Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631)

by Wolf, Jack

  “I am Mr Hart’s Physician.”

  “Yes,” she answered, jutting out her Chin. “And a pissing poor one!” Her lower Lip began to tremble.

  “Hush, Brat,” I said, putting my left Palm on her Shoulder.

  “And Mrs Henderson,” Erasmus said, his Tone increasing in Incredulity with every Word. “When—when was it, two Dayes ago?—you realised that there was a Stranger hiding in the House, why, for the Love of God, did you not come at once to me with your Suspicions?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr Glass, but I didn’t know what to do for the best,” Mrs H. replied, wringing her Hands. “I guessed—I thought—I hoped, Sir, it must be Miss Montague. I know how Master Tristan adores her, Sir, for hasn’t he spoke of little else all thro’ his—his Wanderings? I thought that mayhap if it were Miss Montague, then having her here might make Master Tristan well again. I thought there was no Harm in playing along with them for a Daye or two, and that I should find her before there was any Trouble.”

  “Trouble?” Erasmus laughed harshly. “As to Trouble, the Fat’s in the Fire now, and no Mistake. Not only may Mr Hart get married, but he must, or Miss Montague’s Reputation shan’t be worth a Fig. By God, Tristan, you ought not to have done this.”

  I felt this Accusation to be deeply unfair. “I told you Miss Montague was here, Erasmus,” I reminded him. “You would not believe me. And this Row with mine Aunt Barnaby is no Fault of mine. You wrote to apprize her of my Wish to marry, did not you, even tho’ I warned you how she would react?”

  This Memento appeared to give Erasmus Pause, and he sate down, very suddenly, upon an heavy Chair behind my Father’s Escritoire. “I wrote your Sister, not your Aunt,” he sighed. “As we agreed I should. But you warned me, yes; both things; you did.” The Wind had droppt out of his Sails; he fell silent.

  “Might I go, Mr Glass?” Mrs H. asked, somewhat timidly. “I daren’t leave the Squire for long, Sir.”

  “Yes, Mrs H., you may leave.” Erasmus ran his Hand distractedly thro’ his Hair and took a deep Draught of my Father’s Brandy. He looked up, and seeing My Self and Katherine still standing, all on a sudden cried: “Begone too, Tristan, and Miss Montague besides! All of you, go, go! Egad! If there is one sane Person in this whole Household, it is not any one of us!”

  I took Katherine’s small white Hand in mine own, and we hastily departed.

  * * *

  It transpired that Katherine’s Disobedience in leaving my Chamber had not been her Fault, for, several of the Maids arriving to strip the Bed in mine Absence, she had almost been discovered, and had fled in the Direction of my Study. Upon the Stairs, she had unfortunately been intercepted by Mrs H., and then by mine Aunt, who had been at that Moment ascending them in a furious Passion at the Newes of mine affectionate Attachment, which Barnaby had brought her whilst her Abigail had been dressing her Wigg. I did not scold her, for her Action had brought about a marvellous Result. For the first Time in my Life I had clear Proof of my Father’s Love; and Katherine was to be my Wife within the Week. Wild Excitement, irresistible as elfin Musick, whisked me up, and forced me to caper to its Strains; a fast and complex Dance of Doubles and Setts and Turns as each Phrase was repeated twice, and then began anew, as in Argeers; until I had danced Katherine off her Feet, and driven Mrs H. to Distraction. The Houre being then late, Erasmus quietly insisted that I take a Dose of Laudanum, and go to Bed.

  My Conviction being unchanged toward that Drugge, I refused. Erasmus persisted, and eventually wrung out of me the Concession that I would return to my Study with the declared Intent of there remaining as silent as a Mouse; altho’ I did not expect that I should be. I took up Locke, but finding it impossible to concentrate upon him, fetched Quill and Paper—tho’ I confess I did not expect any more Success in this Endeavour than the other. I let my Mind run free and mine Hand scribe whatever Ideas might associate in mine Head, and I gradually fell into an intense Consideration of my Father’s Case: the plain and evident Fact of his Cogency; his immediate Acceptance of Katherine; his disturbing Inability to express himself in the Language of civilised Men.

  What, I scribbled, is happening within his injured Brain when he begins to speak?

