by Wolf, Jack
Darling, please. Write me as soon as you can, or send Word why you cannot. Only save me from this desperate Agony.
Your poor, unhappy, Friend,
Tristan Hart.
Again, I sent away mine Heart; again, I fled into the Company of Erasmus Glass, seeking in Vain some Comfort and Distraction in harmless Entertainments. I would not even consider the Idea of visiting Mrs Haywood. I had, for the third Evening, refused to join the Fielding Family for Dinner, despite Mary’s sweetest Entreaties; it would have been only a Waste to feed me, since I had no Appetite. She had placed her Hand upon mine Elbow and called me Chick, and said she could not stand to watch me starve, but tho’ I kissed her kindly on her Cheek and thanked her, I would not be swayed. But having departed the House, I began to dread that she would comment upon mine Health to her Husband, and he to his Brother-in-law, who would certainly conclude that I was losing my Sanity.
By the Fridaye Morn, however, even the Presence of my Friends was more than I could stand. I ran like an Hare from Erasmus at the Hospital, and did not respond to the anxious Missive I received from him inquiring after my Welfare. I was not tired; I was not hungry; I was not ill.
If I had lost Katherine, I was nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Katherine’s Reply arrived upon the Morning of Mondaye, at precisely six o’ the Clock. I was lucky, being in the Act of departing the House, to be able to take it straight from the Boy. At the Sight of her Handwriting, mine Heart leapt. My Darling was alive. My worst Fears melted at once to nothing in the Brightness of the early Summer Sunnelight.
I could not now resist, having the dear Letter in mine Hand, delaying my Departure for some Moments in order to read it. I stood upon the Doorstep, the front Door closed at my Back, and all the noisome Bustle of the Street mere Inches from my Face, and, breaking the Seal, unfolded the creamy Paper. To my Surprize I found that there was only one, large Sheet, and that Katherine had filled it to the very Edge—as Jane was oft inclined to do, but which had never been Katherine’s Habit. Eagerly, I ran mine Eyes over her Words.
Dearest and most Esteemed Sir,
How I Wish with all my Heart that it were Possible that I could freely accept Your Offer; but it is not, for our Marriage would be a Lie—I cannot go on, my Love, excepting thro’ another Tale of Leonora, who may at least Speake for herself, when I cannot—Kate the most truly Cursed—for whenever I try to Speak of it I am struck Dumb and I beginne to Think that Mama is right, and these Things did not Happen, except in a Nightmare.
Oh, my Bloody Bones, my Deare, if it is within Your Capacity, forgive poor Leonora! If when You have read her Tale, You would still wed poor Katherine, then it shall be so; but if You cannot, then I will bear Leonora’s Shame and disappear for Ever from Your sight.
I thought: this cannot be. There hath been some Mistake. I lowered mine Eyes, and read the Title of her Tale:
The Tale of Raw Head and the Willow Tree.
Once upon a Time, before Bloody Bones the Lover of Leonora saved her from the Vicious Goblins, she had a strange and evil Dream—
Mine Eyes un-focused. I took a deep Breath, and forcing My Self to concentrate, continued reading to the End of the Paper. But as I reached the Finish, my Mind seemed to give a giant Kick, and suddenly I could no longer comprehend what I had read. I returned to the Beginning, which was the last I could remember; but I could not find the Place where mine Understanding had deserted me.
—In the Garden of the House, there groweth a Willow Tree—
—the Willow Tree is Leonora—
I became aware of an apprehensive, roiling Sickness deep within my Stomach, as if I were upon a small Boat cast loose in a raging Sea. I tried to read on:
—one Summer’s Evening a tender Youth comes to sit beneath her Trailing Branches, and he is Dark and Wondrous as the Night Sky; and the Willow Tree hath fallen Utterly in Love with him. But tho’ she Quivered and Shook, he noticed her not—
—upon Christmas Eve a Wicked Magician, who was really Raw Head in Disguise, came along and he—
—said to her—
My Senses began to spin. Mine Eyes ran wildly up and down, all over the Paper.
—“I will Make you into a Woman”—
“No,” I said. “It is not so. No, no.”
I turned mine Eyes again towards the Tale, but the Page seemed to be covered by an indecipherable Mess of Sigils and Runes, incomprehensible to me as Hebrew Script.
