Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631)

by Wolf, Jack

  I was somewhat surprized; it was not Katherine’s Habit ever to intrude upon me during mine Investigations, for she found the Sights and Smells of a Vivisection or an Anatomy greatly distressing, and on the only Occasion when she had caught me thus, she had run away at once to vomit.

  “Tristan,” she said, in the Voice of one who hath a great Secret. “I have Newes.”

  I pushed back mine Hair from my Forehead. “Wil’t not wait?” I asked.

  She tosst her Head. “No,” she answered. “No; it hath waited too long, already.”

  Her Determination was, it appeared, greater than mine. Curious, I put down my Quill. Her Expression was not at all grave, and from this I deduced her Newes to be of a profound, but not terrible Nature. In respect of her Sensibilities, I drew a white Shroud, the which I kept solely for the Purpose, over my open dissecting Board and came out from behind my Table, in order to attend her properly. She looked me over in Silence for perhaps ten Seconds, biting her Lip, her grey Eyes sparkling; then she smiled, and the Words came spilling forth.

  “Tristan,” Katherine said. “I am with Child!”

  Not terrible? Not? I had been wrong!

  I had hoped for such Newes; I had expected them. But, to my immense Dismay, I discovered, now, when it was too late, that I was wholly unprepared to hear it. My World reeled about me and I clutched the Corner of my long Table for Support. My Goldfinch, alarmed, gave one sharp Whistle and fluttered to the very Top of my Bookcase. My Thoughts ran wild, incoherent in mine Horrour. “Alas!” I cried. “’Tis too soon! How long hast known? Oh, when was it conceived? At Christmas?”

  “What?” Katherine exclaimed. Her Jaw droppt, and began to quiver. She crosst the Room, and put her slender Arms about my Ribcage, pressing her Cheek against my Sternum. “No, no; I do not think so; no.”

  Her Answer did not signify. I knew that there had been neither Time nor sufficient Occasion for the Child to have been conceived, and for Katherine to have confirmed its Existence, unless it had been during that relentless Week. Yet, had not that been what I had wanted? I did not know; verily, I did not. Still shivering somewhat, I relaxed mine Arms and folded Katherine in against my Chest. At least, I told My Self, if it were so, the Child would be born healthy; my Vigour had at that Time been so singular in its Intent, and so relentless in its Force, that there could have been no Dissipation of the animal Spirits involved in its Conception, and if anything, it would be born under a lucky Star.

  Lucky? Lucky? Mine Heart felt hollow. How could any Child of mine be lucky? The very Violence, I thought, of that Sennight’s Passion must surely have begot a Freak. Such was the Condition, after all, of my poor little Bat.

  “It will be dark!” I cried.

  “You are dark, and I love you for it.”

  “The World doth not, and will not!”

  Katherine put her Hands about my Face, and with some surprizing Violence turned my Chin, so that I was forced to look her in her Eye. “Then,” she said fiercely. “I shall despise the World, if it love not you, my Bloody Bones, my Dear; and if our Child prove black as a very Bear, I shall not love it any less than if’t were fairer than a Swan. Nay, I shall love it more. I did not choose a Man who was white, and fair. I chose you, Tristan; you; and I am truly happy for our Child. I want you to be happy for it, too.”

  But my Thought was: the World will call it Jew.

  I wrote to Dr Hunter that Afternoon, and I did my best to put before him the Details of the Case: mine Hypothesis, mine Experiments, my Findings, and the Frustration which I currently faced. I begged him, in Tones that I considered suitably respectful and yet cautionary of the Implications to Science of his Refusal, for his Aid in procuring for me both appropriate Cadavers and Time within his anatomical Rooms. I suggested to him that, if he would see fit to assist me in my Research, we might together identify and isolate the physiological Cause of Stroake. I suggested, too, that I had already formed a Notion regarding its Treatment which might open up the Possibility of a Cure.

  Having concluded this Epistle to my Satisfaction, and dispatched it, I then returned to my long Table to compleat the Dissection of my fox Cub.

  * * *

  I waited eagerly for a Reply to my Letter, but to my Surprize and Disappointment none arrived. I could not easily credit that Dr Hunter judged mine Hypothesis to be of such little scientific Worth that it deserved not even the merest Consideration; moreover, I thought it most unlike that he would not, if that had been the Event, at least have written to have told me so. But dampe March turned into damper April, and April progressed onwards, and still I had received no Word from him.

