by Wolf, Jack
“Why didst thou betray me, Judas?” I said.
“I did not,” Erasmus said, and to mine Astonishment I saw plain Tears shining in the dark Wells of his Eyes. “I did not know that Mr Welch would become involved.”
“You listened to Dr Oliver,” I said.
“I did, ’tis true; he told me of his Worries regarding your Health. I share them, Tristan. But neither I, nor he, nor Mr Fielding thinks that you are mad.”
I examined Erasmus’ Expression. He was telling the Truth, I discerned, in so far as he could know it; which was to say that he gave Credence to mine Affirmation of my Sanity and he believed that the others did too. Whether he was right or wrong in this Belief, I could not verily tell, altho’ I doubted much that he was right. Dr Oliver would not have used him as Bait if he had thought that I was amenable to rational Argument.
“There you are deceived,” I said. “For the Doctor would have me locked up; I know not why; perchance it hath to do with the Lady B.——. But before God I meant her no Insult. I struggled against the Passion but it would not go away; it doth not; the Evil is always there, always. I could not contain it. I tried.”
“Mr Glass,” came Dr Oliver’s Voice. “It doth Mr Hart little Good for you to befuddle the Facts. I do believe that you should be better if you were to be in St Luke’s, Sir, for there I should be on hand to deal with your Case. As to whether you are incurably mad, that I do not know. I pray that you are not, for as your Friend says you are a brilliant young Man, and ’twould be a tragic Loss to our Profession as much as to your Family.”
“I will not go,” I said.
“You cannot remain here, Sir, in your present Condition,” said Dr Oliver. “Mrs Fielding cannot be expected to care for another Invalid—begging your Pardon, Henry. And I do not see how the Barnabys can take care of you, given their current Circumstances.”
“I am no Invalid!” I said. “I need no one to take care of me! I will not go. By God, you must not try to take me.”
Dr Oliver shook his Head.
I turned, desperate, to Erasmus. “Help me,” I said.
“I shall,” Erasmus answered. “I shall not leave you, Sir; I shall stay for as long as you shall need me.”
To be fair to Dr Oliver, I must admit that St Luke’s was not an Institution in any Way akin to the hideous Bethlem. The Ethos of the Place, with which I had fully concurred when I was sane My Self, was that Madness was as curable a Disease as any other; and its Practices were intirely designed to further the Restoration of Reason to a Mind temporarily bereft. But that Night, sorely bruised as I was from my Fight with Saunders Welch, and trappt in a Nightmare of mine own Making, I could not comprehend this.
Erasmus finally having perswaded me to take the Doctor’s Prescription, I was unshackled from the Chair, and taken with more Gentleness than had been heretofore accorded me into the drawing Room, where waited James Barnaby.
At mine Entry, Barnaby leapt from the Seat upon which he had been sitting and placed himself square behind the Sopha on the far Side of the Room. I had no Power to pursue him, even had I wanted to, yet despite my somewhat pathetic State his evident Terrour amused me. Aye, I thought, you have Reason, Hypocrite; but I said nothing. Erasmus assisted me to sit in an Armchair, and then turned to confront him.
“Mr Barnaby,” he said, “it hath been suggested that your Brother-in-law must be confined in an Hospital for the Duration of his Illness. I have argued, and will continue to argue against this Course of Action as I do not doubt that it will make Mr Hart’s Condition much the worse. However, the Decision is yours; owing to his Father’s Incapacity you are his Next of Kin. What will you do?”
“Lud,” said Barnaby at once, with a slight Squeak in his Voice. “If Mr Hart may be taken to an Hospital, then for God’s Sake he must be therein committed.”
“But consider,” Erasmus retorted swift as Lightning, “the Shame of that.”
This Bolt hit direct upon Barnaby’s weak Spot; he could not abide the Thought of publick Ridicule, and the Spectre of the Neighbours discovering that Jane, who was with Child, had a mad Brother, threw him into quite a Funk. Insanity, they say, runneth in Families. “I’facks!” he cried. “Let him then remain where he is!”
Mr Henry Fielding, who had walked into the Room at my Rear, then pointed out in a most cutting Tone that if I was not to be committed, I must instead return to Shirelands forthwith. Barnaby turned very white at this Proposal, and cried out that he could not possibly allow it; I would most likely murder him upon the Road, and could there not be found some other Solution?