My whole Body began to sweat; yet I felt as chilled as if the Yeare were approaching its Midnight. The busy Street was silent as a Crypt, and my Vision had grown dark. I shivered violently, and fearing my Legs about to give Way under me, I steadied My Self against the Fieldings’ heavy Door.
I raised my Fist and battered hard against the Wood. After what seemed an Eternity, it was opened by Liza. “Lud!” she exclaimed. “Mr Hart, are you all right? You look as grey as a Ghost!”
I could not answer, but elbowed past her into the Hallway and made my Way on shaking Limbs to my Chamber.
I staggered into my Room, and lurched towards the Fireplace, where I was violently Sick. The Effluxion was of only Bile, my Stomach being intirely empty of everything else, and made little Mess. The Grate had not been swept.
I wiped my Mouth upon my Sleeve; then I turned back to my Task. If I was to write to Katherine, I needed Paper, Ink, and Quill, but altho’ the latter Items were in plain View upon mine Escritoire, I could not anywhere locate writing Paper, despite my Conviction that I had several Sheaves within my Possession.
I was perplext; I remembered clearly, and without mental Disputation, that I had seen several Sheets of Paper atop mine Escritoire before I had retired to my Bed at half-past two upon the previous Night. I knew that I had not put them away in their accustomed Drawer, and, moreover, that neither Mary nor Liza had entered my Chamber whilst I was asleep, for I slept light enough to hear a Feather fall.
I ran my Hands over the top of my Desk, making careful Note of the Positions occupied by my Possessions, but naught else had been removed. My Pen and Ink stood exactly as I had left them, and my Books also. But my Paper had gone.
Mine Heart began to thud within my Chest. Dear God! I thought. Who, or What, hath been within my Room? And why, why, should anyone have thought to have moved my Papers, and left all else untouched?
My Bowels twisted. I realised that altho’ it might seem to me that nothing had been touched, the Truth was like to be that everything I held dear, everything I loved, had been in some Way meddled with, and then replaced lest it appear to me that any Interference had occurred. But the Robber, whoever he was, had made a grievous Error in forgetting to replace my Papers. But perhaps he had only the Time to move them during the brief Span between my Leaving for the Hospitals and returning to write to my Katherine. The Creature might be now within this Room.
Upon this Realisation, a deep, chymical Fury began to burn within mine Entrails. The Impudence of the Thing to have thus broken in, the Inconvenience he had caused me in moving my Papers when my Need was so immediate, mine Apprehension of his evil Intent, the Violation of it; Violation upon Violation; Betrayal and Loss unbearable.
“I will not suffer this!” I roared. I was determined that the hidden Thing, whatever he was, should comprehend the bloody Severity of his Mistake, and cower in Terrour at mine Intimation of the Consequences. “Shew yourself now,” I said. “And I may yet be mercifull. Hide from me and I swear to God that when I find you I shall rip your Head clean off your Shoulders.”
I stood stock-still, in the Centre of the Room, with mine Head cocked upon one Side, listening and watching, for the slightest Trace of Movement. There was none.
Determined that I should not be made a Fool of, I strode across to my Bed and hurled the Covers to the Floor. Finding nothing and no one, I seized the Mattress and threw it aside. Nothing. I ran to my Closet. My clean Shirts and Breeches lay, seeming untouched, in tight Piles upon the Shelves, but I knew better than to trust to this Appearan
ce. Reaching to the very Back, I clawed the whole Closet-ful out upon itself, and let it fall higgledy-piggledy at my Feet.
Nothing, nothing. I held mine Head within mine Hands and pulled at mine Hair. For what was the Goblin searching? So subtile a Robber must be acting upon Order, to relieve its Victim of some special, precious Thing, some irreplaceable Treasure; but what thing did I possess that could fulfil such a Criterion?
The only thing to have been moved, for certain, was my writing Paper. Therefore, I thought, the Object of the Goblin’s Interest must be some papery thing; some Diagram, some Sett of Notes, some Letter.
Oh, God, I thought, at once. He hath come in Search of my Darling’s Letters.
I leapt towards my travelling Trunk, which lay locked at the Foot of my Bed; which had come to Bow Street containing Instruments; which now housed all mine anatomical Drawings, my Notes that I had made during Dr Hunter’s Lectures, and beneath them, I had thought safely hid, Katherine’s Letters.