  I began, in mine Anxiety, to have some Difficulty in sleeping; and out of Compassion for Katherine—or thus I perswaded My Self—who was otherwise kept awake, I began spending Nights alone in my Study upon my Sopha. I felt that this occasioned no great Loss to her; since she had disclosed her Condition to me I had not dared to be intimate with her in any Way for Fear of causing Injury to her increasing Body, or the Infant within. Sometimes it seemed to me that I perceived upon her Face an heart-sore Plea for the Sensation of sweet Pain that in our first Dayes would have sent me scrambling for my Knife; but I did not respond, and she did not provoke. Every Time I closed mine Eyes, I seemed with Horrour to see before me the Series of Sketches Dr Hunter had produced depicting the Foetus nestling within the pregnant Womb; the expanding Muscle of the Uterus, the stretching Ligaments, the thickening Veins. Uteri humani gravidi. Little Questions, peremptorily dismisst.

  So it was an immense Relief to me when I received, out of the Blue, a Letter that appeared to throw the Initiative squarely back into mine own Hands. It was from the newly gazetted Captain Simmins, acquainting me with his Address in London and issuing an open Invitation to visit him at my Convenience. Within the Sennight I had written back to accept his Invitation, and despite both mine own Misgivings at the Thought that I must leave my Katherine, and those expresst by the various Members of mine Household, I began to make Preparations for my Departure.

  “I wish,” burst forth Katherine one Evening, as we ate, the two of us alone, in the panelled dining Room, below the ever ticking Eye of the mantel Clock. “I wish that you would not go, Tristan!”

  “’Twill not require of me a Stay of any lengthy Duration; but I must somehow speak with Dr Hunter. Perhaps he hath not had my Letter.”

  I had no Desire to be parted from her; and yet I had, I had.

  The stiffest Resistance to my going was, however, and to my considerable Surprize, put up by my Father. I wondered greatly at this; for though it was still mine Intention to take over his Care once I had the Workings of a Cure for his Condition, I had not of late been overmuch in his Society.

  “Doth he think I intend to fail?” I said to Erasmus, as we departed his sick Room. “If I come back having identified the Method by which he shall be made whole, he will be grateful for my going.”

  “Even so,” Erasmus said. “But consider, Tristan, that you have not heard from Dr Hunter. You must allow the Possibility that he will not help. He is a busy Man, who hath his own Practice and School to run, and tho’ he may yet wish to assist, be unable. I am concerned for the Effect on your Nerves, should you find that to be the Case.”

  “Erasmus,” I said, looking him square in the Eye. “Dost consider me well, or no? Because if, as you have previously agreed, I am truly recovered from the nervous Fit, then I may suffer and overcome such Setbacks as masterfully as any Man. Tell me, am I sane, or no?”

  “You are sane enough,” Erasmus said, “to know that I have no Power to compel you to stay or to do otherwise. But you would be wise to listen to mine Advice. I offer it in Friendship, and not as your Physician.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I shall not attend it, but I appreciate its Sentiment.”

  There was a long Pause. We walked along the Passage together, he in the Direction of the Library, I, my Study; at the Door to which Erasmus stoppt, and turned to me. “Perhaps,” he said, “as you are
set upon returning to London, I shall do the same, and see whether the Offer Dr Oliver made that I should join him in St Luke’s is still open. I cannot continue to live idly upon your Hospitality.”

  “Egad,” I said. “I would prefer that you should stay! Wilt not take full Charge of my Father, as you were supposed to do?”

  “Tristan,” Erasmus said gently, “I must work, my Friend. I have no country Estate.”

  I remembered then, as I had never done before, that Erasmus had taken on my Care, which I had then imagined my Father’s, owing to his Affection for me, and his fervently expresst Desire to keep me out of St Luke’s; and that he had never properly been paid for his Services, owing to Barnaby’s Affection for his Purse.

  “Erasmus,” I said, “if you will stay as my Family’s Physician, I shall offer you whatever Pay you deem appropriate; and no one shall object if you practise among our Neighbours also. Our local Physician is no Man of Science, and his Treatments, I am certain, kill as many as they cure. Why, my Sister—”

  “Stop there,” Erasmus said. “Mrs Barnaby dislikes me.”