“Indeed, Mr Barnaby,” exclaimed Mr Fielding sharply. “Do you know nothing of your familial Duty? He is your Brother, Sir!”
“As I have given Tristan my Vow that I will not abandon him,” Erasmus interrupted, “then I propose that I shall accompany him to Shirelands Hall My Self, and take charge of his Care until he be well again.”
“And who, Mr Glass, shall pay your Bill?” Barnaby cried out, in a frantick Tone.
“Good God!” exclaimed Mr Fielding again. “You shock me, Sir!”
“I would do’t for nothing but my Board and Lodging,” Erasmus snapped. “Mr Hart is a good Man; and he is my Friend.”
This Offer seemed to mollify Mr Barnaby, and he began to talk tentatively of my Return to Shirelands under Erasmus’ Supervision. As he still expresst some Reservation as to the Expense, it was eventually suggested that Erasmus’ Keep was to be paid out of my Father’s Purse; unless of course my Father died, when it should fall upon me. To this final Proposal, Barnaby, happily, agreed.
Shortly after this I fell asleep, and I do not know what occurred after; but in the Morning Erasmus made me to understand that we were straightway to leave for Berkshire, and that we should not be very soon returning.
“Your Father hath endured a Stroake,” he said. “He hath been left unable to speak, and hath lost all Sensation upon the right Side of his Body. Your Family needs you, Tristan. It hath been arranged that I shall accompany you, to give whatever Assistance I can in the Matter, for it is quite beyond the poor Skill of the local Physician.”
I had been greatly soothed by my laudanum-induced Sleep, and even more so by the subsequent Draught which Erasmus had presst upon me before Breakfast, so despite my Knowledge of the previous Night’s Conversation with Barnaby, I did not query why Erasmus was to attend upon my Father. It seemed peculiarly appropriate that he should. I suggested to him that we confer closely together on the Case.
“So shall we,” Erasmus said. “But you must remember that you go home, in the first Instance, to rest.” He encouraged me to drink a further Draught, to ease my strained Nerves, and then, before I had properly to register what was afoot, we had said our Goodbyes to Mary and the Brothers Fielding, and departed together in Mr Fielding’s Coach.
I recall little of what happened on the Journey. Some Miles, I suppose, outside of London, I remember realising that Erasmus had taken off the Shackles that had bound my Wrists and Ankles, and that we had stoppt for a short Meal at a roadside Inn. I noticed nothing of the Meal, or of the Place.
* * *
I saw my Father once upon mine Arrival at the Hall. He lay helpless in the semi-Darkness of his Chamber, a Room into which I had not penetrated since mine own Infancy, attended by Mrs H., who was spoon-feeding him some Soup from a porcelain Bowl. The Strangeness of the Sight reminded me of Mary with my Bat, and made my Bowels churn. I did not go near him after. I kept Bat’s Sketch safe in my Waistcoat, by mine Heart, and only changed its Position when I changed my Cloathes. No one saw it.
CHAPTER TWO-AND-TWENTY
I consider it Memory’s greatest Strangeness, with what Ease a Man—even a sane Man—may forget for Yeares a small thing heard, or seen, which later, upon appropriate Stimulus, presseth so intently upon his Awareness that it seem almost more real than that present Moment which hath so recalled it. For almost five Yeares I had utterly forgot that Ballad of the Goblin Knight Nathaniel had sung to me beneath th
e August Sunne. Now, that Memory was revived; at first so softly that I had not noticed, then gradually with greater and greater Force, till now, upon my first Evening back beneath the Roof of mine ancestral Home, it rang in mine Head more loudly than any Hunting-horn. And as it rang I realised, with a great and sudden Clarity, that this Goblin Knight intended great Evil to mine intire Family. I saw truly that he was Raw Head, and the would-be Ravisher of the Woman I loved; and with his Goblin Army he prowled nightly thro’ the Gardens, watching for his Chance. I had the Suspicion he should be identified with some unknown Individual who had yet neither Name nor Countenance; but tho’ my Mind strove to make the Connexion, and provide him with both, it could not. Raw Head, Raw Head, in the Dark. Whether he had aught to do with Viviane or not, I was unsure; but what, I thought, would be more like than that a gypsy Witch should consort with an evil Fay? Why should not she, having baulked at her Revenge herself, discharge that Task upon him?