  I could not understand how one Manner of clear formed Thought, to wit, the Words my Father desired to use, could not arrive upon his Tongue when coarse Vulgarities came as ready as the Rhetoric of Cicero. I was certain that his Ejaculations were not as the Barking of a Dogg, automatic, as Descartes would have it. My Father knew what he was saying, and, moreover, what he meant. His Reason was undamaged. And yet, I thought, was it not evidence of an Injury to the Mind that he could not pronounce the Words that, I thought, took shape within it. Was it truly Words in which he now thought, or simply Ideas, unchisselled, unformed? Yet these Ideas, surely, were not brutish. My Father had never been, and surely was not now, a brutish Man. Moreover, there was the terrible Struggle I had witnessed him undergoing every Time he had been forced to speak—except todaye, when he had dismisst mine Aunt. Plainly, his Ideas were civilised, but the Stroake had deprived him of the Language by which he might have expresst them. It seemed to me somehow to be a thing of profound Import that, if civilised Speech was beyond him, but not civilised Thought, the vulgar Tongue was become the Medium in which he made manifest his Ideas. The Notion put me in Mind of the Almighty’s Creation of Adam out of base Matter; if such thing, I thought, had ever taken place.

  I looked down. I had written: What is Thought? What is its Substance?

  At once I noticed, thro’ the nocturnal Silence, how loudly ticking was the Clock upon my Mantelpiece. I recalled my long ago Conversation with Dr Hunter about the Workings of the Nerves, and my Perception that the Cadaver in front of me was naught but a broken Clock; my Conclusion that a living Man must be somehow more than this; that he had a Mind, a Soule. I remembered Dr Oliver applying his Trepan to the Skull of the Lunatick, saying: “Once the corrupt Matter hath been excised, we can hope that the Corruption in his Reason shall have been also, and his Mind set aright.” I remembered my grave Doubts regarding Trepanation, and my later Conversation with Erasmus in which I had learned this rational Doubt had played me false. I recalled my Notion regarding Pain, and its Existence as a Mode of Thought; mine Hypothesis that sensitive Thought may run thro’ the intire Body along the nervous Filaments; and I realised that never, in all this Doubting and theoretical Questioning, had I queried Descartes’ Conclusion that the Mind is a non-material Substance.

  Now I wondered at it; now I asked, how could it be? Mine Heart began to pound so hard within the Casement of my Ribs I feared it should break free; for I perceived at once a terrifying Answer. Thought hath, or Thought is, a material Substance. How else could it be shaped into a Word? How else could it be affected by a physical Event such as a Stroake?—for if I am certain of anything it is that Stroake is not the Work of Faeries. Being material, it exists in a material State within the Brain, and runs indeed thro’out the Nerves of the physical Body, and it may materially be disturbed by Injury or by Sickness or by the Workings of some Drugge. La Mettrie was right; Man is a Machine. Reason hath Extension, Form, Shape. It hath Limit.

  Can Reason, God-given Reason, have Limit? My Limbs began to shake. Ink spattered the virgin Paper.

  If, I thought, Reason hath Limitation, then a Man’s Reason hath no more special a Significance than his Digestion, or the Circulation of his Blood. And if Matter may think, if Matter may be conscious, or may have Conscience, who is to say that a Tree might not possess Awareness, or even a base Rock? What separateth an Human Being from a Red Kite, or a Willow? ’Twould be naught but a Question of Degree.

  Cogito, ergo sum, Descartes said. My Thoughts prove my Conscience, prove mine Existence, Moment by Moment, to My Self. Surely, the Mind did not equate with the Soule. But if, I thought, there is no non-material Mind, it may be that there is no Self, no non-material Soule to which this may be proved; for nothing material may imply the Existence of anything other. If the Soule truly were non-physica
l, the material Mind would not be able to interact with it at all; it might as well be nothing; for from nothing mental, neither Pain nor Conscience nor Love, might be drawn any Inference that a non-physical thing exists. But the Soule cannot be a physical thing, for then it could not survive physical Death.

  I droppt my Quill.

  Abandoning my Scribbling, I curled My Self into a small Ball on my Sopha, and hid my Face behind my Knees. The Candles, untended, burned down, and the Room fell into Darkness. My Creatures were still. Dr Oliver, in my Memory, lifted the bone Sovereign from the Cranium of the Melancholick. The Clock ticked on.

  For a long Time I lay curled thus. The dreadful Implication permeated my Veins. If there was no non-material Soule, then there was no Place, no Place at all for God or Christ or Religion the whole World over; ’twas a great Lie; Christ’s Sacrifice was without Meaning, for there was nothing that might be saved, and neither Heaven, nor Hell. Perhaps, verily, really, there was no Soule, and no God, none, none. I felt the small Hairs rise up on the Nape of my Neck.