Mine Hands trembling about the Key, I unlocked my Case. Throwing back the Lid, I stared within. Mine Heart beat faster than a galloping Stag.
My lecture Notes and all were quite intact; I pushed them to one Side. Below, Katherine’s precious Letters lay in the muslin Kerchief in which I had wrappt them. At once I untied the Ribband and examined, closely, every one, to make intirely certain that no Intrusion had taken place. I laid them out in the Shape of a Wheel, centred upon My Self; the Pages were so many that the Circle spun about me thrice. Not one seemed to me to have been disturbed, so I tried to replace them in their secret Niche. But as I lifted the first Pages, I was struck by the dreadful Apprehension that the silent, secret Goblin had been watching me. I droppt the Letter like an hot Coal. While they lay within their Circle they were beyond the Touch of any evil Thing, as was I, seated at their Hub; but now I realised that neither they nor I would be safe if I replaced them within my Chest. I placed the Letter back within the Circle, taking great Care, altho’ mine Hands were shaking, that it lay exactly as it had done before. Then mine Attention fell within the Chest, upon the Object on which they, themselves, had been resting. It was the Sketch Mary had made a Yeare and an Half ago, of My Self cradling the infant Bat upon my Knee.
I took it from the Chest, and stared at it, and for a Moment I was almost incapable of comprehending what it was. Bloody Bones stared back, his Bat—his!—resting safe within his Grasp; winged Innocence, Life, not skeletal Death, protected by the very Devil.
Viviane’s Pup, got by a Rape.
At last, I understood. Bat was truly my Child, and my previous Mathematic, which I had thought to have proved my Guiltlessness, signified naught. The Sum was broken. Witches and Faeries are not Subject to earthly Time; they have no Hearts to mark it.
Then I knew, with an indefatigable Resolution, that this, not my Darling’s Letters, was the Thing the Goblin had sought. I folded the Portrait and hid it within the Pocket of my Waistcoat.
Finding the Portrait soothed me. As long as I keep it, I thought, I have Control: all will be well. Sitting back upon mine Heels in the Middle of my Floor, I remembered that I was expected about the Hospital, and that I was already late. This Thought spurred my Wits; scrambling to my Feet, I snatched open the bottom Drawer of my writing Desk, and finding there Paper a-plenty, took up my Quill, returned to my Circle, and began forthwith to write.
My Dearest Miss Montague, I began.
I stoppt. I could not remember anything of her Tale. I did not dare attempt again to read it, for Fear of those daemonic Hieroglyphs; and whenever I tried now to recall what she had been trying to tell me, my Mind reeled away, as if from a Precipice.
After many long and fruitless Minutes during which I sate staring at the Back of mine Hand, movelessly poised over the blank White of the Page, I wrote, simply:
I remain
As ever
Your Friend
Tristan Hart.
I sealed up the Letter, wrote upon it Katherine’s Address, and placed it in my Pocket, safe beside the Portrait of My Self and Bat.
I was halfway thro’ my Chamber Doorway when I heard a tiny, half muffled, scratching Sound that caused me to wheel about, and make at Speed for my Fireplace. Disregarding the Stench rising from the wet Ashes, I knelt down and put mine Ear to the Chimney-piece. I held my Breath.
A faint Scrabbling, like a trapped Rat, echoed down the draughty Chasm.
So, I thought, ’tis a Gnome! A Gnome, within my Chimney!
Gripped by an outraged Fury at the Notion that my personal Effects had been touched by so mean a thing as a common Gnome, and Shame at mine own idiotic Fear, I scrambled across the Floor to my bed-Cloathes, and took up a well-stuffed feather Pillow. Returning to my Fireplace, I thrust the Pillow with all the Force I could muster into the sooty Opening and then stood back. The Pillow appeared to be securely wedged. There is no Chance, I thought, of any fuckster Gnome finding its Way back into my Chambers by that Route.
“Die there,” I said.
Cramming mine Hat upon mine Head, I pushed past Liza, who was stupidly standing just within my Doorway, and fled the House in the Direction of the Post. I ran as if the Devil were snapping at mine Heels. It was not fast enough. The Throng upon the Thoroughfare was thick and slow; in Places I was forced to stop, and swear, and strike out wildly with my Cane. Mine Heart beat frantick with Exertion, and with Guilt. While I was running to the Post, St Thomas’s Hospital lay in quite another Direction, and I was needed there.