Against this Threat, it became mine habitual Duty to prowl at Dusk from Room to Room, demanding that every Door, every Window, every Crack, thro’ which even a mere Mouse could creep, be stoppt fast against this Legion of Monsters who dwellt outside in the Dark. Mrs H. went with me, when she was not nursing my Father. Erasmus, at first, would not; but after a few Weeks he too began to accept the Ritual’s Importance, and then he would follow at a Distance with a Candle whilst I checked, and checked again. I tried to explain to him the Severity of the Threat which Raw Head surely posed, but unfortunately he did not appear to comprehend it. He seemed more distressed by my Caution than by the Danger itself, and, fearing, so he said, that I should overtax My Self, fed me Paregoric by what seemed the Tankard. This frustrated me; I was not distressed, nor like to be, as long as all the Gaps remained fast. I went not near the Windows, lest I be seen.
I wrote, and wrote, on all these things, to Katherine. She did not respond. I did not know why. Erasmus assured me that she was well, and that she loved me still, and that Lt. Simmins had given her my Answer, and my final London Letter. She had gone, he said, to stay with her maternal Uncle for the Present, and I was not to worry My Self with unhappy Fears for her. But it was so compleatly unlike my dear Katherine to fail to answer me that I was forced to dread the very Worst, and had Erasmus not continually repeated his Reassurances I should mayhap have sought out mine own Death. Sometimes, I thought—and hoped, for Hope made the Possibility seem real—that she had not responded because I had not yet composed mine own Letters, and therefore what I remembered was the Future. Time had become a Mystery to me, its intimate Workings incomprehensible, for all I knew that eight supposedly followed seven o’ the Clock. I determined to leave the Safety of Shirelands Hall and make the deadly Journey to Dorset to see her; but when I was brought up to Scratch I dared not to cross the Threshold of the House. Mine Impotence enraged me. I broke things. Other Dayes, deep in Despair, I became certain that she had replied, and ran to my Trunk to read again the Letters she had sent to me in London, and each one was as fresh as if it had been written yesterdaye.
One unthreatened thing remained to me: my Studies; for, despite Erasmus’ Insistence that I must spare my Nerves, I had refused to desist from all Work. I bade my Father’s Gamekeeper bring me live Subjects for Experimentation and Study, and within a Fortnight of my Return my Cages had begun to fill, and my Laboratory to rustle. Yet, despite my stated Design, I found My Self incapable of performing a Dissection upon any one of these, for the mere Effort of preparing Board and Instruments seemed beyond me. Left thus unmolested, my Captives gradually and against all Reason transfigured into my Companions and Friends, and after several Weeks I could no more stomach the Notion of killing one of them any more than I could have killed Erasmus, or Katherine. So I hid my Tools from view, and buried My Self within medical Tracts and Works upon the Theory of Knowledge, spending Houres upon my Sopha beneath the vacant pitying Eyes of my Skulls, my silently scampering Skeletons, finding therein a slight and fleeting Comfort.
One Afternoon, towards the End of the Summer, I made the unwelcome Discovery that Erasmus thought my Father very sick indeed. He had not been in the Habit of discussing the Case overly much with me; but when he did, he seemed quietly optimistic, and expresst a firm Belief that Time would ease a great many of my Father’s current Difficulties. But shortly after full Moon of August, I overheard him talking quietly with my Sister. It was a rainy, blowy Daye, as drear as ever late Summer can be, and not fit for travelling; yet my Sister, who had remained devoted to my Father despite her Marriage, had made the Trip in Barnaby’s Coach, and asked that Erasmus take Tea privately with her in the drawing Room, that she might hear his Opinion.
“I will not deceive you, Mrs Barnaby,” Erasmus said, as they sate within, and I hovered secretly and silent without the unlocked Door. “He hath made some tremendous Progress. The Sedative is keeping him calm, and as long as he remain so there is a Chance that his Rational Self will regain control. But it is my Fear that, from this Point, we will not see much more of a Recovery until many Months pass; if, indeed, we see any at all. I must ask you to prepare yourself for the Possibility that he will continue indefinitely in his present Condition.”
“But he is calm,” Jane said. Her Voice was somewhat slurred, as if she had been sobbing. “He was never calm, before. Always he was agitated, and so terribly afraid.”
“Yes,” said Erasmus gently. “He doth not suffer, I think. But, from what you have told me, he hath never before been subjected to a Regime based upon the modern Principles of Rational Suggestion and appropriate Medication.”