  Mine Heartbeat began to grow stronger, louder, until it drummed in mine Head, each Beat one with the Clock. Blood circulated thro’ the Tissues of my Body, swishing in mine Ears like the distant Echo within a Seashell. I thought upon its Progress thro’ the Channels of my Liver and my Brain. Is Man a Machine? Is Thought nothing but the Sounds made by the Movement of the Mechanism?

  As the Minutes passed, I began slowly to remember those Thoughts I had entertained the other Daye, about my Father, and the Love he had shared with my Mother, in which God had played not the merest Part. That Love had been, and still was, real, despite her Death; and even tho’ John and Eugenia might never meet again in any sort of Heaven, it remained of itself a wondrous thing, a thing that seemed to give me Hope that there was some Species of Soule in Man, even if ’twere not the immortal one of Christian Catechism. Surely a Machine was no more capable of Love than of experiencing Pain?

  Could the Soule exist without God? How could it? And wherefore should it?

  My Forehead throbbed. Carefully, I stretched out mine Arms and uncoiled my Spine. My Frame cried out in Protest at this unexpected Release from its Confinement; Elbows cracking, loud as snapping Twigs upon a Lightning-scorched Oak.

  * * *

  Katherine and I were married on the Saturdaye Morning, before my Father, Erasmus Glass, and as many of the household Servants who could be spared their Duties for the Duration. Neither my Sister, nor her Husband, nor mine Aunt were in Attendance. I was not surprized by this, but I sorely regretted Jane’s Absence, which I had no Doubt was her Mother-in law’s doing, despite the facile Excuse that Jane was too near to her Confinement to risk travelling even the shortest Distance from Withy Grange.

  To everyone’s Amazement, two Dayes after he had given me his Blessing, my Father made it striking clear that, notwithstanding the Difficulties such a Venture must entail, he was determined to be present at my wedding Ceremony, as he had been at Jane’s. It being impossible that he should visit Church, and neither Katherine nor My Self desiring that our Nuptials should take place in his sick Room, we fixt upon the Idea of holding the Wedding in the drawing Room, with the Curtains drawn and a few small Candles burning for the Benefit of those of us whose Eyes were not so painfully sensitive. This Particular having been thus settled, and the Rector having consented to perform the Service, I spent much of the intervening Time in encouraging my Father to quit his Bed for an Armchair. Erasmus voiced Reservations regarding the likely Success of this Enterprize, but he had reckoned without my Father’s Stubbornness, and to everyone’s Delight, upon my wedding Daye he was able to sit, nigh invisible in the dimmest Corner of the drawing Room, dresst all over in his customary Black and with his Virgil open on his Lap as a Defense against anyone who might have tried to speak to him.

  I knew My Self to be deeply happy that I was to wed the Woman whom I loved. But I could not rouse My Self to experience in my Body and mine Heart the Joy I knew within mine Head, and which I witnessed upon Katherine’s Face every Time she looked into mine own. I struggled hard to comprehend the Reason for this Lack, and even harder to conceal it, but I was afraid that in neither Assay was I quite successful. I could not put away those Suspicions I had formed regarding God and Matter; and everything, when illumined by their low burning Lampe, seemed somewhat flat, like the Aspect of a Landscape underneath a leaden Sky. The more I pondered upon this obscure Disconnexion betwixt my Feelings and mine Heart, the wider it grew; until for Fear of mine own Sanity I determined that my Ponderings must surcease.

  Some little while after the short Ceremony, I was standing, a Glass of Burgundy in mine Hand, by the Fireplace, where my new Bride and I had been receiving the humble Congratulations of Shirelands’ Servants. My Father had retired to Bed; the Curtains had been pulled open, the Windows thrown up, and the Candles put out. I had declared the Afternoon a Holidaye, and the middaye drawing Room was empty apart from My Self, Katherine, Erasmus, and the Rector. The Rector having been, in accordance with Tradition, first in Line to have offered his stilted Compliments, I was suspicious of his Choosing to linger after my Father had gone. I suggested to Katherine that I would like it very much if she were to play Greensleeves on the Harpsichord, and she, suspecting nothing, went happily to.

  Perceiving now that my Bride, his Niece, was out of Earshot, the Rector Ravenscroft once more came forward, his portly Shoulders rounded beneath his Cassock, and square Jaw thrust forward like a bellicose Bulldogg. Altho’ the Weather was not excessive warm, he appeared to sweat. His Jowls quivered, and I remembered, once again, the savage Thrashing he had given me in his Orchard, so many Yeares before. Staring down into his Eyes, I seemed to feel again the pudgy Clamp of his left Hand upon my Neck, to hear the laboured Heaving of his Breath.