  “Indeed, she doth not!” I exclaimed. “She hath an high Regard for you and hath often expresst it.”

  “Not before me,” Erasmus said. “She hath contrived only to demonstrate a singular Distaste for me in my Society.”

  “Her Husband, I grant you, is an hypocritical Coxcomb,” I said. “But my Sister is the sweetest tempered Woman anywhere, and if she hath been unkind it must be because she is striving to conceal the Extent of her Affection.”

  Erasmus looked at me in plain Astonishment. “What dost mean, Tristan?”

  “Egad,” I said, shrugging my Shoulder. “Mine Offer is before you, Erasmus. Do what you will. We should all be happier an you stayed.”

  “Well, Tristan,” Erasmus said, looking at me very queerly. “I shall consider your Advice. But I wish you would consider mine, your Father’s, and that of your Wife.”

  * * *

  Shortly before the Daye I was due to leave, about the Week the Hawthorns began, that dampe Spring, to bloom, I told my Sister about Katherine’s Pregnancy. Mine Announcement had an unexpected Consequence: Mr Barnaby, no Doubt at the Promptings of strict Propriety rather than those of his Wife, who was now so many Nights at Shirelands it was hard to see when she might have found an appropriate Moment to prompt, issued a grudging Invitation to Katherine and My Self to visit at Withy Grange upon the following Saturdaye. I did not expect this Visitation to be a chearful one, but out of Curiosity and a mean Desire to see Barnaby squirm, I scrawled a curt Acceptance upon the Back of his own Missive and sent it back forthwith by the same liveried Hand that had delivered it.

  Upon making this Decision, however, I discovered an unexpected Difficulty. It had not occurred to me, when I had elected to return to London, that to do so I must leave mine Estate and cross enemy Territory; for tho’ I knew that I had banished Raw Head’s Goblins from Shirelands, Viviane ruled in the Valley, and I felt certain that her Hatred for me must be as strong as ever. Even this short Journey to Withy Grange, I thought, must present Opportunity for her to strike. I considered writing to Barnaby and withdrawing mine Acceptance of his Invitation; but then it appeared to me that doing so might convey to my Family some false Impression of Insanity, if my Reason should be guessed at, which would cause Confusion sufficient to threaten mine whole Project. I dismisst the Notion.

  Instead, upon the Morning of the Visit, I dresst up My Self and Katherine in sad coloured Cloth, that our true Selves be thereby disguised, and instructed my Father’s Coachman, who wore no Livery, to tell no one of his intended Journey, or what Passengers he carried. He was forbidden to stop, even in the Event of Robbery. I had suggested to Erasmus that he accompany us on this Visit, but somewhat to my Disappointment, my Suggestion met with so flat a Refusal that I could have played Bowls on it. We travelled with the Blinds down, and I refused to heed Katherine’s Protestations that she wanted Light and Aire. We were as two Grouse, in matching Plumage. Our Cage, out of Necessity, remained covered.

  We reached Withy Grange after an Houre or so, and on hearing the Carriage-wheels slowly crunching to an Halt upon Barnaby’s Gravel, I was upon my Feet and opening the Door. The crimson Interior of the Coach immediately quickened with an agile Light, and the stuffy Aire itself seemed to draw Breath.

  “Thanks be to God!” cried Katherine, at once.

  “As there is no God,” I precipitantly responded, “you must rather return Thanks to me, it being My Self that hath unclosed the Door.”

  “In that Case,” replied Katherine, acidly, “thanks be unto thee, great Tristan, whose mercifull Kindness knoweth no Bounds, and falleth as freely upon us as the winter Rains.” She bared her Teeth at me; it was not, by any Measure, a friendly Look.

  “Too much,” I said, stepping down onto the Driveway. “Shut up thy Mouth; that is a Smile so sweet the whole Wealth of the Africk could not buy’t; and I am but one Man, who hath not yet come into Possession of his Fortune. Take mine Hand; I will assist you from your Seat.”

  “So ought you, Bloody Bones; you put me into it,” Katherine answered, her Voice a low Growl.