The August Rain lashed hard against the House. “It must be a good Sign,” Jane said. “I will not give up on him, Mr Glass.”
I was furious. Poor Jane! I thought. Great with Child as she is, she should not be encumbered with such Cares, nor should Erasmus be so discouraging to her Hopes. The Prognosis is not so very poor. ’Tis true my Father makes but a slow Recovery, but the Assault was a massive one. I would have burst in upon them, and my first Impulse was to do so; but a Concern for the Effect this might have upon Jane prevented me. I restrained My Self.
I had a Number of Ideas regarding my Father’s Illness which I had not yet broached to Erasmus, and for Jane’s Sake I retired to my warm Study and sitting at mine Escritoire attempted to write them into a coherent Theory, the which, I thought, would have effect both upon his Treatment and on that of others. I knew that the most likely Cause of an Apoplexia was that of an Aneurysm within the Brain. This being so, it had been an acute Crisis which my Father had survived. I remembered how Thomas Willis, in his Cerebri anatome, had argued that cerebral Lesions could produce Hemiplegia. Could such Lesions result from cerebral Haemorrhage? Could they be the Cause of my Father’s Incapacity? Musing upon this, I lifted my Convict’s Skull and turned it over, to peer within the brain-Case. If so, I thought, then perhaps a thorough Regime of the active Stimulation of the Nerves might induce the broken Fibres to re-grow, the Lesions to heal, and Sensation to return. I had an Image in mine Head as of the Hand of God, reaching down from Heaven to grasp the Hand of Man, but my Words could not make Sense of it. The Ink would not stay still upon the Page.
At half-past Seven I shouted for Erasmus, as I wished him to accompany me upon my Rounds, but Mrs H. informed me that he had gone to see my Sister safe back to Withy Grange, where he was expected to stay for Dinner. I told Mrs H., in no uncertain Terms, that I thought this exceeding inconsiderate, and refused to take the Palliative he had prepared for me. When she presst it on me, I snatched the Glass out of her Hand and threw it with all my Force into the drawing Room Fireplace. She had more Sense than to continue after that. I refused her Peace-offering of a dinner Tray, and lit up all the Tapers in my Study, where I remained, by their Light studying Dr Hunter’s lecture Notes upon the System of the Nerves.
* * *
After a while the Rain moved off to the North, and the Night had become still and cold. I had covered up my Creatures, and the Quiet of my Study was that of warm coa
l-Light, and Sleep. All of a sudden there came a Ring upon the front Door of the Hall, and after about half a Minute, I heard the Sound of angry Voices, echoing up the dark Stairwell from the entrance-Way beneath. Mine Heart missed a Beat. I lifted mine Attention from my Page and held my Breath, focusing all mine Hearing intent on the Stairs.
There were, I could discern, two Speakers. The one was Mr Green, the Butler, shouting in an exasperated Tone that this was the third Time in as many Weeks; that Beggars were not to call at the Front; and the Caller must ask Alms at the Kitchen or begone. The other Voice I could not quite make out, for it seemed somewhat muffled, as if its Owner stood within the Porch and yet without the front Door; but it was desperate in its Tone. The Row continued, Hammer and Tongs, for a full Minute; then there was a loud Slam, and a faint Cry, and Mr Green’s Footsteps clacking sharp across the marble Floor; then Silence.
I thought: ’Tis no Beggar. They have come; they are at the Door. Trembling, I got quietly to my Feet, and was about to tiptoe down-Stairs to ransack my Father’s Library for his Gunne, when there resounded an harsh, rattling Crack against my window Pane.
I froze in mid Step. I did not dare to breathe. There came a second Tap upon my Glass. Immediately, I droppt upon my Knees. My Limbs shook as violently if I were caught in an Earthquake.
I thought: ’Tis Viviane.
A third, sharp Crack; and from somewhere below, a loud, fierce, surprizing, Human, Curse.
The Voice was familiar – and ’twas not Viviane’s. Mine Heart began, slowly, to beat again. My Courage rose. Perhaps, I conceived—with a sudden rash Hope, and despite that I had thought it a Woman’s Pitch—it is no Demon, it is Nathaniel! Who else would ever stand so bold throwing Stones at my Window?
I crawled under my long Table to my Window and knelt beside it, keeping My Self out of Sight, lest it be not Nathaniel at all, and peered carefully between my Shutters down upon the moonlit Gravel that lay directly outside it.