  “I disapprove,” the Rector said, “of these irregular Marriages, and ’tis only out of Regard for your worthy Father that I consented to officiate at yours. No Good will come of such a bad Beginning. Mr Hart, you have chosen, in my Niece, a thankless Bride, and demonstrated by the hurried Nature of your Union a grave Want of Judgement and of Character. Had you sought my Counsel I would freely have given it; but ’tis all to no good now; you are married. I wish you well, as I must. When it is time to christen your first Child I hope that you will not delay, as your Father did, and risk the Child’s Soule to the Devil. Good Daye, Sir.”

  Altho’ the Rector’s Scolding was not altogether unexpected, I was surprized by its Harshness. “Stay, Sir!” I said, catching my Breath, and his Forearm, as he turned to walk away. Rage at the Slander he had cast against my Wife swept over me like a Wave. “You do not seem considerate, Sir, of the Honour I have done your Family by marrying your Niece; and whatever Countenance she hath shewn to you, I do not discern in it that of a thankless Bride. Mayhap, Rector, if you had proved kinder to her, who is after all your Flesh and Blood, she might have demonstrated to you a sweeter Temperament.”

  “Unhand me, Sir,” the Rector said. The Colour was rising swiftly in his fleshy Face, and the Thought came to me that perhaps he too was remembering the Occasion of our last private Encounter, in his apple Orchard. I imagined, with Pleasure, what Pantomime might ensue should I retain my Grip upon his Wrist, and he lose his upon his fierce Temper. My Grasp tightened. Let him! I thought. His Reputation will be besmirched, and he will have only himself to blame. Let him make an Enemy of me, his Benefactor’s Son, upon my wedding Daye, when I have just graced his Family with a Condescension of which they had never any Hopes. Ah! But that surely is the Nub; the Ravenscrofts must all be most put out that, if I was to have chosen any of them, I did not choose their own Sophia.

  I stared, hard, at the Rector Ravenscroft. The Man was shorter than me by a Foot, many Yeares older, and certainly no Jack Broughton. Nevertheless, I could feel in mine Hands how much I should have enjoyed giving him a sound Beating; if not for the Slight he had issued against Katherine then for the Insults he had laid upon my youthful Back. Hypocrite! I thought. You ar
e really no more a Servant of God than I am. But Pity, or something akin to it, moved me. I released mine Hold upon his Arm. “Control your Contempt, Sir,” I said. “It doth you ill Service.” The Rector shook his Arm, as if attempting to restore the Blood to its Extremity, tipped his Hat, in abrupt and perfunctory Manner, and then departed from the Room.

  Egad, I thought, suddenly. He hath nothing whatsoever in Common with Nathaniel. The Rector Ravenscroft is not Nathaniel’s Father.

  At once I saw, with my Mind’s Eye, the Gypsies. Kin, Nathaniel had called them. He had meant it; they were truly his blood-Kin, in a Way that the Ravenscrofts were not; and there had been, present and evident to my then unperceiving Eyes, a familial Resemblance between them all: their savage Teeth; their brilliant, slanted Eyes; their sharp Cheek-bones; their translucent Skins; their pointed, foxes’ Ears.

  He was one of them, I thought. And I refused to recognise it, even tho’ I saw’t with mine own Eyes. I wondered at the Strangeness! How could this Cuckoldry, which had resulted in such an obvious Cuckoo, have been imposed upon such a Man as the Rector? Surely, I thought, he had suspected. How it must have teazed him that his best beloved and beauteous Son was not his Son at all, but an Outsider; a Stranger, hatched, without consent or warning, in the Rector’s Nest to prey upon his own, brown, Chicks.

  Nathaniel Ravenscroft. Why was I thinking of Nathaniel now? Mine Heart felt suddenly as shocked as if I had seen him enter unexpectedly within the Room. I took a deep Swallow of my Wine, and sate My Self upon one of the Sophas, until the Shuddering that had taken over all my Limbs had ceased. The Musick from Katherine’s Harpsichord glided over mine hot Forehead like Ripples from a swimming Swan.

  I did not want Nathaniel on my Mind upon my wedding Daye. Yet even as I thought this, I apprehended, with a dreadful Sinking in my Gut, that Nathaniel’s Intrusion upon my Thoughts was most like to be a thing I must experience every Daye of my married Life.