  She placed her Palm upon mine own, and descended carefully the three Steps that divided us. For a Moment, as she stood there before me, her Eyes fixt upon mine, it was as if the Distance betwixt us had never intervened. All we had, verily all we were, was contained in the Space between her Body and mine own: Katherine and I; My Self and Katherine. Then I put mine Hands about her Waist, and startled at its increased Thickness.

  “Come,” I said, lifting my Fingers from her as if from a burning Brand, and swivelling on mine Heel toward the magnificently roofed House, whose bright painted front Door, compleat with ready Footmen, stood open in seeming Welcome. “We must not linger here, for all it seems fair. Let us disclose what Mr Barnaby hath to say for himself.”

  “Oh,” said Katherine. “Indeed, Tristan. Let us at once within.” Instead of waiting for mine Arm, she lifted her Skirts above her Ankles and propelled herself forward at almost a Run, treading hard upon my right Foot. I called her back, in some Alarm, but she ignored me, and vanished, like Eurydice, within the grey Vault of the Portico.

  Barnaby received us most politely, with Jane at his Side, in the long drawing Room of Withy Grange that shared with my Sister’s sitting Room a View over the Valley toward the River. The Room was splendid and well lit, but not lively; the crimson Curtains, the Chippendale Sophas, the Chairs against the Walls, the central Italian Rugg and paired Grecian Vases that stood beside the white veined Marble of the Chimney-piece had all to mine Eyes the Appearance of having recently worn Sheets, and the cool Aire reeked of Emptiness.

  Barnaby could not have been in any Doubt as to my Familiarity with the Condition of his Marriage. However, he had evidently ordered Jane to co-operate in some Pretense of conjugal Unity, for both were stood up together, and steppt forward in a Welcome which was meant, with equal Sincerity, by neither. Jane was got up in a flea-coloured satin Sacque and white Stomacher of expensive Flemish Lace, and with her Physiognomy disguised under a thick Layer of Whitelead, and her Wigg piled high atop her Head, she appeared so greatly altered from herself that, had I met her in the Street, I might never have known her for my Sister.

  Barnaby, for his Part, was dresst as sober as a Parson. His tight woollen frock Coat was dark blue, and buttoned high beneath his vulturine Chin, which appeared ill nourished, despite his great Wealth. He looked me over with Disdain, and ill-concealed Apprehension, as a lesser Lordling might an Hero of the boxing Ring. I remembered, with a nettling Sting, how it had been by his Consent that I had been brought home instead of being confined in St Luke’s. I misliked full sore the Idea that Barnaby had been Witness to me in my nervous Mania, and if such thing had been possible, the Notion would have induced me to love him even less than I presently did. Perhaps it was a good thing, therefore, that my Contempt of him was already so damning that it would have taken a Miracle for him to sink lower
in mine Estimation.

  We sate and played at Cards, until Katherine and I had thoroughly routed the Barnabys, and my Patience with the tedious Pantomime had utterly run out. Before Jane could suggest another Hand, I turned the Subject of our Conversation toward Barnaby’s willow Wood, and the Sentiment I shared with Jane upon its intended Removal.

  “That Wood,” I said, “is like to have stood for many hundred Yeares, and if it is left unmolested, it may stand hundreds more. Moreover, it is beautifull, and Jane is fond of it. Will not you, Mr Barnaby, alter your Intention in respect of your Wife’s Affection?”

  “La, Tristan, I care not!” put in Jane at once, before her Husband could draw Breath. “It is the Fashion! Mr Barnaby may make whatever Improvements he pleases.”

  This Response was so unexpected, so compleatly different from the sorry Complaint Jane had made, privately, to me, that I was briefly stunned. “Sister,” I stammered, when I had recaptured my Wits. “Did we not agree that the Destruction of the Willows would be dangerous, as it may result in the River’s overspilling its Banks?”

  “Mr Barnaby,” said Jane pacifically, “tells me that Argument is peevish Fiddle-faddle, and that neither our Lawns nor the local Farms are in any Danger of Submersion.”

  “The only Fiddle-faddle,” I answered, “is in your saying so, when—” I broke off. Katherine had kicked me, very hard, upon my shin Bone. Barnaby’s Nostrils flared.

  “Mr Barnaby’s hired Men,” Jane said, “have already begun about the Works. They are very efficient. Mr Barnaby is very pleased with the Repair they made to the Wall in the old Orchard.”