesty, despite being inferior because they kill one another, this surely God’s manifestation of their being without soul. Therefore, do not humans behave as though without immortal spirit by emulating animalistic murder?”
“What became of the whales, miss?” Eric returned. “The wonders of the sea seem to have been replaced by philosophy. And within your thinking, did I not understand you to say that we humans are animals yet emulate animal behavior? Have I found a paradox not intended?”
“Sir, I remain unaware of whether you deliberately discovered a paradox I did not intend. My meaning is that humans are a type of animal or have a similar nature to animals. We are animals in the way we shit, not the way we think.”
Eric had no comment, for he had been struck by Satan in the form of a devastating word. Of course, even a pseudo-social witch understood that term to be improper. God forgive me for my error, and Eric, too, if able; for although with a riotous visage, he remained completely silent. Quite red as well, as though a natural tart, his cool blueness made hot by my speaking, Eric doubtless attempting to convince himself that, no, he had not heard such a word from Miss Alba. And if he had, how should he respond? Recalling that first instance of my shaming him, I quickly moved to end Eric’s discomfort.
“I must also mention the unquestionable fact that animals do not trample human environs in order to build their houses thereupon, nor systematically destroy people for their skin and fur and flesh. Perhaps one might say they lack the ability, and do not because they cannot. But as well I might posit that animals lack the…spirit…for such destruction.”