The Post was busy; I was forced to wait. My Chest thrummed with a Pain so furious I felt it had become a Fire-box, and all my Limbs shuddered so that I half believed I should fall down. A ringing Noise, high and sharp as a silver Pin, had begun to sound within mine Ears. I shook mine Head to dispel it, but in vain.
Then, over both the Ringing and the ragged Noise of mine own Breathing, I heard a Voice behind me. I knew it instantly.
“The Goblin Knight stood by the Bedd
The Curtain tore and one was dead.
The Goblin grubbed up th’Willow Tree,
The Blossom ruined, that bloomed on mee.”
I spun abruptly about. I could not see her. Whose Words? Were they Leonora’s?
“Raw Head, Raw Head, in the Dark
While All the Family lies Asleepe.”
“Where are you?” I whirled this Way and that, in an Attempt to catch a Glimpse of her.
“I am amazed at you, Caligula,” Viviane said.
“Where the Devil are you?” I shouted. “Stand still and let me see you, you damnable Witch!”
“Whose Fault is it, Caligula?”
I twisted my Neck; I hunted for her everywhere. Perhaps she had become a Sparrow, or a Blackbird, or a Thrush. I knew she had not flown from me, this Time, for all that I could not see her. I would not deny her, no; I had proved my Crime now to My Self and I was ready to answer for it. I called her Name, over and over, as Nathaniel must have done that May Daye in the High Field. But she would not come to me.
I became slowly sensible then of the Presence of an Hand, grasping mine Elbow, and a Face, not Viviane’s, floating before mine Eyes as if upon a Cloud. I desisted from my frantick searching Gyre, and blinked; within a Moment or two the formless Face assumed the Proportions, and Identity, of Dr Oliver.
“For God’s Sake, Sir,” he was saying. “Calm down.”
“Dr Oliver!” I said. “Where hath she gone? She would not permit me to see her. Did you see where she went?”
“Did I see where who went, Mr Hart?” said Dr Oliver.
I drew back. I knew that he had seen me with Viviane. The Notion was alarming; I did not care that anyone besides My Self and Nathaniel should know of mine Association with her. “Nobody,” I said.
“Who are you looking for?” said Dr Oliver.
“Nobody!” I cried. “Believe me, Nobody!”
“I do believe you,” Dr Oliver said. “But now you must come with me, before the Constable arrives.”
“The Constable?” I said
.
“My dear young Man, you have been the Cause of a Disturbance to the Peace.”
“I do not see how,” I said.
“No,” said Dr Oliver. “That I realise, Mr Hart. Nevertheless, it is better that we leave—and quickly. Come, let me accompany you back to your Lodging.”
I permitted Dr Oliver to lead me from the Post-house into the bustling, Sunne-filled Street. The Sunne was very high, and the Shaddowes that had stretched a quarter-way across the Road when I had entered the Office seemed shrunken now to blackened Slits.
I turned in Amazement and Dismay to Dr Oliver. “What Houre of the Clock is it?” I asked.
“Near twelve,” came the astonishing Reply.
“No!” I said. “Then I have wasted an intire Morning, when I should have been about my Studies, and my Work! I must hie me to St Thomas’s, and quick.”
Dr Oliver did not release his Grip upon mine Arm. “No, Mr Hart,” he said. “I do not think that you should be todaye about the Hospitals. You look as if you have walked from a Battle, Sir.”
I frowned. “Thinkst so, Harry? You should see me when I am come fresh from an Amputation.” I laughed.
“You forget,” said Dr Oliver, “that I have done so, many Times.”
“Do not,” I warned him, “think me mad. I am not; I am quite as sane as you.”
“I never imagined that you were mad,” Dr Oliver said. “But you are undoubtedly very tired. When did you last sleep, Sir? Or eat?”
“I am quite well,” I said.
“My dear Sir,” Dr Oliver said. “The most brilliant Physician may, in diagnosing his own Case, prove to be the biggest Fool. Permit me to tell you that you are not well, that you must go home, and that you will not be returning to the Hospitals until you have recovered both your Colour and your Wits. I shall inform Dr Hunter of your Illness.”
I drew back from him. Something in his Tone reminded me of my Father.